Wraith felt a familiar jolt, a phantom echo from years past, as the implications of Rook's words settled. SPARTAN-IIIs. Hidden. Preserved. It dragged him back, not to a battlefield, but to a flickering news report on a grimy, static-laced comm screen.

Flashback: UNSC Pillar of Autumn, 2547

Wraith, then a fresh-faced ODST private, barely out of training, stood in a crowded recreation room. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and nervous energy. The Human-Covenant War was a meat grinder, and morale was plummeting. Then, the broadcast came.

An ONI spokesperson, all crisp uniform and practiced sincerity, stood before a holographic backdrop of a triumphant battle. "Today, the UNSC is proud to announce the existence of our most elite fighting force," the spokesperson declared, their voice swelling with manufactured pride. "For years, operating in the shadows, they have turned the tide in countless engagements. They are the SPARTAN-IIs. Super-soldiers. Humanity's shield."

On the screen, grainy footage flickered: a towering figure in green Mjolnir armor, moving with impossible speed, tearing through Covenant lines. A single Spartan holding a breach, laying waste to dozens of Elites. The footage was carefully edited, emphasizing their invincibility, their near-mythical prowess.

The room erupted. Cheers. Whistles. A few grizzled Marines pounded tables, shouting "Hell yeah!" The weight of the war, for a fleeting moment, seemed to lift. Hope, raw and desperate, filled the air.

Wraith watched. A knot forming in his stomach. He'd heard the rumors, of course. Whispers of "demons" in green armor, of impossible feats. But to see it, to have it confirmed by ONI. . .

Beside him, an older ODST, Sergeant "Bull" Ramsey, a man whose face was a roadmap of scars, scoffed. "Super-soldiers, my ass. More like super-freaks." He spat on the deck. "ONI's pulling another one. You don't just make soldiers like that without breaking a few eggs. And I bet those eggs were kids."

Wraith had dismissed it then, mostly. Bull was a cynic, a veteran of too many losing battles. But the image of the Spartan, so powerful, so inhumanly efficient, had stuck with him. He'd also heard the whispers about how the Spartans were "made," stories of kidnapped children and brutal augmentations. ONI had always been a shadowy entity, but this public reveal, designed to instill hope, had always felt. . . incomplete. A carefully crafted lie, hiding a darker truth.