Halo Fanon:Celebrity Deathmatch/Series One

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Contents 1 Chapter 00: Introductions 2 Chapter 01: First to Fight 3 Chapter 02: Brother Against Brother 4 Chapter 03: Make Every Shot Count 5 Chapter 04: Honor and Victory 6 Chapter 05: Sudden Death 7 Chapter 06: Tree! 8 Chapter 07: Wrath and Mercy 9 Chapter 08: Clash of Titans

[edit] Chapter 00: Introductions

Eleven cells stood, side by side, along a narrow corridor, each occupied by a creature. They had been here for hours, unable to communicate through the strange, semi-transparent field. Some tried pounding on the field while others sat calmly; the occupant of Cell 10 did neither, being a construct and having no tangible body with which to do either. His avatar, which resembled a human wearing green armor, paced silently across the cage. It seemed odd to him that his avatar, being a projection, couldn’t just walk through the field either. The field seemed to change, and suddenly they could hear each other. The occupant of Cell 11, a pale human, snarled at the occupants of Cells 08 and 09, aliens of some sort.

“Welcome to the Halo Fanon Celebrity Death Match,” came a voice over the intercom system. The eleven captives looked around. “You have been selected for our competition, and have thus been transported from your universe into another.”

“I don’t understand,” one of the humans stated.

“After you died, your very existence was transferred into our universe. Because our universes are separate, time does not apply. This competition will have ended before you were ever born, or in one case created, yet you have all already died. In a way, we have brought you together from a particular universe and particular time to battle each other. Because our universe has been afforded to see your universe, you are well known by us, and some have even placed bets on who will win. You have been divided into four categories: human, alien, construct, and classical.”

“Classical?” another of the humans, the one in Cell 07, repeated quizzically.

“The final contestant, John SPARTAN-117, who is in Cell 11, is actually from a parallel universe to yours. The events that occur in your two universes are often very similar, but not entirely the same. SPARTAN-117 exists in both universes, but we chose the one from the parallel universe because we had viewed it first, and found him to be a major player in the events.”

“I think I understand,” John coldly proclaimed. “You want us to fight each other, likely to the death, for your own amusement?”

“Yes. Since you have all already died, we assumed you would not mind dying again. You will be given the choice of any weapons from your time, and those of you who wielded unique weapons or other equipment will be granted it.” The occupant of Cell 02, a human, shifted uneasily.

“What do we get if we win?” he asked.

“You will be granted to continue existing in this universe. Those of you who die will not. Think of it as a chance at a second life.”

“Then let us tarry no longer,” the alien in Cell 08 announced.

[edit] Chapter 01: First to Fight

Steel walls came down around the occupants of Cells 01 and 02, and when they lifted, there was no one inside the containment fields. The wall opposite of the containment fields, which had previously been black, flickered to life, showing a large field with debris and other oddities scattered across it. Across the middle was a great wall, dividing the entire field in two. On either side of the wall, two steel boxes rose from the ground and opened. From one, walked the captive from Cell 01, and from the other, the captive from Cell 02. However, they looked different. They had since donned armor and been granted weapons.

“This match will be conducted between Ajax SPARTAN-013 and Hank J. Wimbleton the fourth. It is a battle to the death. However, after several hours, if the battle is not yet won, the others prisoners will vote for a winner, and the other will be executed.” Ajax-013 wore bright green MJOLNIR armor. Across his back, an M90 shotgun was slung, in his hands, a BR55 battle rifle, and at his hip, an M7 submachine gun. On his other hip rested an odd device, which resembled the hilt of a plasma sword. Hank wore standard UNSC Marine Corps armor and a pair of red shades. He had two M6D pistols at his hips, two M90B semi-automatic shotguns crossed on his back, and an SRS99D sniper rifle with an Oracle scope in his hands. “Battle will commence in three, two, one, GO!”

