Disclaimer: I don't own Halo or anything about it. Except my OC(s). Because I can.

This is my very first attempt at writing any fanfiction but TMNT-based! Please leave some reviews so I know how I'm doing. I have read all of the Halo books I can get my hands on (which I do believe is all but one or two), played the first two games (since I don't have an Xbox, I can't play on anything but a computer, but that is just fine with me!), and sniffed out articles on Halo Nation to expand my knowledge. However, if I do make mistakes with timeline, names, etc, PLEASE tell me and I will fix it.

Chapter One: Propaganda Campaign

Master Chief Petty Officer John-117, Spartan II, stood rigidly at attention. He was completely still; only his eyes showed any emotion. They widened slightly, but no one could see that because of his MJOLNIR armor.

"Sir, requesting order confirmation," John said slowly.

Admiral Hood just smiled slightly; the rest of the bridge crew were snickering quietly. "Of course, Master Chief. Your orders are to report to C Deck, to Mrs. Ubrood, for a special mission to raise troop morale. You'll be stage props. Gather your fellow Spartans."

"Sir, yes, sir." John snapped off a crisp salute and clunked away, his boots thudding on the metal decks of the ship. His frame of reference – the ship – was inertial, but the new microgravity was affecting his walk nonetheless.

"Officer on deck!" James barked as John stepped into the Spartan's assigned quarters. For unit cohesion, and to keep their human sides less obvious to the crew, they had been assigned an entire garage for their bunks. The three Spartans in the room snapped to attention, crisply saluting their leader.

"At ease." Each of his soldiers were already out of their armor; they had just returned from the planet that was, even now, being glassed. It was a blow to all of them – there had not been time to remove many of the civilians. John had personally carried a deathly pale woman aboard a Pelican that was waiting to lift off just as the glassing started.

"We have new orders. Put your armor back on. I expect you all on C Deck within fifteen." It took almost that long just to put the MJOLNIR back on, John knew – especially without technician help, and all of them were in the medical bay, repairing soldiers.

"Sir, yes, sir!" His Spartans – James, Linda, and Kelly – snapped off salutes and hurried to get redressed. They were all looking forward to showers, and John wanted nothing more than to dump out the blood pooling in his right boot, but they had their orders.

John didn't wait for his Spartans to finish but walked down to C Deck. Raising UNSC morale was something he was accustomed to; just the sound of his voice over radios seemed to double confidence and halve casualties on their side. His others Spartans inspired soldiers as well, but John, he was told, was special. It had something to do with his "badassery," according to Cortana.

John stepped into C Deck and quickly found where he was supposed to be. A film crew was milling about, expensive-looking cameras perched on shoulders and tables. As he stepped inside, coming to attention stiffly, the whole place stilled. He had dawdled on his way, and he felt Kelly, then James, and finally Linda arrange themselves behind him, coming to attention.

Behind his helmet, John could imagine the sight they made. Over seven feet tall, all of them, clad in softly glowing green armor, splashed with alien blood, human blood, bits of brains and tissue, scratched and clawed, burned… They made enemies run, especially Grunts, just by appearing on the battlefield.

It was rare that John got to be around his fellow Spartans any more. They had slowly died off, listed as MIA for morale purposes. John remembered each with fondness, but also regret. It was down to half a dozen left, though they wreaked enough havoc with the Covenant to make up for their numbers.

A lithe woman came forward and motioned for them to be at ease with a wave of her hand; the Spartans, entirely in unison without trying, relaxed, widened their stances, and clasped their hands behind their backs. The woman raised an eyebrow. Her hair was jet black, cut to a buzz, and her eyes were a daring blue that stuck out startlingly. John knew, from his genetics classes when he was ten, that blue eyes were recessive genes, getting rarer with every generation of humans.

"Master Chief?" She peered at the visors. John took a step forward. Few people could tell the Spartans apart in their armor, and fewer still had seen them out of it.

"Master Chief Petty Officer John-117, reporting for duty," John answered, calmly.

"Excellent. You look almost perfect." She circled him; John shifted slightly, unused to scrutiny. "Good, good. We might have to touch up some of these…" She muttered to herself as she rounded Kelly and Linda, too, and then James last.

