Yo ma dudes. I'm well aware that Vega isn't a part of ME2. Well aware. This is the last time I'm saying it. It would seem with my inclusion of him that I am not looking to simply copy and paste the script for ME2 and add in dialogue and actions for another character (master chief). This is not going to be ME2. There may be similar plot points- but I would hope by now you can recognize that this will be a little different. I do appreciate the reviews about it tho- it seems like a lot of people are looking to clear up plot holes. So thanks.

Time for a quick (maybe not so quick) canon discussion. If you want to skip this, it's fine, but it will contain some actually important information.

I have come across some inconsistencies in the Halo Canon in regards to spartan size/capability - namely three instances.

The first, there's a comment in the Fall of Reach from Chief Mendez that the Spartans weight is around double the norm due to the increased muscle density. However, a later comment clearly puts the Chief at 130 kg- which for a 6'10" dude, is definitely not 'double'.

Second, in regards to his speed. It is said that without Mjolnir, In the same comment by Mendez above, that the Spartans can sprint in bursts of up to 55 kph. Later, in armor, the Chief during a training exercise covers a 500 meter distance in approx. 17 seconds, which is around 103 kph, or a little over 64 mph. The intro to the book has them doing a sprint over the same distance, uphill in 32 seconds- almost double the time, and about half the speed at 56 kph. Remember, this is uphill. Which means that I don't quite know which figure to go with. For an uphill sprint to take away half your acceleration - it's gotta be quite steep.

Third, strength. Mendez's comment states a spartan can lift around 3x his own body weight- for Chief around 900 lbs, give or take. With Mjolnir, it's is around 6-7x more. The problem here comes into play during actual combat- which will be explained later.

With all of this discrepancy, I am going to go off of a YouTube video from Installation00 titled Halo - Spartan Capabilities - Lore and Theory.

The lore for Chiefs dimensions put him as below average for Spartan size, speed, and strength. I don't find that realistic. I don't want to overdo it, but I would like to upscale him to the realistic proportions. To keep things level, things are going to be average for the Chief. 7 feet 1 inch tall, 395 lbs, a lifting strength of about 1200 lbs, and a reaction time of .02 seconds, with a sprint speed of 55 kph, all without Mjolnir armor.

Mjolnir adds an average of 4 inches in height, 500-700 lbs in weight, and a reactive force of around 6-7x strength capacity with a nearly doubled sprint speed, and almost instantaneous reactions. All of this is correct to canon, so don't go blowing off on me, I would just like some consistency for this story.

I know I put in an earlier comment about his weight being established at 315, so I do apologize- but that's really what got me thinking on this, and that's where we are today.

I used to have a math teacher who was 6'11" and played in the nba. Super cool dude. And that was pleeeennnttyyy tall. Like super tall. Mjolnir is going to add approx 4 inches to chiefs overall height- putting him in armor at 7'5". If you think I'm overdoing it a tad, just let me explain myself. Over that past few hundred years, humans have been growing in size quite considerably due to advances in nutrition and medicine. An in depth study would show that homo sapien proportions have increased slightly over the last millennia. I expect that to continue as access to proper nutrition and advances in medicine only assist this figure through the next half millennia. Additionally, the Spartans were chosen out of billions of potential candidates for incredible physical and mental gene compatibility. This would mean that naturally, without augmentations, they would pretty much end up being freaks of nature on their own, big, strong, fast guys. If anything, I think I might be under doing it, but I just don't want to go make Spartans over the top op. I honestly think that dimensions such as Sam 034 or Kurt 052 are more realistic for Spartans at that time with the given augmentations- placing them at around 7 feet 10 inches. Do keep in mind, these are the actual canon and book dimensions of those two guys - that is a foot taller than the Chief in canon, which means an additional 150 lbs. Quite simply, they're huge. These will not be the figures I represent - I'll be using the dimensions for the lore accurate video I listed above. 7'1", 395 lbs, and in armor, 7'5", 1,185 lbs. Visit the Halo wiki if you don't believe me on the mjolnir details, and watch the video for spartan stuff. Anyways. Sorry for the super long intro

OOOO

A soft groan emanated from the corner of the room as it's sole occupant stirred from its dreamy abyss. The softness of the groan had no direct correlation to the softness of the bed in which said occupant lie. It was not the groan usually experienced by those waking from a nap or nighttime rest, one which announced the discomfort of leaving the embrace of the warm and friendly hug that had been the sleepers home for last hours. Although, like most waking groans, it did pronounce the dread of upcoming events in contrast to the peace of the foggy darkness of sleep from whence the dreamer came, but this groan was altogether different. No, this was a groan of, 'oh shit, my face feels like a pin cushion.'

