Where are my Spartans? + Stats Update

{0930 Hours, September 11, 2525 / Epsilon Eridani System, Planet Reach, Unnamed UNSC Military Complex}

<Dr. Halsey's POV>

I reclined in Mendez's padded chair. I considered pilfering one of the Sweet William cigars from the box on his desk - see why he considered them such a treat. The stench wafting from the box, however, was too overwhelming. How did he stand them?

The door opened and CPO Mendez halted in the doorway.

"Ma'am," he said before standing straighter. "I wasn't informed that you would be visiting today. In fact, I had understood that you were out of the system for another week. I would have made arrangements."

"I'm sure you would have." I fold my hands in my lap. "Our situation has changed. Where are my Spartans? They are not in their barracks, nor on any of the ranges."

Mendez hesitated. "They can no longer train here, ma'am. We had to find them . . . other facilities."

I stood and smoothed the pleats in my gray skirt. "Maybe you should explain that statement, Chief."

"I could," he replied, "but it will be easier to show you."

"Very well," I say, my curiosity piqued. Mendez escorted me to his personal Warthog parked outside of his office. The all-terrain combat vehicle had been refitted; the standard heavy chain-gun on the back had been removed and replaced with a rack of Argent V missiles.

Mendez drove us off the base and onto the winding mountain roads. "read was first colonized for its rich titanium deposits," Mendez told me. "There are mines in the mountains thousands of meters deep. The UNSC uses them for storage."

"I presume you do not have my Spartans taking inventory today, Cheif?"

"No, ma'am. We just need the privacy."

Mendez drove the Warthog past a manned guardhouse and into a large tunnel that sloped steeply underground.

The road wound down in a spiral, deeper into the solid granite. Mendez asked, "Do you remember the Navy's first experiments with powered exoskeletons?"

"I'm not sure I see the connection between this place, my Spartans, and the exoskeleton projects," I reply, frowning, "but I'll play along a bit more. Yes, I know all about the Mark I prototypes. We had to scrap the concept and redesign battle armor from the ground up for the MJOLNIR project. The Mark Is consumed enormous amounts of energy. Either they had to be plugged into a generator or use inefficient broadcast power - neither practical on a battlefield.

Mendez decelerated slightly as he approached a speed bump. The Warthog's massive tires thudded over the obstacle.

"They used the units that weren't scrapped," I continue, "as dock loaders to move heavy equipment." I cock one eybrow. "Or they might have been dumped un a place like this?"

"There are dozens of the suits here."

"You haven't put my Spartans in some of those antiques?"

"No. Their trainers are using them for their own safety," Mendez replied. "When the Spartans recovered from the micro-gravity therapy, they were eager to get back to their routine. However, we experienced some -" He paused, searching for the right word. ". . . difficulties."

He glanced at me. His face was grim. "Their first day back, three trainers were accidentally killed during hand-to-hand combat exercises."

I cock an eybrow. "Then they are faster and stronger than we anticipated?"

"That," Mendez replied, "would be an understatement."

The tunnel opened into a large cavern. There were lights scattered on the walls, overhead a hundred meters up on the ceiling, and along the floor, but they did little to dissipate the overwhelming darkness.

Mendez parked the Warthog next to a small, prefabricated building. He jumped out and helped me step from the vehicle. "This way, please." Mendez gestured to the room.

"We'll have a better view from inside."

The building had three glass walls and several monitors marked MOTION, INFARED, DOPPLER, and PASSIVE. Mendez used a button and the room climbed a track along the wall until they were twenty meters off the floor.

Mendez keyed a microphone and spoke: "Lights"

Floodlights snapped on and illuminated a section of the cavern the size of a football field. In the center stood a concrete bunker. Three men in the primitive Mark I power armor stood on top. Six more stood evenly spaced around the perimeter. A red banner had been planted in the center of the bunker.

"Capture the flag?" I ask. "Past all that heavy armor?"

"Yes. The trainers in those exoskeletons can run at thirty-two KPH, lift two tons, and have a thirty-millimeter minigun mounted on self-targeting armatures - stun rounds, of course. They're also equipped with the latest motion sensors and IR scopes. And needless to say, their armor is impervious to standard light weapons. It would take two or three platoons of conventional Marines to take that bunker.

Mendez spoke again in the microphone, and his voice echoed off the cavern walls: "Start the drill."

Sixty seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. One hundred twenty seconds. "Where are the Spartans?" I ask.

"Right here." said a voice.

I spun around. It was Alia. She was in her Lieutenant uniform.

"Why are you wearing that?" She points at the shadows.

"Pay attention," she replies. "You're going to miss their action."

I caught a glimpse of movement in the dark: a shadow against shadows, in the shape of a familiar silhouette.

"Kelly?" I whisper.

The trainers turned and fired at the shadow, but it moved with almost supernatural quickness. Even the self-targeting systems couldn't track it.

From above, a man free-rappelled down from the girders and gantries overhead. The newcomer landed behind one of the perimeter guards, quiet as a cat. He punched the guard's armor twice, denting the heavy plats, then dropped low and swept the target's legs out from under him. The guard sprawled on the ground.

