The Story of Remnant II: SPART205

Chapter 1.0 - Rendezvous with SCT216

"This is as far as I can take you, kid. We can't hold any more, I'm sorry." The driver of the truck told me. I woke up from my nap.

"Thanks old man." I told the driver.

"I'm thirty." The driver responded.

I ignored him and got off the truck, continuing the rest of my journey by foot. The sun was blazing, but my endoskeleton conditioning systems kicked in, providing my body with a gentle spritz of cool air. I wasn't allowed to bring in weapons from my time here, meaning whatever weapons I have in my arsenal, are the ones I obtain in this timeline.

You heard correctly, I'm not from this time.

I belong to the human resistance organization ASCENSION. Class SPARTAN, designation, 205. I am a soldier to the Human Resistance Effort, or HRE, against the alien civilization who had invaded my world, the Iron Council. Their technology, far beyond ours, had managed to travel back in time, and eliminated many of us. Despite that, we kept fighting. Because that's in our nature. Because we are human. Even if we are part machine, grafted from the ASCENSION soldier operation, we had our humanity.

My current objective was to rendezvous with fellow ASCENSION member, William Lockhart, SCT216. If all went according to plan, he would have rescued the college research team who would one day develop the technology that enabled us to battle the Iron Council to a stalemate: cybernetics. At least, until they developed the technology to travel back in time. Rather than build our own tech, we stole theirs. A squad was sent back in time, including me. The squad was comprised of three members: SCT216 (Will), SPART205 (Me), and SENTL802 (Francine).

Dirty huh? Well, in the end of the day, you can't fight a war without getting your hands dirty. No matter how high up the chain you are. That's just how it is. Will was tasked to find the college kids, while Francine was tasked to locate the reactor core. You might be wondering, why did you get a SENTINEL tank class to do the locating, and the SCOUT class to do the protecting? Well, as it turns out, Will is a lot of a better fighter than Francine, and Francine is the best tracker/stealth fighter I had ever seen. Combined with her buff, tanky build, she was the ultimate supertank.

As for me, I was tasked to find Will, and eventually assist him, and lead the two to the reactor core, where we would send the team into another parallel timeline, for which they can continue to develop their technology that would eventually create us, before the Iron Council's stupid alien sentries get them.

I entered a bar on the side, walking through. There were a bunch of big burly guys, standing at 6 4, 6 5. I probably looked like a stick to them, being only 5 8. But I couldn't care less. I could kill them all if I really wanted to. Considering my cybernetic implants, my bench, deadlift, and squat maxes were orders of magnitudes greater than theirs. My reflexes and technique, implanted into my combat protocol, honed and refined. All I needed was a gun, and I'd be unstoppable.

And that's what I needed, along with a drink.

"ID please." The bartender frowned at me. She probably was my face and thought I was too young and underaged. I took out my ID, fake, obviously, and handed it to her. The woman took my order, as I sat in the bar alone.

At least, for a moment. Because a couple of racists immediately went up to me.

"Say kid, got any cash on you?"

"No, just credit. Why?" I responded, nonchalantly, continuing my drink.

"You probably have a lot, considering you're probably a doctor. Or a lawyer. Daddy's money from your corrupt government? Eh? What y'all think?!" The racist turned to his goons, who all laughed.

I forgot that racism was still a thing back then. Here, you were valued for just simply being a human. But I guess the irony was that things were a lot simpler in the future, than they are now. It takes war, bloodshed, trauma, for mankind to realize how precious their comrades are.

Humans truly are a pathetic species.

I turned around. "I don't have a lot of money. So F off."

The burly dude raised his eyebrows. "Jackie Chan here wants a fight? What are you gonna do? One inch punch me?"

The racist slammed his fist on the table, knocking the glass over. My drink spilled all over. Everybody in the bar was looking at us, but not saying anything. Some began to pull out their phones, to post on Insta. This fool wanted a fight, completely oblivious to the fact that he was essentially asking for a death contract.

I got up.