Hiring the Right Ones
Mission I - The Arrival
John
Heavy breaths and hard steps reverberated through the armor, echoes of the slaughter outside ringing as an afterimage of the mad assault into the killzone. John wasn't on the first line, but he was running forward without any pause - setting the impossible pace for his squad.
His rifle burdened him like never before, when not even the screams of the dying people, nor the burning carcases he had to jump over got to him. The formerly trusty rifle, however, was proving a lump of heavy metal. There was no way he would use it any time soon - there was not a single enemy he could shoot at - not when the humongous ship was towering above them all, dead set on forbidding the Hammer force from reaching the beacon of white light.
And it brought them death.
The scent of burned flesh was poking at his nose, pushing through the air filters as if they weren't there. With all the damage his armor had taken through the skirmishes, the filters might not have been working at all. This very same scent of death had haunted him throughout the Reaper Invasion - and even though John would never get used to it entirely, he could push it aside as well as most other distractions.
He spared a glance to his left, his eyes widening as the reflections of the red beam torched the nearby armored vehicle. John wasn't going to roll over and die - even as the burning rain of metal zoomed over his head he ducked just a bit to the right, evading the red beam of death by a miracle. After all - with the situation being as dire as it was, his survival depended on a miracles and chance. He straightened back again, leaving but a smoking crater with someone's remains behind.
It might have been another human. He had no way to tell. The tactical HUD was either going highwire or being hacked - he couldn't find Garrus among the friendlies.
"Garrus?" He whispered in between heavy breaths, hoping that he was wrong. The comm remained silent, but for the screeching static interference.
The red beam cooked up the crew of the nearest Mako - the vehicle got in between him and certain doom at the last second, sending superheated splats of metal in the air.
"EDI?" John called. "What's your status?"
Silence.
Just a few more steps!
His legs pained with each one, muscles shaking under strain, the cybernetics screeching to meet the sudden increase of demands. He was overloading everything he could, pushing past his very own limits, overdosing the adrenaline injections - doing anything and everything to win this insane game of roulette.
Why did it feel like his fate was solely in the hands of lady chance?
Then, it came – a shot from the Reaper with his name on it.
He could almost read the cursive script in the red glitters forming outside the humongous machine's weapon. That was it, then - he threw the rifle away, and pushed on. Everything slowed down to a halt. Maybe, he even sprouted wings - that would have explained the piercing pain in his back, and why his hands felt like they would tear away at any moment, how he had found the power for that last push.
Armed with but a pistol and human stubbornness, he hoped that it would be enough - after all, the white light was just - there!
Wrong. He was completely and utterly wrong.
The beam bit into the ground with a ferocity of a death god, a superheated stream of energy glancing at him. Torching.
However, death had not claimed him yet. Only by mere chance the force of explosion propelled him forwards. The ground had shattered just under his legs, exploding outwards from the intense heat, throwing him forward, towards the white beam of light.
The red energies mixed with white, hope mixed with pain and rage, and the world spun completely out of his control.
He still reached out - and even with pain overloading his senses, he would always remember touching the white beam of hope with burned fingertips, as if caressing a long lost hope to save the world.
He still had a chance, even if he didn't know that yet.
Jane
Jane was shaking in unrestrained fury. Her rage wasn't focused - not unlike a young Krogan she let her rage reach out to the whole world. She had been angry with herself, with the Universe, and of course, her white torrent of pure hatred carried the face of the Reapers.
She let that rage guide her - even if there was a chance for it to consume her - she bathed and revelled in that endless moment of human righteousness and unrestrained vengeance. It wasn't 'kill or be killed' - quite the opposite - her mind was set only on destruction and such purpose had left her no illusions about her own end drawing near.
At least, she would bring them down with her - and that was what kept her going even as she should have died years ago. Her implants buzzed under the strain, her body trying and failing to keep up with her mind.
