Today's episode is hard, lots of things happen but they are mostly narrated because I don't have the will or the time to develop them properly (and y'all don't want eight more chapters of this painful separation, so…), so please be strong. Soon our lovebirds will be reunited, and that's going to be intense. ALSO: The chronological dates of some events don't add up, just deal with it. You will see what I mean near the end.
A little comment: people keep saying how much they want to see John going rogue and I'd like to explain why that's A TERRIBLE IDEA. Consider that when John went AWOL in H5, he did it mainly because of three reasons: one, he was going after Cortana; two, he had his team (his family) with him; and three, he had nothing to lose but his life. In this AU, going rogue is a terrible idea because everyone he loves or cares about is in the sights of ONI or in their clutches. Military life is the only thing he knows and it's difficult to depart from something so big when it's been a fundamental part of your existence. Defying ONI or the UNSC won't get him anywhere near the people he loves, or to a life close to them. He's got a lot to lose. I thought I wouldn't have to explain it so thoroughly… but John is smart enough to understand this and resort to little acts of rebellion to show his opinion. I hope that settles it. Also, I'm waiting to read the upcoming Shadows of Reach mostly because I want to know if the AWOL incident is addressed and properly dealt with, there's a lot of things left hanging from H5 that concern me and this new novel might have some of the answers I seek.
Enough rambling, let's meet again at the end!
TAKE ME WHEN YOU NEED ME
PART XXVIII
PLANET SANGHELIOS – Urs System
FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE BIRTH
"Master Chief?" the voice of Commander Palmer yanked John out of his thoughts. He turned to look at her, the Spartan woman was standing on the canteen's door. "A word?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The tray with his dinner lost importance, John peeled himself away from the bench and went outside under the vigilant eyes of his siblings and Fireteam Majestic. Night was about to fall on that hemisphere of Sanghelios, the tapestry of stars in the purple sky above them was bright.
Palmer began to walk away, heading towards the south of the encampment.
"Walk with me, Chief." she said. "Sorry to distract you from your meal."
He didn't reply, just fell into step beside the Commander as it was instructed.
John expected her to start talking right away, but instead, Palmer led him further away from the cabins, the vehicles and the defense posts, straight into the canyon until they found a slope to climb. He followed the nightlights of her exo-suit in the dim twilight, traversing the narrow walkway. They reached a natural staircase carved on the rock, which took them all the way up the cliffs until they were observing the activity below the stars. Again, for a long moment, she was quiet.
"Commander Palmer…" he started, not knowing what else to do.
"What I'm about to tell you is classified, do you acknowledge?"
He squared his shoulders, right away.
"Yes, ma'am."
Palmer turned his back to him and sighed. "They're pulling you out, Master Chief."
"Ma'am?"
"Battalion Command already knows. You'll get the memo soon."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Instead of waiting for you to be notified officially?" Palmer turned around, her pretty features were tainted with a frown. "Because I know injustice when I see it."
The Master Chief just stared back at her.
The Commander tilted her head to the side, curious.
She continued: "You, being here, it's the equivalent of buying a Mammoth just to keep it parked outside and watch how it slowly rusts away. But Command decided to dump you in my lap, so I went with it. I've heard things."
Again, faithful to his cautious character, John remained quiet. Palmer made a grimace.
"Rumor has it, you have some very influential and intense friends that have stirred the pot enough to make high brass reconsider your post. Congratulations."
John thought about how many people he knew could be considered 'influential' and 'intense', and how many of them could be acknowledged as his friends. He found little less than a handful, yet none of them would've interfered with this. Except maybe Lord Hood. Or the Arbiter, whom he wasn't sure if he should call a friend but had been voicing his displeasure at the idea of him being kept away from his offspring. The alien had also been quite interested in elevating his concerns to high brass. This made him feel that not all was lost, at least it looked like someone supported him outside of his siblings.
But that couldn't be right. Why would brass listen to a Sangheili?
John wasn't about to let a false spark of hope light up a fire inside of him, no.
"Ma'am, I assure you…"
"I don't wanna hear it, Chief." she raised a hand, dismissive but not impolite. Palmer's chocolate eyes got lost in the distant purple horizon of the desert. "You know? I'm sure that if I gave you a knife and three days, you would bring me the head of Jul 'Mdama before I could sit down for dinner. I know you could've completed this campaign singlehandedly without any need of moving two entire platoons into Sanghelios. But I was given control of your leash, and I was supposed to keep it tight. You catch my drift?"
The words washed over John causing little to no impact.
Two platoons had spent a little over nine months creeping up around red desert rocks, crawling on their bellies, raiding caves and ancient temples, just so that there could be an excuse to keep him here? No, of course not. A good fraction of the troops were scientists, engaged in research activities. There was also an advantage with his previous acquaintance with the Arbiter, which ultimately led to a formal alliance. It was just a cover-up, a fact that had been made clear enough already; but still, he wanted to believe that his purpose as a soldier was important. That he was a protector. Spartans were needed everywhere, right?
Still, they said one Spartan was more than enough to do anything.
The words didn't hurt him. What wounded him deep was the time lost. The nerve.
'You've lived under other people's wishes and commands most of your life; breathing, bleeding and killing for them. Because they made you believe they own you.'
Cortana's voice came back to him, from one of his latest memories of her.
'They made you believe you don't have the right to choose, John.'
No, they didn't make him believe. They just eliminated the possibility entirely.
"We secured a good treaty with the Swords of Sanghelios." he pointed out, positive.
