Helljumper425

Vivian breathed, slowly exhaling through her lips as though to part a damp strand of hair from her eyes. Her palms touched the cold hard floor as she extended her arms forward, straining her shoulder muscles as she sat back against her heels, arching her back in a cat like stretch. Slowly, she raised her arms skyward, chin up, eyes closed, taking in another long breath. The Covenant had held her under duress for some time, not long, but enough for it to feel like an eternety. Letting her breath out, she brought her arms to her sides, then slowly clasped them before her torso. Her behavior seemed to confuse some of her captors, especially since she had willingly stripped out of her armor, down to her fatigues, to engage in an age old practice. others scoffed and laughed as though she were in prayer, their xenophobic bias blinding them of a different kind of elegance. She ignored them. Thus was the purpose of her stress relieving routine. For as long as she was in the Covenant occupied UNSC base, she would ignore them, she would resist. She would find a way to escape, if not in body, then in soul.

Sweetness. Where do I begin? I noticed a lot of people in the RP are kind of in differing locations.

Dwyer froze, dropping to a knee...cringing as the wet ground soaked his fatigues. It was an uncomfortable feeling that he'd have to endure for another hour. He raised a hand over his head to halt his fireteam, though without much experience in a leadership role he wasn't sure if they were following suit with him or with Shields. The moment that he had his good hand off of his rifle was a lifetime of unease. When he finally fitted his fingers around the pistol grip again, he swept over their surroundings. "Shields," he whispered, hoping no one else in his squad could hear him. "What's goin' on, man?" Chase steadied herself against the thick trunk of a tree, her M395 resting against the bark. She breathed slowly, scanning through her optics. The wait was killing her...

Full Name: SPC Vivian Nyro Age: 21 Occupation: Navy Corpsman (Marine equivalent of a Medic) Armor Aesthetics: Standard issue M52B combat armor. On her chestplate is additional combat webbing where she keeps her trauma sheers and various medical oddities such as first aid gel and medical tape. Facial Appearance: A narrow face. Light in complexion, her skin is untouched, her blue eyes complemented by leck length strawberry blonde hair. She has a light build, but keeps herself toned appropriately. Equipment/Weapon of choice: As per all Marine equipment, she carries dual optics: one holographic monocle, and one set of Night Vision Optics for her NVG mount atop her helmet. Since she is a corpsman, her role has restricted her to the use of an M7 SMG, but she showed herself to be proficient with the MA5 series. On the side, she carries an M6D. Backstory: Vivian was born on Earth, Kentucky, North America, 2536. Being the only child of a nurse and a paramedic, she found no trouble being noticed as a child. Most expenses were focused on her education. She cared little for following the family line of medical, instead striving to be a war journalist. Her interest changed when she began taking first aid lessons, and especially when the reality of war came closer to home. She was sixteen when the Covenant arrived over New Mombasa, and later Cleveland, Ohio. Old enough to enlist, she was able to volunteer her as an auxillery medic, and while she wouldn't be placed on the frontlines, the engagements did have a tendency to come knocking on their door. Repeatedly, she and other volunteers had been given weapons, typically discarged or dropped by wounded personnel, and told to fight to defend their hospital. This earned them the Marine Corps Civilian Service Award and the unnoffial title of Combat Pascifists by Marines. After the end of the war, she went back home, continued her education. In college, she worked her way up to a degree and licensed herself in the medical field. This earned her the immediate rank of Specialist upon enlistment at the age of twenty.

Dwyer ignored the back-and-forth between his fellow squad mates, shaking his head. He felt like he was looking at a blank screen, a combat equivalent to the writer's block he felt during his first research paper. "Shouldn't we be setting up a perimeter? Or...are we just going to hike it out now?" With a ligh shrug, looked back at Shields. "What the f*** are we doing?"

Sam tried to get his bearings once he set off of the Pelican, hitting the cooling ground with a hard thud that he felt in his knees as they supported the combined weight of his kit. He looked around, scanning the environment. They had been dropped in a clearing, a patch of treeless green surrounded by thick forest. Aside from the transitioning glow from Reach's sun to one of its two moons, the D77s were the only source of light as they drifted away slowly. "Man, none of this sh** looks familiar at all."