As the Commander stirred, his eyes struggled to fully open, and it became a challenge and test of will to do so. He succeeded with one, yet the other declared its outright refusal by clamping shut, swollen and darkened. The eye had experienced a bludgeoning, and needed it's own nap to fully recover. Maybe a few of them.

The Commander groggily attempted to sit up, only to find that his chest and abdomen had formed a pact with his face to tell his brain every second for the next few days that movement was not the best of ideas. Shepard looked around the room, his one open eye scanning for anything of notice. He immediately recognized his surroundings- the Normandy's med-bay. Despite his addled mind, a conclusion was not difficult to ascertain. Something had happened. That much was clear. But what? From the lack of other individuals in the bay, he had come the worst off. He breathed a sigh of relief in the safety of his team. His mind struggled to catch up with past events. With a flash, his memories returned. He remembered the interrogation, the questions and the beating he had received from refusing to answer them. He remembered his teammates, trapped, confused, some of them scared. And then, blackness. Something didn't quite add up. He was fairly certain teleportation was not a capability that his ship possessed. His team had escaped, successfully.

He tried to call out to E.D.I., only to find that his voice was dry and the sounds struggled to come exit. He was about to knock on the wall for someone's attention, when the nearby door slid open, and Doctor Chakwas appeared, her usual lab coat adorning her body.

"Commander, it is good to see you awake. How are you feeling?" Her compassionate voice soothed the headache that had been building between his ears.

He croaked his response slowly at first, and then his voice gained confidence and began to tiptoe onto the stage. "Fine. I suppose... what happened? Is everyone-?" He was cut off as Chakwas waved his comments away with her hand, her knowing smile surprisingly doing wonders to relax him.

"Do not worry Shepard. Everyone is fine. There were a couple scratches along the way, but everyone is recovering quite well. Would you like some water?"

He nodded absentmindedly, his brain already moving down another path. "How did I- did we..."

"Arrive here?"

He nodded again.

"There was a small group left on the Normandy that staged a rescue operation and helped to free the team. You were unconscious during the battle. They brought you here in critical condition." Her response seemed to satisfy him. He figures that the 'interrogator' had messed him up somehow- but he wasn't sure in what way. Sure, his face hurt. And his chest. And his sides. And his- you know what, never mind. Suffice it to say, everything hurt. But it was only the usual hurt. The hurt that came after a beat down. Not the hurt that came after having your insides mangled and sandpapered. Those were two distinctly different feelings. It should have come as a slight relief, had both the feelings not resulted in pain.

He tried once more to sit up, his right side protesting as he did so, his face wincing, and Doctor Chakwas urging him with her gentle but firm hands to stay prone on the recovery bed.

"Where's my team?" He needed to know. She had assured him of their well-being, but some worries needed eyes-on evidence to be assuaged.

Her voice was just as firm and forgiving yet strong as her hands had been.

"You still need rest Commander. Your surgery occurred only a few hours ago. I will bring the team in when you have rested some more."

That was satisfactory he supposed. He always despised it when Chakwas insisted on rest. Sometimes, you just needed to walk it off. His head betrayed him, however, and nodded once more, his brain slowly shutting off, letting him drift back to the paradise he had so recently visited.

When he awoke again, an unusual sight had greeted him. Two eyes, all but the gleam within them hidden behind a shadowy hood loomed over him. As it was such an unusual thing to wake up to, his one functional eye widened and his body jumped once in surprise.

The hooded figure, only slightly moving back, smiled and announced in a sing-song voice, "Hey! Shepard's awake!"

The volume beat a press behind his ears as he grinned, recognizing the voices owner.

Kasumi jumped away from the bed excitedly as more guests poured into the room, relieved to see their CO 'up and at 'em'.

The first speaker was his suited squad mate from past endeavors, Tali. The relief in her voice was palpable. "Shepard! How are you feeling?"

His response mirrored that which he had repeated to Chakwas but hours before. "Fine."

Before the quarian could respond, Garrus

jumped into the conversation. "'Course he's fine. He already died once! He'll just shrug off anything else."

The Commander grimaced slightly as that particular memory surfaced. He hoped not to experience a repeat of that particular event. "Shepard 2.0 doesn't let a few fists keep 'im down," was his joking response.

The others greeted him in kind, although a few were noticeably absent. Grunt knew things were fine the second they got to Chakwas and so hadn't bothered to checkup, Jack couldn't care less as long as he wasn't dead yet - as with Zaeed, Miranda had been sufficiently satisfied of his impending recovery by an earlier visit, Samara had visited earlier as well but was now meditating, and the Chief, well I wouldn't even bother.

