At the gates of the dojo, a Teenaged boy walked up, his armor glinting in the light It was bits of scrap over cloth that formed plates over his left shoulder, both forearms, and his legs His torso was an actual breast plate ripped from a UNSC ODST, the name having been destroyed by wear and tear He holds an automatic rifle in his hands and waits, a broken revolver at his hip, the revolver having been shattered for some reason ((Open))