Jack could do it, I should be able to, she reminded herself. Her biotics was the only thing keeping her in one piece – that with all the explosions around them.
The barrier she spent hours perfecting with Alenko was so weak she would have been ashamed to show it to anyone - and yet, there she was, wrapped in the fading blue energy.
However laughable her defence was, she didn't believe that even a better shield would save her from the carnage that was happening around her.
She tightened the reins on her anger, other thoughts penetrating into her mind - in short, Hammer was being decimated, and she had no idea if it even was possible to reach the white beam at all.
Would it even work for anyone who wasn't a Reaper servant?
She cursed as she ducked for cover behind the smoking remains of a Mako.
It is a trap – a bait to lure us into a suicidal assault. It might not be – I don't know!
Oh, how she would have liked to be a mindless and cruel machine of death - like everyone in the Galaxy believed her to be.
Reinforcing the barrier with the last drop of will, fueling it with her anger, she darted forward, pushing herself with whatever biotic spark she had left.
A vanguard could have reached the beam in time – it was a silly thought, a musing that had no place in the field of death, but even she couldn't help but wish from some miracle to occur.
"Tali!" she suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs, letting the comm and the built in speakers both carry her voice even further. "To the left!"
It was too late.
Jane didn't even stop moving.
Am I a soldier or a monster? I should have stopped.
She was running forward, her target reachable in but a few more steps.
And then what?
It just wasn't her day - not by any stretch of the word. The image of Tali hadn't yet disappeared from her mind's eye when the Harbinger homed in on her. She hadn't seen the Reaper take aim, but her senses were screaming a warning - a precognition of imminent death.
There was no avoiding that one. Jane gritted her teeth together, putting up a barrier to dwarf all others. Everything she had and felt was poured into that last shield – every death witnessed and every life saved. Tali, she imagined, would have been proud of her legacy, if cowered by her anger.
There wasn't a biotic on Earth, nor anywhere in the Galaxy, who could have stopped the shot. It went through her barrier like it wasn't there - burning the blue glow with red pulse, and then, the beam bit into her reinforced kinetic shielding. A twitch of her fingers - instinctive, rather than planned sent the tech armor into an overdrive, shattering the additional kinetic layer - hoping to fight the impact with the counter-explosion.
It might have been what bought her a few more moments - that and the fact that Harbinger didn't aim the shot properly. She fell, a howl of a dying predator on her lips, red lightning dancing on the smoking remains of her armor, and rolled on the ground - towards the destination that might have been a hopeless trap.
She might have touched the white light seconds before darkness consumed her – she wouldn't remember even if she did.
Commander Shepard
Shepard came to it when a continuous barrage impacted the helmet. After a second of disoriented panic, the realization that these imagined explosions were but simple drops of rain smashing at the helmet settled in. Shepard took a deep breath, feeling the uneven pile of rubble shifting underneath. The helmet was completely covered with dust and melted plastic, giving barely any visibility. Yet - that part was overly curious, there was no scent of death or charred flesh - as if this was another place entirely. The comm was probably broken, since only complete silence was to be heard - not even static noise or the interference from the Reaper tech could be heard.
That was disheartening, but Shepard still tried - pushing at the apparatus with the jaw initiated a signal to reach the Hammer force frequence.
The clicking sound proved successful - there was at least one other device operating on the same channel - using the very same encryption. Even if the virtual handshake had worked, further action was unclear. They couldn't really communicate, as Shepard's throat felt incredibly sore, and the voice barely sounded better than an animalistic growl. By the sound of things, the owner of the other device was having similar problems.
Shepard needed air.
Slowly, but assuredly, both hands moved to get on with the task - heavy and nearly impossible, the little valve removed the sealing - which was a joke with such extensive damage, but the systems still had to be shut off manually.
It took a really long while to cope with the task half-blinded, and half-dead. Hands barely cooperated when Shepard tried to lift them, and to perform precise movements requiring all the fingers cooperation was an exercise in stubborness.
