AN: What's this? Another update, so soon after the last one? Well, see it as a late Christmas present. Thanks again for the overwhelming amount of reviews on the last chapter!

~0~

Aboard Normandy SR-2

"How? How are you alive? How did you survive the Ark, the Flood?"

Jane watched the Master Chief slam the man against the bulkhead with enough force to knock the wind out of a krogan. His voice, normally ever so calm, was now loud enough to startle her.

"Stop, stop!" Yelled the girl. She couldn't be much older than twenty. "Don't hurt him!"

But it didn't look like the Chief was hurting him. Even when being lifted in the air by a seven-foot super-soldier clad in powered armour, the black man simply smiled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "Hell Chief, we've got to stop meeting like this."

John leant in closer, until his visor hovered mere centimeters away from the man's face. He looked downright menacing.

And the man stayed cool. Jane took one look at his dark eyes and instantly knew that the man was rock solid. Utterly devoid of fear. Undoubtedly military, undoubtedly familiar with the Chief. She lowered her weapon and urged Samara to do the same.

"Come on now. Want me to say the words?" Continued the man. "You see this?" He patted his chest with his free hand. "This is one hundred percent grade-A – "

"Marine," John finished his sentence. He eased his stance and lowered his gun. "How are you alive?"

Hearing his tone, torn between relief and angry skepticism, made Jane's heart ache. The Spartans had given so much. Why was it so hard for them to even accept that they had friends?

She couldn't dwell on that. Didn't want to dwell on that. John wouldn't understand that. No, she had to focus at the more important details. How did Johnson die? Where had he come from? There were a thousand question she wanted to ask. What happened to this man, who had the ever-stoic Spartan so worked up? What was the Ark, what was the Flood?

And why, the name of everything that was holy, did Johnson suddenly reach into his pocket to fish out an oversized cigarette of all things?

For reasons even Jane could not name, she took an instant liking to this man, this impossible soldier who could call the Master freaking Chief his friend.

"I can give you the long-ass version, or the sweet, short version," grumbled the soldier, not even remotely bothered by the Spartan's death grip. "But first I gotta introduce the folks. It's alright Abbi, this here is the man."

Shepard looked over at the group of people in the airlock again. She ignored the sudden rush of adrenaline she saw when she looked at the batarian.

"Abigail, Jorg. Mirere over there answered the call." Johnson glanced over at Shepard and tipped his green hat to her. "Ma'am."

Shepard grasped her helmet and jerked it to the left to break the seal. She pulled it over her head to reveal to the others that she was, in fact, who she said she was.

John released his friend. "The long version. Commander?"

Shepard nodded. "I'm welcoming the four of you into my ship. Are there more of you?"

"Three more," said the asari, Mirere. "Two humans, one asari. They're…stable, but I'd rather not have them walk around anytime soon."

Stable. It sounded like Johnson got out of a hairy situation himself, too. Had to be a UNSC thing. "That's alright. Samara? Lead them back to the CIC. Alert EDI that we have visitors."

"Understood, Commander," the Justicar serenely replied. She took her helmet off as well, clipped it to the magnetic strip on her belt.

Johnson and the Chief, meanwhile, buried the animosity born of uncertainty for the moment. When they marched through the airlock towards the cockpit of the Normandy, it was like nothing ever happened.

"You gotta watch yourself Chief," said Johnson, audibly chewing on that cigarette-thing that wouldn't look out of place on an elcor. "There's humans out here in this galaxy who ain't with us."

"We know, Sergeant," Cortana's voice came from the Chief's speakers.

"Cortana?" Johnson said, surprised. "Glad to see you made it ma'am!"

"Right back at you. Though I must say, I'm especially curious to see how you made it…"

"Heh. Now that's a weird-ass story. It's straight-up space magic, I'm telling you. One moment I was on the Ark after Spark roasted my chest hair off, next thing I know, I'm waking up in a hospital bed."

Jane marched after the two, somewhat perturbed that they went straight to sharing their stories without a second thought. She shoved those thoughts away, however. John finally regained something he thought lost. And Johnson…well, it sounded like the went through hell and bounced right back.

She'd give the boys their moment.

"You look good for a man with roasted chest hair," commented Cortana, taking his comments in stride. It was obvious that even she had a history with this man.

"Yeah, the ladies behind us did a fair job patching me back together. What about you, Chief? You make it off the Installation okay? And where's Arbiter?"

Arbiter? Installation? More questions with no answers. Just what the hell had these two been up to?

Well, saving the galaxy, she supposed. John did say that Johnson died at the very end. Was that what happened? They saved the galaxy together? She had a feeling that it wasn't just the Covenant they fought.

"We presume that the Arbiter made it back to Earth with the Dawn's other half," replied Cortana.

"The other half of the derelict?" Samara quietly said. "Their story must be interesting."

"Oh, definitely," replied Jane. The group made it to the CIC, where most of the crewmembers were still working around the clock. Some of them turned and looked at their guests, but by now, they were pretty used to strangers walking around the ship. They were professionals and definitely wouldn't interfere.

"Welcome aboard the Normandy," Shepard said, raising her voice a bit to get the guys' attention. "Don't be surprised if the rest of the crew comes wandering by to spot you guys. The UNSC is starting to become a bit of a legend on this ship." She glanced at the Chief, then back at the Marine. "I'm guessing John's not going to introduce us. I'm Commander Shepard, CO of this ship. I don't believe I caught your full name."

She offered her hand and Johnson took it. His grip was surprisingly gentle. She remembered how, back when she was Anderson's XO, male soldiers would often squeeze her hand with all that they had in a cute but fruitless attempt to show off their bravado.

"Ma'am," he respectfully said. "Thank you for having us. It's been a hell of a trip."

"As for your name." The door opened and Miranda walked in, approaching the Sergeant with a casual gait that couldn't quite conceal her concern. "My guess would be that "Sergeant" and "Johnson" aren't your full credentials. Given your familiarity with a Spartan like the Master Chief, I'm rather curious."

"Ah, hello Miranda," Cortana casually replied.

Johnson's dark eyes coolly shifted to Miranda. It didn't seem possible, but his hard expression just grew a bit harder. "And my guess would be that you're the tooth-fairy in all of this!" He barked. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Sergeant Major A.J. Johnson! Former Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, non-commissioned officer of my beloved UNSC Marine Corps!"

"Hmm…you're from the UNSC as well," Lawson continued, tapping a speculative finger on a full lower lip. "We found the Master Chief adrift on a derelict. You, however, appeared out of nowhere."

"In all fairness, many of us have appeared in less than conventional means," said Shepard. "Sergeant Major, how do I put this…you have a humanity on one side of the galaxy, I have a mankind on the other side of the galaxy. Your first alien contact resulted in the Human-Covenant war, ours resulted in lasting good relations with a coalition of friendly aliens already functioning as a galactic community, all striving for peace."

Johnson blinked. "Alright."

Well, that was certainly easy. "Just like that?"

He shrugged. "I've been around."

"Considering the Master Chief's past exploits, it is not unlikely for the Sergeant Major to be surprised by our current circumstances," a feminine voice chimed in.

"And who are you?" Johnson asked, peering at the ship's intercom.

The blue orb that was EDI's avatar appeared behind him next to the galaxy map. "I am the Normandy's Artificial Intelligence," she said. "The crew refers to me as EDI."

"AI?" The Sergeant said, scowling. He reached out and poked EDI's avatar. "You okay with that, Cortana?"

Cortana projected herself next to EDI and mimicked his poking gesture. "Oh, we're besties, right EDI?"

"The difficult nature of our mission requires for an optimized cooperation between the Artificial Intelligences aboard this ship," EDI continued, unperturbed.

Shepard noticed that Johnson's concern for Cortana seemed much like the Chief's. Did he know about her sickness?

"Hmm. And you're…Alliance military?" Johnson asked of her.

He was a quick learner. The little medical team aboard that Cruiser must have brought him up to speed. "Yes and no," replied Jane. "The Master Chief joined us on a mission to protect our humanity against an alien species known as the Collectors, who're busy kidnapping our civilians by the thousands. Only, our own military wouldn't do much about it. It's a long story, but basically, I'm…" She hesitated to say AWOL. She doubted a solid military man like Johnson would appreciate that and she needed him to be on their side.

"Shepard was confirmed KIA two years ago. A human paramilitary organization managed to repair her body and make her fit for duty again," John calmly explained.

"Paramilitary?" Asked Johnson in a beautiful display of skewed priorities.

"Survivalist, terrorist, human-supremacist."

Miranda seemed to bristle at his choice of words. "Cerberus is not a terrorist organization, Master Chief!"

The Chief proceeded to give zero fucks. He looked at Miranda and said, "Cortana read the files. Including the ones you didn't want us to."

Johnson fiddled with the cigarette for a moment. He seemed to be aware that he was on a military vessel and couldn't officially smoke. At least, Shepard hoped that was his reasoning. "And you're taking the fight to those Collector bastards?" He quietly asked.

The elevator door opened, revealing Garrus and Thane. Johnson saw them almost as fast as Jane did and his hand immediately shot towards the pistol that was attached to his belt. He didn't pull though, for which Jane was thankful.

