The UNSC Needs You! Chapter 5 — Super Soldier

The storage room smelled of gun oil, fresh plastic from the armor plates, and the faint tang of sweat that never quite left the gear. Cassie had already peeled off the last of her upper-body plates and now stood in nothing but her sports bra and shorts, the thin fabric clinging to her skin where perspiration had soaked through. She hooked her thumbs under the hem of the bra and tugged it upward in one smooth motion, letting her breasts bounce free before she reached for a clean tank top from her locker.  

Dizzy sat on the bench with one boot still on, the other kicked halfway across the floor, and worked the laces loose while her chest rose and fell from the lingering adrenaline of the sim. She had stripped down to her panties, her heavy breasts shifted each time she leaned forward to pull at the boot.  

Quiet stood a little apart from them, back turned just enough to give herself space, yet close enough that the conversation could include her. She had removed her chest rig and undershirt in silence before she set them on the shelf. Her small, firm breasts rose and fell wiith each breath, and she slipped her arms into a fresh tank top that settled against her skin without a wrinkle.  

Cassie tugged the clean top over her head and let it fall into place, then propped one foot on the bench so she could peel off her shorts. "So," she said, low enough that it stayed between the three of them, "any guesses why the captain suddenly wants a private chat with our farm boy?"  

Dizzy snorted while she finally yanked the boot free and dropped it with a thud. "Probably wants to ask him where he parked the warthog, because nobody runs that fast in full armor." She reached behind her head, gathered her thick curls into a messy knot, and secured them with an elastic band she kept around her wrist. "Or maybe she is just wants to get acquainted with our new fireteam leader."  

Cassie rolled her eyes and stepped into clean shorts, pulling them up over her hips. "Please. Officers don't drag recruits off for no reason. My money's on some kind of special assignment. You saw how he moved in there, right? That wasn't normal-human shit." She glanced toward Quiet, who was sliding into her own shorts. "What do you think, Quiet? Captain Davis finally noticed our walking tank?"  

Quiet turned, one eyebrow raised, and lifted both hands. 'They likely noticed noticed the moment he cleared the obstacle course on day one.' 

Dizzy laughed under her breath and reached for her own top. "True. But come on, let's be real for a second." She pulled the fabric over her head, breasts lifting and settling as the shirt dropped into place. "Half the base is talking about Adam anyway. You can't walk ten meters without someone whispering about the guy who never sweats, never misses, and—" she dropped her voice even lower, "—walks around the showers swinging a third leg that makes the rest of the platoon look like they're still waiting on puberty."  

Cassie barked a short laugh and leaned back against the lockers, arms folded beneath her chest. "Third leg is generous. That thing's a whole damn support beam. I swear Briggs almost swallowed his tongue this morning." She glanced at Quiet again. "You saw it too. Don't even try to pretend you didn't look."  

Quiet's lips curved into the tiniest smirk. She lifted her hands and signed. 'I looked.'  

Dizzy doubled over, laughing so hard her breasts jiggled with the motion. "Seriously though, the guy's built like someone took a Spartan, fed him miracle-gro for twenty years. I still don't get how he acts like none of is unusual."  

Cassie pushed off the lockers and grabbed her boots. "Because he's Adam. The man apologized to a training dummy last week when he accidentally ripped its head off during hand-to-hand." She sat on the bench, shoved one foot into a boot, and started lacing. "I mean, yeah, the dick is... noteworthy. Like, noteworthy enough that I considered asking for a picture just so I could show my friends back home. But the rest of him? Sweetest guy on the planet. Makes it worse somehow."  

Quiet pulled her own boots on, fingers quick on the laces. 'He carried all three of us the first day without breathing hard. Then asked if we wanted water.' She shook her head.

Dizzy finished tying her hair back and stood, rolling her shoulders. "Anyway, whatever the captain wants, I'm guessing it's not bad m." She grabbed her cover and tucked it under her arm. "Come on, let's get outside before sarge thinks we're slacking."  

They filed out of the storage room together and stepped into the bright sunlight that poured across the training field.  Across the open space, Fireteam Briggs had formed a loose circle near the simulator entrance. Briggs himself stood in the center, pounding his chest with one fist while the others whooped and hollered around him. Crash slapped Brick on the back hard enough to stagger him, and Slug bounced on the balls of his feet, shouting something about "smashing bugs and taking ass." They looked exactly like a pack of jocks hyping themselves up before a championship game.  

Cassie stopped dead, hands on her hips, and stared at them. Dizzy came up beside her, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. Quiet simply stood there, her arms loose at her sides, head tilted a fraction as if she were observing a nature documentary about particularly loud primates.  

None of the three girls said a word. They didn't need to; the looks on their faces did all the talking.  

Sergeant Zim's voice cracked across the field like a whip. "Echo Squad, fall in! Line up, two ranks, right here, and Fireteam Darwin! Keep your mouths shut about what you saw in that sim. Anybody starts running their pie-hole, I will personally sew it closed with my boot laces. Am I clear?"  

"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" they answered in unison, boots snapping into position.  

Zim pointed at Briggs and his team. "Fireteam Briggs, inside. Same scenario. Try not to die in the first thirty seconds. Move!"  

Briggs led his group toward the simulator doors with another round of chest-thumping and shouting. The rest of Echo Squad stayed in formation, the sun beating down on their necks.  

Miles Hardin, now sporting his new PFC chevron, stepped sideways until he stood near Cassie and Dizzy. The rest of Fireteam Kerr drifted closer too, curiosity written across their faces.  

"So," Miles started, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "that sim looked intense. How bad was it on the inside?"  

Cassie opened her mouth, eyes bright, ready to launch into the full play-by-play. "Oh man, you should have seen—"  

Quiet reached over without looking and poked Cassie's forearm, then lifted her chin toward Sergeant Zim, who stood twenty meters away, his arms folded, staring straight at them with the kind of glare that promised pain. Cassie's words died in her throat. She swallowed, offered a weak laugh, and shrugged. "It was hard. Really hard. Lots of bugs."  

