Halo: Blind Hate

His stomach burned. Even with the wound filled with biofoam it burned. The bolt of plasma had lanced through his abdomen, cut clean through and burned every inch it touched. That’s what he got for trying to take the Covenant in a straight fight. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Wrapping an armored hand around the lower mandible of an elite minor, he jerked violently back, bringing the alien back as he rammed the combat knife in his left hand into its neck. As the steel went through leathery flesh he jerked, tearing a ragged gap in the alien’s throat, deep purple blood spurting from the wound. 
Callum smiled in satisfaction as the warrior gurgled, choking on its own blood while he snatched the nearly overheated plasma repeater from the ground.
Hefting the weapon with his right hand, the one grunt that managed to look back in time caught a glance of what appeared to be a plasma repeater being held in the air by nothing. The small creature’s eyes didn’t have time to notice the shimmer that gave away the camouflaged Spartan.
Something inside Callum cheered with glee as superheated plasma cut down the squat aliens. As one grunt’s head swelled and popped, spraying fluorescent blue blood into the air the teenage supersoldier felt a sense of fulfillment like no other. This was what he’d signed on for, this was what he craved, this was revenge.
Tossing down the Covenant weapon, B042 shrunk back into the rubble, letting his armor’s chameleon systems settle and restore optimal camouflage. Sheathing his knife, Callum pulled the MA5K from his back and waited. Amongst the roaring firefight, he made out the distinctive crack of Abigail-B400’s M392 DMR. It was about time she got here, for someone who’d insisted he stay back because of his injuries, she was moving awfully slow.
Peeking out of the rubble the invisible figure moved into the street, rubble crushing beneath the weight of the crouched Spartan. Leveling his carbine, he set his sights on an elite major who was now spewing plasma alongside his fireteam at what he suspected was Abigail’s position. Normally he’d have moved on to different targets, but right now, a Fuel Rod Cannon toting grunt was waddling up to fire a shot at his comrade, threatening to kill her if it landed a hit.
Callum wasn’t going to let that happen.
Squeezing the trigger, the carbine thumped against his shoulder plate as rounds spat from the barrel. As the shots hit home the member of the Covenant’s cannon fodder jerked wildly, then, as a bullet pierced the massive methane tank on its back, exploded violently. The high pitched wails of the grunts as their comrade erupted drowned out the clap of his carbine as he laid into the elite. The major turned towards Callum as bullets hammered his shields and roared in anger as they collapsed under the hail of lead, allowing the rounds to hit home.
As the face of the elite caved inward, the warrior collapsed to the ground. Callum found fuel to keep the fires of hate burning. The roaring elite symbolized one thing to Callum: fear. Every night after his home was burned he was plagued by nightmares of sanghelli, roaring triumphantly as they turned his home to glass. They scared him, even now the sight of one of the top warriors of the Covenant put fear in him, but the fear drove him, and with every one of them he killed he conquered fear once again. And that made him stronger than before.
“Five, seven, I need those plasma cannons down now!” Barked Daniel-A010 over TEAMCOM, the roar of submachine guns echoing in the background. Callum looked to his left as he went through the motions, reloading his carbine and bounding to cover, in this case a sandbag barrier with a jackal slumped over it in one direction, and a trooper in the other. 
Taking a moment to find his targets, the invisible boy-soldier shouldered his rifle once again and lined up a shot. “I’ll get the ugly one on the left.” Callum broadcasted to Feudal Five, centering his reticle in the center of the grunts methane tank. “They’re all ugly seven, but copy.” Abigail replied. There was no ‘on my mark’ or any form of coordination of the attack, it was instinctive. They both shot, Callum squeezing off a burst into his target and watching it collapse, and Abigail putting a neat hole in her target’s head.
The instant the gunners slacked, Hastings rushed from the building, an M7 in either hand, clad in orange fucking power armor. Callum was envious of the rest of FEUDAL, while they received top of the line armor, he was left in the same sub-par gear that he’d had since first action. Fucking Halsey, and her stupid parameters
As Covenant forces fell beneath Hasting’s onslaught, the rest of FEUDAL joined in. Emerging from the data center, Tomas, Daniel, Erik, Tanya, all clad in the seemingly unstoppable armor let loose into the Covenant forces. Callum might as well have packed it up, slapped his rifle on his back and finally listened to his body as it screamed for him to stop, but one voice was louder, the voice of revenge.
Letting loose a long burst he emptied his magazine into a nearby minor, battering down the thing’s shields as he charged it. The alien’s eyes went wide in panic as it tried to bring its weapon to bear, hoping to hit with distorted figure closing in on it, but it was far too slow.
Lowering his shoulder Callum barreled into the minor, the alien’s shields popping against the pressure and the beast itself toppling over. Slapping the rifle onto his back, Callum pounced, hate drowning out the voice of reason as he wretched his combat knife free. He drew back as his camo faded away, then stabbed. 
Over and over the blade punctured the skin, purple blood spattering onto the SPI’s plating. When he looked down into the elite’s eyes, he saw fear, raw and utter terror as some invisible demon, a worthless human, butchered him. To see the tables turned, that was his favorite part. However, he noticed something else in the alien’s eye, satisfaction.
Suddenly he realized what the voice of reason had been trying to warn him about.
Cutting up under his chest plate, nestled snuggly in-between the chunks of armor was an energy dagger, several inches deep. His chest now joined his abdomen, was coursing through it as Callum grasped the elite’s wrist and pushed it back, the now lifeless alien offering no resistance as he removed the blade.
Looking over to the rest of FEUDAL, who were wrapping up with the straggling Covenant infantry, he coughed roughly. Dan turned to face his subordinate, who placed a hand on the pavement for stability, then struggled to his feet. “Biofoam, please?” Callum requested, staggering forward and clutching at his chest, armored fingers scraping the chestplate. Dan met him halfway, drawing a biofoam canister intended for personal use from his thigh and easing the SPARTAN down.
“Callum listen,”
The Beta grumbled, fumbling to release the clasps of his armor, finding purchase as he awaited whatever lecturing came next.
“The armor isn’t an issue we can fix, you’ll have to adapt, but Tomas had a few ideas on how to help.”
 
Now B042 looked dead at A010, the MJOLNIR Mark V (B) helmet’s visor staring back down into his own as he tugged his detached chestplate aside, exposing the wound. “But Callum,” Dan began, placing the nozzle of the canister to the opening as Callum struggled between bracing himself and rolling his eyes.
“We all signed up for revenge, we all hate these bastards.” His leader continued, trying to get his point across to the other supersoldier who at times he forgot was an ONI liaison and not officially a member of FEUDAL. Pulling the handle Callum gasped sharply as the foam surged into the wound, filling and sealing it, raking the pavement with his hands. “But you, Callum, all that hate is gonna get you killed. It’s gonna burn you up kid.”
Callum paused, bringing his chestplate back into place and latching it back on. He knew exactly what to say. Bringing himself to a sitting position, he leaned against another sandbag barrier and pried off his helmet, and wiped away the sweat that built up in the absence of an environmental suite in the SPI, and looked up to his now standing commanding officer. B042 smirked, blood trickling from a busted lip, fire raging behind the brilliant blue eyes.
“It keeps me warm.”