Certain other crew members had taken their place, notably Yeoman Chambers, Sergeant Gardner, and a few other crew members who could be bothered to find time in between shifts. A few of the team trickled out after initial pleasantries had been exchanged, leaving only Tali, Garrus, Jacob, and Vega.

After he had sufficiently reassured them of his condition, he asked the question that had been on his mind for a while.

"How did you get us out of there?"

There was a brief silence as Tali shifted a tad bit nervously, as Garrus' and Jacob's eyes widened slightly and they found a sudden interest in the walls of the bay.

"Well you see..." Tali began, before Vega took the floor and attempted to make away with the blame as well.

"I asked Tali to leave guard duty and take a shuttle to retrieve you from the facility. It was our only option really."

Shepard's features scrunched as his facial muscles reflected his inner thoughts. "I see... well, thanks. You did good work. I'm guessing the Master Chief is no longer our concern then. Probably for the best, I think we were all a little uptight with him around." He failed to notice the awkward glances the other team members were giving eachother. He heard a cough once, Tali doing her best to interrupt the awkward silence.

"Well you see Shepard, he's... well... he's still here."

The commanders face conveyed his continued puzzlement at this fact. "Really?" They nodded. "How on earth did you convince him to stay? I thought for sure he would bounce the second he got the chance."

Another awkward glance before Vega answered. "You see, he did leave the ship. We took him with us... and he helped us get you out of there. He saved your life actually."

The surprise the Commander felt at that was more tangible than a ball of corn starch and water.

His mouth dropped open at the realization. "And- he's still here?"

Garrus nodded back. "Cargo bay," he replied, pointing downward as to indicate the location.

This was... unexpected. "What exactly happened?"

He saw the smirk on Jacob's face. "Guy went ape-shit," and then catching the glimpses of the others, "well not really, but he basically slaughtered the Blue Suns to the last man. Didn't even get a round in."

The surprise mounted.

"He agreed to help you? Why?- how?"

"It was actually his idea," came the alliance liaisons reply.

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Huh." He sat back into the bed. That was most unexpected. "What now? What did he ask for in return?"

Tali was the one this time who answered his question, "that's the thing Shepard, he didn't ask anything. He hasn't said really anything since we got back. It's like it never happened."

That was odd. Normally people didn't just help a small group of unknown captors liberate the larger group of captors turned captives outnumbered 25-1, and then go back to playing prisoner of war. Garrus, surprisingly, answered his next question before he had a chance to voice it."

"So far, we're letting him have a bit more freedom, you know, mess hall... um... other things."

An eyebrow raised at the hesitation. Garrus put his hands up defensively. "I mean that's really about it. He hasn't gone anywhere since, sticking to the cargo bay mostly."

Jacob chose this moment to butt in with, "he did stop by the armory- to drop off the weapons he acquired during the mission. And to the med bay for your surgery. But other than that, he hasn't moved."

The other eyebrow joined its companion on a level stage slightly higher than normal resting position. He dropped off his weapons...? The other thought struck him. "Wait, what do you mean surgery? He was operating on me?!"

The others were quick to calm him, Jacob again being the one to respond. "No no no, Chakwas was the one operating. The Chief was just uh, well, telling her what to look for."

The hell did that mean?

"There was a small chip inserted into your side during the interrogation, it stopped your heart on the shuttle. The Chief helped the others get it going again, and then helped Chakwas identify the chip."

How did the Chief know about the implant? That was overly suspicious. Combined with some of the information gleaned from the interrogation, he had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on. The interrogator had made specific mention of the big green man. It was time to have a personal conversation with the man himself.

The math all added up in his head. A trap, false intel, a notable breakaway with their extremely enigmatic and mysterious passenger coming to their rescue. Before his mind could travel any further along that path, Garrus seemed to clear his throat, and then looked around the bay cautiously. He spoke, quieter than before. "Commander... I think we have a mole on the ship."

Shepard's eyes rocketed open, even the damaged tissue over the left socket managing to somewhat give space to let light through. They already knew? How?

"We don't know who it is... I don't think it's one of the team. I don't think it's the Illusive Man or the Master Chief either- I think it's someone else."

"Someone else? Who?! And what do you mean - not the Master Chief?"

The others looked at eachother awkwardly before Garrus and Jacob both repeated bits of the conversation that had occurred earlier in the armory.

Their telling made sense. It didn't make sense to have his captors in such a vulnerable position, and then just immediately free them with no questions asked. Still, though, there were many question to be asked. And as their conversation drew to a close, he resolved he would find their answers, sooner rather than later.

OOOO

Miranda had just finished her full report to the Illusive Man on the recent events of the past day, an extremely thorough report, I might add, one that focused specifically on a certain subject. The Master Chief. 'This newcomer had medical expertise, tactical and strategic ability, and combat prowess that rivaled a Krogan battlemaster, just to name a few. He was highly effective. 'If results like this could be replicated on a wide scale- humanity wouldn't have to worry ever again.'

