(Halo & ILoveBees (c) Microsoft Studios, Bungie & related creators. Text (c) L.Q. Coverdale. Content includes mentions of death, violence, minor thematic material and some inappropriate, uncensored language. This fic is on the harder end of the PG-13 scale; viewer discretion is advised.)

- The Warrior: Prologue I -

Janissary: A member of a group of elite, highly loyal supporters.

~ YourDictionary

Shoot, shoot, duck and cover. Wait, take a breath, then fire. Fire again and again, then wait for him to fall. Get up, run, shoot, repeat. Again and again came the dance of survival, the dance of traded blows, death but a wrong move away. Every scrap of military manoeuvring knowledge was dug out from the recesses of her brain, the mercenary's sharp mind as agile in working as her muscles and bones. Cat's reflexes drew her downwards, the roar of a missile hurtling closer until the clumsy weapon smashed a small tree's trunk into a thousand pieces. The thick, low wall that separated the ex-garden from the sunken footpath saved her hide from shrapnel.

For Janissary James, that was one of many ordinary days.

The rainforest belt of Tatara were never quiet. Strange, alien beasts, from giant porcupine-pig crosses to feathered serpents straight out of Mayan mythology, squawked and croaked and hissed and screeched. The rushing of the swift river beside her could not drown out the gunfire around her, chattering and banging and popping like fireworks on Independence Day. Her breath was heavy with exertion, the package strapped tightly to her waist, the uncomfortably tight belt digging into her hips and lower abdomen. What a shitty day to start a period.

Despite the uncomfortable, clenching cramps that wracked her lower backside, her legs worked like a racehorse's, taking her over log and through mud to her destination. The squelch of sinking feet, muck-filled combat boots and bullets through flesh grated on Janissary's nerves; she couldn't figure out anymore what was what. With a headache setting in from heat, hormones and noise, all Jan wanted to do was crawl up in her hammock and fall asleep. She had been trying to get around the bastards since the dark of the morning.

With a huff, Jan vaulted over a log, slick with something mossy and something composed of green slime. Arcing away from the muddied river, vines and something like ferns slapped by her scrambling form, Jan made for the deep forest. The river was a popular traffic point for merchants, traffickers and mercenaries like herself, and her pursuers had already called in reinforcements from up the stream. However, with stories of the highly poisonous "Tataran cockatrice" and other said monsters living in the rainforest proper, nobody was going to come after her. Suicide awaited those trapped by its poisonous plants, myriad of sinkholes and salivating creepy-crawlies. Jan only survived because of her One-Point-One enhancements, as well as a knowing of the inner forest thanks to the right sources.

Machine gun fire prattled off behind her like the angry chatters of a red squirrel. It lit up the further-darkening forests in brief flashes, slicing through plants and smaller, more unfortunate creatures clinging to them. Jan kept her head low, weaving in and around the foliage, eyes peeled for hostile fauna. The aforementioned Tataran cockatrice liked to lay flat against the ground, coloured in a manner suggestive of leaf-littered dirt. Then, when stepped on or approached, it whirled around and bit down with fangs full of necrotic venom. It was powerful enough to eat through a man's leg in seconds - Jan had once seen a poor soul nearly eaten, screaming in pain as he clutched at a foul-smelling, blackened leg. Jan could stomach many things, but the blood-dripping, oozing scab of a local's limb had nearly made her puke.

Sliding down a large, gnarled root, Jan pushed off and leapt forward, cursing as the ground crumbled beneath her on impact. The snap of wood and crumble of bark and soil gave way to a twig-filled fall. Crashing through the winding, fragile tendrils of some arching bush she couldn't name, Jan hit the loose ground hard below. Spitting and curses could be heard as she wiped off her face, coughing, standing up with a horrible stomach pain as the cramps shifted from her back. Gritting her teeth, Jan was tempted to pull at her hair and scream, but instead, she raced forward through the gully before her. The package clacked and shifted against her side, its metallic, harnessed self barely visible. She was deep in the undergrowth, where there could be so little light, it seemed as if night reigned every hour of the day. Chemiluminescent beings were sometimes the only thing standing between pitch darkness and the ability to see all.

She could hear shouts and running still somewhere behind her. However, they were far more distant and faint, and not as eager - more patient, more hesitant, pausing more often than not. Of course they wouldn't move deeper, just as Jan had -

BANG!

Scratch that - they were still in range.

