Chapter Text
As Vel strode into the briefing room adjacent to the former drydock that was now Wargames Deck B, he took note of the other participants waiting in the room. Six other Spartan-Sangheili pairs were standing around the room, alongside a Marine instructor and an elder Sangheili officer positioned near a large holotable on the opposite side of the room.
He studied the Spartans first. Their armor, as he had come to expect during his three years on the station, often reflected the personality of its wearer. Not only were their suits customized for each Spartan’s strengths and specialties, but the colors and markings also varied widely, each reflecting their wearer’s individual taste -- sometimes in a rather eccentric way.
In contrast, the combat harnesses of most of his fellow Sangheili were more uniform in their colors -- namely, the crimson, ivory, and gold of the Swords of Sanghelios. But two immediately stood out to Vel: Older warriors, wearing blue armor, hides marked from countless brutal cycles of service. Their scars reflected on their long campaigns: First under the Covenant, now under the Arbiter
Another pair were wearing clean standard-issue gear and standing tall with the enthusiasm of youth. These were obviously warriors who came of age after the Covenant fell -- younger Sangheili guided not by words of Prophets, but by the tides of an ever-shifting galaxy.
The final two were more familiar to Vel -- like him, they hailed from the Refuge. A few cycles older than him, they were among some of the first Sangheili to be assigned to the station at the Initiative’s start seven years ago. One of them, Vel recalled with amusement, had been quite the float-fighter when Vel was still a youngling.
At the sound of footsteps approaching, Vel turned to see Daniel, in his familiar bluish-gray armor, stride into the room, helmet under arm, walking with the confidence of someone with experience tempered with humility. It always amazed Vel how the Spartan armor looked bulky, even by human standards, but moved easily.
Having noticed that the fireteam was now all present, the Sangheili officer spoke up in a voice that naturally deserved attention and respect. “Swords. Spartans. Now that we are assembled, we begin the briefing.”
The human instructor activated the holotable, a miniature representation of a highly damaged small hydroponics facility coming into focus above it. “The folks at the Cartographer program based this exercise on actual incident reports. Banished hits a small human colony -- using their standard smash-and-grab. You’ll be helping an ODST squad in locating civilians and getting them ready for evac.”
“This exercise demands speed and cooperation,” the officer added, “and restraint. Expect to see Jiralhanae warriors seeking captives, but remember--” his gaze focused on the two azure-clad veterans who were murmuring among themselves, clearly planning yet another competition, “this is not a Brute hunt. You will not be scored on your kills.”
The older veteran gave a stiff nod at this, while the younger gave a non-committal grunt, neither looking particularly chastised.
As the briefing continued, the schematic over the holotable shifted to a view of the interior. When a particular section came into view -- a shaft with an emergency ladder leading up to a catwalk -- a low groan from the Sangheili in the room hung in the air.
Vel let out an audible sigh. He had not been missing that detail at all. The digitigrade shape of Sangheili legs made climbing ladders awkward if not outright painful.
“Again with your species’ meddlesome need to put ladders everywhere,” he dryly remarked to Daniel.
“What can I say, our architecture was made for humans by humans. We never took your guys’ legs into account when we built them.”
“Your architects should look into replacing your ladders with gravity lifts.”
Daniel took a glance around the room, noticing a Sangheili who was grousing about getting stuck in a maintenance tunnel last year. “Well, if the evac point doesn’t have stairs leading up to it, it’s gonna be a hoot watching you guys clamber up.”
The holotable dimmed as the instructor finished the briefing. “Right, five minutes to deployment. Follow the green striping to your lockers -- we’ve loaded all the weapons with sim rounds. No live fire this time, but you’re still gonna get a shock if you get hit. Dismissed.”
Vel followed Daniel and the rest of the group through a short corridor leading to the armory, the chatter picking up as they entered, Spartan and Sangheili partners pairing up or conversing in small groups.
“Yet another fetch run,” one of the veteran Sangheili groused. “Who do they think we are? An orbital bombardment of the Banished camp would take much less time.”
“Yeah, well, an orbital bombardment’s gonna kill any POWs in that banished camp, so that’s a bit of a war crime there,” the veteran’s Spartan partner, an older woman with white stripes running down the back of her vermilion helmet, flatly responded.
The other veteran Sangheili spoke up. “I hope we do engage the foe today. I look forward to beating your tally yet again.”
“You only ‘prevailed’ last time because you declared those slow recon drones as half a kill.”
Daniel slightly leaned over to Vel as they got to their lockers. “It always happens -- they’re grumpy during the briefing and now they’re being boastful.”
Vel nodded, grabbing his helmet from his locker and donning it. “I’m sure that if they were ordered to fell trees, they would argue about who got the most branches.”
“No argument here,” Daniel responded, walking over to the gun racks, where human weapons sat next to those of Sangheili make. He quickly got his usual set of firearms - an MA50 assault rifle and an M6G pistol. Vel picked up a plasma pistol, but his second choice was surprisingly a BR75 rifle.
“Deciding to go with a human weapon this time?” Daniel asked, watching Vel give the battle rifle a quick inspection.
“It's an appropriate weapon,.given the circumstances,” Vel remarked. “The balance and recoil are manageable, and it works well in close quarters situations like this one.”
“How undignified,” one of the young warriors from Sanghelios quipped as he passed behind Vel to pick up a storm rifle. “That weapon is like their armor, boxy and awkward.”
In response, their Spartan partner chimed in, “Don't knock 'em til you try em. I once gave a Warlord a nice new hole in his skull with a gun like the Ussan kid’s got there.” To that, the Sangheili only made a dismissive mutter.
Daniel shrugged. “It’s gonna take a while, but I’m sure one day it won’t hurt their pride to be flexible in their weapon choice,” he remarked, putting his helmet on and activating his armor’s systems as he made his way to the large bay doors leading into the war games deck proper.
“Fifteen seconds to deployment, good luck out there,” the instructor said over the PA. The Spartans and Sangheili were now assembled in front of the door, listening to the timer’s beeps counting down the last few seconds before the doors would open. With the timer emitting a shrill final beep, the doors opened and the game began.