This fanfiction article, Halo: Baptism By Fire, was written by Nikoli the rebel. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission.
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Halo: Baptism By Fire, written by Nikoli_the_rebel is set from 2510-2513, follows Thomas Rush as he volunteers for the Marines and is faced with his first true test of perseverance in the opening moves of the battle for Eridanus ll.
The snow was coming down in force, the winds swirling it in twisted flurries. Visibility near zero. The first clipper of the winter was covering the dark, gloomy distance with several inches of slippery precipitation. The road ahead looked dangerous and uncertain but the
man at the wheel knew he would make it. He was no stranger to Ferocity's harsh,
unforgiving winters and the deplorable driving conditions of the country road
he was now driving.
The old, weathered car slowly rounded a right turn like a seamstress would thread a needle. Suddenly, the back left tire gave way and slid into a snow-covered depression. The driver took a deep breath and punched the gas. Predictably, the car struggled to climb out of the hole and started to slide further down off the road.
He acted quickly to avoid falling off
that cliff ass end first. He jammed the manual transmission into first and used his chained front tires to hold his traction. But the embankment was steeper than he could see in the blinding blizzard and the car slowly inched downward. Frightened, he floored the gas pedal. The front tires squealed as they found no
grip. The car continued to slide further down, making a loud squealing sound as it scratched itself against a tree. But the driver didn't panic for he had seen far worse. Faith and determination was all that survival required.
Soon the chained front tires tore through the snow and found solid pavement. The car lurched forward with a hard jerk towards the other side of the turn. The driver corrected his course hard enough to save the car but not enough to establish a drift. After stopping to light a cigar and curse the Department of Transportation the driver continued on his way.
Thomas, the man driving through these conditions, shivered. He didn't shiver because of the cold or out of fear for the road. No, he shivered out of fear for what was to come. Never before had he been so afraid in all his life. All that remained of his duty was to remember
his training and to keep a cool head. Thoughts of retreat must be smothered. Thoughts of anger must be silenced. Only a clear mind can be safe from fear.
It was reaching midnight when Thomas arrived at his destination, an old stone barn standing alone, and unafraid next to an equipment shed. The elements had removed several bricks from their resting place destabilizing the old barn. The roof sagged heavily for it was in desperate need of repairs. Surely, it could not take another snow fall.
In the driveway were 5 civilian warthogs,
luxury editions. It was clear that they warthogs had been heavily modified with extra armor plating, firepower, and an enclosed cabin. Thomas knew the people he was dealing with. Those were likely stolen hogs. Following, his examination of the warthogs he got out of his car and plunged his feet into the deep snow.
The man walked back to his trunk and opened it. There he found a dozen sub machine guns and several grenades, contraband of course. He grabbed two SMGs and tucked them into his weapon straps under his large winter coat. He took 3 grenades and pushed them into his large pockets inside his coat and followed the earlier party's footprints inside the barn.
The barn smelled of manure and rotten grain. It hadn't been used in a decade and the inside clearing showed it. Miscellaneous farming equipment sat in large piles and the rafters hung precariously over the whole place. Overall, it was warmer in the barn without the wind-chill but Thomas made his way to the far side. There he found that the snow was melted over an oddly warm pig feeder. The hatch underneath was better concealed in the summertime when there wasn't any snow to melt.
Thomas wasn't worried at all about anybody else finding this hatch in this barn. They were 50 miles from the
nearest town and only a few experienced souls dared to brave the roads. What Thomas feared most was what was underneath that hatch. Quick to get out of the
cold, he moved the feeder to the side and opened the hatch. He descended down a
ladder and the hatch closed behind him.
He dropped into a small, warm hallway. At the end was a security man branishing an assault rifle and a holstered pistol. Thomas gave a nod to the security man and dropped his two SMGs. Upon inspection of the guns the man opened the door for Thomas.
Thomas walked into a room with a large
oval shaped table. Around it sat professional murders, thieves, and hard drug dealers. They had almost nothing in
common except an allegiance to one man, Cyanide who had a reputation all his
own. Those who knew him close simply
called him Cyi.
Cyanide, who was reclined in a chair at the head of the table beaconed for Thomas to sit down between a Serbian and an African.
Cyanide “I trust you made it here safely.”
