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Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction and story, so I'm sure there are bound to be some mistakes in my story; whether it be punctual, grammatical, or anything. But I will be doing my absolute best to make sure this story is preeminently delightful for all y'all's tastes. Constructive criticism is key here, so I would like to respectfully request that each reader thoroughly tell me what he/she thought about it and give me help and/or tips to improve my writing and storytelling skills or with the cultures of Johannesburg and the Poleepkwa in the District 9 universe; because I ain't going nowhere anytime soon. In conclusion, the timeline of this takes place a couple of years after the mothership stalled over Johannesburg, so the aliens are still allowed to roam some of the streets I assume. That is all, I really hope all y'all enjoy :3

Inspired by the stories: "Strings of Hope" and "Paradise Reclaimed". Both were written by the author: Mystic Blade

Chapter One:
The Lieutenant

"Writing is a journey into the unknown."
-Charlie Kaufman

Feeling a hand gently shaking his left upper-arm, he jolted up, ripping him from a deep slumber. He hadn't drunk any water in more than ten hours during his slumber, which was causing his head to pulsate painfully a few moments later.
Looking up with a piercing, pissed off gaze to whoever dared wake him from his wonderful nap, his face softened to see a young flight attendant, with a nervous smile looking down at him. "Sir? Wake

up. We have arrived at Johannesburg," she told him as soon as she made eye contact with the drowsy man covered with a large blanket. Not wanting to cause any problems, he returned the smile to her sincerely while noticing alarmingly, that all the passengers on the plane were gone except for him. The adolescent man spoke up to the female attendant while pulling the blanket off himself. "Thankyou ma'am, I'll be on my way immediately," he said with a solemn-like sleepy tone, standing up to fold the blanket, then handed it to her. Taking it with the same smile on her face, the young woman post-hastily walked off to the rear of the plane.
Starting to feel a little dizzy and lightheaded, he called out to the attendant, "Miss? May I have some water?" The young woman turned on her heel, fully facing him while walking backwards, giving him the 'thumbs up' sign, then continued on her way to the rear of the plane.
Stretching and yawning, he bent down slightly to look out the small window beside his seat; it seemed to be early evening.

Taking out his pocket watch to check the time, the long hand was near the VI mark. His stomach did a backflip; nearly tripping over the seats to get his luggage from the curved, overhead containers, putting the watch back in his breast pocket. Damnit! He thought, frantically but carefully easing out everything he owned onto the tiny aisle and seat, cursing himself for bringing so much when time was at stake currently, but being extra careful with his violin case.
Sealing the hatch overhead and squatting halfway down to grab his bags, he made off to the exit with tremendous haste. He did not feel like getting hazed by his new CO (Commanding Officer) for being late. He hated being late. His reputation was relatively positive so far amongst his superiors and he wasn't about to let his standards fall now. I'm a Marine, a United States Marine. I have never been late and I ain't about to start now...shit, where's my hat? He was at the open door of the plane, just about to step off onto the elongated platform connecting the commercial airliner onto the main building. Turning around completely to go back to his seat to retrieve it, he saw the same young flight attendant with his hat and a large plastic cup of water in the other, quickly pacing towards him. Stopping before the man, she smiled again at him, nodding. Taking his peaked hat and the water from her without a word, he returned the polite gesture as best as he could, but as soon as his face was clear from her, he let his face fall into a mild frown.

Setting down the bags he had been carrying to put the hat over his head, making sure it was straight and tight, then downing the water gratefully. Smacking his lips and clearing his throat, he handed the cup back to her.
The man had been loathing to come here on orders to simply make sure the aliens in South Africa did not get out of hand. For the 'prawns' have been getting more bold in their attacks against humans since they arrived on Earth just shy of two years ago.

His parents were of the same mindset as him when it concerned the prawns: they don't belong here and they are causing a hell of a lot more problems than humans could do to each other.

Not more than a few days after graduating from his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) school as a Second Lieutenant, he received his first orders from the Commandant of the Marine Corps. And boy was he more than enthusiastic about it - that is until he saw where he was going to do his new job.

The only good thing about this one however, was the pay; a full seven-thousand dollars a month. The Commandant's formal letter told him straight-up, that he would be working face-to-face with the aliens and that his survival expectancy would be less than fifty percent. Hence why he was being paid so well.

Man I love the Corps, he thought with heavy sarcasm, which was accompanied with a visible scowl on his face as he picked up his things and jogged down the airbridge.

He would have much rather done his first four years as an officer in the Marines in an Embassy somewhere. Canada would've been nice, or maybe even in Italy. Or even the White House! Then he could ask President Reagan if 'Star Wars' was an actual thing and if he could sign-up. But apparently his grades weren't up-to-par with the Corps' high standards when it comes down to protecting the most heavily guarded home in the World.

