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Background

** ** The following story takes place in the Halo universe, approximately 1 year after the human-covenant war. For those who do know the Halo story this is what you need to know. The covenant is an alliance of mad religious aliens, Sangheli (Referred to by humans as "Elites") was one of the species that made up the covenant war machine, though at the end of the war the sangheli split from the covenant and allied the humans.After the alliance half of the Sangheli even though separate from the covenant, still held their hatred for humans, hence a Sangheli civil war was created. Humans and aliens vs. some of the same aliens.

On the human side we have Spartan super soldier program. The most advanced, and formidable military asset in the galaxy. The Iconic Master Chief was the last Spartan 2, who had single handedly won the humans their victory, prevented galactic genocide, prevented a galactic epidemic of a hideous mutating infection known as the flood, and kicked everything's, and everybody's ass that stood in his way. He is the greatest testimony to the formidability of the Spartans. In the time of this particular story the UNSC (United Nations Space Command) is preparing to start training the 4th generation of the fearsome Spartan program.

The following part is not in the actual game, it is in the context of the story. In an effort to improve Human-Sangheli relationships, the UNSC is taking veteran Sangheli applicants as well as experienced human veterans for Spartan 4 training.

Chapter 1

Meet the stars part 1

Everything was in tatters. Concrete debris lined the street in dusty piles of twisted, tortured, and melted steel rebar. Beyond the crumbled concrete lies a huge tower. In their prime they must have been an impressive sight, a feat of engineering. Now, empty, covered in broken glass and held up with crumbling, plasma-scorched walls they looked like towering gravestones, or the slowly eroding remains of a once great civilization. Monuments to the events that took place here.

This is what remains of a once bustling human city. A city which even though is no more than a ruin, the species that inhabit the planet refer to it as New York, and too many, home.

On this particular street, although nothing but grim and depressing, one would be wrong to think it was lonely. At every fallen light fixture, every damaged building, and every pile of twisted rebar there were people there cleaning and fixing the place they referred to as home. People overcoming their differences and working together in time of crisis would make anybody feel warm and cuddly inside, unless of course you have some serious issues, or have been through a hell lot of shit.

One man was shuffling down the street, not helping anyone but instead just looking at the ground and shuffling along as if the world had ended. Given it had gotten dam near close but it was still there. He was young, and wore the distinctive grey uniform of a UNSC officer; he was so covered in concrete dust that one could barely see the numerous metals, badges, and awards that decorated his uniform. No one on the street disturbed him by asking him to help the repair effort because the expression that he wore was one of a man who had been though a hell of a lot of shit.

The man continued down several more blocks until he came to a stop on front of a building that one could assume was an apartment building of sorts. This block was a bit ahead in the repair effort than the block we had just left. Most of the concrete piles had been removed along with damaged fixtures, debris and broken glass. In their place there was construction equipment every ten feet with an army of construction workers to go along with it. Everywhere concrete was being re-poured, windows were being replaced, and everything was starting to look a bit more like it did before the attack.

The man starred at apartment building with watery eyes for several seconds before walking into the lobby of the building. Inside looked just the same as outside, but the floor was being re-paved with concrete. The man brushed the dust off his uniform before continuing. Now one could see the dozens of awards that his uniform boasts but also the name stitched onto the shoulder. It read, "William Grayson".

Will walked to a construction worker pouring concrete. In a low, serious tone he spoke, "If you'll excuse me, there's something I have to do." The construction worker looked up from his work with surprise, but as soon as he saw will's stone cold face he understood. "Go right on ahead sir. Thank you for your service, and sorry for your loss." At that the construction worker hefted his equipment and left with haste.

Will reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a photo of girl. She looked as if she was in her late twenties, had short brown hair, and practically glowed with beauty. Her features seemed to be sculpted from the finest granite by gods, Subtle, yet bold. In the photo she was smiling, and cuddling up to a man who seemed just as overjoyed as she was. You probably might have guessed by now that that man was Will, only 6 years younger. He held the photo on front of him and just starred at it. To him it felt like ages since he last saw her. Eventually, with a shaky voice, he spoke,

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, and I'm sorry I couldn't be home more. Now all I have to remember you by is this photo, and what's left of our apartment. . . . I can't keep living with the pain of losing you. I need to move on. I have to let you go. . . I'm sorry."

A tear drop landed on the photo before he bent down and dug a small hole in the wet cement. He reached to put the photo in the cement but froze at the last moment. Will dared another look at the photo and thought, "I can't do this". He stuffed the photo back into his uniform pocket and walked out of the building towards the spaceport for departure to wherever they decided to train Spartan 4's. When he left the building he still carried the photo, and the pain and misery that came with it.

Meet the Stars Part 2

Through the blackness of space a massive, sleek purple object silently streaked across the starry background towards its destination at the primary orbital defense station for a small rocky planet, third from the star we call sol. The sleek object is in fact a sangheli cruiser with engines blaring bright enough to cut through the blackness of space. If one didn't pay enough attention they might mistake it for some kind of space-shark, but of course they would be horribly mistaken. The cruiser, unlike a space-shark, carries enough plasma weaponry to vaporize clean through 20 solid meters of titanium armor. These cruisers are the combination of dozens of species with the goal to build an unstoppable war machine. However the reason this particular cruiser is traveling to a space station orbiting our tiny insignificant world has nothing to do with how many guns it has, or how oversized they are. This particular sleek vessel of death is on a diplomatic mission. This will be the first time a sangheli war vessel has entered UNSC controlled space since the Human-Covenant war and it is going to rendezvous with the UNSC starship Infinity where it will drop off the sangheli recruits for the Spartan 4 program.

On this particular cruiser, with its unusual mission, there was a passenger who not only was it unusual for her to be on a ship of this kind, her reason for being on that particular ship was extremely unusual. Our unusual passenger is currently residing in her quarters; starring out the viewport into the empty abyss we call space. The reason her presence on that ship is so unusual is that she is sanheli.

Within her quarters she sat on her bed, taking in the sights and making sure to remember the journey she never thought she would be able to take. To do something she never thought she would be able do, but hell she did it. She took a moment to stretch, twisting the soreness out of her slender, curved body, which had accumulated over the several day trip it took to get from her home on sanghelios to only mere minutes away from her dream. Her eyes were such a deep shade of green one could get lost just by looking into them, and her face was so smooth and flawless that both sanheli, and humans would probably find it attractive. Within the privacy of her own room she wore nothing but the standard skin-tight jumpsuit, standard for all Sangheli Spartan 4 recruits. (Well not really standard because they had to produce one specially tailored for her being the only female sanheli in the program.)Usually the first thing that comes to mind when the average man (human or sanheli) lays eyes upon her is "Dam, dat ass".

Oddly enough, that is similar to what she was thinking as she turned back to gaze at the stars with smug smile on her face. She had managed to accomplish her dreams in a society that ordinarily would never let her do so. She accomplished the amazing feat of becoming the only female sangheli Spartan for three reasons. First of all she was bad-ass. This was the only reason she was even able to enter the running. Second of all she kicked-ass, meaning in the tournament held to select applicants she kicked everyone else's ass and went on undefeated. But that's not enough in an anti-female bias society so third of all, the recruiting agent looked at her and thought, "Dam, dat-ass." She had been the first sangheli to master what every human actress in Hollywood had already mastered. Don't ask her "who'd you have to blow to get that job?" because she can give you an exact answer.

You don't have to be a mind reader to tell what she was thinking as she stared out her window. One look at that distinct satisfied smile and you could tell she was thinking, "I'm the toughest bitch around, so men, you can kiss my ass." And S'eera was perfectly fine with those thoughts.