rdfs:comment
| - Standing between Team Jian and the suits of Semi-Powered Infiltration armor racked up on the armory walls, Tom-B292 nodded to each trainee in turn. Beside Simon, Terrence shifted uncomfortably. It was only three days since the Gamma Company trainees had returned from the augmentation procedures on the Hopeful; their bodies still ached from all the drugs and chemicals pumped into their bodies. The augmentations marked their transformation into Spartans, made them stronger, faster, better. But all Simon felt was a deep sense of unease, a stranger inside his own body.
|
abstract
| - Standing between Team Jian and the suits of Semi-Powered Infiltration armor racked up on the armory walls, Tom-B292 nodded to each trainee in turn. Beside Simon, Terrence shifted uncomfortably. It was only three days since the Gamma Company trainees had returned from the augmentation procedures on the Hopeful; their bodies still ached from all the drugs and chemicals pumped into their bodies. The augmentations marked their transformation into Spartans, made them stronger, faster, better. But all Simon felt was a deep sense of unease, a stranger inside his own body. “From today on,” Tom said, indicating the wall behind him. “These will be your personal suits. You will care for and maintain them like any weapon. You are Spartans now; your armor is your second skin. It is your privilege as Spartans to wear this armor. Take pride in it. Respect it.” Tom stepped aside and motioned for Jian to step up to the armor on the walls. The team was uncharacteristically subdued as they approached. Even troublemakers like Jian understood the significance of this moment. Simon reached up, unhooking the helmet from the suit before him. His reflection in the helmet’s broad visor peered back at him, vague and distorted. It was not the first time he had observed this strange face, at once familiar and alien. The reflection he saw now looked gaunt and haggard, old well before its time. He looked away from that stranger’s face and looked over the rest of the armor—his armor. The suit hung from the wall, an empty suit standing at attention. This was no training set, loaned out for an exercise, to be cleaned and returned after endex. This was his. He ran a hand over the chest piece’s clean surface, surprised by his own reverence. Mine. This is me.
|