Posted By: Frensa Geran<firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: 7 May 2004, 5:55 AM
The year is 2653. I am all that is left of a one man dynasty. Should I fail to continue my Father's line, I have no purpose. The Covenant are a forgotten race, defeated in the Battle of Sparta, finished off in one final strike, led by my Father, Jonathan. I remember him like it was yesterday. He was nearly 150 years old, aged and past his prime. After the end of the war he was meant for, he had no more purpose. Returning to Earth, he lived by the shore, trying to end his own life several times. Slitting his wrists did no good; he was too strong for it.
In the year 2630, he adopted a son. Finally finding a reason in life, and a reason in a world where total peace was reign, he stood up proud again. His MJOLNIR armor was put away forever, as a final goodbye to a life of servitude. He never wanted to see it again. The past was the past. Little did he know the past will always come back to haunt him. Noticing his son's friends almost vomited at seeing his deformed and slightly metallic figure, he began wearing sweat pants and hooded jackets constantly, even on 100 degree days. His son could always see him, sitting on the bench, watching him play. He neither had a frown nor a smile. He was a man who was trying to find what to do next.
I'm not sure what happened behind his veil, not even his son knew what his Father did in his free time, but on Sunday April 12th, 2653, John-117, of around 150 years of age, was found in his home by his son, his body limp, and a note on the drawer. After crying over his body, his son read the note:
You are my proudest achievement. I defended many planets, stopped invasions of many kinds, but you are my one creation, my one success that I could see with my own eyes. A success not doomed of failure after I leave. And I am leaving. You don't need me anymore. Find a wife, and continue the Spartan line. You were adopted, but you were always my true blood.
Jason couldn't believe it. How could he? There was something afoot. After taking the hand written note, he compared it to his other writings, it was obvious it wasn't my Father's writing. Whoever wrote it obviously didn't care about being figured out. There was no match of any kind. Jason's Father, a Spartan, was murdered. .
My name is Jason, son of John, a Spartan. I have picked up my Father's armor, and his legacy. I will find out who murdered him. I will avenge him.
The savage dirt stretch to Beach Road was throwing dust in my eyes, with the wind slapping it at me faster than I had ever seen in my 23 years of living by the ocean. A storm was coming. I could feel it in every part of my being. But I had more important things to do.
It was so silly I first thought when I was about 6. My Father would drive up to the end of the road by the shore, get out, and talk to a rock. I was of course confused. Why was he talking to a rock, I'd ask. And even stranger, when a clicking noise was heard, he'd take me out of the car, cover my eyes, and after some shaking and the smell of cold steel, I finally opened my eyes to a large laboratory.
It was a completely white entry way, complete with secretaries, men in lab coats, and of course computer terminals. At the very end, a large black shaft, going up and down for miles. I used to throw tiny rocks over the edge secretly, with my hands on the rail. I never did hear them land.
Whenever I asked what any of it was for, or why we were here, he gave me the "eye". He'd look at me sternly, and if I didn't know better, his left eye would go red. Sometimes, though I loved him with all my heart, his years of training would get the better of him. I have the scars to prove it.
Now I did the same, as I looked through the swirling sand for a whitish striped rock. After a few minutes of searching, I found it buried by a Palm. After a few seconds of holding it to my ear, I heard the clicking noise; I put it down and set out into the brush. No wonder my Father closed my eyes, I thought, it really was scary in there. It was so quiet, too quiet. After a few minutes of standing in a 2 by 2 foot clearing, something different came out of the brush. A woman stood before me. It had been a long time since I had seen one, combined with my drinking and research (which led me there), I had no time for interaction. And she truly was a woman in all its forms. She was beautiful, tall and lean. She reminded me of images my Father had lying around of the late Dr. Halsey.
"Mr. Jason?" She said very business-like.
She took out a hand, leaning towards me. "My name is Sheila, Sheila Marks. I work for ONI Laboratories. Would you like to come in?" She said, pointing towards a dark corner of the woods.
I followed her outstretched arms into the darkness, when suddenly I was encased in a glass box, a glass elevator. With my hands against the panes, the last thing I saw before the darkness below was Sheila smiling, waving goodbye.
I could feel the blood rushing quickly to my head, and the darkness outside seemed to be moving downward at a fast pace. The familiar smell of cold steel was vibrant in the air. Finally I could sense the elevator come to a stop, and behind me the glass panes slid open, revealing the familiar white entry-way. My first stop on the road to answers.
"Welcome to ONI Mr. Jason."
To Be Continued....