0700 Hours, March 23, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR) / Sol System, Planet Earth, SolTech Company HQ
The silhouette of the gazelle rose from his futon mattress. He diligently remade the bedding back to its presentable form, folding back the lip near the top of the comforter to tuck under his pillow halfway. His twirled horns turned as he scanned about his room. It was a simple apartment. Three beige walls matched the matted floor with the wall closest to the foot of the futon having the doorway that led to his office. Looking at the final surface of his personal box, a glass wall on his right hand side when he laid down to sleep, he gazed at the darkened city.
The herbivore then stood and walked over to the corner of the room and slid back a small opening, pulling out a mat that he unfurled into the open space beside his bedding. On the surface, the mat had an intricate circular pattern he'd originally seen during his studies of human history, the 11-circuit labyrinth. On the side facing away from the window, there was an entrance. Carefully in step, but with silence in mind, he made his way through the curving and winding paths. Upon reaching the center he sat on his heels and thought about the labyrinth's purpose. For those who first brought importance to the design, it was a way to trap a beast. Later, it became a place to embark on a symbolic pilgrimage. His use was somewhere in between.
For over two months he had carried out this tradition. Every day he would rise before the sun, make his bedding, go on his walk, and sit on his heels. With a creeping arch of his back, he leaned forward, pressed his head to the ground, and started to weep. Sorrow filled his entire being as he cast his mind back in remembrance of who he was, what he had done, and why he was here now. He whispered inaudible pleas between his gasps for breath.
When the sunlight finally started to radiate through the glass, he realized he had lamented enough for today. His body was already racked with fatigue from deep sobs, so the animal crawled on his hands and knees to the door. He kept going after entering his office, work spread out on the table that he would deal with as soon as he bathed himself. Once he could stand, he stripped himself of his nightwear and climbed into the tub. He washed himself methodically, taking care around his spots. They popped up on the fur surrounding his tattoos, melon leaves that bloomed from a mixture of shame and hatred that he once felt for the very blood that ran through his veins. Now, he just felt sorry for the creature that he was.
He once thought himself above the people who tried to fit into society, disregarding any sanctity in their existence. By the sword, he found pleasure in a grim demise, and the slower it came the better. With the images of his victims swirling in his mind, he felt saliva building in his mouth. It was not from the hunting instinct that resided within him, it was from the sickness that built in his stomach. He'd puke if he didn't break himself free now. His hand felt over his neck, the scarring from the surgery all but gone now. It was thanks to the metal titan that the veil of apathy towards life was lifted.
The Spartan had tracked the beast down in late December. Any other animal and the hybrid would have evaded with little effort, but his pursuer had been relentless. When he was cornered he tried to fight back, but it had been a waste of time. He was manhandled and knocked unconscious within a few seconds.
The first thing he noticed after waking up was the itchiness around the incision on his neck. He then realized it was the first time he had been bothered by an itching sensation. Taking in his new reality, the air was crisper, the scents sharper, and the lights more vibrant. He was overcome with joy in those first few moments as he was completely centered on himself. The light then shimmered in the corner of the room and he felt an opposing emotion, dread. It was the machine being again, but he moved with far less urgency, the restraints on the animal's leg likely resulting in his trivialization of his prisoner. He sat down on a steel chair next to the bed, the structure creaking under the weight of the warrior's armor.
"Melon, correct? Crossbreed of a leopard and a gazelle?"
When he first heard the man speak, he was left in a state of shock. The name his captor had uttered sounded so foreign at the time. His mind snapped to every instance he'd heard it, primarily by his mother. Though it was his own memories, it didn't feel like him. It was like watching a film in the first person. Unable to speak just yet, he decided to nod, not being able to deny his own identity.
"It's been a few days. Your implant has taken well to the body. No signs of rejection."He'd given Melon a moment to respond with anything. When it was apparent he wasn't going to say anything just yet, the Spartan with 444 on his chest continued. "You are an interesting specimen and a testament to the unique biosphere here. Cross-species on our Earth never existed beyond those within the same taxonomic family, and those were sterile."Another silence. "I see that this must have been a rude awakening for you. The first thing I did upon admitting you here was take a CT scan to make sure you were not suffering from blunt impact trauma. It showed stunted neurological development for an animal your age among both leopards and gazelles. I followed this up with an in-depth MRI. From what I could gather and consult with the doctor of this institution, you were likely suffering from hypoesthesia, ageusia, BPD, and PTSD originating from a combination of highly intense situations and your distinctive physiology. Upon administering several rounds of antipsychotics and bipolar integration drugs, we began to see an unexpected reaction from your body. There was a spike in the volume of your frontal lobe, specifically your prefrontal cortex, along with an increase in the volume of your amygdala which seemed to have sustained bilateral damage. Yesterday, we struggled to find traces of this damage after the latest round of scanning."
