ATTENTION: The events and/or characters mentioned may differ from any/all actualities from the Halo franchise. This story is entirely separate from and unaffiliated with any other Halo book, game, or miscellaneous product. 117 is not endorsed/supported by Bungie Studios, Microsoft, XBOX or any other trademarks in cooperation with anything Halo related. Halo: Combat Evolved, Halo 2 and Halo 3 are a copyright of Bungie Studios and Microsoft Corporation (1985-2009)
----PART TWO----
EGHHHH, EGHHHH, EGHHHH, EGHHHH! A "SUHMACK" came with the action of John smashing his fist onto the alarm clock on the nightstand. He opened his right eye into a slit, just enough to still be able to make out the time without being blinded by the light, then closed it back up tight, hoping that he'd be able to get a few more minutes of sleep. But, no, Déjà didn't take to kindly to that, and transferred to the projector on the appliance.
"Squad leader 117, it is time to wake." The AI said with monotone. John refused to stir. "You must wake." The program persisted. John only rolled over, still able to see the light emanating from the hologram through his tightly sealed eyelids.
"You are ordered to cease regeneration."
John moved the edge of his bed, swung his legs over, and sat up quickly, his head jerking forward when he stopped.
"It's called sleep, Déjà." John retorted, almost wanting to delete the impassive AI. Reluctantly, John sat up, and staggered to his footlocker, yawning once or twice on the six-foot journey. He dropped his hand down on the lock, punching in his combo. Finally, after a few tries, he input the right number, and the door sprang open from the hydraulic pressure, throwing a shirt that had snagged on a loose bolt into his face. He slowly pulled it off his head, rolling his eyes from annoyance.
"You best hurry, 117. It is 0400 hours, Reach military time."
The SPARTAN turned, glaring at the hologram. Of course, it can't tell how pissed I am, he thought in the deep, still unconscious recesses of his mind.
Quickly, but clumsily, John pulled his a-shirt down over his face, leaving a patch of messy, matted hair behind [although he wouldn't be able to see it in the dark]. He did the same in changing into his camouflage-patterned pants, then jogged out the door and down the corridor to the meeting hall. He flung the door open and rushed in, hoping not to be the last there, but, as unusual as it was, he was actually one of the first. Only a handful of others were there. Confused, John asked why only they were there. Linda, one of the other trainees, told him at that moment,
"Only six of us are supposed to be here today. Everyone else gets their turn over the course of a few weeks." She explained. At hearing that, John didn't care anymore. No big deal, he had been confused. Now he wasn't. Probably just nervous, he reassured himself, no reason to be nervous. But, he did have a reason. There were risks involving the augmentations, significant risks. Most of which could possibly be deadly, or, cause life-altering defects. There was definitely no shortage of defects for the augmentation. There was a long list of possibilities. One of which, the catalytic thyroid implant, was a major concern. In the description, it read in bold letters: WARNING: In rare instances, this drug can cause Elephantiasis. John sure as hell didn't want the lower half of his body to swell to six or seven times its normal size. And that did, by the way, include everything. Then there was the "muscular enhancement injections", which could also cause the heart to swell until the subject died. Didn't exactly seem like a very good way to go, but John knew that he'd be in good hands with Doctor Halsey performing the augmentation, or, at least, the printout that he held claimed she'd be handling the procedures. But, nonetheless, it comforted the SPARTAN a bit, knowing that, either way, whether Dr. Halsey worked on him or not, the doctor that did would still be very capable. Although, not everyone seemed to show that.
As John passed down the hallway to the medical bay, his path converged with that of Fahjad-034, one of the SPARTANs that had served under him for the past eight years. He was very friendly, in John's opinion, although he could be, at times, difficult to understand due to his accent. As Fahjad moseyed past, John caught a glimpse of the look on his face. It was a look similar to that of the feeling of regret, or, confusion? No, more like, knowing that you were about to die.
