#five-five-eight

[spartan-five-five-eight]

New Year.

Five-Five-Eight smirked as the crystal ball hit it's mark, raising his fist with the rest of the SPARTAN's, II's, III's, IV's, everyone, in a cheer marking the new year. Lucien found himself excited to see what was going to happen, what missions awaited him, and just how long peace would last. Normally he disapproved of the IV's, but tonight he couldn't help but join in the celebrations with them. He was a II, yes, and he was happy to be alive. As he stood there, fist in the air, he thought of all of his comrades who couldn't be there, and he wished them well, wherever they were.

[spartan-five-five-eight]

Seven Months

It's been so long, The II thought as he stepped off of the Pelican Transport onto the floor of the Infinity's hangar bay. Lucien's duffle bag was slung over his shoulder as he looked around, noticing how familiar things still were after such a long time. Five-Five-Eight had been transferred on an extremely classified mission for ONI, which had given him a slight feeling of excitement when he had first heard about it, but it turned out to be yet another guard dog mission where he had to 'protect' delegates if the meeting with the Sangheili didn't go well. The II didn't see how it couldn't go well, considering the majority of the Sangheili race was allied with Humanity, well, aside from the few that were still trying to make The Great Journey a possibility. Either way, it had been long, and boring, aside from sparring with the Elites, though that was a rare treat. It was over now, and for that, Five-Five-Eight was thankful. He had been told that his old quarters had been held for him, and his boots thunked along the metal floor as he made his way back....home.

[spartan-five-five-eight]

The Flood

Lucien stood in front of Alyss' door, full armor on. Extending a hand, he knocked on her door, the metal on metal sound significantly louder than that of flesh and bone upon a door. As he waited for her to answer, he pondered why Palmer seemed to dislike the II's and III's so much. After all, they were the precursors to what she WAS. She would not be called a Spartan if not for him and the others that came before her and the IV's. Regardless of her bias against other Spartans, it was almost treasonous for her to keep quiet about the fact that he and Six had a mission, especially one so important. Perhaps she was simply butthurt because her precious Crimson hadn't gotten the mission and had been assigned to guard a semi-VIP alongside Castle instead. Five-Five-Eight remembered Earth, how The Flood had nearly spread to uncontrollable levels to the point where the Elites had to glass parts of New Mombassa and the Tsavo Highway. Hopefully on this mission he could prevent an outbreak on Requiem or Infinity before it could even begin.

[spartan-five-five-eight]

War Games.

Five-Five-Eight crouched in the grass, clutching the shotgun he had picked up from a drop. There was no sign of his team anywhere around, but he knew better than to trust the IV's to do anything. The II crept forward slowly, waiting for his moment to strike. A blip on his radar and the sound of footsteps caused him to activate his active camo AA. Sure enough, a second later, a blue team IV walked around the corner, DMR raised, watching for the invisible enemy. Five-Five-Eight could only imagine the thoughts running through the IV's head about where he was, eyes darting about as sweat trickled down his face. When the IV turned the other way, and the counter on his Active Camo was about to expire, the II leapt into action. Stepping up quickly behind the IV, he wrapped his arm around the other's neck, active camo disappearing to reveal the tall, much bigger SPARTAN II. In the next second, he threw the IV to the ground, leaping ontop of him and driving the enemy's own knife as well as his own into the open patches where the IV's ribs were left open. There was a gasp, followed by a dying moan of pain as the IV went limp, another kill stacked up for Five-Five-Eight. The II took a moment to pause, enjoying the sound of the match's MC proclaiming, "ASSASSINATION!" And satisfied that he hadn't needed to waste any precious shotgun ammo in the process. The feeling was there for an instant, and then the SPARTAN backed into the shadows, moving out towards the next area, one thought on his mind. "I'm coming for your score, Six"