-AN

This is the first fanfic that I have posted in the public domain so any constructive criticism would be helpful. This fiction is rated M for violence, references to but not depictions of cannibalism and coarse language. Read, review and enjoy!

Disclaimer, I do not profit from this work of fiction and do not own any rights whatsoever to Halo or the Halo universe, otherwise I'd be minted.

This story has been discontinued. I am writing a second story in a similar world and with the same main themes which follows on with the spirit of this story while abandoning the things which hold it back. If this interests you it may be found on my profile.

The macabre act of cannibalism is one that is rarely partaken in. However, in times of true desperation when society breaks down completely it becomes all too common. On one particular planet, Pyson IV, it would be true to say that all law, government and civilisation has been destroyed. Shattered by an instantaneous and cataclysmic event of an unknown source, one the remaining inhabitants of the planet refer to simply as the Event. But, from the ashes of one of Pyson's colossal cities, built upon a large island, a sub government of sorts has imposed itself. A tyrannical circle of persuasive, powerful and ruthless criminals.

These men and women hold most of the cards in this city but most importantly the card representing the essential "food". This necessity that many of us take for granted is sparse in a place ruined by apocalypse, covered by concrete and surrounded by empty waters, long left desolate by pollution. And far from opening their hearts with kind sharing and organised rationing, the aforementioned individuals dug into the remaining food with gluttony while their subjects were forced to "make good use of any cadavers they may find".

Those who were repulsed by this concept (most that is) would often abstain from eating for long periods of time as a result, lending to them the name "skinnies" due to the effect this would have on their bodies. Others who were especially repulsed would either forfeit their lives or attempt to escape the dominion of their tormentors and hide in the city borders. Most of these attempts failed. Nonetheless, any who did manage to live outside the reach of the circle would be dubbed "freelancers".

One woman, a Rachel Taylor, had managed to remain a freelancer ever since the Event. But soon, for better or for worse, she will find her already tenuously balanced life thrown into further chaos...

Taylor was presently walking down a long alleyway, a tall, lean figure moving along its middle. Her shoulder length black hair fanned out over the dark coloured trench coat she wore, glistening slightly with the light from Pyson IV's aged and cold but large sun. Knee high engineer boots covered in buckles along their fronts produced a muffled thump with each step she took.

I fucking despise alleys. Were her silent thoughts as she proceeded.

Suddenly, for no outwardly apparent reason, Rachel paused her quiet gait. She cocked her head to the right, hair parting and exposing tanned brown skin to the sunlight. Her attention was focused towards a door set in a towering concrete building flanking the alleyway.

A faint sound emanated from within, similar to a baby's cry.

Rachel furrowed her brow. Reeks of a skinny trap; that's exactly why I hate alleys. Placing paramount importance on safety she decided to back up, trotting along the opposite side from the sound source. Moments later a loud crash resounded from a portal directly adjacent to her. The door flew open, colliding with the woman's shoulder and knocking her into a forced roll away from it. Recovering from her fall she staggered to her feet, heart pounding, to witness three disheveled men exiting the opening at a pace. None within 5 inches of her height, two holding knives with a menacing sheen to them, all baring yellowed teeth in feral snarls and shouting battle cries as they charged.

The first attempted to stab Taylor in the gut moments after she had finished getting up. This was evidently a poor decision as she sidestepped the blade arm, wrapping her own around it and tearing the knife out of his grip. She easily tripped him up with a kick while his body was in a precarious extended position.

Rachel turned, raising the knife in a counterstrike to the second man who had started to swing his in a wide slash. The blade caught his forearm half way, eliciting a shriek of pain from him that was soon stifled as Taylor stepped in close, elbowed his jaw with a grunt and dished out a heavy heel kick to the diaphragm.

Oooohh! That wall must have dealt double digits to his head.

While her leg was still raised the man on the floor regained his wits and tackled the remaining leg. She lost her balance, releasing a hard exhale as she landed back to back and opposite ways around on top of him. An advantageous position for her as she reacted faster than the man, ramming the still held-onto knife into the back of his neck.

He's finished. Now for the final fuc-

"Stop right there princess."

Shit.

In the time it had taken Rachel to reorient herself from her fall, the third man had retrieved the weapon that his second, now unconscious, comrade had been holding. He wasted no time in pressing it against the tall woman's neck and backing her against a wall. She glared down at him and muttered without hesitation "Prick."

"Shut-up and drop the knife!" was the Prick's fast talking and curt response. Rachel could not but comply; her blade clattering as it hit the floor. "Eyeballs, get the hell over here!" he shouted, moving his head slightly away from his captive but not daring to shift his gaze.

Soon after his call the man so named "Eyeballs" ran out of the door the baby's voice had originated from.

"Wow! What happened dude, she backed up just like in the plan." The trap setting skinny was understandably surprised at the scene before him.

"Oh you know, we came out shared a cupper and got married. Look around you what do you think happened? She stabbed up Wack and Joe!"

"Alright, alright. But what now? Do we take her ali-" Something cut Eyeballs off and moments later he yelped.

All throughout their exchange the Prick had managed to retain eye contact as had Rachel; but at this point, he made the mistake of glancing back at his acquaintance, and the carefully observing woman took full advantage. She stuck her index and middle finger up at him and then jabbed both into his mottled blue eyes, simultaneously managing to force back his arm before any more than cosmetic damage was suffered by her neck. The Prick screamed like a man in agony as he stumbled back, dropping his own weapon.

Taylor took two long strides, grabbing the man's knife from the floor and closing the distance between them. On the third stride she rammed her knee up between his legs and into the wall behind him.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" The Prick now screamed more like a little girl.

"Listen you fuck up," Rachel started, her emerald green eyes almost glowing with intensity "you own your mistakes. Now you're going to a place of eternal arse kicking from every man, woman and child whose corpse you've defiled to pay for them." Speaking a full sentence (or two) for the first time revealed that Rachel was possessed of a thick London accent of both rough and deep tone.

"You psychotic bitch!" was the indignant reply.

"That's me." Taylor returned morbidly before stabbing into the Prick's heart with force. He was a prick no more...

It may well also be that he had a prick no more; but whether this is the case or not is purely conjecture.

Remembering Eyeballs' yelp, she removed the weapon and dropped the corpse unceremoniously to the floor. Turning abruptly while readying to charge blade first at any threat that may present itself, she declared "Fuck me!" For before her, above the slumped body of Eyeballs, was a colossal eight and half foot tall, deep brown scaled elite clad in sinister black armor plating, the pointed shoulder pauldrons exhibiting a glint around the edges. His arms were folded behind him in parade rest, his expression neutral as he glanced between the cutting implement in Rachel's hand and her face. "If you are willing to lower that for a few moments, I would appreciate a short talk." The elite's voice was incredibly deep, leaked masculinity and rang with stunning clarity.

Rachel was stunned for an instant. Blinking, she looked around at the carnage she'd caused in bewilderment, arms held low and far apart in an almost questioning manner. She linked her green eyes with his black ones and ventured "You serious?"