Her pride was slowly itching at her. Ever since the operation, and particularly a conversation she had held with the man in question afterwards, she had been less than content. She had been utterly shown up. By a random passenger no less. He had outshone her in every category, and for a woman so highly competitive as Miranda, that was unacceptable. She was the best. At times she expressed something akin to shame for her near perfect genetic modeling, but now, it had disappeared completely. If she was made to be the best, then hell, was she going to be the best. And no spacefaring cyborg was going to get the better of her.

She had compiled extensive surveillance of the man, nothing noteworthy, except there were certain times where he seemed to be able to dodge the cameras completely, if only to eat, but still. That he was able to track each cameras field of vision, but was completely content to let them stay was somewhat insulting. He just didn't care enough to take significant action. With this thought, Miranda felt much less regret as she might've when it came to investigating the Chief's weapons. Two of them were clearly projectile weapons, why appeared to be a bulky assault rifle, the other a sidearm. Unfamiliar designs, yet nothing she couldn't handle. What really set her wheel of curiosity spinning were the other objects the 'spartan' had laid down. One, a rather large, meter long blocky object, most definitely a heavy weapon, was very interesting. The heavy weapon part was easy enough to determine, they didn't make things that big for taking down Volus- but as for its function, she didn't know. The other objects were even more mysterious. One was colored a strange purple, and resembled a fish with a handle, and the Cerberus operative was absolutely clueless in regards to its capabilities. Other objects which looked like a handle of some sort, but for hands with strange dimensions, and another multitude of objects that clearly resembled explosives. Miranda thoroughly investigated each of the gathered weapons, however refrained from taking them apart due to concerns that quite frankly, she wouldn't have known how to put them back together.

A small part of her felt bad for going behind the Commander's back about this, especially while he was out for the count due to the squads latest escapades. But, there was a job to do, and she'd be damned if she let something as frivolous as emotion get in the way. Of course, that's exactly what she was doing now, but she'd never tell herself that.

Her report complete, sent, and filed away, she began her usual inspections of cargo manifests, crew schedules, and their current destination- a small human colony known as Huriko, where they would finally decide what to do with the Master Chief.

It was obvious they couldn't just leave him. The potential for mishap and catastrophe was too great. They couldn't exactly fulfill his wish of returning to earth, as Cerberus was on less than amiable terms with the Alliance. And she was fairly certain they couldn't just take him with them. That would've been more catastrophic than any of the other options. So they were quite limited. She would need to discuss with Shepard to fully deliberate.

Speaking of the Commander, it seemed he was awake and aware, currently conversing with a small group in the med bay. It was good to see him conscious. Despite what the rest of the ship might've thought, she did care. The problem was, it was not her job to care. She was here to focus on the role the Illusive Man had given her, and so she would do exactly that, with attention to every detail.

Her surveillance on the rest of the team turned up nothing unusual. Samara and Thane has isolated themselves like always, Grunt was feasting away, Jack was doing whatever the bloody hell Jack did when she was alone, Zaeed was lost in his canteen, fiddling with his rifle, Kasumi was shadowing the Master Chief again- who was quietly practicing a complex form of martial arts that was part breathtakingly graceful, the other part brutally powerful, and the rest of the crew was conversing in the med bay. Things were normal. She sighed. Normal was good. It was increasingly difficult to keep them safe and prioritized when things started going not-normal.

Her thoughts turned back to to the man in green. It had been hard to focus on little else the past while. It was like this little rock in the bottom of your shoe. You could do your best to ignore it, but it always reminded you it was there. And considering how angry she had been earlier at that particular subject, it was even more difficult to ignore.

As he practiced, Miranda was slightly enthralled. His movements were so lithe and quick, and bellied his actual strength. He seemed to float around, lighter than air, yet his strikes would no doubt impact with the strength of a battering ram. He did not seem to be stretching himself, it seemed more of a slight practice to enforce a habit than anything else, something Miranda was very familiar with. The mans 'target' was a metal crate towards the center of the room. Every strike, punch and volley stopped an inch away from the crate. The level of control was astounding. It was almost like he was a robot-

Her mind paused on that particular thought, her brain trying it on for size. Could it be...? It was obvious this was no standard mech. The movements were so fluid, yet at their core, they seemed just as robotic. Come to think of it, all of them did, not just the combat. Speech, social interaction, it was all almost... programmed. They had never seen him eat. Yet presumably he did eat. So there was a discrepancy. But the bulk of evidence outweighed the other intruding facts. The Cerberus operative failed to recall a time she had seen a human so... big. Someone with that level of coordination and those dimensions should not exist. She barely heard him speak more than 5 words strung together while in the cargo bay, yet on the shuttle and during the operation, he had given commands freely and clearly, with no outward disposition of uncomfortableness. Was it possible the programming was limited to combat related functions? It would make a lot of sense. This could explain a number of responses, as well as the unusual circumstances in which they found him. Floating in the middle of space, no ship in sight. An organic would've suffocated from lack of air long before that.