The wall separating the two combatants quickly lowered. Hank leveled the sniper, but Ajax was quicker, diving aside as the round was fired. Hank fired twice more, but both shots missed the quicker Ajax. Hank stopped fire, and made as if to reload. Ajax paused, kneeled down, and sighted down is battle rifle. Hank quickly snapped the rifle back up and fired, catching Ajax off guard. The round, though aimed for Ajax’s center of mass, caught him in the shoulder as he tried to avoid the shot. Ajax flinched, but he didn’t drop the battle rifle. Instead, he dove behind cover, out of sight of Hank, who had yet to move. Ajax now had a decently clear path to Hank where Hank couldn’t snipe at him, so Hank discarded the rifle and drew his two M6D pistols. Ajax was fast, and he was jumping over a burnt out Cougar APC as brought the two pistols to bear. Hank fired as Ajax came down then dove aside. Ajax, who was in midair, couldn’t dodge the shots, but his reflective shields and armor stopped all but one, which penetrated his stomach. He landed in a roll, and came up with the battle rifle pointed at Hank. He squeezed off a three round burst, but Hank dropped to the ground just in time to avoid the shots. Luckily for Hank, there was a low box between the two, or he would have been easy prey for his opponent. Ajax primed an M9 fragmentation grenade, and tossed it over the box, but before it had even landed, it came flying back at him. Apparently, Hank had caught the grenade and thrown it back. The grenade exploded, throwing shrapnel all about and draining Ajax’s shields completely. And then Hank was up, both pistols already firing. Ajax dove aside, but a round hit him in the back, driving half-way through his armor’s battery pack. The armor momentarily powered down before the reserve battery kicked in. Ajax ran as quickly as he could to cover, which was rather fast, and then tore the armor off before the reserve, which only had a life of a few minutes, powered down and he was completely trapped inside his own armor. Hank, to the surprise of the spectators, did not give chase, apparently understanding what was happening. He waited patiently for Ajax to reengage. Ajax silently cursed his terrible luck, slung his battle rifle, and pumped a round into the chamber of his shotgun. Hank was ready, having already discarded the empty pistols and drawn his two semi-automatic shotguns. Ajax had range, but Hank had rate of fire. The M90B was terribly inaccurate, but it still had the notoriously eight gauge stopping power of the M90, albeit a little watered-down considering the scattering pattern being a bit wider to compensate for the chambering system. Ajax charged first, lifting the Überchasis he had been hiding behind several inches off the ground and shoving it roughly aside. Hank bided his time, waiting for just the right moment to strike. Timing would be everything in this situation. Just before Ajax came into the effective range of his own shotgun, which was at least twice that of Hank’s, Hank dropped both the shotguns, and drew a throwing knife from a hidden sheath somewhere near his right sleeve. Ajax tried to stop, but his momentum wouldn’t allow him to change directions. The knife went exactly where Hank wanted it to, right into the side of the shotgun, knocking it by force from Ajax’s hands. Two more knives, drawn from different sheaths on Hank’s person, flew across, cutting the straps that held the holstered M7 in place. Ajax, not about to expose himself by reaching to pick it up, drew the oddly shaped plasma sword hilt from his other hip. He activated it, and to the surprise of everyone else, including Hank, a sword materialized on either side of the hilt, making the blade, in trained hands, much deadlier than a regular plasma sword. Hank threw another knife before Ajax could charge, and while Ajax deflected (in actuality more of melted than deflected) the thrown knife, Hank drew his own sword, with ancient Thai writing scribed on the sides of the keen blade. Spinning it once in his hand to get a feel for the balance, Hank took up an expert swordsman’s pose. Ajax, having no doubt that his sword would cut right through Hank’s antique steel sword, came on aggressively, with a strong downward swipe at Hank’s head. Rather than parrying, Hank sidestepped and jabbed, but withdrew his sword before it came into contact with Ajax’s parrying plasma sword. Hank began a routine consisting mostly of feints with few slices coming anywhere near Ajax, who moved to parry each one. As long as Hank kept Ajax parrying, he wouldn’t have to deal with the plasma cutting through his steel sword and could look for an opening in Ajax’s defenses. Ajax was determined to break the routine up, and did so by suddenly rushing forward and sweeping at Hank’s waist. Hank jumped up over the energy blade, and managed to kick out, catching Ajax in the face. The kick was weak, but it was enough to send Ajax back a step and allowed Hank to do a neat little flip and land several feet back. Cutting across at a horizontal, Ajax rushed forward, convinced that Hank wouldn’t be able to dodge his next attack. However, to Ajax’s complete surprise, Hank brought his sword up and parried the attack. Rather than passing right through the steel blade, Hank’s armor, and Hank’s body, the plasma sword met some sort of resistance in the sword. Ajax cursed his bad luck again as Hank, spun inside and kicked him right in the gut. Ajax back up, bringing his sword up to protect from Hank’s one-handed downward slice, but missing the subtle movements of Hank’s other hand, which reached into a sheath on Hank’s right shoulder and threw a knife. The knife buried itself to the hilt in Ajax’s stomach. Ajax dropped his sword, which deactivated on the ground. Hank, however, hesitated to move in for the kill.

“I refuse to kill this man. I have clearly won, and therefore see it pointless to end his life for your personal entertainment.” Ajax was slightly confused, having had no such doubts in his own mind. Pulling the knife from his stomach, Ajax hurled it with the speed and accuracy only a Spartan could, and Hank reflected it with his own sword with surprising speed and dexterity. Hank turned his attention back up to the sky, where he was presumably being watched by some crowd of people. Ajax looked down at the small puddle of blood collecting around him, and noticed the cut holster of his M7 sitting within easy reach. He snatched it up, and as Hank turned back towards him, leveled it at Hank. However, Ajax didn’t pull the trigger immediately.

“You should have finished me off when you had the chance,” he wheezed. “In the SPARTAN-II project, we learned not to hesitate.” As a crescendo to his statement, Ajax pulled the trigger. Hank began desperately deflecting the bullets with mind blowing movements of his sword. However, sixty rounds was a lot, and some of them got through. The submachine gun began clicking to indicate there was no more ammo left, and Hank, with at least fourteen rounds in his chest, was somehow still standing, albeit bleeding from several locations.

“In the SPARTAN-I project, we learned how to survive,” Hank coldly stated, removing his standard issue armor to reveal a high-density Kevlar vest, which had stopped the brunt of the bullets that Hank had failed to deflect. Ajax tried to stand, but had lost far too much blood by this time, and collapsed again. Hank began to walk away, retrieving one of his pistols. He checked to ensure a round was chambered, and then dropped the clip out of it. He tossed the pistol to Ajax. “I’m leaving. If they don’t come out to get you, you can either bleed to death, or you can end your own life quickly, and with as little pain as possible. However, I will not commit the deed for their entertainment.” Hank swept his hands dramatically at the sky to indicate those watching. He walked away, leaving Ajax to his thoughts. As the steel door of the box Hank had first emerged from closed, Hank heard the distinct sound of a pistol firing. Since there was no sound of the round ricocheting off of the steel box Hank had just stepped in, Hank assumed that Ajax had opted for the latter option.