The only thing Shepard had in abundance.
Finally, when the mangled helmet clattered on the ground, rolling downwards, bouncing a few times and stopping to a standstill next to a lump of broken concrete, a revelation struck.
The surrounding area didn't make any sense. It certainly was London - and a devastated building was where Shepard came to it, but otherwise, there wasn't a single sight of Reaper activity. The surrounding buildings looked undamaged, towering to all sides.
Blinking, Shepard noticed that the traffic of the metropolis was still abundant, cars speeding about without a single care in the world. Further down, as the rubble was quite a hill, there were transports gathering around Shepard's position. The police lines were already drawn, holographic displays surrounding the damaged zone with a warning. To add to that, quite a few cameras were already floating about - one was glaring directly back as Shepard spotted it.
All the other signs proved that the collapse of the building had happened very recently - even the rain hadn't yet washed away all the dust clouds, and only a few water streams had made their way downwards. This destruction, quite unlike the devastated landscape London Shepard remembered - was fresh.
Shepard got up, slowly pushing upwards first on all fours, and then wobbling to stand next to a half collapsed structure. Rain was a welcome addition, washing the dirt and the soreness away, stinging at the wounds, getting into the eyes and mouth. It wasn't a clean rain, reeking of pollutants and dirt, but it had been a lot more pleasant than the last few hours - and whatever drops Shepard caught in the mouth by accident worked wonders for the sore throat.
Had it been a few hours?
Days?
"Anderson?" Shepard croaked into the earpiece - one that was openly hanging on the ear, without any protection of the helmet. There was an echo in the communications network. A very strange echo - the same name, yet in a completely different voice.
Jane and John
"This is Commander Shepard speaking," a man began a short broadcast, his hands looking to grab a pistol from his lower back. Jane smiled a predatory smile - with the charred armor like this, it would be a wonder to even find the remains of the holster. What remained on the man's back was a dislodged piece of metal, mostly melted off, and the pistol was no where to be seen.
She had thought about offering a warmer greeting to a fellow human, but when he had opened his mouth, she quickly changed her mind. "Bullshit," she announced rudely, taking great pleasure in the way the Commander twitched in place.
He didn't expect someone to sneak up on him - in the middle of the war?
However, her satisfaction quickly vanished when the half-armored man turned around before she even finished her words, his hands jumping into a tried and tested battle stance. Of course, she was ready as well, her palms glowing with a soft layer of blue biotic energy, pulsing together with her heartbeat. Her - opponent? ally? - looked like he was just about to keel over. Like he had barely escaped the closing jaws of death, leaving half of his equipment in hell. How the hell is he not falling down?
Jane leveled an even glare to the man before her. He was the one claiming to be a Commander Shepard, so it was his duty to explain himself. It might even prove true - after all of her escapades, quite a few Shepards in the military got more attention that they deserved, especially when the Citadel races decided that most Shepards had to be related - all caused by a pointless bout of admiration after she had saved the council. That in mind, none of the ones carrying her last nameshould have been wearing N7 armor, as battered as it looked.
Had this Shepard stolen the armor from some fallen operative? Maybe she had missed a promotion in the midst of the war? She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the conflicting thoughts, after all, either of them were yet to make a move.
Her position wasn't the best one to be in. She recognised his stance - it was from basic training, yet too well refined - ready not only to defend, but to attack and dominate - the legs were lightly bent, ready for a pounce. A professional brawler, he looked dangerous enough to make her feel discomfort.
How would I kill him? She was already running the likely combat scenarios in her head. A biotic warp to disorient - a dash to the left and a well placed strike to collapse the huge looming structure over him - just in case.
The fact that he was larger and strongly built didn't seem as important as the whole presence the man gave off - she had faced a fair deal of Krogan in her life, and they fell as easy prey.
However, facing an opponent like this, when my condition is...