Melon had put his attention on his hands as he listened, taking in the feeling of his fingertips and blunt claws on his fur and skin. It was otherworldly. Still, his thoughts had kept up with the medical results he'd been read, but it still didn't seem real. The man had cut no corners in the diagnosis, nor had he held his hand. He must have done a substantial amount of research before confronting me. He knew what I was capable of.
"In a mental sense, it would be fair to say that you are not the same person you were when we first made contact. That being said, you, to an unquantifiable extent, are still responsible for several counts of murder if my investigations are accurate. This includes the murder in the second degree of a Sergeant Hoover. I was originally assigned to eliminate you, but I believe you can offer more than your removal from the social order."
The revelation of Melon's actions to his conscious mind made his throat seize up. His eyes shot about in sundering dismay, heart rate elevating. He could no longer dismiss his atrocities as penance on a cruel world for punishing him unjustly with his afflictions. There was nothing to hide behind. There was no mask to put on. It was just him and his sins. He needed to go, run, get away, he couldn't stand it. I… I feel like I'm drowning. I can't breathe. Fuck me, I can't breathe!
The soldier sighed as he watched the hybrid spiral into his newly acquired anxiety caused by self-inflicted horror. The animal was hyperventilating now, and he'd pass out if it wasn't checked. He twisted off his helmet and set it on the floor beside him. If things were to work out properly, he could not treat his newest conscript like any other grunt. He moved to a knee to get close to Melon, placing one hand on his nearest wrist and the other over his mouth. This did not elicit a positive response from the half-blood, but this was only the first step. "Stop. Look at me. You need to look at me. You need to listen to me. You are not in danger. There is nothing you can do for those that are gone. You need to focus on being right here, right now. You need to focus on me. Breathe only through your nose."
With the even voice guiding him through this sudden episode, Melon focused on the man. The focus in his green eyes was intense, but there was no malignancy. He was only determined to help the animal. As he breathed through his nose, the panic started to wane with the arrival of oxygen. Once it was obvious Melon was composed enough to evenly breathe on his own, the soldier lifted his hands and straightened up in his kneeling position.
The armored operator took a moment to think before picking out his next words. "Let's start over. I am James, Spartan 444. I'd like to make you a proposition."
Melon adjusted his suit in his bathroom mirror. Despite still not having shown his true face on camera, he still found satisfaction in being appropriately fit. He was a CEO after all, and he had a great deal of managing to do before he could rest for the day. There were funds to direct, issues to solve, and deals that needed to be made. Of course, he couldn't do it alone. That's where Lepidus came in.
Moving out of the bathroom with a quick step, the hybrid spoke with a sharp tone. "Monitor up. Contact Lepidus." The far side of the brutalist-style stone desk slid open. From the long rectangular hole, a translucent screen rose up to show Melon's desktop. The cursor moved on its own to open the Agenda app, displaying an hour-by-hour breakdown.
The line did not make a full buzz before it connected with the executive's assistant. "Good morning, sir." The man's voice on the line sounded decrepit, almost pained. Melon always assumed it was some older, experienced reptile.
"Good morning, Lepidus. Walk me through our day." The half-blood went to the only other table in the room that sported the only luxury in the apartment, a traditional espresso machine next to a coffee bean roaster, split by a hand crank bean grinder.
"Of course, sir. First thing today we have an online Vroom meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Jones, Major Murakami, and the UNSC's 101st Training Squadron. They want a discussion with you personally on the complexity of the logistics that have gone into producing the first flight of Pelican Aircraft. The purpose is to help convey the need to exercise caution with such advanced technologies."
"Understood." The creation of SolTech had been to the detriment of several other companies that had expressed interest in humanity's advancements. Originally, there had been a multi-region coalition of companies and state governments that would have been working together on projects like new fusion reactor sites. The issue that had arisen was the acute lack of cooperation the UNSC faced when attempting to deal with this group. Before the discovery of the Sublime Council, they had no way of knowing about the debates within what was essentially a shadow government. They just happened to be aligned with the only member who had actively attempted to avoid these entangling alliances, Yafya. When they discovered how much more efficient a single corporate entity would be for management, they quickly switched strategies. Thanks to SolTech, they were a whole quarter ahead of schedule with most of the demands.
Melon scooped out enough coffee beans for a single shot and placed them into the roaster. "What's next?"
"Our next item is the possible establishment of a subsidiary chemical manufacturer. Due to our usage within the medical field alone, we could see an increase in our profit margin of nearly 3% should we begin producing our own. We would also have better quality control as we have previously needed to switch providers when they started to sell us second-rate products."
