Moris huddled into the trash heap, grabbing the worn and torn blanket over himself as the dumpster fire gave some form of warmth for him.
The night sky in the badlands was full of stars, and he'd like to imagine how cool the thought of having stars for ceilings were. But then he felt the pain of his stomach trying to digest nothing but dust and rotten synthetic food he found decaying in one of the food packages he managed to scavenge here.

Moris was a soldier, used to be the so called 'security division' officer of Militech during the Unification war.
He was leading the front line using the panzers for NUSA, goddammit. And so was the rest of them lurking the streets of Night City.
All the fighting and shooting, all that shouting and commanding. All that training and replacing damaged limbs and organs with chrome. All that sacrifice. All for what?
Just to have his implants and jobs stripped away from him, to have them kick him out once they no longer had any uses for him?
Moris felt the pang of pain shoot through his right leg, which used to be chromed with military-grade implants before they took it away from him. Now it was nothing more than shoddy hydraulics he managed to find in the garbage heap.
The wires were from a used and discarded electronics, short circuiting every minute and shooting sparks that hurt.

Moris endured it and forced his eyes shut.
It didn't matter. Megacorps were full of shit, ready to use and discard workers who pledged their lives and loyalty to the corporation like they were one-use assets. Moris was too dumb to realise this before he got fired.

Moris woke up at the sound of heavy engines and crushing of scrap. It was too close for comfort - both emotionally and physically, which caused him to jump up from his improvised bed - and witness the excavation of trash mountain.

He… holy shit.
He had heard words on the street about them, how everyone is now too scared to go to the badlands thanks to these folks.
Purifying water? Cleaning up the trash?
Night City government was thinking highly of that, sure.
But when those guys weren't hesitant to litter the sands with corpses of raiders and wraiths and raffen shivs, and was perfectly capable of doing so without question, the bravest action was to send a drone.
He had thought that at earliest they worked during the day. That was the most logical conclusion anyone would've reached, considering that those star people had only two buildings at most.

No, they went active as early as 3 in the morning, the sky still purple when Moris suddenly had lights flash into his eyes.

Several soldiers surrounded Moris, the homeless ex-soldier blocked the flashlights with his arms (or at least with his half-working right arm, as best as he could) and tried to blink away the whites in his vision.

4 of them had matching uniforms and helmets with visors, while one was a hulking figure of metal from head to toe - almost like they were a IEC Dragoon.

Moris adjusted to the brightness when he realised that the flashlight shining lights into his eyes were attached to assault rifles.
Typical, sure. But the entire situation was still something that frightened him. It already made him tense and anxious during the war, now without proper equipments and not being in a good condition? That was signal for Moris to slowly raise his hands to show that he meant no harm.

"What are you doing here?" One of the soldiers shouted.
A stupid question, yes. But they were too intimidating for Moris to grown or laugh about.

"…Sleeping." Was all Moris could manage out of his dry throat.

"…" the soldiers were turning to look at each other, before looking back at Moris.

"Why…?"

"What… what do you mean why?"

"Why here?"

"…" The tone in the soldier's voice was of genuine confusion and concern.

It had been too long since he had heard anyone address him with emotion exempt from aggression.
But that made him feel all the more ashamed and embarrassed about the situation.

Because those that were angry about some homeless folk taking up shelter on a bench or the basketball field, Moris could write off as assholes.

The soldier that simply asked why in the dumpster made him realise how low he had fallen.

Moris tried to hold back the sobs, and the tears. Nose pinged a bit as he forced out an answer.

"It's cold, and I have nowhere else to go…"

The soldiers were looking at each other, while their rifles wavered a little they were never lowered.
Until the IEC Dragoon-looking big guy in the centre started to lower his gun, and subsequently placed a hand on the rifle of the soldier next to them, pushing it gently down.
That was enough of a signal for the rest to stand down.

The Spartan - a member of Fireteam Crimson, slowly walked up to Moris and took a knee, lowering his body enough to somewhat meet Moris at eye level.

"What's your name?"