John stopped in his tracks, and turned around to get a better, slightly more detailed idea of what that was. Fahjad had his hands in his pockets, and walked as if he were stunned. He slowed to a drift, followed by a complete standstill. John watched as his right arm lifted to his chest, while his free hand went to his face. The SPARTAN watched attentively as he let himself drop to the floor, and lean into the wall beside him. He could hear a slight whimper, accompanied by a minor sob. I wonder… John said to himself under his breath. He flipped open to the second page of the packet he'd been given about the genetic alterations to take place an hour or two later and looked at the schedule. As he thought, he was listed to be the first of the subjects, probably to, "set an example for your men" as Chief Mendez called it. Though, this wasn't about him, it was about Fahjad. He ran his finger down the list along the side of the sheet, until he came to Fahjad. His "upgrade" was to commence at 1600 hours. Hadn't he known someone who had died just prior to his conscription? That person must have died around that specific time. And, come to think of it, it had been exactly eight years, to the day since they had all been brought to the SPARTAN training facility. Did Fahjad think he was going to die? He must have; otherwise, he wouldn't be wandering through the hallways aimlessly, as if he were an escapee from a mental hospital. But, unfortunately, John didn't really have any time to start worrying about Fahjad. He had to address all of the other SPARTANs on the upcoming augmentation just fifteen minutes from now. He didn't think that it was that big a deal, and hadn't prepared anything to say ahead of time since he'd grown quite proficient at speaking to his fellow SPARTANs while ad-libbing. He just told himself every time he had to do this, go with the flow, and say what comes to mind. However, this sometimes would come back to haunt him. Every now and then, after an unusually hard day, John would become very uneasy, and the slightest thing could trigger his temper. He could remember how one time, CPO Mendez was the finger on the trigger. Even after a long day of intensive training, he expected John to brush up in the flight simulator for a few hours. All John wanted to do, or even could do then, was rest. He didn't have the energy for it, so he simply said to Mendez, "Not a chance." Mendez, not being the understanding type, persisted, pushing until the point when John simply told him to take the key to the simulator and "shove it up his ass". A few minutes later, John figured out just how big a mistake that was, when he was running uphill on a fifteen mile-long trail. By the time he'd gotten back to base, it was half past eleven, and everyone else but him and Mendez were sleeping. It seemed that as soon as John's head hit the pillow, he had woken up. And he had to do the same thing again before he could run another twenty miles back to the education hall.
The sound of footsteps behind him shook him back to reality. He turned to see many other SPARTANs leisurely walking to the amphitheatre. John picked back up on his walk there as well, beating everyone else in by about a minute, giving him plenty of time to get on stage. There wasn't much up there, as was to be expected since it was seldom used. There was nothing but three overhead lights, and a projector screen for viewing old-style "movies" as they were called, during history. A few minutes passed quickly as John quietly waited for his comrades to take the seats. As Mendez dimmed the lights, John scanned through the highlighted text, to pick out what he could say without violating informational protocol. The on-stage lights brightened a bit, causing a little discomfort to John and a few in the audience.
"My fellow soldiers," he began, attempting to speak with a sense of honor and prowess in his voice. "We came here, eight years ago, and were told that we would become the best that we could be made of," he continued, thinking back on how he and everyone else had been addressed by Dr. Halsey when they had first arrived. "Today, we assemble, well educated as well as physically robust, knowing that the past years have been hard, but worth-while. We came here children, and the last hope for peace in the UNSC. Although we didn't always know it, we were destined to be heroes. But, today is not that day. We still are not the best we can be turned into.
"As you are all well aware, six years ago it was decided by the United Nations Space Command, that we were to be genetically engineered. That, was what this day is devoted to. It is a risky process; granted, that many of us may not survive," this comment started to make the room stir. "But those of us who do," he started to shout, getting people to calm down a bit. "Will be faster, stronger, smarter. In the end, we will be more powerful than anyone else of the human race, and it will be our duty, to preserve those who have made us what we are today. To those of us who are about to die, we salute you." John let the silence continue for a moment, giving everyone a chance to pay their respects to the friends whom they knew very well may not make it to the next day. A good thirty seconds passed, and John finished with, "The procedures will begin in half an hour, and will be performed in reverse order of identification numbers. Godspeed, SPARTANs, Godspeed." With that last remark, John left the stage, and walked up the center aisle of the auditorium. Everyone turned as they saw their Squad Leader walk by. The truth of what was to come dawned on them, that that may be the last time that any of them would see John alive, or would even be alive. As most of them guessed, he was thinking the exact same thing as well.
As he placed his hand on the door, John stopped, and turned around to see his fellow SPARTANs, many of whom would be part of the funeral that would undoubtedly follow a few weeks from now. All of them promptly stood, and faced their Squad Leader directly.