"That we did." Palmer nodded. "And wasted a huge amount of resources that could've gone to fight the Innies, in the meantime. But I'm not going to let you be wasted; it's time to finish this so we can all go home."
The Commander's eyes were sharp, there was a hint of mischief in them. John saw her clearly in the darkness of the dusk as if it was true daylight.
"What do you have in mind?"
Her graceful, deadly hand slid down to the holster attached to the side of her thigh, and Palmer yanked out her huge combat knife, that she threw in the air and caught again by the sharp, serrated blade. She offered the handle to John.
"Well, I'm giving you a knife. You know what my expectations are."
"Ma'am…"
"Go and have some fun. I'll start writing my commendation letters."
This time, John didn't hesitate to grab the handle of the knife and take it from her hand.
This was his roll-call. The permission he had been so eagerly awaiting.
At twenty-two hundred sharp, the Master Chief went through the maintenance hub to get outfitted for his final mission on Sangheili soil. At twenty-three thirty, he stopped by the armory to pick up weapons and a heavy supply of explosives. Around midnight, he was heading by foot into the immensity of the canyons and dunes, alone, with the intel fresh in his memory and his mind already made up as well.
Nobody saw him leave, it would be a while before anyone knew where he was.
x.x.x.x.x
It was around the time of dawn when John heard the ping and saw the icon flashing.
Seven days after the last. Just in time.
He stopped under the shadow of a huge broken statue at the entrance of an abandoned temple and pulled down the notification from the HUD's taskbar. An attachment. His heart didn't flutter as much this time, he'd been expecting this.
One look at the attachment, however, was enough to leave him breathless.
The picture was clear, neat and high quality, the shot taken with precision and purpose. Another flat image, a nest of cream-colored squared pillows on a wide couch, sitting on her butt right in the center of the piece was Sarah, clutching her tiny feet with both hands. So big and different since the last time he'd laid eyes on her, on that blurry image Cortana had first sent. The baby girl was dressed in a one-piece gray suit with cartoon kittens drawn all over it and wore a fisherman's hat on her head, bright yellow. What caught John's attention the most was her angelic face, the sheer expression of joy. Dimples in her chubby cheeks, big steel-blue eyes so much like his own, and a huge, toothless smile. Contagious, even.
He could see Cortana in that smile, it was almost the same playful smirk.
She was indeed perfect. Innocent, free of worries.
What would it be like to touch her?
What would she smell like, sound like?
Would she be afraid of him, or would she laugh when he held her at last?
An outlandish image flashed through his mind. Strange, unfamiliar.
He was lying in bed, on his back, head comfortably propped on a pile of pillows. Light from a massive window bathed him, he was holding something between his hands: a tiny bundle, curled up on his chest, cheek pressed against the warm fabric of his t-shirt. He saw himself running his thick fingers up and down the baby's back, cupping her little butt with the palm of his other hand. An unnatural sense of peace overcame him. It made his heart beat slower, his breath ease down. He almost experienced the sensations attached to that image, a prickle of fabric under his fingertips and the little weight on his chest. A warm, alive weight that the deepest of his instincts commanded him to keep safe.
John wouldn't know where he got this idea from, but it was pleasant. He found himself thinking about ordinary things like that, sometimes. What his life would've been if he hadn't been conscripted at the age of six? His routine was the same over and over, with little to no downtime, not a second of his schedule wasted. A Spartan had three modes: either it was in the frontlines fighting, taking basic care of itself, or perfecting itself. John liked things simple but his intense training since early childhood had made him highly adaptable.
Could he adapt to being a father, just like Cortana told him?
Would he have the chance?
He shook his head, banishing all doubt. He was confident that he could do anything he set his mind to. This would be no different, he would be leading a unit he deeply cared for. It took John an unusually long moment to realize that there was handwritten text on the bottom of the picture, almost out of the frame:
MY KINGDOM AND ALL MY FORTUNE FOR A SMILE LIKE THAT.
A smile of his own pulled on the corners of his mouth, in agreement.
One more mission. One more, and he would be out of Sanghelios for good. He would find his way back to Reach. Back to them.
x.x.x.x.x
The knife slid easily through the hard-scaled skin of the Sangheili, right under the jaw and straight into the spine. The creature gurgled and shook, its legs gave out after a little bit of struggle and it dropped instantly with a loud thud once the link between brain and body was severed. Twenty-one out, impossible to know how many more to go.
Sneaking through the shadows, the Spartan pressed forward.
The trail of purple blood and dropped bodies he was leaving on his wake would draw a lot of attention. The Master Chief hoped that the minions of the Hand of the Didact had found Jul 'Mdama's decapitated body where he left it, by now. No detonations yet, a signal that nobody had tripped on the wires. Either that or the wires had been defused.
The head strapped to his waist was heavier than he expected, but Sangheili males were larger than humans, even taller and bigger than Spartans. Tougher to kill, too. Resourceful, skilled; some of the higher Elites were experienced with the plasma sword and that was a pain in the ass when you couldn't fire a gun to keep them at bay. The Master Chief dropped to one knee, hiding, and put his left hand on the right side of his body, to apply pressure to the plasma burn that perforated his exo-suit and his flesh. It only takes a millisecond…
He stuffed the wound with the entirety of a biofoam pack.
Plasma wounds hurt like a bitch, worse than regular fire. It was a lingering, pulsating sensation that hit every nerve like a hammer and kept growing, since it filtered through with the blood and scattered everywhere inside your body.