Before either of them made that first move, silence was shattered by a loud announcement from the speakers below.
"Hey you two - clear the site!"
Shepards turned towards the source of this voice, all the while following each other in a corner of their vision - too dangerous to be left unchecked. The standoff wasn't over yet.
The one at fault was a friendly, human face - a police officer with the omni-tool shining on his hand. Carefree and happy, his face looked like the war never happened.
Of course, the officer was frowning, as the two battered figures were disturbing his otherwise simple duty of clearing the premises, and only a soldier straight out of the battle could have called the man carefree - but Jane met the necessary requirements easily. To her, the man was as merry as people went.
Slowly, like two beasts stalking their prey, both of them started to descend. Trying not to show weakness to each other, yet quickly understanding the similarities in their situation. Neither of them would say it out loud, but they were in the middle of silent negotiations for a ceasefire. With neither of them looking like a servant of the Reapers and with both of them facing the same mystery it was only natural.
"Commander Jane Shepard, Systems Alliance," she was the first to speak in a harsh, dry voice. "I- We require medical assistance and a direct communications array with Admiral Anderson."
Surprisingly, neither name had their usual effect on the officer, as he simply frowned, muttering something about military experiments going awry, and the damned Alliance business.
"Commander Shepard?" John, however, caught the significance of her name - and frowned in confusion. "Could you tell me your service number?"
She turned to face him, giving him a harsh glare for interfering with her business, but still complied - "Five-Nine-Two-Three-A-C-"
"Twenty Eight - Twenty Six," he interrupted, finishing in her place. "Same as mine."
"Knowing a service number proves nothing," she mumbled under her breath.
By now, both of them were completely ignoring the policeman, leaving him to stand there in confusion. After all, it wasn't in his pay grade to solve Alliance problems - and the N7 marks on both of the soldiers armor, if you generously called the remains that, made it an Alliance problem. The man started fumbling with his own communicator.
His actions were completely ignored in favour of staring at each other.
"So," Jane finally began, after an annoyingly stretching minute of silence. "Either I'm going insane, or you're some twisted version of my little brother."
"When you have all signs of the impossible, then whatever improbable theory remains must be true. This must be a fever dream of sorts." John bit at his lower lip and then broke into a maniacal grin. "I'm still waiting to wake up after being hit with the beam."
"Harbinger, right?" she asked, amused - or at least it could have looked so on the outside. Her words had a certain springy quality, true, but her eyes started darting around - looking for something, anything to catch on. Something that wouldn't fit the madness theory.
Neither of them truly believed that they had gone insane, but at the same time they didn't want their surroundings to be real.
"There you go." He laughed, and had to hold at his side for it to stop hurting. "Proof that I'm having a vision."
The grin that found it's way onto her face had said it all. "Or, I might be dead, and this is my next adventure," Jane said and glanced upwards, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, breathing out a short breath that turned into a snort, and then, she tore her eyelids open again. The gaze was clearer, as if she had found some answer in that short moment of blindness. "Do you know any nearby bars? I think I know a turian who owes me a drink."
"Garrus?" John asked simply - but he didn't wait for the answer. "May you get to heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead."
She looked around. "You know, London wasn't what I imagined for my half an hour, but... beggars can't be choosers, can they?"
There wasn't a single bar in sight.
"Do you know any local bars?" John deflected a question towards the police officer, who looked even more confused than before, if that was even possible. "I feel like we should have earned a drink just by reaching here. Whatever here is."
"Hah," she announced, the raspy voice carrying a hissing quality. "I like the way you think. Just for that, soldier, I'm buying." She took another step forward. "Would you mind helping me along the way, though? I think some bones in my leg must have fractured."
The officer however, not only didn't offer any information on nearest bars, but hadn't even moved one bit since the question was asked. Only his buzzing communicator shook him from the stupor - and he listened in to the short instructions. His face muscles relaxed, and he let out a relieved sigh. It seemed that his higher ups had confirmed the problem above his paygrade. "Commander Shepard?" he asked carefully, then, with a barely noticeable smile.