Miles blinked, clearly sensing there was more, but he nodded anyway. "Got it. Hard. Bugs. Cool."  

Zim's voice rolled over them again, colder than before and twice as vicious. "Since Fireteam Darwin is done playing hero for the day and has nothing better to do than stand around like statues, you can all go do four laps around the base perimeter. Move your worthless asses!"  

Cassie groaned loud enough that half the squad heard it. "Four laps? He's trying to kill us."  

Dizzy was already bending forward, hands on her knees, breathing out a dramatic sigh. "I hate this man."  

Quiet simply rolled her shoulders, gave them both a tiny shove between the shoulder blades, and broke into an easy jog toward the perimeter road.  

Cassie watched her go, then threw her hands up. "Fine, fine, we're going." She started jogging after Quiet, Dizzy falling in beside her a second later.

"Next time Adam gets called to the captains office," Cassie muttered between breaths, "I'm hiding in his pocket."  

Dizzy laughed despite herself, curls already coming loose from the knot and bouncing with every stride. "Seconded."  

Quiet glanced back over her shoulder, lips twitching in the faintest smile, and lifted one hand in a quick sign that floated behind her as she ran. 'Keep up.'  

_____________________________________

Adam fell into step three paces behind Lieutenant Hansen as they left the simulator pad, he kept that distance in order to keep the decorum that was expected between rankes. The sun beat down on the concrete walkway that cut between the training fields, and heat shimmered off the surface while dust from passing trucks drifted across their boots. Every few seconds he stole a glance at the officer beside him to gauge whether conversation would be welcome.

After thirty silent meters he cleared his throat. "Ma'am, permission to speak freely?"

Hansen did not slow her stride, but she tilted her head a fraction. "Granted, Private."

He lengthened his step just enough to walk abreast without crowding her. "What does Captain Davis want with me, ma'am? I'm trying to figure out if I should be worried."

Hansen's mouth remained level, yet the corners softened enough that he noticed. "The captain will explain everything when we arrive. You are not in trouble, Darwin. If you were, you would already know it."

He exhaled through his nose and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Silence settled again, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of their boots and the distant shout of another drill sergeant on a far field. Adam, however, had never been good at leaving silence alone. "Ma'am, if it's not out of line, I just wanted to ask if you have you ever been stationed on Reach? I heard a rumour there from my pa, he told me the academy there has a library that still keeps physical books."

Hansen's stride did not alter, but she answered after a beat. "I spent eighteen months at the officer candidate school outside New Alexandria. The library is real. Most volumes are behind glass now."

Adam's face lit up. "Pa would love that. He still has a shelf of paper books back home. Says the smell of old pages beats any data-pad."

Hansen gave a short hum that might have been agreement. Adam took it as encouragement.

"I read For Whom the Bell Tolls when I was fourteen," he continued with a small smile. "Took me most of a summer between chores well... not to read it but to fully understand it. Pa read the last chapter out loud on the porch one night after harvest. Said Hemingway was a master at understanding human nature, that he understood that even if people can be awful they can also still choose to be decent even when everything around them is falling apart."

Hansen glanced sideways. "Hemingway also understood that most people choose cowardice or cruelty when the pressure is high enough. His characters die alone more often than they die together."

Adam considered that, head tilted. "I always figured they died alone because they finally decided standing for something was worth more than living for nothing. Robert Jordan could have walked away. He stayed because the bridge mattered, and the people on the other side mattered more than his own skin. That's not cowardice. That's the opposite I think it's an optimistic view."

Hansen's eyebrows rose a fraction. "You argue that a man who blows himself up with dynamite represents optimism?"

"I argue he represents choice," Adam replied. "The world can be brutal, ma'am, but it doesn't get the final say unless we hand it over. Jordan kept his say until the last second. That feels like hope to me."

They passed beneath the shade of a maintenance hangar, and Hansen's pace slowed by half a step. "Hope is a luxury most people cannot afford."

"Maybe," Adam allowed, "but it's free if you're willing to carry it yourself."

Hansen let out a breath that was almost, though not quite, a laugh. She shook her head once. "For such a big brute, you are remarkably thoughtful."

Adam laughed. "I've been hearing that in one form or another my whole life, ma'am. Folks see the size first and figure the brain got shorted on the assembly line."

They rounded the corner onto the main thoroughfare that led toward the officers' barracks. Adam shifted the topic gently. "Where did you grow up, ma'am, if I may ask?"

Hansen's gaze flicked ahead again. "Night City."

Adam nodded slowly. "Oh... I've heard the stories."

"Every story you heard is true," she said flatly, "and most are understated."

He hesitated, then asked, "Even the cybernetics boom? when half the population started replacing flesh with chrome, was it really as bad as the reports claimed? I read some people tried to swap out everything, brains included, until there was almost nothing human left."

Hansen's jaw tightened for the first time. "I would prefer not to talk about it."

Adam stopped speaking instantly. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That was over the line."

She waved the apology away with a small motion of her hand. "It is in the past."

Adam thought for a second, then offered quietly, "'The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on. Nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line.'"

Hansen's lips curved into a genuine, if small, smile. "Omar Khayyám. Your father again?"

"Yes, ma'am," Adam answered, smiling back. "Pa read the Rubáiyát to me when I was little. Said it reminded him that yesterday is gone and tomorrow isn't promised, so today is the only day that belongs to us."

Hansen's expression softened further. "Tell me about this farm of yours, Private. I am curious what kind of place produces someone who quotes Persian poetry."

Adam's face brightened the way it always did when he talked about home. He started with the eastern field that grew wheat in summer and lay fallow under snow in winter, then moved to the orchard where the apple trees had been planted by his great-grandfather and still produced fruit sweet enough that people drove from three counties over. He described the creek that cut through the back pasture, where he learned to swim and where the cows went to drink on hot afternoons. He talked about the big red barn with its tin roof that sang when the rain came, and the porch swing where his mother shelled peas while his father read aloud after supper. He spoke of the smell of turned earth in spring, the way the hills turned gold in autumn, and the quiet that settled over everything when the first snow fell and the only sound was the wind moving through bare branches.