"I'm Kate Ubrood. Just call me Kate." She snapped her fingers at a harried-looking man. The man had close-cropped brown hair and a brown eye. His other was missing, an eye patch in its place; he hadn't gotten, or didn't want, a cloned organ, John supposed.

"This is my assistant and technician, Steward. He's something of the makeup specialist." Steward bobbed his head slightly in greeting; John inclined his own in return.

"And this is the crew," Kate continued, gesturing to the men and women behind her. "You're here first – ah, there you are!" She was addressing someone behind John, and he moved sideways. His Spartans opened a hole for several clean ODSTs as they marched into the room, snapped off a salute, and stood at attention.

"Yes, yes," Kate purred. John compared her to a well-running Warthog engine for a moment. But no 'Hog engine stared holes into people like she was mentally undressing them.

The ODSTs and Spartans discreetly kept their distances from each other. Helljumpers were all talk, John knew, and they didn't like being up-staged by him and his "freaks."

"Have your orders been explained?" Kate asked absently, rubbing her hands together. John noticed that Steward was backing up, but not in fear; he seemed to be trying to fit them all in a box he made with his fingers.

Odd, John thought to himself. He answered Mrs. Ubrood courteously. "We were told this was a mission to raise troop morale."

Kate waved her hand. "Yeah, close enough. Alright, you!" She pointed at the ODSTs. "Get your butts to those tables for make up."

One of the soldiers blanched. "What?"

"You don't look dirty enough." Kate thought this would explain everything and shooed the humans off before turning to John and the Spartans. "Are any of you female?" Linda and Kelly stepped forward; John stepped back quickly. "Excellent. Let's get some pink on you."

John couldn't help but open a comm link to his team. "Remember, Spartans, this is a mission."

"Yes, sir… But pink?" Kelly sighed.

"That's an order, Spartan." John couldn't quite conceal his smirk, and Kelly heard it. She and Linda trudged over behind the Helljumpers.

"So you two must be the guys." John and James nodded. "We'll be starting with still shots and moving our way into action shots." James had pulled out a knife from somewhere and was flipping it nervously; it didn't seem to faze Kate a bit. "Don't tell me you're camera shy," Kate scolded James. Silently, the Spartan shook his head.

It took a few minutes for Steward to pronounce everyone ready for the cameras. John and James had been given replicas of guns – they were as light as a feather in his hand, and 10% bigger than standard issue. Kate explained that they were oversize props.

Linda and Kelly were sulking. Their normally green, and now alien-blood tie dye, armor was carefully colored pink in certain areas, highlighting the different sections of armor.

"Pink looks good on you," James said over the comm, chuckling quietly. He was one of the most emotional of the Spartans.

"Let's see how good it looks on you…" Kelly was the fastest of the Spartans and, before John or Linda could intervene, had picked up a bucket of pink paint and hurled it at James.

James dodged it but Kelly followed through with a second bucket that impacted squarely on his chest, covering him in pink. Steward groaned, though all of the normal humans had also taken several steps away from the giants trying to nail each other like four year olds.

"Enough!" John barked. He was amused, but this was a mission. "Kelly, stand down." Kelly was already leaning against the wall, a nonchalant smirk definitely on her face. Linda was silent, standing calmly by one of the cameras. James was trying to wipe the quickly-drying paint from his green armor, but just succeeded in smudging it with blue and purple alien blood.

Kate was biting her lip – but in anger or amusement, John couldn't tell.

"Alright, you…" She pointed to James, "You're dismissed."

James snapped off a crisp salute, turned, and stomped out quickly. John cleared his throat; James answered on the comm quickly. "I'm glad to be out of there. You all have fun."

Kelly realized she'd just gotten him out of what was probably going to be a very humiliating experience and her shoulders slumped a little. The humans wouldn't notice, but John knew instantly. "That's what you get for trying to attack him," he told her sternly.

"Yes, sir," Kelly answered smugly. "But it was worth it."

"Alright, you five, right here." Kate was arranging the ODSTs on the ground. The place was covered in green fabric; a green screen, John realized. Some of the soldiers were made to look dead, and several gallons of fake blood had probably been used in the transformation. He eyed the lady directing their placement warily. How would dead soldiers raise troop morale?

A few were standing behind a fake-cement barricade, told to look like they were frantically driving off some alien enemies. Said enemies would be added in later using computer graphics.

