(Dear god this took long! Sorry about that guys, I was away at the weekend, no wifi and no computers! Here it is, a chapter focused completely on John…mostly.)

Chapter Seven: I ain't afraid of no ghost

The Chief hadn't even been on the Normandy for five minutes before Shepard needed to talk to him. He walked down the corridor, his feet thumping on the deck as he towered past over crew members. Shepard was waiting for him in the Conference/Communications room.

"John. Good to see you. Enjoy shore leave?"

"It was alright. Didn't do much except look at the sights and drink…at Jack's command of course."

"You don't say no to her, rule number two."

"What's rule number one?"

"Maybe another day."

The Chief already knew Shepard was putting something off, and crossed his arms. Shepard looked up, a bit tired, and pointed towards the communications system that was coming out of the floor.

"He wants to talk to you, tell me when you're done," he said, walking out of the room.

The Chief stepped onto the shiny surface, watching as the holographic interface rose around him, its advanced sensors scanning every part of his body, his clothing(thankfully) and his movements as he was presented with a holographic image of an old man. The man lay in a comfy looking armchair, wearing a suit that split down the middle with a white shirt underneath it. His eyes were a blue aligned with machine-like patterns and his hair was swept back in a rich fancy-man like fashion. He smoked a cigar before addressing John.

"If what the reports from Miranda say are true, then you and your team are probably the best alive if that is fair to say. You apparently come from another Universe, and you have defeated another foe bent on wiping out all of humanity," the man started, in a deep but vibrating voice.

"That's true," John replied, crossing his arms. "I don't see why you would need a second opinion if your right-hand officer already told you everything."

"This isn't about opinions Spartans, this is about facts, and how much you know about them. Who am I, for example? You won't find out. Call me the Illusive Man, and you better realise that the only reason we've let you stay on the Normandy is because you are a weapon. If what you say is correct, you're bred for war and you're the best damn soldier there is right now."

John nodded, but clenched his teeth. The man was disrespectful, but the Chief knew better than to talk back to command. It was something he rarely did, and if he did do it, only if it was needed. Captain Del Rio should have known better.

"So John, I'm sending you on a mission. Your team of Spartans will wait here, and you'll enter by yourself. There's a package that needs to be picked up on Illium, and while Shepard takes Miranda there, you will pick it up. I'll be sending the mission reports to your computer in the shuttle bay. Take a pistol, but leave your armour. It'll track attention in the wrong places. Don't mess this up. I'll tolerate Shepard's companions because of what they can do, but I won't tolerate someone because of Shepard's pity. Illusive Man out."

Illium was beautiful.

The words were caught in his throat as he gazed upon the polished towers of perfectly aligned metal. The Asari dynamics of building extended higher upon anything he had saw at the Citadel, sort of like everything was chucked randomly together and it ended up looking beautiful, as if the thrower had planned it the whole time. That was John's interpretation anyway.

As the Shuttle dropped him off, he stood dazed at the streets that surrounded him with people of the highest stature walking around and chatting with others. People with money to spend and time to spend with it. People who thought they were safe because of their reputation.

John moved on. Along with the sights, the people who dwelled were also amazing. A woman with deep purple eyes, a man with a tall build designed for running, two Asari sitting at a bench chatting quietly. John took it all in, lost for a moment in the beauty of the place, almost like the planets of his Universe, before the war. Almost like his homeworld he could barely even remember.

Would my life have been like this if…?

He scowled at himself, shaking his mind out of those thoughts. It wasn't the time for that right now. Beside if he hadn't been taken…he would have been dead. End of story. So he kept walking. Walking towards the mission and away from the memories. Better that way. Body like a soldier, mind like a soldier. Not a machine.

The Illusive Man had said he needed to pick up some sort of communications prototype, that would allow them to communicate with a person directly through an implant in their heads. It was dangerous, and a group of bandits had stolen it from them. From Cerberus. John was going to negotiate its release. No crossfire, too valuable to lose. So he walked on, taking in the sights.

Shopkeepers and business-people talked to customers around small rising pillars like they were advertisements. John suspected differently, but in all honesty, it wasn't his prime concern. The meeting point would be coming up soon, and he could feel the butt of his pistol digging into his hip. He remembered the promise he had made years ago, broken already. Never to kill another human. He broke it the day he landed, too concerned with safety for his team. Not anymore. Not again. Not unless it was absolutely needed. His mind wondered to this promise…it wasn't the same in this Universe, it wasn't as if it was a desperate fight for survival. The choices someone made here were choices that didn't have to be made. The Chief realised that his promise would eventually be broken by an asshole of a merc who got in his way. He shook his head, facing this predicament.

