A/N: This was written out of boredom. I do not own Mass Effect, Star Trek, Starship Troopers, Uplink, or anything else I may use. If you have a complaint, be civil. If you have a flame...
Well, you know what you can do with it. Updates will not be regular. You have been notified.
In 2148, humanity discovered an ancient repository of knowledge and a cache of advanced technology the likes of which they had never seen. With it was an unknown element capable of generating a field that manipulated the mass of any object within it. This was called the mass effect.
But that didn't mean humanity was ready to suddenly jump on the bandwagon. Their own technology, while nothing as fancy as the mass effect, was still fairly advanced. This was largely due to the need to develop more efficient technologies to reverse the damage they had done to their own planet during World War Three.
The global economy was devastated; cities destroyed, forest burned, and nearly two billion lives were lost. The war had started in 2022 and ended just a year later, but the damage was immense. It took humanity the next eighty years to make a dent in damage, but they didn't just remain there.
Several ark ships were built with the most advanced technologies available at the time, designed to be self-sufficient and capable of establishing a terraforming operation on Mars. The Terraforming Fleet was finished in 2087 and launched with nearly half a million total.
It took a decade to fully terraform Mars - but with a new habitable planet in the system and ships that could ferry people to and from with relative ease, the migration began.
Humanity continued to advance, until a short interplanetary conflict in 2103, which showed a great need to further shielding technology, as well as develop anti-orbital defenses. The old, conventional stuff wouldn't suffice anymore. Somewhere along the line, people stopped caring about money – which was what allowed the construction of a new ship meant to explore the stars. We can't just think of ourselves anymore, people started to say.
Six years after that, in honor of the works of Gene Roddenberry, the man who created a series that inspired so many, the first exploratory starship ever built – the NX-01 Enterprise was christened with a newer, refined warp drive. Unlike the earlier, primitive ones on the arks, the warp engine onboard the NX-01 was, like its fictional counterpart, rated for Warp Five, which led to the question of whether or not Gene Roddenberry was really a time traveler.
This was quickly disproven, due to the lack of Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, and in general, any life within the vicinity of the Sol System.
But that didn't deter humanity from exploring the stars. Three more NX class ships were built, each one armed with particle weapons and anti-matter torpedoes. The "phasers", so named for their fictional counterparts, were in reality, high energy positron lasers based on the design from the early 2000's.
They were also, like their counterparts, armed with energy shields – unlike the ark ships, whom were simply clad in polarized hull plating. Effective, but crude, and it was the best they could do powered by fusion reactors. The warp fields they used weren't very powerful, but due to the fact that the fields themselves had the ability to lower inertial mass, it shortened the trip by effectively lightening the load – which was not similar to what element zero did.
And then, 2148 rolled around. Element Zero's mass affecting properties were discovered. Warp drive refinement was there, but they had come no closer to breaking the warp five barrier.
And then, in 2151, a scientist theorized that if element zero could be incorporated into the existing Alcubierre drive, they'd be able to finally break the Warp Five barrier and achieve speeds previously thought impossible. Fans of Star Trek would later liken Element Zero to dilithium.
That same year, researchers at the Mars Archive discover that Charon is actually an artificial moon, housing a device the Protheans call a "Mass relay", which allows for near instantaneous travel by creating a mass-free corridor to another relay, and then essentially lightening the ship and then accelerating it to speeds otherwise impossible.
It was decided then, to break the relay free and attempt an activation. It was successful, and one month after that, a probe was sent through using the instructions in the Archives. Since it didn't explode on the way off, Starfleet (again, in honor of Roddenberry's work, and the direction it led humanity towards) asked its captains for volunteers to take their ship through the relay, activate the relay on the other side, and transit back. There was no shortage of volunteers.
Six years after that, an exploration task group comprised of two Roddenberry-class science vessels and three Daedalus class starships encountered Relay "314", the relay on the other end of the Shanxi relay.