Frowning even more and silently cursing his relatively bad-luck, he continued through the airport, trying to avoid bumping into people and getting frustrated when he had to walk behind large groups of slow-moving people.

Damn people, hurry the fuck up! I got places to be! He thought rampantly, but of course, he never said the negative things that processed through his mind and begrudgingly kept them to himself.

He wasn't known to be a very polite person, but he was respectful to everyone he encountered, that was if they did not get on his bad side.

Everyone seemed to look at him with wonder and pure curiosity; most likely from his black uniform with trim red lines running down his chest, shoulders, and cuffs, complimented by gleaming golden buttons, with the EGA (Eagle, Globe, & Anchor) anointed on the faces of each one. His face wasn't very 'ideal', so what he wore made up for it. The uniform and sheer presence of a US Marine, was simply put: stunning.
The man took on more of an 'old' look. His face was not one you would see everyday, as it resembled more of a common adult from 1800's Southern America with an intimidating appearance. His jawline was steadily sharp until it took a small dive, possessing a minor crooked protrusion, then continuing its course to meet under his pleasant lips, joining together with the other jaw, forming his moderately bulging chin. Having a rather large nose, which was accompanied by high cheekbones; they stretched his heavily tanned skin across his cheek, sinking into his mouth slightly. The eyes of course, were his best feature; they had a remarkable bright hue of green, just about the shade of an Italian beach and they could without a doubt, woe any woman who looked him in the eyes for more than a few seconds. He was known to be quite a charmer at times.

Having quite the large forehead, it only seemed to widen with his haircut, a standard Marines, 'high and tight'. Overall, he was a very well-built person with a broad chest and strong legs, who stood at six feet exactly.
Looking up at a large digital clock, showing that it was five minutes until the hour struck six in the evening, he really picked up his pace, excusing himself quickly to others he bumped into on accident.

—I—

A bald, very strong man in full combat gear, leaned against a divider of the medium-sized glass windows in the stairwell.

His gaze was burning holes in the door beside him, waiting for the American to meet him there.

Ten seconds past and he looked out the windows but the view was unfortunately obscured by another building. Pivoting his head, he looked down at the large crowds going about their business, attempting to ward off the impatience that was steadily overwhelming him.

Looking down at his wrist, he pulled back his thin sleeve, which revealed a wrist watch, indicating that it was one minute away until six o'clock. Roughly pulling down his sleeve to cover the watch, he sighed heavily, speaking out-loud to himself as he returned his sight to the muted crowds below, their conversations and bustles reflecting off the sound-proof windows, "Where is this fucker?" "Doesn't he know to be at least fifteen minutes early for a fuckin' meeting? Damn Americans." His voice echoed slightly throughout the large stairwell.
Sighing again, he caught sight of two prawns walking together on the side walk out below, carrying ridiculously large sacks on their shoulders.

Probably stolen goods in those bags, he thought distastefully. People steered clear of the two large aliens; some of them flat-out sprinting away when they noticed they were walking towards them, some screamed and ran into random buildings, but some simply stood aside, giving them very unwelcoming glares as the they strode by with their grasshopper-like legs.

The man squinted his eyes while crossing his arms in response to what he was seeing. God damn prawns...always causing everyone so much fuckin' trouble.
The door behind him deafeningly burst open, the door slamming against the wall, unveiling the Marine who was heavily burdened by numerous suitcases. The man who was staring impetuously at the prawns, instantly spun around to face him fully, who was steadily advancing towards him.

The American stopped on his left foot, dropping all his bags in two heaps, but carefully resting his violin case with it all, then briskly and sharply brought up his right arm, saluting the man, his pure white gloves just lightly kissing the black brim of his hat. "Sir! Second-Lieutenant, William Cotton Washington, of the United States Marine Corps, reporting in sir!" The Marine properly introduced himself to the man, who returned the salute nonchalantly, "Major Koobus Venter...you're new CO."

Koobus leaned his back against the window behind him, crossing his arms again. "As you were Lieutenant," he spoke grimly.

—I—

William snapped his right hand back to his side, standing at ease with his chin raised up, staring straight ahead, being mindful as to not look into the eyes of the Major.

In the military, you don't ever look at an Officer in the eye when you're either at attention or at ease. It was a relatively unwritten rule for lower-ranking militants to show to their commanding officers, that they are their subordinates.

Although Lieutenant Washington wasn't entertained by this rule at the moment, he did so with great reluctance. All he wanted to do, was report in to this Major Koober - whom he decided that he didn't like the second he walked into the stairwell - and get in contact with his first platoon of Marines who were also being transferred like he was, to keep the aliens in line.