"Yes?" They both answered at the same time, causing another look of confusion.
However, the officer pushed through the discomfort. "I hate to break it down to you two, but there's no Admiral Anderson to contact." He scratched the back of his head. "However, I was instructed to offer you medical assistance. If you'd kindly follow me to the medical vehicle, or... would you like me to call for a stretcher?"
"I'm fine." Jane shook her head, putting one hand over John's shoulders, and letting some of her weight to pass onto John as they started another short walk. "With so little time remaining, I'd still like something to drink, instead of spending the last half hour being patched up."
"A representative of the Alliance Command will arrive shortly - they might have a few questions about the explosion," the man informed them helpfully, choosing to ignore most of their ramblings. "Did you get caught in it?" he asked curiously.
"Probably." John sighed. "I remember many explosions going off."
"This vision thing," Jane complained, leaning towards the officer as she almost fumbled with one of her steps. "I think it has too much red tape. Can't I play the Spectre card and tell everyone to bugger off?" She licked her lips. "I think a basic check would prove my rights."
"I'm sorry," the officer looked even more confused. "Did you say - Spectre?"
"Yeah," John laughed, his shaking shoulders making it hard for Jane to keep still. "We actually are Council Spectres - at least I am, that is."
Jane punched him on the armored side and John winced. It wasn't a powerful punch, just one meant to get his attention. It worked. "Fine," he admitted. "We're both are part of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."
The man before them gulped, glancing at the medical team. They weren't moving fast enough for his liking. He darted forward, mumbling something about making sure the medics were ready. That action brought a bout of guffaws from Jane, and then John joined in.
When they finally reached the medical vehicle, both Shepards were laughing merily - especially at the way their latest acquaintance hurried to excuse himself, assuring that the Alliance was actually sending something at it would be but a matter of minutes left to wait.
There was some mention of confusion and concussion - and then, the officer darted away, glad to have taken care of the problem.
It took them both a while to rein themselves in, even as the medical personnel complained. Of course, the medics held themselves as professional as always - if there was one thing humanity could be proud off it was the quality of their health care.
Exactly like one would expect doctors to be in one's a dream.
With liberal application of Medi-gel, the smaller wounds started knitting in a matter of seconds. Cerberus upgrades, jolted by the organism's reaction started their repairs as well. You can say much about Cerberus, Jane mused, but healing like a Krogan has its uses.
The doctor, a middle aged woman with grayish hair, reminding them of Chakwas, if in appearance and profession, rather than her behaviour, was tapping her omni-tool with irritation. She didn't seem to believe what the scanners were showing her.
"I have no idea what half of the stuff inside you even is," the doctor finally admitted, scratching her head. "But it seems to be speeding up the recovery - even as the threat of dehydration is increasing by the minute." She muttered something that could have been 'military', and then turned back to them. "I'm certain that you are aware of the thirst - and I'd suggest drinking a lot of water to make up for it."
As if on cue, her assistant offered each of them a large bottle of still water.
Jane frowned. "I was expecting something with a heavier kick," she complained, taking the offered drink. "But it'll have to do."
John was already drinking his share, without any complaints.
She shrugged and joined him.
Water worked wonders - same as medi-gel had boosted their natural healing, but a few gulps of drinking water soothed their sore throats and woke both of them up. The pain was fading, and only the more serious injuries remained. Even then, a couple of days under the effect of Cerberus tech would take care of that inconvenience.
The doctor's scrutiny had left them both quite some time to look around. And with each second, their belief that this London was never touched by the Reapers solidified. It was exactly as London should have looked - crowded and noisy, yet peaceful.
Jane would have pinched herself, but the constant ache in her bones invalidated that method. After all, her injuries might have been so severe that they carried over to this insane dream.
