Arcadia

Humanity's first contact with the Covenant shifted its perspective on military supremacy. Following countless defeats, humanity realized that these mysterious enemies possessed an overwhelming superiority in warfare — a discovery that sparked an interest in the various species that made up the Covenant. It became necessary to conduct research and uncover more in order to gain an advantage in the war.

However, knowledge was not enough. More forces were required. One way to recruit more people was through the use of military propaganda. It did not matter whether this was considered unethical or not; it was a necessary measure to improve humanity's chances against a common and stronger enemy. Another approach involved convincing people — from a very young age and in the traditional manner — to fight for their race: through the school system.

After being evacuated from his home planet, Harvest, Richard Rogers spent years learning about the Covenant, their weapons, and their vehicles. New species were being discovered all the time, so school textbooks were constantly updated with their names and characteristics. The boy developed a special interest in a particular species: the Jiralhanae, or Brutes. They were very robust in build and covered in fur, resembling a gorilla. Learning about their anatomy was a way to gain an advantage in combat against them.

They had no weaknesses, save for their temperament and primitive intellect; they were stubborn, narrow-minded, and easily swayed by their own emotions. They were also extremely violent and always sought to inflict the greatest possible suffering upon their victims — which is why they used the Spiker, the dark, metallic, two-bladed weapon that killed Richard's mother. If this trait were not common to the entire species, Rick would not harbor such deep-seated resentment toward them; instead, he would understand that a single individual does not define the whole group.

He vowed to make them suffer, as a way of returning the treatment they themselves had meted out to others. But, above all, he prioritized saving as many people as he could. He still blamed himself for having failed to protect anyone up to that point — even though he was still just a child.

Six years after the first contact, Richard — now 13 years old — was at school. He leafed through the pages of his textbook; an image of a "Brute" detailed its anatomy. He sat near a window at the back, on the left side of a classroom filled with students his own age. Distracted, he couldn't focus on the lesson; his mind remained burdened by the ongoing war. After centuries of human conflict, they now faced an even stronger enemy.

After being sent to an orphanage on the planet Arcadia, he had lived as an ordinary refugee. Fortunately, he had had no further contact with the Covenant since Utgard. He longed to join the armed forces, but that was impossible for a boy his age. In some colonies, the minimum enlistment age had been lowered — a desperate, albeit illegal, attempt to recruit more personnel. Rick was determined to meet the requirements, regardless of the risks to his own safety. He practiced his aim using toy pistols and simulators, though he avoided physical exercise, as his body was not yet fully developed and he risked stunting his growth.

Unlike the Brutes, his actions were not entirely driven by his emotions. He would coldly calculate the best way to become a hero in the long run. He knew that sacrificing himself for others would only be justified if there were no other way out, or if the number of lives saved was too significant to risk losing. Becoming a Marine — or, better yet, an ODST — was his primary goal. Until then, however, he could only do so much and dream of a bright future.

"Mr. Rogers, are you listening?" the professor asked, rousing him from his thoughts.

Rick: "Yes, Professor."

The other students stared at him with curiosity.

"Are you hyper-focused on the Brutes again?" the old man asked. "I've already told you that this lesson isn't about them — nor is it even about the Covenant as a whole."

Rick: "I understand. Sorry, Professor."

"Stop getting distracted and start paying closer attention," the man continued. "Otherwise, it could hinder your learning. The rest of the class is also negatively affected when I have to call out an individual student. Did you know that?"

Rick: "Yes, Professor."

But you're the one picking on me... you could have just left me alone.

Rick's words did not always reflect his thoughts. His responses were brief and precise, aimed at ending conversations as quickly as possible and avoiding trouble. The tedious lesson dragged on, until something seemed to cast a shadow over his desk. He looked out the window: a giant, purple, rounded, and elongated object was floating in the sky. His eyes widened, and time seemed to stand still for a painfully long while. He recognized that object from his textbook. He rose slowly from his desk, staring at the object in shock.

"Mr. Rogers?" the professor asked, with a slightly irritated tone. "Is anything the matter?"

The boy pointed at the floating object and looked at the group with a desperate expression.

Rick: "A Corvette! We need to evacuate the school, now!"

"You are in no position to give orders to anyone, Mr. Rogers," the grumpy man warned. The students, however, stared at the purple spacecraft in shock and began to rise from their seats, one by one. Rick dashed toward the door to leave the room. The teacher slammed his hand hard against the desk, growing impatient. "What do you think you're doing?!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "I don't recall dismissing any of you!"

Rick: "But, Professor, this is an emergency!"

