This is for RicBP, by request through PM.
Pop, pop, pop. Richard Brown's magnum's shots hit their mark every time, he stepped over the dead bodies of grunts, elites, and brutes whose skulls were punctured perfectly with a single round. "Not too many Covvies today! Wonder if they're getting' scared. . .?" Richard's comrade rattled off, chatty as usual. He merely grunted, which wasn't even audible over the comms. He scolded himself for not joking back or at least saying something aloud, but by then it was too late, and he just pumped more lead into his enemy.
"What's taking you so long, Brown?! That's the last of 'em!" His comrade, a loud woman of the same rank as him, hollered, one foot atop an elite's body. "Look what I killed! Think I can hang its head on my wall?" Rich merely rolled his eyes, not caring to disrespect the dead of the enemy. It wasn't that he sympathized—he just thought it was a waste of time.
The battlefield that had mere moments ago been a high-stress firefight packed with burning hot plasma and speeding slugs had turned eerily quiet. While his comrade Lucy boasted about her kills and started counting how many she had hit, Richard started scouting the area. This was the first time he had ever been on a silent battlefield.
Suddenly a blast of raw energy, heat, and light erupted from behind him—where Lucy was. He pulled out his magnum, spun on his heel—and froze. Three Wraiths, their surfaces bulbous and purple, like some grotesque growth on a dying human. At least, that's what he usually thought. But right now, he was thinking,
"S**t"
Lucy was dead, spread-eagled across the ground, an ugly plasma burn distorting and disfiguring her body. Richard popped off several rounds from his magnum, but the little gun was no use against the huge tanks. Bam-bam-bam-bam. At the speed he was firing it could almost be mistaken for automatic fire.
The click of an empty mag always turned his stomach upside down, more so this time—it was his last mag. Throwing the magnum to the ground, he pulled his combat knife from his shoulder strap. It was useless against the huge, gliding tanks, but he had to try.
Richard rushed at the tanks, knife raised above his head. The tank charged him, ramming into him. He slid up the front of the tank, slashing with his knife, not even scraping the metal. He was too close for them to hit him, unless one of the other tanks wanted to shoot their own men—not that he would put it past them. The Covenant didn't care what was sacrificed as long as humans ceased to exist.
"Clear the Wraith!" Bellowed a voice, with a heavy accent that belonged to Reach. Richard turned in the direction, and found the voice's owner—a Spartan II. Unlike most ODSTs, Richard looked up to the Spartans. They were heroes to him.
Instantly Richard obeyed, rolling down the side of the tank and ducking for cover. Strange, he thought, he's too big to be a Spartan III, but he has colored armor. . . The Spartan II wielded a huge turret at his side, its fire tearing up the Wraiths as if they were paper. Stunned, Richard stood dumbly in the middle of the battlefield, watching the Spartan tear up the tanks.
In a few minutes, the Spartan walked over to him. "All clear," The Spartan placed a heavy hand on Richard's shoulder. "It's Jorge, by the way. The LZ's clear. We're leavin'."
Richard took a moment to take it in. "Sir, do you mean. . .we're just letting 'em have it, sir?"
Jorge's voice was heavy with grief. "If there was anything I could do to keep the Covenant from glassing this planet, I would do it. But there's not, and we're not gonna be much help to the rest of humanity if we turn to glass with it." Richard nodded, glad that his ODST helmet disguised his face, which clearly displayed his sadness. This planet was where his father had been born. It felt as though he was letting the last part of his dad that he had go.
He did not reply, but followed Jorge to the Pelican, and boarded along with a few other Spartan IIIs. The color of their armor varied, from blue to gray to red, and they all seemed to be unusually cold to him. He had thought that only Helljumpers didn't like Spartans, but apparently the feelings were mutual.
Jorge sat next to him on the end. The Pelican rattled as it left the atmosphere, and eventually smoothed out as they entered space.
Richard felt a pressure in his gut, and it had nothing to do with Gs. He had always been nervous when talking to anyone, and he preferred to stay quiet. But it was a bad habit that had gotten him yelled at, teased, and, almost left for dead because there wasn't any chatter from him on the battlefield.
Now his entire unit was gone, and he was alone. He didn't know where he was going for sure, all he knew was that he was being taken care of. Through training, though, they had been taught not to let anyone take care of you completely, because they might not outlive you. You needed information. So Richard took a deep breath, smoothed his emotions, and asked,
"Where are we headed?"
Jorge turned to him, and removed his helmet. "Reach." He said the word fondly, like he was speaking of his wife back home.
"That your homeworld, sir?" Richard asked, gazing at Jorge's face. It was bearded, with white scars lining it like tattoos, and silver hair cropped out of his short brown hair.
"Yep. Been there for as long as I can remember. Why don't you take your helmet off?" Jorge looked at Richard's name tag, "Brown?"
Richard put his hands up to his helmet, and lifted it off, slowly. With helmet removed, his young face came into view. His skin was pale, but not so that he looked unhealthy. With his short black hair spiked up, and dark armor, his hazel eyes contrasted brightly. He was young, but he'd had a several months in the field. And that had been enough.
"Why'd you enlist, Brown?" Jorge looked him in the eye, and Richard fought the impulse to look away.
"Well, sir. . .to be perfectly honest, I didn't plan to originally. It was my father—he was a Helljumper himself, and wanted me to be like him. I enlisted for my father basically." Richard scoffed and laughed bitterly to himself. "Which proved to be a waste, because now my father's dead. There's no reason for me to be here."
Jorge sat back in his seat. "There's always reason. It's because of you, even if you don't want to be here, it is because of you that some other kid down there doesn't have to enlist. And maybe that kid will get to grow up without fear of losing his family."
Richard took the words in, sitting back in his seat and staring at the space in front of him. The shadows moved in front of him, and one of the Spartans growled at him, what are you lookin' at?" Richard turned back to Jorge, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He seemed to have exhausted his socialization abilities already. Really? He scolded himself. What's wrong with you? Think of something to say!
He was spared the task of subject finding: "You ever been to Reach?"
"A few times, sir. Not that much, only for training."
"It's a great place, Reach is."
Richard nodded, "All I know of it is industrial and military. I've heard the country areas are very beautiful, though, sir."
Jorge nodded. "You're right. It really is a beautiful planet. See, that's why I keep coming home to it. Even if we lose one planet, I'll always have Reach to go back to. And if the Covenant come to our doorstep—they'll regret it, and I'll go down fighting."
Richard could think of no reply to this, so sat dumbly, angry at himself.
"How old are you, Brown?" Jorge asked when the silence stretched out.
"Nineteen as of yesterday." Richard jumped on the chance to give out easy information.
Jorge heaved a sigh. "That's awfully young for you to be clear out here. And that's not a local accent. Where you from?"
"Earth." Richard replied easily. He could do this.
"I've never been there. What part?"
"The US, in the suburbs."
"So you're not a country kid?"
Richard actually laughed, not his normal awkward laugh either, "No. There's not much country left in the US anymore, anyway."
Jorge chuckled softly. "No, I imagine not."
The way to Reach was long, and Richard dozed in and out of sleep. When he was awake he talked with Jorge, when he wasn't he dreamed of his father, and of all the burning planets. Of all the futures that were destroyed, some before they even began. So many killed. . .
Richard did have a reason to fight. And Jorge had given it to him.
"It's because of you, even if you don't want to be here, it is because of you that some other kid down there doesn't have to enlist. And maybe that kid will get to grow up without fear of losing his family."
I find it hard, to an extent, to use OCs without some predefined story line. Suggestions are helpful, but I can always figure it out!
