The suit was unlike anything John had ever seen. There was a definite kinship between his suit and this one, but it was much lighter with a different purpose.
The face behind the visor was more important, and it was alarming how quickly he recognized it.
No.
SPARTAN-051 was dead. He was listed as MIA in all the files, but it was a mere formality. A defense of morale. "Spartans never die" went the phrase, a bitter and necessary lie that John had known false since the day of the funeral for those who hadn't survived augmentation.
This was impossible, but he returned the gesture and cleared the golden plate that usually hid his face. The years had worn hard on John, harder than their number should have. This war had not been gentle to either of them.
"One-One-Seven," he replied.
Two decades yawned between them, and he had no answer for that.
no subject
The face behind the visor was more important, and it was alarming how quickly he recognized it.
No.
SPARTAN-051 was dead. He was listed as MIA in all the files, but it was a mere formality. A defense of morale. "Spartans never die" went the phrase, a bitter and necessary lie that John had known false since the day of the funeral for those who hadn't survived augmentation.
This was impossible, but he returned the gesture and cleared the golden plate that usually hid his face. The years had worn hard on John, harder than their number should have. This war had not been gentle to either of them.
"One-One-Seven," he replied.
Two decades yawned between them, and he had no answer for that.
"You were dead."