Chapter 30 - Halo Fan-fiction 2 - Into the Fire (1/2)

Plot: Jack is a normal Halo fan, until he's suċkėd into the Halo universe. He can't go back-he doesn't know how he got there. He's forced to become a Spartan; although, to be honest, he doesn't resist much. He thinks he's living the dream-for about two seconds.

Pairing: OCxSheila

NOTE: I found the beginning to be a very good read, however later onwards the story kinda drags out a bit and loses some of the oomph that the story had in the beginning stages. Other than that a relatively satisfying read,

”Three more ŀȧps, kid,” George Newton grunted for some reason. H always needed to declare things-in a minute he'd let his nephew know that there were two more ŀȧps.

Jack didn't care. He was used to it. Since his parents randomly left, when he was about four, Jack had been raised by his uncle. He was used to his little eccentricities. Like the running, sit-ups, push-ups, and other five AM pre-breakfast things.

George Newton was a combat veteran-six years in the Navy Seals had given him a lot of things to forget. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was a weird thing, but he'd been considered sane enough to raise a four year old kid.

The running was normal. As were a lot of other things that might be considered non-normal, like a homemade rifle range, martial arts dojo, and obstacle course. In the great state of Montana, however, not only was weirdness accepted, it was expected. Jack and his uncle lived about ten miles from a little backwater town where Jack went to school. And got the groceries, and other worldly things that George really didn't like doing.

”Two more ŀȧps, kid,” The middle-aged vet grunted. Jack didn't like being called a kid-he was fourteen, for god's sake. But one thing he'd learned out there was that George was not a guy to change his ways. It was easier to adapt, and Jack was fairly comfortable, if bored.

Thanks to satellite high-speed internet, Jack had gotten acquainted with an Xbox and Halo 3. What was initially a here's-this-don't-bug-me-anymore present turned into a hobby that put Jack completely in the gamer clique at school. His room was packed with Halo memorabilia-all the games, books, and posters. Jack wanted to get some Matchmaking in before the school bus arrived, but George wouldn't allow it. Sometimes Jack felt like his life was a stretched-out boot camp.

”Last ŀȧp, kid,” George said.

After this would be another two hours of exercise before a five minute breakfast, a five minute shower, and then the school bus.

Pre-Calculus.

It was tough, but George didn't accept low grades, and the freakin' school forced Jack into progressively harder math each year. It suċkėd, but Jack's Xbox privileges and truck privileges depended on As and Bs.

Jack tried to do a mental juggling act-paying attention to the content so he wouldn't fail the test, while at the same time picturing the number of ways he could kick his smarmy, pompous teacher's ȧss.

He didn't get much math in that period.

Second period was much better for two reasons: first, the slightly-too-nice art teacher let them get away with pretty much anything, and second, because Jack's best friend Carter was in it. It was a fairly lethal combination.

Jack finished up a watercolor of the Master Chief kicking an Elite in the nuts. It was a creative ȧssignment, and Jack was feeling pretty impressed with himself until Carter, the skinny nerd who got straight As in every class, pulled out a water color of himself with bulging muscles in a dramatic pose.

Jack busted out laughing.

”I give it a nine for quality, but a negative two for realism,” Jack said. Carter leaned in close to whisper maniacally.

”At least I didn't draw myself makin' out with Katie,” Jack punched him in the throat-not enough to hurt him, but enough to shut him up.

”Dude, never mention that again,” Jack whispered furiously. Carter coughed, but still managed to laugh. The period went by far too quickly, considering what happened later that day.

Third period. Shop class. Jack liked it, and would've loved it had it not been for his fear of slicing off a finger in one of the shop's three power saws. Unrational fear notwithstanding, he still managed to make a kickass birdhouse.

The bell rang, and kids poured out of every class to get to lunch. Jack grabbed a sandwich and sat at the gamer table, occupied by the nerds and nerdettes who proudly worked out their thumbs every day. Jack was the leanest and fittest of them all.

”Dude, you get Reach yet?” Jack asked an awkwardly tall kid, who shook his head.

”Man, you have to. It's the best one,” Jack enthused.

Fourth period wasn't anything special, for the most part. Health class. It was a strange mix of PE, CPR, anatomy, and chemistry. It was taught by a four hundred pound, fifty-something old gal-something that Jack thought was friggin hilarious.

Health's one redeeming feature was Katie. Soft brown hair, expressive blue eyes… and ill-covered c-cup.