"451's contribution to restoring Chimera's combat readiness was invaluable. He wasn't the smartest of them, or the fastest or the toughest. Not by a long shot. But he knew them inside out. Their strengths, their weaknesses. He told us what to say to them, and when to say it. That he would eventually lead them was a certainty, even in those early days.
In the event something were to happen to him, the effect on Chimera would not be measured in efficiency ratings, but in lives."
- voice log taken from the case notes of Psych-Consultant R. Pearson, attached to the Spartan Program at Laconia, recovered 2557.
"So you were never kidnapped at all?" Rebecca asked.
Damien shook his head adamantly. His right hand stroked the dog-tags around his neck. The name on the tags was not his own.
"Never. I remember watching my house get strafed, seeing everyone thrown to the ground like rag dolls. How powerless I felt. Watching Aunt Molly lying there on the ground. Getting carried to the dropship. Leaving Uncle Quint behind. When they offered the opportunity to have that strength, to have that power?" Damien shook his head again, "I jumped."
He looked up, jaw set.
"I wanted to be here."
"So why the escape attempt?" Eric asked coldly, arms folded across his breastplate.
"Because the others asked me to." Damien replied. He leaned forward in his chair, "We knew the war was over. You could tell by the way the guards were acting; the whispers, the palm slaps and high fives. That didn't change anything for us. They still took us from bunker to bunker, safe house to safe house. Not a word of explanation. When the chance came to jump ship, the others wanted out. I wasn't going to let them do it on their own."
"So you trashed an entire UNSC facility out of what, misguided loyalty?" Rebecca asked, tapping in notes into her data tablet. "I'm sure Director Carter will love to hear that."
Damien didn't reply. He was studying the table again, expression sullen.
"You really want to be a Spartan?" Rebecca asked eventually.
"I'm halfway there, aren't I?" Damien asked, indicating his towering physique.
"Not even close, Candidate." Eric growled. "There's more to being a Spartan than simple augmentation."
Seeing the puzzled look on Damien's face, Eric began ticking points off on his fingers.
"Combat discipline. Squad coordination. A willingness to put the needs of others ahead of your own. You've got the last part right, but until you've stood shoulder to pauldron with a fire-team in the middle of a firefight, you won't get it. A Spartan? You don't even know the meaning of the word."
"Then show me. Look, if you're serious about getting Chimera on side, you're going to have to accept that some of them went through far worse than me to get here. There's a lot of anger you're going to have to get past. To do that, you're going to need my help."
"What are you asking for?" Eric asked. Not even the helmet filter could erase the suspicion from his voice. Damien met his gaze levelly, face solemn.
"Get these manacles off. I'm no good to you cooped up in a cell. I've known these guys for the past six years. They're my friends. I understand them better than you ever will." He smiled at Rebecca apologetically, "No offence, Doctor."
"None taken." she replied, "And as for the manacles? Consider it done."
Eric turned his head toward her sharply.
"You don't have the authorisation to order that."
"No, I don't." she answered smoothly, "But you do. You want these candidates in your selection group, come September? Work with me, Eric."
Eric studied her for a moment, saying nothing. Eventually he nodded, turning toward the one-way mirror and holding up his hand in a brief hand signal, the meaning of which became evident once Damien's wrist manacles automatically disengaged and clattered to the table. Damien rubbed at his chafed wrists, nodding in gratitude.
"Let's get one thing clear, Candidate." Eric said, leaning over him, "You try to run, try to pull anything at any stage, I'll put you and Chimera down personally. No second chances, no hesitation. Until I'm satisfied you're on the level; you do what I say, when I say. We clear?"
Damien met Eric's stare steadily.
"As glass, Sir."
Eric nodded in approval. Rebecca was studying the data on her data pad. The circuitry looped through the seams of her business suit, culminating in a projection bracelet encircling her wrist The graphical overlay projecting from the collar of her suit had extended, spreading out into a window display detailing the names and bio-characteristics of the remaining candidates for Fireteam Chimera.
"Four more candidates to go. What's our next move?"
"That depends." Damien said.
"On?"
"Whether you want to try the Easy Way, or the Hard Way?"
"What's the Easy Way?"