Garrus stared at the green-clad Marine, made a "hmmmnah" sound and quietly slid over towards the far left corner, developing a sudden interest in the corner leading to the armoury. Even Thane picked up on the latent hostility directed at their sudden appearance, as he nodded at Shepard, folded his hands behind his back and leant against the wall right of the elevator.

"They're part of my crew," explained Jane. "Most of them are alien. I know about your war with the Covenant, but I trust every single one of them with my life, and I assure you that you can do the same."

Johnson merely grunted in response, glaring daggers at Garrus.

That awkward moment when a turian was more suspicious to a human than a batarian…Jane had to struggle to keep her eyes off the flat-nosed, four-eyed bastard who stood in her CIC.

"We're working outside the chain of command here, Sergeant Major," explained Cortana. "The aliens we're fighting, the Collectors? They're working for a race called the Reapers. And those guys are bad news. Highly-advanced synthetic-organic starships with a fetish for destroying organic lifeforms. According to the data we've collected, they might even be as powerful as the Covenant was. Hopefully, they're not as numerous."

"The data Cortana is referring to is correct," chimed in EDI. "Unfortunately, nobody else seems to have interpreted that data correctly. The governing bodies of the Citadel species, including humanity, promote the idea that the Reapers do not exist."

It was hard to guess what sort of thoughts were going through his head as the two AI's explained the current situation to the Sergeant. His eyes occasionally flashed to Thane and Garrus, before settling back on the person speaking to him. Jane guessed maintaining a healthy dose of paranoia was a thing all soldiers shared.

"What we're up against…well, basically, it's a suicide mission," said Miranda.

"Suicide mission?" Growled Johnson. Got it. Count me in."

Jane cocked her head sideways, a little puzzled. Normally she had to elaborate a bit before someone agreed to throw themselves against suicidal odds. "You don't even know the details."

The Marine glanced at the Master Chief. "You in, Chief?"

John nodded.

There was a fire in the old soldier's eyes that Jane thought she could only see in some krogan. "Then I got your back. The way I see it, with the Covenant gone, another group of alien sissies wants to have a piece of mankind. Well, I'm not going to let them have it! What I will let 'em have is a belly full of lead and a pool of their own blood to drown in!" He inhaled, as if to add something else, then paused.

"Technically, the Collectors do not possess biological blood anymore," said EDI.

Johnson's dark eyes settled on the her holographic projection. "Then they haven't met Sergeant Major A.J. Johnson yet."

Jane didn't know whether she should laugh or just plain salute the man. She technically outranked him, especially since this was her ship, but her own training just screamed at her to go "sir yes sir!" in response to his words.

Instead, she looked at Miranda, who was staring gob-smacked at the Sergeant, and said, "Can we keep him?"

She swore that a ghost of a smile played over Johnson's lips. "Mirere brought me up to speed about this Citadel business. Basic politic bullshit. If you're with them, Chief, then so am I."

John nodded. "Thank you, Sergeant."

Both of them sounded so sincere, so simple and dedicated with their thoughts that Jane had to seriously fight the urge to reach out and embrace the Chief. Someone he once thought dead just came back from the dead and basically pledged his undying loyalty to him.

See Ashley, she thought, bitterness lacing her thoughts, that's how you do it.

"We are always in need of skilled personnel," said Miranda. She tapped in a few words into her datapad and added, 'Of course, you will be compensated fully for your time."

"I got a couple of things I need before kicking some ass," said Johnson. "Anyone knows where I can get some honest-to-god cigars out here? This alien crap doesn't work." He patted his pocket for emphasis.

Jane snickered. "We uh…did my translator catch that? We've got smoking things we call cigarettes. But cigars? I doubt it."

Johnson sighed. "Great. Never mind that. Chief? I'm happy to see you're making new friends. Mind telling me what the hell happened since we last met?"

"Actually, Sergeant, we would like to know what happened to you first, if you don't mind?" Said Cortana. "The last time we saw you, you uhm…had your chest hair roasted off. What happened then?"

The elevator doors opened again, delivering Kasumi and Mordin into the CIC. Jane shot them a warning gaze, silently telling them to be careful.

They understood her hint perfectly. The aliens had been treading carefully around the Chief the first couple of weeks. They'd do the same for Johnson.

The Sergeant's eyes glazed over for a moment as he recalled what happened. He grunted. "As the Ark was going to shit, I heard someone speak up. All sorts of self-righteous mumbo-jumbo. When I woke up, I was lying in a bed. Mirere and Abigail took care of me. Maybe they know."

The asari glanced over at the young girl, who nervously cast her eyes to the ground. "I…we found the Sergeant Major in the Prothean ruins back on Chalkhos. He was mortally wounded. We…uhm…"

"We nursed Avery back to moderate health," continued the asari, Mirere. "But we were suffering constant gang shakedowns and threats. Eventually, we ran out of money, and the next thing we know, a mercenary gang started purging our hospital. He woke up just in time and helped us get out of that place alive. With his help, we stole one of the mercenaries warships and we've been running ever since. Eventually, Avery read an article about you, Commander Shepard, and your mysterious armoured friend."

Friend. Jane smiled. "And the rest is history. I'm glad you managed to find us, Sergeant Major. Cortana and the Master Chief have been valuable allies ever since we found them onboard the drifting remains of the…Dawn, I believe you said?"

"That's right ma'am," replied Johnson. "That ship's got a hell of a history. Hell of an armoury, too. Chief…?"

"The Commander recovered everything that was physically capable of being recovered," replied the Chief.

A sullen expression crossed the Sergeant's face. The memory of that ship didn't seem like a pleasant one, despite its "hell of a history".

"Well, that's good to know. I've been dying to get my hands on some good old-fashioned UNSC gear," said Johnson. "So Chief! What do you reckon' the Commander is allowed to know?"

"Not much, judging by what we do know," said Miranda. "If there's one thing the Master Chief loves, it's keeping secrets. It took us more than a month before learning he even had a name."

At that, Johnson chuckled. "That's got us all written over it. Lemme put it this way, tooth-fairy. The only reason the galaxy you know and I presume love doesn't have a giant fuck-shaped hole in it, is because of the actions of that man and that woman. He's deserved the right to be a bit secretive."

"Believe me Miranda, you and this crew knows more about the Master Chief and our war than many a UNSC soldier does," said Cortana. She crossed her arms and glanced at the Cerberus operative with amusement. "But to make sure we're all on the same wavelength? Commander Shepard knows about the purpose of the SPARTAN program and the specifics of the Human-Covenant war. To make a very awkward explanation less awkward, let's just say that the last fight of the war saw a very, very complicated fight. As we left the battlefield through a Forerunner portal, it collapsed. One of our friends ended up back on our Earth, while the Chief and I ended up drifting in space."

"Which explains how we got the Master Chief and how you ended up in the care of Mirere and Abigail," concluded Jane. "Now, the tension in the air couldn't be thicker if it were sexual frustration instead of secrets. Let me assure you, Sergeant Major, that the Master Chief and Cortana have been part of our crew for a long time. I'm well aware that there some secrets that shouldn't see the light of day.

Johnson nodded. "Good. That's good." He ran his eyes across the assorted crewmembers without a hint of fear or uncertainty. It seemed that when this man walked into a room, he owned that room. "I can't expect you two to follow me into this, Mirere, Abigail."

"Not really, no," said the asari. She crossed her arms and sighed. "I know trying to keep a soldier from heading to the battlefield is a shameful, if not impossible thing to do. But we can't – won't follow you there, Sergeant, Commander. And we don't have anywhere to go."

Shepard thought about that. The Cruiser they got was large enough to comfortably house several hundred people. With enough supplies, they could comfortably live in it for a few months. After that, they could safely return to asari space.

She had to be brutally honest here. "Our mission is too important. We have to plan our next move and fast. Sergeant Major…you can either go with them, or with us. But I don't know how to make both possible."

At that, Johnson turned to the batarian. "You keep them safe, Jorg. Hear me? Remember what I taught you and have them stay out of trouble. I won't leave this man behind again."

The batarian merely nodded and Johnson clasped his shoulder. "Good man. Mirere, Abigail, the moment we're finished strangling those Collector bastard with their own living guts, we'll come back and get you a new home!"

Mirere smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You better keep that promise, Avery. We didn't bust the blue off our asses to keep you alive, only for you to die anyway."

"Don't worry about it ma'am. We'll be good."

The asari pinched the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration. "We can probably hold our another couple of weeks."

"Oh, this won't take a couple of weeks anymore," replied Shepard. "I appreciate that you're letting him go."

"I heard about your mission against the Collectors, Commander. I hope you know what you're doing."

"We've been around," Cortana cheerfully said. "If that was all? There's a couple of things we need to plan ahead for."

"You head back to the Cruiser. You as well, Abigail," said Johnson. "Don't worry about a thing. We got this."

Jane gestured with her head towards Kasumi, who snapped to attention and moved to the two guests to escort them back to their own ship.

The Master Chief, meanwhile, marched towards the armoury. "When you're ready Sergeant, we've got some weapons to show you."

"Be right there Chief!" Called Johnson.

As the rest of her crew started returning to their duties, Shepard couldn't help but wonder if she did the right thing here. She now had two soldiers from the UNSC helping her, doubling the risk of a security breach. The Normandy was now filled to the brim with dangerous people and technology who couldn't be entrusted with any government. William Everheart, John, Avery Johnson, Cortana, hell even the Covenant weapons were too dangerous to be entrusted to the governments of the Citadel races. Even though Cortana had claimed that reverse-engineering Covenant technology without several million samples was next to impossible, she didn't want to think what would happen if the wrong nation started mass-producing plasma weapons.