[edit] Chapter 02: Brother Against Brother

Hank was in a cell again. However, he was now in Cell 01. He looked over to the others. Someone gave him a thumbs-up, as if to silently congratulate him on his victory, but he merely shook his head. There was no honor in what he had had to do. Silently, Cells 03 and 04 were enclosed in steel from above, and when the steel box lifted, the occupants were gone. The wall flickered to life, showing the field Hank had just battled on, though it had been rearranged and the blood been cleaned off. The two boxes came up, one SPARTAN-II sporting an M90 shotgun, MA5K carbine, two M7 submachine guns, and a couple M9 frag grenades, the other wielding an SRS99C-S2 anti-material rifle, two M6D pistols, and a BR55 battle rifle.

“This match will be conducted between Nick SPARTAN-118 and Codename Khu. It is a battle to the death. However, after several hours, if the battle is not yet won, the others prisoners will vote for a winner, and the other will be executed. Battle will commence in three, two, one, GO!” As fellow SPARTAN-IIs, both knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, so Nick knew that Khu would probably start with a sniper rifle. He was already on the move by the time the wall had dropped, easily diving for cover before Khu could fire his rifle. A grenade came soaring from across the field, its four second fuse ending just as it reached Khu and before it had hit the ground. Khu’s shields took the brunt of the blow, but it had served its purpose. Khu was blind, distracted, and without a shield for a few seconds. Nick dove from above a stack of crates, leveling his MA5C. He fired in controlled three-round bursts. Khu took one round to the leg before he could manage to jump away. Leaning against a thick, rusted barrel, Khu prepped himself to stand and fire. He jumped up, firing at where Nick had been before he was even sighted or fully standing. All four shots flew true, but Nick wasn’t there anymore. Something clanked against the barrel. Khu looked down, and then dove aside as the grenade exploded, turning the barrel into a twisted heap of molten metal. Khu dropped his rifle and drew the BR55, landing and sliding on his back with his gun ready lest Nick advance while he was down. Jumping up, he found cover behind a steel containment unit that was twice his height, as wide as it was tall, and easily four times longer than he was tall. He paused long enough for his shields to recharge, and then set out slowly, looking for the tell-tale blip on his motion sensor. A red dot appeared right behind him. Spinning, he found that he was facing the containment unit. Realizing that it must be hollow, Khu began spraying the containment unit. Inside, Nick dropped to the ground, avoiding all the bullets. When Khu stopped firing, Nick took that as a cue for him to attack, drawing his shotgun and charging out. Khu threw his battle rifle at Nick as he drew his two M6D pistols. Nick jumped, clearing the thrown weapon, and landing within five meters of Khu. The shotgun resounded, taking a good chunk out of Khu’s shield bar. Khu began firing as well, and both began circling, rolling, and weaving. The slides on Khu’s pistols locked back as he ran out of ammo. By his count, Nick had maybe one or two shells left in his shotgun, and Khu had about an eighth of a bar left on his shield. Flipping the pistols and catching them by the barrels, Khu adopted a fighter’s stance. Always one for fair play, Nick discarded his shotgun and drew a combat knife. Khu lunged first, swinging repeatedly at Nick’s head. Nick stepped aside, blocking as best as he could, and then kicked out hard into Khu’s chest. The blow went right through Khu’s meager shields and sent him flying back. Nick threw the combat knife, which struck Khu right in the visor. Khu reached up and disengaged his helmet, tossing it aside. The knife had penetrated up to an inch, and had been mere millimeters from Khu’s right eye. Seeing his opponent unarmed, Khu disregarded his lack of shields and charged ahead. Nick sidestepped at the last second, and dealt Khu a fatal blow to the head with his fist. Khu went down, and didn’t rise. Nick slowly strolled over to the elevator he had ridden up on, and entered. Nick came back out in Cell 02, next to Hank. He tried to smile at Hank, who would be his next opponent, but could tell by Hank’s demeanor that he did not enjoy this game at all.

[edit] Chapter 03: Make Every Shot Count

The steel boxes enclosed Cells 05 and 06, and then lifted. The screen across the way lifted. Again, the field had been rearranged and cleaned of blood. Hank wondered if there was a new field for every battle. “This match will be conducted between Ed SPARTAN-077 and CJ SPARTAN-007. It is a battle to the death. However, after several hours, if the battle is not yet won, the others prisoners will vote for a winner, and the other will be executed. Battle will commence in three, two, one, GO!” CJ was decked out with almost every weapon from the UNSC armory, from M6Cs to M19s. Ed, on the other hand, had chosen to stick with a simple BR55 - M6G combination. CJ opened fire first, putting out rockets from two Jackhammer launchers. The four rockets streaked by, but none managed to hit Ed, who dove around the first volley, and actually jumped up and stepped on one of the second rockets in a beautiful display of grace in such heavy armor. CJ quickly discarded the two launchers and hefted a shotgun. Ed dance around the magnum rounds, which weren’t meant for that sort of range. Pausing for a second, Ed squeezed off a three-round burst, which easily stopped on CJ’s shields. CJ dropped the empty shotgun, drew an assault rifle, and began firing full blast at Ed. Ed bobbed and weaved, avoiding much of the fire without actually taking cover. Another three-round burst bounced harmlessly off of CJ’s shields. CJ drew two submachine guns, spraying again full auto at Ed. Ed made sure to keep just outside of the effective range, only stopping to put a three-round burst into CJ’s shields occasionally. CJ, confused by this odd pacified strategy, continued to fire at Ed, expending all the ammo he had on his M6C pistols and finally drawing a plasma sword. Ed snapped into action, firing his BR55 in controlled, but very quick three-round bursts. The remainder of the clip took out CJ’s shields, and before the battle rifle had even hit the floor, the M6G was out and firing. CJ went down in a heap, bullet wounds visible in his armor and helmet. Ed casually walked to the elevator that would take him to Cell 03.

