There was always a pattern before. Receive orders, fight Covenant or insurrectionists, return to base, rest, receive orders, and so on.
But this time was different. It began like usual, visiting my commanding officers to receive my orders, but then what followed soon become my worst nightmare. Many ships were boarded for me to get where I am now, the place where I am now held against my will.
I’m not talking about the Covenant, the aliens I was raised to fight and defeat at all costs. All of that training, days spent trekking through unforgiving landscape, the countless number of scars and bruises I have gained over the years. None of that prepared me for this. For this seemingly endless torture being dealt to me for reasons I have still yet to comprehend.
That madman drove a scalpel through my thigh. But then, if I were given the order to torture someone like he’s tortured me, I doubt I’d even think twice before beating the shit out of them. He’s been taking it slow. Not that it makes me like him. If anything, I only hate him more for drawing out the experience.
“I want a SPARTAN. One that’ll be able to do whatever I tell them to and not reveal a single detail to anyone. One who will not utter a word when interrogated. One I can use. And I want that SPARTAN now.” Black figures moved around in the shadows that ruled over most of the room. “Of course. Of the four we have here... At least one of them will fit your criteria perfectly.”
The four we have here... There’s only me left. The others broke beneath the pain and begged for mercy.
“...One who will not utter a word when interrogated...”
They broke, and they paid for it with their lives.
“You have failed the test. Unfortunately for you... We can’t let you leave. Wouldn’t want anyone to find out what happens here, eh?”
A gunshot. Blood sprayed from the hole that formed between his forehead as the bullet pierced his skull, forcing its way through the skin, then the bone, then the soft human brain that everyone seemed to forget lay beneath the helmet we SPARTANS always wear. Blood welled up in the wound and spilled down his face. Brain matter flew and splattered against the glass window of the viewing room. And still I did not flinch. I didn’t even blink when they shot him. Because to me, failure was not an option a SPARTAN should, or could, have.
I won’t make the same mistake. I won’t be another life lost to this living hell they call a test. I’ll endure, and live, and I won’t utter a single word. Because failure isn’t an option for me.
It’s never been an option.