His first real command. He felt childlike giddiness and almost let a smile paint his features at the thought, but quickly dispatched it away, in disinclined favor of listening to whatever Koobus had to say.

Venter simply scoffed at the stature of Washington, dying to know why he was 'late' for he arrived mere seconds before six.
"Why are you late Lieutenant?" he asked with heightened aggressiveness, giving the American a constant disapproving look. He began to slowly walk around Washington - closely inspecting his uniform for anything wrong.
Expertly searching for the right words to say in order to appease the Major, he began to explain in a calm manner, not sure if he was telling the truth, but told him anyway. If he wasn't, then Venter could go to hell, "Sir, the plane that was transporting me from the States earlier this morning, was very late to arrive. No other excuse was or is present sir."

Koobus moved his left arm up, resting it on his right, using his left hand to softly scratch at his chin, still walking painfully slow around Washington, making him start to get a impatient. It was almost as if this South African was trying to make Washington uncomfortable; which he no doubt was trying to do to the Lieutenant. And if Venter was attempting to do so, he was doing a terrible job at it. This kind of 'intimidation' would have maybe worked on him when Washington was an enlisted man in the Corps, but he's been through fairly a lot of drill instructors whose looks were honestly much more terrifying than the Major's.

Stopping in front of William, Venter sighed, slightly nodding his head with approval, relieving Washington's impatience, for he thought the Major was going to dismiss him finally.

Suddenly, Koobus unleashed a 'knife hand', gesturing towards the Marine almost threateningly, "If you're late one more time, I will personally see to it that I run you around this compound until you beg for me to tell you to stop, understood Lieutenant?! We don't tolerate tardiness in my command!"

Not another moment passed before Washington instantly replied with a booming, "Aye sir!", into Koobus' face with equal force and without hesitation.

If Venter was going to try and intimate him, then he ought to work on it. Washington wasn't impressed by his new CO's behavior already.

Many seconds went by as Venter's eyes darted crazily across Washington's face, trying to instigate any reaction from the American. And when he got none, he relaxed by crossing his arms but he did not take his eyes off of this Marine, fresh from his MOS school.

"Good...now there are a few things you'll need to know when you settle in here," Koobus took out a small pamphlet from his pocket, handing it to Washington swiftly.

"These are very important laws you'll need to know about living here. Make sure to commit them to memory before going out into public," the Major stated firmly.

Taking it from his hand, Washington nodded and slid the pamphlet into his pocket, "Will do sir."

Koobus nodded slightly, turning his back completely to the American, returning his sight to the crowds below.

"Then you are dismissed Lieutenant. Report back to me - here - at zero-five thirty this coming Monday. And for fuck's sake, be a little early this time?"

The South African waved his hand in dismissal to him with a slight scoff but Washington still hadn't received any word on where and when he will meet up with his platoon of enlisted Marines.

"Major? I haven't received word on the whereabouts of the Marines that'll be under my jurisdiction while I'm here."

Venter won't even turn to face the Lieutenant, but there was a few seconds of silence as the Major seemingly processed his question thoroughly before answering stiffly with, "They won't be here until tomorrow."

Washington really wanted to strangle the Major right then as pressed Koobus for more info and he had to suppress the urge to speak with clenched teeth, "I'd like to train and operate with them for at least a week before we're put to the job sir."

Another few seconds of annoying silence pursued before an answer was given.

"There won't be enough time for that Lieutenant. You won't see them until you are back here this coming Monday. Dismissed."

Washington clenched his teeth together tightly while grinding them with a considerable amount of force with discontent and sucked on the insides of his cheeks before he saluted Koobus, then retracted it as fast as it had come up, "Aye sir."

Picking up his bags, he went back out the door he had come from, determined to get out of the Major's presence asap.

I really don't like that guy, he thought as he made his way down an elevator and out into a busy hallway full of MNU (Multi-National United) employees. He made a mental note to just do what the Major says and not argue if he can help it.
Sighing gratefully that the meeting was over, he became anxious to exit the building to find his quarters where he would be staying at for the next four years of his deployment here. His quarters - he remembered - was actually a house owned by the US Government about fifteen miles away from the city.

An entire house all to myself, he thought with mock amazement and in attempt to abrogate what Venter had said about him not allowed to figure out his future Platoon's combat capabilities were.

