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A plume of smoke curled from Johnson's cigar as Guilty Spark's words echoed through the command center. "Two hours," Johnson muttered, his gaze flickering to Master Chief. The Spartan was moving towards the storage locker, his hand already reaching for the assault rifle.
"Where are you headed, Chief?" Johnson's voice held a note of confusion. The mystery of the Spartan's actions allowed him to temporarily forget the weight of Miranda's death.
John grunted as the weight of the rifle set on his back. There was a suppressed urgency in his movements. "We don't have two hours."
"So we play cat and mouse with the Flood in this fancy ship for a while," Johnson countered, his voice firm. The thought of the Chief charging headfirst into that Flood-infested nightmare didn't settle well with him and there was no way he was letting him fight his way through all those grotesque forms. Not when they were safe here.
The Chief's response was a resolute shake of his head. "No."
"No?" Johnson barked, a flicker of frustration igniting in his eyes. "Care to elaborate, Chief?"
John's gaze drifted towards the distant glow of High Charity, the once-majestic city now a testament to the Flood's corruption. "Cortana," he finally said, his voice low. "She has the Index from the first ring. I can breach the ship, grab her, and get the Index. We don't need to wait for Spark's lead."
Johnson sputtered, nearly choking on his cigar. "Chief, that's insane! High Charity is practically consumed by the Flood. I know you Spartans and your near god-like reputation, but this is a suicide mission!"
Silence stretched between them, heavy with tension. Finally, the Chief spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. "She's still over there."
A wave of sympathy washed over Johnson for the stoic Spartan. He understood the bond between John and the AI, a connection most wouldn't comprehend. He'd witnessed them in combat, a well-oiled machine working in perfect sync. "Chief," he said, his voice gruff but laced with empathy, "there's nothing I'd want more than for you to bring her back, but that place is a deathtrap."
"I made a promise," John said, his jaw clenched.
"To an AI who knew the risks when she stayed behind. She wouldn't want you throwing yourself away for her."
John held his gaze for a long moment before starting towards the bay with renewed determination. "I need to go."
Johnson let out a humorless chuckle, the pieces clicking into place. "Spartans," he rumbled, shaking his head. "Never do anything by halves. Especially not for someone... they care about."
The mention of care sent a jolt through the Spartan. John whirled around, his voice sharp. "It's not... It's not like that, Johnson. The Index—"
Johnson held up a hand, silencing him. "We both know the damn Index ain't your top priority, Chief. And frankly, if it was, I'd be disappointed in you." He paused, a glint of respect in his eyes. "You're the only one in this whole damn galaxy who'd walk straight through hell itself to save her. Now that, Chief, is what I call love."
Another beat of silence, then a subdued, "I can't leave her there."
Johnson studied the Spartan, a pang of sympathy twisting in his gut. John, for all his strength, was a man struggling to understand his own feelings. "I know you can't," Johnson said with a sigh. "Now, get on that damned ship and bring her back."
He waited until John spun around before calling out, "And Chief? Your secret's safe with me."
With a curt nod, John continued making his way and strode towards the Pelican.
A grim smile passed over the sergeant's face as he watched the Spartan board the vessel. He knew John would do whatever it took to rescue Cortana. Good, he thought bitterly, it was about time those Flood bastards got what was coming to them.