{A/N: This is just a warning I got a bit....detailed explaining some of how the augmentations were like, so ya know viewer discretion is advised. Anyway enjoy I kinda had a bit of fun writing this one. (I promise I am not a serial killer). I also HIGHLY suggest playing the track below, as it was what I was listening to while making this chapter.}
{Begin: Suffering Leaves Suffering Leaves by Heaven Pierce Her from ULTRAKILL Layer 7:Violence}
{7 years later}
March 9th 2525
Medical Facility ENDURANCE
In Orbit Above Reach
0630 Hours
(David Pov)
'Today is the day,'
I stood up straight in line, hands by my side, staring at the metal doors in front of me. I swallowed spit, taking calm breaths. Goose bumps pricked up on my arms, but I didn't dare shiver. Not in front of the entire Spartan-II class.
We were all crammed into one waiting room, standing at attention in two single-file lines. We were in order of our number designation. Me being 003 naturally meant that I was going to be first, as there was no candidate 001 or 002 in the program. Next in order was James S-005, who was the first in the line to my right, and so the order of candidates was alternating between my line and James's.
I took another breath and couldn't help but feel a swell of anxiety.
Ever since our first mission, or rather quasi-mission to Wake Island, I'd never been nervous. Not when we ambushed some poor saps in the middle of the woods during the winter expedition a couple of years back. Or when I fell off a cliff after being flung from a warthog during our driving training.
I wiped the crease between my chin and lip, remembering the scar I had gotten when I bit through it during the fall.
I exhaled sharply, not wincing but certainly feeling a large amount of pain.
Glancing down, I was reminded of the first pre-op procedure. Everyone had their head shaved again, before we were allowed to grow our hair out a bit, rather than keeping it nearly bald. But after our haircut, we had been put in a capsule-like machine where we had to spread our limbs out as far as possible and maintain position.
I then felt as the light of a laser, about an inch and a half wide, systematically burned a traceable throughout nearly every part of my body. Most of the spots were along the flesh that rubbed against a bone, like the underside of my forearms. This was all in order to help the surgeons who'd been specially selected to perform our augmentations. Overall, the pain wasn't much, but over time, the pain had become more of an inconvenience for everyone in the class, and especially for me. So with a grunt or two, I managed to get through without messing up any of the 'dotted lines'.
As I waited, my mind naturally began to think back over what we'd been told about the procedure. It was a habit, after all, to make sure all my ducks were in a row and to be extra sure that everyone was prepared. Though I didn't have to worry about that, from Sheila to Cal, everyone in my team was remarkably tough. One way or another, we'd pull through; I had no doubts about that.
What I'd been told was that after this procedure, we could finally call ourselves Spartans. We would be faster, stronger, and much more. We'd be in a class of our own, soldiers who would stop the collapse of the human empire. From what I'd heard, Operation: TREBUCHET was still in full swing with a bunch of bomb makers blowing up a diner late last year.
That was something the doctor had told me. Speaking of which, she had been gone for most of the past year and only came back in the last week of February. I had to admit that I missed our conversations during my gene therapy and the games we would play every now and then. Even now, she mysteriously disappeared around meal times and seemed to avoid me entirely since the next priority was augmentations.
'I'll speak to her about after all of this,' I told myself just as the doors in front of me slid to the sides, opening.
I'd endure whatever was to come. Just as I'd always had
======================================================================
(3rd Pov)
{Reader's Discretion is advised as I will be going into detail about the operations}
{Also there is a high probability this took place over multiple days with other details I don't plan to include. Consider this just an "artistic interpretation"}
[2 hours later]
A man in a surgeon coat and attire stood before a bed. In the bed lay a human male ,14 years old. At least that was what the face told the surgeon. The "boy's" body resembled that of a grizzled war veteran combined with an Olympic champion. Scars littered the torso and limbs, some easily distinguishable as blade handiwork while others were a bit more confusing. There was even a visible scar the length of a fingernail that ran at an angle on the boy's bottom lip. How he'd gotten it, the man had no idea. Not that it was any of his business.
Glancing at a clock, the surgeon decided. It was time.