First Contact was not peaceful to say the least.
Years Later...
Deep within what used to be the United States' NORAD complex in Cheyanne Mountain, the Director of Starfleet's non-existent Secret Intelligence Service, codenamed "M" looked over the reports the Diplomatic Corps had forwarded. As expected, Councilor Sparatus was indeed the dissenter on the Council, and would no doubt also be the one who would decide who would be the Spectre observer.
But since the Turians also made up a large majority of Citadel Forces, they also had the largest number of officers in the SPECTRES. Frankly, he wondered exactly why humanity agreed to take up the offer to join the Citadel Council. Sure, we got some stuff in return, but by in large, the Council was the one who came out on top.
The Salarians, with their specialty in science and espionage and their tendency to have plans on how to kill everyone they meet, that was nothing new. The Asari, being the blue skinned seductresses they were, had both beauty and bang – but because of their long age and "long view" mentality, they were the easiest to deal with in terms of civility. The Turians however, were still teetering on a Civil War, though it was not over whether or not humanity did wrong – but rather whether or not to crucify Vakarian and honor Scultus or crucify Scultus and honor Vakarian for the events at Relay 314.
The autocratic philosophy of the Turians seemed to be biting them in the ass since it was also relatively inflexible.
Then again, nearly all of the Citadel races were inflexible. All across the board, their technologies, while having minute differences in usage and construction, were all basically ther same – eezo core to lighten the load and a fusion reactor for power. There was even a Citadel law banning anti-matter research – which was something humanity did not tell the Council – nor did they reveal the existence of their AI's, given the close minded nature of the galaxy regarding artificial intelligences.
In his opinion, they were asking for it. You cannot simply treat an artificial life form as if they were not a living being simply because they were constructed of inorganic materials.
And the deeper he dug into the Citadel's history, the more annoyed he got – though scientists did discover something interesting.
The relay at Charon was dated to have been at least a million or so years old. Subsequent dating on other relays indicated their ages varied anywhere between a few million to the youngest of fifty-thousand years, which begged the question – if the relays were indeed built by the Protheans (which he and just about every other credible anthropologist doubted), then why was there nothing in the Archives on how to actually build them?
Granted, it could've been merely an issue of an incomplete database, but there was no visible damage and no damage to the data as far as their diagnostics could tell. He made a memo to fire off to the Archive's Institute to start digging into the older files.
Then there were the samples they took from the Citadel – sections of it indicated it was very new, other sections indicated that it was older than the dinosaurs.
As far as the intergalactic anthropological and historical community was concerned however, they had stopped looking because nobody had any luck finding anything older – and therefore, must mean that there was nothing before the Protheans.
Only ONE out of the entire community had a theory that the Protheans were not in fact, the creators of the relays – but because there was no evidence to support that, the theory was written off as a joke.
Once again, he found himself shaking his head and wondered if any of these races had even heard of radiometric dating.
Or proper first contact protocols. The Yahg and the Krogan were prime examples of that.
He had to wonder if any effort was actually made to look for an actual solution instead of a quick fix. Suen may have been inhospitable, but wasn't that what the hard suits were for? Did they even try to understand the Rachni?
So many questions with no answers literally surrounded the Citadel's every move – and that was just the iceberg. Three hundred years ago, they barred the Quarians for the creation of the Geth, but to date, there were almost no mentions of Geth forces anywhere. The Quarians on the other hand had since been degraded to living onboard a fleet of aging ships, thus reducing their immune system's strength to the point where anything not sanitized would cause a violent reaction like a very advanced form of autoimmune disease or anaphylactic shock.
And then there were the Batarians – a race whose culture was very harsh and was entirely based around slavery. Why they were allowed to continuously operate in Citadel Space with little or no punitive measures in place for their slave runs was beyond comprehension.
Them, he suggested a planetary takeover if and when the Batarians decided to enslave a human colony. Slavery was an absolutely barbaric practice – one that deserved to die out with the ages.