The Spartan attached his rappelling line to the trainer. A moment later the writhing guard shot upward, into the darkness.

Two other guards turned to attack.

The Spartan dodged, rolled, and melted into the shadows.

I realized the trainer's exoskeleton wasn't being pulled up - it was being used as a counterweight.

Two more Spartans, dangling from the other end of the rope, dropped unnoticed into the center of the bunker. I immediately recognized one of them, although he was dressed entirely in black, save his open eye slits - Number 117. John.

John landed, braced, and kicked one guard. The man landed in a heap . . . eight meters away.

The other Spartan jumped off the bunker; he flipped end over end, evading the stun rounds that filled the air. He threw himself at the farthest guard and they skidded together into the shadows. The guard's gun strobed once, and then it went dark.

On top of the bunker, John was a blur of slashing motions.

A second guard's exosuit erupted in a fountain of hydraulic fluid and then collapsed under the armor's weight.

the last guard on the bunker turned to fire at John. I gripped the edge of my chair. "He's at point-blank range! Even stun rounds can kill at that distance!"

As the guard's gun fired, John, sidestepped. The stun rounds slashed through the air, a clean miss. John trapped the weapon - twisted - and with a screech of stressed metal, wrenched it free of the exoskeleton. He fired directly into the man's chest and sent him tumbling off the bunker.

The remaining quartet of perimeter guards turned and sprayed the area with suppression fire.

A heartbeat later, the lights went out.

Mendez cursed and keyed the mike. "Backups. Hit the backup lights now!"

A dozen amber floodlights flickered to life.

Not a Spartan was in sight, but nine trainers were either unconscious or lay immobile in their inerit battle armor.

The red flag was gone.

"Show me that again," I say unbelievingly. "You recorded all that, didn't you?"

"Of course." Mendez tapped a button but the monitors played back - static. "Damn it. They got to the cameras," he muttered, impressed. "Every time we find a new place to hide them, they disable the recording devices."

"Chief Mendez," interrupts Alia. "That may be hidden to ODSTs, but you need to remember that we Spartans are in a whole other ballpark."

Mendez sighs. "You Spartans might as well be in a whole other system."

"So your saying there's more to them than this," I say, motioning at the fallen trainers.

"Yes, Doctor," explains Mendez. "Your Spartans can run at bursts of up to fifty-five KPH. Kelly and Alia can run faster than that. They will only get quicker as they adjust to the 'alterations' we've made to their bodies. They can lift three times their body weight - which, I might add, is almost double the norm due to their increased muscle density. And, they can virtually see in the dark."

I pondered over this new data. "They should not be performing so well. There must be unexplained synergistic effects brought on by the combined modifications. What are their reaction times?"

"Almost impossible to chart. We estimate it at twenty milliseconds," Mendez replied. He shook his head, then added, "I believe it's significantly faster in combat situations when their adrenaline is pumping."

"Any physiological or mental instability?"

"None," answered Alia. "I took care of their minds."

Mendez nodded his head at that. "They work like no team I've ever seen before. Damn near-telepathic, if you ask me."

"That's because we consider ourselves a family," Alia replies. "We grew up with each other. We know each other's habits and the way they think. We mesh perfectly."

Mendez grunts. "We dropped you guys in the caves yesterday. I know you didn't leave the training grounds. Were did you get the black clothing and ropes for that maneuver?" He asks.

"We improvise and adapt," replies Alia.

"Too well, I say. And," he adds, "they like these kinds of situations. The tougher the challenge, the harder the fight . . . the better their morale becomes."

I watch as the first trainer stir and struggle to get out of his inert armor. "They might as well have been killed," I murmur. "But can the Spartans kill, Cheif? Alia? Kill on purpose? Are they ready for real combat?"

Mendez looks away and passed before he spoke. "Yes. If we order them to, they would kill quite efficiently." I turn toward Alia.

"We will kill, but I don't know what it will do to them. John and I will be fine for sure though. John has already had a . . . test of sorts." she glanced at Mendez.

Mendez stiffened slightly. "May I ask what 'real combat' you mean, ma'am?"

I clasped my hands and wrung them nervously. "Something has happened, Cheif. Something ONI and the Admiralty never expected." I glance at Alia's uniform. "Except for you of course. Early congratulations to your promotion." I say.

Alia let out a bitter chuckle. "Thanks, Halsey. But I sort of wished I was wrong."

"So did I." I let out a sigh. "The brass wants to deploy the Spartans. They want to test them in a real combat mission."

"They're as ready for that as I can make them," Mendez said. He narrowed his dark eyes. "But this is far ahead of your schedule. What happened? I've heard rumors there was some heavy action near Harvest colony."

"Your rumors are out-of-date, Cheif," I say, a chill creeping into my voice. "There's no more fighting at Harvest. There is no more Harvest."

I punched the descent button, and the observation room slowly lowered to the floor.

"Get them out of this hole," I said crisply. "I want them ready to muster at 0400. We have a briefing at 0600 tomorrow aboard the Pioneer. We're taking them on a mission ONI has been saving for the right crew and the right time. This is it."