"Luke. He's always followed the group. Affable, focused when he has to be, but very much a part of the pack. Like me, he volunteered for this programme."
"Then who didn't volunteer? Who proposed the escape attempt in the first place?"
Eric answered for Damien.
"Candidate 499." the hulking Spartan said. "We've been keeping her in cryo-statis until shortly before your arrival."
"That sounds extreme."
"It was necessary." Eric replied. The tone in his voice did not brook negotiation. "We don't take chances when it comes to her."
"499. That's…" Rebecca went to consult her data plate.
"The Hard Way." Damien grimaced.
"We convinced you." Rebecca replied pointedly.
"I'm one thing, Doctor Pearson. She's quite another."
With a nod from Eric, the door to Damien's cell hissed open. Rebecca rose to her feet. Tentatively, after receiving a nod of approval from Eric, Damien did the same. The candidate towered over her. She smiled up at him, doing her best to ignore how physically intimidating the young man was.
"Speaking from personal experience, Damien, I'm used to dealing with stubborn personalities."
"Then you've never met Viktorya, Ma'am."
The three of them were standing at the observation window looking into 499's cell. Like all cells on this wing, it was a sterile, colourless environment. A single toilet, a bed adorned with a single white pillow and a simple blanket. Stain proof plasticated floor lining, fully sealed. Given the blandness of the floor decoration, the most striking thing about the room was not it contained, but the conspicuous absence of what it was supposed to contain.
Candidate 499 was missing.
"That's not good." Rebecca declared.
Eric simply unshipped his assault rifle, toggling the weapon to fully automatic.
Damien smiled to himself.
The two door guards posted to the cell had stacked up, ready to breach the cell. They hadn't even noticed their charge had seemingly vanished until Eric and the others had arrived. They looked at one another nervously, armour clicking as they tensed by the doorway.
"Uh, Sir, I recommend that I go in there first." Damien said.
Eric turned to one of the guards on station.
"Your call, trooper."
"The prisoner is our responsibility." one of the troopers said gruffly, not without a small amount of pride. His squad mate nodded in agreement.
"Upper left hand corner, as you go in." Damien recommended.
On a three-count the two sentries swept into the room. Standard search pattern; executed with admirable smoothness. Their weapons tracked up and left, to the blind corner hidden from the observation window. Damien winced. He'd gotten it wrong. Viktorya dropped down from the right, as silent and nimble as a squirrel. All Rebecca saw was a flash of pale skin and blonde hair, then violence. A jab snapped one of the troopers helmets about, cracking his faceplate and dropping him boneless to the floor. She slapped the second guard's rifle aside. Stun rounds ripped noisily along the wall, scorching the metal panelling. The girl grabbed him by the top of his flak vest, flinging him bodily against the far wall. He landed in a groaning heap, down for the count.
Viktoyra turned and glared at Eric, who had suddenly materialised beside her.
Eric, unperturbed, aimed his assault rifle squarely at her head. Her eyes flicked from the barrel of the gun to Eric's impassive visor. He might as well have been carved from stone.
"You didn't shoot." she scowled. Her accent was unusual to Rebecca's ears. Slavic, exotic somehow.
"You pulled your blows." Eric said. The assault rifle didn't budge. "Otherwise I would have dropped you without a second thought."
"Stun rounds won't stop me," she hissed, "Even at this range."
"Who said anything about using stun rounds?" Eric replied evenly.
That gave her pause. The young woman blinked. Rebecca had taken the opportunity to bravely cower behind Damien during all the commotion. Seeing the tension visibly crackle in the air, she gave the man a non-too-subtle shove. Damien blinked, realising that he was supposed to be their trump card in defusing the situation.
"Easy, Vee, it's me." Damien called out. Viktorya looked over, and Rebecca noticed a look of surprised confusion flash across the candidate's delicate features.
"Damien? What are you doing here? Who are these people?"
"Can we talk? Please?"
Viktorya looked back at the assault rifle pointed at her face. Eventually, she took a step backward, hands raised. After a long pause, Eric lowered the rifle.
"What do you want to talk about?" Viktorya asked suspiciously, hands still in the air.
Rebecca stepped forward, offering her most reassuring smile.
"You, as it happens."