And then, there were the Krogan – a warrior race reduced to nothing because the Council uplifted them to do their dirty work, then turned around and cursed because their mess turned around and bit them.
The ban of anti-matter research. The ban of opening new relays. The lack of any significant variantion in technology. The lack of any curiousity or questioning at the lack of anything before the Protheans. The "AI" boogeyman.
M rubbed his temples.
Why did they join the Citadel again? Almost their entire fleet ran on matter-antimatter reaction reactors and they all had AI.
He shook his head, flipping through the weekly report.
There were a grand total of two hundred and forty nine threats, all of varying levels ranging from Omega Black to Alpha White. Most of the listed threats were Alpha White, and the total number of threats in the SIS's jurisdiction this week was two. The only thing the SIS was interested in were those classified as Tau or higher.
How fun.
"Sir? You'll want to see this." His assistant said, handing him a report.
He glanced down at it and raised an eyebrow.
"Shepard's kid is going into the MI?"
Created in honor of Heinlein's Starship Troopers, humanity's own Mobile Infantry did much the same job with gear designed based on his creations.
Alexandria Shepard, daughter of Captain Shepard sat nervously on the shuttlecraft currently ferrying herself and several others from Jump Zero to an undisclosed planet only known by its nickname "The Forge". This was due entirely to the fact that the entire planet was under the Mobile Infantry's control – and was where the most heavily armed and deadliest warriors were put through hell and emerged Mobile Infantry.
The planet itself was barely class M – capable of sustaining life, but not without a lot of fight. It was not a place where one could expect to simply eek out a comfortable living without the help of technology.
She heard the stories from her old man, and from countless others in Starfleet; some swore by the MI, and others found them to be an unpleasant but unnecessary asset to humanity, who had worked so hard to eradicate war.
Still, as the saying went, better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
The worst thing any civilization could ever do most philosophers, professors and academists agreed, was complete and total disarmament. There would always exist some criminal, some crime somewhere no matter how advanced the civilization.
A sudden bump shocked her out of her thoughts.
"Sorry about that ladies and gents – we appear to be having some trouble with our internal inertia dampeners. We expect the problem to be rectified in a few minutes."
The calm tone of the pilot was a nice contrast to the anxious eagerness of everyone sitting in the craft with her. Most of them wanted to be heroes – to go forth and fight the good fight, earn medals, that kind of thing.
She had little illusion of what would await her in the future – a man named Zaeed had seen to that. They'd met during the stop-over and the man had recognized her as Shepard's daughter. Having served with him back when he was just a Sergeant, he took it upon himself to educate her on exactly how hellish war could be, showing her the faceplate they had to install to fix his face when the partner he had started a company with paid four men to hold him down while he put one in his face. Santiago's mistake, according to him, was that he had used one of them "shitty Turian pistols".
He had also told her that MI training was hellish, brutal, and that anyone who makes it past the first week should be respected.
She sighed to herself, having no idea how long it's been since they had taken off. They had removed all of their omni-tools and watches. They were, effectively, naked in terms of gear. The only thing they were allowed to bring was one bag of personal effects.
She had a knife and a gun her father gave her – both of which were early MI. The pistol was chambered for .50 caliber armor piercing, high explosive incendiary "Raufoss" ammunition, and the knife was a seven inch Ka-bar bayonet with a monomolecular edge. She also had with her a picture, a few trinkets, and a copy of Heinlein's "Starship Troopers".
Most importantly however, around her neck were her tags and those of her mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, who had died onboard the USS Rogers during an engagement somewhere along the border of the Terminus Systems protecting a Quarian patrol fleet that had fallen under attack from a force of slavers.
She wondered what her mother would've said to her if she had still been alive.
Yawning, she decided to take a nap in her seat, leaning against the window cover as she did so.
Five minutes later, the entire cabin had fallen asleep, and the door to the cockpit opened.
