Noble 7

My face, Seven thought as he stared at the sea foam green Hazop helmet he was holding in his lap. It was fitted with a CBRN Hardened Uplink Module for operations in extremely hazardous zones where the oxygen needed to be filtered. My true face. This was the face people recognized as his, not the one that was beneath the helmet. That was the real mask.

He was currently on a UH-144 Falcon, being escorted to a small command outpost just outside of Visegrád. He was supposed to meet a group of next generation Spartans there.

Life taker, he thought. How many countless lives had been taken, with this helmet being the last image they ever saw? Insurrectionists, space pirates, and Covenant alike. More than he cared to count. He was a death machine. But he was also a life saver, and of this he reminded himself. A field medical officer. This was the face that many who were on the brink of death saw intervene just as all hope ran dry. Seven estimated for every ten enemies he killed there was at least one civilian or soldier he'd saved, ODSTs on a few occasions and even his fellow Spartans. Still, he doubted this balanced the scales of his involvement with life and death.

The Spartans never got too weird about it. It was mostly the civilians that showered him with an overabundance of praise that always made him a tad uncomfortable. He'd been called all sorts of biblical names by those he's rescued. Shepherd. Savior. The most common nickname he was given was Angel. All way too extravagant and honorable as far as Seven was concerned. The way he saw it, he was a killer, no matter how heroic they tried to spin the act of murder when allowing them to be killed was the only other choice present.

I'm only human, he found himself thinking for the thousandth time. Sure, he wanted to tell people. I wear a full metal suit of armor. I may be a little taller and perhaps a bit antisocial, but all that aside, I'm just like you. I had a family once too.

He cursed his ideal genetics as he put the helmet on over his head and locked it in place. The Heads Up Display lit up and he relished in its familiarity. Seven had never gotten to know his birth family, but he'd been made a part of a much larger family of brothers and sisters, grown up with kids that were going through the exact same things he was. He'd heard somewhere that tragedy quells even the bitterest of rivalries, that it allows people to find a common ground and set side all previous animosity. If this was true, he doubted anyone shared as strong a bond as he did with the other Spartans.

Families, families, families.

Seven just had to leave another one behind. Kate, Omar, and Rayna. He hoped they would be fine without him and knew deep down that they would. Now it was time to meet his new family. The A-listers, the starters, the star players. Noble Team. He was in the spotlight now, though he didn't feel too intimidated. He was mostly preparing himself for the new role he'd have to assume. Seven was a medic, but he was also the previous leader of Dingo Team. He realized he was going to have to make some adjustments if he was going to be the 'key cog' Noble Team needed, as his electronic reassignment documents so eloquently described the position. Full time medic, combat support wherever need be. A useful piece on the board, but still a piece nonetheless.

Some adjustments would include keeping his inquiries and need for answers to himself and keeping tactical advice to a minimum, which would be the real challenge. As Dingo Team leader, Seven had a knack for efficiently working through battlefields from the chess player's view rather than the limited perspective of a piece on the board. He knew what needed to be done and had no problem with moving a certain piece to a certain square to ensure victory. He often thought that he'd make a good fleet admiral, but saving people always trumped that desire. He actually liked fighting on the ground, helping out the little guy. Perhaps playing as a piece wouldn't be so bad.

"There they are," the pilot said as the Falcon descended to the destination, pulling Seven from his reverie.

And there they were. Noble Team was exiting one of the bungalows, fully armed and geared for war. A navy blue Spartan leading the group climbed in first.

"Noble Seven," Carter acknowledged as he sat down across from him.

A bulky Spartan II, whom he instantly recognized, climbed in after him and sat down next to Seven and set an enormous, custom-made chain gun on the floor between his feet.

Jorge.

"Sorry about the rushed first meeting, but formal introductions will have to wait. I know who you are. I've read your file and I'm glad to have you on board. You're exactly what this team needs right now," Carter explained.

As he said this, the remaining Spartans climbed into the waiting Falcon. The first two, one armored pink and white and the other baby blue with a prosthetic right arm, slid into the open seats next to Carter. A drab green armored Spartan outfitted for guerrilla warfare and carrying a sniper rifle walked past the last open seat and sat on the floor of the Falcon with his legs dangling over the edge. And lastly, some a Spartan holding a shotgun and wearing an extra-vehicular activity helmet with a smiling skull scratched into its faceplate. He took the seat next to the hulking Spartan II and the Falcon lifted off and took back to the skies.