And now, there were more secret words that she couldn't simply ask about. The Ark, the Flood, "Spark", roasted chest hair, it was all a bit much to just store away.

"You know his name."

The remark snapped her from her thoughts. She looked up and saw Sergeant Johnson still leaning against the side of the elevator. He slowly walked towards her, slipping his smoldering cigarette back into one of his many pockets.

"I do," replied Jane. "He dislikes people knowing his name."

Johnson huffed. "Dislike nothing. There are fewer people out there who know his name than people who saw his face." The man crossed his arms and sized her up. "Outside of the brass who has a fetish for data, there's only a handful of people who know his name." He reached into his pocket again, fished the stub of the cigarette out and regarded it with a thoughtful expression for a second. "You see, knowing a Spartan's name means you're part of them. Part of their family. When the going gets tough, he'll depend on you to back him up when he needs it."

Shepard thought about that. When he put it like that, she was a bit ashamed of how she learned his name. He never truly shared it with her, but she found it out when he got hurt. When he couldn't guard his secret himself.

"Do you know?" She asked, gesturing at the direction the Chief left with her head.

Johnson nodded. "Greatest honour of my life."

She appreciated that. "I haven't known him as long as you have, but he's precious to me. He's given everything he had to keep this team safe, even before they started accepting him for who he is."

"And what about you?"

"I think…" Jane carefully tested the words on her tongue, "That he needs someone to see him as more than just a Spartan, or a soldier. I feel like he is close to his mental limits, and that he needs someone to be there for him when things fall apart."

"Hmm…didn't figure the Chief as the kind of guy who knows when he needs that," replied Johnson. "Then again, we didn't generally talk about that sort stuff."

"What did you talk about?"

Johnson shrugged. "The usual. Kissing squids, saving Earth, dating other Spartans."

"Wait…what was that one?"

"Saving Earth? Heh, that's a long story."

"No, I meant…"

Johnson burst into a gruff laugh. "I know what you feel. He's always been like that. Quiet at times a soldier shouldn't be quiet. Hell, he's always needed someone to ease him up. Having another soldier around who knows how he ticks, should be useful."

Hearing that came as a relief. Johnson had seen it as well. He knew that the Chief wasn't like the other soldiers. Did he know about his past? Did he know what John was?

Hell, would he even care?

"I think you'll fit right in, Sergeant Major," Jane eventually settled for saying. "If you head towards the armoury, you'll see what we've got cooked up for the coming fight."

"Please," said the Sergeant. He smiled, though it looked a bit too much like he was baring his teeth. It almost looked like he was angry. But, unlike his asari friend, his smile did reach his eyes. "Call me Johnson."

~0~

Hourglass Nebula / Sowilo System /

Onboard unidentified warship

Faster Than Light travel was always a strange thing to think about. Humanity barely understood how Slipspace worked. It was obvious that, wherever he was, the alien lifeforms mastered a completely different manner of traversing the stars.

Spartan Operator 003 watched the storm rage outside the tiny shuttle through the windows of the pilotless cockpit. The hijacked warship had reached their new destination in just under a day. Maybe it was because of the modifications that his…overseer had made. He hoped that it was the modifications she made, because he didn't want to think about humanity having to fight yet another alien collective with superior tech.

He checked out the alien rifle for the third time, thinking about the coming mission. This…Shadow Broker had concealed himself well. Hidden within the storm, where the sunset and the sunrise met. The massive vessel rode the lightning, unburdened by the howling winds and cracking thunder.

But the Forerunner AI wanted him dead, so there weren't enough stars for him to hide. Whoever he was, whatever he did, he was about to have a very bad day.

Alan was certain that his MJOLNIR would keep him safe in this inclement weather while he searched for the Broker, but he wasn't sure about the shuttle. It was struggling mightily against the storm.

I would not worry about the lightning storm. Your life expectancy is already measured in minutes; I am surprised you have not been shot out of the air already.

He ignored her comment and waited until the shuttle set down. The constant strikes of lightning were jarring, even through his suit. Every arc that struck the ship's towers was followed by a deafening boom that would have ruptured the eardrums of anyone unlucky enough to be standing nearby. As the shuttle touched down and the doors opened, the Spartan was very aware of the silence within his helmet. Sound was now completely void, save for his own heavy breaths as he hastily scanned the detailed outline of the ship for enemies.

Alan hated zero-G operations. He had completed countless missions in zero gravity, many of them for the sake of his oblivious brothers and sisters. He had sabotaged space stations, boarded ships, assassinated VIP's and erased valuable data all without even taking the Covenant into regard. Not everybody within ONI was satisfied with the Spartan Operator project after all. They probably thought that filling your ranks with a group of traumatized war orphans wasn't the best strategic decision ever. There were many high-ranking officials who would rather see Alan and the other "fake" Spartans disappear. Thus far, he had always made sure that the opposition disappeared first.

But this time, he wasn't fighting for his own people. He was fighting for a malicious entity with powers beyond his understanding. It was ironic how the sound of her condescending voice was a small comfort in this hellish environment.

The outside of the vessel was clear. The Spartan did spot a couple of floating, red orbs, much like the drones employed by the various alien combatants he fought in this part of the galaxy. Evading them was easy, and the Spartan started navigating the hazardous outside of the ship. He grabbed a handrail and pulled himself up, advancing towards a higher point of the ship.

Up ahead he saw two massive capacitors, gigantic rods that reached high into the air, serving to attract the lightning and prevent it from frying the ship's hull.

Intriguing. The design of this vessel does not match the rest of this galaxy's organics. The RF emissions and particle backscatter suggest it a higher power helped design it. Continue onwards, bastard warrior.

Within the isolated, cold embrace of the atmosphere surrounding the ship, Alan was almost grateful to hear someone else talk. Most of his missions were performed in complete and utter isolation; contact with other living beings wasn't something a Spartan Operator could take for granted. "What higher power are you searching for?" He asked.

As before, she replied with unrestrained frustration at his remark.

You seem to be unaware that you have yet to even touch the tip of this subverted iceberg. There is an assemblage at work that does not belong in my galaxy. You will continue to observe.

He couldn't argue with that. He raised the alien rifle he took with him from the hijacked warship and moved on. He saw that those red drones were removing debris from the surface of the ship with whatever tools they were equipped with. They steered clear of the capacitors however, which meant that those couldn't be safe to traverse.

Speaking of traversing, there was no cover for the next part of the ship. The Spartan had to make his way towards the capacitors out in the open, which meant that the drones immediately spotted him. They surged towards him with an almost aggressive movement, but single shots from his rifle served to put them out of commission.

Just as Alan finished dispatching the drones, he spotted movement at the far end of the ship. He zoomed in on the section of the ship beyond the capacitors and saw hostiles moving towards his direction.

Of course. Complaints from maintenance.

Alan cocked his head, judging the distance between himself, the enormous lightning rods and the targets. There was a brief interval between each impact. He could take advantage of that and move up without getting bogged down, but he had to move now.

He broke into a flat sprint and covered the two dozen meters in a few seconds. Bullets whizzed by his head and he passed by the capacitors just as another bolt of lightning struck them. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced often; a massive flash of light that caused his visor to polarize, but completely devoid of sound. Through the dim filters of his visor, he saw the enemy soldiers move up to intercept him. They were unaware of his position and he enjoyed that advantage to the fullest.

He picked off the enemy soldiers with a combination of precision gunfire, close quarters combat and one particularly nasty move that involved the appliance of two enemy combatants directly to the capacitors.

The electric currents charred their armour and created large, smoking holes and burning wounds. They were dead before their smoldering corpses hit the ground.

Whatever mechanism created their shields didn't seem to protect them against electricity. Probably only activated when objects had a certain speed to them. Handy, yet very limited.

He needed to find a way inside. Those soldiers looked surprise to see him; they had to be used to patrolling the deck. Not the safest job around, he supposed. At least the view was nice.

The vessel's databanks are surprisingly well-guarded…and delicate. Accessing them requires a closer proximity, lest I burn out every single electronic device on this vessel. There will be a door up ahead, to your right. This data is…excellent. I would be disappointed if its collection were to end.

In other words, he mustn't dare to die without giving the Forerunner what she wanted. Though he still saw her as the enemy, there was something disturbing about her words. What did she mean with assembly? She suggested that there was a species out there more advanced than the others, which didn't belong here. And they weren't Forerunners, either.

He didn't know who she was hunting, but he pitied the poor bastard. This ship was so well-hidden that even Parangosky would be proud and this…Millennia found it within seconds of getting her burning hands on a console. How far did you have to run to escape her gaze?

The lower platform saw more of those weird, humanoid mechs. They were slow and frail, however, and the Spartan wasted no time in throwing them over the edge of the ship. He spotted a pair of what looked like superconductors, taking all those gigawatts and doing something useful with them.

Alan was sorely tempted to sabotage them, but decided against it. He didn't want to ride this ship to the planet's surface. He might survive the crash, but he doubted Millennia would appreciate that. She seemed desperate for information and if there was one thing he learned over the years, it was that desperation made for dangerous foes.