"Gas is clear. Masks off." One of the men ordered. "Time?"
"Coming on sixteen hours, Chief."
"Good. Prep for initiation." He ordered, walking the aisles, looking at the faces of his new company.
He paused only briefly when he passed by the sleeping form of the younger Shepard, grunting. "Location?"
"Pilot reports we've begun deceleration burn."
The Chief grinned sadistically. "Then let's get ready to recieve."
Some minutes later...
"GET YOUR ASSES OFF MY DAMN SHIP!"were the first words she ever heard. She found herself trying to scramble to her feet, but her body just wouldn't respond. It felt lethargic – like the same feeling you get after you've slept on your arm wrong for a good while. Her eyes wouldn't stay open, and she felt like ignoring the loud annoying man and going back to sleep.
Except they were all being hauled to their feet and shoved roughly out the door onto the hot, sandy surface with shouting all around them, yelling at them to line up into three lines an arm length apart.
She was doing relatively well compared to everyone else judging by the number of people who were struggling to simply stay upright.
Once the group had finished forming up and the shuttles gone, the dust had cleared to reveal to them a bunch of MI troopers in a line in front of them. Each one of them were smartly dressed and looked like the mini sandstorm that had just taken place had never happened.
"My name is Master Chief Petty Officer Pierce, your senior drill instructor! To my left and my right are my cadre – and for the next several months, we are going to destroy you. We will tear you apart and rebuild you – because right now, not a single one of you is worth the goddamn fuel it took to get you here. If you don't want to keep at this, you're welcome to step out now and wait for the next shuttle off this planet." He paused and waited.
A third of those currently in the formation started to get away and head towards the spaceport.
"You see them?" The Chief asked, gesturing towards the leavers. "They're the smart ones. They left before they got themselves and other people killed. Rest of you idiots, well – can't say the same. Sergeant!"
"Yes, Chief!"
"Show 'em their new quarters." The Chief ordered. "Consider you pukes lucky – today, you get to take it easy. Enjoy it – because this will be the last you'll ever have in a very long time. Get going!"
Once all the recruits had been filed out, he turned around with a great big grin.
"Alright Athena, who won the bet?" He asked.
One of the corporals (a woman) brought out a small notebook. "The total amount of leavers across the board is...one thousand, two hundred and forty nine. Chief wins again."
There was a chorus of "aw's" and "damns".
The Chief simply grinned. "Told you suckers."
Meanwhile, in the barracks...
Unlike Starfleet who put their cadets and recruits in "co-ed" barracks by assigning rooms to same sex recruits, the MI didn't give a flying crap if you were male, female or transgender. Everyone went to the same bathrooms and showers, which made for a very awkward first week there owing to the fact that some people were trying to hide signs of sexual arousal in the shower.
Once they had all changed into their new uniforms and fed, they were brought in for a series of lectures from the planet's commander, a full bird Colonel, who had explained to them exactly what was expected of them and a brief overview of the trials coming their way.
One of the things that made MI training so difficult was that unlike Starfleet's training, which took place in proper buildings, the MI trained as if they were in the field. That meant they slept in tents most of the time and made do with field showers (or sometimes, none at all), field latrines and supply drops.
Every MI trooper had to go through "initiation". This was done to weed out those who were unsuited for the rigors and consisted of gassing the new recruits with a compound that both anesthetized and dulled their motor control. This meant that to move like a person did regularly would take some effort – hence why a good third of their recruits went crawling, limping or however they could get to the spaceport.
There, they'd be informed of what happened to them and then given the choice one last time. If they wanted to keep at it, they'd be returned to one of the training units. If not, they receive a down check on their recruit training and are sent off to Starfleet Marines. If they wanted to come back, they'd have to appeal.
The first week of MI training would start with a briefing and information packet about the flora and fauna, temperature and weather conditions and places to avoid on the planet, followed by a trip to the quartermaster for their uniforms and gear.
