Hey there! Thanks for taking the time to look at this thread. I was just gonna put my on-going story that I was probably going to make here. If not, just steer the other way because I'll delete the thread. Anyways, along to what this will be about. If any of you didn't know, this will be a story based around the Halo universe, as says the title. The date is December 23, 2524, close to a rather certain date if some of you know. But, enough of my ramblings, onto the story.
The heat on Harvest was one most recognizable to people to came there. It was a hot day, very sweltering and humid-- although every day on Harvest was a hot one. There was really no winter here, Harvest was a third of the size of Earth and most of the other colonies, so there was really no defined seasons. Winter more or less felt like early Autumn and Autumn and Spring felt like Summer. Oh, and Summer felt like Satan's oven.
Right now, it was Satan's oven. It would've been Winter by the UNSC calendar on Earth, but on Harvest, it was mid-summer. And riding on an old, bus version of a JOTUN, a transport used by Harvest's farmers as an all-to vehicle, with no air conditioning, was almost unbearable. Although I was used to Harvest's sweltering Summers, it was still hot. The point is that nothing out of the ordinary really happens here. Sure, there's always been some measure of violence in the cities, but as colonies went Harvest was pretty crime-free. With that knowledge in mind, when I saw the flier on the streets of Gladsheim advertising the formation of the Harvest Colonial Militia, I went to the nearest recruiting station and volunteered, thinking that being a part of a colonial militia force on a colony where nothing ever happened would entail me to a nice life of quasi-relaxation. And to top it all off, I'd get to shoot a crapload of guns. Life couldn't get any better than that, right?
I rested back in the chair and pushed my head closer to the open window, trying to get more cold air. We all had our windows down, as it was the only way of combating the endless heat of southern Edda, where the Colonial militia was located. The bus I was riding was making its way slowly down the Gladsheim Highway, rolling through fields of endless wheat, grain, and other kinds of crops. Harvest was really the breadbasket of the UNSC, a cornucopia of likes. I'd say that Harvest provided roughly thirty to fourty percent of the food needed for the UNSC.
There were seventy other people crowded into this bus with me, all of us going to join the militia. They must've come from all over Harvest. Gladsheim, Utgard, Asgard, Tigard, Rhelmar, OŽlfurth, and the farmlands that covered most of the Edda supercontinent. We came from all over the continent and were brought to the center capital of Utgard, located in the center of Edda. There, we loaded onto the bus and along the way made a stop in Gladsheim, then continued on our way. We were going to be the Harvest Colonial Militia.
There were two main groups of us, the older gentleman, old geezers, fifty year olds who had served in the Harvest police force and looking for a peaceful thing to do before they retired, and the other group, us the babies, the nubs. Young men, who had come from Harvest's endless farms and fields. It was pretty much an even split. I thought it would probably balance out, though; the geezers had a little bit of training and weapons experience, being part of the police force and law enforcement agencies, while the noobs would have physical strength and stamina, built up from a lifetime of working in the farms.
Me and a few other of the babies on this bus were an exception. I was an orphan, my mother left as soon as I was born, leaving me with a drunk social worker as a father, who died a year or two after my birth, died in a driving accident, probably because of alcohol. I lived most of my days on the streets, scrounging for things of importance, running a lot, waiting until the day I turned 16 and were able to join the Militia. I really didn't have much of a choice at that. But, finally it had come and I was currently on my way, waiting until we got there. A man turned toward me, one maybe about twenty or so years old.
"Lookie here, Jakob, we gots ourselves another baby!" The man said with a heavy southern accent. He probably lived down in Asgard. The other man, known as Jakob turned towards me with a sigh. "Jenkins, come on, we don't need to taunt the new ones, you know that." I frowned a bit, wishing they would just leave me alone. "No, no, I ain't tauntin' him, I just wanna get a bit of information. What's your name, nub?" I looked toward him, wondering if I should share that information. I might as well, because we were probably going to be getting to know each other very well throughout our lives in the militia. "Keith." I blurted out, cursing myself in my own mind. "Ah, an okay name, you can know me as Jenkins, and this is Jakob, where're you from, Gladsheim, Tigard, Utgard?" I bit my lip, saying. "I'm from nowhere, and I suppose you should tell me where you're from?" Jenkins chuckled and said. "Hah, mister nowhere, I'm from Utgard." The bus was coming in on a small military base, dark gray concrete building and a chainlink fence surrounding the area, all gray and depressing. Perfect breeding ground for new recruits.
The bus was slowing to a halt, stopping as it went through the gate and found a spot. The bus door opened and a man walked in. A man with a strict, military gait and a hard, emotionless face. His eyes wandered over our group, examining us slowly. "All right, shite faces!" The man said with a heavy, irish accent. "Welcome to your first day on Camp McCarran! If any of you have any final thoughts, you can leave now." The entire bus was silent for a few moments. "No one? Looks like I might have some decent recruits this year! Alright, off the bus you shite faces, form a line, go, go!" We all scrambled to get off the bus, keeping a fine eye of the small, dark stick he was holding.
Forming a line, the man walked in front of us, keeping an eye on those who weren't fast enough. "My name is Master Sergeant Banks! And I will be your God!" A few more men walked out, taking place next to him. "This is Staff Sergeant Mendez," He said, pointing to the man. "He will be your Archangel. And this is Staff Sergeant Johnson, he will be your Jesus H. Christ!" Mendez was a tan-skinned man, a bit darker than most and the other, he looked a bit Hispanic, and the other, Johnson was of African decent, with very dark skin.
"Oh, and, welcome to Hell, recruits."
Feel free to be a critic. It's still a WIP, so yeah, and I'm not the greatest writer, although I am working on it!