However, he couldn't try and lie to himself, that he definitely scored big on this MOS; the only other reason why the Corps would issue any of their personnel their own house, would be if said personnel had a wife and/or kids. You could also be single and if you reached the rank of Staff Sergeant as an enlisted man, you'd become eligible.
Finding his way out of the HQ (Headquarters), he had to maneuver around the lively schools of people going to and fro. His arms were beginning to tire due to the trunks he had been carrying, so he went to a vacant bench residing next to the large street to rest his arms for a while; also deciding he'd take the opportunity to read up on the pamphlet the Major gave him.

As he walked over beside the street, he accidentally stepped into the street's gutter, where cars and busses of all different sorts sped by - only a few inches away but he quickly stepped back onto the sidewalk when someone blared their horn at him.

What the fuck am I doing? Just chill bro!
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he set down all his personal effects onto the bench, sat down next to it all, crossing his right leg over his left, and made sure to keep his back straight at all times. He didn't want to make a bad impression when he was wearing the Uniform of his Country while in a foreign land afterall.

Stretching his left leg a little to allow access to his large, gloved hand to grapple the small, folded pamphlet within, he reeled it out.

Looking down at it, he read the title, then opened it to the first page.
What he saw made him narrow his eyes in slight disgust but kept his eyes glued to the picture. His green eyes continued to squint in disgust and maybe even a little curiosity.

So that's what they look like.
Noticing that there was an underlined and italicized word beneath the photograph, he brought up the pamphlet closer so he didn't have to slouch to get a better view of the word, which read out simply 'Poleepkwa'. Raising his left eyebrow at the name, he assumed that the prawns were actually called that. At least in English.

The Lieutenant noticed that there was a gradual increase of people rushing past him for some reason but ignored them and continued reading beneath the photo and was slightly astonished, yet completely understood all the strict rules regarding human-to-alien interactions, which were extremely limited.
Some of these Laws stated that, "Physical contact with a Poleepkwa is forbidden unless having special permission to do so", "Sheltering, smuggling, and/or kidnapping Poleepkwa is forbidden on all fronts," "Conversing with a Poleepkwa is forbidden", and it even encouraged anyone who saw one to, "...throw anything heavy at them if you feel threatened in any way by them. Make sure to contact Multi-National United at (27-...".

Yeah yeah, common sense stuff. I'd probably be making the same laws if I were in charge. Who knows what kind of diseases those guys have. Yuck.

Sighing with deep rumination, he looked back at the photo of the prawn with a renewed interest: he observed every...scale?, little and small, joint, tendril, and antenna. Paying close attention to the big, round eyes.

He squinted his eyes a little and looked closer at the prawn's face and it seemed to be in agony or even distress when the photo was took.

Is that a tear?

The prawn's eyes seemed to speak as if it was silently calling out to the viewer to help it.

Poor guy must've been scared of the camera or something.

Snapping himself out of the spell, he began to think to himself, I'm wasting my time. I need to get to the house as quickly as possible.
Right when he folded the pamphlet up and slid it down into his pocket, he couldn't help but notice that people were beginning to sprint away from one side of the city block to the other. People kept pushing past each other rudely and Washington couldn't help but stare and see what the disturbance was; who could blame him? He's been to plenty of urban combat zones to know when something was up. And this was just plain obvious.

But first, he was worried that someone would accidently bump into one of his bags, so he lifted them onto his lap and around his legs, guarding the violin case predominantly.
Man what the fuck is going on? He thought with growing annoyance; today's just not my day. At that moment, someone's leg knocked his violin case out of his hands when they sprinted by.

"Hey! Watch where you're fucking going you dumb shit!" William shouted angrily.

Now he was officially pissed and really wanted to know what the hell was going on, but he had to put all of his crap somewhere safe first.

The civilian who accidently ran into his case, looked over his shoulder without stopping or even slowing down, as if he didn't care, then continued on. Washington stood up, picked up all his luggage; not taking his eyes off the local who probably broke his violin when he knocked it down.

Turning his head as he walked over to his violin case which was out in the street, he stooped to pick it up, then quickly raced back into the MNU building, being extra mindful of the countless panic-stricken people around him.
Bursting through the front entrance, his luggage bouncing off the doors and walls annoyingly, he prayed that the valuables he had inside wouldn't be broken.

He wasted no time in getting to the front desk, stopping in front of it but saw no one. Washington 'patiently' waited there for half a minute, looking behind him at the ever-increasing crowds before knocking on the wood of the desk briskly.
No one came after he knocked a second, and then a third time.

Fuck it.

Washington went around the desk in a half-crouch, stuffing all his belongings under it, then covered it all up with pieces of cardboard leaning against the back wall.

