Petty Officer 3rd Class John-117 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
classifiedyearsold) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2017-06-07 02:15 am
classifiedyearsold) wrote in legionworld2017-06-07 02:15 am
Entry tags:
Youth Workaholism [open]
Who| The Master Chief, age 15, and whoever
What| Being horribly confused
Where| Various places
When| Time Ripples
Warnings/Notes| Child soldier problems.
(John is, at this point, not quite 6'10" but getting there. He's been fighting aliens for about 6 months.)
Off Leash
After running a gauntlet of adults, John has found himself unsupervised. No one meant for this to happen, it's a time ripple accident, but that doesn't change the result any. John-117 (super soldier, workaholic, and easily bored teenager) is loose on Legion World.
Mostly, he's just kind of lost. He has a map, he can find things, but getting from one place to another on a busy space station is much more daunting when you are worried about interacting with strangers. He's surrounded by civilians, and he just doesn't speak civilian. He may not have specifics in mind, but he is absolutely sure something about this could go horribly wrong.
And people keep calling him Master Chief, which is very much not his rank, and even if they don't they still try to make casual conversation with him. It's an awkward deer-in-headlights moment every time. Even worse, sometimes they talk about it amongst themselves after he makes his ungraceful escape.
"Wait, wasn't that Master Chief?"
"I thought so, but maybe there's a new guy?"
Under his helmet, John's ears burn just a little. But he is a Spartan, he will just walk faster, endure this trial and emerge victorious and find this stupid room.
Priority: Lunch
John has found an acceptable seat in the mess hall: back to a wall, all doors visible. It's not a necessary precaution here, maybe, but it's always the guy who doesn't prepare who's sorriest when something goes wrong. It's already weird enough for John to be eating somewhere without at least one other member of his team, forgive him if he'll take comfort where he can.
There is one problem, though: The seat is right next to another person.
He deliberates for several seconds, then sits down anyway.
"Hello."
That's what you do, right? You greet the other person? He hopes that's enough. John removes his helmet and sits it on the table, avoiding eye contact. His voice is low for his age and he's very tall, but there's a certain roundness to his features still that betrays he's very young.
Please don't make this awkward, please don't make this awkward, please don't make this awkward...
Go Hard
The training room is far more advanced than any John's been in before, and he's found that very much to his liking. The equipment adapts almost immediately to what he wants, procedurally generating an obstacle course that would've made his trainers proud. It's the best thing he's seen all day, and running it is practically therapeutic. This is what he's for, the exertion does him good, and he works furiously to refine his course time.
Between his augmented body and the MJOLNIR suit, he's inhumanly fast and strong. It would be a hell of a thing to watch, if anyone happened across him.
"New best time," the computer intones as he finishes a fourth attempt, and John takes a moment to punch the air triumphantly. This, more than anything else today, feels good.
Go Home
It's been a long, confusing, and overwhelming day for John. Discovering that part of the hab deck looks exactly like the best spot on the planet Reach is a relief, and he quickly finds a place to sit along his older self's personal lakeshore. (A high rock. Good sight lines. He'll see anyone coming and be able to react first.)
When was the last time he was here? Months ago. More than that, well over a year probably. They stopped training his team on the surface after augmentation, they had to be moved down into facilities built in Reach's old titanium mines. John hadn't minded the darkness, the damp, the still air. The exercises had gotten even more complex, even more challenging, and the Spartans had thrived on it.
But now? Now, he realizes how much he's missed this mountainside. The quiet actually does him good, after a day surrounded by people. His squad is not here, but Reach is home, and home is enough to steady him a little.
He pops the seals on his helmet to let himself breathe in the pseudo-fresh air. (Legion World does a whole lot better at faking the great outdoors than the MJOLNIR suit's scrubbers, that's for sure.) He takes a long, deep breath, and exhales heavily. The time off is good for him, probably, but being back down on the burning surface of Circinius IV fighting the Covenant with his team would be easier.
What| Being horribly confused
Where| Various places
When| Time Ripples
Warnings/Notes| Child soldier problems.
(John is, at this point, not quite 6'10" but getting there. He's been fighting aliens for about 6 months.)
