<[i]Two months later[/i]> [i]I am ridiculously bored,[/i] John realised as he woke up and stared outside the window of his home. Another gloriously beautiful day, and the happy chirping of birds rang clear through his bedroom. How he hated it. Groaning lethargically, John rose and propped himself up. His almost unnaturally soft duvet covers threatened to suffocate him. He was used to thin mattresses, rough, scratching sheets and the violent swaying of a ship. He reluctantly swung his legs over the side of his bed, and stood up. Walking over to the mirror, he examined his reflection in the large mirror. Had anyone seen him on a dark night, they would have walked in the other direction. Hell, they'd probably do it in the day too. His ghostly pale skin was a criss-cross of networking scars and torn, discoloured tissue. His large, powerful hands were as rough as leather, and his body rippled with muscle that no normal man could attain. His eyes were sunken, dark pits. Added to his incredibly tall stature and he made for a terrifying sight. John knew that he barely constituted as human in appearance. In the military it hadn't mattered so much; hell, he'd spent most of his time in MJOLNIR armour anyway. But to the rest of humanity and otherwise, he was a freak of nature. He threw on a custom-tailored dressing gown, eased into a pair of bland, grey slippers, and opened the door of his bedroom. The rest of the house confronted him. It was large, modern; perfect really. Everything anyone could ever want was at his beck and call. Except he wasn't 'anyone.' He was a Spartan. Retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But he was so tired of war and losing people that he'd quit active service in the UNSC, at the recommendation of various psychologists who'd informed him that being the last of his kind might be detrimental to his mental state if he remained in the UNSC any longer. They'd given him a fitting party, a hoard of honourary medals, and had given him this house and a very generous pension. All very nice, but absolutely boring. Cortana of course was not allowed to go into retirement. And even if she was John knew she wouldn't anyway. AIs like her [i]needed[/i] the military and the excitement which came with it. John was quickly realising that he did too. But he couldn't go back. His Spartans were all gone, and there was nothing left for him in the UNSC. He'd only go back if he were needed. [i]One, two, three,[/i] John counted monotonously as he descended down the staircase of his home, trailing a hand across the gleaming banister. "Sol Newsnet," he called out at he reached the foot of the staircase. The large holoscreen leaped to life. [i]"--well it's the first Presidential election in over a hundred years, so of course everyone is nervous. The military government is all people have known their entire lives. Reverting back to a democracy will be a startling change,[/i]" a reporter spoke as she stood outside of the UEG congress building. Guards were watching her closely. John walked around the holoscreen, observing the scene from every angle. "[i]Definitely. It's only been a few months since the devastation caused by the Flood, and obviously humanity is still recovering. Are we truly in any kind of state to be voting?[/i]" the anchor asked the reporter, and after a few seconds she replied. [i]"Recovery has been moving along at a swift pace, and the elections aren't for a few more months yet. I'm more concerned about the agendas of some of the parties. Particularly the ones promoting alien segregation. In this reporter's honest opinion, they should get off Earth and find their own damn planet.[/i]" "[i]Yes, I'm in agreement with you there. It's been just over a year since the Covenant war ended, and I think the UNSC has forgiven them far too quickly. Hopefully the new government will amend--"[/i] John turned the television off in disgust. [i]Whatever happened to unbiased journalism?[/i] Moving into the gym, he threw on some a loose vest and shorts, putting his dressing gown to one side. He quickly dropped to the ground and did one hundred press ups; a light work out, but he wasn't in the mood for vigorous training that morning. Moving over to the gravity-adjuster in the room, he turned the dial back down from 300% to the standard 100%. Throwing his dressing gown back on, he left the gym. He walked into the kitchen and snapped his fingers at the kettle sitting in the corner. "Boil," he ordered, and immediately it came to life and began to heat up the purified water within. Grabbing a cup from a cupboard, he reached into his fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. He noticed that it was almost depleted. Pressing a few buttons on the fridge door, he ordered a new one. Within a minute he was sitting on his lush sofa with a steaming warm mug of