Prologue
[Date classified], 2186
Menae, Palaven's largest moon, Trebia system, Apien Crest
BOOM
"GET DOWN!"
"What was that?"
"Harvester!"
"Alpha's gone! I repeat, Alpha's gone! Major! I need orders!"
"Bravo, take left flank. Charlie, on me, we've got center - Hisha! Wake up! Grab your marksmen, right flank's yours!"
That was the cue. Materializing out of thin air, Sar emptied the last of her Viper's magazine in a Marauder. "Marksmen! Right! On me!"
Half a dozen men have suddenly crouched up in a nearby ditch, darting for the completely open flank.
Not waiting for them to take positions, Sar hit her cloak again, closed in with two long leaps and stabbed a Husk in the thing's forehead, drawing her Phalanx in place of the now-dropped marksman rifle by her feet, putting a hole in another's chest.
The drill round stopped no sooner than it found a massive hulking form...
"BRUTE!"
"FRAG THAT THING!"
A vicious swing from the creature...
"ARGH!"
"CORPSMAN!"
Thoughts were a blur - Armor... Weakness... Fire...
Then a plan emerged... "Cover me!" - the order was as unneccessary as explaining her plan - there was nobody to follow it.
Hitting her cloak, Sar set on a sprint towards the offending Reaper...
"Hisha! Are you crazy? Get back!" ... Major Reegar. He knew when to stand back. Not this time...
She pushed the thoughts aside and circled the Brute - now hell bent on wiping out the rest of her squad.
She leaped...
And found herself on a surface of flesh modified with cybernetics, pushing back the urge to vomit as her suit receptors transferred the feeling to her very hands...
"Not today, you big dumb bosh'tet!"
Armor. Weak to fire and any penetrative ammunition... Incinerate...
As Hisha's Omni-Tool fired off a deadly ball of plasma, her cloak finally gave out to cool down...
The Brute roared in... was that pain?... and reared on it's legs to throw Sar off.
Burned herself from such a close quarters discharge of thousand degree hot ball of hell, Sar couldn't hold on...
And found herself againist a stone, unable to move her legs.
This was it. As the Goliath turned to David, the fight seemed over.
"Not today..."
Years of drill forced Hisha to raise her Phalanx, still loaded with Drill ammunition...
And empty the rest of it in her nemesis as darkness began to creep in her vision.
Having enough, the Brute slumped dead, it's huge claw-arm falling two feet away from the rock...
"Close call... Job done, Major."
The last thing she saw before passing out was her platoon getting torn apart by Ravager fire.
Footsteps... "Spirits... They really held out, didn't they?" Flanging voice...
Turians?
"Commander! We've a live one!"
"Command, this is Third Taetrus. Need medical on our location, sterile environment! We've a Quarian survivor." Another voice, presumably the Turian commanding officer...
The first voice came back, closer, yelling to the distance at first... "I need a CLS here! Doc, where are you?!" ... then it went quieter, as if to speak to her... "We've got you... Sergeant Hisha. Don't worry."
Sfc. Sar'Neda vas Neema blacked out, unable to explain the only 'name' on her poison green enviro-suit was the nickname they gave her when she joined 1st Special Forces of the Migrant Fleet Marines...
Hisha. The original name of the deadliest snake of Rannoch. A relatively ancient Khelish word, unused since the Morning War. Except scientific datapads and, since 2183, the 1st SF stationed onboard the Neema.
Many of the scientist described the snake as a lethal ambush predator. Capable of lying in wait for days on end, to deliver one precise, mortal strike and then disappear as if invisible, it's dark green skin aiding it in avoiding detection. Much like the color would aid Sfc. Neda to precisely strike her numerous enemies throughout the years without being detected, disappearing under the cover of her cloak, as if invisible almost three hundred years after the homeworld was evacuated during the War...
Strangely, the closest translation any VI knew would forever be "Viper"...