It made sense now, why the UNSC hadn't been able to track 'Mdama properly yet. The new hideout was located deep in a region littered with an unknown variety of magnetic rock that disrupted scanner signals. It was difficult to notice. The Master Chief understood it when he tried to run a scan of the area for the tenth time and it ended up botched. That, and the pieces of red rock of different sizes he kept picking off his armor's plates, stuck by sheer magnetism.
He hid again by a small waterfall, to clear the purple blood splashed across the left side of his faceplate. John considered his options. He remembered the way out of the labyrinth of caves, but he didn't really know how many enemies stood between his position and the exit. The motion scanner and trackers were useless. Plenty of ammo, two plasma swords clasped to the magplate on his hip and Commander Palmer's Spartan-sized combat knife.
The odds were good. He'd make it.
He noticed the secondary trail of red blood behind him but couldn't do much about it.
The Master Chief moved, sneaking through. A siren resounded through the caves, the horde of Sangheili apostates began to actively search for the intruder now. John heard the first explosions and then he noticed the movement.
They caught him near the exit, swarming around like bees, sporting their blades.
He was ready to fight until there was only one left standing, whoever it was.
x.x.x.x.x
The Spartan was found six days later, after the troops were alerted by thick columns of smoke. The smoke belonged to three crashed Banshees, two of them shot down in pieces and the third one, crash-landed. The Master Chief was intercepted by Blue Team just a few clicks away from the UNSC campsite at Nuusra. He was making his way back like nothing had ever happened; limping slightly, with half of his equipment damaged by plasma burns, exo-suit breached in several places and crusts composed of several types of blood, sand and dust decorating his armor. The only weapon he still held was a large knife.
He carried the head of Jul 'Mdama, as per the Commander's request.
News traveled fast; a crowd of cheering Marines, corpsmen and technicians received them upon entering the camp. Everyone looked happy, proud.
John-117 was immediately torn out of his MJOLNIR, treated by the medical team and hospitalized in isolation. He wasn't in that bad of a shape, considering that, according to his recordings of the mission, the Master Chief had fought and killed seventy-six Sangheili -several of them at once- and planted enough explosives to kill at least another hundred. To anyone else, those odds should've meant being killed ten times over. Good thing that Palmer already had her commendation letters written, she was certain he would be awarded a new set of medals once the data from the memory banks of his armor had been analyzed.
The thing is… the technicians found something else in his armor.
Several things that shouldn't be there.
x.x.x.x.x
John came back to his senses quickly; even asleep he'd picked up the threat in his near vicinity and his eyes sprang open to find a stranger in black uniform standing by his bed. At first he was disoriented, not knowing for sure where they were.
The pain of the plasma burns on his side and his gut reminded him of what happened.
The infirmary, alright. He turned his head on the pillow, to look at the man.
It took a moment for the intelligence officer to realize the Master Chief was awake, but when he finally did, the spook smiled. He was one of the highest-ranked ONI operatives in Nuusra camp. Golden clover on his uniform's collar; Major Towers, the label on his pocket read. He stood within arm's reach, both hands clasped behind his back.
"Right on time, Spartan." Towers said, his voice was lenient, cool. "Congratulations on your success, by the way. You managed what we've been trying to pull off for months in less than a week. Very impressive."
"Sir?" John inquired, dryly. His throat was raspy.
"I've been waiting for you to wake up, we need to have a little chat."
Knowing that he probably shouldn't, John pulled himself up on his elbows and sat his weight better against the pillow, to be more comfortable. Nope, it hurt. Sharp pain speared through his torso and abdomen, but he tried to keep a stern face in the presence of this man. The Major was of average height and build, not a threat for a Spartan in what regarded physical strength, but could be very dangerous in other areas.
John decided to play it safe, out of instinct:
"Am I being interrogated?" he asked.
The Major's smile tensed. "Not exactly. A situation was elevated to my concern."
"What situation?"
The man moved, bringing both hands forward. He held something for John to see.
A piece of yellow paper stained with dirt and blood. Real paper. The portrait.
John halted, controlling the expression of his face down to the smallest muscle. If he gave away even an ounce of the fear that overcame him…
"Your armor is being repaired, it will be ready by tonight. This item was found secured inside one of the utility pockets. Does this item belong to you, Master Chief?"
He wasn't one to lie. "Yes, sir."
"What is this?"
Towers unfolded the piece of paper, showing off the delicate, bloodstained drawing.
John hesitated for two whole seconds.
"The portrait of a woman." he answered, at last.
"Is this someone you know?"
"It is."
He could've lied, but something told him that lying would've been worse. ONI didn't do anything halfway, John had already confirmed that much.
The Major let out a sigh. "Are you aware that you're in breach of protocol by bringing a personal item to a combat zone, Chief?"
"I am."
"Are you aware that this violation allows me to confiscate the item?"
His reply was a low, dangerous growl. "Yes, sir."
It wasn't an illegal substance, come on…
His heart was thumping hard in his ears. John's eyes were affixed to the piece of paper.
If he had been connected to any machines, the Major would've known he had him right where he wanted, worried. But thankfully, the man seemed wary and hesitant, although he was trying to lean on his authority to pull this one off. Many officers that didn't work close to Spartans -SPARTAN-II, at that- had no idea how to handle them.
Major Towers seemed to be one of these officers.
"Glad we're on the same page, Chief. I'm letting you go with a warning this time."
Before the ONI officer could attempt to leave, John hit fast as a snake and grabbed the Major's wrist, wrapping his thick fingers all around it. The man gasped, but it was too late: the Spartan pulled him closer to the bed, bending his limp arm up and back with a practiced movement that made every muscle on Towers' upper torso cry out in pain.
