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Her 117th Sin
Posted By: Marine Corps 117<marinecorps117@yahoo.com>
Date: 23 June 2006, 2:39 am
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"I? I am a monument to all your sins…" - The Gravemind
Her 117th Sin
Plain shoes treaded softly in step with the rough military boots stomping in their stead. Room 117.
"I know this is one of the Chief's exercises," the adolescent laying on the medical bed rasped weakly. It was almost out of character for the young man, so confident and capable, to speak in such a small, pathetic voice like that of an old man. "But I don't know what the twist is. Can you tell me, Dr. Halsey? Just this once? How do I win?"
Chief Petty Officer Mendez, standing next to Halsey, averted his eyes, unable to bear witness to what was happening. The fiery determination that always seemed to burn in the boy's eyes extinguished as the sedative finally took its course. His bare chest, covered with map-like incision vectors for the surgeons, rhythmically rose up, fell, and rose up again.
"I'll tell you how to win, John," the doctor whispered, leaning in close. "You have to survive."
How could she do this? How could she take away John's life - take away any of their lives? They were children. What kind of person searches for kids with amazing potential, only to steal them away from home to condemn them all to a life of killing? What right did she have to deny them all of their natural free will - their choice of what to do with their lives?
For the "greater good"? They're just damn words. Dr. Halsey gritted her teeth, watching as the surgeons worked upon John's body with their scalpels the way an artist would paint on a canvas. Nothing more than an idea to keep my conscience quiet. Dr. Halsey watched, unmoving, as John's skin and muscle were expertly cut open as the surgeons did what they did best so that John could do what he did best.
Dr. Halsey took a glimpse at CPO Mendez, standing in the doorway. He was staring past her, gazing upon his best pupil as he was butchered like the science experiment he was. For the first time, she saw something in his eyes beyond an unforgiving stare forged by the UNSC. It wasn't pride nor worry in his eyes. Was it pity? Disgust?
Shame?
The doctor couldn't come to a conclusion as Mendez looked away. "I'm going to check on the others."
Dr. Halsey nodded to his fading footfalls. She turned back towards John-117. Hours went by. Aids came and went, tending to the sweat forming on the men's foreheads and fetching various tools to further delve throughout John's innards. Conducting multiple surgeries so close together was highly risky, even if the patients were outstanding examples of human fitness. The higher ups that would chose which project to dedicate funding simply could not wait for their secret weapon to unleash upon the enemy.
She watched it all: the casual manner in which they grafted military grade alloys directly onto his skeleton, like icing on the edges of a cake; the surprising elegance of the latex covered fingers as they operated on the ever-so-fragile ivory of his eyeballs; how they handled nerve endings like simple electrical wires. I'm turning them into machines - walking, talking, fourteen-year-old war machines.
She knew she had to check up on the other children as well, but at the moment, she was admittedly guilty of a bias. John truly was her favorite. And if he were to die, she wanted to be present, if not for the fleeting hope of comforting him in his last moments.
The lead surgeon sighed a relief. In n thick accent, he spoke to other men crowded around the supersoldier-to-be, "Alright, all we need to do now is interpolate the catalytic thyroid implant and give 'em the protein complex shot and we can close 'em up and call it a day."
The six other minds of medicine gave nods of acknowledgement as they continued their work with even more vigor, now that they had an imaginary finish line in sight. Still, Dr. Halsey was not relieved. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, remembering.
"The most dangerous steps on a mission are the ones right before exfil, ma'am," said a nine year old boy in military fatigues, just returning from one of his first field missions.
A smile. "And why is that, John?"
There was no childish naïveté to be found in his eyes. "Because that's when you let your guard down, ma'am."
The head surgeon held up a fist in victory. "That's how the pros do it, boys. Close the kid up n' give 'em the muscle injection," he said, already starting to seal the many incisions with a pinpoint cauterizing laser. Working as one, the men shot invisible beams of light, expertly sealing the gaping cuts they had made in the adolescent. John was relatively whole again. One final task was needed to truly turn him into a Spartan-II.
"Applying muscular enhancement injection now…" one surgeon said, holding a needled twice the width of his thumb.
The metal pierced John's skin: yet another mechanical violating organic. He pushed down and the ominous amber fluid inside entered John's blood. Any semblance of composure disappeared from the Dr. Halsey's face as John's heart monitor suddenly spiked into a relentless staccato.