Once that was done, they'd start marching out to any one of the training grounds and from there, begin training. They'd get supply drops consisting of weapons, training gear, ammunition and other supplies.
Occasionally, the food supply drop wouldn't arrive, which meant they'd have to fend for themselves until the next supply drop. Each unit was equipped with a radio for the training officer to request whatever supplies and medical attention if they needed to.
This would continue out in the field for a few months, and once basic training was done, they'd return to the actual base and begin combat training there and learn the ins and outs of the standard issue MI hardsuit.
Three months after that, they'd be introduced to the Marauder series powered armor and learn how to use them in ground and space assault missions, plus orbital drops.
"How many?" Pierce asked, eyes glued to the big monitor on base. Since this was unofficially the MI HQ, they also had feeds from ongoing operations on screen. At the moment, the screen was showing a smash op somewhere along the edge of the Citadel-Terminus border to knock out a known slaver colony.
"Right now?" Colonel Sink asked, nodding to the screen. "The Chesty Puller and Black's Bastards. They're goin' in with Marauders and grunts."
"Hostage rescue?" Pierce asked, turning his head.
Sink nodded. "Yep. How's the new batch?"
Pierce wagged his hand. "Same same. We got a few notables – Shepard's kid is here."
Sink's eyebrows shot up. "Shepard? As in former MI Captain Shepard?"
"Yes, sir." Pierce nodded. "She's in my unit."
Sink shook his head. "How many have dropped out so far?"
"It's gone up to two thousand, thirty six out of three thousand, seven hundred and forty seven."
"Chief." Pierce turned around, checking his watch with a glance.
"Sergeant."
"Trainees have been geared, fed and briefed. Orders?"
"Put 'em to sleep for three hours, then we start the march."
Meanwhile...
Shepard found herself (among others) trying to keep to themselves in the shower. There were a few who thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but on the whole it was something she found extremely embarrassing.
(Un)Thankfully, they were only given two minutes for a shower, so her embarrassment didn't last long.
Her roommate seemed relatively pleasant, though displeased at the showering situation.
After a nice hot meal (and probably their last), they were given some literature to read.
More people dropped out.
They were marched over to the quartermaster to pick up some more gear.
More people dropped out.
Finally, after a briefing, nighttime rolled around and they were all told to go sleep for the night.
But as she laid there in her bunk, the only thing she could think of was what lie in front of her. Joining had been an obstacle all on its own – with its uncertainty and unknown that lay outside of her comfort zone, with only a thin sliver of a buffer thanks to her father and that man Zaeed.
The seconds ticked endlessly and impossibly loud in the barracks as she stared up at the ceiling all night.
Countless others shifted in their beds, the springs creaking as they did so. A bunch of them even stared to talk about home, exchange names, that sort of thing.
"Shepard." Someone whispered.
She blinked. "Yes?" She whispered back.
"Oh good, I'm not the only one awake." Her bunk mate whispered, poking her head down from the top bunk. "Couldn't sleep?"
Shepard sat up in bed, nodding. "Yeah."
"So...Earther, colonist or a space brat?"
Shepard chuckled. "Space brat. Perks of having a MI for a father."
"Heh. Mine was Starfleet. Admiral Archer."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Melissa Archer?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?" She asked, frowning.
"Didn't we meet at that award ceremony a few years back?"
Before she could respond, the doors busted open and in walked the Chief and his sergeants, banging an empty metal bucket with an extendable baton.
"RISE AND SHINE LADIES! GEAR UP AND FORM UP OUTSIDE! FIVE MINUTES!" The Chief bellowed.
The sound of people scrambling out of their bunks followed shortly.
It took them all a good fifteen minutes to finally get out there, whereupon they noticed several things.
First, there were well over a thousand of them and only a handful of instructors, plus the Chief.
And second, they were all pissed.