Off Leash
After running a gauntlet of adults, John has found himself unsupervised. No one meant for this to happen, it's a time ripple accident, but that doesn't change the result any. John-117 (super soldier, workaholic, and easily bored teenager) is loose on Legion World.
Mostly, he's just kind of lost. He has a map, he can find things, but getting from one place to another on a busy space station is much more daunting when you are worried about interacting with strangers. He's surrounded by civilians, and he just doesn't speak civilian. He may not have specifics in mind, but he is absolutely sure something about this could go horribly wrong.
And people keep calling him Master Chief, which is very much not his rank, and even if they don't they still try to make casual conversation with him. It's an awkward deer-in-headlights moment every time. Even worse, sometimes they talk about it amongst themselves after he makes his ungraceful escape.
"Wait, wasn't that Master Chief?"
"I thought so, but maybe there's a new guy?"
Under his helmet, John's ears burn just a little. But he is a Spartan, he will just walk faster, endure this trial and emerge victorious and find this stupid room.
Priority: Lunch
John has found an acceptable seat in the mess hall: back to a wall, all doors visible. It's not a necessary precaution here, maybe, but it's always the guy who doesn't prepare who's sorriest when something goes wrong. It's already weird enough for John to be eating somewhere without at least one other member of his team, forgive him if he'll take comfort where he can.
There is one problem, though: The seat is right next to another person.
He deliberates for several seconds, then sits down anyway.
"Hello."
That's what you do, right? You greet the other person? He hopes that's enough. John removes his helmet and sits it on the table, avoiding eye contact. His voice is low for his age and he's very tall, but there's a certain roundness to his features still that betrays he's very young.
Please don't make this awkward, please don't make this awkward, please don't make this awkward...
Go Hard
The training room is far more advanced than any John's been in before, and he's found that very much to his liking. The equipment adapts almost immediately to what he wants, procedurally generating an obstacle course that would've made his trainers proud. It's the best thing he's seen all day, and running it is practically therapeutic. This is what he's for, the exertion does him good, and he works furiously to refine his course time.
Between his augmented body and the MJOLNIR suit, he's inhumanly fast and strong. It would be a hell of a thing to watch, if anyone happened across him.
"New best time," the computer intones as he finishes a fourth attempt, and John takes a moment to punch the air triumphantly. This, more than anything else today, feels good.
Go Home
It's been a long, confusing, and overwhelming day for John. Discovering that part of the hab deck looks exactly like the best spot on the planet Reach is a relief, and he quickly finds a place to sit along his older self's personal lakeshore. (A high rock. Good sight lines. He'll see anyone coming and be able to react first.)
When was the last time he was here? Months ago. More than that, well over a year probably. They stopped training his team on the surface after augmentation, they had to be moved down into facilities built in Reach's old titanium mines. John hadn't minded the darkness, the damp, the still air. The exercises had gotten even more complex, even more challenging, and the Spartans had thrived on it.
But now? Now, he realizes how much he's missed this mountainside. The quiet actually does him good, after a day surrounded by people. His squad is not here, but Reach is home, and home is enough to steady him a little.
He pops the seals on his helmet to let himself breathe in the pseudo-fresh air. (Legion World does a whole lot better at faking the great outdoors than the MJOLNIR suit's scrubbers, that's for sure.) He takes a long, deep breath, and exhales heavily. The time off is good for him, probably, but being back down on the burning surface of Circinius IV fighting the Covenant with his team would be easier.
no subject
Shepard glances up from her overloaded plate when she hears a familiar-but-slightly-off voice. "Hey--" Oh good lord, he can't be out of his teens yet and thus nowhere near a Master Chief, so she catches herself with only a hint of a stumble before she uses a rank, "--soldier."
This temporal stuff is going to be filling up someone's blackmail stash, she's sure.
no subject
She didn't call him by the future rank. Maybe he's met someone who doesn't seem to know who he's supposed to be.
That would be... nice? Maybe? He's not sure how he feels about it. "People keep expecting my future self" isn't a normal problem for him, or one where any of his training applies.
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Granted, yeah, she recognizes his voice and younger, unscarred face, but she'd have picked him out for a soldier across the room regardless.
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He may be too young, but he still has that flat sense of humor and can still apply it to his apparent future.
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Once she had to wear a dress. Actual worst party ever.
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"They'll need a crowbar."