The man didn't scream, he just clenched his teeth and groaned.
"Hand the picture over, sir." John's voice was cold, composed.
The Major struggled. "Master Chief, you better…"
The Spartan applied a bit more strength. The man shrieked, trembling.
He could be court martialed for assaulting an officer, John was aware of that too.
"I'm not asking twice." John growled again, stabbing the man in the eyes with an ice-cold stare of his own. He extended his free hand, demanding.
Towers' gaze followed the tense mass of muscles that made the Spartan's arm. He was the one considering his options now: more pressure and his bones would turn to dust. He tried to pry his wrist free by twisting and pulling back. It was impossible. The Master Chief kept staring down at him, waiting.
"You shouldn't be thinking about her, One-one-seven." the officer whined, furious.
So, they were all acquainted with his situation. They had been watching him, too.
"Try to stop me." John growled back, hostile. "Without a body, they can't accuse me."
The Major's face turned pale, paper white. The Spartan saw the fear shift to absolute terror and it pleased him deeply, his predatory instinct reveled in the sight of the cornered prey. Oh, yes. Towers knew that if he wanted to, John could make him disappear. No further intimidation was required. The picture exchanged hands and once he got the piece of paper secured in his fist, the Spartan loosened his grip.
The Major stepped back tumbling, rubbing the wounded wrist, thinking about the size of the bruise he would have to explain now. He straightened his uniform; John leaned back on the bed, satisfied, clutching his treasure.
For a couple of seconds, they just stared at each other.
"I won't press charges, this time. Consider it a compensation for your victory."
John replied with sarcasm: "Thank you, sir."
The Major opened his mouth to speak again but decided against it, turned around and left the premises, hastily.
John unfolded the piece of paper and contemplated the portrait once more, as he had countless times before. The drawing had seen better times, it was all worn out and the folds were starting to break apart. So fragile, so flimsy.
The flecks of blood miraculously didn't stain Elizabeth's face. She remained pure.
Nobody would take her away from him.
John didn't consider at first the consequences that his little stunt would have…
x.x.x.x.x
The next day after being dismissed from the infirmary -and after a night of celebration that the Arbiter insisted on having- John went back to his team and to be outfitted with his newly repaired Mark Eight. He was very aware of the date of the month and couldn't wait to be sealed back inside his armor.
Excitement made him very impatient. John waited for the system to boot up and flash the standby signal. He noticed something different.
The HUD display had changed. His firmware had been updated while he was down.
The Master Chief frowned.
No, it hadn't been just updated. An update meant every file he ever had was still there, only the operative system was improved. He began to search the memory banks and found them different, the folder structure had changed and many important files he kept for extra reference were now missing.
Someone had literally wiped out his armor's systems and installed a new version.
"No…" he whispered, blood freezing in his veins.
The inbox was empty. The Master Chief spent several unrelenting minutes searching through the files, trying to find the picture -the latest picture of his daughter- to no avail. A sharp pain constricted his heart, something he'd felt many times before. A tiny part of him withered and died, when he realized that he hadn't transferred the picture to his pad because he didn't take the pad with him to hunt down Jul 'Mdama. A much larger portion of him became unresponsive too, when he calculated the time passed in his head.
Seventeen days since Cortana's latest message, which had been the picture.
He should've received at least two more texts, by now.
He didn't get any that week. Neither the week after that.
Nor the month after that.
x.x.x.x.x
John had come to accept that the messages wouldn't come again.
This acceptance didn't come alone, of course; it took away a lot of his good mood and his desire to engage in conversation, even with his teammates. They noticed something was different, but he kept saying everything was fine if any of his siblings asked. The members of Majestic seemed aware of the bad mood but thankfully, they didn't interfere.
The four original members of Blue Team were shipped to Meridian, on Hestia System, before the end of the thirteenth month of John's station on Sanghelios.
He didn't flinch when Fred broke the news, although deep inside he was furious.
He should've been finding his way back to Reach, not sent somewhere far again.
John considered asking for another transfer, but ultimately decided against it.
Because, you see, there was this thing clashing inside him, battling with his instinct to go to his family. He was a soldier, first and foremost, made for the sole purpose of spilling blood in defense of Humanity. He couldn't be aware of a danger that had to be smothered down and not do something about it. The Hestia System was being ravaged from two flanks by separatist factions of the former Covenant and the Insurrection alike.
He had taken a vow. He couldn't abandon his siblings in pursuit of a selfish goal.
Tricking himself into believing that doing this would protect his girls was also a good way to deal with the dilemma. John was a practical man who made practical choices, but conditioned by a lifetime of harsh education and war.
Cortana had known it wouldn't be easy to pry him out of that, and he was beginning to see it for himself.
He considered asking Fred for a favor, to contact Lopis only if it was to make sure that his mate and child were safe. Fred talked often about this woman, an ONI agent; he seemed to trust her completely. After a time, John began to understand that his brother held her in the highest respect perhaps because he had strong feelings over her. Maybe deep enough to consider Lopis his mate. John decided to leave it be. From all accounts the Master Chief gathered the Lieutenant didn't get to be close to the Ferrets too often. Meddling could ruin any future chance.
He ultimately chose to protect Fred, a decision that would prove wise in the future.
Not caring about how reckless it could be or what could happen if he was caught again, John accessed the Waypoint network during a reconnaissance sweep through the desolated Meridian Station, using a terminal found in an office building. The first words he typed in the search engine were Elizabeth Sarah Halsey news. Of course, she showed up fast.