John was watching her with an increased scrutiny - as if she was some sort of puzzle that he had to decipher. Jane frowned and rubbed at her eyes. That couldn't have been tears in my eyes, she almost said out loud. It was just - so different from the world she came from, that she couldn't help but feel this difference in her chest.
"This is too peaceful," she announced, careful to keep her voice even. "Compared to that death zone..."
She hadn't felt this - weird - since Mindoir, and it was a topic she didn't speak of with anyone. Except for one other. But he was gone now, wasn't he?
John nodded. "I like it here," he admitted. "I barely can believe the world was like this once."
"It's all gone," she whispered, shaking her head. "Even if this vision has peace, everybody is already dead."
"I lost the war in the end, didn't I?" John took another glance at his counterpart, seeing the same thought echo in her eyes. "We lost."
"How about that bar?" she turned towards the doctor, pushing the unpleasant thoughts away. "They do serve drinks in the afterlife? I'm hoping they have something really strong, what do you think?"
"I think that you have some serious injuries," the doctor looked scandalized. "I'm surprised both of you can actually walk, and all you want is to have a drink?"
"Give us a break," John complained half-heartedly as he scratched a place of recent injection. "We died."
"I assure you – you are very much alive," the woman explained, in a no-nonsense voice. "And you should be put into intensive care - not looking for an opportunity to get wasted."
"I never thought that you have to prove that you died after you do." John shrugged, glancing at Jane. "This should be fairly easy to check, I believe."
"Going to try and shoot yourself?" Jane asked with a measure of sarcasm in her voice. "I'd like to see it."
John sighed. "Our mind can do wonders, but there's one little problem with dreams and vision - they rely on the subconsciousness to keep going. Any and all numbers or fine details are lost - you can't read a detailed medical report in a dream." He paused, as the doctor paused in her work and raised an eyebrow. John gestured to her hand. "All of this must be bristling with data - would you mind showing the preliminary examination results on you omni-tool? Mine seems to be burned up."
Jane was already lighting her own omni-tool – it was making strange buzzing noises, but she managed to kickstart its processes. She barely paid John any heed as the device caught a public extranet connection, updating time and date settings. She froze in place, staring at the impossible numbers.
"Jane?" He turned to her, concerned by her sudden halt.
"It's impossible." Her fingers were playing with the controls, but the date window remained unchanged. "You are right about subconsciousness having problems with digits, but…" She turned towards the doctor, who was looking at them curiously as well. "Would you tell me what year is it?"
"Eighty third," the doctor's tone was questioning, but her answer was firm. "What did you expect it to be?"
"No." John snapped his mouth shut, gave it a short thought and added - "this should be impossible."
"There must be something, anything…" Jane, however, was already deep in thought. "What did you say your name was?"
"John."
"Not my brother then - so you can't be the man my brother grew up to be. He died when I was sixteen," she tried to explain, but it didn't look like this helped John any. "It doesn't make sense – you can't be another Shepard! This can't be the year my omni-tool remains are picking up. It must be broken."
"No, it's you who's impossible," John announced. "I'm the Commander Shepard – one and only, the one who killed Saren, fought the Collectors and united the galaxy for the war against the Reapers."
"I blew up Virmire, fought the collectors on the Horizon, returned from the suicide mission through the Omega 4 relay, and I've been on Eden Prime-" Jane gasped and turned to their doctor. "You said it's the year two thousand one hundred and eighty three?"
She nodded, confirming Jane's words. "February twenty second, if you're still not sure. I believe that's matching the date on your omni-tool, isn't it?" She paused. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to lie down and rest?"
They ignored her.
"Eden Prime," the thought came to them at the same time and they ended up saying it out loud at the same time.
"We don't have much time," John said, standing, testing out the tired limbs. "Have the Geth come out from the Veil yet?"
