HALO: The Spartan IV's
2200 Hours // UNSC Colony Jericho VII // June 2560
"Another drink," Red Castle said. The bartender was washing the bar with a wet rag and let out a heavy sigh, but still grabbed another glass. Ten seconds later, another tall glass of Alt Burgundy was sliding toward Red. He grabbed it and took a long sip.
"That is your limit." The bartender noted. He walked towards Red and laid down a rare paper receipt. It was clear this was the worst bar in town. The total was more then Red could bear. Thirty seven United Nations Credits. He reluctantly paid the heavy tab and left the bar. He only had fifty credits left that had to last the rest of the week. Now he was in a big pickle. As he walked toward the door he saw three UNSC soldiers sit down at a poker table.
A certain tingle climbed up Red's back. This was his chance to be back in the clear. If he was lucky enough to coax a few enlisted soldiers into giving him their money, he could pay his rent and buy food for the month. He walked up to the table.
"Mind a fourth player?" The soldiers looked up and saw Red shuffling his last thirteen credits. One soldier, a Sergeant, a bald and confident looking man ready to kill, nodded and watched as Red threw in his pot and sat down. "Rules?"
A second soldier, a Private, spoke up. "Nothing out of the ordinary here kid. We are just playing a casual game." While Red was irritated with the soldier's 'kid' remark, he respected that he was polite. It was rare for a UNSC soldier to be nice to a civilian.
Red nodded. The third soldier, a busty looking Corporal, had a dirty smirk on his face and was clearly upset about Red sitting in. He stuck to his cards. The Sergeant dealt the cards and Red peeked at his.
Shit.
His hand was pathetic. A two and a three. He would have to do some serious bluffing if he was to get a portion of the now one hundred dollar pot. He looked at the other soldiers faces and his pride sunk. He was hoping that at least two of the soldiers would be bad at the game, but clearly poker was a hobby of theirs. Nevertheless, if Red could get lucky in the game, he could go home with serious cash.
The Private watched as Red, the Sergeant and the Corporal both threw in two credits. He sighed and threw his cards over. "I fold," He said, leaning back in his chair. One down, two to go, Red thought to himself. The pot grew larger two at least one hundred and twenty when the Sergeant folded as well.
The Corporal was nervous now. He didn't have his soldier buddies to give him confidence and he was sure Red was a force to be reckoned with. He took another peek at his cards and rustled a few credits in his hand, like he was thinking if the risk was worth it. He threw in the five credits he was holding.
Red's resolve was unraveled by the raising of the pot. The Corporal once again peeked at his cards and then glanced at the Sergeant and the Private. They both shrugged their shoulders. Finally, the Corporal gave up and folded. Red looked at the cards. All he could do was laugh.
The Corporal had two Jacks. At the sound of Red's laugh, the Corporal knew he made a great mistake. Red showed his cards, his pathetic hand. The Sergeant and the Private broke out laughing. Red pulled the pot in towards him and organized it as the Sergeant once again dealt out the cards for a second round of play.
This time Red had a more respectable hand. The pot also grew to an even bigger size. Red won again. The game lasted a lot longer then Red had expected. Right after they started the tenth round, the bartender tried to kick them out. "Okay, okay, I assure you, this is our last game." The Sergeant yelled at the bartender.
He dealt the cards and the round began. Red still had a respectable pile, but since it was the last round, they all agreed to have a good game and go all in from the beginning. Luckily, Red was confident about his hand. This round went quickly, as the Corporal and Private folded immediately. The Sergeant however, was not having a good night, and growing agitated.
A snarl held his gaze as he looked at the pot, which was now over five hundred credits. Red was sure his hand was nowhere as good as his own, but he was not willing to take chances with so much money on the line.
Five minutes had gone by of just Red and the Sergeant looking at each other and the pot. "Okay, let bygones be bygones. On three, we show our cards and whoever has the better hand wins."
Red nodded.
"One…two…three…Now!" The Sergeant and Red both flipped their cards. The Sergeant pounded onto the table. Everything shook. The Sergeant's cards were two Kings. Red's cards were two Aces. Red pulled in the large pot and shuffled it into his pockets.
Reluctantly, the Sergeant shook Red's hand. The bartender rushed them out, the Soldiers had a frown and Red had a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
On his way back to his apartment, Red noticed a sign near the shipyard. It was neither fancy nor decorated. It was plain paper but held the most important message he had ever read. Red was twenty five, and growing up he was expecting to enlist in the UNSC and fight the Covenant. It would have gotten him off the planet and into a life he could actually enjoy.
Instead, the war had ended right before he could enlist. The UNSC fell into harsh times and could no longer support a large influx of new recruits. He tried to enlist nevertheless, but they turned him down.
The sign read:
Official Notice of the
United Nations Space Command
by order of the
Office of Naval Intelligence Section III
The UNSC is officially looking for recruits for a new experimental program inside the highest level of security. A new SPARTAN program has surfaced.
All recruits are accepted, but recruits are needed with military experience. All men and women looking to participate are needed on planet Earth by July 7 of this year. Recruits must pay their own fare for the transportation.
Recruits should report to Captain Gerald Cohen.
Red recalled counting the credits he had won. He had over five hundred credits. It was more then enough to hitch a ride on a UNSC vessel to Earth. Could he make it? The military itself was hard enough. How hard would it be to become a Spartan? It was the best soldier the UNSC could produce.
In five seconds, his life flashed before his eyes. He was living a piss poor life here of Jericho, and there was no sign of improvement. He had decided. He yanked the notice off the wall and walked into the shipyard office.