"Present salute!" Sam respectfully ordered the rest of the SPARTANs. Everyone saluted John with revere. He returned the same honoring salute, then smiled as he turned and walked back out into the hallway, taking what might be his final walk to the medical bay. As he walked in the door, he was immediately greeted by Doctor Halsey.
"Let's get this over with," John said as he plopped down on the medical bed. Dr. Halsey leaned over him.
"What, you're expecting me to operate through your shirt?" She asked sarcastically. John sat back up, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to a laundry basket on the other side of the room.
"I'll need you to breathe deeply," Halsey remarked as she put an anesthesia mask over the subject's face. He did as he was told, and with a few breaths, John was out like a light, refusing the tempting urge to fight against the gas.
Dr. Halsey attached a few censors to John, following standard medical procedure to the letter, despite the fact that this procedure couldn't have been any less standard.
"Ready the serum." Halsey ordered as her assistant entered the room. They would only get one chance to do this right. If John were injected too early, his body would likely reject the catalysts. If he were operated on too late, he would go into shock, and possibly, a coma.
The screen on the console beside the bed read that John's heart rate was now 90 BPM, and his blood pressure was 80 over 120. It was safe to begin. Dr. Halsey picked up the first injection for the procedure. It wasn't one of the augmentation injections, only one that would allow for them to be dispersed fairly evenly throughout John's body. It dripped once or twice, as she stuck in John's chest, in order to get it as thoroughly spread as possible. She waited a few minutes before proceeding, just to make sure the shot had done what it was supposed to. It indicated that it was working properly by increasing the neural activity, as was shown on the monitor on the console before here. Her assistant handed her another injection, this one, for bone strengthening. It was a very concentrated amount; only 400 cc's of it could be given to him without causing damage. Slowly, and hesitantly, she plunged the needle into the hole where the previous injection had been administered. She situated her thumb on the plunger, and pushed it down sluggishly, watching the serum squirt a tad as the grey fluid came out. The end of the shot was reached, and she repeated the process three more times, to get exactly 400 cc's.
Dr. Halsey finished and traded the drained syringe for one that was filled with the proteins. As she aimed it in John's already muscular arm, she prayed that neither he nor any of the others would have to suffer the rare, but serious side effect that might come with this. It was entirely possible that John's body wouldn't be able to take this kind of punishment, and the injection might make his heart swell until it ruptured. She hoped this wouldn't come back to haunt her, and pushed the stopper on the syringe down until it was emptied. It was refilled, and John's other arm received the same treatment, followed by his legs, and chest. Twenty shots total, just for the muscle density. There were still many shots and an operation to be performed. All ran smoothly as Dr. Halsey finished shooting John up with whatever was needed to the augmentation.
The final procedure was the implanting of the two, somewhat bulky, metal hormone-containing pellets into John's thyroid. The doctor had already lasered the surgical "cut" marks into John's neck. She picked up the laser scalpel and activated it, creating several small incisions. She turned it off, putting it in her lab coat pocket. With the pellets in hand, Halsey pushed them both in to the separate incisions, and dug them deep into the thyroid, blood squeezing out as she did so. The console beeped twice to indicate elevated levels of testosterone and serotonin. Halsey set the laser scalpel to "seal", and closed up John's neck. The augmentation was over. He had pulled through with no trouble whatsoever. John had made it. He made history.
BAM! BAM! PHWOOMP! CRKKK! The trainer was down, and probably dead from the way his suit had imploded. The emergency search lights in the cave activated and scanned the mock barracks for any signs of the SPARTANs in the ring. They covered every spot, and still, no sign of them. Another trainer came out of a large metal door, his suit colored grey with intense lights. This was getting out of hand. Six people had already been killed, mostly at the hands of only one person; John. He was on a rampage to take down every single one of his targets, before they took him out, despite the fact that their Mark I suits only had stun rounds loaded in the guns. Nonetheless, even stun rounds could kill if less than four meters away. The search lights in the cave and on the trainer went out. It was pitch black. Not one light source was illuminated, not one. Even the trainer's night vision was useless, despite how it would take any source of light, even in the slightest, and would amplify it 10,000 times its actual intensity. But John didn't have that problem; neither did Sam nor Kelly, both of whom were helping take down their targets. They all had exceptional, almost perfect vision, and almost created their own light in this environment. They could see some light coming through the cracks between the observation deck windows, and could even see some light coming through the trainer's one-way visor.