Their question was met with a shrug. "I'm not sure what you are referring to," the woman replied. "But I'd suggest a period of rest." She paused. "You're not under the influence on any drugs, beside a mild painkiller, but you might be suffering a serious case of concussion. Didn't you say you were in an explosion?" She paused to look at her omni-tool. "You should calm down, your heart rates are becoming irregular." She sounded annoyed - used to patients who behaved themselves.
"Damn, we need to move." Jane sprang up with a push of her biotics. "I need to save Ashley, I owe her this much." Maybe that would stop dreams about her death.
"Good, we're going to do that while we figure out the rest," John looked ready to run off any second as well. "Wasn't the attack in March? We should get in touch with Ashley's unit - and get everyone out of that killzone."
"We need to warn Alliance Command," Jane said, slightly reserved about that option. "Even if it's a vision, we need to warn everyone - Ashley, Anderson, the Council, Admiral Hackett."
"Warn everyone about what?" a voice with a slight Russian accent interjected from nearby – a man with black and grey N7 uniform, one without a single visible scratch - seemingly straight out of the factory. "I happened to be in vicinity and the Alliance Command sent me to deal with you two. Commander Volkov."
His name was instantly recognized by the civilians. The doctor flinched in discomfort, quickly shuffling to check the equipment as far away as possible, while her assistant jumped to help her, throwing half-hidden glances their way.
"Commander Shepard," They both said, almost at the same time, while trying to place the name. Unsuccessfully. Neither of them had ever heard the name of the man before them - and judging by the civilians' reactions, they should have had.
"Do you have a right to carry the N7 mark?" Volkov was frowning in displeasure. "I don't know any Shepards from N7. Are you aware that it's a crime to display military insignias without a proper rank to back them?"
"Do you?" Jane jumped to ask rudely, insulted. "I paid for the blasted thing on Akuze. With interest."
Volkov snorted, and made a short note on his omni-tool. "Let's say I believe that you were there. Could you name anyone from Akuze Marines? To prove your claim, of course."
"All of them," Jane crossed her arms, ignoring the pain. "Everyone."
"Corporal Toombs, Private Stevens..." John started naming the names in her place, noting the way her eyes widened as she found yet another similarity between them.
Volkov allowed the list to go on for a couple more names, always noting them on the omni-tool. "These will prove enough," he finally said. "Now, would you share your background with explosives? Any additional training in demolitions, beside the basic N7 course?" It didn't sound like he was really buying their claims.
"What?" Jane frowned. "Is there something you want to find out with that line of questioning?"
"What is your relation with the explosion?" Volkov was outright glaring at Jane. "And, remember, I'm the one asking questions."
The glare proved ineffective. John even started smiling brightly - and Jane outright sniggered - with the experience of facing Reapers head on, such attempts at intimidation were weak at best.
"We do not have any information about the local explosion," he answered calmly. "Beside the fact that it happened not long ago, but the local police could have told you that."
"Of course you don't." Volkov made one final note on his omni-tool and it flickered out of the view. "You mentioned a warning?"
"Eden Prime is going come under attack, and soon." Jane said, "Alliance Command must be made aware."
"And who is going to be attacking?" Volkov was calmly watching them both, obvious disbelief in his pose - that with the arms crossed at his chest level and disinterested gaze. "Turians?"
"The Geth." Jane looked like she was all but ready to shout the truth at the man for not listening. "It's going to be an assault with combat platforms deployed as ground forces, with a massive air support, aimed at the spaceport and the dig-site. We need to speak to Admiral Hackett - he needs to call all available fleets into action. There's a mothership - a humongous ship by the name of Sovereign. Its extremely dangerous and cannot be brought down with the resources of a single fleet."
"I'd recommend using the joint force of no less than three fleets, and calling for council assistance, even if they send only a couple of ships, they could mean a difference," John added quickly. "We also need a connection to the Citadel Council - they need to be informed about a rogue Spectre, who's going to be on the planet's surface."