He told her about helping his father repair the fence after a storm, about the year the locusts came and they lost half the corn crop yet still managed to feed the neighbors who had lost more. He described his mother's kitchen, the way the windows fogged when she baked bread, and how every Sunday evening the three of them sat together at the table long after the meal was finished, talking about everything and nothing while the stars came out.

Hansen listened without interruption, and by the time Adam finished they had reached the entrance to the officers' barracks. Two marines posted at the doors snapped to attention and rendered crisp salutes as the lieutenant approached. She returned the salute, then gestured for Adam to follow her inside.

He followed Lieutenant Hansen through the side door of the officers' barracks and down a corridor that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old sweat. The floors were polished concrete, the walls plain gray, and every twenty meters a small plaque indicated the function of the rooms they passed: briefing theater, armory, medical bay, gymnasium. Their boots echoed in the quiet hallway until Hansen stopped in front of a wide double door marked simply GYMNASIUM – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. She pushed it open and motioned him inside.

The space beyond the doors was larger than Adam had expected. Racks of free weights lined one wall, power cages and squat racks filled the center, and a row of heavy bags hung along the far side. The air carried the scent of iron and chalk. In the middle of the room, beneath a bar that sagged under plates Adam quickly counted to almost one thousand kilograms, Captain Michelle T. Davis lay on a flat bench. She wore a black tank top that clung to her torso and gray shorts that ended high on her thighs. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight knot at the base of her neck, and sweat covered every visible inch of her skin, running in thin streams down her temples, along the sides of her neck, and disappearing beneath the fabric that stretched across her chest.

Adam watched as she lowered the bar to her chest, paused for a fraction of a second, and then pressed it upward until her elbows locked. The plates clinked softly when the bar settled into the rack supports. Her stomach contracted with each repetition, revealing a clear eight-pack that flexed and released in perfect rhythm. Her breasts, large and round, rose and fell with her breathing, the tank top soaked through so that the outline of her sports bra showed plainly beneath. She completed another repetition, then another, until she had performed ten in total before she racked the bar with a metallic clang that echoed through the room.

Adam caught himself before any sound escaped his lips. He had seen strong women before and in training, yet nothing had prepared him for the sight of someone benching nearly a ton while looking as though she could continue for hours.

Lieutenant Hansen cleared her throat. "Captain, PFC Darwin is here as requested."

Captain Davis sat up slowly, swung her legs over the side of the bench, and reached for the towel that Hansen extended toward her. She wiped her face and neck first, then dragged the towel down her chest and across her stomach before she stood. She walked to a small refrigerator in the corner, pulled out a large bottle of bright-blue sports drink, and drank nearly the entire contents in one continuous series of swallows. When she finished, she crushed the plastic bottle in one hand and tossed it into a recycling bin.

Only then did she turn her full attention to Adam. She approached until she stood less than two meters away, close enough that he could see the individual beads of sweat still sliding down her collarbone. "You must be wondering why you are here, Private."

"Yes, ma'am," Adam answered, keeping his eyes fixed forward.

She picked up a data pad from a nearby bench and scrolled through several screens before she began reciting from memory. "Adam Darwin, age nineteen, height two hundred eight centimeters, weight one hundred forty-eight kilograms, body-fat percentage estimated at six percent. AAT score two thousand four hundred. Marksmanship qualifications perfect on every weapon issued thus far. Physical training scores off the charts. Zero demerits. Zero medical issues. Zero disciplinary notes." She then pressed on the pad a few times before she brought up footage of the training simulation. "Would you care to explain this footage, Private?"

She turned the pad so that he could see the screen. The recording showed him from multiple angles inside the simulation; leaping across the bug hole, running at speeds that blurred the camera, lifting a warrior bug off the ground with one arm, throwing the explosive charge thirty meters into the pit. Each clip included a small overlay of velocity and force calculations that scrolled in red numbers.

Adam scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I am not sure what you mean, ma'am."

Captain Davis set the pad down and stepped closer. "When you planted your foot at the edge of that trench and propelled yourself across a gap of nine point four meters, you generated approximately fourteen thousand newtons of force in zero point three seconds. No unmodified human, regardless of muscle mass or leverage, can produce that output. When you sprinted at thirty-eight kilometers per hour in full armor, your stride frequency and ground-reaction force exceeded recorded human maximums by factors of three and four respectively. Mathematics does not lie, Private."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I want to know which program you came from. Mosaic. Orion. Something else? Pick one."

Adam blinked. "Program, ma'am?"

Her eyes narrowed, and before he could react she placed one hand against his chest and shoved. The push contained enough force to slide him backward half a step, which surprised him more than it hurt. "Do not play the fool with me. You expect me to believe a farm boy from some dirt patch can outperform everyone to such a high degree and not be enhanced?"

Adam steadied himself and met her gaze. "Ma'am, I swear I do not know what you are talking about. As far back as I can remember, I have lived on the farm with my parents. I have always been stronger than other kids. I have always been faster. It just got more noticeable as I grew."

Captain Davis studied his face for a long moment. The earnest expression in his eyes and the complete absence of deception made her pause. She exhaled through her nose, and the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. "Very well. Tell me about these abilities, then."

Adam shrugged. "I have been this way since I was small, ma'am. When I was ten I could lift the front end of a tractor. When I was fourteen I outran the neighbor's horse over a full kilometer. My parents took me to doctors, but the scans never showed anything unusual. They just said I was healthy."

Michelle rubbed her temple with two fingers, then composed herself quickly. She spoke in a calmer tone. "I apologize for my behavior earlier. I needed to be certain you were not a security risk, there are many issues with spies these days."

From the side of the room, Lieutenant Hansen made a small sound that might have been a stifled laugh at the idea of Adam being a spy.