The meeting point was quiet, save for a mercenary in white and blue armour. He was wearing the same armour as the men John had seen on Tuchunka, and it made him uneasy. John tensed, looking at the five people surrounding him. He clenched his teeth, already expecting the answer from these mercenaries.

"I've got the money from Cerberus," the Chief called out, his voice echoing around the storage area. There were several crates, each one labelled with terms the Chief couldn't understand. It didn't matter. Or did it? His mind gazed to one of them…

"Uh-huh. Pass it over," interrupted the mercenary leader, a nasty looking pistol at his side. John slid over the crate. Everything was electronic, but the crate accessed a certain bank account set up by Cerberus with the necessary money inside it. The Mercenary looked it over, satisfied.

"Alright men, you know the drill. I'll take this back to the boss. He'll want to see this," the mercenary said, almost in glee. Sadistic glee. Sadistic glee?

The Chief has already spun around to meet the hand of the Turian that held a gun to his head, the Turian backpedalled, but not before the Chief kicked his chest-plate inwards allowing John to roll over behind one of the crates as the other three mercenaries opened fire. Bullets pinged off the crate as John stood up and took careful aim at a nearby man, shooting him in the leg. He said he wouldn't kill another person, didn't say anything about giving them a nasty leg wound. Besides, the mercs weren't giving him too much danger. Maybe he could get out without having to kill these men.

The Chief stood up, running across the top of the crates that lined the area, kicking one down. One that was labelled fairly obviously when he had saw it; Fire extinguishers. John shot the crate several times, watching as the Carbon Dioxide Foam sprayed outwards over the mercs, who found themselves face-to-face, when it cleared slightly, with the Chief himself. The Turian felt a fist smash through his helmet impacting on his mandibles. He went out cold.

Another merc fired a weapon at close range, stunned to see the Spartan actually looking like he had dodged the bullet. But that was impossible! Not even Asari Commandos moved that fast! The Chief struck out, his fist indented on the Merc's armour as his roundhouse kick impacted another into a wall. The fourth and final Merc stood up, raising his fists in a meagre attempt at defence. The Chief kicked him at a particularly strong looking box of crates, smirking as the man slumped slowly down the side of it.

The Merc Leader emerged from the other side of the room, holding a pistol, his hand shaking. The Chief hadn't noticed him, too busy dealing with the immediate threat. He reached for his pistol, but stopped once he noticed the rather tough looking weapon in the Merc's hands.

"You're not human…can't be. No-one moves that fast, a Krogan isn't that damn strong. Not strong enough to stop a Carnifex round to the skull I bet. I swear to God, if the Illusive Man thinks that he can threaten the Blue Suns I'll-."

The man was cut short by the quick insertion of John's knife, entering his right calf muscle. The man let off a strangled scream, letting off two shots before toppling over. John kicked the weapon out of the Merc's hands, and finished him off with a swift punch. The silence in the room was a quiet ode to the Spartan's uncanny ability of CQC combat. Each of the men in the room had suffered several wounds, be it from bones or internal bleeding. They would all live, and would insist that they were attacked by a 'Demon' of some sort.

The Chief stood up slowly, grabbing the briefcase and the nearby item that seemed like the Ullusive Man's transmitter. Before he picked it up, it flashed orange once, and a life-size hologram appeared, of the Illusive Man. The small projector was a floating ball.

"Good job John, I saw the whole thing on the nearby camera. Needless to say, this recording of the events taking place has been deleted. There is no highly advanced device here John, just this ball. This was just a test, a test I spent four days putting together. Fred is currently on his and Linda proved herself during the Reaper IFF mission. I'll put Kelly to the test soon enough."

"What do you mean Fred is on his?" John demanded, a slight edge of panic to his voice.

"Calm down Spartan, he went on a mission with Shepard to help Miranda. They'll pick you up soon."

"Why the secrecy?"

"How could I know you'd perform to your full potential if you weren't under stress? I needed to know and…they don't call me the Illusive Man for nothing. Get the job done John, I'm counting on your team and Shepard's team. Illusive Man out."

John stood transfixed as the hologram flickered out and cursed loudly. Who the hell was this man? How the hell did he think he had the power to send John into danger like that? It didn't matter now, but the Chief suspected that one day…it would.

The ride back was long and uneventful, and Miranda had obviously been crying. Shepard had tried to comfort her, but it was obvious she wouldn't talk it about. John had seen that look. She had lost a friend. That wasn't easy. He knew first-hand what that could feel like. He wondered what had happened to the Spartans who were officially MIA, not technically found. He racked his brain. There was Grey Team, always the wild ones, there was…that was it? So little Spartan Twos remained in his own Universe now that him and his team were gone. It was weird, feeling like you've left someone when it wasn't your own fault. He settled on these thoughts as the shuttle made its way slowly back to the Normandy, a slight shine off its left side as it curved.