Forged

July 2545

UNSC Vorpal Sword

The UNSC Vorpal Sword was many things, old, battleworn, experienced beyond measure given the wall of accolades on the bridge, but above all, it was cramped.

“So this is your 'master plan' ? Hiding in the gym and praying Sarge doesn’t pick us for ship security?”

“Well ya got a better idea? I can barely stand the cruisers, this can may as well be a coffin compared to ‘em”

Both Corporal Reyes and Private Wheld were no strangers to ducking their COs, so hiding like this was the norm for them if not expected. It’s also what made their current spectacle all the more surprising. Spartans were figures of myth, so seeing one do something as normal, if you can call the hull plate-like slabs on a far-too-bent bar normal, as working out was...awkward. Not even really that, it just seemed wrong, almost domestic.

"You can say that again."

"I didn't say anything?"

"Yer’ face says enough. Sumthin which I think she may notice if she hadn't already."

The she in question was Bodark-B076, resident second-in-command of the ships Spartan contingent, and right now she was bench pressing far more weight than any human reasonably should have been able to. Every movement was perfect, almost graceful, in a way which belied her biceps as they flexed and stretched like titanium mooring cables, testing the limits of her sweat soaked compression shirt.

"What do you think it takes to end up like that?"

"More days in the gym than I wanna think about and sure as shit more MREs than we can get our hands on."

"C'mon, I'm serious. Wouldn't you want to be able to do that!"

Wheld took a moment, looking over the figure on the bench press. A perfect soldier by any officer's definition. But...

"Fine, fine, seriously? I wouldn't."

"Huh?"

"What she’s doin? What it takes to do that? That ain’t just effort and eatin. Sumthin happened to her, tore her down to brass tacks, an’ I don't wanna think about what did that, let alone pushed her to build herself back up into that."

As if she detected her audience, Bodark effortlessly racked the weight before sitting up and moving over towards a squat rack. The sight of a UNSC standard water bottle and towel in the giant's hands was enough to draw a quiet laugh from Wheld despite his words, but they did not fall on deaf ears.

A look, a brief locking of eyes between the three. But in that moment a foreign and disturbing shiver lanced down the spines of both marines. Not a glare, or a scowl, or anything describable, just the cold eyes of someone who had stared hell down...and now had them in her sights.

Both marines shot to their feet out of instinct more than anything else and snapped to attention. They'd gotten in their fair share of trouble and grilling from their sergeant, but they'd never felt so much pressure just from a look. Her towering height and bulky, steel-like frame only added to the Marines fear, as if even a single flex of any of her limbs would let her snap out towards them before they could react.

"S-s-sorry Ma'am!" "Ap-p-ologies, S-sir!"

Both Reyes and Wheld were well versed in having to apologize for their actions, but never had they done it out of such genuine fear for themselves. But by the time they had finished speaking, and making fools of themselves, she was already at the squat rack as if nothing had happened. As if waiting for her to pass, sound seemed to return to the room as the clangs of an unreasonable amount of weight being hefted with far too much ease broke the tension.

Reyes, still welded to the floor at attention, finally relaxed with Wheld following suit.

"Hey uh, Wheld?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I get what you meant now."

"I'd lick a latrine clean if you didn't."

Tempered

August 2549

UNSC Station RSN-13356 ‘Home Plate’

Home Plate Station is the closest thing to a ‘welcome home’ that many Marines had left. Between lost homeworlds and the ever-nearing frontline, the station is the first port of call for many, and the same was true for the recently returned UNSC Vorpal Sword and its Spartans.

It was an oddly familiar situation for Sergeant Reyes, though she couldn't put her finger on why. Being in the stations, by her standards, luxurious PT facilities with her grumpy compatriot, Corporal Wheld and their recently acquired prosthetics, foot for her and arm for him, is the furthest thing from anything she could recall. Even as both struggled with their rehabilitation, that at least is normal, or would have been if it wasn't for the familiar, titan-esque figure occupying the squat rack on the opposite side of the room from them.

"Hey, hey! Rust-for-bones!"

"Nghhh, whaddya want, ya leadfooted-devil?"

"A familiar face is what."