There was a lot of information about her in the network, just nothing recent. Nothing after the Flood outbreak on SHIELD Base, to be precise. Before that, she had been some sort of celebrity. Her name was related to many, many projects. She was listed as creator and owner of several major patents in cybernetics and apparently, a person of wealth. Of incredible wealth. That fact was noted but didn't mean much to John. He couldn't find any information on her current whereabouts, or recent images. The woman in the pictures he found was just fresh out of her teenage years and graduated from several universities across the galaxy. He recognized her, alright, but…
She had the face of Elizabeth, but the way she carried herself wasn't anything like.
So young and proud, like when he first met her and she explained to him her plan.
She wasn't smiling in any of those pictures, John realized.
x.x.x.x.x
END OF 2559
Blue Team reached a breaking point, something that didn't seem possible.
After a year and a few weeks of brutal campaigning following a new sect of religious Brute zealots, Fred decided it was time to put his foot down and pull rank on John. They had arguments in the past -rarely about work, the team was inclined to trust thoughtlessly in John's decisions-, but this was entirely different. It didn't come to a fistfight because that wasn't the way these four particular SPARTAN-II figured things out, but Fred was adamant when he decided he was requesting R&R for his brother. Linda backed up the Lieutenant, and surprisingly, Kelly supported them both. Fred's request went through and it covered John alone, because he clearly needed some downtime. All tests confirmed it.
The Master Chief was separated from Blue Team again.
This concerned John deeply, for a long time. It wasn't enough to be estranged from the women that belonged to him, he was pushing his siblings away because he couldn't hold his grief anymore. This made him reconsider lots of things, during the brief period he was appointed to run paperwork while brass figured out his situation.
Nobody bothered to call Doctor Halsey, ONI didn't want her meddling this time.
John still had at least one ally up there, Lord Terrence Hood.
The old man had to take a good look at the Master Chief's tense face and read a couple of pages of his latest psych eval to understand that he'd been severely stressed. Something was bugging him, but knowing the Spartan, it wouldn't be easy to get him to speak about it or give a hint away. He wasn't fit for duty in such a state, however it was still unclear if downtime was the most appropriate way to have a SPARTAN-II recover.
"I guess we both will find out, son." Hood had said, before dismissing him.
Perhaps as a sign of compassion, Hood assigned John an instructor post to keep an eye on him. The Master Chief would spend the next thirty-six months of his career on Earth, shaping up several platoons of newly cooked SPARTAN-IV.
x.x.x.x.x
2560-2561
Life on Earth was monotone and quiet.
Same activities every day, at the same hour, without interruptions. The steadiness and predictability of the life in a military base anchored John to reality again, and slowly helped him find balance. The job was challenging at times, which was welcome. He had to put several young bucks in place, but under his severe guidance, the batches of SPARTAN-IV the Master Chief graduated from the program turned out to be the best-prepared in years, and the most disciplined. More commendations were sent his way.
Although he liked to please his superiors, John didn't care much about accolades at this point. He wanted nothing more than to be worthy. To do his job right. To prepare the future generations of the protectors of Earth and her Colonies was an honor.
Occasionally, he looked up information about Cortana. Of course he did.
There were a few pictures he hadn't seen before, mentions of her running a project, but it seemed like she kept a low profile, unlike the Elizabeth Halsey from before meeting her Spartan. Maybe, to protect their daughter.
All things considered… was it wise to try and track her down, contact her?
She hadn't contacted him either in the past years. And she had more resources.
Did she forget about him? Did she forget about their promise?
John kept in touch with his siblings, despite the issues. Fred was the first to write to him, a few weeks after their separation. Kelly and Linda sent him messages too, heavily redacted at times, filtered by security AIs. Linda was brief in her messages and Kelly never told him anything too detailed, anyway, but he still managed to understand that his siblings had been reorganized and sent to the Cordoba System with the SPARTAN-III Ferrets. Something big was happening on the planet Gao. So, Fred had reunited with his mate.
Lucky him.
Near the end of their second year on Gao, Kelly's messages became more cryptic. John realized that sometimes he couldn't make out the things she coded -because he was certain that some of the nonsensical stuff was code for something else- but was she implying that Fred had a son, now?
He had to be reading it wrong.
x.x.x.x.x
OCTOBER, 2562
The situation had to be dire, otherwise they wouldn't have pulled him out of a duty he was performing exceedingly well at.
John met in private with Rear Admiral Terrence Hood, at his office. For being seventy-two, Lord Hood didn't look older than the usual, but he did look quite tired, something the Master Chief had never sensed in him. The Admiral sighed when the door closed and their hands finally made it to shake.
"Master Chief, I apologize for the urgency." Hood said.
"I'm at your service, sir."
The old man nodded his thanks, solemnly.
"I'll be brief, then. A threat is coming to Earth, the estimated arrival is in seven hours, now. I have already declared battle-stations for everyone across the Sol System. I want you front and center, son."
This man was probably the only person John would ever bear calling him 'son'. When it came from him, it didn't sound dismissive or patronizing, it felt like genuine respect and respect was something the Master Chief liked to be acknowledged with. He respected all of his peers, superiors and subordinates. Throughout his entire career, Lord Hood had been his most fervent supporter; whenever the old man called, John responded without hesitation.
Like he would do this time, for sure.
"I'm ready." the Master Chief stated, standing tall and proud.
The room lit up with an array of screens, data of a Forerunner shield-world.