"Copy that," Dwyer said flatly, hiding a tone of diappointment. "Leading Alpha." Few times he cared to take point on anything. The few emergency calls that he responded to typically went awkwardly slow. On time, on a mass casualty incident--being only four victims in a vehicle collision--he had to assume the responsibility of triage and command, as he was first on scene. The incident happened at 0400, and by the time the scene was suitable enough for daily activities they were able to see light on the horizon. It didn't help that the paramedic responders chided him for improperly triaging the victims. He chose to have one crew service a victim with a head/neck injury over someone with an actively bleeding lower leg. Looking back on it, they were right to give him hell, but at the same time he knew a neck injury was just as life threatening. Now he was responsible for three others with the duty of preventing an incident altogether. Part of him wished someone would get hurt right off the bat, and it not be his fault. At least then he would know what to do. Cleaning up a mess was his forte.

Sam shook his head, testing the sturdiness of his awkwardly bulked helmet. Surprisingly, it stayed in place rather well. When he tapped his neural lace into the Heads Up Display, he half-expected a buzz in the back of his skull, having never experienced the benefit of a surgically interface. All at once, his weapon data, navigation, and platoon status icons all flooded his vision at once. It took him a while, but he found some organization and pattern to it all as the data was all ushered to the respective corners of his HUD. It didn't help his peripheral vision, but it helped everything in front. He heard Alec speak, all but requesting a partner, and deep down he felt a little guilty that he didn't pick him in the first place, having seemed to meet eye to eye on a number of things before. Nonetheless, they had a system. "I'm not sure, but I think we might have an odd number of people. If anyone's left, we can always have one group of three." He leaned out, looking to Shields. "What do you think?" PFC Lester Hargray stood with one foot on a landing skid of his assigned M12 LRV and watched the quartet of Pelicans depart with a low rumble, vanishing in the now duskly sky. It was something serene. "What do you think, Les?" he heard Private Lauren Chase ask. "Half of 'em look like they're shaking," he said as he turned to his fireteam, "and the other half look cocky as all hell. I honestly don't know what to think." Corporal Robert Bosco, a man with a taller, bulkier frame about twice Les' size, laughed with a hearty voice. "She means about Jim Dandy's." "Oh," he stammered in realization. "F***in' overrated." "Hey, I eat there every morning I can." "I didn't say it was bad, Rob, I'm just saying it's overrated. I like local places, not chains." Lance Corporal Yuki Winters appeared from behind the LRV, a gloved hand resting against its rear fender as she gave him a tilt of the head and a sly grin that was calling him out. "You weren't saying that after we left Finnigan's Grill that one night." A sickly feeling washed over Les. He remembered that night; upset stomach full of food that was just trying to crawl back out. "You can't let that go, can you?" "Wait," Bosco intervened, "I've been to Fin's before. What happened?" Yuki raised a brow. "You mean he didn't tell you?" Rob shook his head, looking back to Les awaiting his side of the story. He simply rolled his eyes. "Long story short, my burger was undercooked and I ended up puking my guts out." "No...At Fins? Really? That's gotta be bad luck..." "No," he said, brows raised as though he had heard the news for the first time as well. "I told a couple of other guys on base at Anvil about it--turns out they said similar **** happened to them. I don't know what happened; either new cooking staff came in or...just something. I mean, every time I've been on Reach, anywhere near this region I take a trip there at least once. But this time, I tell ya, I could've done better." "That's a shame, man. Thanks for tellin' me, I'll make sure they find out too." "What good are you gonna be?" "Good customers give feedback, and unlike you, I'm not afraid to be a good customer." "D**k..."

[Whichever one is willing to take you, Omega. I'd advise going into Marvin, DJ, or Kyro's squad, seeing as Astro selected a number of player controlled characters.]

[Platoon designation is "Asimov," Sam]

[Marine...I don't think you're reading me either. This is not a live fire exercise. No one is going to end up dead if parameters are followed. If you actually read my posts you'd know that. If you keep having Marvin speak up like this, he's probably going to get ignored just so that we can keep up the tempo of the RP, which has been sluggish lately.] Dwyer shook his head. "Let's save the talks for when we're transporting, yeah?" he said, as he took a moment to notice the few ODSTs laughing amongst themselves. "I never played any sports, but I know it sucks when the other guys know your gameplan, so shall we?"

