The Hunter


Planet Reach. Visegrad Region. July 24th 2552.

Andras Mikos looked down into his scope to catch a large Moa in his crosshairs. He pondered pulling the trigger, using a high-caliber hunting round to 'remove' the flightless bird's head, but decided against it. He needed bigger prey than a simple bird. Feeding a wife and two teenage boys at home was harder than most others imagined. Lifting his green cap up, Andras wiped away from sweat from his brow as he inspected his rifle.

It was an old-fashioned, bolt-action hunting rifle. It could only fire one bullet at a time, so you had to make your rounds count. But these were big bullets, a single bullet was just enough to drop a fully-grown Gúta. Just enough. Andras nearly was killed by one of these large animals himself, but he managed to get his last bullet off in time.

Sighing, he rose to his feet and prepared to leave his concealed hunting perch. Nothing out here but Moa. He checked the packs on his vest, each little cylindrical holding carried a single rifle bullet. He had fifteen in all, plus one in the weapon already. As he checked over his vest, the hunter made sure to inspect his hunting knife.

It was a fine blade made of silver steel, a smooth cutting edge with a sharp point, and serrated teeth and the reverse side. Its black hilt has his name engraved in it along with the names of his wife and two children. It reminded him everyday what he hunted for, what he was providing for.

He had his old Marine Corps magnum strapped to his thigh with three clips, but he rarely used it. His Marine days in the UNSC weren't his proudest. He'd give everything to forget it all.

Suddenly, screaming and yelling broke out from nowhere, causing the Moa down below to scatter. The two gunshots rang out in succession, followed by more screaming. It was in the next valley over, and he didn't hesitate. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Andras took off in a sprint, carefully moving towards the gunfire.

He climbed to the rise of the next valley and made sure his position was concealed before he readied his rifle. Then, he pulled out his rifle again and peered down his scope, searching around the general area. His crosshairs found a disturbing sight.

A group of large, armed men were dragging people out of a large home and forcing them to their knees in the yard, hands behind their heads. They were lined up in a neat row, and Andras counted eight people held captive. The men were UNSC personnel, judging by their uniforms. Army Troopers. He could tell from their camo, weapons, and uniforms.

The group of troopers consisted of two officers, a dark-skinned Captain with scars traced allover his face, and a grizzled-looking Lieutenant, the other eight were enlisted soldiers, two high-ranked sergeants and the rest privates and corporals. Each one had a red skull stitched into their uniforms on their right arms.

The Captain berated the captive civilians in Hungarian as he marched back and forth, which Andras could decipher easily. "You are all traitors! Traitors to your brothers and sisters, and traitors to your species! We are fighting a war for the survival of mankind, and yet you rebel. For what? Petty freedoms? Independence? Bah!"

One of the captive women began to cry and then pleaded, "We are farmers! Please, let us be!"

The Captain halted and turned to the woman and smacked her hard. "Shut up! I didn't give you permission you to speak!"

Rage boiled in Andras' chest as his finger pressed against the trigger and his crosshairs found the Captain's forehead. This prick thought they were insurrectionists, rebels, enemies of the UNSC.

The officer turned to his men and ordered in cold English as he stormed away. "Corporal Travis. Kill them."

Andras shut his eyes as assault rifles rang out in the air. Memories flooded his brain, sending him back to a distant Outer Colony. The smell of dead bodies from years ago filled his nostrils. Images of destruction caused by him flustered his vision. He dropped his rifle as his hands began to shake violently.

Soon his fit ceased, and his vision returned to normal. Sweat dripped down his forehead, which he wiped off quickly. He ran a hand through his graying hair as he reached for his rifle. Andras nervously peered down his scope again, and his jaw dropped. Eight dead bodies laid facedown in the ground in a neat row, blood caked the dirt. The Army Troopers were gone.

Andras made his way back down the valley, back towards home. He could've stopped this, saved eight innocent lives. The UNSC had been on a hunt for Insurrectionists allover Reach, either capturing the real ones already, or downright accusing anyone of being a rebel. Andras had read about something similar, called the Salem Witch Trials. All you had to do was accuse someone else of being a witch, and they would get burnt at the stake. Or in this case, dragged out of your home and shot in the head.