Jan put on a burst of speed as someone with a shotgun fired down into the gully. There was no cover, and even her unusually keen eyesight couldn't discern man from plant. The shooter must have been wearing camo; it would make sense he would. Jan unhooked a smoke grenade from her belt, yanking out the pin and tossing it roughly in the direction of the shots fired. It went clacking up into the bush, wild crunches from the shooter telling her he was retreating back.

BAM!

The gully came alive with serpents' hissing, and it wasn't just the smoke that was pouring out from the grenade. From the edge of the gully above, something long and with a feathery mane shot upwards, giving a great snarl at the sudden, loud noise. Feathered serpents had terrible hearing, but were highly sensitive to powerful, sudden bursts of vibration. Such bursts were like using a dog whistle on an angry wolf pack, and Jan could hear the shooter's final scream as the serpent opened its jaws. A wet crunch moments later signified that the snake had just found itself a new meal.

Serves you right, Jan thought with a grin - only for that grin to disappear as the hissing, bloodied snout of the serpent plunged through the bushes. With a long, forked tongue, sticky in a way not unlike a chameleon's, it scented the air. Through the blood clogging its olfactory sensors, it detected the bloody, feminine, sweaty odour of the young mercenary, and with purpose, it came down and slithered forward.

With another string of unpleasant language, Janissary took out a second grenade, this time a run-of-the-mill plasma variant. Yanking out the pin with vehemence, she aimed as best she could in the lack of light. With an angry snarl, the plasma grenade was hurled towards the centre of the snake's forehead. The snake, smelling plasma, gave a wheezy roar and shot forward.

The two elements of destruction collided in a gooey, glowing mess as Jan ran for her life, fragments flying everywhere.

With her back peppered with animal and grenade pieces, Jan dizzily burst out from the undergrowth, bullets bursting forward from the guns on a boat nearby. Instead of cursing, she rolled behind a rock, taking a few nicks to one side's arm, leg and shoulder. Take a deep breath, the Spartan One-Point-One flew forward, a flurry of mud and green kicked out from under her feet. She could feel the tannin-soaked waters of the river seeping into her feet and wrinkling them in the worst way. The water caused the belt to clench and tighten, and Jan shoved a hand in between her and the belt to try and ease the pressure off her torso. As usual, the package clanked, unheard in its thoughts on being carried around so roughly, as Jan made for a rope bridge strung across the length of the river. She was met by machine gun fire exploding from the bushes in front of her.

Oh, hell!

With an agile leap and roll, Jan yanked out her twin Magnums again, firing madly out from behind a thick tree. Three of the five men firing at her dropped in just a few minutes. Despite this, their comrades charged forward, causing Jan to dart off the side and back into the forest. She ran as fast as she could; dammit, she was getting low on ammo -

The rounds of a sniper rifle took apart the heads of her newest chasers. Jan turned around just in time to see a dark-skinned twenty-something reload his rifle. He grinned at Janissary, who was glaring back in return, her rescuer saying, "Miss me?"

"Oh be quiet and take the damn thing already!" snapped Jan, undoing the package and tossing it at her comrade. He yelped as he caught the metal container, Jan sprinting towards the bridge as the boat-riding gunmen came closer. Her fingers quickly undid a pair of plasma grenades, and she raced onto the fragile, wooden crossing.

With a few choice words, nearly at the other side as the gunmen fired along the structure, Jan pitched the plasma weapons at her pursuers. One stuck to the side of the boat, the other onto a turret, and both exploded with great force. Yelping and tumbling, the gunmen fell into the vicious current, where their wounded selves would be swept to the nearest waterfall if the piranha-like "gulpers" didn't try swallowing pieces whole first.

"You said you were going to cover me."

"Hey, unlike you, I had to sit and wait in the middle of a snake nest."

"You said you were going to cover me!"

Jan's hands slammed down on the table as she glared at Sevens Harrison - and yes, that was his real name, as his father had a thing for lucky numbers. Sevens, grinning sheepishly, rubbed the back of his head.

"Hey hey now, One-Point, let's not be too hasty. I mean, we got away in the end, didn't we?"

"Barely," growled Jan. "I've been running around for hours, and I swear to God that even I'm on my last leg. The bridge is damaged, I nearly got eaten alive, and my back is killing me! Do you know how much Monthly-Be-Gone I had to take? Do you?"