Without thinking, the three sped toward the trainer in the large suit, passing the fifty mile-per-hour mark, a speed that even some Earth vehicles from the 21st century couldn't reach! Sam and Kelly jumped just before reaching their target, who hadn't even heard them coming. John watched as they bounded end over end, reaching a peak high which must have been at least three or four meters over the already 2.6 meter-tall trainer. The trainer didn't even have enough time to blink before John smashed into him, punching him twenty or so feet across the barracks, leaving both a good six-inch deep hole in the granite wall, and a three-inch indentation in the solid titanium block of the trainer's Mark I exoskeleton. It could have been a much deeper dent, if only there hadn't been a four-inch thick lead plate behind the exterior metal. John once again collided with the unconscious, or possibly, dead man, punching him even harder than he had before, then tossed him up in the air while Sam opened a can of whoop-ass. After a fraction of a second, Kelly kicked him just before he hit the ground, and he hurtled right through one of the barracks. John, Kelly, and Sam had taken him out in less than six seconds! During that whole time, the trainer never even caught a glimpse of the ones who more than likely killed him. Even the high-speed cameras which used thermal imaging barely managed to record any material. But the trio of SPARTANs were definitely still inside the cave.
"Okay, that's enough," a voice clicked on over the intercom. John was able to recognize Mendez's voice instantly, and not just because of the augmentations from two weeks before, which increased his hearing and reaction time by a factor of ten, or more.
Standard overhead lighting dimmed on slowly to give the trainees time to adjust optically, although they didn't need much time. The metal blast shields covering the windows of the observation deck slid away, revealing CPO Mendez and Dr. Halsey standing in front of a control station.
The trainees looked up into the viewing area. Immediately, they could see concerned looks on their faces. Even from over half a mile away, they could tell that something was happening.
"We need you over here, now." Halsey ordered. The observation deck began to lower into the training ring, where the SPARTANs already were, thanks to their great speed. As the door opened, Halsey and Mendez stepped out, both looking as though they had early symptoms of Parkinson's disease. "SPARTANs, the ONI has just sent us a priority one message." John's eyes widened slightly, as he cocked his head quizzically. Why would ONI send a message on an alpha priority channel, he asked himself. The only time that anyone would do that was in times of emergency or for security reasons, and even still, beta-length frequencies were usually reserved for those rare instances.
"A rebel outpost has been detected in the Chi-Ceti system." Mendez interjected. "A few hours ago, they attacked a cargo vessel en-route to Chi-Ceti Four. It's time you were put to good use."
"Sir?" An ODST walked up to the Master Chief.
"Sir? Are you alright?" he continued on. Chief looked at him, and realized he was still here, sitting in a Pelican drop ship on the way to what was believed to be the Ark. I'm still alive? Chief hesitated to respond, but forced out, "Is there a problem?"
"I don't know, sir. I was going to ask you the same thing." The trooper replied through his blue-tinted visor. Chief started to notice that the ODST was quaking slightly. He seemed…nervous.
"First mission?" he asked, making a first attempt in a long time to make an acquaintance. The marine sighed and shrugged, taking a seat on the opposite side of the Pelican. Reluctantly, he nodded and dropped his SMG in the seat next to him.
"Don't worry, it's not that bad." Chief remarked, although he knew it would be a lot worse for an un-augmented ODST than it had ever been for him. Or…would it? Chief looked out the small, brick-sized window at a moon that they happened to be passing by. His first day fighting the Covenant was still lingering in his mind.
A warthog convoy carrying all of the SPARTANs accelerated through an underground tunnel in a remote facility near the training center. John looked around through the window of the enclosed six-seater vehicle. They were in a narrow tunnel. Its lighting was poor, and there was only one lane, with a mere meter-wide shoulder on one side. Kelly nudged him with her elbow as the turned around a bend in the tunnel.
"I've never seen a warthog that was this luxurious," she said, motioning to the heated fabric seats, the air-conditioning vents, and the rare seatbelts, which none of them were using. The warthog was completely enclosed, with actual doors; something of which John hadn't seen on a vehicle for a very long time. But he quickly shifted his gaze back out the window, and seconds later, he spotted a metal door and a small parking area. He could clearly make out the words, restricted access, authorized personnel only.