The hybrid went ahead and sat down, clicking on the agenda item labeled Chemical. It showed the intensive calculations that went into considering the new development, along with a file labeled Compromised Smoother Batch. Clicking on the file, showed the complaints listed from the Gammas in the previous year as they switched to the new formula. After he finished the last on the list, he read the endnote.
"Outstanding results in all live subjects including a crossbred species have resulted in the approval of subdermal implants within all Gamma Company Spartans. Estimated effective for approximately 6 months. Due to the invasive nature of implant surgery, a new method of delivery is recommended."
As if knowing when Melon stopped reading, Lepidus spoke. "The proper concentrations of medications required to assure both longevity and effectiveness for implants is both delicate and vital. Failure could mean far more serious consequences than those mentioned, including death."
Melon's hand went to his scar again. "Good to note. I am assuming you already have some smaller manufacturers that we could potentially welcome into the family."
"I do. It is up to you to consult their leadership and make the final decision, as always." There was an odd tone in the man's last words, but it was indecipherable for his raspiness blurred the lines between any emotions.
"Heard. Please continue." The roaster beeped and the hybrid responded by opening the top. Coffee beans then clittered into the hand grinder's retainer.
Lepidus spoke a little louder in response to the crushing and tumbling noises Melon's tool made as they continued going over the full day. Nothing was of too great importance, mostly just a reaffirming of pre-established timelines with the regions willing to cooperate with SolTech along with an update on the now complete reactor and its power output. By the time they were done, another thirty minutes had passed and the semi-herbivore's espresso was dripping its nectar into a decorative porcelain cup.
"That should be all for today, sir. First meeting in ten minutes."
"Heard. Thank you, Lepidus."
There was no verbal response to the CEO, only a slight buzzing noise before the call cut out. Taking a delicate sip of his drink, Melon took five minutes for himself to mentally prepare for the day.
0300 Hours, March 24, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR) / Sol System, Planet Earth, Forests Surrounding Camp Menagerie
The young wolfess brought up the rear of her squad during their heavy ruck. It wasn't because she was the slowest. In truth, she could leave most of these dogs and cats in the dust, but she needed this dumb Lynx to make it. It was partially her fault he was here to begin with.
First Squad, the same she'd been in for the last month, was the acting spearhead of the platoon. They had the best scores in the Combat Fitness Tests, had the most recruits shooting Marksman at the range (she herself was a Sharpshooter), and were unmatched during the intro for hand-to-hand combat. For every other squad, it was a race for second.
It was after their previous ruck that it was announced by the Spartan that there would be some reorganizing of the squads. That's when three of her best teammates were swapped out for a member from 2nd, 3rd, and 4th squads. The Lynx had been in the Fourth Squad and was the runt of them. He struggled at every turn, practically needing the woman to take him through everything step-by-step. If I hadn't pushed so hard and convinced everyone to stay in the middle of the pack, we wouldn't be stuck with these losers.
She had a fistful of the feline's ALICE pack, pressing him forward to keep in step with the squad. If they fell behind and missed their set rendezvous time then it would be another thrashing of exercises in full gear. Punishment for failure had forced 6 recruits to drop already, and every time one dropped out the whole platoon was punished again. She had to get the wheezing cat there for the sake of everyone.
Being one of the squad leaders, she was one of the six who had access to a watch to check pace. If they kept going the way they were now, they'd just barely make it. She then did a dangerous thing, something she already knew she shouldn't. Let herself have hope. That's why it hurt so bad when the Lynx stepped wrong on a root and she heard him shriek in pain. Having been pressing forward on the recruit at the time, she was forced to step awkwardly over him to avoid taking the same tumble. Seeing him clutch his ankle, she immediately knew there was no getting up for the feline.
"Fuck! Fuck!" He yelled out before being punched in the gut by another teammate who'd turned about. It was a Golden Retriever who'd been particularly nasty during CQC training. The impact was enough to silence the injured recruit.
"Yell again and the next punch is landing in your goddamn throat." He whispered. The DIs had made a point that rucks were supposed to be conducted in silence to best simulate traversing contested territory, and a few Teufel Hunden stalked through the brush to enforce this. Fifth Squad had consistently been too loud last time and was hit with a barrage of rubber bullets in the legs, an experience nobody wanted to reenact.
"Shit." The wolfess whispered as she already knew what she needed to do. "You take his pack. Yoko! Take my pack." Her sharp, but quiet, shout caught the tiger's attention. She had been watching but wasn't sure what to do. The dog and cat looked at each other, a silent question about the order floating before nodding in acceptance. Slipping the packs onto their chests, the weight was brutal but necessary. They were both loaded with fifty kilos from the double packs, but it was preferable when they saw why their squad lead had made such an order. She threw the Lynx over her upper back in a buddy carry, and they could feel her next order coming. "Double-time, First Squad. We've got six klicks left. We'll transfer weight every klick."