Hoping over an old, fallen tree, Andras approached his home. Sebastian, the younger of his two sons at seventeen, was waiting for him by the door. He raised a brow at his father's sullen expression, "What happened?"

Andras shook his head and walked through the doorway. He placed his rifle against the wall and removed his hunting vest, but kept his cap as he slumped into a chair in the kitchen. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his white pack of cigarettes, and placed one in between his lips. Reaching back into his pocket, he fumbled to get his lighter out and dropped on the floor.

"Damn it." He cursed in his native tongue of Hungarian.

Sebastian had followed him inside, "Your hands are shaking." He pointed out curtly.

Snatching the lighter from the floor, Andras quickly lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He puffed out gray smoke and questioned, "Where's your mother?"

"She's upstairs. She saw you come in. And she's wondering why you don't have kill with you, and why we heard machineguns."

Andras took another drag and sighed. "I ran into something bad…" He faltered. Should he tell his family of what happened, not just a few valleys over? "Get Anthony and Iren in here."

Anthony was the oldest son at nineteen. Both his boys were tough, and both always looked up to their father. Iren, his wife, was also of a military background. Well, not exactly. She was a part of Reach's local militia, until a few years ago. When Andras first met Iren, he thought there was no way he would even like her, much less marry and have children with. He was still a marine when they met, and they almost killed each other.

Iren came in first, followed by his other son. "What happened? I heard gunshots."

Andras grabbed the cigarette with his thumb and middle finger and smothered it out. He shoved both lighter and carton back in his pocket before he continued. "I was hunting out nearby the ridges to the north, when I heard screams and two gunshots, probably from a pistol. I climbed over to the next valley to find a group of Army Troopers from the UNSC pulling out a family of eight farmers out of their home."

He paused as anger seared his chest again. What they did reminded him with a cold touch of what he had done, but he forced it back down as his family listened intently. "Their Captain was yelling at them, and he smacked a girl pretty hard. He accused them of being rebels, insurrectionists, and then he ordered his squad to kill them."

Iren gasped. The UNSC was getting impatient with the rebels, but she didn't think they would resort to outright murder.

Iren switched to English, which only she and Andras understood. "Are you saying we're in danger too?"

Scratching his graying beard, Andras replied. "I don't know. It seemed to me it was the Captain who was the problem, like he'd gone insane. I think we'll be safe, though."

"I hate it when you do that." Anthony blurted, slightly angered. "We are old enough to be let in on these things, father. Stop using English as a way to avoid telling us something."

Andras chuckled as he adjusted the pistol, still strapped to his thigh. "Sorry, my boy. We're safe from attack. I assure you of that. Now get ready for lunch, we still have leftovers."

"But if these men were UNSC, shouldn't we report them? Get the military's attention."

"Who are they going to believe, Anthony? A few, simple civilians out in the countryside, or a group of battle-hardened marines?"


Andras decided to go out and try to get a kill in before the day's end. He realized they would still need food in the long run.

He had been tracking a Moa for the last ten minutes, and readied his rifle for the shot. There had been surprisingly few animals out than usual, but he figured the gunfire from earlier spooked most of them, so he had to travel farther out into land than usual.

The hunter held his breath for the shot, when the rumble of engines disturbed the quiet air. Helicopter engines. He looked up from his rifle's optics and found two large helicopters soar overhead. Falcons. They flew onward and then floated over an area by a very large hill. The Moa yelped and sprinted off. Curiosity yet again overrode him, and so Andras slung his weapon over his shoulder and followed in suit.

He climbed to the top of the hill and peered down below. The choppers had landed and dispensed six soldiers. But these weren't ordinary soldiers. They were covered head-to-toe in armor, with helmets hiding their identities. Spartans. Mankind's toughest and most superior weapons. They were made for one reason, and one reason alone. Killing Covenant. What the hell were they doing on Reach? Reach, by all means, was probably the safest spot for humanity besides Earth.

One with a skull scratched into his helmet took the lead, scaled a rock, and scanned a facility down below. Two others followed him. A large brute with a machinegun about the size of a normal man, and another one in brownish-black armor who Andras couldn't tell the gender of. Two stayed behind, a male Spartan in blue and black armor, and a female with a robotic arm, donning a magnum.