"Yes, ma'am," "We'll be ready, Halsey." Mendez and Alia reply, respectively.

"Tomorrow we see if all the pain they've been through has been worth it."

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Spartans Status:

[Name: Alia Dawn

Level: 6 (1,051/31,250) (AN/: The Exp came from healing other Spartans and for Maxing out skills. Don't ask me how the healing math works, my head already hurts from trying to calculate the Spartans stats)

Class: Apostle of Death

Sub-Class: Spartan Commando, Admiral

Titles: Reincarnator, Beloved by Death, Truth Seer

Age: 0

Health: 370 | Stamina: 530 | Mana: 250

Health regen: 9.25/sec | Stamina regen: 26.5/sec | Mana regen: 11/sec

(I decided to change the health regen to 1 point of endurance to 0.25/sec points of health regen)

Endurance: 37 | Strength: 53 | Intelligence: 25

Wisdom: 22 | Agility: 92 | Derexity: 125 (The Spartans can dodge bullets. Bullets travel around 1800 miles phr. The fastest speed an average athlete can get to is 20 mph. So Spartans are 90 times faster than an average athlete. An average person's reaction time is 250 milliseconds. Spartans have a reaction time of 20 milliseconds, which is 12.5 times better than average. Derexity refers to the reaction time and control over the body, so. Yea)

Unused stat point: 0

Constitution: Healthy

Description: Height of 7ft, white hair that reaches the bottom of her neck, turquoise eyes. Slim but muscular figure with lean muscles.

Skills <

<Gun Mastery : MAX>

<Survivalist : MAX>

<Melee Combat Mastery : MAX>

Passive: Increased proficiency in melee combat. Increases fighting instincts and reaction time when engaged in melee combat. Allows the user to efficiently mesh multiple fighting styles into one.

<Hand's of Nirvana : MAX>

<Eye of Truth : 4/10>

Passive effects: Gives the user the ability to detect lies, hidden passageways, and weak points.

Active effects: Turn on the Eyes to be able to see through illusions (invisible Elites and the like) and increase the effectiveness of weak points by 5%. Only works when targets are in the line of sight. Uses 1 mana per 5 seconds of use.

<First Aid : MAX>

Passive: Increases the efficacy of first aid applied by the user. Reduces the amount of time to apply first aid.

<Melee Weapon Mastery : MAX>

Passive: Increases proficiency in using Melee weapons. Increases the damage done by Melee weapons by a static 50%

<Driver : MAX>

Passive: Allows user to drive any ground vehicle. Gives user understanding of how to maintain vehicles.

<Pilot : MAX>

Passive: Allows user to pilot any sea, air, or space vehicle. Gives user understanding of how to maintain vehicles.

<Field Mechanic : MAX>

Passive: Gives the user a better understanding of machines. Gives the user information on useful scrap allowing the user to make field repairs. Reduces the time needed to make repairs.

Active: Instantly fixes whatever a user specifies. Has a success rate of a static 60%. Uses mana proportionate to the repair. Takes more mana if the required parts are not available. (e.g. fixing a jammed chain-gun on a Warthog takes 10 mana. Fixing a 10 by 10-meter hull breach on a ship made of A-grade titanium without the proper materials, 500 mana)

<Parkour Mastery : MAX>

Passive: Gives insight on how to traverse difficult terrain quickly on foot. (e.g. Wall climbing, jumping between moving vehicles, moving over city rooftops)

>

Innate Talents <>

Mutations <

<Cat Eyes>

<Prophetic Eyes>

<Eidect Memory>

<Sense Boost>

<Protected Spirit>

<Emperess's Aura>

<Sensing Aura>

<Sub-brain>

<Calm Mind>

<Analytic>

<Carbide Ceramin Ossification>

Description: Increases bone strength to become virtually unbreakable

<Muscular Enhancement>

Description: Increased muscle density, allows user to lift three times their body weight

<Catalytic Thyroid Implant>

Description: Increased growth

<Occipital Capillary Reversal>

Description: Increased night vision, perception to detail, range of effective eyesight

<Supercondicting Fibrification of Neural Dendrites>

Description: Increases reaction time

>]

[Name: John 117

Affiliation: UNSC

Rank: Squad Leader

Classification: Spartan II

Health: 360 | Stamina: 540

Health regen: 9/sec | Stamina regen: 27/sec

Endurance: 36 | Strength: 54

Agility: 89 | Derexity: 126]

[Name: Kelly 087

Affiliation: UNSC

Rank: Spartan

Classification: Spartan II

Health: 360 | Stamina: 560

Health regen: 9/sec | Stamina regen: 28/sec

Endurance: 36 | Strength: 56

Agility: 91 | Derexity: 125]

[Name: Samuel 034

Affiliation: UNSC

Rank: Spartan

Classification: Spartan II

Health: 390 | Stamina: 550

Health regen: 9.75/sec | Stamina regen: 27.5/sec

Endurance: 39 | Strength: 55

Agility: 88 | Derexity: 124]