A/N: Hi there! Welcome to my first Halo fic! My first introduction to the franchise was Halo 3 on the Xbox 360, and since that time I've had a soft spot in my heart for the series, its worldbuilding, and its music. With the arrival of Halo Infinite, I spent time looking over halo fanfics and found a fair number involving Human-to-Sangheili transformation. However, I felt that each one was lacking somewhat in quality, or in some other undefinable way. As such, my muse sparked, and I decided to try it out for myself, and do it the way I think it ought to be done. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy it!

"I'm... I'm sorry, but I can't do it. This is wrong."

"Don't give me that bullshit, marine! I gave you an order!"

"I understand that, but..."

"Then I'll do it myself!"

"No! Wait—"

"Get your hands off—"

BANG.

PFC Tim Newman shot up from his dream, stifling a shout of horror as he did so. Looking around, he sighed in relief at the familiar sight of the barracks. I'm on Earth. I'm not out there. I'm here, on Earth. He thought, running his hands over his face, groaning into full awareness as he looked at the clock; thirty past 0400. In a few minutes, the sound of reveille would blare through the building, followed by the grumbling and tired muttering of marines as they got ready for the day. The last day of their brief rest on the homeworld... and The first day of this coming tour, where they all would once more leave comfort and home behind and go straight back into the meat grinder. Tim resisted the urge to lay back down until wake-up and swung his legs off the side of the bunk, feeling the cold tile floor under his feet and resting his arms on his knees. He sat in silence, his mind still somewhat blank as it shook off the last vestiges of sleep. Finally, the traditional bugle call announced itself, and Tim found himself going through the usual motions of the morning almost automatically.

Just another glorious day in the Corps.

It wasn't until the mess hall that his head finally cleared up completely; before he could take a bite of the rather... unfortunate breakfast item in front of him, a familiar face took the seat next to him.

"Good morning, Newman."

"'Morning, Nair."

PFC Ravi Nair was a rather odd sort of marine. For one, he didn't quite look the part; his roundish face and small nose gave the impression of someone far younger than his actual age, and his wide brown eyes shone with what most would mistake for innocence. That, combined with his exceedingly polite and soft-spoken personality, often resulted in some teasing from his peers—but Ravi was tougher than his appearance belied, and he managed to take it all in stride. This strange placid nature always won people over in the end, as everyone eventually recognized the benefit of a calming presence in their otherwise dark and cynical lives as marines.

"You look rough," Ravi observed; "are you certain you are ready to return to service?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine..."

"What sort of 'fine' are we talking about? 'Fine' fine, or 'Fucked-up, Insecure, Nervous, and Emotional' fine?"

"A fine 'fuck you too', Hernandez," Tim smirked.

"So both, then!" Maria Hernandez laughed at the response as she sat down across from the pair. The complete opposite of Ravi, PFC Hernandez was a fiery sort of personality. Bold, tough as nails, and taking shit from absolutely no one. Her biting sarcasm only added to the color she brought to their circle, and rare was the moment where she and Tim weren't trading verbal volleys at each other. "You look like shit, Newman."

"I had a rough night. What's your excuse?"

"Settle down, kids, before I turn this table around."

The voice belonged to Specialist Rowan Greene, the last of their small group. The tall ginger chuckled at the middle fingers given in response as they sat down next to Maria. If Ravi was the brains and Maria the heart, Rowan was the step between that linked and balanced the two. Out of the four, Rowan was the closest to the model marine: steady, reliable, loyal, and responsible. Look up 'born to lead' in the dictionary, and there they'd be. "Hernandez is right, though. You don't look a hundred percent."

Tim sighed. "It's nothing. Just had trouble getting to sleep."

"You are a terrible liar, Newman," Ravi countered. "Is it about New Marseilles?"

"Shhh!" Tim hissed, desperately. "We all agreed to put that behind us, right?"

Rowan gave a pointed look. "We agreed for your sake. And if you're still struggling with it, you need to talk about it. If not to us, then at least to a shrink."

"You know I can't do that," Tim replied; "and you didn't have to get involved in the first place. It was my fuck-up. I'm not gonna risk you guys going down with me if it gets out."

Silence followed for a few moments. This was a touchy subject, and a risky one to bring up. Particularly when there was a rather obvious pair of eyes watching over the room.

Tim broke the silence. "What do you think he wants?"

"Who," Maria snarked, "the living plank? I'd rather not know what sort of shit goes on inside the head of an ONI man."

The individual in question stood against the far wall of the mess hall, yet everyone in it could feel his eyes and ears on them. A man so utterly average-looking in every way that he almost blended into the background by default, yet his strikingly blue eyes seemed to be loud enough to make up for it. Everything about the man screamed "I am Big Brother."

Tim continued to eat his breakfast, praying to whoever or whatever could hear that he wasn't the one being observed.