That familiar face was currently turned away with a heavily bending bar caught between her dyed platinum-blonde hair and the carved canyons of back muscles that stretched her black compression shirt with every movement. But those, unlike their first encounter, were not the most striking feature on the Spartan. It was her arms, or rather, what wrapped around them.

The arms that had caught their eyes so many years ago were on display but...far different from what they were. While no less prominent as they remembered, both were adorned with enough scars and burns to qualify as disfigured. The right arm especially since, as the sleeve retreated, a large patch of scar tissue was revealed, wrapping around her upper arm and seemingly running all the way to her shoulder.

"Lord above..."

"The hell happened to her..."

"To them."

Wheld’s words pulled Reyes' eyes toward similarly sized figures entering the room. Their size alone told the marines they were Spartans, but as if proving a point, their faces and bodies were littered with similar wounds and scars. Thick patches of scar tissue, burn marks, cuts, skin grafts, and unnaturally straight and faded into their hands.

Both looked back to the squat rack and finally recalled the Spartans name as they saw her turn to look at the other Spartans entering the room. The same face and eyes that had struck a primordial fear into the two of them belonged to Bodark-B076. But she seemed...different, somehow?

"She looks..."

"Calm?"

"I guess? At the very least she-”

"Hey Bo!"

All at once the withering death stare the marines recalled was back in full force and then some. The only upside being that it wasn't directed at them, but rather a dirty blonde and mustached man waving at her with almost childlike innocence who...was standing right next to them.

"Y’know, even the good Lord rested so maybe we get the hell outta here?"

"You really wanna draw attention to yourself while she is coming towards us!?"

Both marines jolted at the sound of her racking the inhuman weights with far too much ease as she stood up to her full height. The concerning sounds coming from the squat rack seemed to be ignored as she turned to face the unknown man with a look in her eye that made both marines unconsciously shrink away like birds watching a lion close in for the kill.

But rather than the bellowing roar of a lion, they instead heard...her.

"Last warning Damien, you call me that again and I'm putting you on rearguard for the next year."

"Whoa, whoa whoa, hey, c'mon. There's no need to be rash, it was a joke, a gaff, a humor."

"So is watching you fumble."

The silence in the aftermath of her joke seemed to stretch endlessly until the raven-haired Spartan who had walked in decided to break it.

"Hah! I knew I was rubbing off on you boss!"

Between the unexpected interaction and the unfamiliar Spartan laughing from the other side of the room, both marines almost decompressed, maybe the Spartans weren't as uptight as the stories claimed. Then her head turned towards them. Gone was the gaze that could melt titanium and instead what met them was an unnerving pair of hazel eyes that scrutinized them from head to toe.

'Must not have noticed her eyes last time./Cool eyes, probably missed 'em what with the abject terror'. Reyes and Wheld thought to themselves.

She didn't seem to recognize them, or if she did, she didn't make it obvious. The sheer size difference between them was clearer now than ever before as she stood less than a meter from them which both awed and terrified the two. Both Reyes and Wheld tensed and looked away, beginning to straighten to attention as they gradually wilted under her gaze.

"At ease."

Both looked up, surprised by the slavic accent but more so by the firm yet even tone directed towards them given their last interaction. Bodark glanced towards Damien who seemed to glance towards them and back at her in some unspoken conversation, before she looked back at them.

"And…good luck."

Both had to consciously maintain their posture at the awkward encouragement she let out before walking away. Something made more difficult by the quiet laugh and kind smile from the Damien guy standing next to them.

"She's working on it."

Though this was somewhat dulled as Bodark cracked her neck, rolled her arms, and glared over her shoulder towards the three of them with Damien in particular wincing as she pointed to the sparring ring.

While Damien stepped away to meet his fate, Reyes and Wheld were both floored. Not only did Bodark apparently not want to kill them on sight, she could make a joke!? Wheld opened his mouth to make a quip about the situation but both he and Reyes jumped at the sound of Bodark slamming Damien to the ground within the first ten seconds of their bout.

Hearing the chaos, the two marines locked eyes, nodded in understanding, turned right back around, and got back to work. They struggled and failed in blocking out the repeated impacts taking place behind them and prayed that the Damien guy was still intact at the end of it.