Adam smiled and shook his head. "No apology needed, ma'am. I understand."

Michelle continued, "That still leaves the question of where your abilities come from, but we can address that another time. Right now we must deal with the present." She walked to the squat rack where nearly two tons waited on the bar and began adjusting her stance beneath it. "Do you know how troop assignments work, Private?"

Adam recited from memory, "Four soldiers form a fireteam, ma'am. Three fireteams form a squad. Four squads form a platoon. Four platoons form a company. Four companies form a battalion. Four battalions form a regiment."

"Correct." She lifted the bar off the racks and performed a smooth squat, then rose again. "What you may not know is that every officer ranked major and above tends to prioritize personal advancement over the lives of the soldiers beneath them. Companies get sent into situations designed to generate commendations for those officers, regardless of casualties."

Adam frowned. "That seems unfair, ma'am."

Michelle racked the bar and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. A small smile appeared on her face. "It is unfair. Which brings me to why I asked you here."

She stepped out from under the bar and faced him again. "Super soldiers, however they are created, decide whether a company returns home or gets wiped out entirely. Every company commander who understands this truth attempts to gather as many enhanced individuals as possible. It becomes an arms race conducted through transfers, recruitment bonuses, and sometimes less ethical methods."

Adam nodded slowly as understanding settled in

"It seems I got lucky getting you in my company, but keeping you where you are seems foolish." She picked up the data pad again. "My offer is this: immediate promotion to sergeant, transfer to the ODST training facility, and additional instruction under the Spartan assigned to this company. With your AAT score you would have received similar offers."

Adam considered the proposal for several seconds. He shifted his weight and finally spoke. "May I ask if this is an order, ma'am?"

Michelle shook her head. "It is an offer."

He met her gaze steadily. "Then I must respectfully decline, ma'am."

Surprise crossed her features before she controlled it. "Explain."

"I am here to earn citizenship for my parents, ma'am," Adam said. "I do not care about rank or special programs. I like my fireteam. I'd prefer not to leave them."

Michelle stared at him for a long moment. She glanced toward Lieutenant Hansen, who gave a subtle nod, then looked back at Adam. She sighed. "That is not the answer I expected, Private. You have placed me in a difficult position."

"I am sorry, ma'am," he replied.

Lieutenant Hansen stepped closer and lowered her voice so that only the captain could hear, though Adam's enhanced hearing caught every word. "The rest of his fireteam scores above average across all metrics, ma'am. With focused training they could qualify for ODST selection by the end of this cycle. Recommend we keep Darwin with them through basic, then reassess. In the meantime he can train with 'her'."

Michelle considered the suggestion, then nodded once. She faced Adam again. "Very well. You will remain with your fireteam for the duration of basic training. However, you will complete additional physical and tactical sessions with a special instructor. Those sessions are mandatory. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Adam answered without hesitation.

Michelle picked up her towel and slung it over her shoulder. "You are dismissed. Report to the physical training building immediately for your first session."

Adam snapped a crisp salute. "Yes, ma'am."

He turned, walked to the door, and stepped back into the corridor. The doors closed behind him with a soft hiss, leaving the two officers alone in the gymnasium once more.

...

Adam walked down the corridor that led away from the officers' gymnasium, he kept his hands clasped behind his back while he processed everything Captain Davis had said. For the first time in his life he found himself turning the question over in his mind: where did his strength come from? He had always accepted the simple truth that Ma and Pa had given him a home, love, and a family, and that acceptance had been enough for him. He had never needed more. Yet the captain's words rang true, they had cracked open a door he had never known existed. Someone, somewhere, had done something to him before he ever went to the farm.

He pushed through the side exit of the officers' barracks and crossed the short stretch of open ground that separated the administrative buildings from the physical training complex. The sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, and the shadows of the structures stretched long across the concrete. Adam barely noticed. His mind replayed fragments of the conversation; program, Mosaic, Orion, super-soldier. None of those words fit the memories he carried, his days were filled with looking after animals and arming.

He reached the entrance to the physical training building and pulled the door open. The interior smelled of rubber mats and metal and sweat. A duty desk sat just inside the foyer, and behind it stood a sergeant with the name tape WINLOW stitched above his pocket. Adam came to attention and rendered a crisp salute.

"Private First Class Darwin reporting, Sergeant. I am here on Captain Davis's orders to train with an instructor."

Sergeant Winlow returned the salute, then reached for a data pad that rested on the desk. He tapped the screen twice, scrolled for a moment, and his eyes widened when the entry loaded. He looked up at Adam, then back at the pad, then at Adam again. A slow exhale left his lungs.

"Lord have mercy, son," he muttered. "You're the one the captain flagged for the Lieutenant." He shook his head and pointed down the main corridor. "Third door on the left, past the locker rooms. Big double doors. You can't miss it. And good luck. You're gonna need it."

Adam thanked him, executed an about-face, and walked in the direction the sergeant had indicated. The corridor stretched ahead with doors on both sides, each marked with stenciled lettering: HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT, CONDITIONING, MARKSMANSHIP, ARMORY. He reached the double doors at the end and pushed them open.

The room beyond was massive. Mats covered the floor in the center, and a regulation boxing ring stood in one corner. Heavy bags hung in a long row along the far wall, and a twenty-lane small-arms range occupied the opposite side. Racks of training weapons lined another wall, and a glass-fronted armory displayed everything from combat knives to MA5's. In the middle of the space, directly beneath a bank of overhead lights, a woman delivered punishment to a heavy bag.

She stood just a few centimeters shorter than Adam, and her frame carried lean muscle that shifted visibly beneath her skin with every movement. Her blonde hair was shaved on the left side while the right fell straight to her chin. She wore a black tank top and olive drab shorts, and her hands were wrapped in white tape that had already begun to stain red from repeated impacts. She threw a tight combination, left jab, right cross, left hook, right uppercut, then pivoted into a spinning heel kick that landed with a sound like a sledgehammer striking meat. The bag tore free of its chain and flew across the room, slamming into the far wall before it dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Adam's eyebrows rose. He walked forward until he stood ten meters away and came to attention. "Private First Class Darwin reporting for training."