"… Moris. Moris Grant." The homeless veteran replied.

The Spartan took note of the dogtag still hanging around the guy's neck, to which he asked.

"Are you a soldier, Moris?"

Moris paused, stammering a little before answering.

"I-I am… I was, there… there was a war that ended 5 years ago. Militech forced me out once it did."

The Spartan briefly looked to the floor, then back to the soldiers. Words were not exchanged between them, but the message was clear.
One soldier walked back to a vehicle - a prototype car from the engineer team - and came back with basic supplies. Which also included a blanket.

The Soldier handed over the supplies to Moris, and the old war-vet, with shaking hands, took the supplies and opened one of them.
Water.
There was water.
The lack of chemical smell meant that it was fresh. How could it be fresh? Fresh water costed thousands a millimetre. It was absolute luxury that he could only afford once a year during his service under militech.

With shaking hands and slight fear and hesitation, Moris took a sip. It really was fresh water, tasted crystal clear with no impurities. Clear, odourless, tasteless water.

Moris quickly drank the water, coughing a little and making sure not to spew it back out.
The Spartan didn't care about the sight, and only focused on gently wrapping the blanking over Moris.
It was warmer than the torn sheet he had found 4 hours ago.

"Come on, let's get you somewhere safe." The Spartan quietly said as he grabbed Moris by the shoulder, gently lifting him up.
He supported the homeless man as they started to lead him into the car.

Moris was a little scared. Scared about the sudden kindness, what they'd do next - what'll happen to him now.
But months of fatigue and extreme environments had made him weak and tired. Too weak and too tired to complain and resist the gentle guidance to shelter.

Moris got into the car, much much warmer than the outside cold night air.
Moris found himself drifting back into sleep, keeping the drink bottle he had been gifted by these people close and tight to his chest.

When Moris woke up, it had been two days straight- according to the medical officer in charge of the infirmary he was in.
The first thing he noticed was how warm, soft and comfortable the bed felt.
The second thing he noticed was that he was feeling such sensation with his right arm and right leg.
No, that couldn't have been true, that couldn't have been right.
Those right arms and right legs were made of chromes built with junk and scrap, there was only bits of motors and wires in their, no way for the sense of touch and temperature to be felt-

Moris looked at his right arm. Hydraulic pipes, exposed wires, and battered platings were no where in sight.
Flesh, with veins slightly visible under the skin.
It was his flesh. Lighter than his left arm, but the way the hair was grown on the forearm- it was his alright.
He slowly lifted the blanket and was met with similar sight on his right leg.

Flesh. Blood, bone, skin, and muscle.
He, with shaking fingers, gently touched the surface of his leg with his fingertip.
Soft, warm.
It really was his leg, it really was his arm.

"I knew you'd be having that reaction." The medical officer commented with a chuckle, Moris lifted his head in confusion. "In case you're wondering-no, that's not a dream. That's really your arms and legs. Flash-cloned them with your cells and attached them through surgery while you were asleep. Extra anaesthetics were used too."

You like them? Those words echoed into Moris's mind, as he slowly stood up to walk.
Both legs were of exact height- Moris no longer had to view the world with a slight slant. He tried walking, wobbly legs but strong legs nonetheless. It worked without significant problems or trouble. He couldn't believe. Despite what the doctor over there said, it had to be a dream.

Not even a miracle was this advance - no megacorp was.
… Unless…
Unless it was those star people.

Moris's stomach growled and grumbled. Now that he was awake, his guts were signalling for food.

"Come on." The medical officer said. "You can either get yourself cleaned before you go get something to eat, or you can get something to eat and then get yourself a nice hot shower."

Moris had to take a moment to process the choices given to him.

Moris stared at the vegetable soup given to him.
The lack of proper nutrients he was getting meant that his digestive capabilities was a little shortcoming at the moment. It was best not eat solid for now, until his internal organs could properly heal and function again.

Moris tasted the flavours in his mouth. Savoured it.
Food, proper food. Fresh food, made from fresh, natural ingredients.
No traces of toxic contaminations in his mouth. Genuine pure vegetables.