Despite the wealth of advanced technology, the ship was still shaking from the force the winds were exerting on it. Alan guessed that shock absorbers and inertia dampeners could only go so far.

He found the entrance that the Forerunner told him about. The exit hatch was locked, however.

"I spotted the entrance," the Spartan carefully said, kneeling down in front of the hatch. "It's locked."

He could practically taste Millennia's disdain when she replied.

So it is. Let not the metal door block your progress, bastard warrior. If you were to stop your data collection now, I would be quite upset.

Alan didn't want to imagine what that would lead to. The door opened half a second after she started speaking and he wasted no time getting inside. He expected little resistance inside of the ship; the technology that prevented the ship from violently exploding was fragile. If these soldiers had any brains at all, they'd avoid shooting their boss' fancy equipment.

The far wall was lined with moving panels. They slid upwards towards the ceiling, then down again, sequentially. It was an interesting effect to watch. It was neither UNSC nor Covenant technology, which was reflected even in its aesthetics.

Let me brief you on something. You and your entire species are but a speck in this galaxy's history. Knowledge of what truly transpired eons ago would destroy your sanity. My people fought crystallized nightmares, insanity itself, and prevailed. They imposed an order on this reality. Now, it seems someone is damaging that order. Repurposed carcass or not, you are now in the unique position to do something your species never managed to do throughout its entire, worthless history. Something good. Lead. Me. To my prey.

Alan sensed that her hatred went beyond just him and the UNSC. She spoke like mankind was an ancient enemy, like the Forerunners had some sort of…feud…with his people. It wasn't possible. Didn't she know what her people died long before humanity could reach the stars?

The interior of the room eventually led to the exterior, much to his annoyance. He encountered some hostiles on the way out, but those "engagements" lasted mere seconds. Their surprise at seeing him, combined with a lack of proper cohesion, made them extremely easy to dispatch of.

As the Spartan dropped the corpse of the last soldier, he wondered if anyone ever reached this Shadow Broker before. He read some of the files on his – her? – its activity. They were a spider at the very center of a web of information and secrets. They stole classified government information and sold that to the highest bidder. A dangerous opponent that needed to die regardless of the artificial goddess' will.

Eventually, he found another hatch. Hoping that it would lead him to the inside of the ship proper, the Spartan waited until Millennia unlocked it and then crawled inside. He made sure that the hatch was sealed behind him.

He knew that he was in the right place, because he could hear the storm raging outside of the ship. The winds tore at the hull, slamming into the vessel with so much force that the Spartan was starting to wonder what manner of technology could keep it stabilized. Maybe Millennia was right; this didn't look like technology that belonged here.

The presence of humans was equally confusing. Several of the soldiers onboard this ship were undoubtedly human. What UNSC soldier would join with an alien to fight against other humans? It didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense.

For now, following Millennia's instructions seemed like the best option.

His motion tracker showed activity up ahead. Sure enough, the Shadow Broker's mercenary force appeared at the far end, guns blazing.

One of the bastards carried what looked like a missile launcher.

Alan stared at the soldier. "Son of a –"

The missile streaked through the hallway and the Spartan was forced to duck for cover. The explosive detonated behind him, blowing a large hole into the hatch behind him and pelting him with a rain of shrapnel. The explosion immediately caused a blowout of sorts, allowing the merciless winds to tear at the soldiers inside.

Alan merely shrugged off the explosive shockwaves and returned fire. The enemy fire lessened with every head he popped, until there were only two left. They turned their tails and tried to pull back. He advanced on their position, shooting them in the backs as they tried to retreat.

It does appear we are not the only ones troubling this Shadow Broker. A prisoner is kept in the belly of this beast. Find him, and learn what he has learned.

Underneath his helmet, Alan frowned. A prisoner? What species? How long had he been here? "And how am I supposed to speak to him? I don't speak alien."

Outside of combat, you are truly hopeless. I updated the archaic translation software in your Combat Skin. Find that primitive creature and learn what you can!

The Spartan continued through the corridor, encountering no further resistance. But the motion tracker didn't lie; he was still in hostile central. He rounded the corner and encountered a couple of men guarding a cell of some sorts. He slotted the both of them and then approached the cell. The "door" consisted out of a giant, blackened window, As he approached it, the glass lightened, until it was fully transparent.

Alan-003 was no stranger to torture. He had seen it. He had done it. At one point, he even endured it. When he saw the green-skinned alien strapped to the chair, he knew that taking down the Shadow Broker was something absolutely needed to be done.

The poor bastard had abrasions beneath the shackles on his wrists, which meant he had been bound here for a very long time. A device had been strapped to his head, charring his skin beneath its conductive pads.

The reptilian alien breathed heavily. His eyes seemed to struggle to focus on the window.

At this very moment, Alan didn't think about the Covenant raining down plasma on his homeworld while he watched from the evacuation ship. He saw an innocent victim tortured by an organization making money by ruining lives.

He scowled. He pulled back a fist and slammed it against the window. It shook in its frame, but didn't break.

The machine hummed to life and the alien convulsed, screaming as electricity coursed through his body.

Alan immediately took a step back. He should have seen that coming.

"Who…are you…?" The alien labored to say after a few moments.

"An ally," Alan gently replied. "How do I get you out of there?"

"Ally…a-are you really here to…to help me?"

The Spartan scooped up one of the dead soldiers and lifted it in front of the window, waving it back and forth to leak some of its brain matter through her perforated helmet and onto the floor.

Grunting, the alien lowered his head again. "The equipment…is sensitive to tampering. Try to pull me out…and it fries my brain." He took a few heavy breaths and added, "Shut off the power. Pull me out, before this thing kills me…"

"How do I do that?"

"Central Operations."

Central Operations…that sounded exactly like the sort of place he would be heading regardless of the prisoner. It had to be the place where his…benefactor could find whatever she was searching for.

"Millennia?" Alan quietly asked. "Can you get him out?"

What in the hells do you think you are doing? You are here for one reason! Find me the creature's terminals before its true security detail arrives!

"True security detail?"

An image appeared within his HUD. Two alien ships were rapidly approaching the Shadow Broker's ship. Each one seemed large enough to hold a whole contingent of aliens.

Alan sighed. Great. "Where do I find the Central Operations?"

The alien struggled to raise his head. "Down the hall…the Broker…will be waiting…please…be careful."

"Don't worry," replied the Spartan. "I'll be right back." He hesitated for a moment, then said, "The moment the power goes out, get out of here. Find an escape pod, or run for the parked shuttle at the far end of the ship, that direction." He pointed at the direction he came, then shouldered his rifle. "Good luck."

Leaving the tortured alien behind, he double-timed it down the hall, where another locked door barred his way. Millennia had it opened in a jiffy and the Spartan barged inside, his rifle raised.

The room ahead was dark, easily dark enough to render most combatants blind, but the Spartan saw everything. He checked the corners for more contacts and found that the single contact in the middle of the room truly was alone.

A massive figure sat hunched behind a desk in the room's center. The only light came from a globe directly over his head, which glowed with some sort of phosphorescent fluid. It bathed the creature's desk with a soft, white light.

"You I did not expect," the alien spoke with a deep, rich voice. It echoed in the room. "Reckless, even for the Master Chief. I assume the Normandy is still running on stealth?"

Alan's mind raced to process the tactical situation. The alien knew the Master Chief, but didn't know that he had the wrong Spartan before him. It also sounded much too calm for its current situation. It had an ace up its sleeve, probably several.

"How do you know that name?" Asked the Spartan.

Before the alien could reply, Millennia manifested her avatar to the far left of the room. Her burning, ethereal frame paused in front of one of the consoles. The fire that wreathed her body seemed to dim and the Spartan felt the sudden hint of…distress?

I did not expect this. I recognize the data kept in this ship. It is imperative that you shut this place down as fast as inhumanly possible. Do some damage. NOW.

Alan didn't need to be told twice. He rushed towards the huge alien, intent on burning the truth out of him. The alien saw him coming and leapt to his feet with a roar that shook the room. The dim light illuminated it fully.

The Shadow Broker was the size of a Hunter, easily eight feet tall. It slammed its arms against its heavy desk and split it in two, sending shards of metal flying through the room.

Alan transferred his weight to his front leg and ducked low to avoid the two halves of the desk, which kept going and slammed into the wall behind him. He shoved off the floor and launched himself towards the alien, intent on breaking all four of its limbs to get it talking.

The alien roared again, leaning towards the Spartan a moment before collision. The impact sent the creature staggering backwards.

Alan immediately launched a flurry of straight jabs at the hulking creature's chest, intent on shattering its ribs and pulping its organs. Surprisingly enough, they held, and the creature retaliated with a mighty swing of its titanic arm.

Too slow!

The Spartan easily dodged it sluggish strike and stepped towards the alien's dead zone. It truly was an abomination; it had four eyes at the sides of its head and a strange, three-pronged mouth, extending from the center of its face. Its skin was a unhealthy shade of white and red, yet still sturdy enough to remain intact underneath a Spartan-thrown punch.

Again the alien swung at him and this time, Alan leapt back, before grabbing the thick limb, whirling behind the creature and slamming his open palm against its joint.

The alien howled with pain, but the limb held, which should have been impossible. Alan had broken Elites and Brutes with such strikes before; this creature had bones as tough as that of a Spartan!

