A/N: Hello my lovely readers! As promised... Here's my First Contact War fic! Thank you for your patience.
I'd like to say a few things before we get started. First off, I'd like to place a warning that there will be significant amounts of violence and mature language used.
Secondly, I'd like to send out a huge thank you to my beta and friend snowwhitequeenv over on tumblr. She's been a huge source of inspiration for me, and she's helped me so much with ironing out the kinks in this story. As always, I'd like to thank my readers as well, without you I wouldn't be here posting this work!
I hope that you enjoy! I'll be updating weekly on Fridays.
Love,
Zen.
"This is Lion to Hippo, what's your status?"
"Hippo? They gave me fucking hippo as my codename?"
"Captain's got a thing for African Lion Safari or whatever."
"Or he's got a thing for fucking hippos."
"He likes 'em big."
"Fat bottomed girls make the rocking world go round."
"Saw him pick up a goddamn whale on shore leave once. She probably weighed a metric tonne. Needed eye bleach to get rid of the image of the two of them together."
She let out a snort of laughter. "I'd rather fuck a fat chick then one of these ugly dinosaur bastards."
"That makes two of us. Speaking of, status?"
"I'm chilling in the vent above their comm room. Got the data disk and the encryption codes ready to go. Can you get a read on my surroundings?"
The Gunnery Chief, currently safely situated in an Alliance shuttle with the stealth systems engaged orbiting one of the largest dreadnoughts in the turian fleet, The Izvestia, performed an infrared scan. They had planned their infiltration while the bulk of the turian army was engaged in battle on Shanxi, so the numbers on board were low. "Good news, Hippo. I'm reading one life form in the comm room and two standing guard, but everyone else is at least two minutes away. Either you can take out the hostile quietly, or wait to see if it leaves."
"Going in then. Keep this line open in case you see anything. Hippo out."
She found a grate several feet in front of her, so she silently crawled to it and gazed down. Her eyes fell onto one turian - male, most likely, judging by the size of the cowl - leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on a desk and a data pad hanging loosely in his fingers. He haphazardly threw the data pad onto the desk and let out a low sigh, rubbing his eyes.
With a level of stealth only obtainable through years of precision training and practice, she used her knife to loosen the screws and slowly lowered the grate. Her feet gripping onto the side of the vent, she uncurled herself so that she was hanging directly above the enemy. In one swift and soundless movement, she grabbed both sides of his head - fighting off the overwhelming urge to recoil at the disgusting feeling of his plates and leathery hide - and snapped his neck like a toothpick. Although he was about to loudly collapse onto the floor, she held him upright and slowly lowered him onto the desk.
He could almost be napping on the job.
She deftly reached down to grab the corners of the desk so she could release the grip of her feet from the vent, and she sprung her weight back to land on her feet. Long ago she had abandoned the bulk and protection of armour in favour of tight, flexible attire designed for stealth. Instead of boots she had black trainers; instead of full body armour she only wore black clothing; instead of a helmet she wore a black hood and a mask that covered the lower half of her face. The only visible skin was the area around her piercing green eyes, which were scanning and analyzing her surroundings.
"Any read on those hostiles on door guard, Lion?" she whispered into her comm.
"Haven't moved an inch, Hippo."
"Good. Moving to the broadcast station. Keep me updated. Hippo out."
Keeping her weight low, she jogged to the largest terminal in the room and began to dance her fingers over the keyboard. First she decrypted it to gain access, then she input the broadcast signal to the Alliance fleet, and finally she inserted the data disk and the encryption codes before sending out the signal. Were she not in a situation that required silence, she would have cried out in excitement at the first step towards Alliance victory in the First Contact War.
After all, she had just sent the Alliance the layout and crew report for every turian ship and outpost, as well as their weapons and ammo depot locations and inventory.
"Hippo, this is Lion, just got your broadcast. Damn fine work. Ready to rendezvous and get the fuck out of here? Place reeks of lizards."
