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Quail

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Hello there, this is the IC thread for the Halo: Project Kindred roleplay! If you are interested please use the link for the OOC thread and sign-ups, and please take not that there's only room for about two-three ODSTs now.
For those of you here from the sign-ups, welcome, and please also know that the ODSTs will be incorporated upon the Spartan's arrival as they have not been woken up from cryosleep yet!
OOC and sign-ups:
OPEN SIGNUPS - Halo: Project Kindred ((OOC and sign-ups))
Thank you and enjoy the rp!

-Prolouge-

August 1st, 2552
0100 hours
Orbit above Planet Reach,
Epsilon Eridani System


Captain Geralt Finnick stood with his hands clasped roughly behind his back, his cold blue eyes trained on the battle unfolding in Reach’s orbit; one he wouldn’t be joining for once. A cold sweat broke out along his brow as he struggled with his orders, hating that he had to turn tail and run when there were countless human lives being snuffed out. Though, he knew deep down that there would be no winning this fight..no, this war they had tumbled into. Somberly he watched as another of the Mac guns went down under a volley of plasma, the behemoth of alloys and writhing coils falling back into atmosphere in a bloom of smoke and fire. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they would lose this war--The Covenant would lead to Humanity’s downfall and, possibly, extinction.

“Captain,” Navigator Cecil Li called, her usually tidy dark hair falling into her face as she typed frantically into her computer, “The coordinates are set, waiting on your command to jump!”

Finnick grit his teeth and slammed his hands onto his console. He had orders.

He mourned those aboard the handful of ships left in orbit and those planetside as he turned away and grabbed a Sweet William cigar from his pocket. Of course he wouldn't smoke it, it was against the rules to light anything on the bridge, but he held onto it to ease his mind. Everything SCREAMED inside him to fight, to push those Covie bastards back and die along with his fellow soldiers--but his resolve held. He had his orders. Protect Halsey’s AI at all costs.

Looking back at it, it had caught him quite off guard when six SPARTAN-IIs showed up on The Rising Sun’s doorstep with an order from ONI: a classified mission meant for the protection and secrecy of a second revolutionary AI, simply known as Project Kindred. He himself was also given another ‘smart’ AI from ONI, despite already having Iris aboard; but instead of navigating the ship as his ship’s AI did, this ‘spook’ AI was to ensure that Halsey’s creation didn’t fall into Covenant hands. He didn’t like it, but they were his orders and now these were his men and women to look out for, and he’d be damned if he let them die under his command.

“Make the jump,” he barked as he bit on his unlit cigar anxiously. He would make the Covenant pay--no matter what it took, he would damn make them atone for all the lives lost in this bloody war.

Iris’s melodic voice filled the bridge as she counted down,

“Jump in 3, 2, 1...Mark!”

The Rising Sun lurched forward into slipspace, the hull shaking as she disappeared with a blink into the darkness of space.



However, the Destroyer had not gone unnoticed.



The Covenant Carrier--Reaper of Advance--had caught sight of them.



“There is a Human destroyer fleeing, your Excellency. Shall we follow them,” one of Xula’Katamee’s navigator's inquired, his hands already darting around his console, “They seem to be heading for-”

“We have been given orders to stay here. Unless it is of the utmost importance I will not abandon my post over some pathetic cowards turning from battle,” the Shipmaster growled, cutting him off with his mandibles clicking in annoyance. He had no time for this. The heretics that were the human race were putting up quite a fight, but they would lose, as they always have and always will. Afterall, what were they to the might that was the glorious Covenant? The shipmaster huffed something akin to a scoff, his three digits coming to rest lightly on his cheek in an almost pensive pose. This ship that his navigator had caught wind of…Xula had a peculiar feeling about it...where was is going exactly, in the midst of such an important battle? The Sangheili was dragged from his thoughts by his navigator, the underling spouting something that caught his attention and filled him with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

“But Shipmaster, it IS important! Their course dictates they’re heading to the artifact we were told to guard after this battle!”