Annealed

October 2558

UNSC Hammer of Iron

The UNSC Hammer of Iron is a far cry from the typical quarters of many older types of frigates. Rather than the braced halls and narrow doorways in the skeletal frigates of old, it is cramped in a whole new way. While the largest of their type, the excessive armaments crammed into them meant relatively short and wide hallways with bracing that made it almost seem like the ship was still under construction. That being said, they still did little to stop Reyes and Wheld from being plastered against said bracing in the barracks during a briefing.

Both found themselves aboard the Hammer of Iron as part of a covert deployment of some brand. While Reyes and Wheld were only heading the reserve platoon, the resident Spartan detachment on the ship made a point of all unit commanders being present at all briefings, even if it meant being pinned to the rearmost wall and not even seeing them.

“Screw this, they can’t see us, we can’t see them, and shit we care barely hear what they’re saying! Hmph, wake me when this mess is over”

Despite Reyes’s warnings and attempts to keep him awake, Wheld used his uncanny ability to sleep anywhere to his advantage and blocked out the droning questions and barely audible briefing they couldn’t even see.

Even as it ended and the room emptied with glacial speed, Wheld only woke when Reyes used some well trained physical persuasion with her prosthetic against his shin.

“FUCK! What the hell, Reyes!?"

“I'll be damned if I am getting my ass chewed out for you slacking off and missing your portion of the briefing. We’re gonna find where the commander went and you’re gonna own up or I’ll make you”

Both glared at one another until Wheld finally relented and was dragged off by Reyes.

The hangar of the frigate wasn't anything grand, little more than a large hallway spanning the width of the ship with Pelicans crammed into it and Warthogs shoved wherever they would fit.

It was under a nearby Warthog that Reyes spotted the Spartan commander, not because they were armored or their face could be seen, but because the fact someone was holding up the front of the warthog...with one arm… was rather telling. As was the passing mechanic who did a comical double-take at the sight but said nothing.

"Well ya see that, is now really the best time t’be botherin ‘em with something this small?...eheh."

"You either do it now and get pancaked by a Warthog or you do it when they're in armor and-”

“Jesus, okay, okay! I’m going”

'God this is going to suck...'

Wheld neared the hoisted up warthog and, as he did, he realized just how much larger than his 5' 9" self this spartan was. He already looked nearly comical in a Warthog and that only became more apparent as he walked down the side of the hoisted vehicle and the front of the seemingly equally large Spartan. He winced and almost dropped as the Warthog wheel above him jumped when she moved her grip. While he couldn’t make out her face due to its proximity to the vehicle's axle, he almost instantly recognized the impressively built and horrifically scarred arms in front of him. The latter especially concerned him as he followed the seemingly endless patchwork down to the massive wrench in her left hand.

By the time he had recovered and straightened himself up, he was caught in the questioning gaze of Bodark-B076. His memory of the spartan was a foggy one being almost a decade ago, but the sight of her eyes brought forward memories of her terrifying gaze and subsequent unexpected meeting at Home Plate. But now, years later, only the former was in his head as her eyes bore into him.

"Uh, Ma-"

Wheld was cut off as she grunted while gingerly lowering the Warthog, adding her second arm and causing it to flex close enough to him that he felt he should look away and towards Reyes who, by now, recognized the Spartan.

"What's the situation, Marine?"

He snapped around fast enough to make his head spin but maintained his composure as the titan of a woman stood facing him, her face stern but not hostile like he remembered. She was older too, maybe not as old as him but noticeably older than he remembered and with a face littered with more scars than he'd expected of one of the armored behemoths that were the Spartans, notably a thick and old one bisecting her eyebrow.

"W-well, ma'am. I’ll need to be beggin your pardon uh, due to the cramped situation in the briefing room, I was unable to make out what our assignment was."

While it was nothing compared to the memory he held of Bodark, the death stare Reyes was sending as he roped her into his admission was quite a sight as she took her place next to him at attention.

"Second Lieutenant Reyes Ma'am. Staff Sergeant Wheld is correct though he neglected to mention his decision to sleep through the briefing as a result of the situation."

