The slums of Orario were a world away from the gleaming white stone of the Guild district. Here, the alleys were narrow and choked with refuse, the buildings were hunched and decrepit, and the air was thick with the smell of poverty and despair. It was in this forgotten corner of the city that Spartan-001 began his hunt.
He was not in his armor. To move through these tight, crowded spaces as a two-meter-tall metal giant would be counter-productive. Instead, he wore a simple, hooded grey cloak over a dark tunic and trousers, nondescript clothing he had fabricated in the workshop. The cloak was heavy, designed to conceal his formidable physique and the MK50 Sidekick holstered at his hip. Even without the Mjolnir, his Spartan augmentations made him preternaturally aware, faster and stronger than any mortal in this city. His movements were silent, a shadow gliding through other shadows.
"I'm tracking our target's life signs," Cortana's voice murmured in his neural interface, a private comm channel that needed no external hardware. "He's finishing his shift at the 'Grumbling Gryphon' tavern. Vitals are… low. Malnourished, high stress levels. This world has not been kind to him."
"Kindness is not a currency that buys survival," the Spartan replied internally, his eyes scanning the crowds, analyzing faces, postures, threats. "Resilience is. Roy's data indicates the subject possesses it. We are here to verify."
He found the tavern, a grimy establishment filled with off-duty laborers and low-level adventurers drowning their failures in cheap ale. Through a filth-streaked window in the back alley, he watched his target. Lyd was a young man, barely out of his teens, with mousy brown hair and a haunted look in his eyes. He moved with a slight limp, his body thin and wiry as he collected dirty plates, his movements economical but weary.
As the tavern closed, Lyd shuffled out into the back alley, carrying a sack of trash. Before he could dump it, three burly men blocked his path. Their leader, a man with a broken nose and cruel eyes, stepped forward.
"Evening, Lyd," the man sneered. "The Dian Cecht Familia sends its regards. Your monthly payment is late. Again."
Lyd flinched, clutching the trash sack like a shield. "I-I told you, I'll have it next week. I just need more time."
"Time is money, and you're out of both," the thug said, cracking his knuckles. "But, since we're generous, we'll take a down payment." He grabbed Lyd's arm. "Your leg looks mostly healed. Maybe we can break the other one to match."
From the shadows, the Spartan observed. This was the moment of truth. He could intervene, but he needed to see. Would the boy break? Would he beg?
Lyd did neither. A spark of defiance lit his eyes. "You can't," he said, his voice trembling but clear. "If you cripple me, I can't work. If I can't work, I can't pay. And I know for a fact your Familia is under Guild scrutiny for its aggressive collection tactics. Hurting me is… inefficient."
Cortana's analysis flashed in the Spartan's HUD. [Psychological Profile: Subject exhibits high-level reasoning under extreme duress. Attempts tactical negotiation despite overwhelming physical disadvantage. Willpower is significant.]
The thug's face darkened with rage at being outsmarted. "Clever boy." His fist shot out, slamming into Lyd's gut. The boy doubled over, gasping for air. The thug and his men began to kick and punch the downed figure, their laughter echoing in the narrow alley.
That was enough. The test was complete.
The Spartan stepped out of the shadows. The three thugs didn't even hear him approach.
The first one was still laughing when a hand clamped down on the back of his neck. It was not a grab; it was a vice. The Spartan lifted the man off his feet with one arm, the thug's struggles pathetic and useless. He slammed the man's face into the brick wall with a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage, then dropped the unconscious body.
The other two spun around, their eyes wide with shock. Before the second could even draw his weapon, the Spartan was on him. A single, precise palm-heel strike to the nose sent a shard of bone into the man's brain, killing him instantly. His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed.
The last thug, paralyzed with fear, fumbled for his dagger. The Spartan closed the distance, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted. A sharp snap echoed in the alley as the bone broke. The man screamed, a sound that was cut short as the Spartan's other hand chopped him across the throat, crushing his windpipe. The man fell, clutching his neck, choking silently.
The entire confrontation had taken less than five seconds. It was brutal, efficient, and utterly silent.
Lyd lay on the ground, looking up at the tall, cloaked figure who had just dispatched three hardened thugs as if they were children. He saw no emotion in the man's shadowed face, only a cold, terrifying purpose.
The Spartan looked down at him. "Your analysis was correct," he stated, his voice a low, commanding baritone. "Hurting you was inefficient. For them."
He extended a hand. "Get up."
Trembling, Lyd took the hand. He was pulled to his feet with a strength that felt like being lifted by a crane.
"Who… who are you?" Lyd gasped, wincing from the pain in his ribs.
"I am the one who is offering you a choice," the Spartan said, his gaze intense. "Your current life is over. You are a resource being bled dry by a system that has discarded you. You can continue on this path until they break you, or you can come with me."
He didn't offer friendship, or riches, or glory. His offer was as cold and hard as steel.
"I will not give you power. I will teach you how to forge it yourself. I will not make you a hero. I will make you a tool. It will be the hardest thing you have ever done. Most likely, you will fail. But if you succeed, you will never be weak again."
He paused, letting the words hang in the filthy air of the alley.
"The choice is yours. But you will make it now."
Lyd looked at the broken bodies of his tormentors, then back at the shadowed face of his savior. He had nothing. No family, no money, no future. Only pain and debt. This stranger offered him something else. Not hope, not kindness, but a purpose. A chance to become something more than a victim.
With blood dripping from his lip, Lyd met the Spartan's gaze and gave the only answer he could.
"I accept."
"Good," the Spartan said, his tone unchanging. He turned and started walking. "Your old life has just ended. Your training begins now." As Lyd stumbled to follow him into the darkness, a new mission log appeared in the Spartan's vision, a mission only he and Cortana could see.
[NEW PRIMARY MISSION]
[MISSION: The Forging of Assets]
DESCRIPTION: The foundation of any successful operation is its personnel. Recruit and train individuals who align with your long-term objectives.]
[OBJECTIVE 1: Recruit the first asset (Lyd - In Progress).]
[REWARD: Unlock Option for Schematic [M805X Mjolnir Integration Suit].]
Cortana's voice was soft in his mind. "A Mjolnir integration suit... the black undersuit. The first step to building your own armor here. The system is rewarding you for building your army, Chief."
"One soldier at a time," he replied, as he led his first, broken recruit toward a new and brutal future.