"And what does the emergency protocol say?!" the teacher retorted, trying to regain control. "Do not panic, or the situation could get worse! We will all wait in this room, together, until an evacuation order arrives! And what if it's more dangerous outside than it is in here? There is no place safer than this!"

Rick gripped the doorknob, hesitating, and glanced back at the group, who remained in a state of panic despite the teacher's words. A classmate pointed desperately toward the spacecraft. "It's coming!" she cried, prompting Rick to bolt outside. He flung the door open and lunged forward — just as a blast of bluish-purple light erupted, hurling him several meters away.

His head felt light; his vision was blurred and spinning. He could barely tell how much time had passed, or even where he was — other than the fact that he was lying face down on the floor. Slowly, he turned his head to look behind him: the entire classroom was gone, and blood was gushing from where his feet should have been — for they were no longer attached to his body. He could neither find them nor feel them. There was a burning sensation across his back, but almost no pain. He dragged himself along using his arms and legs, feeling intense pain with every movement, as if they were on the verge of breaking at any moment.

The boy's severed legs left a red trail on the floor, while his vision wavered and grew increasingly dark. He was just about to reach the stairs to head down when someone approached rapidly and sprayed a substance onto his legs; it formed a foam that solidified, staunching the bleeding. The person then applied a cylindrical device to Rick's arm, injecting a liquid that brought him to full alertness in an instant. He no longer felt any pain, but his ability to move remained severely restricted. "Don't move," the soldier warned. "I've just injected you with adrenaline and morphine — but don't make any sudden movements."

The man examined the body carefully, looking for injuries. Rick's back was charred, and his shirt, in that area, had been incinerated. The medic gently felt the young man's limbs. Another soldier approached quickly. "Most of his bones are on the verge of breaking," the medic said, helping the young man to his feet; he and his colleague supported his body, one on each side. "This is one of the few survivors, and he's in critical condition," the medic continued. "We need to make him a priority." They descended the stairs slowly. "We're out of transport vehicles for civilians," the second soldier warned. "We'll have to use the Warthog we brought to get here."

As soon as they left the school, they encountered an exchange of gunfire. Marines and Covenant ground forces were locked in an intense battle. A tall creature, clad in white armor, loomed over them and charged toward the medic — who quickly shoved Rick and his companion aside — before impaling him with a blue energy sword and lifting him off the ground. Another soldier unleashed a hail of gunfire from an assault rifle. The creature moved too fast for anyone to react properly — and impaled the soldier. The holographic shield surrounding it appeared to be incredibly resilient, blocking every bullet with ease.

Two drop pods fell from the sky; their doors burst open with a crash. An ODST emerged from each pod — one firing a shotgun, the other a light machine gun. The creature lunged toward the first, seized the shotgun, and ran the soldier through with its sword. The second soldier emptied his magazine, finally managing to deplete the beast's shield. Feeling threatened, the creature swiftly grabbed the second soldier's helmet and crushed it to pieces. The other marines died, one by one, at the hands of the Covenant forces, while Rick and his second savior hid behind some cover.

Rick: "It's a Zealot..."

Rick couldn't think clearly — nor could he speak above a whisper — given the state his body was in, but he remembered seeing that creature in white armor in his textbook.

Rick: "An Elite Zealot... We don't stand a chance against it..."

"We can't risk running to the Warthog..." the soldier said. "If I had a Magnum, I could take him out now that his shields are down, but I'm part of the rescue team..."

Rick pointed to a pistol that had fallen beside them. The soldier picked it up and checked for ammunition. He tried to summon the courage to leave cover and fire at the Elite, but plasma blasts were coming from every direction. He was afraid.

The Elite walked slowly toward them, now that the threat was gone. His shield was on the verge of recharging when a thin red laser, coming from the side, was aimed at him. He didn't seem to notice. The sound of a countdown began, as the light grew increasingly intense, until — a few seconds later — an extremely powerful red laser cut through the creature, disintegrating it. Then, a series of shots took out the remaining Covenant troops, one by one. "Area clear!" a male voice shouted, as someone approached them, stopping just a few meters away. Rick and the soldier stood up to see their savior.

Slung over his shoulder, he carried an immense green tool that looked like a cannon that had just overheated. He held the earpiece inside his helmet. He was very tall and wore green armor with red stripes and a gold visor. The number 092 was visible on his chest plate. "Spartan Jerome-092 reporting to command: the school area is clear," he said over the radio. "Awaiting orders."

A Spartan...? What is that?

Rick: "Do you know him?"

"This is the first time I've seen armor like that..." the soldier remarked. "Could he be some new type of ODST?" The man in the green armor pointed toward them. "Hey, you two," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "Does anyone here need urgent assistance? I need to move on to the next rendezvous point."