[edit] Chapter 04: Honor and Victory

The walls closed around the last human, and then deposited him into Cell 04. They then came down around the two aliens in Cells 08 and 09. The opposite wall flickered to life to reveal another field with scattered debris. One alien wore the customary gold armor of a Zealot, the other the black armor, decorated with gold and silver, of an Imperial Admiral. “This match will be conducted between Zorrak and Dyr ‘Refosee. It is a battle to the death. However, after several hours, if the battle is not yet won, the others prisoners will vote for a winner, and the other will be executed. Battle will commence in three, two, one, GO!” Neither Elite moved.

“Let us fight with honor, brother Sangheili!” Dyr shouted. There were no apparent weapons on his person. He drew a strange jade hilt and activated it before removing his helmet. “Let this be a traditional dual to the death!” Zorrak also drew a plasma sword and removed his own helmet.

“So be it!” he called back, charging forward. The two met somewhere in the center, where there was a small clearing from the rusted debris all around them. Zorrak came down with a chop at Dyr’s head, but Dyr easily parried, slanting his blade so that Zorrak’s blow was sent aside. Zorrak, an expert at sword fighting himself, jumped back out of range as Dyr made a sideways slice at Zorrak’s chest. Thinking to take advantage of Dyr’s overzealous slice, Zorrak stepped in to stab Dyr, but Dyr used his momentum to spin all the way around, kicking out and catching Zorrak in the middle. Dyr jumped up, the blade point down in both hands. Zorrak quickly rolled out of the way, the finishing jab only nicking his left arm. Zorrak jumped quickly up to his feet while Dyr backed up, taking up an expert fighting stance. The two came on, swinging and parrying. Zorrak began to realize that Dyr was the better fighter. In desperation, he flung his sword wildly out and dove backwards, drawing a plasma pistol. Dyr easily stepped aside as the blade whizzed past and then deactivated, but was momentarily caught off guard by the plasma pistol. The first shot struck Dyr in the leg and the second in the torso, melting his armor. He managed to bring his blade up to stop any other shots. Zorrak, thinking he had won, rose confidently. “In this world, honor is nothing. Only the winner continues.” He slowly dumped plasma energy into the plasma pistol for an overcharged shot, which would, at best, deactivate Dyr’s sword. The giant green glob of plasma seemed to lazily glide over to Dyr, who merely brought his blade up to block. Rather than shattering the EMP field housing the plasma sword, the shot caused the sword to glow a bright purple. Zorrak took this as a sign that the sword was near the breaking point, and drew a new plasma sword. He stepped forward as Dyr began to swing. The purple sword went right through Zorrak’s sword, his right arm, his armor, his torso, back out his armor, and through his left arm, cleaving him cleanly in half. An expression of surprise was painted across Zorrak’s dead face.

“Why not have both honor and victory?” he asked rhetorically to the now dead foe. He limped back to the steel elevator, and exited. And then he was in Cell 05.

[edit] Chapter 05: Sudden Death

He returned to find that the AI was already in Cell 06, and the last human in Cell 07. “Wonderful! We may now begin Round 2 of the competition,” shouted the intercom gleefully. “The first match will be conducted between Hank J. Wimbleton the fourth and Nick SPARTAN-118.” The steel elevators came down and then rose. On the field, the two elevators came up on either side of the field. Hank sported an M90, one of his personal favorites. Nick carried two M7s. “It is a battle to the death. However, after several hours, if the battle is not yet won, the others prisoners will vote for a winner, and the other will be executed. Battle will commence in three, two, one, GO!” The wall rapidly slid into the ground. Both realized that the other was carrying a weapon that was meant for close combat and took off at each other simultaneously. As they approached, Nick jumped up into the air to stop his own momentum and give himself a chance to fire while Hank ran straight under him. Hank, not wearing any MJOLNIR armor, could not hope to replicate the move, being unable to jump two meters into the air. So Hank did just the opposite. Dropping to his back as if sliding in a game Hank used to play called stickball, Hank pointed the shotgun straight up. Through the repetitive bang of the submachine guns, a distinct blam was heard. Nick landed in a roll, clutching his chest. Hank spun and rolled to his feet. Nick lost no time, shutting the pain out of his mind and aiming his submachine guns, knowing his shields would have recharged before Hank could possibly attack again. Hank began to run, not forward or backward, but around Nick. Nick began to spin to try and keep the sights on Hank, but he couldn’t pivot quite fast enough and his shields weren’t recharging. So, rather than continue spinning, he stepped out into Hank’s path. Hank did a neat flip over him, and the bashed backwards hard with the stock of the shotgun. Of course, it sounded like a little bell against Nick’s MJOLNIR armor. Hank dove away as Nick brought his guns to bear. A shotgun shell caught Nick in the right hand, doing more damage to the gun than the gauntlet. Nick spun and brought the other gun level, but a second shotgun blast knocked it from his grasp. Nick took a two step dive forward, catching Hank off guard. Hank managed to roll with the dive, but the shotgun was lost in the chaos. Hank dove back, and the two unarmed fighters began to circle each other. Nick tried to clench his hands, to move them at all, but he found that the gauntlets had buckshot lodged in them and had powered down. With hardly a thought, Nick disengaged the gauntlets, which clattered to his feet. Hank, in one deft moment, threw a knife from his left sleeve, which somehow managed to penetrate the center of the MJOLNIR armor about an inch in. Nick could feel the biogel oozing around his chest from where the knife tip had stopped. Unphased, Nick came on, knowing that no human could stop the augmented and altered fist of an armored SPARTAN-II, not even a SPARTAN-I. He punched out, and Hank side stepped and threw an open-palmed strike at Nick. Nick almost laughed, until he coughed up a big gulp of blood. He looked down, to see the knife buried to the little hilt in his armor. He looked back up at Hank. Hank’s face confused Nick more than the sudden knife point in his heart; it was one of virtually no emotion, yet it almost looked like Hank was sad. Nick died a confused man. Hank returned to his elevator and to Cell 01. He said nothing. He felt nothing.