The chill which shot through Wheld was nothing compared to the dread of Bodark's face now glowering at him. Even beyond her being his superior and being more than a foot taller was her physicality, something he was keenly reminded of as she dropped the wrench with a deafening clang onto the hood of the warthog and immediately making him put two and two together and realize she was strong enough to achieve the same tightness as an impact gun with her arm and that wrench, and now she was pissed at him.

"Well uh, you se-"

"Quiet."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was as firm as tungsten and carried twice as much weight.

"0800 Tomorrow is the next briefing. Both of you will be front and center."

Wheld felt Reyes stiffen as Bodark's eyes snapped towards her.

"But, yes, you are right. Using the barracks was already a stretch with how overcrowded it is and handling everyone on the bridge is no better."

Both marines were surprised by the even and analytic tone now coming from the Spartan, her eyes shifting and mouth set in a firm line as if mentally recalling and analyzing the layout of the entire ship and personnel involved with the operation.

"Briefing will be held here, by Landing Pad 2. Pass it on to your men and the other officers, I'll clear it with the Captain and see that a formal announcement is made."

"Yes, Ma'am!" "Yes, Ma'am!"

Before either of them could turn away, Bodark's previously shifting eyes hardened and pinned Wheld to where he stood.

"And Staff Sergeant Wheld? No excuses this time. You interrupt or sleep in my briefing again and I'll see you're put on slipspace security detail. Understood?"

"Y-yes, Ma'am. I'll even show up early, help set the place up real nice!"

"I expected you to."

"R-right, course, of course."

"At ease."

While Wheld made his way away, Reyes didn’t. She stood pensively in front of the Spartan with a twisted look on her face. While Wheld had fallen asleep, she hadn’t and because of that something had been eating at her since briefing ended.

“Something the matter, Lieutenant?”

“Well, um. Yes, there is ma’am.”

While it wasn’t common for Marines or anyone outside her CO or teammates to approach her directly, the Lieutenant clearly had something to say. If it was regarding the briefing or her friend, she wasn’t sure.

“Ma’am, why the multiple briefings and changing intel? Half of us are in the dark and the other half are making bets on where we’ll end up.”

Before Bodark could answer, the Marine seemed to hit her stride, no longer looking her in the eye but instead growing steadily more agitated.

“And the deployment layout also seems off. We’re leaving the ship well outside support range and deploying from orbit via Pelican? My men can’t make that drop and I won’t put their lives on the line for a half-baked plan from a bunch of-”

Beyond the beginnings of irritation from the Marines rambling, Bodark had to cut her off before she said something that would land her in disciplinary action.

“Second Lieutenant Reyes!”

The visible jolt through the Marines body and her face scrunching in immediate recognition of her mistake were far from what she intended to happen, but the situation needed addressing.

“You are correct, intel is sparse and is barely legible by the time ONI filters are done with them. Wherever we are going and why is functionally a deadzone in terms of intel and I am trying to keep everyone up to date.”

The further mortification of the Marine almost would’ve been amusing if she wasn’t so certain it could lead to totally undermining her confidence in leading her unit.

“But, you are right. Current deployment has your men on standby in one of the Pelicans but you aren’t making the jump. DJs are first boots on the ground with my team following.”

While this was originally intel meant for the next briefing, the possible disorganization in the reserve force wasn’t a risk worth leaving unchecked.

“You’ve made good points, and it's clear to me you’re worried about your men. I can understand that. We’ll go over a revised reserve force readiness plan in the next briefing and I’d like you and the Staff Sergeant front and center.”

“Yes, Ma’am! I’ll make sure he comes early as promised.”

“He better, I was serious about putting him on slipspace security.”

Somewhere further away in the hangar a previously relaxing Wheld felt a pang of dread in his chest for seemingly no reason.

“And Ma’am, I’d like to pass on my greetings to uh, the blonde man from the last time we met, before the war ended? I think his name was Darian, or-”

“Damien. His name was Damien.”

Bodark's tone and face betrayed nothing, but Reyes had seen enough people lose their teammates to notice the little things. Her jaw clenched, her mouth forced itself into a firm line before it could even get a chance to frown. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Wherever he was, neither of them had the clearance be honest about it.

"Yeah, that - that's the one. Damien." Reyes paused, swallowed a breath. "Good man. Probably the nicest Spartan I've ever met."

"You and me both."