Moris didn't realise he was sobbing until he found that he couldn't breath properly - tears and snot was blocking his nose as he held in a cry.

This was something he couldn't get a taste of even during his military years. It was too good. Too good to be true. Moris looked around the cafeteria, soldiers - both the standard UNSC Army, Marine, Navy, and Air force were talking to themselves. And then there were also Spartans on break. They had taken their helmets off to reveal their faces underneath. Revealing to Moris that no, they weren't robots. They weren't ICE Geminis or dragoons.

They were humans. No matter how big, how intimidating they looked- underneath those Mjolnir armour, they were human. Just like him.

That's why one of them could show compassion to him so naturally.

"Hold up, Cap and a half. Guess who's in admin? ME. Guess who ain't in there?" Spartan Heaven pointed at Spartan Ant. "THAT. BROWN. MOTHER. FUCKER. RIGHT THERE. YOU. LYIN. BITCH-"

"CAP. AND. A HALF. CAP. AND. A HALF. NO, HEAVENLY- NO, HEAVENLY'S CAPPIN."

"Geuce and Ant… Geuce and Ant…"

"Nah, nah, nah…"

"On mah Mama. CUZ.-"

"Chief. Chief. Chief."

"On mah Mama, CUZ. It's Geuce and Ant-"

"ON MAH MAMA YOU WEREN'T IN FUCKIN ADMIN!"

Few of the Spartans were arguing about something. About what, Moris had no clue.
All he knew was that the rest of the soldiers in the cafeteria looked thoroughly entertained by Fireteam Badger's antics.

Mortis took another spoonfull as he watched.

"YOU'RE EITHER BLIND. OR YOUR CAPPIN."

Once Moris was done eating, he was guided by one of the soldiers to the shower room.

"Here's the shampoo, here's the conditioner. Oh, if you want to shave as well, we've got the shaving cream and shave here, or if you'd like the electric one it's underneath here."

Take as long as you need. Is what the soldier said as he went back out.
Moris got out of the patient uniform given to him while he was asleep, and started to wash his hairs and body properly. The site of surgeries were sanitised, but only those areas. The rest still had grimes and grease, something Moris was happy to remove.

Hot clean water sprayed down and he was enjoying this so, so much. According to the soldiers, water wasn't an issue. He could use it liberally. He was more than happy to, and quickly grabbed the shaving cream and blades too.
His beard was too long, and so was his hair.
Unfortunately there was nothing he could do for the hair - but the beard was good to go.

He went to work, looking in the mirror to see his chin again for the first time in forever.
He saw how gaunt his cheeks were, looking like they were sucked in.

He gently touched the now-smooth skin of his face, and slowly went back under the water.
Steam was rising, and he saw how dirty the water was when it fell down his body and into the drown.
After enough shampoos and body wash, the water leaving through the drain was finally just as clean as it entered. He felt clean too.

He finally stopped, closing the waters and drying himself off with a towel.
Fresh clothes were given to him by the soldier before he entered the showers- a nice pair of boxers, trousers and shirt.
He carefully read the logo on the chest of the black t-shirt: An eagle with its wings outstretched, sitting atop of a globe that read UNSC.

He put the clothes on and left the shower room, and was greeted by the same soldier that guided him here.

"Finished?"

"Yeah… Yes I am, sir."

"Ni~ce. Alright, our boss said he wanted to see you once you were done. You ready to meet him?"

Moris swallowed a little out of anticipation, but nevertheless nodded his head.
These people gave him warm clothes, fresh clean water, and his limbs back. He knew there was some price to pay, but by the looks of it the price would be somewhat reasonable.
He was ready for it, he guessed.

"Sweet. Follow me. Not far from here either."

Moris followed the UNSC soldier, passing through a hallway where ODST and Marines were chatting with each other, before noticing Moris and giving him a curt nod. Moris gave a curt nod back. It made him feel like he was back in Militech, where at least the soldiers had a code of honour between each other.