[edit] Chapter 06: Tree!

“The next match will be between Ed SPARTAN-077 and Bryan Hänkel.” Ed looked over at Bryan, who was personally not too happy about the whole ordeal. Bryan was just a marine, but Ed was a Spartan, a thing of legends! The elevators came down and lifted the two to the weapons room, and then to the battlefield. Bryan had chosen an M19 rocket launcher and an MA5B assault rifle. Ed had chosen an a BR55 battle rifle and an M6D sidearm. He chuckled when he saw the rocket launcher. The Jackhammer missile was slow, meaning that it was easily dodged at range and, because of its splash damage, utterly useless in close quarters combat. Ed took off immediately, straight at Bryan. Bryan, reacting partially out of fear, fired a rocket right at Ed. Ed gracefully jumped up, actually kicking the rocket down as he soared over it, more to utterly destroy Bryan’s confidence than out of necessity. Bryan raised the assault rifle with his right hand, shifting the launcher over his should with his left arm, and began spraying wildly at Ed. Ed began bobbing and weaving, using the rusted vehicles and few dead trees as cover. After several moments, the assault rifle clicked empty, and Bryan dropped it. He tried firing the rocket launcher again. This time, he aimed at the ground where he thought Ed would be in a few seconds. Ed saw the rocket, but had trouble altering his course. The rocket exploded, throwing Ed full force into a dead tree that rose above the rest. The tree cracked, and began to list towards Bryan. Unarmed and petrified with fear, Bryan looked up to see the tree slowly begin to teeter. With a resounding whump, it landed right on him, crushing him. Ed rose and looked at the strange seen of Bryan, crushed nearly to death under the fallen tree. He walked over, and, sensing that Bryan was in extreme pain but would live for several days if left alone, caved in his skull with a single kick. Ed walked back to his elevator, not all too happy at the honorless manner in which the whole contest was conducted.

[edit] Chapter 07: Wrath and Mercy

“Finally, we can begin Round 3. The first match is between Hank J. Wimbleton the fourth and Ed SPARTAN-077.” Hank didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to register that he was about to fight. Ed was slightly more active, but he had a level of respect for anyone who could take down an armored SPARTAN-II the way Hank had in the first match, and was a bit worried. However, Ed didn’t doubt that he would win. It would just be hard. He was not trained to accept the possibility of failure. When in a situation that couldn’t be won, he would just change the rules. That’s how Spartans fought. But then, Hank was a Spartan from the I-series. Ed would have to be careful with him. The steel boxes came down around the two of them. “However, after several hours, if the battle is not yet won, the others prisoners will vote for a winner, and the other will be executed.” Hank stepped out of the elevator with a BR55. Ed had chosen an MA5C. Both wore M6Gs at their side. “Battle will commence in three, two, one, GO!” Ed took off at full sprint towards the wall between the two combatants, which was very quickly lowering. Hank had hardly moved, merely kneeling and sighting down the 2x scope on the battle rifle. Hank was firing before Ed was even visible, but the rounds flew true none the less. The first rounds hit Ed in the face, the next in the neck, and down until they were concentrated on his chest. Because he was running at full speed, he could neither stop, nor change direction easily. His shields slowly flickered lower and lower. Diving into a roll to try and avert some of the inertia from his two tons of armor, Ed came up with his rifle ready, though he was doubtful of the range. No one was there. A grenade flew at Ed from somewhere to his right. It had been cooked off so that it exploded before reaching him, peppering his shields with shrapnel and preventing them from recharging. Ed needed to move. He dove for cover, hoping to give his shields a rest.

Hank moved silently through the wreckage, stalking his prey. Close quarters was where Hank really excelled, and that was exactly where he had forced his opponent. Discarding the empty battle rifle and drawing his M6G with his right hand and his sword with his left, he continued to slowly shadow Ed. He was wary though, for Ed had yet to fire a single shot on his MA5 variant rifle. Hank managed to get a good look at it, recognizing it as a C-variant. Hank cursed his luck. The C had a thirty-two round clip, while the B had a sixty and the K had a forty-five. But more importantly, the C was more powerful and accurate than the B or K. Hank didn’t expect to let Ed fire long enough to expend any of those clip lengths, so Hank had hoped it would be a weaker, less accurate bullet he’d be dealing with.