Then it was the Spartan's turn; Kelly and Linda were told to hunker down behind the Marines. John was supposed to stand over them, elevated a little on a solid block one of the crew brought over, and pretend he was shooting as well.

This is raising troop morale? John thought to himself. He hefted the fake gun in his hands; he had to be extra gentle with the plastic frame. He could snap it in an instant.

Kate rearranged them so it looked like the ODSTs were kicking butt on their own, and then had all three Spartans pose in various combinations for a while. John's right foot was soaked in blood; it had nearly filled his armor to the knee. It squished every time he walked, but the blood stopped flowing.

All three Spartans were quickly tiring of this new "mission," especially since they had to slow themselves down so the photographers circling them like Jackals could get good, focused shots.

Steward occasionally darted in to fix a lock of hair, a smudged alien blood tattoo, or replace a weapon.

"It feels like I'm a mannequin," Kelly complained. John couldn't help but agree.

Kate finally seemed satisfied and nodded. "Alright, now we can move on to the second part. Action shots, everyone!"

John almost groaned. His head was throbbing with a headache, but he pushed it back – again. His foot was numb, and he could feel bones somewhere in his hand grating together.

"This is more sadistic than falling out of a Pelican," Kelly grumbled. "I'd rather face a dozen Hunters than another mission like this, Chief."

"Acknowledged. Stow that belly aching, Spartan."

"Touchy," Kelly muttered rebelliously.

John raised an eyebrow. No one was in a good mood. Linda's comm snapped to life with a crackle. "I hope that paint stains James's armor," she muttered.

Even Linda? John wondered. Linda was calm, reserved – and, apparently, a little annoyed.

"Alright, you four, start panicking." The four ODSTs Kate was referring to glanced at each other, then at her, with raised eyebrows. She flapped her hands at them. "Pretend a dozen Elites are coming down on your position and there's a Hunter pair flanking you. I don't care, just panic."

"We're Helljumpers, ma'am," one explained. "We don't panic."

"Imagine all human females suddenly disappeared."

Each of the ODSTs grimaced. "Point taken," the speaker said.

"I wish you'd all disappear right about now…" another murmured; John barely caught it with his augmented hearing. He suppressed a small smile; he was having the same longing thoughts.

"You three will go to their rescue. And you," Kate beckoned to John. "You, Chief, will take on this."

A big robot wheeled into the room, pushed by a crewman. It looked like a blob that had Hunter spines.

"This is a Hunter."

"Like hell," an ODST muttered.

"You will tackle it. The computer will take care of the rest. "

"… Ma'am, no disrespect, but I will probably crush right through it," John said gravely.

Kate pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Which of you is lightest?"

John motioned at Kelly, who shrugged slightly. "If by "light," ma'am, I weigh the least, 1300 pounds, to be exact." All the ODSTs blinked; everyone blinked. Kelly shrugged in her armor. "The armor is half a ton," she explained.

"I like my girls a little meaty, but damn," a Helljumper muttered.

Kate sighed. "We'll have to forget that scene, then… Alright, you three, just… pretend to rescue them."

John glanced at his Spartans, and then at the Helljumpers. There was bad blood between the ODSTs and Spartans, but it looked like the regular humans would be taking a back seat in the fame this time. Just like they had been for the entire war.

"Alright, you heard her," the Chief said over his speakers. "Spartans, form up." The three armored tanks stood in a line just off-camera. The ODSTs began shooting wildly; it was silent, since the guns were fake, but they acted like they were being buffeted by kickback anyway.

"Someone scream," Kate called encouragingly.

"Oh, no, whatever shall we do," one ODST yelled pompously. "If only we were freaks, we could kill them all."

John and the Spartans bristled. Kate called a cut and scolded the men in the camera. "This has to be believable."

"Sorry, ma'am, but an ODST never asks for help. Especially from them."

"You're on the same damn side," Kate snapped. She sighed, frustrated. "Oh, never mind. You guys, go, get out of here." She waved away the Helljumpers who fled as quickly as possible, the dead ones getting up with groans as they stretched. Her eyes alighted on the Spartans, still standing off set.

"I'm sorry about that," she said softly. "We'll pick it up tomorrow. Dismissed."