‘Katamee looked over his map with a sneer, mandibles clicking with anticipation. So, the filthy humans were going to the artifact...he’d be damned if he let them so much as set eyes upon it. He would not fail his duties, by the Prophets he would make them kneel before him.

“Plot a course. I want to exit behind the planet. Let’s stay under their radar, shall we?”

“Yes, Shipmaster. Departing in 3, 2, 1.” The Reaper of Advance purred as she slipped silently into slipstream.

Xula sat tall, his eyes trained on the aurora of color his ship was flowing through. “Send a message to the Commander and High Charity, let them know that they can consider the heretics dead and can continue on the attack without a worry,” he relayed crisply.

“Yes, Shipmaster.”

Those vermin had the nerve to try to defile another holy relic, how very folly of them. No matter. He would squash them like the insects they were, and relish the screams as they writhed under his foot.


-Start-

August 8th, 2552
0300 hours
Unknown location,
Unknown System


Mick was taken abruptly from the cold dreamless embrace of cryosleep with a jolt of awareness and a slight panic, his eyes shooting open as he scanned for any danger; though his senses were dulled from the sleep, he was sure after looking over everything twice. There was nothing out of the ordinary. But if there was no danger, why wake him up? He shook his head and tried to blink away the blurriness obscuring his vision--he wasn’t trained to think about those things, he was trained to fight and win. The Spartan sat up slowly and rubbed the grogginess from his adjusting eyes with a nauseating taste in the back of his throat, a slight gag erupting from his esophagus.
God, he hated cryosleep.
With lightning speed, he grabbed a waste bag from beside his chamber and regurgitated the mucus-like nutrients that laid dormant inside his body, courtesy of the forced sleep and its protocols. His body shuddered, muscles taut and jittery as he spit the last of the disgusting mixture out with an undetectable grimace.
He really did hate that part of waking up..
A deep violet ray of light seeped from the console beside him and the ship’s AI flickered to being with a fluttering of holographic feathery muddy brown wings, the artificial intelligence forming into a tall, proud woman with a straight face and billowing robes.
“Mick-126 I presume. Get...dressed...and head to the bridge, Captain Finnick wants to see you,” she spoke commandingly and unflinchingly before blinking away in a flash of feathers.
She reminded him of something Dèja had taught him and the other Spartans of--the Harpies of greek mythology, though this AI was much more easy on the eyes than those insane hags he’d learned of.

However this was curious. He hadn’t known this ship had its own smart AI. Well, technically there were now three aboard--though the one Halsey had entrusted him with was superior to that of a normal ‘smart’ AI, and the one ONI had given to him had already been passed onto the Captain as an added bodyguard to Halsey’s. Speaking of, perhaps the Captain could tell him where they had put his creator’s AI whilst he had been asleep--or maybe that ONI ‘operative’ of an AI could tell him, hopefully not involving a whole slew of questions and protocols.
Mick rubbed his eyes again and stood with a tall stretch, his cramped muscles thanking him for the release from the stiffness that often accompanied cryosleep. His neck popped as he turned and tilted it side to side, the relief flooding through his bones with each new crack to his neck, back, arms and legs.
Heaving a deep sigh he scanned the room for the third time, sharp eyes catching and studying each of his newly assigned Spartan’s cryo chambers. A sting of what could have been sadness pricked at him as he remembered his original team--idly pondering where Viola and Valon had been assigned this time, and if they were alright. They had always been fine Spartans, saving his ass from time to time as he had done for them. But even the most skilled Spartans could fall. A twinge of worry stabbed at his gut, but he pushed it away quickly and calmly. They would be okay, he knew they wouldn’t die now, not after all they had been through...or so he told himself.