Ed wandered in what seemed to be a maze of burnt out vehicles, rusted crates, and old barrels. He thought he could hear someone here or there, but it was always from a different direction. He would turn suddenly, only to find nothing. Ed was quite skilled at close quarter combat, but he despised it. Something clattered to the ground behind him. Ed spun with rifle raised; he was sure that Hank had slipped up and revealed himself just prior to an attack. When he saw no one, he immediately spun back around to see Hank flying at him, pistol in one hand, and a katana in the other. Five rounds left the assault rifle before Hank chopped the gun clean in two. Hank shoved the bore of the pistol into Ed’s mask, and began firing. At this range, Ed’s shields dropped very quickly. He tried to roll, but Hank made sure every shot connected. With Ed’s shields down to a sliver, Hank discarded his now empty pistol and kicked out hard. Ed, while not knocked down by the blow, was driven back several steps. Hank came on with his sword, which Ed had to swiftly step aside in order to dodge.

“Don’t you see how pointless this is?!” Hank shouted, bleeding from several places where the SMG rounds had connected. Ed was confused. Hank did a neat spin in the air, running his blade right into Ed’s back. But Hank didn’t push the blade through, retracting swiftly and taking up a defensive stance. It dawned on Ed that Hank had slashed out his shield generator. “Utterly pointless! That we should fight for their entertainment!” Ed, being a diplomatic person, could empathize with Hank’s feelings. Fighting to the death for someone else’s pleasure when it wasn’t necessary seemed utterly without honor. However, Ed understood the rules clearly. Even if Hank and Ed refused to fight, one of them would be executed, based on popular vote.

“We are in their hands. I fight for survival.” With that, he drew his own sidearm with the lightning speed of a SPARTAN-II and began firing at Hank. Hank deflected every bullet with his katana.

“So be it!” Hank yelled. Driving forward, he came on at the now unarmed, though certainly not helpless Ed. The fight could only last so long, Hank using his very powerful katana with the deadly precision that showed his years and years of training and natural ability. Hank was, after all, nearly thirty years Ed’s senior. When thinking about it, Ed was surprised that this was considered Hank’s prime. The thought faded quickly as he dodged another katana slice narrowly. Ed punched out at Hank, but Hank rolled with the blow. What would have broken a marines should and likely shattered the arm and collar bones ended up dislocating Hank’s left arm. Hank jumped back and popped the joint back into place, clenching his teeth tightly as he did so. The fight continued, neither landing any decisive blows on the other, until finally, Hank’s blade connected, cutting off Ed’s right arm at the elbow. Ed, momentarily stunned and fast going into shock, could hardly react as Hank brought the katana in a low sweep, taking Ed at both the knees. “I am sorry,” Hank said quietly before driving the katana swiftly through Ed’s helmet, ending his life in as quickly and painlessly a way Hank knew how. He slowly trotted over to the elevator, wiping the blood from his fine blade.

[edit] Chapter 08: Clash of Titans

“That concludes Round 3. We may now begin the final match,” the overly cheery, disembodied voice chirped.

“Final match? There are four of us left! Doesn’t that constitute three matches?” Dyr ‘Refosee asked.

“The final match will be a four-way free-for-all. We could not devise a fair way for the AI Delta and the human John SPARTAN-117 to meet in combat, so we decided that you would all fight each other to give the AI a fair chance.”

“Will the rest of the rules still apply?”

“Not entirely. You will be transported to a larger field, but you will still have access to any weapon or armor you ever encountered or saw in your past life. There will be no time limit for the match. In the event that you refuse to kill each other, the audience will vote for a favorite and the others will be executed. Good hunting.” Steel closed around the four remaining contestants, though it was only really necessary for the three organic ones. The field they appeared on was most definitely larger. It appeared to be divided into fourths, whereas the old field had been divided in half, but each fourth was as big as the entire old field, making the new field four times as large as the old one. The cold, steel wall slid perfectly down, as if in free fall indicating a lack of friction, into the ground, revealing the four warriors. Hank appeared unarmed in nothing more than a marine’s standard armor. Dyr was wearing modified purple armor with a black cape, his jade energy sword at his hip, a plasma rifle at the other, and a fuel rod gun in his hands. John was suited up in his MJOLNIR Mk. VI armor and had a Jackhammer rocket system across his back, two submachine guns at his sides, two M6Ds under them in leg holsters, and his grenade belt packed with all sorts of odd contraptions. Most distressing of all, Delta’s quadrant was occupied by a SparrowHawk VTOL close support aircraft, assumedly under Delta’s control.

“Couldn’t think of a way to even the odds, but he’s allowed to operate vehicles?!” Hank shouted to John, throwing a wink. John knew that Hank didn’t want to kill anyone, and Hank knew that John knew. But John also knew that Hank had assessed the SparrowHawk as the greatest threat and least agreeable contestant, and John knew that Hank would kill to ensure his survival.

“Maybe we should even the odds,” John said coldly into a private COM link. “Are we going to let Dyr in on this?”

“We either do that or play some distract-and-destroy. I say we just leave him out for now. He probably sees Delta as the biggest threat too,” Hank whispered across the field. Together, the two soldiers turned towards the SparrowHawk, which was hovering menacingly towards them. It had a coaxial machine gun on its nose, a heavy chain gun under each wing, and missiles tucked up against the sides. It was formidable, to say the least.