Pacing back a few steps while still crouched, he examined it thoroughly to make sure no one would take notice of the things behind it, then he started for the door.
"Lieutenant!" He stopped dead in his tracks when he thought he had heard Koobus' voice behind him, accompanied by dozens of pairs of loud combat boots rapidly approaching him on the double.

Washington spun around on his left heel to face whoever called his name and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Koobus leading a large group of MNU security forces, all of which were heavily armed with riot shields and possessed quite the diversity of weapons. He then noticed that Koobus held two automatic-shotguns, one of them had a spring bayonet on it.
Koobus was not slowing down, but veered off towards him to hand Washington the shotgun with the bayonet on it. Koobus slammed the apparent eight-gauge weapon into his hands, then gestured for him to follow, "Stay on my ass! We've got a situation!" Washington obeyed without saying a word, keeping up with the Major.

Koobus raised his right foot, then slammed the door with it, causing it to swing and hit someone square in the face, body-checking the person. Koobus simply squatted down, picked up the guy with his free hand, who'd been clearly injured with a broken nose and blood spattering his eyes, and shoved him into the rest of the panicking people without remorse. Washington didn't have time nor the inclination to judge Koobus on his action, for he was mentally gearing up for a full fight. Something was happening that warranted a full unit of security forces to come sprinting out onto the street.

Washington, the Major, and all the MNU security forces were weaving their way through the stragglers of civilians who ran from...whatever was happening. Washington did his best to not bump into anyone but was unsuccessful since everyone were all packed-in like sardines. All of the mercenaries including Washington, advanced about one-hundred yards before the fear-ridden people running away from where they were steadily advancing, completely thinned out to only a few stragglers who were all desperately trying to put distance between themselves and whoever or whatever they were running from.

He took notice that there was a steady increase amount of smoke that was lingering above and in front of them, which was originating from many cars and buildings on fire in front of them. The smoke was like a heavy set of drapery that blocked out all of the sun's light in the West, forcing the lighting to a very dim and eerie setting.

The cries of fear had completely died out now, leaving only the 'soft' roar of the fires crackling around them and the occasional whisper amongst the now-slowly walking line of hired gunmen, riot shields out, rifles of all kinds, poking out like sharpened spears.
Washington looked to his left and then his right, seeing that everyone, even Koobus, had a riot shield protecting them.

Where'd Venter get that?

He suddenly realized that he was the guy in the front, tip of the spear, and was the only one without any sort of protection besides the eight-gauge shotgun with a spring bayonet attachment, leading everyone forward into whatever awaited them behind that thick curtain of smoke.
"Consider this your first assignment Lieutenant," came Koobus' voice in a whisper behind him.

Washington turned his head slightly to nod at him, Koobus just glanced at him, who was breathing slowly through his open mouth.

Returning his attention forward, he heard an ear-piercing screech that was followed by a very loud hissing and rattle, but it definitely wasn't mechanical, it sounded...almost like...Washington's blood chilled when he saw numerous, very tall and lean dark silhouettes being revealed, side by side. Koobus shouted at the top of his lungs, "HALT! We stand our ground here boys! Let them come at us first!" Venter leaned to his side to whisper in one of the private contractor's ears beside him with a calm yet sturdy voice while looking at the Lieutenant, "Let's see what our new Marine is made of."

Washington heard the whisper, his heart beginning to increase in thumps. A standard emotional response to a fight that was bound to have casualties.

He moved his left arm up the gun's barrel, pressed a button, which instantaneously released a seven-inch blade that came out like a stiletto with a sharp 'ping'.
The largest of the silhouettes raised its arm, which tightly grasped with what Washington could only make out as some sort of gun. He squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at his first 'prawn' and he was not enjoying the initial experience. The leader, from the looks of him, and the others who were lined up beside him, were still inked out by the heavy smoke.

The prawn seemed to look straight straight at Washington, then raised its head up into the air, unleashing a low-pitched screech, followed by tens of dozens of angry warbles and hisses. Washington wouldn't admit it, but he could swear that his heart stopped a beat.

He raised the shotgun to his arm, aiming directly at the leader, hands beginning to shake slightly. The smoke was starting to make his eyes tear up. This is not how I wanted to start my first day here..

To be continued…..

Note to Reader: Know that I will be posting these chapters to my Deviantart Account with my own art, which will all be specifically for each chapter I write. So for those of y'all who are more 'visual' people like me, head over there. But please be patient with me writing my chapters for this story and the art for it over at Deviantart; because I am currently a full-time student, working a part-time job, producing a Halo: Machinima, and getting physically prepared to begin my Journey as a United States Marine.

Thank You for reading! PM me if you'd like to ask me anything or just talk, just know that I am very busy but WILL get back to you as soon as I can.

Love, TehFriendlyXeno