The one thing he was a little concerned about now however, was this new ragtag group of Spartans; soldiers he didn’t know if he could trust in having his back, or even trust to listen to him and obey his orders--not to mention the lack of or possession of skill regarding team tactics or even teamwork in general. For all he knew, the last time they had incorporated teamwork into anything could have been back during their training on Reach. It also had to be taken into account that some teams were not as lucky as his had been, some had lost more than two members, so how any of them would operate in a new five man team was, if summed up in one word, unpredictable. Mick sighed quietly as he walked past his new sleeping team with the loping gait of someone used to walking aboard starships, he would deal with all of that later, when they woke up. Making his way to the locker that held his armor, he briefly noted there was a jumble of weapons lockers and thick steel benches, a Spartan laser peeking from a locker catching his eye for a fraction of a second before he stopped at his own designated locker and prepared to suit up. He hoped this is what the AI meant by getting ‘dressed’.

The titanium closets that held the Spartan’s armor were different than the ones holding their weapons, these were sealed tightly and required a retinal scan to open; well, that or enough firepower to blow through an entire planet. The scientists and weapons specialists of ONI did not waste time it seemed. Mick palmed open the scanner’s protective flap and brought his eye level with the laser, the sharp stab of light blinding him for a fraction of a second before it beeped a confirmation and the cold door popped ajar. He swung the metal open and paused for a moment, his hand lingering on the titanium as he took in his Mjolnir armor in all its glory. Even when empty, the iridescent blue-grey Mark VI Mjolnir armor looked formidable and daunting, like a warrior in waiting. Snapping out of his daze, he quickly, though VERY carefully, suited up with the grace of someone well versed and comfortable with the task at hand. It had taken him less than ten minutes to get the suit on by himself, a new record he noted as he stood and stared absentmindedly at the scored helmet held in his gauntleted hands--that of which was littered with quite the amount of scratches and slight burns, a memoir to all of his gruesome campaigns.

“Spartan-126, please report to the bridge.” A melodic voice rang out of the intercom with resounding clarity--it was the AI, as Mick had recalled. With a grunt of acknowledgement he slipped his helmet on with a pressurizing hiss, his HUD blinking and bringing up diagnostics as the suit did a systems check--a small chirp assuring him that everything was working right. He briefly remembered a time that he had almost had all of his bones crushed when the hydrostatic gel layers had malfunctioned slightly, quite a scare that only proved that machines DO break; even Spartan’s toys of war. Though, thankfully, this was back when he was wearing the Mark V and the techs had since then fixed, and even enhanced, quite a number of things in the suit.
With a slight shake of his helmeted head, Mick shrugged off the memory and walked to the door that led to the lift he’d have to take to get to the bridge, pressing the large call button with a sense of anxiety as he pondered what it was he had been woken up for. There had to be danger, otherwise why wake a Spartan? He blew out a hefty breath as the lift came down at what seemed like a snail’s pace to him, a miniscule relief trickling through him as it finally came all the way down with the sharp clank of steel. The doors, if you would call them that, opened like a pair of arms welcoming him inside and as he stepped forward, he glanced back at his sleeping team for a heartbeat before climbing into the lift and pressing the oversized button to go upwards.

“See you guys when you wake up,” he muttered to the metal caskets that kept his spartans asleep, before the doors folded closed and cut off his visual.

--
--

Mick stepped onto the bridge with an urgency to his steps, a norm for most spartans, though he felt as if he were late. Everyone in the room either turned or looked over as the door slid open and he walked inside clad in his Mjolnir armor, his eyes roaming, and ignoring, the gawking faces of the bridge officers until his gaze landed upon the Captain; whom was standing beside a podium that held a shimmer of violet light and the ship’s AI that stood with a hip cocked and her expression screaming impatience. The Captain, however, looked completely calm and controlled, until you looked into his frigid eyes--there was a slight fear churning inside those icy orbs and Mick wanted to know why.

“Captain, Mick-126 reporting,” he barked as he snapped a salute.

“At ease soldier,” Captain Finnick said as he motioned the spartan over with a hand, “come here son, I need to show you something.”