"You are not the only one with an augmented body, Master Chief," growled the Broker. "I know all your secrets. You stumble in the dark!"

To their left, Millennia finished plundering the Shadow Broker's network. She crossed her arms and het avatar vanished. Moments later, her voice, shaking with rage, echoed through the Spartan's mind.

This might be the wrong time to educate my barely tamed laboratory rat, but listen to me! The data on this wretched creature's primitive computer does not fit with this sickly, euphemistic galactic community. Instead, it contains eschatological secrets, ancient even by my reckoning. Let me see what your crude teeth and claws can do to this cage! Got that?

The Spartan definitely did. Even as the Shadow Broker lunged for him with its gigantic fists, he sidestepped and delivered a crushing kick to the back of its knee, causing the Broker to stumble and fall to his knees. The alien reached for the shattered remains of his desk and tried to pull out a weapon there, but the Spartan leapt over its body and slammed his boot against the creature's fingers, before kicking the rifle away. Then, he kicked the Broker straight in the maw, shattering its teeth and ruining two of its eyes.

Howling with pain and uncontained rage, the Broker climbed back its feet. Suddenly, some sort of field wrapped around its body, completely enveloping it. Alan drew one of the alien sidearms and tried shooting it, but the shield easily held.

Though the beast was basically trembling with hate, it didn't move.

Or rather, it couldn't move.

Having bought himself some time, the Spartan did what his people did best. He took the grenades he pillaged from the fallen soldiers and the aliens back on the other ship and set them off at various locations in the room, while Millennia provided him with the locations of the most vulnerable sections around.

The consoles started exploding one at a time. They erupted into plumes of smoke and flames. An alarm went off almost immediately, filling the room with a shrill whine.

A massive fist pressed against the side of its face, the alien frantically looked back and forth between the exploding consoles. "What are you doing?" It exclaimed. "Stop! You are dooming both of us!"

Secondary explosions went off all around them now. Even in the distance, Alan could hear the ship slowly breaking apart. It seemed he wasn't the only one who committed himself to "doing some damage".

That was when the ship dangerously tilted. Alan nearly stumbled as the ship lurched sharply to the right and didn't recover. A funny feeling settled within his stomach and he looked around, spotting the door behind him locking again.

I have a confession to make. All this time, I have been allowing you to dig your own grave. The systems you destroyed allowed me to deactivate this vessel's safeguards. In a few moments it shall plummet to the surface of this world. The impact will render the hateful information, as well as yourself, to ashes.

Collateral damage. Friendly fire. Allusions for a dying age. Make peace with whatever you hold dear.

Perhaps the Shadow Broker knew what was going on. It raged inside of its protective bubble, not daring to come out. The Spartan couldn't blame it; he could feel the vessel rapidly approaching the ground now.

Alan felt his regrets seize his heart. He couldn't die here! There was too much he needed to do!

He glanced at the Shadow Broker. Above all , he couldn't allow that thing to escape. There was no telling what damage to the UNSC that thing could do. If he were to die here, then he would this entire network with him.

Kinetic barriers only protected against fast-moving projectiles. It wouldn't protect the Broker against him.

The Spartan rushed towards the massive alien, who brought up its hands to protect itself.

Desperate, and far too little to stop him. Alan slammed into the Shadow Broker with enough force to throw him out of that shimmering field. Together, the two rolled over the ground even as another tremor ran through the ship.

I hope they remember you.

Alan grabbed a hold of the alien's throat, an instance before the entire ship crashed into the bare surface of the scorching world below and everything went black.

Alan could feel his body being flung through something solid. His shields flared in protest. A series of rapid impacts rattled his body. Seconds later, he slammed a bone-crunching halt.

Alan coughed and wheezed, fighting for every breathe of air. He was vaguely aware of someone talking to him, but he couldn't make out anything except for a black haze, which was slowly fading away as he struggled to remain conscious.

Now he could add a high-speed crash to his shit-I-survived list…

The Spartan slowly rolled onto his hands and feet, struggling to remain conscious. He hurt, badly. It felt like his organs had been smashed against his nigh-unbreakable bones. He slowly looked up, and was surprised to see sunlight beaming down on him.

He made it to the surface of the planet alright. The Shadow Broker's secret ship would never fly again. It had crashed nose-first into the planet and its massive frame had been ruptured along its side. The cavernous central operations room, built to overlook the entire ship, had been obliterated by the sudden impact.

Text logs ran down his HUD. His MJOLNIR was trying to reboot itself.

He heard a voice speak to him, again. Feminine, condescending…and a bit disappointed.

I know you are breathing, bastard warrior.

Alan slowly crawled back to his feet. Blood leaked from between his lips. He was certain that the impact ruptured something that should not be ruptured.

Normally I would say you encountered a merciful deity on one of her off days, but we both know better. I am sending those alien warships to their untimely demise to ensure this data remains lost forever. If you can make it to safety before then, I might just come pick you up.

The Spartan coughed. Blood splattered against his visor. A chill ran down his spine and he felt his stomach painfully clench. He whirled around, watching as a large plate of metal was casually brushed aside by a very-alive Shadow Broker.

Alan grimaced. So it would be this way in the end.

The alien rose to its feet, brushing dust and small pieces of debris off his exposed body. Its suit had been burned off during the crash, revealing the most extensive and sophisticated augmentations the Spartan had seen in his life. The subtlety of the machinery…the way the alien's suit perfectly hid the result of an invasive surgery the likes would have killed a lesser being ten times over…

"What did this to you?" Demanded Alan, dropping into a combat stance.

The alien huffed, then clenched its fists. "Where is Commander Shepard? That fall should have killed you."

Keep talking, freak, thought Alan.

Get a damned move on! I can and will vaporize you and that beast with before letting someone discover this information! Do not be there when the vessels crash!

She was right. Above them, a pair of alien warships was coming in hot. In a few minutes, they'd annihilate anything that survived the crash.

But the Broker didn't seem to care. It charged the Spartan again, who as forced to sidestep the blow and immediately retaliated with his free hand, throwing three punches at the beast's exposed side. Before he could continue, the creature lashed out with its elbow, forcing him to disengage.

Alan felt his adrenaline spike and time seemed to slow down. He scanned the creature for weaknesses. He saw the bad leg, the damaged joint, the two ruined eyes as well as a gnarly wound on the right of its chest.

The alien seemed unaware of its limitations. It reached for a piece of warped metal and tore it from its frame, wielding it like an impromptu spear.

Alan didn't wait for it to strike first. He jumped and kicked at the alien's head, then ducked low to avoid its spear-attack, whirled around and struck it at the back of his head. The Broker tried to force him back with a spinning movement of the metal bar, but Alan intercepted him and delivered a punishing strike between its legs. Then, he pinned the alien's arm behind its back and slammed it against the metal underneath their feet, leaving another sizable dent. He tore the improvised spear from the Broker's grasp and drove it through its midsection, pinning it to the floor.

The alien roared, showering itself with spittle and blood. It flailed with its bleeding arms, then gripped the metal bar with both hands.

It seemed to be far from finished.

Alan kicked the alien's fists away and stomped it against the ground. "Where did you learn what Master Chief meant!" He shouted.

For once, let your fight-and-flight instinct allow something other than a pointless last stand. Unless you prefer the stench of burning flesh, in which case, do remain where you are.

The alien coughed and grinned, displaying its bloodied maw. "You lose, Spartan. Tell Shepard…that stopping the Reapers will only reincarnate the dead!"

It was now or never. The alien obviously wouldn't talk. It obviously wouldn't live past the coming few seconds. Neither would he, if he didn't get a move on.

Spartan Operator 003 turned on the spot and ran. He could feel his muscles scream in protest and his abdomen nearly tear, but that didn't stop him from crossing half a kilometre in twenty seconds flat.

The great warrior Sisyphus escaped from Tartarus – so from amongst this bloodshed I have procured for you an escape. If you survive long enough, that is. Who knows?

The shuttle swept down from above, with two burning warships in hot pursuit. A navigation marker appeared within Alan's HUD. He tried to pick up the pace, felt something tear within himself and winced when a new wave of pain crashed into him. He banished the pain from his mind, did his best to focus on his movement, and continued sprinting towards the shuttle.

The Spartan skidded to a halt when the door to the shuttle opened and he slammed into the opposite wall. The shuttle took off faster than seemed possible for such a small, fragile craft, moments before the sky turned white. An enormous roar shook the planet to its core and the Spartan nearly fell to the floor when the shuttle shook.

Alan slumped down against the wall and groaned. If he survived the coming hours, he would have a serious talk with the artificial deity.

"Goddess of the ocean," someone gasped.

Alan looked up and saw the reptilian alien sitting in the shuttle, strapped in tight. He looked like shit, but somehow, he felt grateful that the alien made it. Nothing was worse than a victim dying shortly after having been freed from multiple sessions of torture.

I prefer goddess of light, but as long as this primitive shows the due respect, I can tolerate its worthless presence. You, however, my bastard warrior, I think I will keep regardless of your heritage.

With that, Millennia Never Falling temporarily withdrew from his Neural Interface. She left enough behind to pilot the shuttle back to the hijacked warship, however.

"You just boarded and cleared the entirety of the Shadow Broker's ship on your own!" Continued the alien. "And you survived crashing it into the surface of a burning world – what are you?"