Rick: "I'm... okay..."

The boy gave a thumbs-up with a forced smile. "Hey, don't push yourself," the soldier said, then stared at the Spartan. "I'm with the rescue team; I'll get the kid to safety. No need to waste any more time here — go!" The man in armor waved at them and took off running. The soldier carefully placed Rick in the passenger seat of the Warthog, which had been parked in a hurry. He positioned the Magnum between the two seats. As he started the vehicle, another Marine jumped into the back, ready to take control of the machine gun. "Room for one more?" the rescuer replied a smile, and then they took off.

"Where exactly are we headed?" the gunner asked. "A Pelican is going to land about a kilometer from here, in an open field," the medic replied. "If any Covenant follow us, open fire!" The gunner scanned the area: there was destruction everywhere, but not a single living soldier on either side. They were moving along a dirt track, flanked by low walls. There was nowhere to turn, which severely limited their movements. Beyond the walls lay open, green fields. In one of them, a blue tank — a Wraith — appeared. It seemed to notice them, as it pointed its cannon in their direction.

The gunner fired rapidly at the small, rounded creature — a Grunt — operating the turret on the Wraith, taking it out. "Slow down!" he shouted; the driver braked sharply just as a blue spark exploded a few meters ahead. The gunner kept firing at the blue vehicle, inflicting steady damage. The driver accelerated again. Rick spotted something up ahead: a Grunt standing in their path, aiming a plasma pistol at them and charging the weapon. Rick quickly grabbed the Magnum lying nearby and leveled it at the enemy, breathing slowly to steady his focus. It was the first time he had ever fired a real weapon. The rescuer, who had initially seemed apprehensive, smiled, encouraging the boy to take the shot.

Even with his bones bruised and his entire body battered, the boy struck the Grunt in the head, killing it instantly. The alien's plasma pistol, pointed toward the sky, fired a charged shot that missed its target. The recoil from the Magnum caused even more pain. "Beginner's luck, huh?" the driver said, picking up the pistol and setting it aside once again. "Thanks for the help, but don't do that again, alright?" The gunner kept firing and was on the verge of destroying the Wraith when it unleashed another blue spark. "Floor it!" he shouted. The driver complied, accelerating to dodge the projectile. Then, the turret finally dealt enough damage to make the tank explode. "Hell yeah!" the gunner cheered.

They were nearing their destination when an aircraft approached from behind. It was purple and greenish in color — a Banshee. Upon spotting it, the man on the machine gun opened fire, but the craft unleashed a hail of plasma projectiles that scorched and killed him. He fell out of the Warthog. "Damn it!" the driver shouted as he accelerated again. Rick, feeling the pain, moved from the passenger seat to the turret. "What are you doing?!" the medic shouted, unable to let go of the steering wheel. "Get back here! You're going to get yourself killed! We're almost there!" In the distance, they could see a dark, airplane-shaped craft descending. It was a Pelican.

The damaged Banshee banked upward, preparing to execute a maneuver and get back on their tail. Rick gripped the turret handle, fumbling to find the trigger. He stood on his severed legs, the foam beneath him threatening to give way. He managed to open fire, struggling to control the recoil. After dozens of shots, the craft finally exploded. Rick's arms were on the verge of giving out, but he held fast to the turret — letting go could have resulted in even worse injuries if he were to fall. "This is it!" the pilot shouted, veering sharply to the right and entering an open field.

A large crowd waited at the scene, accompanied by armed troops. From their turrets, the Marines opened fire into the sky. Before Rick could react, another Banshee appeared from behind, firing a burst of green energy. The pilot tried to slow down in time, but the explosive projectile struck the front of the Warthog, causing the vehicle to flip onto the driver and crush him. The Banshee was destroyed, but more Covenant troops appeared, wiping out most of the survivors. As fire engulfed the surroundings, another Elite Zealot — clad in white armor — approached Rick, who had landed on the grass, which cushioned the impact. A Pelican transport craft descended and neutralized the ground forces with its machine gun.

The survivors and the Pelican troops helped Rick get into the aircraft. He was bleeding and on the verge of death, with all his limbs broken. He began to lose consciousness as darkness crept into his vision.

I can't fall sleep...

He forced himself to stay awake, managing to hold on until the paramedics arrived to save him.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he found himself on a hospital table, undergoing surgery. "It's a miracle he survived in the first place," one of the surgeons remarked. "But we will have to replace some of his limbs with prosthetics."

Rick woke up in pain, slowly opening his eyes. A nurse was watching him, looking concerned as she checked his condition. His vision was blurred, and he felt nauseous. "Congratulations," she said. "You made it — you survived! You were in a coma for about a week."