He surveyed the battlefield, countless bodies littered the battlefield. And he had put most of them there.

Surely I am meant for more than this, he thought looking at his blood soaked hands.
He had been created to fight and that was all he had ever known, nothing but the next mission, that was all that he lived for. And yet he felt that something was missing, something more.

But if he wanted to find the meaning of his life he would have to live long enough to find out.

He drew his shotgun and looked at the approaching army.

"I am Spartan 163," he stared long and hard at the approaching Brutes, "And I will not go quietly."

He had a small device in his hand, a detonator, he activated it and a series of explosions shook the ground and blew up enough smoke to cover the battlefield. Without hesitation the Spartan sprinted into the smoke.

-

A brute struggled to his feet as he saw a shape emerging in the smoke, "Pack brother?"

"Guess again."

A shot rang through the valley.

A few minutes later the smoke cleared and one figure stood in the middle of the valley surrounded by broken bodies.

He looked around in despair.

This can't be all there is.