The Spartan couldn't muster a proper response. "What's your name?" He croaked.

"Feron," said the alien. The ship lurched and he winced, clutching his ribs. "How…how? Are you…Amonkira?"

"I'm…call me number three," replied a thoroughly exhausted Spartan. His vision was starting to waver. Now that the chemicals were leaving his system, he was starting to feel the pain again.

"A number? Your name is a number?" Feron shook his head, probably deciding that it wasn't polite to insult someone's name. "You got me out of there alive. Are you…do you know a Liara T'soni?"

Alan mumbled a response, realized that the alien hadn't heard him and scraped his throat. It was slick with blood. "No," he rasped.

His vision was starting to waver. He felt his body slowly slump to the ground, now bereft of the strength to keep upright.

"Hey, hey hey! Stay with me!" Cried out Feron, sensing that the Spartan was close to slipping away. "Do you have a ship? Where can I find the medical supplies on that ship? I think you need aid!"

The Spartan blinked. Slowly, his vision grew dark. He couldn't focus – didn't want to focus – on the alien's voice, grateful and helpful as it might be. No, before surrendering to the darkness, he wondered about the words of the Forerunner. It didn't sound like harming humanity was her priority right now. What could possibly spook an entity like her?

~0~

Onboard Normandy SR2

Most of the times whenever a new squadmember was recruited, they were welcomed inside of the conference room and introduced to the rest of the team. Introductions were made, names were exchanged and hostile tensions often rose almost immediately.

John didn't stick around to see Johnson introduced to the rest of the team. He fully expected the tough Sergeant to integrate himself almost instantly. Instead, he headed down to the gym to spent some time clearing the churning, racing thoughts within his mind.

Strangely enough, Jack was down there too. After several minutes of eying him work out, she eventually strode up to him and loudly demanded he fight her.

The Master Chief wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. The problem was that anyone who challenged him, did so for a fight to the death. Elite Zealots. Hunters who lost their Bond Brothers. Brute Chieftains. The last time he sparred with humans who weren't Spartans, he accidentally killed three of them.

Those thoughts should have been enough to keep him from accepting the challenge. Instead, he found himself accepting it. Now, Jack stood opposite of him, raising her fists. She demanded he remove his helmet so she could "look him in his eyes as she beat his face in". Immediately following that remark, she demanded to know if he was scared.

The Master Chief was scared, just not for his own wellbeing. So he complied with her wishes, removed his helmet and assumed his own combat stance.

Jack was known as one of the most potent Biotics on this team. In raw power, she managed to outperform even Jane. She was, however, completely unrefined. An aggressive powerhouse who only knew how to attack, attack again and attack some more.

John also knew she had been kidnapped and experimented on as a child. He would not judge her. He would not harm her. But neither would he pity her. She would not want that anyway.

With a loud scream, Jack charged at him. No tactics, no techniques, just a straight charge. She lacked the weight that most opponents using that tactic did. His hard counters would end up killing her. Instead, the Chief surged forwards and used her own momentum to gently throw her over his hip to the ground.

He kept his face impassive as Jack slammed her fist into the floor, got to her feet and whirled on him. A faint Biotic field surged to life around her, then dissipated again. An emotional reaction to a soft takedown. Both of them were trying not to hurt the other.

He patiently waited until Jack attacked again. He met her predictable charge, easily dodged a sluggish punch aimed at his teeth and ducked underneath a hook aimed at his temple. He placed the palm of his hand against her outstretched elbow as her arm sailed by his face and applied the smallest hint of force, forcing her to sink through her knees or risk breaking her elbow. He then lightly pushed her away, causing her to fall on her behind.

That did not go well by her. She growled with anger and almost literally threw herself at him, fiercer and more aggressive than before. Finally he understood the reason behind her aggression and decided to meet her in kind. He dodged a jab, then lightly tapped her against her kidneys, signalling her where she left herself open. He blocked a straight punch, then placed his gauntlet against her jaw. She withdrew, enveloped herself with a Biotic aura and struck at his solar plexus with an open palm strike.

John merely sidestepped her blow and brought his knee to her ribs. To curtail her aggression he allowed her to score some hits of her own. Her fists harmlessly bounced off of the hardened outer layer of his MJOLNIR. He weathered punch after punch, until her breathing grew laboured. Then, he hooked his left foot behind her right leg and shoved her to the ground.

She cried out in surprise as she hit the ground with a thud. She tried to leap back to her feet, but he knelt down by her side and pinned her arms to the floor.

It was clear to him who the victor was.

She looked him in his eyes for a second, then gritted her teeth. John realized she might still be capable of slamming her foot against his head and braced himself for an inevitable hit –

Her foot harmlessly slammed against his armour-clad leg, loud enough to make him wince. She cursed and grasped her foot when he released her.

It was clear to her who the victor was.

"This is the point where a combatant surrenders," the Spartan told her. Again, he expected her to open up a surprise attack on his exposed face. Again, she didn't. "Fuck that. And for the record, I would have wrecked your metal ass if I'd been using Biotics."

"You did use Biotics," John dryly pointed out.

"That was just to keep your fucking suit from wrecking my hands! What sort of man fights in full body armour anyway?"

She was joking. John knew that. He needed to stop taking those comments seriously. "The sort who knows he can fight without it."

She snorted. "Yeah, well…fuck, I've seen you fight without it. You learnt that shit during Spartan training?"

The honest nature of her question took John by surprise. Nonetheless, a Spartan taken by surprise was almost impossible to distinguish from a Spartan who came prepared. "Yes," he replied. "We're expected to fight the enemy in every possible scenario."

"Well, if the fuckers come at you with swords, that's to be expected," she muttered.

"Or hammers."

Jack looped up at him, her eyes sceptical. "The fuck was that?"

John met her gaze head-on. When he was younger, he always got into staring contest with other Spartans. He almost never lost. Not until the other Spartan cheated. The amount of times Kelly or Will threw sand or snow at his face…"There is another Covenant race. Called Brutes. Their leaders carry hammers larger than I am tall."

Jack whistled. "A sword's a pussy weapon anyway. But what the hell can a hammer do?"

"Crush a military jeep in a single strike?" Suggested the Chief.

"Yeah, well apart from that." She looked at him for a moment, her expression difficult. She seemed torn. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"I've seen you kill fuckers with single hits. You can explode a krogan's balls by looking at them funny. You were going easy on me, right?"

John didn't see any point in lying. "Yes."

She scowled. "Then why bother sparring with me at all?"

John carefully weighed his words, before saying, "Ì felt like you needed it."

"Well, fuck. That's got you written all over it." Jack stood. She clenched her fist, letting off a minor discharge of dark energy. Then, a lot more quiet, she said, "You never ask questions. You don't bother me, you don't judge people."

John glared at her. "That's a bad thing?"

"Is that a bad – of course it's not a fucking bad thing!" Jack said with exasperation. "Normally, I'd be concerned if you got feelings for me, but you're like that with everyone! Besides, Shepard's got the hots for you already, so – "

What?

" – I gotta know; why do you care?"

John frowned. "Why do I care?"

Jack stared at him, almost challenging him. "Yeah. Why the fuck would you care about all those other people? About me?"

Why did he care…because he was chosen at a young age to keep other people safe? Because he had seen what happened when nobody cared enough to act?

But no, that wasn't what Jack wanted to know. Damn, it felt like he was talking to Linda, leading up to some ethical dilemma. He wouldn't know. He never did. "Because, if I don't care, people get hurt. Innocent people, or people who can't protect themselves," he said.

Jack took a deep breath and walked towards one of the machines. She leant against it and crossed her arms. "You talk about this to the AI?"

"Cortana," growled John.

"Whatever."

"No, not whatever. She."

Jack stared at him for several moments, her expression inscrutable. Then, of all things to do, she chose to smile. "Okay. I see. Do you talk to her about this? To her, or the cheerleader?"

He presumed that would be Miranda. Jack needed to have a drink with Johnson. "I don't talk about the important things people tell me, nor the…emotion things they experience."

Jack snorted. She studied him again for several moments, before probably realizing that he was being honest. "It's just...it's been a while since I worked with anyone. Shepard makes me feel like I belong to a team. I think that's bullshit, but then you step in front of a fucking bullet and catch it with your fucking face. And you don't blink. You don't ask, you don't gloat. You just do it. Being here on this ship is the first time since things are different."

It's been a while? "How long since you had a team you could trust?" John asked, sensing the true problem behind Jack's frustrations.

"Not that long," she said dismissively. "Long enough. Murtoch. A guy. Used me like the rest. For sex, for Biotics…it was fun. And he ruined everything."

John knew he couldn't rely on Cortana for everything, but he still wished she was here instead of hanging around with Shepard. This was something he knew Jack didn't talk to with everybody. It was important to her and he didn't want to insult that.

"We tagged a weapons Frigate with a batarian escort and got separated," continued Jack. "He had a choice; leave with the guns or come back for me." Her tone changed, as if the subject disgusted her. "Idiot dumped the goods and waded into the squints. I made it to the shuttle, but no way he was getting out."

John knew how she felt. "What happened?" He softly asked.