When one of the hulking Spartans walked by, they gave a nod to Moris to. Moris gave a nod back as well. Despite their intimidating stature, he just couldn't forget the kindness one displayed to him - the whole reason why he was here right now.

The room Moris entered was a weired one. When the soldier said boss and office, he expected it to be a clean expensive suite, with an aquarium or a holographic model dancing to some tunes.

No, it was just computers and microscopes. Computers, computers, computers.

"Spartan Cell, sir? Our guest is here."

The Spartan turned around from his computer, 4 spectral nodes glowing red. Moris gasped a little, the imagery of his boss resembled Maelstrom, and they were never a good sign.

Spartan Cell leaned back in his chair.

"Moris Grant, was it?"

Moris stammered a little, but managed to push through.

"Ye-yes, sir…"

Moris saw how much the system here was militaristic. He did his best to give a soldier's salute, to which Spartan Cell chuckled.

"I heard from Crimson team that you were a war vet. That true?"

"Yes, sir. Militech Sergeant, before the Unification war ended on 2070… I was fired right after then. Once the war was finished and Militech was on the disadvantage, we were just reliability… sir…"

Cell simply nodded, his Mjolnir helmeted showed no emotions or empathy.

"So that means you know how the city and NUSA works, right?"

Moris rolled his eyes a little, slightly concerned and equally confused about the question.

"Um… yes… sir? Some… somewhat."

Cell nodded his head more, before pointing at Moris.

"Good… Good. We need someone like you."

"You… you do?" Moris asked curiously.

"Yeah, we're trying to introduce ourselves to Earth as a Megacorp you know. We need as much info about here as possible if we want a stable landing. After all, you've got some debt to repay to us, right?"

Moris blinked a few times. He understood where this was going. Slightly. But he was still unsure about it.
Cell picked up his tablet, tapped on the screen and then handed it over to Moris.

"Here's what you're going to do: you're going to join the UNSC. You're going to answer every question we ask. And you're going to help us with whatever we ask. With what we did for you, that's the least you can do to repay the debt, right?"

Moris looked through the details on the tablet.

Moris was going to start out as a cadet of the UNSC Army, with him assigned to the barracks in HIGHCOM Facility Draugr-1, and expected to be assigned to another facility once they established a base within Night City. Any information he knew about Night City and NUSA, he was to provide them as much as possible to the UNSC to help establish a location, and he was to help with anything he can once they managed to create contact.

Moris felt his hand tremble slightly.

"How… How long will I have to do this?"

Cell snorted at the question.

"How long…. You're asking this question like it's got a time period."

"… You mean…"

"We're not letting you go, Moris. Once you're in the UNSC, you're staying. You can't leave this shit, Moris."

Moris felt tears well in his eyes once again.

"You-you mean this… this is permanent?"

Cell laughed.

"Damn right it's permanent, you mark my fucking words Moris. Not even when you're in a body bag are you going to leave us."

Moris felt his voice shake and ache.

"Oh… Oh god."

Moris couldn't believe it.
He had a job.
He had a job!
He had a fucking job again!

"Oh god! Oh god!"

Cell stood up from his chair.

"Don't you pray to god, Moris! God didn't give you shit! God didn't do shit when life took away your arms and job, Moris! God didn't give you food! God didn't give you water! God didn't give you your limbs and job back, Moris! I did! You don't pray to god! You pray to me now!"

"Oh, Sir! Sir!"

Moris fell to his knees, yet he managed to grab hold of Cell's hands.
He clasped the Spartan's hands firm and tight and sobbed.

"Thank you, sir…!"

"Yeah, that's right! You pray to me!"

Moris woke up from his barracks, bed as soft as ever.
He handled his new guns and armour with care, ready to suit up and start the day on patrol.

He was a cadet, not a Sergeant. Sure. But that didn't mean shit to Moris.

Cadet Moris of the UNSC had a better life than Sergeant Moris of Militech.
For once, his body felt much better: Much stronger, much faster, much lighter, much healthier.

Good food and good training showed better results than some inhaling drugs and chromes.