To the relief of every marine in the room, the ONI rep vanished after breakfast, and over the course of the day Tim found himself managing to nearly forget the man existed. Granted, there were other things on his mind; the UNSC Forward Unto Dawn, his battalion's new assignment, was delayed in its departure due to issues way above his pay grade. This meant at least a few days of "hurry up and wait", but without the "hurry" part, making the situation even more tedious and frustrating as everyone waited for the brass to get their shit together. Tim felt simultaneously grateful and aggravated; half of him wanted more rest, the other half wanted to do something besides rifle-cleaning and PT. It was in the middle of the latter that his wish was granted, albeit in an unwelcome fashion. A ten-hut and a wave from an officer pulled him out of the yard and into an office... occupied by the ONI rep from before. As soon as the officer took his leave, the mystery man turned his gaze to Tim.

"Private First Class Timothy Newman. Born on New Llanelli, 14 April 2533; family relocated to Reach one year prior to glassing of New Llanelli on 15 November 2546. Enlisted two years ago at the age of 18. Served first tour as part of the marine compliment on UNSC For Great Justice, which participated in the Battle of New Marseilles... during which your commanding officer was declared KIA fighting covenant remnants during cleanup. Afterwards, a brief patrol of the surrounding region before returning to drydock on Earth."

Tim tried not to flinch at the mention of New Marseilles. "Mind telling me what this is about? I assume you're not here just to recap my life."

"As you probably guessed, I'm from ONI. My name is Lieutenant Commander David Fischer. And you, my friend, have been selected to participate in a very important ONI project. Volunteer, of course."

"Of course," Tim snarked. "because you guys are always that nice. What's the project? Or can you tell?"

"Let's just say it requires someone capable of speaking fluent Sangheili, as well as matching highly specific physical requirements. You're on a very small list, Private Newman."

"So I read a few books and studied enemy chatter, and I'm healthy. Still not sure what either of those things have to do with each other, and even less sure why I should 'volunteer' for this assignment."

"Well, for starters," Fischer replied, "you'd be advancing the cause of humanity in the war. Two, you'll be getting quite a bit of monetary compensation once it's all said and done. And three... New Marseilles."

This fucker... "So it's blackmail, then?"

"On the contrary. We'll clear that up. Completely. No one gets in trouble—not you, not your friends who lied for you... you made a choice, the only choice you could have made in the moment. Your friends stood by you, as they should have. You shouldn't be burned for doing the right thing—"

Tim waved his hands through the air sharply. "Okay, enough of that bullshit. I'm not falling for that. You ONI fucks don't care about that sort of thing, don't patronize me by pretending you do."

"Fair enough," Fischer chuckled. "But the offer is genuine. In any case, since you're obviously lacking in trust, I'm going to level with you. This mission is dangerous—even more so than any battles you have fought, or will fight, as a marine. You may not survive it. Thus the generosity. If we told people the actual risk up front, we wouldn't be getting many volunteers. We have few as it is... but this is important."

"And... if I do die during this 'mission'? What then?"

"Well, the manner of your death will obviously have to be covered up... but a large sum of money will be given to a person or persons of your choosing, and the New Marseilles incident will still be covered up."

For a moment or two, Tim struggled to find another objection. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Fischer gave a deceptively warm chuckle.

"Tell you what. Take tonight to think it over. Meet me back in this office at around 0400 hours if you have an answer. If not, then, well... this conversation never happened at all."

At that, Fischer simply walked out, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that plagued his every waking moment for the rest of the day. Thoughts that kept him silent during dinner, and gazing up at nothing in particular during the night. He didn't even know how much sleep he'd gotten, if any, so distracted was he. It wasn't until Tim turned his head towards the clock on the wall to see the appointed time fast approaching that he finally made up his mind, got his things together, and headed for the office. He was entirely unsurprised to see that Fischer was already there, wide awake, smiling that same fake smile. It didn't matter.

"Okay, no bullshit, 'Dave'," Tim said with a glare. "If I do this and die, everything I own goes to Ravi Nair, Maria Hernandez, and Rowan Greene, on top of everything else in the deal. And if I live, you'd better follow through on your promises—all of them—or so help me there won't be one shadow in the fucking universe for you to hide from me in."

A few moments of silence passed... and then Fischer smiled further. "Agreed. Welcome aboard, Private Newman."

From there, Fischer led Tim out of the building, into a waiting car with fully opaque passenger windows. The car took turn after turn after turn, and a good couple of hours passed. Finally, it stopped inside a massive hangar with a pelican... which, upon boarding, took them to an unmarked transport ship that jumped to slipspace. A few hours after that, the ship dropped out of slipspace, and docked with a facility built into the side of a massive asteroid. As the airlock hissed and Tim stepped through, Fischer made a dramatic wave of his hand.

"Welcome to Project OVID."