Three arms silently saluted and then the three green giants turned smoothly and clunked out; Kate pursed her lips and surveyed the scene.

John walked quickly. He had been through bad missions, but that had to take the cake. He – and his Spartans – were not there for the cameras. They were there to protect humanity, to save lives if they could. The Spartans had been made to kill. Not act.

"John, you're limping." Kelly's voice, concerned, broke through John's gloomy thoughts. He glanced down; his armor was smudged, but wasn't leaking the small pool of blood that had probably died his calf red by now.

"Nothing major, Kelly," he said, waving her off with one hand. "Let's all get out of our armor." They hurried to their bunks and quickly locked the door behind them. James was already there, sleeping; he woke to make sure they were alright, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Kelly wrenched her helmet off at the same time as Linda and John; they were all eager to get out of the armor they'd been in since the previous day. Or something; Slipspace tended to warp a person's clock, as did constant battling and adrenaline.

Kelly tousled her buzz cut, shaking sweat from her brown eyes. John ran his hand through his slightly longer brown hand, coming away sticky with sweat and blood. He set his helmet down on his bed and slowly began taking his armor off, taking inventory of his injuries as he did so.

He had two broken fingers, which he quickly splinted to straight fingers. They would heal in a few days, and this Slipspace jump was supposed to last at least a week. John noticed several bruises, well formed, on his abdomen. Probably from tackling all those Elites when he ran out of ammo, or getting hit by plasma. It didn't kill him, but it could knock him around.

He stripped out of the chest plate quickly, setting it on its stand to clean later, and freed his left leg. He looked at it carefully, noticing a few pulls, but it was nothing a little R&R couldn't fix. Then he carefully disassembled his right leg's armor, holding the boot to make sure he didn't spill the puddle of blood collected therein.

His calf was completely red, and the source of the bleeding was immediately apparent; a Needler had caught his ankle and a sliver had blown through his armor, just enough to nick a fairly large vein. It was already clotted. The deck of the ship was cold under his bare toes; all of the Spartans were naked, since they didn't wear clothing inside the suit, but it had never bothered him or his team. They had known each other for too long, and through too many situations, to let anatomy bother them.

"Nice leg," Kelly noted wryly. Linda and James glanced over; John shrugged and stepped into the showers to empty the boot of blood. His whole body needed a good scrubbing, but he always took care of the MJOLNIR first.

Kelly was already starting to buff and clean as he sat down on the stool designed to bear his nearly 400 pounds of muscle. Kelly and Linda spoke quietly as all three of them cleaned; James's armor already sat on its stand, gleaming. There was no trace of pink on it.

John had just started his first boot – leaving the more blood-stained one to rinse in the bathroom – when Kelly finished cleaning and took over the bathroom. She showered quickly, allowing herself a few extra seconds of warm water to relax in, before exiting, scrubbing her brown hair rapidly with a black towel.

"That feels so good," she muttered, finding a pair of shorts and a shirt to throw on and sleep in, just in case. There had been one time when an unwelcome guest had barged into the Spartan quarters and found himself amongst a group of very angry naked men and women. From then on, John had insisted that everyone wear some sort of clothing if there was a chance of that repeating itself.

John motioned for Linda to use the shower first; she smiled softly and was in and out within two minutes, her red hair gleaming. Her green eyes and red hair had earned her the nickname "Xmas," not to mention her uncanny talent with the sniper rifle.

Finally, John enjoyed a shower of his own, using some of the precious water to clean his boot from the inside. It ran red for a while and then clear, and he washed his hair and scrubbed his bruised, aching, and bloody body down. He stepped out, noting that he had taken a little over four minutes in the shower, not bad, and his boot was clean. He stowed it with the rest of his gear and looked at James, still sleeping peacefully.

"Alright, everyone, time for some rest," John said. Kelly nodded and Linda climbed into her bunk, collapsing and making the steel groan. "Gentle on that, Petty Officer." Linda waved in understanding and rolled onto her side.

Kelly and John got into the respective bunks; John stared at the ceiling above him and slowly drifted into a semi-deep slumber. The Spartans never truly slept unless they were in cryo, which John contemplated for the next day. First, though, he wanted to sleep in the warm ship for a while. Then he would eat.

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Well, what do you think? Please read and review! This is a going to be very short, probably just a few more chapters, to test the waters.