coffee. A paper-back book -- a rarity these days -- sat on the table. [i]Master Chief,[/i] the book was simply titled. Ambiguous, but John was sure that everyone knew who it was referring to. The book had been published about a month ago, and was an attempt at gathering every piece of information known about him and the Spartan program into one compliment. The sheer amount of errors in it made for an amusing read. The author seemed convinced that he had been grown in a secret ONI lab, and was half-man half-machine, like a Terminator from the old 20th century movie. Everyone had moved on. Thel was serving as General and ambassador for the Sangheili, and was working on strengthening his people with Grand Kaidon R'tas Vadum'. They kept in touch, and had met a few times in the past few months, but it wasn't the same. Cortana was serving on the UNSC [i]Hastings[/i] with Admiral Cole, who was busy attempting to rout out the insurrection sparked by Eden. John had been tempted to re-enlist solely to hunt after that miserable bastard. Doctor Halsey, Johnson and Mendez had seemingly vanished; he hadn't heard from any of them in months. The Didact had gone off on his attempt to find survivors of his species, leaving 343 Spark behind. He smiled as he remembered a conversation he and Spark had had a few weeks ago. [i]"Well Spark, there it is as I promised. London Bridge,[/i]" John had said, pointing at the hundreds of years old structure in the distance, at contrast with the ultra-modern skyscrapers which made up London's skyline. Spark had been silent for a few moments. [i]"But... it's not falling down,[/i]" he had finally replied in a disappointed tone, drooping slightly. John had laughed. [i]"It wouldn't be a very good bridge if it was.[/i]" [i]"Irrelevant. The song lied, Reclaimer. That is absolutely unacceptable. Who created it? He must be punished at once.[/i]" [I]"I'm fairly sure that whoever devised the song is long dead, Spark,[/i]" John smiled. [i]"Semantics,[/i]" Spark had grumbled, before turning away. John took a sip of coffee, and laughed softly to himself as he remembered the humourous scene. Despite the fact that he'd tried to kill him twice, John found that he rather loved the eccentric little monitor. The last he'd known Spark was helping the scientists at the Voi Portal unlock it's mysteries. According the the monitor, the Portal had merely been an extension of infrastructure that was already there. The prevailing theory was that buried deep beneath Earth was a network of Precursor tunnels. And with humanity being their descendants, hopefully they'd be able to unlock its secrets. John rose the cup to his lips again when-- [i]Knock, knock, knock.[/i] The heavy pounding on his door grounded to a halt after the third knock. John had already reacted to it by the end of the first, throwing down his coffee and running to the mantelpiece on the other side of the room. With a deft, unconscious movement, he checked that it was loaded and began to advance on the door, still in his dressing gown. He peered around the door. A dark shadowy figure stood behind it. With stealthy grace, he ascended up the staircase, being careful not to let the figure behind the door see him as he did so. Finding an open window, he opened it and climbed down, utitlising his Spartan athleticism. Once he was on the floor, he began to move around his house to where the man was standing behind his door. "Maybe he isn't in," a voice murmured. John frowned, pausing. "He's in," another assured. Two of them. Simple enough. And even if there were more, John would be able to handle them easily even if he didn't have a pistol in his hand. He waited a few moments, and swung out of cover. "On the ground!" he shouted, firing a shot in the air before aiming the pistol at them. The two men swung around, startled. "Master Chief!" one of them squeaked, before staring at his dressing gown with no little perplexity. John stared at them both closely, and groaned when he noticed the insignia on their uniforms. A shuttle some metres away bore the same symbol. "ONI," was all he said, reluctantly lowering the pistol. "What do you want?" The two men from ONI recomposed themselves, still a little unnerved by John's sudden and complete ambush of them. Sweat trailed down their foreheads. "We have a proposition for you, Master Chief--" "I'm not in the military anymore. My name is John," the Spartan replied, voice taking on a hard edge. The first ONI officer gulped noticeably. "Of course. I apologise," he answered hastily, his words ascending into a crescendo at the end of his sentence. "We want you to train some recruits, Master Chief," the second ONI officer cut in, saving his terrified companion from having to go on. John considered them for a moment, as a strong breeze lapped against the soft edges of his dressing gown.