[Omega, we're all outside, not in a room. Also, if he muttered something, not many people are gonna hear it, as both Geza and Kawolski walked away. I'm just saying it to give you a chance to edit it in a manner that could warrant a response. Otherwise Taylor's gonna get ignored.]

[Yeah, the CH252's will have short-wave comms. Squad leaders can set up TEAMCOMMs.] Dwyer shook his head, but smiled at the same time as he watched Geza walk off to the group of ODSTs, who were still loitering around their vehicles, exchanging words. "Guy's definitely got a stick up his ***. But I guess with fresh batches you kinda have to." Suddenly, he felt a bump at his arm. He turned to tee Aves giving him a nod. It took him a while to figure it out, but Sam eventually caught on that he was offering to work with him on the buddy system. He was about to speak when a hushed thud sounded over his shoulder, and turning to look he caught a glimpse of Kyro brushing by Shields. "Gotta keep your eyes open, man." Sam's brow crinkled with a mix of confusion and wanton distaste. That just happened, he told himself. The guy that had been on some of the thinnest ice in their platoon just tried to make someone with legitimate reason and mindset look like an idiot, or threatened him--Sam couldn't discern from his behavior. Nonetheless, he knew better than to deal with a mindless confrontation, instead looking back to Aves. "Yeah," he uttered, slapping the man's shoulder with a clack. "Yeah why not. Beats taking an odd-man-out from D**k-Cheese Squad over there," he said, jabbing a thumb in Kyro's general direction. He never was one to hold grudges, but Sam sure as hell believed in making life harder for those that deserved it. He had gone through EMS training, three years of college, did honest work before he enlisted, hoping that his service would be better rewarded. Thugs, gangsters, criminals with sentences, people who were there because they "had to be there," hardly felt fair to those in for career or general life guidance. Then again, it wasn't fair that humanity was close to facing extinction. "Man, f*ck life," was all he could say on the matter.

Sam ran a hand over the back of his neck, exhaling pure doubt as stood awkwardly by the list of recruits Shields had callen into assembly. There was only one other instance in which he was ever so clueless as to why he was seen as important enough for selection, and that was when he first turned in his enlistment papers. During that short chapter of his life, he had hoped they would turn him down, leave him with no option but to wait on the coming apocalypse, think of his disability as an unwarranted handicap. But, no. The UNSC decided to scrape to bottom, deeming that modern medicine--something he once thought he was a specialist in--would cleanse his impure nearsightedness before having his arm weighed with a rifle, an eight pound piece of machinery that carried more tradition than ammo currently. That was about to change, he knew, as an ammunition crate slithered into view while the Pelican's deployment ramp groaned open. "Step right up," said Geza, causing Dwyer to flinch as he seemingly spoke from nowhere. Not before long, the Sergeant came into view and raised a loosely closed hand, with a red-tipped round jutting out from either side of his middle finger. "You'll be loading these up for this op. Regular seven-six-twos for your MA5 assault rifles. These are training rounds; red paint laced with a tranquilizer to simulate how useless you'll feel when shot. Make no mistake, these are non-lethal, but like anything fired out of a gun, results may vary. Don't f*** up. Dispense it evenly and make it last." "Jesus..." Sam uttered, catching up with Shields. "Would it kill him to smile for a change?"

"Well, Marvin, since you've got it all figured out, you just volunteered yourself to be squad lead," Gabe finally said, giving the kid a half-glance before looking to Jones. "Good idea. One more to go..." Gabe's eyes locked onto Kyro. "You. You're up. With four leads, teach of you should have about eleven per squad. One of you will have an odd man out. You guys do the math and load up within the next minute. Oorah?"

"I don't think you're reading us, Marvin," said Geza. "He means thirty percent of the platoon, that's about fifteen out of the forty-five present. If at least fifteen of you make it back here without getting tagged, that's a passing grade." Gabe folded his arms, cocking his head at Oliver with a slight grin. "That's actually a good question, you know that? You should be proud of yourself for thinking ahead. In fact, why don't you start by stepping forward. You're my first squad leader. Anyone else want to volunteer their services? C'mon, there's forty-five of you and I need three more squad leads, who's it gonna be?"

