It was worth the pain.
It was worth the pain.
It was worth the pain.
Haydn couldn't move without a grunt of agony forcing its way through his teeth, but it was worth it. So worth it. He would push through this like he pushed through everything else he had ever been through, and then he would be given his new insignia. It would make him a Spartan.
It was worth it. Worth every ounce of agony. But, even so, he found himself repeating the same line over and over in his head. To be a Spartan was worth the pain it took to get there. Very few soldiers could pass the test to even begin the special training, much less survive it long enough – without dropping out – to get to this point.
And Haydn was the youngest in history. He was just a rookie still – granted, a rookie Helljumper, so no greenhorn, but not exactly a seasoned veteran either – and at twenty years two days four hours and thirty-two seconds of age, the moment his final augmentation was completed [the one he was presently recovering from, in fact], he was the youngest ever.
Nobody would ever call him 'Rookie' again. Ever. Well. Maybe the other Spartans would, but that wasn't so bad.
Painfully, and with a groan that was almost a moan, he sat up and opened his eyes. He was in a nondescript infirmary cot in a typically nondescript infirmary, and a completely forgettable nurse rushed over to try to push him back down, but Haydn resisted her hand easily, though she was clearly very strong. For a normal human.
His muscle augmentations had happened a couple of weeks ago, and Haydn was finally getting used to being stronger than most other people he dealt with. His present pain was neurological, and to do with the brain enhancements he had been given so that he could really use his new capabilities to the fullest potential. And so that he could house a smart AI unit, if he was selected to.
"Lie down, kid," a deep, unfamiliar voice growled. Haydn looked over to the source of the voice, ignoring the sickening pain that lanced through his brain, and blinked a few times, unsure if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. Or rather, who he thought he was seeing.
The armored Spartan – who stood a lot taller than any Spartan that Haydn had ever had anything to do with – removed his helmet, face wearing a disapproving frown. "I gave you an order, soldier!"
"Sir!" Haydn responded automatically, but instead of laying back flat, he brought the bed up so that he was in a half-sitting position.
"I trust you have already been told you will be expected to rest for five days, and not move from this cot for three of those."
"Yes, sir." Other than three words – yes, sir, and understood – Haydn found himself completely dumbstruck. It was who he thought it was. It really was the Master Chief. He had heard the Chief was moody as a baseline, and worse because a year ago he had lost a partner, but Haydn watched the older Spartan's face carefully and saw only a distinct desire to be out of this room. Which, clearly, was more than the nurse could see. If a Spartan wanted something, most of the nurses here went out of their way to make it happen. Whether that Spartan voiced his desire or not.
"Don't mistake this for me actually caring what happens to you. You are a soldier – just a tool. I grant that you are a member of the elite. One of the few who has what it takes to make it through training and augmentation. But this war… has claimed soldiers far more experienced, and of a far higher caliber. You will not retire. The best you can hope for is to go out in a spectacular and bloody manner… as befitting a Spartan."
"Yes, sir." Chief was chatty. Haydn hadn't expected that. Granted this was a rehearsed speech, but still… there was a lot that was being said that didn't need to be.
"So, with that in mind… I have come to inform you, do not trust Command. You are still being tested. The sooner you are back to full combat operational status, the better you will fare when they spring their surprise. I speak from experience. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, especially now, when the UNSC does not yet know what you are capable of. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
"I don't think you know the gravity of this, Spartan. Today is the first day of the new life you have chosen. They will start testing you, and very soon."
"Yes, sir, you have made yourself clear." Haydn wasn't quite sure if saying that was stepping over the line. He hadn't any experience with SPARTAN-IIs like the Master Chief – a man whose name nobody knew, except perhaps Doctor Halsey, and any IIs who might still be out there somewhere. His experience with Spartans was all to do with IVs, the men and women he now called his brothers and sisters in arms.
"Then, Spartan Haydn Vance, you are dismissed… for now."
Haydn thought he saw a brief, faint hint of approval flash across the older Spartan's face, before the man turned and left. He wasn't sure if the Chief's warning was a real warning, or just Command screwing with his head. But, either way, it seemed to be one test that he had passed. This whole Spartan thing seemed so natural. Like he really belonged. He wasn't on the outside anymore. A cadet but not really one of the brotherhood… a Helljumper, but not a Helljumper at all… and then a cadet again, for the SPARTAN-IV program. He hadn't quite fit in anywhere as a normal human being. This, though… this was right.
And that was why it was worth the pain.
He didn't even care if he still struggled to relate to his fellows. Haydn closed his eyes with a satisfied smile. This was what he had been born for. This was his purpose in life.