In full armor, John 117 known famously as Master Chief stepped into the shower sliding the door closed behind him. The hot water Faucet squeaked as he turned it. He swayed his body sensually left and right under the gentle steamy spray as it rinsed the soapy suds from his armor plating. The door suddenly slid open, but Master Chief didn't turn to look. He knew exactly who was joining him. Figured it was only a matter of time, he said in his gruff voice. It was his trusty Alien partner, Arbiter who stepped into the shower with him, and shut the door again. Master Chief could then feel something stiff and hot rubbing against the plating on the rear of his thigh. I warned you to never point a weapon at me, Master Chief said cooly. Arbiter slowly lifted his head above Chief's shoulder grazing the stubble on his split jaw against the side of Master Chief's helmet. You afraid I'll shoot?, he replied. That depends, said Master Chief. What kind of shooting are we talking about here? Arbiter smiled as convincingly as his hideous face would allow. White hot Plasma, he whispered. The best kind. Master Chief could suddenly feel Arbiter's Plasma Pistol charging with a force he had never felt in all his years of experience in his years under the United Nations Space Command. And he found himself in an incredibly sticky situation. He then felt Arbiter press the pulsating weapon against his lower back. Master Chief quickly reached behind him and grabbed the hot quivering barrel of Arbiter's pistol. I knew right away I wouldn't be able to hold all that Plasma for long. Master Chief turned his head, smirking behind his visor. Better take your shot.