They had never even seen him outside of armor- but if he was indeed an it, that would indeed make sense. There would be no removing the armor, because there was no armor. It was the body itself. Come to think of it, the only designation give was that number -117. That was telling indeed.

Her eyes widened as she studied the possible implications. A robot of such incredible engineering and capability. This 'UNSC' has worked miracles.

'But the food!' Her subconscious screamed at her. How? How could it be a robot? No. She ignored the doubts. 'You just can't stand inferiority', her inner voice chided. That particular thought infuriated her. No. No this had to be a robot. She was the best, perfectly designed. She would not be bested by another human. That would imply that she was obviously not the best.

You see, pride has a very self destructive path. It is, as one Ezra Benson so wisely put it, 'the universal vice'. And while Miranda would never admit it, she was quite prideful - so of course she wouldn't.

Seemingly satisfied in her conclusions, she noticed the Commanders conversation had ended, sometime ago as well. The other crew members had moved on, Jacob to exercise, big surprise, Vega to shower- probably - her surveillance didn't go quite that far, Tali to engineering, Garrus to the weapons deck, and the Commander... well well well. It seemed the Commander was eager to have a undoubtedly one sided conversation with their resident bot. She smirked as she imagined the annoyance pouring over his features at such an endeavor. She had been put off by the newcomer, yes, but she could forget about that if if meant the commander was going to get a taste of his own medicine.

OOOO

Why?

It resonated in his head - a question he had never before been asked. He had lived his entire life extremely objective. He had never pondered much on the philosophical complexities of the nature of the universe - it was never mission critical.

Why?

It was as new to him as this new place - foreign and different, altogether unique. There was no way around it, no matter which way he turned, it was always right there, waiting for him.

Why?

He sought an answer - none came. Compartmentalization had served him well in the past, yet lately it had left him rather disappointed at it's ineffectiveness. As he sought to clear his head from the strange thoughts, he found that everything else was drowned out, leaving the one thing he wanted to get rid of, front and center.

Why had he helped them?

He had never before been asked why he fought. Not by Halsey, not by his Spartans, not by any commanding officer, and not by Cortana. He just... fought. There was no why. Wasn't there? It was part of who he was, a facet of his character so integral it would leave him empty should it be removed. Yet the more John thought about it, the more it confused him.

Why had he helped them?

He had sacrificed his greater anonymity in order to jump to the aid of aliens. Sure, there were humans among them, but they were the minority. It was the first time in his life he had worked with a team, the majority of which were non-human. His time with the Arbiter had been rather short, and although the Sangheili warlord had made an effective ally, he still represented an unknown, and in the Chief's mind, a possible threat.

The Chief wasn't exactly xenophobic - he had rarely fought or reacted out of base hatred for the enemy, his training had honed his emotions too finely for such a reaction. That said, his only experiences with aliens had been quite hostile - the majority of his life had been spent massacring them on various planets and starships across the galaxy. As he reflected on this, the why came back to him stronger than ever. Why had he helped them?

Why did he fight? Was it because he was following orders? Normally yes, but he had been the one giving the orders in this particular engagement - no one had ordered him to do so. Was it out of a sense of duty? He owed nothing to this group that had brought him on board their ship. Was it because war was all he knew? ... In any case, it didn't matter. It didn't matter because no matter the reason, he still fought. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. They didn't matter either.

He mentally reviewed the operation and the wealth of intelligence he had gained. He noted their weaponry - strangely shaped firearms that used some sort of projectile that almost instantaneously reached their target. He recalled a more intense portion of the firefight when his shields had taken a burst of rounds from a panicked alien - while they had dropped his meter a portion, it wasn't as significant as he feared. He could take a few rounds, but he wouldn't make a habit of it. He mentally committed himself to rely less on his energy shields than he had been during recent campaigns. They were useful, but they had become a crutch. He could afford no such weaknesses in this unknown place. It seemed the shielding technology of this new place had inferior capability to his own, but there was a major problem with this as well. They all had it. He had been used to only dealing with shielded elites and other high-ranking covenant members. It would take some getting used to when everyone seemed to have some shielding ability. Even with that, they seemed to only take effect against fast-moving projectiles, leaving the wearer vulnerable against close quarters combat and other blunt objects. He would take every advantage he could get.