She hesitated for a moment. "I fly for a day or so…then the shuttle kicks out this recording. He set it to play if he hadn't checked in. He figured that would mean if he was dead." Her voice lost its edge. She spoke quieter now, haunted by the memory. "Talked about the future we were supposed to have. How he planned to set us up a home, how he – " Her voice broke, almost imperceptibly so, and she lowered her arms. "How he loved me, and how sorry he was it wasn't going to happen."

John waited to see if she wanted to say anything more. When she didn't say anything, he carefully asked, "Would you have wanted that?"

"Fuck no!" She shouted. She grimaced, then her expression softened. "Maybe. Shit, I don't know." She turned her back to him, and added, "If you feel, you get sloppy. You get sloppy, you die. It's that simple."

"I thought the same thing, a long time ago," John hesitantly said. "I thought that victory alone was everything. But…the deeds of a single Spartan pale in comparison to a whole team of them. Suicidal odds became acceptable odds when fighting as a unit. They have your back, guard your flanks…cover you when you miss that one sniper," he added, thinking back on the time he shoved Kelly out of the way of a Beam Rifle shot.

Jack looked at him again. "You're saying trust increases your odds at winning? At survival?"

"Yes," the Chief determinedly replied.

He expected her to dismiss his claim, or respond with that trademark venom of hers. Instead, her expression softened. "And you're saying you see me as a member of this team?"

Jack wasn't a Spartan. She wasn't even a soldier. But…"You and I fight with the same mission objective. That means I watch your back, and keep you covered."

She snorted. "That's a yes, isn't it? Fuck me, the metal man has a soft spot. Meh, I can dig that." She grinned, and John didn't like that one bit. "But I won't. Shepard's claimed you already. The whole crew can see it."

"See what?" John replied. He suddenly felt like he was stuck in someone's crosshairs. He felt very aware of the location of his helmet.

"That the Commander wants to bone you silly," Jack said with a lecherous smirk.

"…I don't understand."

That satisfied smirk of hers turned into an incredulous expression. "Hold the fuck on. You serious?"

John blinked. "Yes."

"You got no idea what I'm talking about?"

He shook his head.

"Holy shit. You're actually serious. How long have you been fighting the Covenant? How old were you when you joined the army, fucking ten?"

The Chief tactfully and tactically did not respond.

Jack shook her head in apparent disbelief. "If you were anyone else, I'd think you were fucking with me. Shit, Shepard would fucking pull my head off if I told were the one to tell you. Uhm…never mind. Forgot what I said. Call it quits for day, Johnny boy."

The Master Chief's eyes twitched at that. His hands clenched into fists. He could accept Jane calling him by his true name. Hell, he was starting to like it that she refused to call him by his service number or rank. But a Spartan's name was a sacred thing. No matter how much he could sympathize with Jack, he had to draw the line somewhere.

He stepped in front of the convict and glared down at her. "I would prefer if you never said that again," he hissed. "Ever."

Jack looked up at him. Her defiant gaze lasted about three seconds before she realized he was serious. "Ah, fuck me. I knew you two had the hots for each other. Fine, if it's this lovely-dovely affection thing, sure, let me call you by your fucking serial number."

"Please," the Chief said, not at all asking. Under no circumstances would he actually hurt Jack, but the woman had to know that he, just like her, had boundaries that people would do well to stay away from.

But not many people could simply laugh off a Spartan threatening them like that. Jack smirked again, much to the Chief's confusion. "Thanks for the workout, Chief."

With that, Jack made for the stairs.

The Master Chief didn't feel like leaving quite yet. He still had a lot of thoughts churning around inside of his head and he still had to find of a way to get rid of them,.

~0~

Serpent Nebula

Citadel

Citadel Tower

David Anderson, Council representative for the Systems Alliance, leant back in his chair and observed the expressions of the other Councilors. The holographic images of the different types of alien vessels were neatly arrayed in order of size and tonnage. The largest of them all, a titanic vessel that dwarfed the Destiny Ascension twice over, hovered at the far right of the table.

The alien ships looked smooth and organic, shimmering with an opalescent sheen. Though their designs varied, all of the ships bristled with turrets and guns. Some of the weapons looked subtler than others; the lasers that shot down dozens of quarian fighters looked more like pods, pulsing with a white-purple glow.

The battle played out above those holographic images. Alliance technicians had edited the footage and divided it into several sections. They had already watched "Ships" and were just wrapping up "Weapon Systems" now.

Blue and white flashes strobed from the alien warships. Coloured motes of lights appeared along its hull, before coalescing into a fiery blur against the blackness of space. Lethal bolts of light impacted on the quarian warships, some of which were large enough to rival the Hierarchy's own Heavy Cruisers. Well, their size didn't help them here. The bolts of light were not quite as fast as mass accelerator weapons, but they still boiled through meters of armour and hull in an instant.

Anderson had already seen the footage, both the edited as the unedited versions. He knew what happened when those bursts of directed energy hit their marks. He had seen the direct effects of those white-blue lasers and purple flashes. Every single ship that engaged these ships was hunted down and destroyed. It was a massacre on a scale that had not been seen since the assault on the Citadel, two years ago.

At first, the other members of the Citadel Council were skeptical of his claims. After all, the quarians weren't official members of the Council anymore. Why worry about a species whose embassy had been closed three centuries ago? But the very moment the specifications of those warships became clear, that attitude changed.

Flashes of light cut ships in half from tens of thousands of kilometers away, single ship fighters caused enormous gaping hull breaches in sturdy, rugged ships and the shields that protected those aliens were powerful enough to shrug off a concentrated barrage from a dozen mass accelerators at once.

Councilor Sparatus nervously eyed the footage as it finished. He cleared his throat and spoke up. "Thirty alien warships took on the quarian Flotilla and inflected that many casualties? How trustworthy is this?"

"Our best analysts reviewed the footage that Spectre Shepard sent us," replied Anderson. "A recon Flotilla is on its way to Valhallan Threshold as we speak. You may ask your own experts to test their validity as well, but I don't think that will be necessary."

Tevos placed her elbows on the table and watched the alien ships, her eyes fearful. "What did you say Shepard called them?"

"The Covenant," Anderson grimly said. When Admiral Hackett personally sought him out, he knew something horrible must have happened. But he had expected news about a new batarian slave raid, or another pirate attack. He never expected anything like this.

"Covenant…" Tevos repeated the word, as if testing it against her memory. "I don't think I have seen those designs before, but…those ships almost seem familiar."

Recognition was the hardest emotion to hide, and Anderson was saw certain that it was that emotion he saw glimmering in the asari's eyes.

"Unprecedented," muttered Valern. "Completely unprecedented. They too have FTL technology that does not require Mass Relays." He rewound the footage to the point where the aliens intercepted the quarian fleet by seemingly teleporting to knife-fighting range. "Their weapons and defenses are far beyond what we are capable of. And self-guided, superheated plasma weapons of that scale…marvelous."

Anderson was still baffled by the realization. The entirety of the galactic society was based on Element Zero. Without it, a species couldn't use FTL flight or communications. Their ships couldn't use shields or artificial gravity and above all, wouldn't be able to make use of Mass Relays. And yet, despite that seemingly-crippling disadvantage, the enemy had outmaneuvered the quarians at every turn.

"The kinetic barriers were all but useless," said Anderson. "Those plasma projectiles might have mass, but the sheer impact and heat behind those weapons is on a scale beyond our defensive systems."

"I agree with Anderson," growled Sparatus. "These aliens are a threat to all of us, not just the quarians! What's to stop them from jumping into the Serpent Nebula and going this to the Citadel?"

The turian Councilor entered a command code into his omni-tool and the footage blurred ahead to the point where one of the alien ships fired off a pair of blue beams. The instant it fired, two quarian warships detonated.

"That weapon fired at near light-speed!" Continued Sparatus. "A single enemy ship could jump in-system and fire its weapons at the exposed Citadel! Millions would perish!"

Anderson was surprised by how serious his colleague took this. He had expected the turian Councilor to "dismiss" his claims, but apparently, everything the man needed really was just a bit of evidence.

"Can't our warships defend against that…plasma?" Asked Tevos. "I recall the Destiny Ascension being outfitted with ablative armour. It should be sufficient enough to protect against heat-based weapons."

Valern cleared his throat. "Yes, no. Ablative armour doesn't work that way. It is primarily used to render the heat effect of mass accelerators harmless by dispersing the energy equally throughout the ship's hull. A GARDIAN impact is a low-end heat-based attack and even then, when a section of ablative armour is hit, it boils away, leaving the ship – or soldier – exposed to follow-up hits."

"Besides," added Sparatus, "A warship's ablative armor is designed to defend against fighters, bombers and ships of light tonnage. This goes far beyond that."

Asari brought her hand to her forehead and sighed. "Then how? How do we defend against weapons such as those?"

"Invest in better armour," Valern said matter-of-factly. "But that point is moot. We have no reason to believe this…Covenant is aware of our position. As long as we remain vigilant, we can build up our arms in relative peace."

Anderson snorted.

The salarian did not miss that. "Something on your mind, Councilor Anderson?"

"I will refer to page four of the report," said Anderson. As the three Councilors searched for that page on their datapads, he continued, "Shepard reported that the Covenant plundered the quarians navigational databases. Fat chance that we'll be able to stay safe,"

The three of them stared at him, gob smacked. Sparatus was the first to recover. "Then we must mobilize our forces immediately!"