Mick instantly obeyed and walked over swiftly, his eyes following the Captain’s hand as he pointed at something on the current star system’s map; a picture, captured from a probe they had shot out upon arrival, showed something strange. There were five different planets, one sun, and about seven moons in total--but that wasn’t what he was being shown. Captain Finnick’s rough finger pointed at something hovering close to a lush green and warm blue littered planet, the fourth farthest from the sun. The object, much like a kind of satellite, was something of a shimmering behemoth seemingly made up of some kind of alloy-steel-like material that made the system’s sun glint harshly off of it. It certainly did not look human, or Covenant for that matter.

“Now, we’re not sure what..that..is, but we intend to find out. ONI seems to think so too, I just got word from that AI we have on loan,” Finnick paused and glanced at the AI on the console beside him, “that we can deploy you and your team onto that satellite. Iris please try to wake her up, would you?”

“Yes, Captain. And Spartan, before you ask, we ARE indeed sure that it IS a satellite--seeing as it’s fitted with quite the long range receptors and an even more impressive array of beacons, cameras and the like. It’s still broadcasting something, though I can’t decipher what exactly it’s trying to say...the message just repeats what I’ve translated as ‘Reclaimer’ over and over,” The feathered AI relayed with a scowl, something akin to concentration marring her expression as data scrolled through her ‘body’ in numbers and algorithms.

“Also, please wake up the other Spartans,” the Captain added, pulling out a Sweet Williams cigar from his pocket as he turned to address Mick, “you and your team deploy via Pelican in forty five, we’ve detected a sizable hangar inside that satellite, so gear up son. Ah, and good morning.”

“Yessir,” Mick sounded with another salute before he turned on his heel and made to navigate back down the lift to his team. So many questions swam about his mind that it made his head spin. Where where they? Who made that satellite? Where was Halsey’s AI? Would the ONI AI be coming with them on their mission? What had the message meant by repeating ‘Reclaimer’?

The Spartan heaved a silent sigh as he reached the lift, something he’d done quite a lot ever since coming aboard this ship. Well, at least now he could meet his team, right?

“Echo Team please report to the hangar for mission assignment. I repeat-” Iris’s voice boomed from the intercom, the words following him even as the lift descended back to where he had woken up. Part of him wished he could just get through this mission and, as much as he hated it, go back into cryosleep--but the other part of him wanted to find out what this satellite was and who exactly had made it. But if you asked him, something felt very very strange about this whole scenario….something was off...and ONI was definitely keeping information about that satellite a secret.

The doors opened, and immediately he shook the heavy inquires off. He stepped off the lift and took note of the now ajar pods, then, as he rounded the slight corner of the room, he was greeted by the sight of his four other Spartans all geared up and ready to set out. Mick allowed a small smile to tug at his lips under his helmet, but made no movement to express it outward. He strode over to them and stopped just short of the weapons lockers, examining each of his team members with a critical eye.

“Vance-102,” Mick named the hulking Spartan clad in MK. V armor and sent a nod to him.

“Morgan-163,” he looked at the smaller and thinner built Spartan in the newer Recon armor and swiped two fingers across his faceplate in the Spartan sign for a smile.

“Sara-115,” he studied the normally sized Spartan sporting another new variant of the Mark VI, the E.V.A armor, and repeated the gesture of a smile to her.

“Volkov-178,” his orbs slid across the tall hefty Spartan attired in what seemed to be his own modded gear, and nodded at him.

"Mikhael-123," his gaze fell upon the last member, an afterthought to Echo Team as ordered by both FLEETCOM and ONI that made Mick a little uneasy, though he still sent a slight tilt of his head to the Spartan.

Good. They were all he had read about, hell maybe even more than he expected--but he’d have to see their combat prowess as well.