For the next half hour, First Squad trekked through the forest at a determined pace, the wolfess taking the Lynx again for the last two klicks. She knew if she kept pace with another animal on her back nobody else would have an excuse for falling behind at the end. Making their way into Camp Menagerie's parade ground, First Squad crossed a line where the DIs and the Spartan watched them practically collapse on the other side. The titanium giant looked to the side for a moment before a hefty Saint Benard and slim Whippet came sprinting out of the command tent a few hundred meters away. Their uniforms had a white band with a red cross on his arm, and they immediately went to the Lynx's side to see his leg. As the feline was treated Second Squad came through, obviously struggling but not nearly as haggard as First.
The Benard eventually looked at the Spartan and shook his head. "He's not walking on this anytime soon, sir."
"Alright, load him up on a litter. I'll call in a medevac." The Junior Lieutenant turned again, this time contacting their airborne element.
Within ten minutes, the thundering roar of fusion thrusters became audible as Kilo-550 descended onto a clear area of the parade ground. Dust and sand were kicked up by the rushing gusts while the transport turned about. The aft of the aircraft faced the platoon that had grown with the inclusion of 3rd and 4th Squads. The bulkhead lowered when the transport touched the ground revealing a cadre of carnivores in UNSC flight suits. There was a patch on their shoulder that read 101st Training Squadron in an arc over the top of the fabric's circle, and The Winged Hussars arcing at the bottom. They, like the other non-convict infantry James had vetted, were either prior military or a part of PMCs that were willing to volunteer their experience in exchange for the opportunity to try out the newest toys. When the cabin's door near the craft's nose slid open, the pilots exited and walked past their subordinates. As they stepped off, the Spartan popped a salute.
"Attention on deck!" The Junior Lieutenant announced. He spotted the new silver leaf on Jones' shoulder and the golden leaf on Murakami's. All members of the infantry, including the DIs, joined the salute.
"At ease. It's good to see you again, Junior Lieutenant." The Lieutenant Colonel's voice came in loud and clear for Damon, but it would have the typical static undertone for everyone else as she still had her pilot's helmet on. "You boys go ahead and get that poor soul onboard."
"Yes ma'am." The corpsmen lifted the Lynx on the litter and brought him into the transport's personnel hold, folding up seats that weren't being used to secure litter against the interior of the craft.
Meanwhile, everyone else relaxed as Damon responded. "Likewise ma'am. Got a pretty good response time. Is she flying well?"
"Sure is. Not doing any corkscrews with these greenies just yet but the important thing is that I can." She said this with a chuckle, looking over her shoulder before returning to the Spartan. "We should probably go back to babysitting. Let me know if there's any more booboos. Need to get as many hours in the air as I can."
"Yes ma'am. You have a good morning."
"You too, Sierra. Till' next time." With the Lynx not going anywhere, the corpsmen hustled off the transport to let the pilots back on. Once they were ready, the bulkhead closed up and the engines were throttled to take off for the nearest hospital.
With all squads now back on the parade ground, the Junior Lieutenant addressed them. "Recruits, fall in!"
"Aye, sir!" They all said, the only voice missing being that of the dropouts and the now medically discharged feline. The platoon organized their formation with a great deal of haste, though they were slightly hampered by the weight of their packs. When they were all in line, the Spartan spoke again.
"Recruit Fasa, take a step forward."
Everyone kept their eyes ahead, but there was a great deal of surprise as the officer rarely singled out recruits, leaving that duty to the DIs. The wolfess from First Squad sounded off. "Aye, sir!" She took a step forward, breaking the even row.
The Spartan made his way in front of her until Fasa was unable to see anything but her CO's titanium chest. "You did not leave your man behind and organized your squad effectively to meet your objective. I am going to give you more opportunities to grow your leadership. You are the Platoon Guide now, Recruit Fasa. It will be your responsibility to make sure everyone here hits our standard. Anyone fails, you fail too. Understood?"
The wolfess wanted to quit right there. This "promotion" was a trap from the word go. Someone was bound to fuck up, and she would be grilled for it. Worse yet, declining was not an option, so she replied before her silence was too long. "Yes, sir!"
"Good. Now while you did meet your goal, you are still a man down. In the field, that means more work for everybody to pick up the slack. Platoon Guide, get your recruits into the front-leaning rest position and sound off twenty. If they are good, it is showers, bunks, and rest."
"Aye, sir! Everyone down!" Fasa shouted as she got into a pushup position, followed by the rest of her comrades. Her new situation had her on edge as all eyes were now on her. That being said, she couldn't help but take a little pride in the fact she was chosen.
That pride lasted until the fourteenth pushup when a recruit in 3rd Squad dropped to his knees, forcing the platoon to start all over again.