“So what do you plan to do with that little sword of yours?” John asked.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting a vehicle. But this thing cuts steel just as well as anything else. If I can get onto the fuselage, I can probably stab into the cockpit and damage the electronics components enough to bring it down. Let’s hope Delta doesn’t have any other aces up his incorporeal sleeves.” John bobbed right; Hank weaved left. The two heavy machine guns opened fire, rounds passing right through the rusted wrecks that scattered the field and provided most of the cover, leaving rough holes all over. John popped into and out of sight, luring the AI’s attention, while Hank snuck around back. If all else failed, John could aim a rocket for the fuselage and kill two birds with one stone. Just as Hank was prepping to make the jump, a blue ball of fiery death hurtled over his head and crashed into SparrowHawk, sending it tumbling into the ground, nearly crushing John. Hank turned quickly to see a Wraith, its main gun dripping remnants of the last plasma shot as it primed to fire again. Hank had only a split second to dive out of the way as another plasma mortar came flying home. “He has a vehicle too!? What is going on!?” Hank cursed over the COM.

“There must be working vehicles on the map. We are intended to battle in vehicles. That’s how the odds were supposed to be even.” Hank quickly popped his head up and scanned the field. He spotted a Brute Chopper first, and was running just in time to avoid the plasma that rained down on his former position. John bided his time, waiting for the Wraith to turn as it focused on the running Hank before jumping out and firing a rocket at it. The rocket hit the right anti-gravity flipper, causing the Wraith to list uncontrollably and then sink one meter to the ground. Dyr tried to move forward, but the craft began to spin, having only one operational flipper. Dyr opened the hatch and bailed out. He dashed off in one direction, so John dashed off in the other. He could hardly see the opposite end of the field, it was so big. He just hoped the working vehicles were indeed scattered, and not clustered. Hank had spotted something, and it wasn’t from around where the SparrowHawk or the Wraith had come, so John could only assume he was right.

Hank ran as fast as he could, which was pretty fast for someone of his age, or even someone much younger than he. He didn’t look back, he just made a mad dash for the Chopper. Hank, only slightly confused that he didn’t hear plasma hitting the ground all around him, hopped onto the Brute vehicle, activated it, and turned towards the Wraith. It lie, limply on the ground, like a wounded animal. Hank could see no outward damage from his view, but he knew Dyr wouldn’t abandon the tank for no reason. John must have shot it, Hank reasoned. Hank, having more time to think, abandoned the Chopper, which was ill-suited for the littered fields of battle he was in. He continued wandering towards the almost mist-like wall in the distance. It would appear that, contrary to his first belief, the field was much much larger than originally thought, and that the four quadrants had really just been the center.

John found what he had been looking for. He boarded the Rhino self-propelled artillery unit without a second thought. The thing was big, heavy, and packed a punch. Most importantly, he could virtually drive unhindered over the field of wreckage because the Rhino would just crush anything under its impressively sized treads and sheer weight. However, as he went to activate the control panel, it flipped on. He was about to comment to himself how something as old as a Rhino had proximity activation, when suddenly the unit began to move. It hit John pretty fast. Delta must be controlling the vehicle, which meant that Delta was housed somewhere, and could take control of vehicles. John wondered what limitations were on the field. Delta could easily take control of every vehicle, including vehicles other contestants were in, and win. It seemed, rather, that Delta could only control one at a time, and that he had to wait before he could grab another. Either that or he was toying with his prey before he finished them all off. However, John would bide his time. Delta didn’t appear to be aware that John was inside the Rhino, so that meant that he was in a decent position to surprise Delta.

Dyr crept through the wreckage, slowly making his way towards the burnt out Sparrowhawk. He reasoned that his section and Deltas section were both clear of threat, he having already eliminated Delta. However, he knew that Hank and John would look for him in his section. What a surprise they would get when he hit them from behind. As he moved, he noticed something. A totaled Spirit dropship, its contents spewed out across the floor. Contents! Dyr ran over, seeing weapons lying all over the ground. He had ill prepared for such a large field, so he grabbed a particle beam rifle and slung the fuel rod gun across his back. He would pick a decent spot and see if he couldn’t snipe his opponents. Maybe he’d even find a nice vehicle too. He continued moving forward, until he noticed something faintly in the distance: a glowing blue light, almost like a single eye. Sighting down his scope, he still couldn’t quite make out what it was, so he began jogging towards it. Soon, he was close enough to see it. It was a strange ball-like piece of machinery with a single blue light in the center. The whole contraption was about as tall as a Ghost is long, and sat on a series of rings, allowing it free motion. It seemed to be watching him, moving only slightly to betray that it was active and not just a light fixture. Dyr knew that it had to be Delta, so he sighted again with his beam rifle to make what he assumed would be the killing shot right down the eye. However, just as he took the shot, an explosive round went off just behind him and his shot went just a tad high, hitting one of the rings instead. The shot went right through the thin metal, causing the ring to break under stress, limiting the rotations the central eye could make. Dyr turned to see what had hit him, when he saw the Rhino crashing through the debris towards him.

John saw the Elite as it pulled its fuel rod gun out to send his tank to kingdom come. John crossed his fingers, hoping Delta would eliminate the Elite before it could destroy the tank. John heard another round cycle into the smoothbore gun, and then the shot rang out, landing at Dyr’s feet and sending him ten meters into the air, landing somewhere amongst the debris. John then glanced at what Dyr had been shooting. Seeing the blue eye, John grabbed the opportunity. He loaded an ONI virus into the tank’s control, one he had intended to use directly on Delta. It did the trick, deactivating the controls and purging the system of Delta. John then reactivated the controls and hoped that Delta would have to wait before grabbing another vehicle. However, he wasn’t going to wait and find out. Swiftly, he spun the vehicle and raised the gun slightly to hit the distant eye. Delta could only watch helplessly as it verified that the gun was aimed dead on. The round took .14159265 seconds to strike its target, something Delta decided was ironic in his last moment alive.