The woman turned, wiped a forearm across her brow, and looked him over from boots to eyes. A grin spread across her face. She picked up a data pad from a nearby bench and scrolled through it. "According to this, I'm supposed to put you through the paces because you're 'enhanced.'" She sighed dramatically and tossed the pad aside. "I swear Cap finds new ways to give me homework every day."

She stepped closer and extended her hand. "Second Lieutenant Kelly-087. You can call me Kelly. Do not call me ma'am and definitely do not call me sir, or I'll make you regret it. We clear?"

Adam shook her hand, noting the calluses that matched his own. "Clear, Kelly."

She released his hand and folded her arms. "Report says you're some flavor of super-soldier. Also says you turned down a fast track to ODST school because you like your fireteam. That true?"

"Yes, Kelly."

Her grin widened. "I like you already." She turned and walked toward the center of the mats. "Captain wants me to find your limits. I warned her I might accidentally break a few bones, but orders are orders." She spun on her heel to face him again. "You ready Darwin?"

Adam rolled his shoulders and nodded. "I am ready for anything."

Kelly's eyes sparkled with something that looked a lot like anticipation. "We shall see." She walked to the center of the mats and planted her feet shoulder-width apart, then rolled her neck once so that the vertebrae popped in sequence. She looked Adam up and down like she was pricing a new rifle at the armory.

"First things first, big guy," she said. "Captain wants baseline numbers on what you can do. So we are going to start simple. Strength. Raw, ugly, break-the-machine kind of strength. You ready to make some equipment cry, Darwin?"

Adam gave a short nod. "Ready when you are, Kelly."

She flashed a quick grin, the kind that showed teeth. "Good answer."

She turned and strode to the nearest power rack, the one already loaded with what looked like every plate in the building. The bar sagged at the ends under the weight. She slapped the side of the rack with her palm. "Deadlift. Standard bar, no suits, no belts. I'm going to keep adding plates until something interesting happens. You pull until I run out of plates or the bar snaps. Understood?"

Adam stepped up beside her, eyed the stack, and did the math in his head. Roughly nine hundred kilograms sat on the bar already. "Understood."

Kelly grabbed two more forty-five-kilogram plates from the rack like they were dinner plates and slid them on, one on each side. The bar groaned. "Let's call that a warm-up," she said, stepping back and folding her arms. "Whenever you're ready, farm boy."

Adam rolled his shoulders once, chalked his hands, and settled under the bar. His fingers wrapped around the knurling, and he took one slow breath. Then he pulled. The bar left the floor smooth and straight, no hitch, no shake. He locked out at the top, held it for a two-count, and lowered it under control.

Kelly's eyebrows climbed a fraction. "Huh. Cute." She added another two plates. Now the bar carried just over a thousand kilograms. "Again."

Adam reset his grip and pulled. Same result.

Kelly whistled low. "Okay, now we're talking." She slapped on two more plates, forty-five kilos each side again and stepped back with her hands on her hips. The bar now held twelve hundred kilograms, give or take. The sleeves were starting to bow outward.

Adam looked at the bar, looked at her, and gave a small shrug. "Still good."

He bent, gripped, and pulled. The bar came up with a little more difficulty but he still managed it. His back stayed flat, his knees locked out, and he held the top position long enough for Kelly to walk a slow circle around him.

She stopped in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted. "You're not breathing hard, you must have enhanced stamina or enlarged lungs."

Arthur shrugged as he put it back down.

Kelly barked a short laugh. She reached for two more plates, then paused and glanced at the rack. "You know what? Screw it." She grabbed a pair of hundred-pound bumper plates, hefted them like they were nothing, and slammed them on. The bar creaked ominously. Thirteen hundred and something kilograms now.

Adam eyed the bend in the bar and raised an eyebrow. "You sure that bar's rated for this?"

"It's rated for whatever I tell it to do," Kelly replied. "Pull."

He pulled. The bar left the floor, straightened, and he locked it out at the top. The sleeves groaned. Somewhere in the rack a pin sheared. Adam had to admit that he struggled with this one, but he managed it and lowered the weight slowly, set it down, and stepped back.

Kelly stared at the bar like it had personally insulted her. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed, but her mouth twitched at the corners. "You're having fun, aren't you?"

"A little," Adam admitted.

She snorted, then pointed at the bench press station across the room. "Fine. Bench. Same game. I want to see if your chest is as ridiculous as your back."

They moved to the bench. Kelly stripped the deadlift bar and started loading the bench bar with plates so fast her hands blurred. Four plates per side, then five, then six. Adam lay back on the bench, settled his grip, and waited while she added a seventh plate each side, over six hundred kilograms total.

She stood behind the head of the bench, spotted him with two fingers like she was holding a pencil, "Go."

Adam unracked the bar, brought it down to his chest, and pressed it up. Once. Twice. Ten times. The bar never slowed.

Kelly's eyes went wide for a split second before she schooled her expression. "Show-off," she muttered. She slapped two more plates on each side; now eight plates, roughly seven hundred and twenty kilograms. "Again."

Adam re-racked, settled, and pulled the bar out. He lowered it slowly, paused at the bottom for a two-count, and exploded upward. The bar shot up so fast the plates rattled. He pumped out eight reps before he re-racked it with a clang that echoed through the room.

Kelly stood there, hands on hips, staring at him. "Well one things for sure, you're not a regular human."

Adam sat up, wiped chalk off his hands, and gave her a sheepish grin. "I get that a lot."

She shook her head, then suddenly stepped in close, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of gun oil and sweat on her skin. She poked one finger into his chest, right between the pecs. "Tell you what, Darwin. I'm supposed to test your limits, but I'm starting to think the only limit here is how much iron we've got in the building." Her voice dropped half an octave. "So how about we skip the foreplay and go straight to the part where you try to hit me?"