Andras slid down the hillside and whistled sharply. The two Spartans turned and raised their respective weapons. The hunter raised his hands and showed he wasn't a foe.

The blue and black Spartan, which Andras figured was the leader called out on his radio, "Jorge? We got a civilian here. Might need you to translate."

"I speak English." Andras stated as he grinned.

The Spartan then corrected on the radio, "Never mind." He then turned to Andras and demanded, weapon still pointed at his chest. "Who are you, why are you armed?"

"My name is Andras, I'm a hunter. Saw the Falcons go overhead, decided to check it out. Mind telling me what you Spartans are doing here?"

The female hissed back, "We don't have to tell you anything, civilian. I suggest you head back where you came from."

The male glared at her and then looked towards Andras, his gold visor shining in the light. "We're out here looking for a group of insurrectionists, they possibly took down a relay station not far from here, you seen any?"

Andras huffed. "I saw a group of Army Troopers murder a group of civilians, thinking they were rebels. I suggest you find them and make them pay before I do."

Though he couldn't see their faces, Andras could tell the female was particularly taken aback, judging by her body language. The male Spartan stayed firm as he began to turn, "We'll make sure to file a report and get these guys. But you might want to avoid this area for the next few days."

"You better make sure those bastards are dead, before I will."

With that, he turned back up for the hill and began to climb it to the top. He paused and looked back. The Spartans had regrouped at the facility, near a Warthog jeep that was in flames. Andras looked away, and something caught his eye. A small group of people in the distance. His stomach went ice-cold as he looked through his scope. Those troopers were there, in the distance, going through more homes. The murderers. Ignoring the Spartan's warning, Andras sprinted along the hill and towards the homes. One thought was on his mind as he readied his rifle.

He slid to a stop at the top of a ledge a couple hundred meters away, and went prone. He crawled to the edge and looked down. The troopers' numbers were greatly reduced, down to He could see the Captain within the group of three, a panicked look on his face and a pistol in hand. They all seemed scared of something, as if they were running away. The other two troopers approached a building and sprinted to its front door and kicked it in, their weapons set. They yelled and stormed inside. The murderous Captain followed.

Screams and gunfire rang out, followed by a guttural roar. More gunfire, then nothing. Andras waited five minutes, then ten. After fifteen minutes, he finally made the decision to move out and made his way off the ledge and approached the building with caution, his rifle leading the way. Carefully, he nudged the kicked-in door open with the barrel of his gun to find a grisly site. Two soldiers were found in a dark room, one slumped over next to a barrel, one held up by a meat hook with large slashes across his chest. Blood was spattered everywhere on the ground. Dead civilians were in the room as well. Their wounds weren't consistent with gunshots.

The soldier held up by the meat hooks raised his head and spat blood from his mouth. "They're here…"

Andras approached the soldier. Upon closer inspection, the hunter found that this man was the murderous Captain. He said with rage obvious in his voice. "Hello, Captain. How did this happen to you?"

"They're here…" He repeated, more blood dripped from his mouth. "The Cov-"

Andras grabbed the Captain by the cheeks and forced him to look the hunter in the eyes. "Shut up. I don't give a damn who did this to you, but whoever did it, I'll have to thank personally. It's the least you deserve for killing innocents."

The officer grinned and weakly chuckled, "Please… they had weapons, and probably had killed a few people with them. I lost ten guys from my unit to Innies like them."

Andras pulled his magnum from his holster and pressed it against the wound in his chest and hissed, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't blow a hole in your chest right now, Captain?"

The Captain's head slumped back down as he weakly whispered before dieing from his wounds, "That thing… behind you."

Andras twirled around to find a seven-foot tall monster standing over him. It donned dark red armor from head-to-toe with an intricate headpiece, similar to a Samurai's. The monster's dark black eyes stared down at Andras before it roared, revealing four, spilt-apart mandibles for a mouth. It swung a strong fist and caught the man right in the gut, slamming him against the wall, next to the now-dead Captain. His rifle flew away, along with his pistol. Andras slid to the floor and gasped for air.