“My name is Mick, or Mick-126 if you want to be formal, and as you probably already know, I am Echo Team’s leader. Now, the Captain and the ship’s AI, Iris, are going to brief you all when we get to the hangar. Though I was already told our mission and some information pertaining to it, I don’t know much--the one thing I know is that we don’t know jack about anything here, so watch your backs; but more importantly, watch each other’s backs.” He looked around at each of his new team members with a sense of hope in his breast. Hell, maybe this would go better than he thought. Only time would tell. But for now, he had to grab his weapons and hustle down to the hangar, else they might be a little late.
Quickly, he stalked to his locker with urgency and pulled out his favored weaponry: a BR55HB SR battle rifle, MA5B assault rifle, and M6D magnum. He strapped the two bigger guns onto his back and clipped the pistol to its designated spot on his thigh, all whilst Iris began a new report.

“Echo Team your deployment is in T-minus twenty minutes, please make your way to the hangar. I repeat-”

“Alright, you heard the lady, let’s get moving,” Mick called out, leading his team to the lift doors and pressing the large button down.

--
--

Echo Team departed from the lift and flooded into the cramped hangar, five Spartans following their team leader as he pathed through the crowded room to where Captain Finnick stood statuesque beside a scored Pelican etched with flames on the underside of its wings.

“Ah, Echo team,” the Captain greeted as they all stopped in front of him, his thin lips turning up into a wry smile, “glad you could make it. Cutting it a bit close to launch, no?”

Mick smiled back smally, but instantly remembered that the Captain couldn’t see him underneath his helmet.

“Likewise Captain,” the Spartan said back with the sharp tone of a soldier, his gaze meeting Finnick’s under his helmet, “but, no, we’re not cutting it close. We’re precisely on time.”

The Captain chuckled at this and tucked his hand into his breast pocket, fishing out a large neural data chip and handing it to Mick with a miniscule smirk. For a moment the Spartan was mesmerized, his eyes trained on the glowing center of the chip; the luminescent orange like a small imploding star. He took the chip with a cocked brow his commanding officer couldn’t see, a questioning light tilt of his head instead portraying his confusion.

“Sir?”

“Ah, that is the ONI AI. She can introduce herself I’m sure. ONI wanted her on this mission, so take good care of her son.” With that said, the Captain made to leave, though stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the newly assembled team of Spartan-IIs.

“Spartans, we don’t know what this...construct..it, but this is what we do know--it is indeed a satellite as we had thought upon first scans and photos, it is made of an unidentifiable metal or alloy, and we don’t know who the hell made it. Your mission is to find out anything and everything you can, and that comes from both ONI and FLEETCOM-” He spoke with a resounding voice, his frigid orbs stopping on each of Echo Team’s faceplates until finally stopping on Mick’s, “And one more thing, your AI that Halsey gave you, she’s staying on the ship until you come back. But don’t worry, she’ll be waiting for you so hurry back, it's not nice to leave a lady waiting.”

Mick nodded and looked to the Pelican almost absentmindedly for a split second. He didn’t know what to think with having to be apart from that AI...he was supposed to protect it, not go hunting ghosts in a seemingly abandoned satellite. He shook it off with a silent sigh and stepped aboard the Pelican with a glance at the vibrant chip still held inside his palm, taking a seat as his Spartans filed in behind him and followed suit.

“ONI AI, huh,” Mick mumbled to himself, “let’s see who’s inside here, why don’t we?”

Upon inserting the chip into the back of his helmet to where his neural implants lay, a cold sensation trickled into his brain similar to that of getting a brainfreeze--the feeling making the squad leader furrow his brows from underneath his helmet. He had always hated the feeling that accompanied the presence of an AI inside his head.
“Hello?” He called inside his helmet quietly, awaiting a response from the artificial intelligence as the Pelican rumbled to life beneath him, sliding his gaze discreetly around the cabin as the ship prepared to take off.
He didn’t know what was to come, and honestly, that left the Spartan feeling something akin to scared.
 
