Disclaimer: I do not own Bungie, nor their characters Colonel Ackerson, Dr. Catherine Halsey, or Spartan 312-Noble Six. I am merely adding onto Bungie's original description of Ackerson, Halsey, and Six by creating tales of my own to give depth to these characters.

People are not disturbed by things, but by the view they take of them. -Epictetus

Wolf Tantrum
Chapter 1: Disturbed Innocence

It was the grace in which the male carried himself that initially drew attention to his toned figure. Acrimony increases the heart rate; the brain pushes to work faster; blood cells demand for more oxygen; the lungs comply, expanding to receive oxygen and nitrogen only to decompress with carbon dioxide. This single thought flutters through the assassin's head as it slithers forward from the shadows.

The bulking form, obtuse rectangular angles; despite these characteristics that set the killer apart from the smooth, granite texture walls, they are not noticed. Too much time and training under men who believed in this assassin achieving the impossible. Discarding any conscious thought that is not related to the kill, the body moves a fraction.

He sets down his datapad and turns to the window in one singular movement. This assassin craves for this moment; he does not know. Doesn't expect someone to slither out and take his life in a brief, remarkably clean pain. It is when the armor clad warrior pulls from the shadows that Marcus de Garneau feels his heart surge into a rapid tantrum of panic.

Without another fleeting glance to the warrior, he attempts to make a dashing assault to the drawer in his cherry-wood desk. All to no avail. The killer is at least seven times faster. The drawer slides open and from it, the standard military M6D pistol is gently pried out from thick folders filled with documents that are not of significance.

de Garneau's eyes fill with a foreboding, dull gleam. The barrel of the M6D is placed to his head. And through it he feels the unmistakable thirst for bloodshed. He trembles, either from fear or from exhilarating awe, he is unable to determine.

"Please," the man croaks. "Before...before I die...I want to know who you a-"

The gunshot rings in his ears. Painful screams are muffled behind a slim black glove. His eyes-such a warming shade of hunter green, the assassin notices- ablaze with unshed tears. Slowly, the intruder tilts their head to whisper into the de Garneau's ear.

"I am Hyper Lethal," she whispered, an unnaturally large smile stretching across her face as she exited a single bullet into de Garneau's eye socket. "And I am here to take you to hell."
She remained there, watching as his skin grew pale. Fluorescent blue wavered underneath as if thin vines learning to thrive along the stillness of a tree trunk. Her smile faded, eyes filling just as the gleam of askance and confusion drifted from de Garneau. Bloodlust, having engulfed its meal for that time of day, winked into the depths of the girl's soul.

Never did she know that her name would ring true; she would make a sacrifice no else could. Some day, this girl would become a Lieutenant, and after that, Noble Six. Until those days arrived, this girl would remain. Armed in her recently received armor, the prowler hedged to her feet. Only did she do this once she snapped de Garneau' s neck. 'Just to be safe,' the inner voice whispered to her. 'Never leave a job half assed. You earned this spot, now you must keep it.'

"Yes," she purred in reply, making haste towards the elevators. "Of course. You're right, Kronos." Kronos was smiling; she could just feel the laughter tumbling from his body to hers as he danced in her conscience.

Kronos knew what to do. He guided her during the delivery of deadly blows and the concealment of empty carcasses. His laughter trickled through the cracks of her sanity when blood toiled from her fingers to the ground. Overall, during her entire past, Kronos was the only to cling around long enough. Some called her insane and sputtered nonsense suggesting that Kronos didn't exist. But he did; it was just that he would not reveal himself to those who would not understand. Underestimating, he hissed to her in his sultry voice of jazz and gunmetal. Never will they know.

A couple of test tubes and a bag made of toxic plastic filled to the brim with outdated blood cells could kept her organs functional...

Kronos kept together what little sanity there was, if any. And that thought alone gave her enough energy to trudge through rubble and moistened earth to the extraction zone.

Death count... 32 kills logged...
Commentary?

'Well done, 312. As per your request, I will send in those extra mods you've been curious to dismantle. I've already sent in the next dossier. Get the job done.

-Ackerson.'

The colonel sunk into his cow-hide leather chair. 32 kills were logged by the age of sixteen. Ackerson moistened his lips with one quick swipe of a traitorous tongue. Number three-one-two proved that she was the asset, the only true successor of the Spartan III program. Colonel Ackerson spared an uncaring glance to the window just outside of his ONI office window. He could almost recall with perfect detail the features of the woman whom so desperately placed him into an outrage. Soon before long though, Halsey would receive a knock on her door. And it would his Spartan on that doorstep, gun in hand, wiping that speculated expression off if her face. Revenge is a demanding emotion, he concluded. It demanded respect and at some point, blood.

Whomever could provide both, could be king.

A/N: Hey guys! For those of you whom have been reading and following the HLV story, I'm sorry I haven't been able to update. My computer charging port was pushed inside the computers hard drive and everything was saved to it for HLV. I had this story sitting on my Drive account, so I decided to upload. Hoped you enjoyed it!
Chapters will be added every two weeks since I have a head start on this story. Until I can figure out how to fix my HP, Hyper Lethal Vectors is unfortunately on hold.