"Uh huh." Volkov rolled his eyes. "Well, you might see some Admirals when you're both on trial. Since you claim to be in the Alliance, we'll have to pretend you are such until the tribunal decides otherwise."
"What?" Jane was glaring at the man. "What trial?"
"Then again, you're delusional, so maybe a stay at a proper institution might help. Let's go." He motioned to a nearby military drop shuttle - the one he must have arrived in. "You're under arrest with the authority of the Systems Alliance."
"You're not listening." John clenched his fists. "We need to warn everyone. War is coming!"
"No," Volkov drew a heavy pistol on them. "You're the ones not listening. I said that you're under arrest. That means you must shut up and obey."
"People are going to die," Jane tried once more. "You're a fool not to heed a warning."
"Claims the delusioned madwoman." He spat a rough russian curse her way, too, but Jane's omni-tool didn't offer a translation. "Get in the transport, before my patience runs out..."
"Volkov," John hissed through his clenched teeth. "I have no time for the bureaucracy to run its course. Don't believe me, fine, that's nothing new. Just don't get in our way."
"Brave, for two injured clowns." Volkov raised the pistol up to point at John's chest. "Hands behind your head, brave guy." He touched his other hand to the communicator. "I have the two suspects of the terrorist attack, delusional and possibly violent. I'm detaining them - prepare a holding cell for two."
"I'll give you three seconds to put the gun down, Commander," Jane growled at Volkov. "One. Two-"
The man only started turning the pistol towards her, when John moved. With inhuman speeds from the Cerberus adrenalin rush package, John punched Volkov right in the face. Before the man even staggered, Shepard wrestled the pistol from his grip, and when Volkov touched the ground, the muzzle of the pistol was already all but poking into his right eye.
"Now, about that transport?" John was grinning, even though using Cerberus upgrades while still heavily injured made his muscles hurt like hell.
Jane took one glance at Volkov's hand, and her biotics flared to life. First, she pulled an already drawn knife out of the operative's grasp, before the man realized she had done it. Next, her biotics grabbed onto the man's shotgun, tearing it from its harness on the back. It came loose with a crack, as her biotic pull won a tug war against standard issue N7 armor.
"Bad boy," she announced, like the man before them was completely harmless, and the shotgun landed into her waiting hands, unfolding to its ready state.
Volkov only answered with an increasing stream of curses and threats.
The nearby civilians weren't panicking only because but a few seconds had passed, but they doubtlessly would be, soon. The police, luckily, were still some distance away and hadn't yet seen how the situation was playing out. It seemed like Volkov's unknown reputation had given them enough space to render assistance nigh impossible. To add to that, the police and military jurisdiction overlap and subsequent conflict was playing out to Shepards' benefit. This time.
Keeping a confused and angered Volkov in their sights, they boarded the small military shuttle, and Jane gently prodded the pilot's back with her shotgun. "Out. Now."
The man paled and complied. He scrambled to get up, his footing slippery, his hands shaking. When he almost fell flat on his face while disembarking, Jane couldn't help but laugh. "He's supposed to be military," she muttered to herself. "Impressive."
Then, Jane simply plopped into pilot's seat, all the while John still kept a precise aim at Volkov. Both men were engaged in a staring contest, but they wouldn't stay locked in that state forever. The disarmed operative looked like he was going go and try something stupid.
Jane solved the problem by placing her hand on the shuttle control pad. A cursory glance proved their luck - the engines were already hot and running, so she didn't have to go through the complex ignition procedure. Now, all she had to do was to lift off.
Her first button press slammed the shuttle doors shut, separating John from his target. Their transport blasted away the very next second. Only a furious Commander Volkov and quite a few police officers intermixed with emergency services personnel were left in their wake, capable only of staring at the escaping shuttle in wonder.
A/N:
The updates will be sporadic. The Chapter was rewritten as of 2013-10-30, almost doubling in size. Last tweak was on 2014-08-04