Thomas “No. The roads are awful. Only a lunatic would drive in this weather.”
Cyanide laughs. “That is why we are here, aren’t we?”
Thomas acquired a calm, calculated demeanor “Some of us are crazier than others.”
Cyanide’s smile doesn’t fade. “Have you simply come here to insult me?”
Thomas (frankly) “I didn’t want to come at all but my father sees a nonviolent solution to our organizational charades.“
Cyanide “Your father is a very wise man and you would do good to learn from him.”
Thomas “Wisdom will only take you so far. Talent, Hard work, Determination, and Ferocity are the virtues that conceive results.”
Cyanide smiles. “I never thought I would ever be famous enough to see myself quoted.”
Thomas “Don’t flatter yourself. You weren’t the first to say it.”
“Again with the insults. Your grandfather would be spinning in his grave.”
“Respect must be earned.”
Cyanide leaned forward and his tone turned very serious. “Believe it or not I did not freeze my ass off getting here for small talk. What is your father’s answer? Yes or No?”
Thomas slided both hands into his pockets and clutched a concealed knife in each hand. He maintains his flat, non-emotional tone saying “No.”
Cyanide fails to hold back his frustration.
Cyanide “Your father does know that our people will continue to conduct business and invade his territory of town and harass his
people until he kneels, Yes?”
Thomas “My father is a very wise man.”
Cyanide (clearly frustrated) “Why then? Does he not find me honest or does he simply
want a better deal?”
Thomas “The negotiations are over.”
Cyanide “Then where is this non violent solution your father
always champions?”
Thomas “It’s simple. You leave our
people alone and we promise not to retaliate. That is the deal.”
Cyanide (raising his voice) “I must have been mistaken. Your father must have lost his senses since I last saw him! Doesn’t he understand that
he could make billions?!
Thomas “He understands that perfectly well. He just doesn’t want anything to do with the bank account you share with the insurrection.”
Cyanide loses his apprehensive tone. “Of course. That is the real reason why he isn’t willing to play hardball. He is scared of the UNSC. He is a coward, a cheat. That is why he hasn’t ordered somebody dead in years. Your father should feel ashamed to call himself part of the Mafia!”
Thomas’ voice grows dark and hostile. “My father believes that all life I precious, Cyi.” Thomas stands up. “That is a sentiment I don’t share. Our terms are clear. Stop running guns to the rebels and our companies can be one again. Continue your activities and my father will do everything in his power short of notifying the police to stop this ideological battle.”
Cyanide snaps his fingers and says “Let him try.” A Serb behind Thomas stands up. Large hands clasp Thomas’ neck and lift him up. He feels the air slowly leave his body. His hands flew to his neck to relieve the pain.
Cyanide (walking away) “Teach him a lesson, men. I want Alex to surrender his company the second he lays eyes on his bloody son.” Thomas’ eyes widen with terror as the room fills with a chorus of grunts of approval. This was why he was afraid to come. This was how Cyi sent a message but there was some hope on the part of his father, Alexander, that Cyi wouldn’t do it to his own nephew.
Chapter Two: The Rush Slaughter House[]
Large men and gangbangers stood up to take a turn punching the human pinata. But before the first punch could be thrown, Thomas reached into his right pocket, grabbed a long knife and slashed it against the large hands clasped around his neck. The man screamed something in Serbian and then let go, dropping Thomas to the ground. In an instant, Thomas twirled around a sliced his former captor's throat, cutting a major artery. The Serb's hands flew to his bloody neck and staggered backwards. He tried to say something but he just choked on his own blood and collapsed.
A crouched Thomas drew his second long knife and surveyed his surroundings. As the pool of Serbian blood got larger so did the number of pools. Thomas whirled around to see an African man quickly approaching. The African leaned into a right hook but Thomas plunged his knife into the African's wrist, offsetting the right hook. Thomas dragged the knife across the inside of his arm. Thomas smiled and dragged the knife halfway up his bicep and finished by cutting his neck.
Out of the corner of Thomas' left eye he saw the glint of sub machine guns. He ducked under the table just in time to avoid the spray of gunfire.
Three young, gangsters waved their blazing weapons left and right as their bullets traveled across the table towards Thomas' chair and shredded the wall and the ground. Their seven or so allies ducked under the table to escape the reckless firepower.