Adam blinked. "Hit you?"

"Yeah." She stepped back, bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, and raised her fists in a loose guard. "Full contact spar. No holding back. I want to see if you can actually tag a Spartan when she's trying not to let you."

Adam hesitated. "You sure?"

Kelly's grin turned wolfish. "Darwin, if you pull your punches, I'm going to make the next hour extremely unpleasant for you."

He exhaled once, rolled his shoulders, and raised his own guard. "All right. On your word."

Kelly gave no word. She exploded forward from her stance, feet pushing off the mat with enough force that the rubber compressed beneath her toes, and she closed the distance between them in less than a second. Adam raised his guard just in time, yet her first punch slipped through like water and she connected with his solar plexus in a short, sharp jab that drove the air from his lungs. He staggered back a step, but she followed with a low sweep that hooked his ankle and yanked it out from under him. He hit the mat flat on his back, the impact rattling through his spine and into his skull.

She stood over him, hands on her hips, and shook her head. "Get up, Darwin. That was the free one."

Adam coughed once, rolled to his side, and pushed himself to his feet. He shook out his arms and reset his guard. "That was a free one?"

Kelly just grinned at him. 

They circled again, and this time he moved first, throwing a jab-cross combination that she dodged with a casual sway. She countered with an overhand right that he blocked, but the force of it vibrated through his forearm and into his shoulder. Before he could recover, she stepped inside his reach, wrapped her arms around his waist, and lifted him off the ground in a suplex that flipped him over her shoulder. He slammed into the mat again, this time on his stomach, and the wind left him for the second time.

"Up," she said. "You're not done yet."

Adam pushed up on his hands and knees, then stood. He rubbed his chest where the first punch had landed. "I have never gotten my ass kicked this badly before."

Kelly laughed, a short bark that echoed off the walls. "You really know how to give a girl a compliment, now let's see if you can get a hit in."

He nodded, and they engaged once more. He feinted left, then threw a real hook from the right, but she ducked under it and drove her shoulder into his midsection, tackling him backward until his back hit the ropes of the boxing ring in the corner. She followed with a knee to his thigh that numbed his leg for a split second, then an uppercut that grazed his chin when he jerked his head back. He shoved her away with both hands against her shoulders, creating space, but she spun with the momentum and caught him with a backfist across the jaw that split his lip.

He tasted blood, stumbled sideways, and dropped to one knee. She waited, bouncing lightly on her toes. "Get up. Spartans don't quit, and neither do you."

Adam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood again. His jaw throbbed, but he reset his stance. "You hit hard..."

She grinned. "And I'll hit harder if you don't stop acting like a bitch. Let's go."

They clashed in the center of the mats, and this time Adam pressed the attack, throwing a series of punches that forced her to backpedal. She blocked most, slipped a few, and then countered with a roundhouse kick that he caught against his ribs. The impact cracked something inside, but he held on to her leg, twisted, and swept her other foot out from under her. She hit the mat, rolled away before he could follow up, and sprang to her feet.

"Not bad," she said, rubbing her thigh where he had gripped it. "But you telegraph your sweeps. Let's go again."

He lunged forward, but she sidestepped and hooked her arm around his neck in a guillotine choke that dragged him down to the mat. He tapped her arm twice, and she released immediately, then offered a hand to pull him up. "Get up. You're learning."

Adam accepted the hand and stood, his neck aching from the pressure. "This is worse than the time I had to wrestle a bull on the farm."

Kelly chuckled. "A Bull, huh? Tell me about it later. Right now, focus."

They continued, and she took him down three more times in quick succession. Once with a hip throw that used his own momentum against him, once with a leg reap that tangled his feet and sent him sprawling, and once with a simple straight punch to the sternum that folded him over. Each time she stood back, waited, and said the same thing. 

"Get up."

Adam did, every time, though his body protested more with each fall. Bruises formed on his arms and torso, and blood trickled from his lip but the cuts sealed almost immediately. "You are faster than anyone I have ever fought."

"And you are tougher than most Spartan III's with the exception of one," she replied, wiping sweat from her brow. "But this is only just a warm up we got a lot more to go..."

They squared off again, and Adam's mind raced, he had to come up with a plan, as she was both faster and more skilled than he was. His enhanced brain processed every detail in the room: the give of the mat under his feet, the slight drag on the right where a seam had worn thin, the way Kelly's weight shifted to her left foot before she struck, the rhythm of her breathing that quickened just a fraction when she committed to an attack. He catalogued it all, built patterns from the last dozen exchanges, and formulated a plan. His eyes flicked to the floor, where a small weight plate; ten kilograms, left from someone's earlier session lay half-hidden under the edge of the mat near the center.

He feinted a jab, drew her in, and then retreated in a way that pulled her forward onto the spot where the plate sat. She stepped awkwardly when her foot hit the uneven surface beneath the mat, her balance shifting for less than a second. Adam launched his full-powered punch in that instant, a straight right that connected with her midsection just below the ribs. The impact lifted her off her feet and threw her backward three meters, where she hit the mat and rolled to absorb the fall.

Adam lowered his fists immediately and stepped forward. "Kelly? I am sorry. Are you okay?"

She sat up, rubbed her stomach with one hand, and fixed him with a glare that could have melted steel. "Sorry? You think I need your pity, Darwin?"

He stopped in his tracks. "No, I just—"

She surged to her feet in a blur, grabbed his extended arm with both hands, and dropped backward onto her back. At the same time, she planted both feet against his stomach and yanked hard while she pushed upward with her legs. The combination threw him nearly ten meters into the air, his body flipping end over end. Time seemed to slow for him in that moment, but Kelly was already moving. She rolled to her feet, sprinted across the mats in a streak of motion, and met him mid-descent with a Spartan kick to his chest that connected like a battering ram. The force redirected him sideways and slammed him into the far wall, where he cratered the padding and slid to the floor.