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Mk.V MJOLNIR was a hefty weight on the shoulders of the Spartan who called it home. That Spartan, Vance, flexed his joints to alleviate the tension in his own body, watching the smooth motions of the armor as it worked to match his speed. Still in excellent condition. He swiped a gauntleted hand across is brow before sliding his helmet into place.

Vance went through the motions of troubleshooting his armor; flexing joints and shield recharge, bouncing ‘rocks’ off his radar and adjusting the range for accuracy. A soothing Spartan exercise that set his mind into motion in much the same way meditation or a good jog around in Reach's fresh air might. Unfortunately, this was all he had access to for the moment.

He missed Reach's skies. A Spartan knew better than to yearn for the past, but that didn't stop his mind from wandering.

When the orders came for him and his fellow Spartans to meet up with the new team leader, Vance gave a curt nod to the technicians attaching his armor. They took the hint and completed their work swiftly so he could get a move on. Vance stepped off the armor platform and made his way through the ship to meet the new team.

The other Spartans had lined up around him before another, who Vance assumed was leading this operation. Vance carefully assessed the team, eyes roaming over each unique set of armor and posture, a trait only a Spartan would notice or recognize. As long as they could work together, Vance had no problems.

Vance perked up when he heard the Captain's words.

“A.I?” Vance dipped his head. “A tactical asset would be best used on the field.” He paused, rigid, to reconsider. A dangerous mission needed as much metaphorical muscle backing it as it could possibly get. Why leave it behind?

He shook his head and stepped aboard the pelican before anyone had the time to question him. Vance strapped himself into the ship's holding bay, adjusting his posture so the seat could better accommodate him. These weren't meant to hold a half ton of MJOLNIR; the seat and its surrounding supports groaned when he sat back and creaked when the ship rumbled to life. It would hold, but he'd prefer to get on the ground before he found out otherwise.

"Ready when you are, Lead."

He gave Mick a curt nod, then leaned back in his seat to rest the back of his helmet against the inner wall of the pelican.
 
Cryo was always hell, the waking up process was something the Russian Spartan could never get over, no matter how many times he's gone through it. The throwing up, the body aches, and the dizziness, It was not enjoyable at all. But it was all protocol for slip space.

Volkov stumbled out of his cryo pod and made his way to the Spartan armory. Like the other Spartans, he had on a black skin tight layer, the thing that kept the inner parts of the suit protected, other wise known as the titanium nanocomposite bodysuit. This layer was what was under the titanium alloy shell, all the armor plating and such. Volkov knew the ins and outs of Spartan armor, the technology was quite extraordinary.

The rugged Spartan unlocked his locker, took a good look at his armor and scratched his beard before starting the process. The process of outing on the armor plating was a tedious one. The technicians applied his armor, the chest piece connected from the back and front and felt snug, and the rest of the plating was attached nicely. The last part was the helmet, his helmet was different from the rest, very different. It had no glass visor like the rest. Instead it was just all metal plating, inside the helmet was a one way system. Allowing him to see through the helmet as if it was a large window with no obstructions. Experimental gear the man got a hold of luckily. Fitted him right since he had been known to break his visor before in combat, headbutts seem to do that.

At first when the helmet was attached there was absolute darkness, then the inside of the helmet activated, displaying the ONI logo before going through troubleshooting, next thing he knew he could see the area around him. The hud was slowly calibrating, radar was on, shield began to recharge. All systems were good, he gave the technicians a nod to let him know it was all good and stepped down and grabbed his DMR, SMG, and combat knife. Holstering them all so the suit could detect the weapons and update the hud accordingly. The Spartan was larger than all the other Spartans, mostly in height, except for one, Vance was the name he thought.

Once the orders were given out, the team met up with what Volkov assumed to be leader. The team seemed to be pretty unique to say the least, he was too excited to work as a team, but he couldn't deny orders. The man Just hoped the leader knew what he was doing, that's all he could do.