Bit-bit-bit-bit-bit-bit-bit-bit-bit-bit-bit…
Soon enough, the convulsions started. His once still form started to twitch and writhe uncontrollably. One of the aids was ordered to hold him down to keep him from falling off the medical bed - quite a feat considering how well Mendez had forged him into a truly strong, healthy young man; another was told to wipe away the foam gurgling out the corner of his mouth.
The general calm and professionalism held by the seasoned medical staff was replaced with a panicked frenzy. Nurses rushed to and fro as the doctors ordered them about, madly opening cabinets and ripping open single-use instruments.
But John ended their race to save him. His spasms stopped and his toned chest rose no more. The countless series of beeps from his heart monitor suddenly dropped into an empty, dull drone - the sound any doctor dreaded to hear.
Halsey's lips trembled, keeping them tight as to not let a sob of anguish escape. Her eyes - now wet, barely open slits - urged at her to let the tears flow but she couldn't allow it. John, please. Everything and everyone around suddenly seemed distant - hard to hear. All she could concentrate on was the dead little boy, with not only his childhood taken away, but his life as well, looking so peaceful as he lay deceased.
Maybe it's for the better, she thought. You would have seen such horrible things. Dr. Halsey sniffed and continued to watch the surgeons vie to resurrect the dead. So much suffering and sorrow would have followed in your wake. The head surgeon uttered a long string of foreign profanities. I'm so sorry. John's only reply to her apology was the cold hum emanating from his heart monitor.
The accented surgeon hung his head. "Goddamnit." He lifted his wrist to his face. From the start of the operation to the end, it had been approximately nine hours. "I'm callin' it. Patient One One Seven has died at…twenty-one thirty hours."
"That's quite an injury, John. How did you go on?"
The eleven-year-old boy expertly hid a wince of pain as she took a closer look at his broken ankle. The injury did not stop him from completing a five mile hike. "We're taught to never give up, ma'am. We don't stop 'til we win."
Another smile. "That's right, John. Not until you win."
John had never given up. He had never failed his team - more importantly, he had never failed her - when he was called upon to complete a task. John had been born to be a champion. He had not been born to fail and die forgotten.
She was wrong, she realized. She had put him through all of this because she'd seen a glimmer of what he could be. He had not let her down; he had proven that he had what it took; it was time for her to return the favor. I'll be damned if I let what I've done to you culminate in a bloody carcass. Catherine wiped away the few tears that managed to leak from her eyes. She immediately scorned herself for thinking for even a moment to simply let John die on a bed. Not after what he had been through. She couldn't - wouldn't let all her sins be in vain.
The surgeons started to abandon John's body as his vitals still buzzed endlessly, as if calling for them. Catherine stepped forward with absolute authority, teeth clenched in furious determination beneath her closed, calm lips. "No. Not yet. Defibrillator. Now."
The men traded glances and shrugged. They must have figured she had simply gotten too attached to the children as she had none of her own, as far as they could tell. "Yes, Dr. Halsey." The defibrillator pulsed to life and the hand held devices hummed in her palms.
"Clear!"
John's chest snapped upwards as jolts of electricity suddenly coursed through his body. Still, the heart monitor continued to reverberate that single tone, as if taunting her. It would not stop Catherine Halsey.
John, I need you to fight for me, harder than ever before. Another jolt. That's what you're best at, is it not? His chest contracted up towards the ceiling. John, I know you won't fail me… Then, after yet another electric shock, Catherine heard the sweetest, most beautiful sound in the world.
…Because you always win.
There was one beep. And then another. And another, quicker and quicker. The monitor started beeping at a regular rate. It was the closest thing to celebration fanfare she was going to get, and at that moment, it was all she could ever ask for. She barely noticed the praise of the surgeons around her, for all she cared about was the fact that John was alive.
No, there was no justification in her sins. But she knew, deep down, that it truly was for the greater good that they had to live the lifestyle that had been forced upon them, if such a thing could even be considered living. They would take more lives, countless lives, as the Frankensteinian soldiers that they were. But just as her Spartans would take countless lives, her Spartans would save countless lives.
She hadn't wanted to create them for the selfish sake of pushing the limits of science, technology, and innovation. Yes, that had been one reason; but foremost, she had wanted to put those formidable weapons to use in defending the society of the civilization that powered the engines of advancement. What was done was done. She could not regress into self-pity or regret, if not for the sake of her young warriors. Dr. Halsey had to make the best of what she had done to them.
"You have just cheated death," she said with a relieved smile, just loud enough so that only she and the unconscious Spartan 117 could hear. She laid her hand upon his. "Get used to it."
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