Adam hit the ground hard, and the double impact to his stomach overwhelmed him. He rolled to his side and threw up onto the mat, his body heaving as bile and the remains of his last meal spilled out.

Kelly walked over, her boots stopping just short of the mess, and looked down at him. "I am a decorated officer and a super soldier, Darwin. Yes, I have a hole where you have a dick, but that does not matter on the field. It certainly will not matter to the Termineds."

She knelt down and pressed her fist gently against his forehead. "I get that you have probably been raised a certain way on that farm of yours, where you hold doors and say ma'am to every woman you meet. But do not disrespect your female comrades by taking it easy on them. It will do them no favors when the real fighting starts."

Adam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed himself to a sitting position. He met her gaze and nodded. "I am sorry, Kelly. I have had to be careful with my strength all my life. It was hard when I was younger, learning not to hurt people by accident. But I did not mean to disrespect you. It will not happen again."

Kelly stood and offered her hand. "Good. Apology accepted." She pulled him to his feet with ease. "But sadly for you, I am not done yet. So get that fine ass back in there so I can kick it some more."

'Sweet Christmas,' Adam thought, but he stood up and reset his guard anyway.

_____________________________________

Cassie slumped forward onto the mess hall table with her forehead resting against the metal surface, she let out a groan that vibrated through her entire body while her arms dangled limp at her sides. Dizzy mirrored her position on the opposite side of the table, her cheek pressed flat against the edge, and stared blankly at the tray in front of her that held a half-eaten portion of synth-meat and gravy. Quiet sat between them, upright in her chair, as she scooped bites of food into her mouth with a spoon that she held in her right hand.

"Fuck me, Sarge is trying to kill us," Cassie mumbled into the table. "Four laps? After that sim? My legs feel like they've been through a meat grinder."

Dizzy lifted her head just enough to nod in agreement, then let it drop back down with a thud. "Yeah, and he made us do it in full kit too. The man's a sadist. I swear he gets off on watching us suffer."

Quiet paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth, rolled her eyes so hard that her whole head tilted back for a second, and then continued eating without a sound.

Cassie lifted her head slightly, propping her chin on her folded arms, and shot Quiet a half-hearted glare. "Easy for you to say, you mute bitch. You didn't even break a sweat on those laps. What are you, part robot?"

Dizzy snorted without looking up. "Yeah part robot, or like maybe part Shark?'"

Quiet set her spoon down, lifted both hands, and signed. 'You two complain more than you do anything else. Finish your food.'

Cassie waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah yeah... But seriously, at least we got to watch Briggs and his dipshit crew get their asses handed to them in the sim. That made the laps almost worth it."

Dizzy finally sat up, rubbing her temples with both hands, and a grin spread across her face. "Oh god, yeah. Did you see the way that warrior bug just tossed Briggs into the wall? And then his boys tried to play hero and got swarmed in like two seconds. Priceless."

Cassie giggled, sitting up straighter now, and glanced over to the table where Fireteam Briggs sat in sullen silence. Briggs poked at his food with a fork, his face set in a scowl, while Crash and Brick stared at their trays like they had lost all brain cells. Slug just shoveled food into his mouth without looking up. "They lasted what, five minutes? Tops. Serves those fart-sniffing assholes right."

Quiet followed their gaze, then signed with one hand while she ate with the other. 'They deserved it.'

Dizzy leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms under her chest. "Speaking of assholes, Where the hell is Adam? He's been gone forever. I figured he'd be back before chow."

Cassie nodded, picking at a piece of bread on her tray. "Yeah, seriously. What do you think the captain wanted with him? You don't get pulled aside by the CO unless it's something big."

Quiet shrugged, but Dizzy smirked. "Maybe she's giving him a private debriefing. You know, the kind where clothes are optional."

Cassie burst out laughing, nearly choking on a sip of water. "Oh shit, Diz, you think? Captain Davis is hot as fuck. I bet she's got him bent over her desk right now, showing him the real chain of command."

Dizzy joined in, her shoulders shaking. "Or maybe she's the one bent over. Adam's got that whole gentle giant thing going, but I bet he could wreck a woman if he tried."

Quiet let out a silent sigh, her shoulders slumping as she shook her head and focused on her tray.

Cassie caught the motion and grinned wider. "What, Quiet? You jealous? Or you think Adam's too pure for that? Come on, spill."

Quiet signed quickly. 'You two are gross. He's probably just talking.'

Dizzy waved her off. "Lighten up. It's just talk. But seriously, if the captain's riding him like a stallion right now, good for him. Man deserves it after carrying our asses through that sim."

"Speak of the devil," Dizzy said suddenly, looking up toward the entrance.

They all turned as Adam walked into the cafeteria, though he moved with a slight limp that favored his left leg, and a fresh black eye swelled around his right socket.

Cassie whistled. "Damn, Cap must like it rough."

Adam grabbed a tray from the line, loaded it with enough food for three people, and walked over to their table. He set it down with a clatter and slid into the seat next to Quiet. "Hey, guys. What did I miss?"

They stared at him in silence for a beat, forks hovering mid-air.

Dizzy finally broke it. "You're seriously going to pretend like nothing happened? You look like you got run over by a Warthog."

Adam took a sip from his drink, set it down carefully, and met their eyes with a straight face. "I don't know what you mean." He held the expression for another second, then a smile cracked across his face.

Quiet hit his shoulder with the back of her hand. 'Spill. Now.'

Adam laughed, rubbing the spot where she had hit him. "All right, all right. So the captain thinks I am some kind of super soldier. She pulled me in to ask about it."

Cassie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Well, yeah, no shit. We've been saying that all day."

Dizzy nodded, pointing her fork at him. "Yeah, no surprise there."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think I did anything too outrageous. Apart from the training sim, I mean."

Cassie snorted. "You literally look like Hercules walked out of Olympus and joined the UNSC."

Dizzy nodded again. "Yeah, if there is a poster boy for super soldier, it would be you. What else did she say?"