"Can't get me out of this shithole fast enough. Send me the rendezvous coordinates, I'll be -"
The Gunnery Chief's eyes went as wide as saucers when the screen in front of him lit up like a menorah on the last day of Hanukkah. "Fuck! Hippo watch your six, I'm having a serious influx of hostiles coming your way, get your ass out of there!"
The Gunnery Chief's warning was too late. The two turian guards - one male, one female - had already entered the comm room and had the infiltrator in their sights. "Lion, run. I'm scrubbing. Hippo out."
Unfortunately for them, she was one of the most feared Alliance operatives for a reason. She threw her weight forward into a roll, reaching across into her hip holsters to draw both of her silenced pistols. As soon as she was upright, the guards had bullets clean through their brains and were slumped onto the floor.
The ship wide alarm must have been silent, because she heard the cavalry began to charge into the hallway outside the comm room.
Pylons. They're all obstacles in the way of Alliance victory. In such a large numbers disadvantage with no cover, she knew that her only chance of survival was to use her agility to quickly dart between enemies, battling them hand-to-hand and using their own weapons against them. She holstered her pistols and began her kill count.
The first turian raised his pistol at her. She grabbed his pistol arm and aimed it at his stomach before firing, throwing his limp bulk to the side. One.
The female behind him was equipped with a shotgun, so the operative took a dancing sidestep to avoid the shrapnel from her shot. She grabbed one of the turian's mandibles and yanked, hard, until with a gush of blue blood it ripped off her face. The turian collapsed in pain, and the operative brought all of her weight down on her foot, landing on the turian's head. Two.
They became smarter, and this time three turians came through the door. The one in front was wearing heavy armour and started to charge her; she used his momentum to her advantage, swiftly stepping aside so he barreled past her while she grabbed his comrade's pistol arm, shooting the first turian through the back of the head before bringing the butt of the pistol up to the second turian's jaw with such force that it cracked his neck. She decided to use the turian in her arms as a shield and shot the third turian clean between the eyes. Three. Four. Five.
Three more came through the door, and she spotted an engineer behind them, preparing to set up a turret. She spun her turian shield to face them, feeling his limp body tremble as his fellow soldiers' shots entered his body, and she methodically shot down the three men before dropping the body in her arms and his weapon; she then flipped onto her hands and back onto her feet so she was directly in front of the engineer. She broke his neck and used a module to hack the turret. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
She now had them bottlenecked in the hallway with the turret watching her back. Four turians were sprinting towards her so she rolled a smoke bomb towards them; when it went off, she heard them hack and cough, so she sprinted towards them. She swung her leg low to send the first turian crashing to the ground before she kicked her face plate in, sending a wave of blue blood gushing over the tile flooring as the female ceased her screaming with a gargle. She grabbed the fringe of the second and pulled up and over his head; several pieces came off of his body in a sickening crunch, and he screamed in agony before falling face first onto the floor, unconscious. She jumped onto his head with both feet, and his skull collapsed under her weight as she launched herself towards the last two, grabbing the backs of their heads to bring them together before they fell to the floor like sacks of potatoes. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
She was out of breath, her muscles ached, and every inch of her was covered in blue blood; but she would not tire, her adrenaline and survival instincts pushing her forward. A wicked smile crossed her features as she saw four more victims, ripe for the picking, beginning to march down the hallway with assault rifles perched in their talons.
Pain, sudden and sharp and blinding, stabbed her in the spot between her shoulder blades and she was thrown face first to the ground.
"Don't move." The voice was turian, male, and it meant business. His boney knee dug into her back as he shifted his weight onto her, leaving her breathless. The business side of his gun felt cold against her cheek. "If you do, I'll blow your brains out."
Deep in her throat she growled, but she conceded defeat. She hadn't been the only one who had figured out how to use the vents.
"So let me get this straight." His subvocals rippled with anger as he closed his eyes and pinched between them to calm himself. "This Alliance operative managed to breach our defenses, get her greasy little fingers on our most valuable intel, break into our comm room, and broadcast this intel across all Alliance ships before taking down fourteen good men single-handedly who tried to stop her?"