The convoy began to slow, and pulled into the parking spaces in front of the wide metal door. John made sure to be one of the first one's out of the truck so he could avoid the mess of people who would for sure try to file in at the same time. Mendez was close in front of him, while Kelly and Sam trailed close behind. Mendez punched in a code on a keypad situated on the top of the door handle. There was a beep, followed by a green light, and then the opening of the door. As the SPARTANs walked into the facility, they saw just how big it really was, at the least, six times larger than a 21st century football field. All through it ran catwalks, high overhead, almost in the lighting grid, along with doors and barriers that ran down all sides. On one end was what seemed to be an equipment testing area, and on the other, a high-tech obstacle course. Everyone stood in awe for the fact that they had never imagined that something this big could possibly exist almost a mile underground and another three miles into the side of a mountain. The place was simply huge.
John's concentration quickly changed targets as Mendez bellowed, "Attention!" Instantly, all sixty six eyes were on him. He then turned the focus over to Halsey.
She began. "SPARTANs, welcome to ONI prototype testing facility zero-three-seven. For the past decade, we've been working on some experimental equipment here. You may have heard of project MJOLNIR. This is what you've been told about…" she pointed to a large rack of suits a few meters away. "These are Mark IV power suits, specifically designed to fit your needs. They are composed internally of liquid crystal and liquid metal materials, which allow the suits the ability to enhance your already heightened sense of speed, agility, and strength. However there is a catch," Halsey trailed off, looking toward a holographic projector installed on the ceiling and floor. She pushed a button on a control pad, and the projector flickered to life.
"Take a look at this." Halsey added as a video began to play of a regular marine attempting to use a power suit.
"How do you feel?"A man off-screen asked the marine. He answered, "Fine."
"Good," the man continued.
"There's something I want you to notice," Halsey paused the video. "The marine is wearing an arm-piece off of a Mark IV suit. Look at how is arm is down to his side." She continued the clip.
"I want you to put your right arm straight out in front of you." The man requested. Suddenly, there was a circular blur of the marine's arm, which only lasted for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable; even to theSPARTANs who could now see at double the frame rate of a normal person. Halsey once again paused the clip, then switched it to the high-speed camera view. It played back in ultra-slow motion, but there still was a considerable amount of motion-blur. John watched, stunned, as blood flew in every direction as the marine's arm ripped off and swung away from his body. The clip ended, showing the camera splattered with guts, muscle, bone fragments and blood. Some of the SPARTANs showed their disgust, while others gagged, and some even threw up. Halsey waited a moment before continuing.
"As you can see," she too looked like she felt sick. "The arm piece along from the suit made the subject's arm move so rapidly, that it dislocated from his shoulder. Then, centripetal force pulled it completely clear of his torso."
John tried not to look at the anatomical animation of the gruesome event on the projector. Seeing it once was more than enough. It was so disgusting. Of course, they had to show the clip again at full speed, at which you could hear the blood-curdling scream of the mortally wounded marine, or, rather, the now ex-marine.
"There is considerable risk in this suit. Nine other people volunteered for testing, all of them suffered either severe injuries or death. However, there is one factor that sets them apart from the rest of you," John had all but tuned out at this point. If it meant getting killed before even taking his first step, he wasn't sure that he even cared what set him apart from the others.
"The difference is that you are all much more robust than these test subjects, which is why it is our belief that you will be able to handle these suits. In theory, you should be able to overcome the exaggerating effects of the motion-amplifying liquid much more easily than anyone else, making SPARTANs the idea candidates."
John was a little more accepting now, but he still shunned the idea of using these…these things. They seemed downright dangerous. In his opinion, no one should have been permitted to even consider testing them. But his fellow SPARTANs had other intentions. Sam was the first to step up to the plate.
"I'll take a crack at it," he said before whirling around to face John. "With your permission, of course."
John felt like he had been stuck in the middle of a firing squad and as though he was being forced to take aim on one of his best friends. He glanced around at the other SPARTANs as soon as he realized they were all looking, their eyes either glued to Sam or John. It dawned on him that he couldn't put his friend's life on the line just so he could put off trying the suit for himself. He knew that he just couldn't do that to him. He had to stop putting himself first. Mendez had once told him that it was his men first before himself. To preserve them, he stepped up. Besides, he knew as well as everyone else that they'd all have to try it eventually. It might as well by now. And John might as well be the first to test the new equipment in case it was unsafe.