"Fifteen fucking minutes!" The Chief bellowed. "I know old men who fuck faster than you pathetic pukes move! Now, normally, I'd drop you all to the deck and keep you there until we need to replace your damn arms with prosthetics, but we're fucking short on time!" He paused, before kicking the ground.
"Goddamn it. I cannot believe my fucking luck." He grumbled. "To think that I of all people, would be saddled with you frakking wimps!" He spat.
The instructors remained stone faced.
"Well, that doesn't matter anymore." He continued. "Each one of your groups came from a barracks. Each barracks is to be considered its own section, and will be assigned a section leader at the end of today. If you are one, you are responsible for everything your section does or does not do! This means if they fuck up, it is ON YOUR HEAD! Understood!?"
"SIR, YES, SIR!"
"Well, at least you apes are good at something. Fall out and check each other's gear – we move in twenty minutes!" The Chief ordered.
Two weeks later...
Immediately following the real Day One march out to Training Ground Four, half of the remaining recruits dropped out in various intervals – some after the first three miles, some halfway, and there were eve those who dropped out at the very end.
This however, served multiple purposes for the Chief and his instructors.
For one – since the recruits were not required to stay in formation during this march, so long as they stayed with the group, this meant that recruits were not prohibited from helping out fellow recruits.
This also helped the instructors pick out recruit cadre by observing those that did – and from there, would make a determination as to who would be best suited for squad leader, platoon sergeants and leaders, and the section's sergeant and leader.
Who they were didn't matter – just because they showed potential for it didn't mean they'd last until now.
Statistically, the first two weeks were known unofficially amongst MI as Whiskey-14 (Washout). Within these first two weeks, the numbers of the entire training troop would be cut down by as much as three quarters.
This time, they had a little over six hundred remaining, split into three sections.
Commanding Section 1 was Recruit Lieutenant Winters and Recruit Sergeant Avery; Section 2 Lipton and Barnes, and the 3rd was Chan and Jameson.
Winters and Avery, he wasn't worried about them. Winters was a transfer from Starfleet Marines. To be more specific, he was from their Spaceborne Infantry division, which meant he jumped out shuttles from sub-orbit. As was Liption, as was Chan.
They were the...lesser cousin of the Mobile Infantry. They were usually called on most of the time since they weren't as heavily armed or as aggressive as the Mobile Infantry were.
Avery, while new, had MI blood in her – and had hailed from a long line of good soldiers. She, along with Winters, had kept their section's morale up, even going so far as to take some of the extra load off those who were struggling to keep up.
Section Two dealt with the march a different way. Halfway through the march, Lipton began taking charge and instead of taking the extra load off, decided that they wouldn't cross the line until all of them did. This worked very well, although it did get him yelled at a few times for falling behind.
As for Section 3, Chan had slowed them down, sped them up, but never stopped – all the time while helping those falling behind make it back to the group.
This bunch also proved to be the most surprising, since for once, the Chief and his cadre actually had to consider who they would be picking for first string squad leader positions since quite a few recruits stepped up to the plate.
Ultimately, it was decided to rotate them to give everyone a shot throughout training.
So far, they were doing well, despite having to deal with the temperature extremes that accompanied the night and day cycles, as well as having to sleep outside with limited camping gear.
It'd be another two weeks before they started covering weapon training. For now, it was all just about drill and ceremonies, as well as tactics, strategy, and in general, knowledge.
During this time, recruits were expected to spend most of their time studying when not doing physical training or doing whatever training that was lined up – such as unarmed combat and rules of combat.
"First rule of combat – you do not fight fair!" The Chief instructed. "You fight fair, and you're halfway onto the casualty list! Never fight on even terms with your enemy."
Recruit Alenko chose this moment to raise his hand. "Uh, sir, what about rules of engagement?"
