...first week's done. It's been tough, but I knew it would be. I've been running around non-stop, it feels like, observing a lot of the activities and leading others.

Some of the kids are brilliant. They're handling it as well as anyone could have hoped, as far as I can tell, not like I'm a psychologist. Some of them, I'm wondering how we're ever going to make Spartans out of them... but then again, I guess I was a bit of a brat in my first few days. There's one who reminds me of myself.

...wonder if he'll make the rank instead.

(And I thought I'd stopped thinking about that! Maybe it's getting back into the armour that's got my mind back in gear? Doesn't matter - maybe I'll still make it, and it'll be Captain Harvey on the Halo missions... I think I like the sound of that!
...hell. I can make a difference here, can't I? I know what's going on. I'll have more freedom to pull strings now than I would as an NCO.
Just need to work on getting back into the field if I can.)

He'd been here before.

And yet not; every detail was new. The finishing touches had only been put on the parade grounds yesterday; he'd wandered around them in his spare time. It was one thing to see them empty; another, now. With seventy-five children being shuttled in, confused, lost, alone - but they'd never be alone from this moment on, he knew it.

John clicked the speaker in his helmet to full volume, and glanced across, seeing a smartly-uniformed Mendez out of the corner of his eye. Best he did it, they'd decided.

"Attention," the voice he'd been given called out.

The children stared. They'd never seen anything like the figure addressing them.

"As per Naval Code 45812, you are hereby conscripted into the UNSC Special Project, Second Generation, codename SPARTAN II-A."

He subtly clicked the speech he'd programmed into the synthesiser on to play.

"I know this means nothing to you now. But you are here for a reason. You're here because you're the best. Each and every one of you. Earth and every world out there is under threat. This is why we need you. You will be trained to be the very best. You will be trained to fight and to become soldiers - but more than that. You will be trained to become Spartans. Like myself."

If he'd been able to speak for himself normally, he wondered if he'd still have been able to say the words.

"This is where I've got to tell you what you don't want to hear, though. You won't be going back. I won't say you won't be going home, though. This is home. Look around you." He paused. These are your family. These are your friends. It will be hard, but trust each other. You will make it." He was so glad that they couldn't see his face as the words played out, silently reading along to them with his eyes shut.

He'd been here before, ten years ago.

Current Location: SPARTAN 2-A facility, Fort York, UNSC space

It looks like this is it; SPARTAN 2-A is go.

Some of the outlying facilities are still under construction, but they're ready enough to start bringing in the new recruits any day. I've seen the full shortlist, I met a few of them - and I keep thinking, was I ever that small? It's got me a little worried, but we picked the best we could find.

There's no 117 in there. There's a 115 and a 118. It's kind of a relief, in some strange way. It's just me.

I just hope I'm ready for this.

I'm still pinching myself to try and convince myself that it's real. I know it's not my world; I know it's a couple of years ago, if I've guessed right.
But still, it's real, she's there, I can talk to her, she's not gone... it's not her, but it's - it's better than a memory.
...it's almost like the old days again. And I'm already calling them that.

And the first competitor makes his way into the ring.

John spares a glance for the crowds for a moment; no time to worry about that, though, or the garish decorations around him. Just another mission... although one somewhat different than any he'd been on before. His shirt's hiding any number of bandages around his arm and upper body; he's had worse, though. Voice synthesiser set aside under his chair, he can't offer a quip for his opponent or any kind of pre-match comment. He does however give a bit of a smile and a nod, respectfully, before he shifts his weight and gets ready to go.

This is going to be interesting, he thinks.

Tags: tournament

I'll update this post with actual info on moves translated into fighting game style later if I can think of them, but for now, a few basics.

Height: 6'5"
Weight: 297 pounds (presence of muscular and skeletal enhancements; this is actually on the low side compared to what canon says.)

