DISCLAIMER: THE CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME. ENOUGH SAID.
Yes, my first prologue thingy. Yeah, it's a random drabble I came up with. The real dig's coming in the oncoming chapters so be sure to have a lookout! Anyway, the chapters are going to be set in the campaign of Halo 3 ODST and I will try to make some chapters from my own ideas, probably in the last few episodes.
Enjoy!
Sleep Tight, Tinkerbell
? Hours Before Drop. 3:00 am
Sometimes nights could be complicated. On every night you'll have insomnia, keeping your eyes bloodshot as you craved for a good rest. You deserve a break once in a while but not in war. Wars were always calling out at you in the middle of the night; even in the dark canvas of space would imaginary winds howl at you as you desperately tried to let your mind sleep. Seems crazy, but almost every soldier had it.
Such as this man who laid on his bed which was made of a simple mattress and a small pillow. Sheets of cloth were used as blankets and he raised them up to his chin. This man was known to be Dutch and he was one of those victims who couldn't get some sleep. His face was weary and dark circles formed below his eyes. All he saw was darkness, and the clock ticking three in the morning. It was only an hour before his regular routine and he had think of a way to spend the time he was given in this dreadful night. That day, he was going to that Cruiser left untouched in Mombasa City with the rest of the squad but now was different: he HAD to get some sleep. Snores could be heard above which made him envious. So his buddy was lucky to drift into his wonderland and no luck for Dutch whatsoever.
Dutch rubbed his sore eyes with a hand, his brain mentally telling him to knock himself out. However, he wasn't able to do so that night. There was that picture out the window of a glassed Earth and other different fleets. Most of them are at peace...for now. When the war began, everything still seemed to be ordinary but as time flew, unexpected things just flew into action like huge chunks of space debris. Colliding with one another, the irony continued.
For some reason he grew tired of the darkness, thinking Buck would barge into his room again with yet another order. No, it wasn't that he hated assignments but he just wanted a few minutes to get used to the light pouring into his eyes whenever his comrades flew into the room like drones. Dutch groaned. His mind was already fueled up for battle and perhaps too much. He shut his eyes, trying to think good thoughts to calm himself down. That's right, good thoughts about this damn war. Thinking about a random grunt running frantically in panic while holding a plasma grenade in each hand that were about to explode.
Heh, that was funny. He could imagine a brute dying in the explosion with the small monster. Explosions were fun and he WAS a heavy weapons specialist. As it was safe to dream more about his enemies' careless deaths, he did exactly that. Murdering the nonexistent bastards in his dream was entertaining. It was the answer to his insomnia dilemma, his hell. He was almost reaching the climatic part of his imagination until-
"Tinkerbell!"
Wait. What? Dutch blinked his eyes open, and as he looked up to find the source of whoever said that, he saw a dark man's face hanging from the bunk above. A familiar smug look was written on the man's face as though he wasn't surprised to see another head coming out from Dutch's neck. Dutch's mouth dropped open a fraction of an inch and small incomprehensible stutters left his lips. Realization had hit.
"What the hell, Romeo?"
"You were talking in your sleep."
"Go to hell!"