"About seven months ago, Fireteam Osiris was deployed with the One Hundred and Twenty-second Research Fleet to the Epoloch System. A new planet, designation Requiem. Osiris' task was to secure location and help protect the Fleet in their extraction and study of xenomaterials and Forerunner technology." the old man started.
John narrowed his eyes. Osiris.
The special Spartan team led by Commander Locke. Top dogs, Fred would say.
His skin prickled just thinking about that lesser male. The bad way, obviously. The title of Commander was too big for him, thinking of him as a true Spartan was also an agonizing pain for John. He clenched his jaw under a calm, attentive expression.
No time to be jealous or concerned, he was being briefed.
Lord Hood continued talking: "The mission was unraveling smoothly and recovering dozens of valuable research materials, from what I gather, except that a little over ninety-one hours ago, contact with the One Hundred and Twenty-second was lost, Osiris included. Eighteen hours ago, we received an encrypted transmission from Spartan Tanaka warning us. Something was dormant inside the planet's core, and Osiris released it by accident. The entity got hold of a Forerunner warship and entered a portal, it's heading our way."
John needed only a couple of seconds to process this information.
But he didn't hesitate: "You want me to handle it."
"The Mephistopheles will be ready at the estimated slipspace exit-point to engage with this ship, Master Chief. I want you riding it, ready to deploy. Whatever Commander Locke and his team awakened over there, it already caused the death of over a hundred million citizens in the Outer Colonies and the longer its influence spreads, the more the toll will escalate. We have disturbing reports of hordes of Forerunner soldiers called Promethean Knights and other unknown Forerunner lifeforms from the farthest corners of our colonized space. A wave of mass destruction is coming to us."
John frowned, completely focused: "What's in the incoming ship, then?"
"Spartan Tanaka designated it 'the Didact', we believe it's the deity the Followers of the Hand worshipped. We know it's extremely powerful, it's dangerous and it controls the Knights. Kill the Didact and you will end the Promethean scourge."
The Followers of the Hand had been disbanded a few years ago, when the Master Chief killed their leader, Jul 'Mdama. He had proclaimed himself 'Hand of the Didact', up to that point it didn't mean anything specific to the UNSC except another title ripped off Covenant culture. Now it made sense.
It was all connected.
"I'm going to need some weapons, sir." John nodded, sharply.
"You have the armory at your disposal. Good luck."
x.x.x.x.x
The bomb was configured and ready.
The enemy was weakened.
Innocent people were dying.
Even Commander Locke was in position, everything was set.
"THE SHIELD!" John shouted, to make himself heard above the roaring noises.
The Didact towered over him, menacing, furious; below the hardlight bridge they were standing on, a deadly device was working at full capacity, harvesting human life from the surface of Earth. The Composer was activated before they could do anything to prevent it. A thick orange beam shot through space, impacting on what looked like the southernmost part of the North American continent. Mission priority was to eliminate the alien lifeform and destroy the ship. To obliterate the Composer, if it couldn't be defused.
Even obliterate themselves with it. No way to escape a nuclear detonation that close.
Well, they were way past the point of disarming, it had to be destroyed.
The Master Chief was surprised to find Locke aboard the Forerunner ship, carrying the explosive core of a HAVOK mine. Something was broken with the Commander's armor. They couldn't link up properly, so they had to speak out loud.
Well, a second set of experienced hands and a bigger bomb was a welcome twist.
John shouted again: "USE THE SHIELD, COMMANDER! NOW!"
He held as much as he could, standing strong against the heavy fists of the Didact. The creature was massive, twice as tall as a Spartan, sentient, belligerent. It was intelligent, but it didn't listen to reason. It was hell-bent on wiping out Humanity from existence.
Locke said this device, the Composer, turned humans into Promethean Knights.
Under the Master Chief's boots, the hardlight bridge was flickering.
Time was running out.
Locke bounced the HAVOK's core off his shield and sent it flying to John. He caught it in mid-air, received the Didact's fist on the gut and flew back to the opposite end of the bridge, with the Forerunner trailing hot behind. It sensed something in John, something that made him furious. Whatever it was, his fixation with Spartan-117 would be his undoing.
Locke intervened, shooting at the Didact's back, shouting to get his attention.
Using the distraction in his favor, John slammed his palm on the bomb's detonator and leaped forward, tackling the Didact on the side with the force of a train. Fifteen seconds to go. They fell together off the bridge, straight into the depths of the Composer's core, but the Master Chief was faster and managed to break free from the Forerunner's hold, pushed the nuclear device onto its chest with a precise kick.
He used the last give of his thruster pack to shoot upwards, to reach safety.
John made it to grasp the edge of the bridge by a few millimeters…
…only to be yanked back by a massive claw that clung to his waist and scratched down the surface of his exo-suit. He found himself holding onto the bridge with three fingers, until two armored hands grabbed him by the wrist.
"GOTCHA!" Locke yowled, from above.
The Master Chief howled a curse when the Didact's claw, caught on the exo-suit above the hip, slid down, opening four parallel breaches in the circuitry layer. All kinds of alarms blared on John's HUD. The suit wasn't completely pierced through, yet. He attempted to kick its head, to force the massive alien to let go. The nuclear bomb was falling straight into the Composer's vortex, several kilometers under.
Seven seconds.
Commander Locke shot straight into the Didact's armored face, several times.
Five seconds.
Four.
Three…
The Didact's claws slipped down and scratched further, clinging now to a slit traced on the thighplate. John's heart froze when he saw the hidden compartment open up under the extreme force of the weight pulling down on it, when the contents spilled out and the hand of the creature got loose. The Didact howled in rage and panic.