John then catalogued the other things he had learned - the vast majority of opposition - and friendlies, he had encountered used some sort of strange, wrist-mounted, holographic display for communication and other technical purposes. It was similar to a data pad of his own faction, yet more advanced and widespread in its utility. If he could get his hands on one, it would be incredibly useful for future endeavors. The various species of aliens he had come across seemed about as heavily built as his own species. In fact, some shared a striking resemblance - most notably the blue-skinned women that had the unique glowing blue weapons and abilities. He still did not quite understand how such abilities were implemented. He had made a significant effort to dodge such projectiles when they were launched his way, as he had no desire to test their damage output, at least not yet. As a result, he had little base knowledge from which to assess said weaponry. As his freedom aboard the ship increased, he hoped he would have the chance to ask about that. Any increased knowledge could drastically improve his tactical survivability.

His thoughts were interrupted as EDI, the ships artificial intelligence, paged him over the intercom, with a surprise announcement.

"Master Chief, please proceed to the medical wing. Commander Shepard wishes to speak with you."

He paused his current actions, a relaxed hand-to-hand drill that he used to stay mobile and clear his mind during the stay, mentally shrugged, and walked out of the cargo bay. His newfound freedom was also surprising. The ship environment was a great deal more civilian than he had originally thought. While not without discipline, there was simply... much less of it. His actions on the planet they called 'Noveria', had apparently done much to earn their trust. Then again, looking at some of the other occupants of the starship, it probably was not hard to do so. He shook his head at this and marched to the elevator. While there were no guards posted, he still felt like he was being watched, followed around the ship, wary eyes diligently searching for any reason to mistrust him. Until he could better figure out the situation and get his bearings, he would give them none.

OOOOO

The Commander waited patiently for his guest to arrive. He spend the time between the departure of the last group of conversationalists and the next 'debrief' to review the battle footage from Vega and Tali's suit cams. He was surprised at what he saw. The big green man had proven extremely effective. Scarily so. There was little footage of actual combat with him involved, only the results of said actions as the team departed the interrogation facility. And damn, did he get results. Not only that, but he seemed to do so with ease. There were apparently no reported injuries, and the suited man didn't even seem winded towards the end of the firefight. The Commander was impressed.

He paused his omnitool recording as the door outside the med bay buzzed. Chakras opened it to reveal the Spartan, who stood quietly and stone still right outside. She smiled and nodded, more at ease with the giant than she had been in the past, most likely due to his assistance with Commander Shepard. She waved him in, and he entered slowly, before coming to parade rest right inside the door. Shepard smiled quietly to himself. Yes, the man was military - to the core. At least there was some form of common ground. He could work with that. His conversation with Garrus had left him a little more relaxed around the Chief. He remembered the equally professional manner in which he had addressed each of the crew members, even those who were a tad disrespectful. His gut drew an immediate conclusion. This was no spy. This man was a soldier, just trying to get home. Plus, it was hard in this moment to view him as a possible spy as spies were usually a little more... subtle. All his deliberations abandoned him in this moment of realization.

He waved the large man over. "Relax, I just want to talk. And... thank you. The team told me what you did down there. We wouldn't have made it out of there without you."

The Master Chief just nodded, "Not necessary, Commander."

This caused a frown to temporarily take place on Shepards features. Again, it seemed the being wanted little thanks for his efforts.

He sighed, and spoke again, if but a little reluctantly, "I understand at least a small bit of the situation you are in. In return, I'd offer my help so that you can return to... UNSC space." He sort of surprised himself with his own words, but it was the least he could do.

Another nod was directed in his attention, but no words accompanied it. Now came the part he was dreading. "Listen... I haven't been completely honest with you - but I guess that's probably to be expected, given our earlier situation. I'd like to extend a measure of honesty to you, and I hope you can trust me enough to return the favor." He paused, as if waiting for the warrior in front of him to say something, or interrupt, and finding nothing of the sort would occur, simply continued. "I mentioned earlier that I am a Commander in the Systems Alliance Navy. That wasn't entirely true, you see, I was a Commander in the Alliance, but I had an... accident. As a result, a paramilitary group offered their help to aid my recovery. In return, I've offered my services to them in order to prevent a hostile alien attack on human and allied worlds."

There was the slightest of shifts in the stance of the armored behemoth at James' confession. He had expected as much, if not more of a reaction, and simply proceeded.

"The problem is... this group, Cerberus, has had a few unfortunate accidents regarding the System's Alliance. Because of that, Cerberus ships will most likely come under fire upon entry into the Sol system." He felt the air stiffen between the two soldiers, and immediately put his hands up to quell hostilities.