"...Begin recording," He spoke as a voice recorder listened near his work station as he began his operation, "This is Theodore Wallace performing the augmentation procedure presented by Project: ASTER. My patient: candidate S-003, no given name. Before I begin, the current head of all ONI research, Dr. Catherine Halsey, asked me to perform this procedure personally. I suppose this candidate is important enough that she wanted the 9-time Human Service Award winner to handle it. Therefore, I have decided to record my thoughts and actions as I go about this operation. Both for her peace of mind as well as something to perhaps learn from in the future of medicine,"
The man, Theodore, finished with his introduction," Now then, let us begin. Before we started the operation, the subject was given a heavy anesthetic through an intravenous drip to the right upper forearm. Due to the combination of the subject's physical shape being that of a modern Olympic athlete, and because of apparent special physiology, candidate 003 was given Glyceryl Guaicolate Ether (GGE). A common horse sedative,"
The man spoke a command, and a small anti-gravity field was dispersed with the objective of moving around the patient, "Begin Occipital lobe entrance incision," he spoke aloud to the surgery machine aiding him. At his order robotic arm with a laser attached glided through the air above him before lining up the low-powered beam with the previously laser-inscribed cutting line on the lower part of the left side of the skull. In an instant, the laser went from low to high power, focusing a beam that slowly but smoothly carved out a perfect cut from the patient's skull.
Cranial fluid and blood droplets floated out through the crack, and a stream of blood came as the machine finished the incision. The cut-out piece of bone began to float away toward the bright light overhead, which allowed the surgeon to see.
"Stage One: Occipital Capillary Reversal," he addressed as he began his work, opening the brain to access the capillaries. He slowly began to walk through the process aloud as he took each small wire-like structure inside the body's most important part. He moved them around from pole to pole, the tool in his hand moving nimbly while his fingers grabbed, "...this is all in order to reverse the flow of the capillaries, leading to a marked improvement in eyesight, especially in the realm of visual perception. This does carry an 11% chance of the subject facing retinal detachment and permanent blindness. Hopefully, that number may be decreased in the future."
After a few hours of careful work, the surgeon had finished his work on the thin, worm-like veins that seemed to flow with renewed vigor, a current of red blood cells a magnitude greater than before. He looked up, reaching for the shell that had been floating above him since it had been removed earlier. The surgeon crudely put the piece of the skull back in its place before releasing a paste to promote growth and repair, as well as keep the bone still. The device that had the adhesive was reminiscent of an old blow torch, giving him the appearance that he was welding the skull back in its place.
"Day One procedure finished. A nurse will be by to bandage the cut out bone tightly, and provide an anesthetic around the clock until tomorrow. Patient remains stable, though we won't know if this was successful until he reawakens,"
…
..
.
"Day two is here, and I have much work ahead of me, so without dilly-dallying. I shall begin," the surgeon, well rested and ready, activated the antigravity field once more, but this time it only lifted his tools into a position in the air around him. Reaching forward he casually plucked his scalpel, raising it to the light and nodding to himself in satisfaction, "Next after the capillary reversal is the catalytic thyroid implantation. We'll first begin with an incision below the Adam's apple."
As the man brought his scalpel to the boy's skin, a red line grew before blood began to gush from the cut. He traced a flap of skin using the lasered on guidelines before carefully pulling the cut skin down as if it were the door to a mailbox. Blood slowly streamed out at the corners of the square incision and began to collect on the surgeon's gloved hands as he set them around the patient's neck. He didn't show any indication of being bothered by it, only a straightforward clinical glint shone in his eyes.
"After an incision is made to grant access to the left thyroid gland, we make a very small cut for our platinum pellet." As he spoke, he drew a line on the left butterfly wing organ before grabbing the pellet that resembled a half chromosome with a small flat tube structure jutting from it, comparable to a USB stick. He carefully inserted the tube that was no thicker than that of a quarter, leaving the half chromosome looking like a band-aid slapped onto the organ.
The surgeon, whose gloves were entirely crimson and glistening in the light with fluid, let go of his scalpel, allowing it to drift away from him. He swapped his cutting utensil for a strange needle with a nearly invisible thread attached to it. Without bothering to check if the thread was attached, he began to stitch the flap back to the surrounding skin, being sure to gingerly hold the loose skin in place. As he did so, he began to narrate.
"Platinum pellet successfully inserted into the subject's left Thyroid gland. The pellet will release Human Growth Hormone (HGH), resulting in a vast increase in skeletal and muscular structure. It will also target osteoblasts, enhancing skeletal strength-"
He stopped mid-sentence as he glanced down with a peculiar look on his face, "It seems the patient is shaking…interesting. Perhaps despite such heavy anaesthetics, even in an unconscious state, the nerves have forced the pain to spread into his dreams? Nevertheless, vitals appear stable, and I do not see him staring at me; therefore, we shall continue," he finished his analysis and sealed the window into the boy's throat.