He felt himself getting stronger by the day too, shooting any raffen shivs that were dumb enough to start running towards the trash excavators.
He enjoyed how much fun it was to talk with his fellow soldiers, who didn't care that he was of Earth descent.
He enjoyed how much it was to fight alongside a Spartan, to watch them in combat as they punched a car with their bare fists until it exploded.

He also enjoyed whenever he get to try out the SPNKR. Those gas-operated rocket launchers were a weapon of mass destruction.
Couldn't believe it had such a highly advanced-smart link system, too.

Moris had most of his implants removed or replaced with UNSC standards. And these ones caused no such problems at all that the old chromes were regularly displaying.

Just yesterday, Moris had tried out War games with his newly made friends and comrades - according to them, those that showed promising results in those activities were selected to either become ODST, or Spartans.

Spartans, those massive people clad in full plates were called. God. To Moris, they represented every meaning, every letter of those words. Spartans, fierce warriors and soldiers. They were almost like Greek gods than simple Spartans.

Maybe someday, Moris could be either one of the two.
That's what Moris hoped, at least. Until then, he trained, he patrolled, he defended and he fought.
He no longer fought for his country, nor for a Corporation.

No, he fought for UNSC. And for what UNSC represented. He heard the story from his fellow soldiers and ODST. This history of UNSC - what they fought in space, and what they were trying to do here on Earth.

Was it the truth, was it propaganda? Moris didn't care. They gave him food, clothes, limbs and a second chance at life.
If they can provide that to some homeless folk with no promising qualities, then they had Moris' full loyalty.
Fuck Militech, Moris spat on the sand as he thought of the Megacorp. Rosalind Myers and her bitch of a government and corporation didn't do shit for him.

Moris went to patrol over the trash mountain with his team 7 Bravo, climbing up and down to make sure no one was trying to ambush their precious vehicles. It was a little nostalgic, considering how he was making trash fires and eating rotten chemically filled products here just a month and a half ago.

Next thing he knew, he was flashing lights from his assault rifle at a homeless person with his friends, surrounding the poor sap.

… Whoah, Moris quietly exclaimed.
It was exactly like Deja vu.

The homeless person also had faulty chromes, trying to block the light with his arms…or at least tried as best as he could.

"What are you doing here?" One of the soldiers shouted.
A stupid question, yes. But they were too intimidating for the homeless man to grown or laugh about.

"…Sleeping." Was all the guy could manage out of his dry throat. He had a rough Japanese accent in his voice, but the tone made sure to convey that he was scared.

"…" the soldiers were turning to look at each other, before looking back at the homeless man.
Moris finally saw the homeless man's face properly once he slowly lifted his arms up in the air as a sign of surrendering, that he meant no harm.

Holy shit, it was Genjiro.
Moris knew the guy, he used to be a high ranking executive member of Arasaka… until one of his colleages made a mistake and pinned the blame on him, threw him under the bus. Genjiro, despite going homeless, had always laughed with Moris and told him that it was better than being dead, having concrete sticking to his shoes as his body sunk to the ocean floor.

Genjiro had shared the bigger half of Duhan's 4 dollar burger the Japanese man had found behind the dumpster.

"Why…?" Moris' comrade had asked the homeless man as Moris and Genjiro's eyes met.

"What… what do you mean why?" Genjiro said with a stutter.

"Why here?"

"…" The tone in the soldier's voice was of genuine confusion and concern.

Moris saw Genjiro's face scrunch up as tears formed at the corner of Genjiro's eyes.

"It's cold, and I have nowhere else to go…"

Moris was the first to lower his gun.

Then the Spartan accompanying his team lowered his.

Moris knew what to do from here, running to the car as soon as Spartan Simmons ordered dropped.

Fresh clean water, Blanket.

This time, it was Spartan Simmons the one who handed Genjiro water, as Moris wrapped the clean blanket over the friend he had made during his fall to hard times.

"It's ok, Genjiro." Moris said with a comforting tone. "Everything's going to be alright."