Chapter One: The Man in Green

June 16th, 2568

Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System

"My name is Andrew-G199. I'm a category two SPARTAN-III. This story starts back on Earth in February of 2553. I had been selected for a special operation by the Office of Naval Intelligence...oh fuck all. Cut, delete all."

Andrew sat at his desk visibly frustrated. He wasn't that good writing down his life story. He needed to feel like he was talking to someone, not just a data-pad. Andrew spun the desk chair and kicked off towards his rack. He stopped short, reached down into the footlocker and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Within a second he wrenched the cap off and started to drink. He took a rather large swig and pushed off the rack, propelling himself towards the desk again. As he spun around Andrew saw his squad mate staring at him.

"Hitting the sauce a little early aren't we Andrew," King teased. "Didn't the doc tell you not to drink anymore? Bad for your mental health or whatever? Be a shame if she found out," he said with a smirk. Brandon King was a pain in the ass at best and an insufferable nuisance at worst, but he was one of Andrew's brother's.

"Fucking hell King. If you're gonna sneak up on me like that at least try to stab me," Andrew joked. "I ain't drinking to deal with my issues. I'm in need of some inspiration to help me with this project. I'm tryin' to tell the story of Operation OUTCAST. Problem is I'm shit at actually getting my thoughts out. I'm better at interviews."

"Awwww, cat got the Viper's tongue? Really though? You're opening up that can of worms," King questioned. He couldn't understand why Andrew would want to write down the mission that haunted his dreams. "I'm pretty sure the dents in your wall would say that's a bad idea."

"The cat may have my tongue, but that doesn't mean I can't bite," Andrew launched at King, sweeping his legs and pinning him to the floor. "Be careful how close you get, you might just find fangs in your leg. To answer your question, yes. I'm serious about it. I think that if I just get it out there, I might be able to reconcile with what happened. Feel like helping me," Andrew asked as he helped King to his feet.

"By help you, you mean let you record me asking about your first mission? The one that's left you with a guilty conscience for fifteen years? Fuck it! Let's go," King exclaimed. Andrew stood up and sat in his chair. Fishing through the desk he produced two clip-on microphones. He clipped one to his drab tan shirt and handed the other to King as the Spartan wheeled another chair over. King clipped the mic to his shirt, a dark grey athletic long sleeve. They simultaneously turned on the microphones and two indicators flashed green on the data-pad.

"Tell us a little about yourself to start. Give us an idea of the man we'll be getting to know," King started.

"I am Spartan Andrew-G199, a proud member and second in command of Fireteam Phoenix. I specialize in explosive ordinance, squad automatic weaponry, close quarters combat and extracting intelligence. I have a pretty extensive combat record having fought in several theaters against terrorists, Covenant Remnant forces, the Flood and Prometheans. Most notably was my time stationed on Trost. I've aided in humanitarian missions and rebuilt communities destroyed by war. I believe that I'm a good soldier, but that doesn't necessarily make me a good person. Sometimes in the service one has to sacrifice part of their soul to make it as far as I have. It's a difficult thing to deal with. I guess that's why we're here today.

"Sometimes you're given a mission that takes a piece of you. In February of 2553 I was approached by the Office of Naval Intelligence. My mission was simple; infiltrate an Insurrectionist cell, feed intelligence to O.N.I. and dismantle the cell from the inside out. What you're told to do and what actually happens are almost never the same. The Insurrection was on New Harmony, it was a fairly large group. They were mostly simple people, but years of getting shafted by the war effort left them bitter. Truth is, they had no idea how lucky they were. The war never got to their front door. Just look at Africa, half a continent glassed in a containment attempt to keep the Flood at bay. Anyway, when I got deployed to the planet we made it seem like I had gone rogue. The tracking beacon on my armor was ripped out, the Pelican was shot up and I scattered fake blood and imitation grey matter all over cockpit to make it look like I shot the pilot and dumped his corpse on the way to the Innies' compound. They should've seen right through my ploy. The UNSC would never just let a Spartan go rogue, much less a Spartan in full Gen 1 MJOLNIR armor. At the time I had a GUNGNIR helmet and kneepads, COMMANDO left shoulder, SECURITY right shoulder and the COLLAR Breacher supplemental chest piece. Forest green with navy blue markings. The first night I was there the 'commander' of the insurrection gave me the eye. The one that says 'I don't trust you and won't hesitate to kill you.' The only person who seemed nice was this kid, couldn't have been more than 17. He was an idealist. Hoped that maybe the UNSC would back off if they put up enough of a display. That couldn't have been farther from the truth."

"So Andrew, how exactly was your reception there? How did they react to a Pelican landing in the compound? What kind of tasks were you obligated to perform under their command, and how did you maintain contact with O.N.I," King asked. He shifted in his seat to get a little more comfortable. Andrew ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. He traced the scar over his cheek. To King the scar looked plain as it always did, to Andrew it felt like the scar was seering. He knew that documenting OUTCAST would bring to light things he'd rather leave in the dark, but he didn't think it would be this difficult.

"Well, a shaky Pelican making a rough landing is scary to these kinda people. It gets more frightening when a figure standing at two point one meters tall comes out of it brandishing an M739 and leaving behind bloody boot prints. My shields took three shots before they realized I wasn't firing. I spent three days in a cell before they took my story. The commander of the little operation didn't believe me one bit. He wanted proof. I tapped into the local UNSC battlenet, something O.N.I. taught me. His suspicions dropped when they mentioned a rogue Spartan on the planet. For all intents and purposes, that's exactly what I was. They had orders to fire on sight. He put me to work tapping UNSC comms, tracking convoys and taught me to build IEDs to ambush patrols. It wasn't until I caught another spy that he learned of my skill as an interrogator. Took two hours to make him crack. They were just gonna kill him. He kept my secret safe, but spilled everything else. Soon enough I was their pet Grim Reaper, but I knew the commander never trusted me. He called me a snake in the grass. Did you know that vipers use neurotoxins to kill their prey? The venom paralyzes their prey by blocking neuro-signals, it leads to cardiac arrest and asphyxiation. It seemed fitting for my mission, killing them slowly from the inside out. I started using the call sign 'Viper' while in the field."

"So that's where the nickname came from. I always wondered about that. Alright man, we should go get some chow before the grunts take all the good shit," King interjected.

"Good point. We can finish this project later," Andrew said in agreement. They turned off the mics and saved the progress on the data-pad before leaving the barracks.


Here we are, many months have passed since this chapter was uploaded and I'm finally getting around to re-editing the early chapters. Anyways, I'll be on my way, many more chapters to rework.

(03/12/20 02:58)