The Lieutenant Commander was shaking in fear of his Ship Master's wrath. "Yes... yes, sir."
Senior Ship Master Silvus of The Izvestia was imposing by turian standards: he was well over eight feet, with broad shoulders, heavy armour, stark white markings that contrasted with his dark grey plates, and a reputation for being ruthless with both his subordinates and his enemies. But with him, the job always got done, one way or another. "Would you like to explain to me how the fuck that happened?"
"Well s-sir, it appears that she used the v-vents-"
"Fucking revolutionary! The vents! Who would have thought an infiltrator would use the vents? How did we miss this?"
"Sir, with the battle today-"
"We knew it would be a perfect opportunity for something like this to happen." Silvus stood from his captain's chair and towered over the shaking Lieutenant. "Where the fuck was your goddamn team?"
The Lieutenant shook so badly that his words were almost indecipherable. "It... it w-was Serviceman Villian's b-birthday, w-we t-took f-f-f-five minutes to h-have a s-s-s-s-slice of Serviceman Natia's cake-"
The Ship Master's face was now mere inches from his Lieutenant's. "That piece of cake may have cost us the war, and it definitely lost you your position. You're discharged, Lieutenant, and since I don't want to waste any of my shuttles getting you home you'll be on janitorial duty - I think bathrooms will be suitable - until the next time we land in non-hostile territory, and then you'll be on your own."
The Lieutenant had no choice but to acquiesce to his fate; to argue with the Ship Master meant a guaranteed express trip to trial for insubordination and he had no desire for further trouble. With a snapped salute he turned on his heel and exited, resigning himself to his fate of scrubbing out toilets for the next several weeks. As he stepped out, he heard the Ship Master growl, "Send in Senior Serviceman Vakarian."
Silvus paced with his fingers laced behind his back while he waited for Vakarian. His head ached when he considered the discussion he was doomed to have with Admiral Vanorn, admitting his failure and addressing the inevitable fallout of the release of information.
"Senior Serviceman Vakarian at your service, sir."
The Ship Master turned in time to catch Vakarian's salute. Kaius Vakarian was one of the best damn men on his ship: infallibly loyal, fiercely competitive, intelligent, and unstoppable with a sniper, Silvus estimated the man was destined for a command post in the next five years.
"At ease," Silvus growled. "What's the captive's status?"
"While we were escorting her to a holding cell, she attempted to attack her escorts and we were forced to sedate her. She's currently unconscious in holding area B. We've stripped her of everything but her underclothes." He didn't add that his disgust of the human form was what kept him from stripping her to absolutely nothing.
"I see. Is she being supervised?"
"Serviceman Sahco is with her at the moment."
"Excellent work, Senior Serviceman. You'll be receiving a recommendation for a commendation for your work today in stopping the assassin, seeing as you're the only one smart enough to think of not only inspecting the vents, but using them tactically."
"I'm honoured, sir."
"Our work with her isn't over yet; not even close. Give her only enough rations to survive, and toss her sorry ass into one of the cells in block D." Silvus hoped that when all she had was a hole in the ground to shit in, a moldy blanket on a concrete floor to sleep on, a dog door to receive her food, and minimal interaction with the outside world, she would break quickly. "Give her a week of that, and then we'll begin interrogations. By the time we're done with her, we'll know what colour underwear Admiral Grissom wears."
"Yes sir."
"Who are your four best Servicemen?"
"Raxus, Victus, Quintin, and Vanorn. I'd trust them with my life."
"I want the four of them to cycle guard duty for this woman. That bitch will have turian eyes on her at all times."
"Aye aye, sir. I'll notify the Servicemen and have her transferred to block D."
"Dismissed."
That bitch will pay, the Ship Master thought to himself. I'll break all her fingers and toes and flay every inch of her if I have to, but she will pay for what she did.