"Listen, I was born on Earth. Whatever Cerberus did before, I wasn't a part of. They're the only ones right now who are taking this threat seriously, and so we don't really have another option. I still keep my promises though. Instead of directly taking you to earth, we've decided to contact an Alliance delegation on a small colony world - our next destination. They'll be able to take you into Earth space from there."

He waited for a response, questions, anything. After a moment of hesitation, the armored figure nodded again in confirmation. It seemed he was not fond of the situation, but was accepting, for the time being. The last thing Shepard wanted to do in front of what was so obviously a professional soldier of whatever military he belonged to, was paint Cerberus as the human-supremacist terrorists that the rest of the galaxy made them out to be.

"I understand. This delegation... they are official representatives of the Alliance?"

Shepard shrugged, "Last I heard, yeah. Pretty official. They have a small military detail to guard them, but if you introduce yourself as peaceful, they should be able to take you in."

That seemed to satisfy the soldier. But there was more. "I take it you probably have questions about my crew. That's understandable, so ask away. I'll be as liberal with the information as I can - I owe you for it." He meant it. And he was going to settle that debt, even if the creditor had no intention of calling him out for it.

A pause had accompanied his statement, followed by the low voice, that sounded not quite amused, but tinged with a different characteristic that Shepard couldn't quite place. "They are quite unorthodox. What is your purpose?"

The Commander nodded, yep, unorthodox they were. No word had ever described his current crew more accurately. He chuckled softly as the statement was made. He wasn't the only one to think of it either.

"Well, you certainly got that right. I'll admit, its a good deal different from what I'm used to, but they get the job done. They're also the only ones committed enough to take down the Collectors."

The green head cocked at this, obviously confused at the last noun, and so Shepard went into a hasty explanation of their current adversary. "The Collectors are a race of pretty advanced aliens that we know very little about, apart from the the fact that they showed up recently and started attacking colony worlds and taking crazy amounts of prisoners. We think they're tied to a bigger threat, a race of synthetics called the Reapers that the Citadel Council seems to toss out the window as a load of bullshit. Cerberus seems to believe us though, and tada, here we are."

He begrudgingly admitted that the paramilitary group was more retroactive than the main seat of power in the government. It was true, though, and there was no way around it, but he hated it. He sighed as his eyes drifted around the room, looking for the next conversational topic, he could almost feel his blood boil at the thought of these Collectors.

He hoped that the information he shared was worth something in return. He looked up expectantly, attempting to find any expression behind that gold gaze. He found none. "Listen, I know things are probably pretty new for you, hell, they're new to both of us, and I understand where you're coming from. But my team is a little antsy about having you onboard. Is there any unclassified information you'd be willing to share? Anything you share will help me, help you. I can't do much if I don't know anything."

There was another wait as he watched the other man mull the conversation over in his brain. It had been awkwardly one sided, but he supposed that's how most of the conversations with the giant went. The soldier was less emotive than a brick wall, and it was difficult for Shepard to gauge his interest/involvement in their conversation. For all he knew, he could've played this out all wrong and given the newcomer dangerous intel. But his gut told him otherwise. And he always trusted his gut.

"My priority is to return to UNSC controlled space." No surprise there. "We have an ongoing conflict with which my duty lies." Another wait, nothing seemed forthcoming, so Shepard sighed once more, rubbed his sore and battered forehead, and addressed him once more.

"I know this may be hard to accept. If what we saw on that star chart is accurate, then you might just be a long, long way from UNSC space. Have you considered the fact it might not be possible to return?" He regretted saying it, but it had needed to be said. He could tell the soldier would have gone to extreme ends to get back to his own home, but unless Shepard was new to galactic adventuring, there was no such thing as extragalactic travel. He could tell from the slight change in posture that this option had not been considered by the man standing opposite him.

"I'm not saying things are over, but we should consider all the possibilities. If that's true... what will you do? I'm sure the Alliance would be happy to have you if it came to that."

The more he really thought on the situation, the worse he felt for the man before him. He had certainly not expected the conversation to go in this direction. Which was funny considering he was the one driving it. It had just felt right to say. His next words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Actually... we could really use someone like yourself on the Normandy. You've proven capable, and we would be grateful for your help against the Collectors."

No sooner had the hesitant words made their way out of the Commander's mouth than they were refuted by the receiver. "No." The response was firm, not quite angry, but tense. "I'm not a mercenary."

Shepard let out a brief sigh of disappointment. There was no use in telling the man that Cerberus wasn't exactly a mercenary corporation (although they were not far off), but he felt little he could say would change the soldier's opinion. For some reason, he had expected that response, yet it still let him down softly. He was slightly shocked in the change in direction, however, he had gone from immediately thinking the Master Chief a spy, to asking for his aid.