As things quieted down, Gabe brought his full attention to the group. "Straighten out and listen up, because I'm only going over this once. The object of this exercise," he took a moment to glance at the fading orange glow on the horizon before, "should be simple enough for you to understand, but not so easy to carry out. Behind you is a wing of Pelicans that you'll be taking to the middle of nowhere. You'll be expected to make it back on your own. You have all the time in the world to accomplish this task by my standards, and ideally you'll get it done as a whole platoon. However, that probably won't be the case..." He took a step back, stabbed a thumb over his shoulder and then crossed his arms. "Behind me is a set of Light Recon Vehicles, their combined passengers numbering up to a squad's worth of seasoned ODSTs, people I trained through OQT personally. Their patience isn't as infinite as mine, and their task is to make sure you don't complete yours. In other words, you're mission is to survive as the most dangerous game on the planet, and that is why you won't be arriving at one hundred percent efficiency. And with that in mind, I'll understand if you come back in say...thirty percent, about fifteen of you. We'll call that passing material. Any questions?"

"We'll explain it once you and your boyfriend are done talking," Geza spat in Taylor's face, turning away. Gabe watched the scene from a distance with his arms folded. For a brief second, he glanced over his shoulder at the ODST corpsmen, the men and women who had been assisting the recruits since day one. Now, they were gearing in full titanium-black, and contrary to the MA5 assault rifles being toted by the recruits, these Helljumpers were prepping themselves with BR55s and Reach Armories' M392 Designated Marksman Rifles. SRS anti-materiel rifles seemed like overkill, but at the same time they ported shallower magazines, heavier weight, and greater recoil, which meant slower target reacquisition. The DMR had deeper magazine, fired 7.62s, and while they had a kick, they weren't as heavy as the 14 millimeters fired by the SRS. In the hands of a skilled shooter, targets could be taken down by the twos. If the recruits hadn't gotten the hint, Gabe pitied them. "Are we done? If everyone ready to listen again? Because we can stand here all night."

[Oh, the cadet gear? Screw that noise. I'm talking real armor, olive drab and all. If by visor you mean the tactical goggles they have, then that makes more sense. But no, Staff Sergeant Kawolski wouldn't give his recruits some crappy white PJs to bring into battle.] "Shut up and fall in line, Marvin," Gabe said, rather annoyed at this point. Still, he waited on Taylor to hand off the stolen rifle.

[Omega, I'm not sure what you're envisioning your armor to be, but M52B is the armor used by Marines in Halo 3 if that helps out. So there's no visor and no armor abilities. Just inches of mean, green titanium plating. As for shining in the light...depends on the light. Anyway, about that rifle...] "I believe that belongs to me," said Sergeant Geza, appearing before Taylor, arms folded as his eyes flicked down to the SRS anti-materiel rifle in the thug's hands. He held back his disdain rather well, but with Staff Sergeant Kawolski over his shoulder, who was shaking his head at Marvin's poor regard for following simple instructions, he had to restrain himself otherwise it wouldn't be fair. "I suggest you hand it over," the Sergeant continued. Kawolski pushed his tongue to his cheek, resting a hand over his thigh holster as he watched recruit Taylor's hands on the sniper rifle. Frankly, the fact that Marvin seemingly found the rifle and ammunition for it like some high class retriever dog made him feel impressed, uneasy, and above all irritated. A loaded gun in a criminal convict's hands was the last thing he needed for the day. "You heard him, Taylor," Gabe said, pulling his thousand yard stare away from Marvin.