The next stage was set without needing the surgeon's help. Various robotic arms with needles attached to their ends descended again from the space above the overhead light. Each was filled with various growth hormone catalysts; their metallic ends reflected the white light as they approached various muscle groups.
"My final task of the day is to oversee the Muscular Enhancement Injections. As the name states, its main goal is to increase muscular strength and endurance. These injections target the muscles' molecules, increasing the density of the connective tissues and fibers, the more visible result being the muscles quivering and contorting over one another, making connecting tendons stronger and decreasing lactase recovery time," he spoke aloud while simply watching from the side, "I must say I would not be surprised if we create a man capable of ripping others apart limb from limb. Literally," the surgeon could not help but let out a small comment as even he felt it was a bit overkill.
Finished descending, the needles moved in sync quickly. They plunged themselves into the thighs, torso, arms, temples, and a couple of other muscle groups. They flooded each area with a specific amount of the catalyst so that no part of the body would be out of balance with the other. Once they had finished, the needles slowly retracted, backing out of their puncture wounds like the claws of a mechanical bird of prey. Blood seeped out in droplets from the holes as platelets began their defense in blocking the sites of intrusion.
Meanwhile, the larger body as a whole tensed up the instant the needles began their dispersal. David's hands clenched as they shook vigorously again; the readings on his brain activity still indicated that he was in an unconscious state. The surgeon couldn't help but note it in his recording again.
Time passed as the man standing before the boy who lay in nothing but briefs watched curiously to see if his patient would let go of the invisible rope that it held. Yet after half an hour had passed, his hands still remained clenched; he noted it and finished his work for the day.
This 2nd to last stage of augmentations was by far the longest and the most deadly. It would take multiple days before the treatment would be continued. During this time, all subjects in the darkness of their dreams, in corners of their minds where their psyche had been put away, would be forced to fight the pain that would continuously invade them. Their veins would feel as if napalm had been pumped into them, their arteries as if they were being torn out and then re-laid as if it were some form of conducting cable. Their muscles would burn and feel as though millions of nanometers of fiberglass shards were shredding every angstrom of their body all the time, hour after hour, day after day.
Fortunately for all involved. Spartans were built to ignore pain.
…
..
.
"...Our final step in this long process has finally arrived. I must say zero-zero-three here gave me quite the scare yesterday. It seemed the muscular enhancements hit a critical point as, while unconscious, this boy nearly sat straight up trying to fling himself off the table," the surgeon reminisced with a thoughtful expression, "I, along with multiple other nurses, had to nearly throw ourselves onto him for his body to lie back down."
"Regardless of that little scare today is the day we initiate the Carbide Ceramic Ossification," he said, doing final checks on equipment. Once done looking at the machines needed, he gave the patient a final glance, specifically targeting the lasered on cutting directions. Satisfied, he began to speak again, anxious to begin knowing that this process could take a full 24 hours of work, "For this part in the process, I will be holding all thoughts, comments, and other words until the end. This will require my utmost attention, and I do not dare attempt to walk and chew bubble gum at the same time, so to speak."
With a final word, the surgeon got to work. He gave a voice command as he planned to sequentially move throughout the body. A final deep breath, and he gave the final authorization command to begin.
For what felt like the hundredth time, a laser beam came down, cutting a line clean through flesh and to the milky white bone in the left arm of the boy. The slice ran the length of his arm, and once finished, the surgeon reached down, unfolding the flesh around the boy's humerus as if he were opening a scroll. He quickly reached up and grabbed a unique tool that looked similar to a magnifying glass.
He unhooked the loop at the end of it and closed it around the bone displayed in front of him. He rapidly pressed a button to shorten the loop until it had shrunk to the appropriate size that was needed. Then he clenched his fist, tensed his arm and while keeping the device vertical, he dragged the tool down the length of the bone, stopping at the elbow, not touching the cartilage and joint it contained. The tool had shaved approximately 3% of the bone's surface layer off, as indicated by a reading displayed on the handle of the device.
Releasing the looped device, which was now plastered with crimson blood, the doctor began to graft the carbide ceramic material onto the bone. Thanks to some other biochemicals that had been introduced in an earlier process, the body now sought out this metallic substance to create a thin protective shell around the bone.