Dyr struggled up, his body badly burned and one of his hands completely gone. He fumbled to staunch the bleeding with his other arm, when he noticed that the heat had fused his hand to the trigger guard of the fuel rod gun. Trying to stand and lift the gun with one hand, Dyr stumbled back to the ground. He had to use his stump to position the fuel rod across his shoulder before he could fully stand up and move. His legs hurt like they had never hurt before, and one of his joints felt broken, but he shambled onward, set on getting his revenge. He stumbled into a clearing where the ground was marred by a crater just in time to see the Rhino destroy Delta. Clicking his mandibles, or rather trying, as one had been completely fried off, Dyr aimed the fuel rod gun at the Rhino. He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He tried several more times before he realized that the muscles in his fingers weren’t responding. Painfully, Dyr shoved his stump into the other end of the trigger guard, intent on destroying the Rhino. However, the vehicle swiveled back towards him. Dyr froze like a child caught stealing cookies (though such an act would have been impossible for Dyr, in his current state). Suddenly, the debris of an old Pelican exploded behind him, throwing shrapnel into Dyr’s back and causing him to collapse as a Chopper flew through, ramping straight over Dyr and landing right in front of the Rhino’s gun.

Hank silently cursed to himself, having been unable to find a better vehicle, he had decided to take the Chopper after all, and now he was paying the consequences, come face to face with the barrel of a UNSC artillery piece. However, he had the element of surprise. Aiming a bit to the left of the Rhino, he thumbed the trigger. Half his shots went wild, but the others arced perfectly into the Rhino’s main gun, melting it at the middle and making it useless. Hank gunned the Chopper, heading straight at the now moving Rhino. Hitting the boost, Hank dove from the Chopper, which slammed into the speeding Rhino. In a head to head contest, the Rhino won. Driverless, the Chopper turned a bit to the left, slamming into one of the Rhino’s exposed caterpillars, crippling the vehicle to an extent. The Rhino could no longer move forward or back, and could only turn right. John bailed out as Dyr, now bleeding from shrapnel hits in his back, managed to fire off the fuel rod gun. Hank rolled and tumbled right into a wrecked Scorpion, breaking his left leg in the process. Dyr turned and continued firing at John, who was ducking and weaving towards him. One shot landed just behind John, sending him flying forward and disabling his shield.

Just then, Dyr heard a sound he’d have normally liked in this situation. His shields recharged. However, the sudden buffer unfused his hand with the fuel rod gun, which dropped to the ground. Dyr jumped away as the piece of equipment self destructed. John was still charging him. Dyr reached instinctively for his sword, when he realized that his fingers wouldn’t be able to grasp the hilt. With all his concentration, he forced his fingers to wrap around the hilt and activate it at the same time. He brought the sword to bear, realizing that he would be a bit hampered, unable to twist his wrist. John, however, sighted the sword and stopped charging, he fired the last shot from his launcher, then dropped it as Dyr dived aside. John pulled out his two submachine guns, and began stalking forward. The weapons were meant for close combat, but Dyr had a shield too, and his sword was a better close combat weapon. The two were basically on equal footing.

Hank rose slowly, his left leg shooting pain. He reached down and reset his hip, which had come out of joint. It hurt so bad that Hank cried out and fell back to the ground. From the feel of it, his leg was broken in two places below the knee. On the bright side, it was the only apparent injury aside from some scrapes and bruises from the tumble. Hank could have just as easily broken his neck or been speared on some rusty metal. Hank drew his sword and used it to hobble upright. Sheathing it again, he began slowly stumbling towards his two opponents, who were locked in combat. Dyr’s wild aggressive swings were keeping John dodging and leaving no time for him to aim with his weapons. John would snap a few shots off, but they would bounce off of Dyr’s shields. Hank knew what had to be done.

John was becoming frustrated at Dyr. He began to wonder if two clips of submachine gun ammo would be enough to drain Dyr’s shields attrition style. However, he could tell by areas of Dyr’s armor which were beginning to glow that the shields would break soon. They broke, and John managed to get a few clean shots at Dyr before he clipped both guns in half with his sword. John swore as he dove backwards, grabbing both pistols and firing in mid-dive. Dyr stumbled backwards as the rounds hit him in the chest, then fell to the ground, bleeding out slowly. John rose, victorious, and turned to see Hank still a few meters off, stumbling forward, sword now drawn. John aimed one pistol and fired once, aimed at Hank’s chest. To John’s surprise, Hank deflected the bullet with his sword. John, not about to ask questions, aimed both pistols and began firing simultaneously. He emptied both clips, eleven rounds in all. Hank fell over backwards, bleeding from three chest wounds. John walked forward to Hank, then knelt down beside him.

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” he whispered, drawing a combat knife from a sheath in his chest plate.

“That makes me all the more sorry that I have to do this,” Hank mumbled, almost incoherently, stabbing John through with his katana. John realized his folly as he died, his body collapsing atop Hank, who had spent his final breath to stab John.

“Oh dear,” a disembodied voice spoke. “I would seem that the contestants have all killed each other. However, in slow motion, our indicators show that Hank J Wimbleton the fourth died seconds before John SPARTAN-117. Thus, John SPARTAN-117 is the winner. However, due to his current state, he cannot collect on his reward. A pity, really. Thank you all for watching. Without your support, we would never be able to afford to pull people from their universe into ours for our entertainment. Until next time, this has been Halo Fanon Celebrity Death Match.”

DAS ENDE