----------

Vance was right, it would be best to have it on the field, anything they could get would be helpful, getting the upper hand on the covenant is a hard thing to do, better take it when you can.

The whole mission didn't sit well with Volkov, it all seemed strange, exploring something that is not manmade just didn't feel right. The man sat in the pelican, leaned over and rested his arms on his lap, staring at the ground, letting things process as the team began to board the ship.
 
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The frost started clearing away from Mikhael's cryo pod, revealing a very stark contrast to his fellow Spartans. Right away, the first noticeable thing was his pale, almost anemic appearing flesh with the only things of true color were his rosy colored lips and his sterling eyes. Even his messy hair which curled and hung down slightly in his face was as pale as the driven snow. His body was athletic, toned--but not overly muscular or brawny like some. The way it would move, it was not unlike a serpent slithering with the way his muscles flexed and bowed.

If Vance and Volkov were like sturdy oak trees, Mikhael was more akin to a willow. Wispy, limber. As the pressurized chamber hissed and lid to his coffin lurched open, the Spartan's pale eyes slowly opened, his head lifting slowly to reveal, clutched his crossed arms was none other than a Sangeheli skull. The elongated cranium, with four protruding mandibles, made mistaking it rather difficult. It had been picked clean, the ivory bone noticeable against the pallid complexion of his chest which was whiter than bone.

Mikhael stepped from his cry pod, unaffected like most were by the digestive enzymes that usually built up. He'd eaten worse things--Lekgolo was one of them. Like eating a very rubbery worm; hard to chew with all the wriggling. At one point he thought it had slapped him. After he cooked it, it didn't move anymore. Gripping the skull, holding it at his side as he stepped into the formation. The way his hand gripped the remains, and the sharp coldness in his gaze as he looked forwards with an uncanny, emotionlessly vacant expression.

The muscular enhancement injections, was one of the several augmentations that the SPARTAN-II's had to endure, increased muscle density and decreased lactase recovery time, which had a 5% chance of test subjects experiencing fatal cardiac volume increase. The growth was probably showcased better on him due to his smaller stature. It made the muscle growth and dense tissues look more pronounced than on someone of a larger size that would obviously have larger muscle mass, to begin with.

Along with muscle growth, was the carbide ceramic ossification; the grafting of advanced materials that made Spartan-II's bones virtually unbreakable. This procedure was perhaps, the most punishing though it had a lower fail rate of 3.8% than the muscular enhancement. The signs of this particular operation were on every Spartan-II in the form of large, lasting scars over their bodies where they had been cut open along their arms, their legs, and their torsos, and summarily stapled back together like Frankenstein's Monster.

The reason most Spartan-II's were 7 feet, or more, tall, was because they had catalytic thyroid implants that triggered the human growth hormone which boosted the growth of their bones and muscle tissue, to begin with. It was one of their earlier treatments. The injections and ossification didn't happen until they were much older, well into their teens. Risk 2% acquired elephantiasis.

But for all the procedures and surgeries that he'd gone through to make him what he was, there were still scars layered upon those. He was pock-marked all over his chest and back; little reminders of what needlers and needle rifles can do, even when their projectiles were forcibly burst mid-air to keep several wounded Marines safe. Through his career, he'd achieved the rank of Lieutenant Junior grade, the second only to Fredric-104, but that was before his former teammates were killed and he'd been reprimanded several times due to insubordinate behavior and was now a Petty Officer Second Class.

While some of his fellow Spartans looked around to see who'd they'd been paired with, Mikhael seemed disinterested, to say the least. He simply stood at attention, listening to Mick's introduction and instruction. Falling out, he fitted himself, not letting the technicians near him--even scaring them off at one point by punching a bulkhead above one of them denting it and causing the poor guy to fall on his ass while looking up at Mikhael before the Spartan sauntered off to put the rest of his gear on. He didn't like it when people messed with his armor, he calibrated it himself, personally.