Appearance: An athletic young man, with a touch of tiredness in his eyes. Light brown hair cropped into a military cut, skin very pale and with a few faded freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose if you look closely enough. Few scars visible around the place.
P1: Camouflage fatigue pants, heavy green boots with chunky straps on them, a sleeveless top with the text 'UNSC' on the front and dark strapping around his elbows. Picture.
P2: Everyday uniform; simple grey jumpsuit with gold trim on the sleeves (see icons).
P3: Full Marine fatigues. (May change.)
P4: Formal uniform; smart and white with darker trim angling around the front and collar and a couple of gold fastenings.
Secret: MJOLNIR armour, mark 5.

Stage: Fort York - the heart of the reconstructed Spartan project facilities. Prefabricated military buildings surround the square, with a number of flags flying at one end, a Warthog jeep parked up at the other, a lot of construction equipment still lying around and possibly a whole load of Marines and Navy personnel watching.

Theme music:
-'Rock Anthem For Saving The World', Marty O'Donnell
-'First Movement of the Odyssey', Incubus (note version would be without lyrics as is used in game.)

Style: Close range combat. He favours throws and tackles and moves that don't look fancy but are designed for maximum impact; he's not as used to attacks coming in high, or the likes of fireballs and distance moves, so jump-attacks and special attacks are likely to throw him off more than anything else.

Tags: tournament

( ((Track list and link behind cut.)) )

"Of all the things..." The doctor made a face. "Car crash?"
John just nodded. No way to reply when the doctor was pulling and prodding at his arm. Some idiot had smacked into him with a Warthog as he was heading across the base - good job it hadn't been going any faster than it had. As it was, things had still looked nasty for a moment, but he'd been able to get to the medical facility with a bit of assistance. He'd at least been able to walk, much to everyone's surprise.
"I know your medical record. The - classified elements." The doctor coughed. "I know you can't break bones... but you look like you've come damn close." She listed off his injuries. "I can fix this easily enough. But it'll take a while to fully heal, I'm sure you understand."
Another nod - not like he hadn't had enough talks off doctors when he was younger over injuries from training.
"I don't want you putting any strain on that side. Take it easy. Now - this may feel a little odd..." The doctor started to spray the injured area with anaesthetic. John just let out a sigh and looked away.
This was seriously going to put a crimp in his plans.

If there's one thing, I'm not going to get used to in a hurry it's ...actually getting any kind of respect off average troops. It's a pretty good feeling for once - but then I remember what they see me as and it's still not what I think of as 'me'. It's all 'yes, Mr. Harvey' and it still sounds strange. It still feels like I'm faking it.
I hope I'll get the chance to let the kids know that I'm really the same as them, numbers in the name and everything - I don't want to lie to them of all people. I will if I have to for the sake of making this work, but - well, I'd rather not. Speaking of which, I've recently been able to look at the first list of names we've had through and see the file pictures; was I ever that little? There's only another 75 coming through, it seems, they just couldn't get the budget for any more even with everything they tried, but there's a list of 150. I'm going to visit a few of them as part of the assessment, but -
...I think I'll have to let someone else make the call on whether A117 makes it.

I actually put this in with my entry yesterday, but... I think I want to go into it a bit further. Have I already? I can't remember.

The speech issue. They've given me a little voice synthesiser to help deal with it; it's about the size of a small chatter, not many keys but it's setup so I can enter anything into it if I press multiple buttons at once. Hold that in one hand and clip a speaker on my collar. In theory, it works. It'll probably work better with my armour than otherwise, actually. ...when am I going to get to use it again?

The thing is, it feels strange. Writing and typing, there's this - remove between me and what I'm saying, where I get to think things over and work them out. I'm comfortable there. That's what makes it work. It's all coming out a different way. There's not that - block there like if I try to speak directly.

I want to get back to normal. But every time I try? There's nothing there. It just won't come out. The synth's probably worth a try but it's just that little step more and it feels strange, I can't make myself pick the thing up and use it. It's unfamiliar. Then again, what isn't at the moment? I'll try.

The voice coming out of it, too, it's not quite mine. They've tried to match recordings of me speaking, but someone thought it was a good idea to try and age it slightly, give it a bit more authority. I'd have preferred them to ask, but that didn't happen.
So, the default's the Chief's voice.
They didn't know.