Sevens winced backwards, holding up his hands in surrender. The One-Point-One looked ready to blow a gasket if she had another cramping spell. "Yeaaaah ... I have an idea."

"Gentlemen!"

The pair quickly stood at attention as Sevens's employer, Roald Stevenson, entered. With him was Trisha, Sevens's mother and his aide, her copper skin dirt-streaked but her dark hair immaculate. The mercenary leader stepped up to the rough-hewn table between his employees, slapping down a pair of hastily written-on papers.

"Excellent work, the both of you. The theft from the convoy was a bit sloppy in itself, but no one, so far, has been able to trace you through the jungle. Jan, superb work in taking down that boat; Sevens told me your aim was flawless. Sevens, next time, make sure to check which tree you perch in before settling down."

"Yes sir," said Sevens with a frown. Jan said nothing, turning her head to watch as her employer reached into his pocket. Produced was a wad of cash, shoved towards Janissary and deftly snatched up by her. Roald grinned a knowing grin, causing Jan to furrow her brows at him. He chuckled.

"Don't worry, Ms. James. Everything is there that you asked for; ammunition money, supply money, and compensation for your injuries sustained in this hunt. We have the food and water you requested waiting out back, along with a boat to replace the one you lost last week."

"Thank you sir," said Jan, nodding. She went to turn around, head out the door and finally get what she needed -

"But I'm not done with you yet."

Jan muttered something foul under her breath.

"The AI unit, despite our best cryptographers' attempts, refuses to open," said Roald, motioning towards the many formulae, calculations and notes scribbled onto book and loose leaf alike by Roald's men. "It appears that this is Level 10 Encryption, just a step away from the encryption used for the most sensitive documents the UNSC has to offer."

"And you want me to deliver it to ... ?"

"He calls himself Reginald, or Reggie for short," said Roald. "He's one of my best contacts for this kind of work. He knows a picklock who has a few interesting tricks of his own. Said picklock prefers to work anonymously, so he uses Reggie as a proxy for orders. He lives a few days down the river, in the old Covenant settlement."

Jan took the map that was produced from Roald's vest pocket. Tired eyes scanned over a myriad of landmarks, the map of the area hastily drawn over with marker to point out "Reggie's" whereabouts. Jan's eyes flickered upwards, a scowl of distaste thrown towards her employer.

"This is cockatrice territory."

"So?"

"They lay their eggs beneath the old growth there, and it happens to be close to breeding season."

"You'll find a way around them," said Roald with a grin. "You single-handedly held down a ten-mile stretch of bank while Sevens was trying to avoid being snake food."

"Only at the cost of being made target practice."

Roald laughed. "Nothing ever comes easy in life, my dear," he said. "You, of all people, should know that. Don't you still owe a few favours for getting here in the first place."

Jan's expression only darkened further. "Favours" was just a synonym for more murder when it came to dealing with Roald and his "contacts". "When do I leave?"

"The next few hours," said Roald. "Reggie will be heading north shortly. It will be my last chance to get this unit to the proper people for the next week, and I have customers waiting on me for the unlocked product."

"Are you sure you can't get anyone - "

"No, Jan," said Roald, giving her a look. "I've told you once and I'll tell you again: we need as few people as possible in order for this to work. There are far greater things in mind I have at stake than whether or not you have purified water for a few days."

"Hey!" snapped Jan. "Look buddy, I've been your errand girl for the past two weeks, and you've given me close to crap! I owe you? You still owe me for the jobs last week! I nearly got strangled by a tree, a goddamn living tree - "

"It's called a theyateveo."

"Whatever! I didn't sign up to become fertilizer. I have to get off of this rock sooner rather than later, and all you're doing is delaying me! What is your problem, Stevenson? Don't you have anyone else to do your dirty work?"

"You're the only one I can trust to keep quiet, Janissary," said Stevenson. "Besides, you've got a bounty on your head for being an accomplice. I could turn you in if I wanted to; they still haven't figured out what happened to the item at Chawla Base. It's quite the pretty little reward they're offering for information, my dear Jan. Care to take the chance?"

"I could kill you, you know. Right here, right now."

"Maybe," said Roald as a Magnum was cocked and pointed at him. "But I've got eyes everywhere, James. They're hiding in the strangest of places, but they're there. This entire room is bugged, as is every other one in the building. You paint the walls red, and the clean-up crew's not going to be happy to you. They work so hard to keep everything neat and tidy."