Once he had everything the way it should be, he fitted his helmet on. At first, it didn't synchronize properly, but it wasn't anything a few deliberate whacks to the head couldn't fix and he was good to go. His loadout was interesting, to say the least. He grabbed the hilt of an Elite's plasma blade and activated it with a flick of his wrist, he checked over the almost blindingly luminous weapon before he retracted the 'blade' and clipping it to his beltline near where the skull was fastened to.

The Spartan also chamber checked his M6G side-arm, sheathed his combat knife on his upper right clavicle, strapped the Kig-Yar Point Defense Gauntlet to his left wrist before taking out, of all things, an M739. The nearly 50-inch long squad-automatic weapon composed of a durable alloy that was partially painted white. The gas-operated and drum magazine fed weapon could unleash a maelstrom of bullets upon an enemy. He pulled the boltt back and releasing it, cocking the gun into an armed state.

Mikhael fell in line with the rest of the group as they boarded the lift to the hangar which, when the departed, were met by the captain of the ship. The older man's eyes scanned the motley crew of Spartans. He'd joke to their leader about cutting it close to launch, but the silent Spartan in the Sacremento green armor with black accents looked around while still keeping an open ear on the conversation.

How many hangers had he seen like this one? 20? 30? 40? He never did like space. He like being on the ground where he felt he could control things. So, they were going to an orbiting relay station? Why couldn't they just go to the planet? The idea of being stuck in an abandoned space station in space, just made him anxious but he boarded the Pelican anyways.

Artifacts...always fucking artifacts. Mikhael remained silent as he sat aboard the vessel, yet shook his head.

 
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Lieutenant Morgan-163
Mentions @Stari as Sara
Darkness, burred vision focusing, then frosted glass and steel peel away. A stumbling 6 foot something rather youthful looking goon steps out, almost as if mid sentence. "I swear to god iph-" a somersault in their belly winding it's way up up and out, onto the floor. The aches hit Morgan then, and they do their best to brush them off as always, kneading their taught wiry muscles. "Oh good i'm not last again." they say past some spittle, then look down to see the small puddle of nutrients, and decide eh, someone else will clean it up.
They come to their full height with a stretch and a yawn, pushing past tbe bead ache. Something about hibernation was quite appealing to Morgan. Something like death, but without the consequences. An oportunity to wake go to sleep, and wake up as if the whole world has changed. Morgan has always wished they could go to sleep and wake up a century or centuries into the future to see how things have changed.
As they were getting suited up they donned their recon armor, freshly cleaned and as of yet free of battle ware. The armor it'self was probably not the most specialized to close quarters combat, but they liked it's lighter weight and simple elegance. As the gear was equipped with the assistance of others, the untested lieutenant spartan made idle chatter with the techs. They gave a smile to Sara as she came out of cryo. "Sleep well?" Morgan says wryly, knowing that their feelings on cryo hibernation are rarely shared.​
 
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Petty officer First Class Sara-115
Mentions @Galvantic as Morgan

The quite massive woman would step out slowly as she groans loudly. as her sky blue faintly glowing eyes open. She grabs a trash can and just hurls into it. She growls a bit as she looks up at Morgan. "Shut up.." she says knowing that the smaller spartan could take Cryo a lot better then her. She sighs before blinking as the doctors flashed a light into her eyes to see if she was just fine. Perfect stats like every time she woke up. She had no love for sleep at all. If she could she would rather stay awake and never sleep. But she was still more or less human. She Looks around but her armor was no where to be found. her tank top was a bit small on her. It was showing her stomach as she looks over at Morgan. "......You....sleep...well?" she asks her quietly so the others would not hear them. She was not one to ask to much or talk that much either. Morgan was most of the time just talking at her. She looks down at her top and then just groans annoyed. Her burn scar was showing to everyone. clearly from a covenant weapon. She would slowly start walking around the room just to make sure her motor functions were working once again.


(sorry for a short post had to hurry to get in there ^^ will post with Max soon.)