The beast approached again and laughed confidently. Andras' eyes fell to his right, to find a shotgun on the ground. He snatched it up and fired the first shot wildly. Most of the buckshot missed, but just enough hit the monster. The beast lit up like the sun for a moment as it staggered back from the blast, showing it was protected by a personal shielding system.

Andras hadn't seen shielding technology like that since he was fighting on the Outer Colonies against… the Covenant. His senses returned like a flood. This freak was an Elite, one of the Covenant's strongest warriors. And it was on… Reach. Dear god, the Covies found Reach.

The Elite charged again, and Andras pumped the shotgun and returned fire. The Elites' shielding failed and fizzed out, causing the warrior to dive away and sprint off. Out of breath, the hunter dropped the shotgun and stumbled to his feet. "Oh god…" He panted. He had to get back, get off this damn planet. Before the Covies got to his… family.

Andras grabbed his rifle and magnum and escaped the small house. He sprinted back the way he came, and briefly considered warning the Spartans, that shouldn't be too far off, but decided against it. They could handle themselves, and he didn't have much time left to waste. As he scaled up a large hill and back through the valleys of Visegrad, he heard plasma and gunfire in the distance, showing that the Spartans found their enemies.

A low rumble of alien engines filled Andras' ears, and he immediately dove to the dirt, between a few bushes. A large Covenant ship flew overhead and hovered over the concealed hunter. A Spirit Dropship, more commonly referred to as tuning forks by UNSC folk, because that's the way they were designed. Like giant, flying tuning forks.

Sweat dripped over Andras as he waited his bated breath, the ship not moving over him, just staying there. Its turret slowly scanned over the landscape, as if searching for people to burn to ash. He just noticed the barrel was glowing a dark red, showing a recent firing.

"Come on… come on…" He uttered as the craft yet again refused to leave. Its engines suddenly came to life again and glided off, back towards the Spartans. The hunter jumped to his feet and sprinted off again, putting all the power in his legs.

Hopping over a fallen tree, the land around Andras became familiar and his feet began to guide him home, without him needing to think about it. Black smoke rose over the valleys near his house. His pace quickened until he turned the final corner.

His home burned with the fires that originated from plasma, black smoke cascaded into the air like a dark tree. Flames licked the surrounding area, consuming everything. He stumbled as he approached, the air getting hot, and then dropped to his knees as he saw two blackened bodies, burned severely from plasma. Sebastian and Anthony.

His eyes found Iren, untouched from plasma, but it seemed she met an even worse fate. Her blood caked the ground and her rifle, not far from her, or what was left. What remained of Iren was only waist up, everything below was cut away with a hot blade of alien fire.

He dropped his hunting rifle as tears dropped down his face. Andras crawled to his wife and cupped her cheek, cold as ice. Sobs quickly came, he couldn't believe it. He was too damn slow, and the Covies destroyed his home and family in one fell swoop.

He didn't even tell them he loved them as he left earlier.

Wailing, Andras brought his forehead down to hers, wishing for everything to change. Wishing it was him.

He shot back up and screamed into the air as Reach's sun began to set, his primal wail echoed throughout the valleys and hills of Visegrad. He didn't care if any aliens or insurrectionists heard him, let them come. He'd rather die here then be without his wife, his sons, his family. Hot streaks of liquid dribbled down his cheeks as he stared at what was left of his family and home.

Behind him, he heard the chuckles of two Elites. He didn't notice them at first, most likely camouflaged as he made his way home. One 'smiled' as it put away its plasma rifle and reached for its plasma blade and activated it.

Andras sat there, his rifle at his knees, ignoring the monsters behind him, who would gleefully cut into him. It approached Andras while its partner watched from behind. The Elite stood over the hunter and raised his blade, the hot plasma eager to sear more human flesh. The warrior prepared to slash.

Snatching his rifle from the ground, the hunter turned on his knees, swinging his rifle as hard as he could, right for the alien's jaw as he roared like a feral beast. The butt of his rifle made harsh contact, and the seven foot tall beast stumbled backward and roared in surprise. The other Elite sprinted for the hunter, who in turn flipped his rifle over and pulled the trigger. Kicking back, the rifle spat out the high-caliber bullet.