Two.
The Didact was quickly swallowed by the energy beam, the bomb with it…
So did the extra ammo clips he held in that pocket, and a stained piece of yellow paper.
One.
Detonation.
The Mantle's Approach -such was the name of the Didact's starship-, shook entirely. Jameson Locke pulled the Master Chief up to relative safety and, upon seeing the massive wave of fire, debris, electromagnetic energy and plasma coming their way as the Composer blew up, he unclasped something off the magplate on his waist.
Holding John by the shoulder, Locke roared:
"CONSIDER US EVEN, NOW!"
The Commander slammed a small triangular device on John's chest.
The last thing the Master Chief would be consciously aware of, was a blinding flash of white light that wrapped around him, and immediately noticed that his armor had engaged lockdown protocol.
A couple of days would come to pass until the intense light vanished and he could see he was floating adrift in space, in a sea of Forerunner debris, immobilized inside his armor. Alive, which was a total win by now. The MJOLNIR Mark Eight was autonomous enough to repair small to medium grade technical issues and the breaches of his exo-suit had been fixed before the strange hardlight bubble that saved him from the explosion disappeared. The internal scanners picked up Jameson Locke in a similar situation, spinning slowly away a few kilometers from his coordinates. Alive, too.
They were rescued, at last, by a massive fleet and their beautiful flagship.
x.x.x.x.x
John stepped into the observation deck of the UNSC Infinity.
Captain Thomas Lasky was already there, he was having a hushed conversation with a battered Jameson Locke. The latter kept his helmet propped under his arm and looked down at the Captain's face, concerned; whatever they were discussing, it seemed far from being good news. After a few minutes both officers saluted, and the Spartan Commander headed out of the atrium.
He looked at John on his way out, walking by close enough to touch him if he wanted.
Although the Master Chief was completely suited and silent, standing still, he followed the other man with his eyes. Whatever Locke was thinking, it didn't reflect on his face or in his eyes. It was more like a feeling, when he brushed past John it was evident:
There were no words between them. Only a silent understanding.
'I'll be out of your way if you stay away from mine.'
Locke nodded once. John accepted his plea with a nod of his own.
They had worked together to bring an end to a major threat, saving each other's lives. It could be said that they were even, somehow, after that nightmarish run through SHIELD Base years ago. They would never see completely eye to eye -there would never be enough water under the bridge for John-, but this was where they would draw the line and go their separate ways. Both had the glory, and both would be considered heroes.
Only one of them was the better male, and Locke acknowledged it.
John wasn't a vindictive man, but he did like to assert his dominance somehow.
"Master Chief, welcome aboard."
The Spartan snapped and turned to face the Captain, quickly.
"Captain." John saluted.
"As you were. Looks like we're in one piece because of you." Lasky greeted him back, his smile was affable. The man was taller than average, his gentle brown eyes were full of a cheerful spark although he looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. "It wouldn't be the first time for me, you know."
"Sir?"
The Captain chuckled and turned to look through the massive viewports, observing the wide curve of the planet. John imitated him but remained alert.
"You probably don't remember… you saved my life, a long time ago. Circinius IV, we were under Covenant attack. You escorted my fireteam through the forest until we reached a safe extraction point."
The Master Chief tilted his head. "I do remember. You were a cadet."
Lasky's eyebrows rose, a little stunned.
"Well, we have come a long way." the Captain observed, smiling again. "There wasn't enough time, back then, and this opportunity is the best I'll get, I figure. So, I wanted to say thank you, Chief."
John looked down, now aiming his golden faceplate to Lasky's left hand. The gesture disoriented him at first. People usually offered their right hand for shaking, but the Spartan didn't hesitate to stretch his left arm and answer the salutation, engulfing Lasky's fingers in his much larger, armored fist. He noticed, almost by chance, a plain gold band on the man's fourth finger and a thin little braid knit out of colored strings tied around his wrist, with a tiny silver charm in the shape of an octopus.
The details captured his attention for a few seconds, until their hands broke apart.
"What's the situation down there?" the Spartan's voice sounded weary.
"New Phoenix was completely eliminated from the map. It's going to get messy."
"How many dead?" John had to ask, quietly.
"Preliminary reports say about seven million."
The Master Chief's shoulders dropped a little.
"The device should've been detonated earlier." he murmured.
For a long time they remained in silence, just looking outside.
The vastness of deep space had that uncanny quality to make all men equally small in its gaze, and John could feel it. They could've prevented that massive loss if only they had acted earlier, if they had moved faster, if they hadn't been so aware of their own mortality.
It was pointless to start thinking about the 'what ifs' at this point.
Seven million people had been composed. That was on Locke and him, now.
"Master Chief, I don't envy any of the decisions you two had to make back there." the Captain commented, clasping both hands behind his back. "I'm sure you made a lot of hard choices in your career and in your life too, and that you did the best you could every time. This was no exception. Your intervention prevented this from becoming a bigger massacre and brought a fellow Spartan back safe. You got out of it with your life."
"I am ready to lay my life down if I must, that's not a concern."
"Oh, I'm sure about that too. We all are ready." Lasky sighed. "But I suppose you have things to live for too, right? Also, like all of us."
John thought for a moment about Elizabeth and Sarah.
He clenched his fists, but the Captain didn't notice that.
"I'll leave the deck to you, Chief." Lasky stepped back, giving the proper salutations. "Official debriefing is at zero-six-hundred, make sure you get a bite and a bed before that, okay? Anything you need is at your disposition, it's an honor to have you here."