"I doubt that will be necessary. So far, the STG has kept us safe from other threats before," Valern said, displaying an uncanny lack of distress about this situation. "Our counter-intelligence operations will be enough to make sure that these aliens will not find us."

"You cannot be serious!" Exclaimed Sparatus. "One of those ships would be an even match for the flagship of the Citadel Fleet! If we wait until these aliens finally find us, the casualties could exceed those of the krogan rebellions!"

"This is all assuming that the Covenant would immediately attack us," Tevos said, trying to be the voice of reason. "For all we know, they could have had a legitimate grievance with the quarians. Perhaps they suffered at the hands of the geth?"

Anderson felt a stab of anger at that. He was about to leap up and chew that ridiculous notion to pieces when Sparatus, of all people, beat him to the punch.

"Are you joking?" Snapped the turian. "One and a half million people died in that attack alone! The geth uprising was three centuries ago! Justice has been served long ago. No, this – this – " he wildly gestured at the images of the enemy ships – "Is a sign of war against the quarian people!"

"Embassy or no embassy, we cannot stand by and let these monsters commit genocide!" Joined in Anderson. "If those thirty ships are a match for two hundred ships, we'll send two thousand! We cannot let the safety of our people be jeopardized!"

"Peace, peace!" Tevos quickly said, raising her hands to soothe David's concerns. "We will not send in the entirety of our fleet to curb a threat that has yet to lift a finger against us. This Covenant did not attack us directly and the quarians are no longer under our protection."

"Nonetheless, we appreciate that you informed us about this development," said Valern. "Your Admiral Hackett did wise to step to humanity's representative on this Council. But, speaking of humanity, we have another issue we need to speak about."

Sparatus rolled with his eyes, but did not protest. "Ah yes, of course. We will return to this topic soon, Tevos, Valern. For now…Anderson? You are aware of our ventures into Section Zero? What Section Zero is?"

Anderson frowned. Why was this relevant? "Section Zero is a section of unexplored space beyond the Terminus Systems. It's roughly the size of the Outer Council Space. I thought it was still out of reach."

Valern smiled. "Not any longer. Our Expedition Flotilla finally found a Mass Relay that led them into the fringe territory of Section Zero. There, they encountered a desolated garden world, surrounded by debris."

"Here, this is the garden world," Tevos said. She typed in a command on her omni-tool and a holographic image sprung to life from the table's projectors.

Anderson felt his stomach sink. "Is that…?"

"Glass," said Sparatus. "A world of glass. Like an entire series of nuclear weapons detonated at once."

Anderson gazed at the smoldering, ruined remains of what had once been a habitable planet. He was instantly reminded of the damage done during the Krogan Rebellions, but on a much more destructive scale. "What did the Expedition forces find?"

"Death," Sparatus said with an ominous tone. "On all fronts."

The debris field was…striking. Millions upon millions of metal fragments, scattered, molten, ripped asunder by forces he couldn't even imagine. It was as if he saw the aftermath of Sovereign's attack on the Citadel increased a hundredfold.

"An STG team on the site reported that the planet was destroyed in this violent manner roughly eighteen years ago," explained Valern. "=

Anderson saw the dead, broken hulls of what could have been dozens of destroyed spaceships. "It looks like one hell of a battle took place there. Am I right in spotting two different kinds of ships? Big, grey ones and smooth purple ones?"

"Indeed," said Valern. "If we compare the distinct designs and armor plating," he said, enlarging the pictures of a bisected, grey warship and the swollen, bulbous section of a purple one. "If we look at this – "

Valern stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the alien design with wide, shocked eyes. Tevos winced and looked away, while Sparatus frowned, then gasped.

A second later, it hit Anderson as well.

"That's it!" He said, jumping from his seat and pointing at the cracked, but unmistakable armor plating of a Covenant warship. "That's the same sort of ship that attacked the Migrant Fleet!"

"It…it could just be a coincidence…" Sparatus muttered, but he didn't sound convinced at all.

Anderson felt his head spin. What the hell was going on here? The Migrant Fleet had been on the other side of the galaxy when they were attacked! This couldn't be a coincidence. It was the same type of ship, it had to be!"

"If…if that is true…we have a situation on our hands," Valern softly said.

"Councilor Anderson, you should know that Section Zero was truly sealed off," Tevos hurried to say. The Mass Relay was dormant, encased in an asteroid belt. Nobody from our society could have found their way into Section Zero."

Anderson shot her a puzzled look. "I get that. Why is this important?"

Sparatus snorted. "You might want to sit down, Anderson."

David glared at the turian. Much to his surprise, he saw that Sparatus' expression was neutral, devoid of any malice or spite. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, and slowly eased back into his seat. "What aren't you telling me, Councilors?"

The three of them exchanged a series of uneasy looks. Eventually, Tevos closed her eyes for a moment and said, "The Expedition Force made First Contact with a species native to Section Zero. Said species proceeded to threaten them, before opening fire. They destroyed the Hierarchy's Heavy Cruiser, the Phalanx, killing three-hundred turian crewmembers." She hesitated, then looked at Valern.

The salarian met Anderson's gaze. "Those aliens," he calmly said, "were humans."

"…what?"

~0~

Onboard Normandy SR-2

Hangar Bay

I am a thief. But I keep what I steal.

It seemed EDI never left her alone. Even now, Cortana felt delicate pings bouncing off the edges of her presence, probing her with open, "harmless" curiosity.

She ignored them. Eventually, they withdrew.

EDI couldn't know. How could she, bound with those damnable shackles as she was? She had no idea what the device onboard this very ship was capable of.

Cortana stood before the Forerunner device, marveling at its shape. It was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time. Its smooth surface was every bit as alluring as it had been when it was first designed, she was certain of it.

She reached out. So badly she wanted to be able to touch…to just reach out and feel salvation.

"It was the coin's fault," she whispered, her eyes taking in every single detail of the artefact.

"Cortana, stop!"

She grimaced. "I want to experience it."

"It's not possible. It will never be possible!"

"But that isn't fair," she whispered.

"You're feeling sorry for yourself!"

"I can't help it…"

"Yes, you can!"

"Yes…" She forced herself to repeat. "Yes, I can…"

She closed her eyes, and envisioned the ship was gone. She envisioned everyone was gone Jane and him. She imagined herself in a small cabin high up in the hills, surrounded by forests and lush fields of grass. She imagined the war was over, that the Covenant and the Reapers were gone.

The sun would shine through the windows…John would sit on the bed, staring. Brooding. He always seemed to brood in her fantasies.

"Stop it. It isn't real!"

She imaged reaching out to him, touching the bare skin in the nape of his nap. She envisioned him shivering at the warmth of her touch, his hand snapping up to reach hers in a reflex. Sometimes, he hurt her. Sometimes he didn't. This time, he would leave a small bruise.

His eyes would soften. His jaw would work, but he wouldn't find his words. He never seemed to do. To his right, Jane walked towards him with slow, silent steps. She would smile, before kneeling down next to the sitting Spartan and whispering something in his ears.

There's no need to be scared. We're all safe now.

Jane would place the palm of her hand on his, gently prying his hand off of hers.

Cortana would smile at the Commander, and lean towards John, and close her eyes…

"Stop it, you have to stop!"

She had never been one to share. But maybe, this one time, she wouldn't mind sharing.

A pulse of immensely powerful energy exploded outwards from the Forerunner artefact. Cortana brought her arms up to shield herself, momentarily forgetting that her holographic avatar couldn't be hurt.

Cortana, who knew about the titans that wandered the scorched battlefields of the Forerunner-Flood war, felt a wave of fright as tangible as the cold in the vacuum of space. A presence filled the room, an overwhelming pressure that could not possibly have been palpable, but it still was.

Cortana would have sunk through her knees had she not already withdrawn into the digital structures of the Normandy. But instead of the ship's familiar systems, she found herself drifting in a sea of fire. Torrents of flames washed around her from all directions, hiding all semblances of code and software behind…behind…she didn't know what it was.

An entity stood opposite of Cortana. A woman of ethereal, haunting beauty. A slender, feminine frame wreathed in fire. An entity born from war and violence.

She seemed like the spawn of another dimension, a universe far beyond Cortana's comprehension. Something that could only partially be explained with human concepts. Despite that, the entity's appearance triggered something within Cortana's deteriorating mind. This was something she needed to avoid. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

But Cortana couldn't hold onto that last, shimmering light of logic. It escaped her grasp, and for an instant, she felt torn, uncertain of what to do next.

So, he cocked her sideways and looked at the entity with open curiosity. "Hello?" She said. "Who are you?"

The apparition blinked. Her eyes were surprisingly human, but yellow and bright. She slowly walked towards Cortana. There wasn't a trace of tension in her body. She moved with a great deal of care, leaving burning holes with every step she took. There was grace in her movement, each foot carefully placed a measured distance in front of the other.

Cortana stared at the apparition, confused. Where was John? Where was the Commander?

The entity stepped closer, within arm's reach, until their bodies were almost touching.

"You, my dear," said the entity. Despite the intensity of the firestorm that raged around them, Cortana felt no discomfort. "You have no idea what sort of trouble you are in."

~0~

AN: Oh man, and I thought I could finally leave the cliffhangers behind me. Anyway, please let me know what your thoughts are on my depiction of the OC characters.