Upon completion of the grafting, the doctor began to close the area back up. Using special instruments to reattach muscles that had to be moved back to the bone before ultimately folding the fleshy cloth back over the bone. With the help of other medicinal tools, the arm had been closed up.
Then he moved on. From bone to bone, leaving nothing out. The hands, feet, skull, and every other bone, though each had various methods and different means, all were grafted with a material that would make them nigh-indestructible.
The curtains of skin and muscle and veins and arteries were pulled back as the show was centered on the bones.
With each bone finished, blood and gore seemed to increase on the table and on the floor. Precautions had been taken in order to prevent patients from bleeding out during this part. Few breaks were taken, and every metric in the body that could be monitored was watched like a hawk.
Finally, the surgeon was done with his work. Taking off his garments, removing his mask, and grabbed a cloth from an assistant to wipe his sweat-soaked face. He took a step in a direction to sit, but paused, deciding to turn and examine his handiwork in full.
The boy to a bystander would appear to be a horrible mess, a victim of a tragic accident, to be certain, or perhaps some form of cruel torture done by another. Pushing aside the small puddle of blood that dripped down from the table, the boy was seemingly exclusively held together with staples.
He looked like a serial killer's crude attempt to replicate a stitched-together teddy bear. His flesh held together by small clips, no longer made out of metal but out of a compound that promoted healing and would naturally be absorbed as the body bounced back. This was not to mention the various other cuts and holes made previously.
Overall, while teddy bears were stitched together with love. The boy seemed to be crafted for another purpose altogether.
And at the end of the day, it was Dr. Catherine Halsey's very own Frankenstein's monster. Except for her, the subject did not need to be dead before she brought it to life.
…
..
.
Throughout the medical facility, this same scene was replaying for the subjects who had already reached the final stage.
But in other rooms, some were still fighting through the effects of the procedure before.
"WE'RE LOSING HIM," a nurse shouted as she scrambled to administer a cocktail of drugs into their patient's flailing arms.
Other male nurses attempted to subdue the patient, as based on his current condition, his muscles weren't in a recovered state. With each fanatic swing of the arm, more muscles tore themselves apart, unprepared to have so much energy administered to them so soon.
The pain had gotten the boy's eyes to shoot open bloodshot as he was now fully conscious.
Spit came out of his mouth, a mixture of blood and saliva flying over the room. He opened his mouth to scream, but no words came, most probably due to a numbing agent applied during the thyroid implantation.
He couldn't help but feel a certain noise that rang through his ears. It drowned out all the sounds around him. Not the sounds of the machines going haywire around him, nor the frantic pleading of the medical personnel for him to relax and withstand the pain. And so he continued seeking a fight for which there was no opponent other than his own flesh.
Until finally the stress had reached the most important muscle in his torso: his heart. It failed, causing him to slowly fall backwards, his hands falling listlessly toward the floor, draped over either edge. No tool or equipment seemed to cause a stir in the eyes that had gone blank, and after over 10 minutes of attempting to resuscitate, the boy was pronounced dead.
Quietly, everyone who had worked to save his life filed out, leaving only the lead surgeon as they went to assist elsewhere with the other procedures going on at the same time.
The female surgeon sighed, finding a seat to sit in as she pulled her gloves off, all the while looking at the corpse of the one entrusted to her. Reaching over to a table beside her, she pulled out a communicator before speaking into it to the woman in charge of the program.
"Sierra-127 is deceased, cause of death…heart failure"
As the life of S-127 slipped away, the grip in S-003's hands began to tighten in a room far beyond the corridor. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his slumber, he seemed to hear the quiet, unseen cries of his brother as they were quietly extinguished. Whatever the reason, Benjamin's death was not as silent as it appeared on the surface.
==================================================================
Boom chapter done.
As you can see I was feeling eloquent in this chapter. A byproduct of when I really get into my zone I guess.
Anyway so Benjamin is dead. Did you see it coming? I know one of you predicted it way in advance, but I just want everyone to know, that this was always how it was going to go. As fucked as that sounds.
Now some of you smart cookies can prolly guess that my quick question yesterday MAY have had some alterior motives, and you would be correct.
So I'll ask you straight up, who do we get to fill in Benjamin's position? I was leaning toward William or Jorge obviously but maybe you guys have someone else in mind.
So I guess we shall do a vote:
William
Jorge
Other (And before you put down a female Spartan, the answer is NO)
Anyway I hope you enjoyed see you in the next one.