Adam dug into his plate, swallowing a bite before he continued. "She offered to promote me to sergeant and transfer me to the ODSTs. Said I would have my own squad and everything."

They all froze, then Cassie reached over and clapped him on the back hard enough that his tray rattled. "Holy fuck, congrats! Sergeant in less than a month? That's insane!"

Dizzy joined in, slapping his shoulder from the other side. "Yeah, man, that's huge! You're gonna be dropping from orbit like a badass."

Quiet signed her congratulations with a thumbs up and a smile.

Cassie grinned wider. "Sergeant in less than a month."

Adam shook his head. "I declined."

The table went silent again. Cassie's mouth dropped open. "You did what? Are you fucking stupid? Why would you turn that down?"

Dizzy stared at him. "Yeah, what the hell? That's a golden ticket, man. ODSTs? Your own squad? You could be out there kicking ass on the front lines."

Quiet tilted her head, waiting for his explanation.

Adam shrugged. "I like my fireteam. I do not want to leave you guys. And I am not really interested in advancing. I just want to serve my five years and make things easy for my ma and pa back home."

Dizzy softened, then grinned. "Aw, thanks, big guy. But seriously, you're stuck with these two idiots now. Good luck."

Cassie snapped her head toward Dizzy. "Hey, fuck you. I'm the brains here."

Dizzy flicked a piece of bread at her. "Brains? You couldn't find your ass with both hands."

Adam's fork shot out and caught the bread midair, spearing it neatly.

Cassie's eyes went wide. "Holy shit."

Adam popped the bread into his mouth and chewed. "Like I was saying, I am not really interested in advancing. I just want to serve my five years and make things easy for my ma and pa."

Quiet nodded, her expression understanding, and she smiled at him. 'That makes sense. Family first.'

Cassie still shook her head. "I still don't get how you could turn something like that down. My mum would shit a brick if I got into the ODSTs. She's always going on about 'elite units' and shit."

Adam looked curious. "Are they that big of a deal?"

Dizzy nodded, leaning back in her chair. "Most are the best of the best when it comes to soldiers. They are not enhanced but are capable of some pretty crazy stuff. Dropping from orbit in those pods? Taking on entire enemy positions solo? Yeah, big deal."

Cassie nodded too. "I heard that Project Freelancer always recruits from them. The top performers get scooped up for black ops shit."

Adam took another bite. "Can not say I have heard of them."

Cassie leaned in. "Freelancers are like ODSTs on steroids. They are given the best equipment, the best training, and the best support. Armor that makes our stuff look like tin cans."

"How do they compare to the Spartans?" Adam asked.

Cassie thought for a second. "The top ten Freelancers could match against a Spartan III 1v1. Though it would be a hard fight."

Dizzy shrugged. "Maybe we will meet some when we deploy."

Cassie shook her head. "I doubt it. They only do specialized missions. My mom sometimes talks with their director. But anyway, enough about that. What happened to your eye?"

Adam set his fork down. "After the captain, she told me to report for training. My instructor is a Spartan. Kelly-087."

Cassie's eyes lit up, and she slapped the table. "No fucking way! Kelly-087? As in the Kelly? The one who's been with Blue Team since forever? The fastest Spartan alive? The one who once outran a hornet on foot? Holy shit, Adam, do you know how legendary she is? I read all the declassified reports on her ops. She's like the queen of hit-and-run tactics!"

Dizzy rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Cass, you are such a creep. You sound like you have her poster on your wall."

Quiet nodded in agreement, signing. 'Total fangirl.'

Cassie crossed her arms in a huff. "I grew up in a military family, sue me. My dad worked with some of the old guard, and the stories they told about the Spartans? Kelly's name came up every time. She's a badass."

Adam chuckled. "She is tough. We tested how much weight I could lift, then we sparred, and she kicked my ass two ways from Sunday."

Cassie nodded. "Spartan IIs are the best of the best. They are basically Spartan IIIs on steroids. No surprise she wrecked you."

Adam sighed. "I have to report to her every day for training."

Dizzy patted his arm. "Poor baby. Sounds rough."

Quiet signed her sympathy. 'Hang in there.'

They finished their food while Cassie and Dizzy told him about the rest of the simulations. Cassie leaned back. "Fireteam Kerr lasted about fifteen minutes before the bugs overwhelmed them. Miles got his head bitten off by a warrior—virtually, anyway. Screamed like a girl."

Dizzy laughed. "And Briggs? Oh man, they charged in like idiots, no formation, no cover. A scavenger swarm hit them from the sides, and it was over in five. We watched the replay. Hilarious."

Adam grinned. "Sounds like a good show."

They had a laugh about it, trading details until their trays were empty. After that, they headed to the showers together, stripping down in the locker room and stepping under the communal shower. Cassie lathered up first, scrubbing her arms while water ran down her back. "God, I needed this. Those laps killed me."

Dizzy nodded, soaping her chest. "Yeah, but at least we didn't puke like Slug did after their sim fail."

Quiet signed from under her spray. 'Weak stomachs.'

Adam settled under his own shower, letting the water wash away the sweat and blood from the spar. He turned to them. "I forgot to mention something. After basic training, it is possible that they might transfer our fireteam to ODSTs for training. At least that is what I heard the lieutenant suggest to the captain."

Cassie's eyes went wide. "No shit? ODSTs? That would be fucking awesome!"

Dizzy pumped her fist. "Hell yeah! Dropping from the sky, kicking ass? Sign me up!"

Quiet shrugged, turned off her water, and headed to her bunk without a word.

Adam settled down as Cassie and Dizzy talked excitedly about the possibilities. He closed his eyes and enjoyed how the warm water hit his skin and relaxed his muscles.

(AN: So we have Adam meeting his CO and his instructor. One thing I should warn you about is that Spartans do have a sex drive. This earth is a little diffeeent than the halo one. Super soldiers are encouraged and wanted desperately so Spartans are encouraged to mate with each other or even other brands of super soldiers. That's why they still have a sex drive. I think it makes sense. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)