Gabe pulled the clicker from his pocket, stopping the helm-rec logs on screen. "Because your attitude sucks. Moving on," he addressed the rest of the home room. "Everybody clear out and make your way to the barracks. There'll be a set of standard issue M52B armor waiting for each of you there. Ten minutes should be enough for you to figure out how to get it on and assemble at the ready line outside. Bring your rifles too." When Marvin stood up and spoke at random, at the worst time possible none the less, Geza ran a hand over his face, muttering, "Kid, sit the hell out." Gabe's approach was a little more subtle, but at the same time it was as blunt as a crowbar. He rested his leg up on a desk and untucked his pant leg from his boot, pulling it up to reveal a titanium frame running the length of his shin. "There's a reason they're called 'permanent prosthetics,' Recruit. What you've got is what you've got, and trust me, there ain't nothing better right now." Setting his leg down, he glanced across at Jones, then at Shields, and once at Griffiths. Their little scene had drawn more than a little attention of the group, attention that was required elsewhere. Kawolski chided himself for not nipping it sooner, but he found it best to have things play themselves out. A little quarrel was to be expected among recruits, and he expected Jones to be at the apex for dislike, but he didn't need it on shared time, especially from the more well-behaved candidates. He would probably later bring it to attention in his own way, but for now he needed to make sure the group was prepped. "Ten minutes," he said, synching his watch. "Starting...now. Clear out."

When reruit Taylor first started speaking, Gabe was almost too baffled to even reply to the man's lecture--probably because his writer didn't have a choice but to have him stand in silence--and rather than cutting him off, he simply looked to Sergeant Geza. The black suited figure simply shrugged. "I'm looking forward to guessing your life expectancy," the Staff Sergeant said flatly, folding his arms at Taylor. "Not in the field, but here as well."

[ultrace approved. Marine, your guy's bio is a bit cliche, and that prosthetic arm is making me nervous as far as how you plan to operate it in the RP. Do what you gotta do, but I'll be watching. Omega, I'll approve you but understand that your guy might come under a bit of abuse with his criminal background.] Staff Sergeant Kawolski hovered over Jacob. "You seem well informed for a kid with no knowledge of the Covenant," he said flatly before continuing. "As I've said, they are more effective against shields but not Covenant armor, not all alloys either. Scorpion MBTs have taken combined fire for entire skirmishes in the past. In addition, I already said that these weapons can cause serious **** for you down the line with their radiation output. Not all cancer is curable, and guess what causes cancer." On the other side of the room, Geza sat at the edge of an empty desk, rewatching the age old footage. It was pieced together from various points of view, at one point it covered his helm-rec--now known as VISR COMM--data, all of which were in the same hostile encounter. At current, the scene was being played out through the perspective of a Militiaman, not unlike the recruits present. General opinion was it probably looked like a video game; Geza agreed. First-Person style view with the weapon ready-up. At the upper right corner was a name: SPC Watkins, Demetrius. "Beta Centauri system. This was one of the more milder invasions." The footage showed Demetrius' vision jerk to the side as a second rifleman formed up beside him at the right shoulder, firing in short intervals. Between bursts, the man's mouth moved, but as there was no audio what was said could only be speculated on, but judging from the harsh expression on his face it was left to the imagination. After that, Watkins dropped his weapon, a standard MA5B, to a cradled carry and about-faced, engaging in a full sprint towards a set of hangar doors. From it came another four soldiers, black clad in full titanium ceramic armor, faces covered by non-descript visors. By now the scene was rather obvious. The personnel had just seen the last of a civilian evacuation off and were stuck on the ground awaiting their own. "This guy, Specialist Watkins, I knew him. Good guy. He was trying to get into the ODST program a month before this happened. NAVY SPECWAR wasn't feeling generous about accepting applications for a while, that went double for the working class colonials. This was ended up being his ticket to a fast track to recruitment."

"All things considered, as hellish as this enemy may sound so far, they all have their weaknesses. While you likely won't be in a face to face jam with any of them, it doesn't hurt to know their soft spots...Geza, let's start 'em off with some combat footage." [From here, you can consult your gaming knowledge of Covenant strengths and weaknesses. We're gonna skip lecture to a more relaxed, discussion based moment among recruits. After that will be the first field training op.]

Geza tensed as he saw Kyro's hand-language. Noting how he maintained his grip, he held back the urge to put him on the spot. Then, Gabe spoke. "We did actually. Their weapons cut their shields down a lot quicker. You know what else we found out? Their weapons are radioactive, and the less time you spend near them, the less money we have to put into treating your cancer." He put his hands at his waist and cocked his head. "I know what you're thinking. Trust me, unless it's absolutely necessary don't use their weapons. Moreso, if you have to use them, don't carry it close to anything important."