"Sam, I can't let you do this unless I know you, and everyone else, would be alright." He turned to Halsey. "Suit me up." He said as he walked toward the rack holding each set of armor. John selected a set at random, trying to look for one that was different from all the others so his teammates could pick him out from amongst themselves. After just a few seconds of searching, he came to a set with green trim against the grey armor. It was…unique.
John carefully, lifted the 500 pound suit from the rack, almost dropping thanks to arms, still not all the way healed from the procedures a few weeks earlier. Even to him, it was quite heavy, and kind of bulky in itself. Why me? Why do I always put myself in these positions, he wondered as Halsey and Mendez assisted in the task of putting on the heavy armor. And heavy it was. With just the leg pieces, John already felt as if he was a hundred pounds heavier. In all actuality, he was a hundred pounds heavier. At least, that's what the scale he was standing on indicated. Gradually, he added more and more mass as more of the armor was applied. First the chest piece, which seemed to him to be the bulkiest and most uncomfortable. Finally, the arm pieces were attached, the part he was least looking forward to, especially after seeing the marine's arm being gorily ripped from his body. Oh dear God, why did I have to remind myself of that gruesome video clip? John scolded himself in his mind, only to be yanked back to reality by Dr. Halsey.
"How do you feel?" She asked, "Comfortable?" John turned his head to her, as if to say 'are you serious, are you not looking right at me, do you not see me biting my lip and keeping my left eye half closed?' Instead, he replied with a simple "more or less". Mendez then stepped back two or three meters as Halsey started to explain what was about to happen.
"I'm about to fill the gel pockets in the suit with the polymer," she elucidated. "It'll feel funny at first, but as long as you don't move, you'll be fine." She turned and walked back to a computer console after connecting a few clear plastic tubes to the armor pieces. She asked John if has was ready. He nodded, his eyes closed, readying himself for what might be his death. He hoped to God that it wouldn't be.
Halsey tapped a button on the computer, and the six tubes leading into John's suit started to fill with translucent grey fluid. The SPARTANs all held their breath as they saw it ooze closer and closer to John, who was starting to breathe faster with every passing second. He froze in shock as the suit began to fill from the bottom up, but he calmed down as soon as the gel got past his ankles. Actually, it wasn't so bad. It felt a little funny, yes, kind of like jumping in a pool of viscous water. The suit felt cool against John's legs as the gel continued to creep up to his shoulders. Now that he really thought about it, this was quite comfortable. The gel in the bottom of the suit made his feet rise off the inside of the boots. It felt like he was standing on air. It was the most comfortable he had been since he was a toddler, which he didn't remember much about, no less. Soon enough, the suit had been filled with the gel to the top of the chest piece. By now, he didn't even notice that he was in the suit. It felt as if it were just an extension of his own skin. He wouldn't have known that it was part of him if it hadn't been for the way the gel made him a bit on the cold side.
Halsey walked closer to John, and detached the tubes connecting to his suit. She promptly dropped them on the floor next to him, and noticed she forgot to drain the material back in to the reserve tank. It was expensive stuff too, and was oddly one of the hardest things for even the military to come by. But, that wasn't the issue right now.
"John," she grabbed his attention. "How do you feel?"
He laughed a little as he choked out the words, "I've never felt more comfortable in my life." Halsey cocked her head in simple acknowledgement.
"That's nice," she commented. "But, focus. I need you to bend over and pick this up," she said as she showed him a pen before placing it on the floor in front of him. Easy enough, John thought. Even a dodo bird could do that.
John bent over…and overshot the pen. His hand ended up in a metal crate behind him. But, he was still alive, and all of his extremities were still where they should be. He tried to move his hand forward again, and ended up only a foot away from the pen.
"This is a lot harder than I thought it'd be," he remarked. He focused harder, imagining himself to be the gel in the suit, and made his movements much calmer. Everything else around him disappeared, and only the pen in front of him was there. John ever so slowly and gently moved his arm, and picked up the pen like normal, holding it up to everyone else.
"I think it works!" he said, and everyone cheered that he had been the first to successfully test the suit.