Actually an array of specialized tools and for him to probably be dead, but those are details.
Off Leash
And for all that they're surrounded by aliens and beings of all sorts, she can't help but watch in open fascination at the tall guy in full armor.
Eyes wide, jaw dropped, concentration immediately wrested from absolutely anything else; it's beautiful.
She stands rooted in place and turns to watch him pass, then shakes her head and jogs to catch up - wow he takes big strides.
"Hey, hey! Uhm, hello?"
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"...Yes?"
Someone is excited to see him instead of apprehensive, this is new. Why? He sizes the girl up, just a little warily.
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"I like your armor."
It's a breathy sort of awe, between having to nearly run to catch up with him and being honestly very nearly speechless by how awesome it is.
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"Thanks," he says, finally. Then there's an awkward little pause while he considers one of his arms.
"...So do I."
Well, it's the truth. MJOLNIR has been his second skin since he received it. John has always been taught not to be sentimental about his equipment (it's replaceable, cadet, and you're not) but it's just changed his world so thoroughly. He can't help but be proud to have it.
"Have you seen armor like this before?"
Now he's just sort of curious, because apparently there are people running around in something that looks like it but isn't and he's still not sure he understands.
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At his question, she shakes her head 'no'. "Reinhardt, from back home, was a Crusader; his armor was pretty impressive too."
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"What does a Crusader do?" he asks, because while it definitely sounds like the kind of thing a military would name a project, it doesn't tell him what it is.
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"It looked a little more old-fashioned than yours, but he had a yellow visor, too. And a warhammer."
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"There hasn't been a war on Earth in a long time. I've never been."
He will someday, he's sure. It's inevitable he's going to get called back there someday, hopefully with the war won. Maybe it will be nice to see the planet in person.
...In person for real, anyway. Legion World's observation deck doesn't count.
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And he likes to think he would be aware of a war like that. John's history lessons focused on war more than anything.
"Robotics hasn't reached a point where that's possible, in my world."
There. Factually talking about his world with the knowledge it's different from others. He's not used to it, but he doesn't have to be to put the pieces together.
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"We haven't really gone into space much, yet. There's a colony on the moon, but it's just for research."
lunch
"Hi!" Ken pauses for a moment in his dogged pursuit of peppers.
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...John's too young to be a Legionnaire too, but only in the time ripple sense. Is that how that works? Irrelevant.
"They let dogs in here?" he asks. It's not an accusation, it's just... wow, really?
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Too young to be a Legionnaire? Well, technically yes, even outside of the time ripple sense, but like Ken was going to let that stop him.
"He's really smart, though. So he knows better than to cause trouble." Koromaru looks up from the steak, barks once, and offers a paw to shake.
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He's thinking back on canine intelligence. He's known dogs, all military dogs used by the Spartans' trainers in exercises. Dogs are tools. They have excellent senses and can be well-trained, but are definitely... limited.
Then the dog extends a paw, expectant.
John eyes Ken sidelong for a split second. This has to be something the kid trained the dog to do, right? ...Right?
...It might also be some kind of super smart alternate dimension alien dog, and he's just offended it.
John shakes the dog's paw.
"...Hello."
There. The bases are now covered. Why does life have to be embarrassing?
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"I don't know if normal dogs can join the Legion. But this is...kind of the place for not normal, right?" That's probably the simplest way to cover it, considering they seem to span the full range from aliens to superheroes to magical powers to just about everything he's ever seen in a shounen manga.
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It's still a dumb name for things. Superpowers. But that choice was apparently made way above his pay grade, so he has to go with it.
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"He controls shadows. I guess that's actually good for a lot more stuff than just turning the lights down, but I haven't really gotten the chance to see the big stuff." Because despite his status as a Real Actual Legionnaire, nobody here seems interested in letting him within sniffing distance of a mission, with his current dilemma. Which is just boring.
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John's already onto the tactical applications of making it really dark. His demeanor changes a little, he knows things here. It's exciting.
"If your team's equipped for night vision, you can blind your enemy. If it's precise enough to trick them, that helps too. It's a useful ability. You could train him for that."
For Rich
This means he has not relaxed at all.
"What would you have me do, sir?" he asks.
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But he knows that's not going to be easy for Chief.