"I understand, at least I think I do. I can't force this on you, but just keep your options open." There was another terse nod, before Shepard saw fit to end the one-sided battle of words. "That will be all, unless you have any more questions."

The man seemed to straighten slightly, and Shepard struggled to keep the smirk off his face as he saw the Master Chief obviously struggle to keep from snapping to attention. He paused a moment, shook his head, and left, as quiet as he had come.

Chakwas had been watching the discussion from her corner of the med bay, silently listening and pondering, while taking stock of the remaining medical supplies aboard the ship.

"That could've gone better," came Shepard's voice from his bed.

Chakwas simply smiled back, "and it certainly could've gone a great deal worse."

"Yeah... yeah I guess you're right."

She tsked softly. "Shepard... Women are always right."

That earned her a chuckle from the Commander. It was nice to see even the good doctor had some sass, even just a little.

He supposed he was well overdue for a chat with some other members of the crew as well. It was time to get up.

OOOO

"Chug, chug, chug!" The crew was ecstatic, at least, some of them were. The Commander was not expecting to walk in on the drinking contest first thing upon entering the mess, yet he wasn't surprised. Grunt and Zaeed were going head to head, in an attempt to drown the other with liquor and spirits. Shepard noted with a brief moment of humor that there seemed to be a bottle of highly alcoholic liquid on the table, or rather, bottles. It seemed that a large portion of the crew seemed very involved in the events, with around half the combat crew surrounding them, a good number of other crew members joining them as well. Absent, of course, were the regulars to such events, such as Samara, who had probably never ingested alcohol in her long life, Thane, who was probably too religious for such an activity, and Miranda, who would never have allowed herself such a vice as 'joy'. Mess Sergeant Gardner was looking on disapprovingly upon the mayhem as he prepared the team's upcoming meal. The rest of the team seemed all to happy to be engaged in current activities - the largest proponent of which was Jack, their tattooed biotic friend.

He walked up to her, remembering the events of the operation, nudging her shoulder softly. "How you doing?" He softly inquired, the others cheering drowning out the question from listening ears.

She turned back to him, a permanent scowl lighting her features. A one-fingered salute made it his way, as well as the hallowed words, "blow yourself."

There was a soft chuckle from the Commander. Yep, Jack was fine. He considered joining the festivities, then thought better of it. "Maybe in a past life," he thought - dryly smirking to himself at the wry joke. No, Command had taken its toll. After the destruction and death of the last Normandy's crew, he had still to adjust to normal fun filled activities with the current compliment. He was getting better, it was just hard. He always wondered why he had been brought back, while so many others had not. The guilt had eaten him in the past, and unknown to most of the crew members, Yeoman Chambers and Doctor Chakwas were assisting in that regards.

He watched slightly solemnly as the krogan soldier and the not-so-retired merc downed another round, Zaeed swaying ever so softly before planting his face firmly into the table. Zaeed would've been hard to take down for anyone really, but there was no such thing as out-drinking a krogan. He had just found that out the hard way.

Just then, as he turned to leave the crew enjoy themselves, EDI spoke over his personal earpiece.

"Commander, we are entering the Huriko system soon. Joker requests your presence on the bridge." He sighed - duty calls, his feet carrying him straight to the elevator.

The mass relay was fortunately just in orbit of a planet nearby Huriko, one of the few that did so. It meant a relatively short travel time from the relay to the planet, and Huriko was known for it's semi-tropical environment year round. This pit stop would be very much worth it. The crew's relaxation would do them well, and he wouldn't mind 'recovering' in the tropical sun.

The long wait in the elevator always annoyed him, and his brain- sarcastic and fun-loving in his own ways, attempted to determine some way to make the long wait more enjoyable. Just as his head attempted to scurry something up, the doors dinged open, and he was forced to step through, as a waiting bridge party looked to take his place.

He made his way to Joker's seat, "Nice nap?"

"The best." He replied, drier than a desert summer.

"Well you're just in time Commander - we're dropping out of the relay in 3, 2, 1. Next stop, sun-shiny beach babes and piƱa colada's!"

The Commander laughed aloud as his thoughts travelled down that particular path. "You know Joker, we should really find you a gi-"

He was suddenly cut off as the view screen focused on the sight of the planet before them, once a tropical beauty. Where a rather large city had been, was a smoking ruin. In orbit, a vaguely familiar shape could be seen, before it scampered off behind the planet.

"EDI, what's going on?"

"Commander, picking up multiple distress calls from the planet's surface. It seems there was a massive assault on the colonies capital. The Collector's appear to have beaten us here."

Shepard cursed loudly. Just their luck. They had to get down there and assist the survivors. He moved towards the ships comm. The team better sober up fast. They were in for a wild ride.