Alright this is my first FF in a while, so hope you like it.
Prologue
Algolis
July 20, 2520, 1200 hours
He was nervous. ONI had ordered him and 75 other men to kidnap one child each. He had found a child around the age of nine wandering the streets, and was waiting for the perfect moment to take him. He felt guilty. This boy would never experience a normal life outside of the SPARTAN-II project. He would be augmented, issued an armor size, and sent out for war against the rebels. Without thinking, the man dampened a towel with chloroform and put it over the boys mouth. The boy, assessing the sudden danger, grabbed the man's wrist, found the pressure point, and broke free. The man, suprised at the strength of this boy retreated, then analyzing the towel, realized the boy breathed some of the chloroform in. He wouldn't be very fast, and his vision would blur soon. Motor activity would be impaired, momentarily, then he would pass out. The man waited for this chain of events to occur. The boy, vision blurring, pulse elevating, realized we was poisoned, and let out a desperate cry. Not of help, but of attack. The man dodged punch after punch as this boy slowed. He should be out by now the man thought to himself. The boy's lack of vision made it harder and harder for him to find the man in the black trench coat. The boy finally gave in to the sudden tiredness gnawing at his mind. He collapsed.
With a gasp, Paul-129 awoke from his sleep. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then he remembered. C'mon, Paul, you've been here for five years, nothings goin' to change he thought to himself. He was at the SPARTAN-II training compound in Eposz, Reach. The augmentation was in three hours. If he survived augmentation, he would be assigned a set of MJOLNIR Mk IV armor. The squad he was assigned to, OMEGA, was one of the best. They had made entire militia groups disappear. He had wondered how he made it into one of the best SPARTAN-II squads. He decided it was because of his CQC and piloting excellence. He had passed the piloting test multiple times to prove his point, and kicked half the SPARTAN-II's asses that were being trained with him. He could hit a target from 5 km away with an SRS99 Sniper Rifle. He pushed this thought aside and started fiddling with his dogtags. Paul looked up and around his room. Two bunk beds, gray walls, four footlockers at the foot of each bed, one dresser. The other three bunks were filled. This was the fourth room he was transferred to, and he didn't know anybody in the room. Not that he cared to know anybody. He figured they would be killed or confined to a wheelchair after augmentation. Suddenly, all the possibilities rushed through his mind. Death, paralysis, nervous system failure, permanent blindness, deafness, success then rapid muscle deteriation, bones could become as fragile as frozen glass, the thoughts went on and on. His mind went blank, and he started thinking about the life he had before this. As his mind drifted to this time of bliss, he drifted into sleep.
He awoke to the intercoms blaring, "All SPARTANs, report to the augmentation rooms."
Paul sat upright in his bed, stood up, got dressed, then went down to the augmentation rooms. All other SPARTAN-II's were waiting for their augmentation. He recognized at least three, but couldn't place their names. After 30 seconds of nostalgia, mostly about his old family, he looked at one of the SPARTANs he recognized, and almost immediatly remembered; His name has Devin-098, he excelled in sniping, tactics, and hand to hand combat. He glanced at one of the other ones; Chandler-261, explosive expert, designated a support gunner. The last one was Derrick-022, another explosives and demolitions expert, tactician, sniper, gunner, and a pilot. An ONI official came up to him and broke his train of thought. "Paul-129?" he said.
"Yeah."
"Right this way, please. Your room number is F-9."
"Got it."
He found his way down the corridors to room F-9. He walked in and another ONI official asked for his serial number like he was a broken item and needed the serial number for the warranty. 12921053098. He did as the official said and laid down on the augmentation table. Tubes were hooked up to Paul's legs and abdominal muscles. A small computer chip was inserted into the computer at which the ONI official worked. His popped up on a moniter on the wall. Paul, S-129, SPARTAN-II. Overhead, machines begun to whir. What looked like drills attached to robotic arms with needletips came down and began to stab into him and injected the augmentation. His vision blurred and his thoughts were fuzzy, but his mind flashed back to when he was nine, poisoned by a cloth doused in chloroform. He started seeing doubles, as though he were crosssing his eyes. Then he blacked out.
"Feet first into Hell!"