Just like it's not easy for Rich to face him when he's so infuriatingly young. He still wants to punch something.
"I know that's not going to be easy, though, when the time travel nonsense made it so you got brought here straight from the front."
Rich leads Chief towards one of the Simrooms.
"I know how hard it is to wind down when you've been keyed up from intense combat. So I want you to redirect that energy into something practical."
He walks into the Simroom and pulls up a console, and starts putting something together.
"Training."
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When Rider talks about being on the front, John immediately thinks back over his experience pulling Hastati Squad out of the wreck of the Corbulo Academy. Keyed up for intense combat, that's about right. He still feels a stab of guilt that he didn't manage to get all of them away clean. All of them were older than him, all of them were officers in training, but they were still kids. Scared kids. It wasn't right.
Luckily, he's being presented with a distraction. He peers over Rich's shoulder, interest keen.
"What kind of training?"
Go Home
Ideally she'd be doing this with friends, but Vance didn't pick up his comm, and like heck was she inviting an adult along, so now it's a solo hike. The decision might have been impulsive, but her preparations proceeded with surprising practicality for a middle schooler, and she's found herself a pair sensible hiking boots and is wearing layers and carrying a comfortable backpack stuffed with supplies for a day trip up a mountain. She's got this.
So yeah, now there's a red-headed kid climbing a tree on Reach. Which wouldn't be that weird, except it's not Linda. Linda would have noticed John sitting on his rock by now.
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John realizes, with not a little apprehension, that in this situation he is the adult.
He makes a decision, sits straight again, and calls out: "What are you doing?"
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"Hey! Don't sneak up on people, you jerk!" Never mind he didn't do any actual sneaking. Not the point. As poised as Jane is for her age, a fall could have been nasty, and the adrenaline gives an edge to her voice.
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"It's my part of the deck," he replies anyway, almost reflexively matching the girl's level of petulance. All it took is that tone to start it, there is something ancient and inherent to all kid-dom here that not even Mendez and Halsey could work out of him.
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"Are you a marine?" Her newly friendly tone suggests that that would be awesome.
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"Navy," he corrects, a little apprehensive because wait, why? But he also has to clarify that for his pride. Pfeh, marines.
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He's more interesting than tree climbing, so without waiting for him to clarify why the marine/navy thing matters, she drops back to the ground, dangling from the branch for a second before letting herself fall the last three meters or so. It's a little higher than she can comfortably manage, but she shakes it of with an oof, collects her pack, and trots over to his rock.
Brace for friendship, Spartan.
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He ignores it. That would be stupid. But it's there, nonetheless. Something about having a conversation with a forthright and fearless twelve year old is unnerving.
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Jane's closing in and her trajectory suggests if he doesn't do something, she's gonna climb up right next to him. All available evidence indicates that neither heights nor achieving them is a problem for her.
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...Maybe this kid isn't just blatantly wrong about how the world works.
"Yes."
John doesn't shift as she gets closer, but tenses involuntarily instead. It's fine. Just a strange kid. He's not even sure why this is so uncomfortable, and he's refusing to let that feeling win.
"Why wouldn't they be separate?"
It just seems like it would get everyone in each other's way.
Go Hard
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"...Thanks," he says as he catches his breath. This... might actually be a good time to stop, really. The suit reports that he's still fine, but he's not actually in the middle of a firefight. His usual "still fine" criteria are perhaps a little excessive.
"Computer, water?" he asks, just after greeting the stranger. A platform helpfully pushes up out of the floor and opens, revealing several bottles. John gratefully removes his helmet and grabs one.
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"I can see why they have you on the team, damn." He gives his armor a quick glance now that it's not a blur of lethal motion, eyes alight with curiosity and lingering awe. "Are you UNSC?"
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"You know the UNSC?" he asks, peering more closely at Gabriel. That's not a given here, it's pretty weird.
If he does, he's not like any of the other UNSC personnel John has seen here. Too young, for one.
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Apparently his future self is in there for a good while, but that gets into the really tangled stuff that still feels weird to even think about.
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"We do need people."
Maybe it's callous to encourage someone else to join this fight, but it's true. It's hell out there, but if no one fights that hell?
John doesn't waste time imagining it. He can know this war ends, somehow, but even if it does that won't change how long the odds are and how desperate it's going to be.