The projectile ripped straight through the Elite's armor, with no shielding to protect it. A four-inch wide hole ripped open as the bullet tore through alien flesh, out the front and out the back. These bastards were so confident, they didn't keep their personal shielding online.

The Elite fell to the ground dead as the other one ran back towards the hunter, two of its four mandibles hanging uselessly down, broken from the rifle to its face. The hunter gripped his rifle in one hand and yanked his pistol from his holster with the other. He unleashed all the rounds in the magazine with no hesitation.

With each bullet, gore sprayed as the alien stumbled backwards and garbled in pain. It fell down to its back just as Andras ran out of bullets, the barrel of his weapon smoked. He holstered the weapon and approached the Elite, rifle back in both hands. The monster barely clung to life, blood dripping from its sick little mouth.

It uttered something as it placed its hand on its helmet, pressing down on a small button. Andras placed his left boot onto the Elites chest as he pulled back the bolt of his hunting rifle, letting the empty shell fall to the ground as he grabbed a new bullet from his vest.

"Yeah, call your friends…" Andras uttered as he placed the bullet into the chamber, and forced the bolt back in with a loud clack. He jabbed the barrel against the Elite's forehead and waited for the alien to stop speaking. As soon as he did, the hunter pulled the trigger, splattering alien blood onto Reach's soil.

"Let 'em come." He grunted as he wiped away alien blood from his face. The hunter would die right here, with his family. Nowhere else. He stood amongst the bodies of families and murderers alike, and he waited. He wouldn't have to for very long.

A tuning fork appeared in the darkening Reach sky, and it immediately dropped a single Elite off. The alien from before, with the blood red armor. It approached Andras slowly as the Spirit flew off. It huffed and looked over the hunter before giving a nod of respect. This may have been the first time ever an alien had looked upon a human with respect in any form, treating him like an equal for a brief moment in time.

The Elite dropped its plasma pistol to the ground, along with its rifle and grenades. One of its hands pressed against its chest plate, and the Elite's personal shielding fizzled out. It then removed its helmet, exposing black, smooth skin underneath. Scars traced all along the alien's skin, leading down to its neck and beyond. It presented its right forearm and pressed a button on the red gauntlet that was attached. A blade sparked to life, but much smaller than the usual swords these warriors had carried. This blade was meant for defense, or even closer combat that even the sword would allow.

This thing wanted an honest fight, between two adversaries. Between two hunters.

Andras glared at the beast as he lifted his rifle into the air and pulled trigger. The weapon cracked out for miles as the round was spent. He threw the weapon to the side and pulled out his magnum. He ejected the empty clip and threw the sidearm to the ground. The hunter unzipped his vest and threw the cap he wore off his head. He snatched the knife from its sheath and let the vest fall from his shoulders.

He looked down at the knife in his hand, back at the names of his family. Iren. Anthony. Sebastian.

If anything, he would fight for them, even though he knew he wouldn't win. He looked up at the waiting Elite and got into a combat stance, giving the alien a nod.

The Elite looked over him one final time with black eyes, before getting ready itself.

It immediately charged for Andras, roaring as it did. The hunter stood fast and tensed his muscles, ready for its attack. He then outstretched his arms, and the Elite swung the blade upward, right through his left bicep. The hunter screamed as he fell to his back, the only sensation was a numb burning from his stump of an arm. It didn't bleed, as the hot plasma cauterized it as it sliced through at the same time.

Andras looked up towards the sky as his head rested against the dirt, seeing nothing but stars out in the darkening sky. His fingers slowly released his knife and let it drop onto the ground, next to its owner.

The hunter turned his head to see his wife to his right, not far from him. He reached out and touched her cheek with his remaining hand. His vision began to fade slowly, going from clear to darker and darker.

"Sebastian, Anthony… Iren… I'm coming."

The Elite growled something in its own language, sounding like some sort of prayer or chant, either way it didn't matter to Andras. He only thought of his family in his last few moments on Reach.

The alien drove his blade right into the human's chest, and all breath left the man.


Review.