A little overwhelmed, the Spartan nodded. "Thank you, sir."
He was now alone on the massive observation deck, watched by the stars.
John pulled open the latches under his chin and took off the helmet, held it under his arm as it was natural for him. The air was fresh aboard the ship, scented with a touch of disinfectant. His eyes roamed the curve of the Earth and observed the small shapes of the defense platforms littered around it, far away in orbit, of the ships that transited, satellites, debris and other floating objects.
Lasky's words fused with Cortana's, in his mind.
He ended up hearing her voice in his memories again, after such a long time.
"She said that to me, once." he muttered. "About making my own choices."
x.x.x.x.x
OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE - SECTION-III SPECOPS DIVISION
SPARTAN-117 NOTICE OF TRANSFER
RECTIFICATION OF ORDERS AS PER PROTOCOL 00453-445-56B
Updated Destination: PLANET REACH, SWORD Base Research Complex
PROJECT MJOLNIR Mark IX
Estimated Duration of Engagement: Six months.
Category and Post: SPARTAN-II Team Leader. Blue Team unit.
Head of Project: Doctor Henry Glassman.
Facility Director: Doctor Catherine E. Halsey.
YOUR ORDERS:
You are to be transferred, effective immediately, to SWORD Base Complex on planet Reach to serve as test subject for prototype phase in PROJECT MJOLNIR Mark IX. You have been selected as a candidate due to your upgraded neural interface compatible with next generation bioelectronics. Your assigned transport is the UNSC Wayward Son to be docked at Cairo Station Defense Platform, Sol System.
Report to Commander Miles Vega on November 1st, 2562 at 0800 System Standard.
Expected arrival of transport: November 3rd, 2562 at 0645 System Standard.
Expected time of departure: November 4th, 2562 at 1315 System Standard.
x.x.x.x.x
CAIRO STATION – Sol System
NOVEMBER, 2562
A MONTH AFTER THE NEW PHOENIX INCIDENT
After a good long three and a half weeks of case revisions, interrogations, paperwork, evaluations, interviews with different UNSC divisions and even a failed attempt to elevate him to the rank of Commander -failed because he refused-, the Master Chief was finally dismissed from all attachments and sent back to his training post.
However, a few days before his scheduled return to Earth, the orders changed.
So, he was going to Reach, at last.
John felt an unusual warmth stirring inside, unsure about what to do with it.
He couldn't say he didn't think about Cortana in the past four years and eight months after he saw her for the last time. He couldn't deny that a part of him still hoped to meet her again, the good old spark always ignited at the mere possibility. But, would she be there, at SWORD Base? After the loss of her portrait, the texts saved in his pad and that shadowy picture of Sarah were all the things he had left from her.
Elizabeth, his precious mate, his delightful undoing.
Beautiful, smart, strong. Made just for him.
And their daughter. He figured Sarah would be all grown up by now.
His memory was sharp, but the shapes of their faces were getting… blurry.
He had turned fifty-one last March. John knew that physically wise, he was barely just grazing the forties. There was a bit of gray now on the sides of his head, several more scars on his skin and half a dozen more medals in his record. He still had at least fifty more years of field service ahead, and then maybe fifty more in training or administrative command duty until he could be retired officially…
If he was to be allowed to retire, that was. He had no idea how that part worked.
Never heard of a Spartan retiring. With the second being officially the first successful generation and all of them still young and strong, John figured it would still be a long time ahead for HR to figure out what kind of retirement a man like him could aspire to have. A growing concern were the possible health problems he could face as long-term effects of the augmentations; the Master Chief was smart enough to see that invasive procedures such as those would take a toll, eventually.
Some days, he wondered if it wouldn't be easier to die in battle.
Some others, he was certain that he wanted to die close to those he loved the most.
It was simpler to live a day at a time. Right now, he was being called back to Reach.
Back home, after such a long, long time.
TO BE CONTINUED
I know. I know, my precious Marines, I told you this episode was hard. But there's a big surprise coming in the next, join me to see how it went and if you have any theories you want to share, you know where to drop them. Many, many things happened in the past four years, so get ready for what's next. The reunion is about to begin!
Now, some salutations to the non-logged friends!
First of all, we had a new participant this week. It was quite the rollercoaster reading your reviews, THE GRAY MAGE. Stressing as fuck, won't lie. I'm still waiting to hear from you regarding cooler baby names apt for the mighty Daughter of the Demon, if you please. I'm kidding, thank you for stopping by, it really was a rollercoaster receiving your messages *hugs*
My friend FROG31791, next Sunday your patience will be rewarded, and I hope the comment at the beginning helps to clarify some things. Thank you for the support!
The GUEST who is in love with Sarah's frown… it's a trademark thing, I dare to say it runs in John's family :P thank you for being here!
My dear LIZZY OF DUNWICH, I have a very cinematographic kind of imagination, some things get explained better or addressed better than others, I guess :P thank you for the love, darling!
Miss or Mister B93, let's be honest here… we're all here for the promise of smut, even I was. Until it turned into something else. Hopefully, I'll keep seeing you around. Don't be a stranger, thanks for stopping by!
And last but not less important, beloved AJ, YES, THE ARBITER WAS PISSED! So much that he became a pain in the ass for ONI and they ultimately removed John from Sanghelios so they wouldn't have to deal with Thel again :P thanks for the visit!
Don't leave without sending your thoughts, my friends! Keep this fire alive, tell me what's in your head! Thanks for being here every Sunday! Last week we made it to 300 visitors again, I'm so thrilled! :3