"Son, the MI is usually called in when the fighting gets too heavy for Starfleet to deal with it, or when things get too hot for conventional troops to go in. What that means is we are essentially, the heavy cavalry of the entire Alliance military. We ride into battle on the MX-63 Marauder Powered Assault System directly into hot AOs and either bail out friendlies or whatever we are called upon to do. The point is, 90% of the time in our work, we only have ONE rule of engagement – avoid inflicting any harm to civilians. That is it. Beyond that, you get into a fight with a pirate, slaver, enemy soldier, whatever – you cheat your ass off. Blind them with dust, acid, spit, shit, piss, hair, whatever. But you do not fight on even grounds. Clear?"
"Yes, sir." Alenko nodded.
"This goes for all of you. Clear?"
"Yes, sir!"
"And quit callin' me sir. You will address us by rank, which means you answer me with Chief." He added. "Now then, who here can name a martial art?"
Several hands went up, and the answers ranged from mixed martial arts, to aikido, to systema, to the ever popular kung fu and karate.
When it came Shepard's turn however, she answered "Krav Maga".
The Chief nodded at that one. "Krav Maga!" He repeated, clearly indicating that she had given him the answer he was looking for. "Krav Maga is a martial art used by Israeli Special Forces back in the 20th Century and is still being taught today alongside all those other styles. But what separates Krav Maga from all those other styles is that it is a "Street" style, which means it embodies the principle of "anything goes". This is the primary style we will be teaching you. Learn it, practice it, and when using it, to always be aware of what you're doing. You do not want to use a move normally reserved for enemy combatants on some civilian in a pub brawl." The Chief warned.
Several months later...
Shepard and her squad were currently dug in hard somewhere in a simulated forest, with old M-14's pointed everywhere with two M-60 gunners along for the ride.
So far, they had been sitting there for the better part of two hours in the exercise, which was against another squad from a different section.
And time was running out.
So came the decision – stand her ground or go and hunt?
She was entrenched in a good position with plenty of fire, which would mean that any attacks on their position would risk being eliminated, whereas if they stayed here, they'd lose via time limit.
"What's the plan?" Her second, Alenko asked. "Do we stay here or go hunting?"
Shepard frowned, unsure. She'd be stupid to give up her position, but she didn't want to lose either.
So, she compromised.
"Alenko, you're in charge." She whispered, climbing out of cover, rifle at the ready. Slowly, and carefully, she moved forward as quietly as she could.
She had only made it a few feet when her vest rang out and gunfire filled the clearing.
"Cease fire, cease fire!" The Chief barked, entering the area. "Shepard, what the HELL were you thinking!?"
"I was thinking about scouting ahead, Chief!" Shepard announced, snapping to attention.
The Chief regarded her momentarily, before nodding. "Not a bad idea, Shepard – but you're dead."
"My squad won. That's all that matters." She answered. "I had to do something – we were running low on time and there was no sign of the enemy."
The Chief nodded understandingly. "Fair enough. At least you've got guts." He added. "Report back to the staging area for debrief and after-action report!" He said loudly.
"Well, at least we won that one." She muttered, before putting on the KIA card on around her neck.
Two weeks later...
"Troopers! This is the MX-63 Marauder Powered Armor System, and for the duration of your stint in the MI, will be your steed. You don't have to catch it or feed it, but you do have to take care of it. Take good care of it, and it'll take good care of you. Weapon systems on this include monomolecular chainsaw and combat knife, positron laser rifle, autocannons, assault cannons, rockets, missiles, grenade launcher, and variable yield tactical N2 warheads that go up to a maximum of two kilotons. And that's just the beginning." The armory officer instructed.
"Along with it is the MX-44 Hammer Pod, which delivers you and your Marauder down to the surface via capsule launcher. When we are done with you, you will know everything you will ever need to know to use, maintain, and effect battlefield repairs on every piece of equipment on it. For the next month, you will study your asses off. And then from then until graduation, you will learn how to be Mobile Infantry. You will eat lead and shit death. And you will take whatever pathetic fighting your enemy thinks passes for combat, and you will return it with a pool of their own fucking blood to drown in."