Next few chapters won't be very action-heavy, but I'm hoping it will lay a solid foundation for later events and developments. Especially since a few reviews note that they weren't familiar with Mass Effect from before. I'll try to avoid excessive or gratuitous infodumps, but I've always liked the lore of ME so it will have something of a presence in the next few chapters.
Also, I began to wonder where exactly I pulled the title "Man off the Moon" from and I began to look around. I was sure it had nothing to do with the movie or the song "Man on the Moon" despite the name being a deliberate pun off of that, and then I finally realized where I had gotten the name from.
A youtuber by the name of Aron Headbutt makes Fate memes, one of which is "emiya's in the cradle" which I realized I have been humming for weeks now. It's just a part of the lyrics there, which somehow wormed itself into this project's name. He makes good stuff, so check him out if you feel like it and like that kind of stuff. Make sure to shitpost in the comments and tell him to update more regularly.
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Standing in formation was certainly a new experience.
He had always been more used to less rigorously enforced outfits, units that had no need for such strict rules and regulations due to each member already being competent enough to not require such hand holding. Even back in his school days, the classroom discipline hadn't been quite like this. Everything about your body had to be precisely positioned; heels just so and so far apart, with your toes pointing out at such and such an angle; your arms had to be in such and such a line, perfectly parallel with your body; your gaze forward and eyes unmoving. Like that, they all stood arms width apart from one another, all toeing the same line in five rows in what somewhat looked like a rectangle if you squinted just right, outside their new barracks.
The place where they would be spending the next three months for their basic course. Boot camp. Or the 'E-line' as the Navy personnel in passing seemed to refer to it.
"I welcome you to my beautiful facility, here in Massachusetts, the most beautiful place on God's green Earth!" A man, standing on a podium before them shouted. He had no microphone or audio volume enhancers, but he did not apparently need one either given that his voice reached far and wide.
They had been told to line up by tallest to shortest and then set into formation. It had taken a while, given that many of them had never before in their lives been in anything more organized than a mob, Emiya included. Still, the idea was simple enough and with enough loud and clear instructions they slowly managed to get into something resembling a rectangle formation.
"And what a facility this is! The best in all the galaxy, bar none! The greatest, toughest, strongest and smartest soldiers in all of the universe are made right here! The only question is... Are you sorry louts good enough for my facility!?!"
Everyone stood silent, their attention glued to the man staring them down with his last words still echoing in their ears.
"Well?! Are you?"
"Sir, yes, sir." They answered as one, finally realizing their cue.
"I can't hear you! LOUDER!"
"Sir! Yes! Sir!"
"Good! Now, Recruits! You will begin taking your first steps into the vaunted and hallowed ranks of the Systems Alliance Navy! Be proud that you have chosen for yourselves a destiny where your actions will matter! Where your work shall be of importance and of value to all of Humanity!"
Emiya could almost hear the capitalization, as if mankind was some kind of holy concept that stood in opposition to all that was evil and different. The usual esprit de corps-mentality of organized military forces, really. Where before national loyalty, or even ethnicity and culture had played a unifying role, here and now with the whole of the galaxy as the stage it had apparently become necessary to scale up to include everyone.
"But not quite yet. As of right now, each and every single one of you is an E1! That means you are only almost worthless. Remember that! You are nothing yet. Nothing but POTENTIAL! And once I am done with you; once you have finished climbing all the way up to E7, you will finally be soldiers!"
Emiya ignored the rest, simply playing along as he continued to observe his new home and comrades through his peripheral vision. Perhaps due to the "off-season" affecting who was enlisting, morale was not that high among them. It seemed that mostly aimless wanderers and those who had no clear path in life had concentrated into this bunch of recruits.
Before he knew it, the initiation ceremony was over. The speech had been fine, he supposed, as far as such things went. But he ignored it for the most part. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, specifics and minor catches aside. Soon enough they were on their way again under the dutiful eye and instruction of NCOs—the non-commissioned officers. Getting supplies, organizing into twenty man squads and locating their quarters was accomplished promptly and with no delays. They all got their bunks and personal chests, stuffing it full as quickly as they could before they were ordered to form up and run to lunch.
Military food was about what he expected, and it appeared that few among them found it very palatable.
Still, it was highly nutritious and his body needed all that he could stuff in it, so he ate without complaint and took several additional helpings. Some of his new 'comrades' gawked at the smallest of them putting away twice of what any of the others could, but given that he needed to catch up to their physiques and was already behind schedule it couldn't be helped if he stood out a little. He ate all that he could, and then he ate some more.
On the way back, he had to control his breathing to make sure that nothing came back up the wrong way, but it wasn't a problem. After that, they took all their stuff out again and ran through checklists, as the NCOs shouted out an object's name and made them all hold it up as they signed in their checkboxes to make sure everyone had theirs. Some of the recruits grumbled about the fact that they had just received it all, and that it was impossible for any of it to be missing already. But the NCOs didn't care; they had checkboxes to fill and lists to go through.
And after that, as they had come in ahead of schedule, they were made to do it all over again, 'just to be sure'. Next on the schedule there were a bunch of more mundane tasks, mostly done so as to familiarize them with the tasks they would be doing regularly in the future. He quietly approved, as cleaning and checking all their gear for wear and tear or faults were important skills to be sure. Some complained that all the stuff was new so it made no sense, but Emiya knew that that was no excuse for when something failed you in the field. Check and recheck, always.
That, and some of the recruits had never cleaned anything before in their life, so the six hours spent on learning how to use the various mops, rags, sponges, dusters and chemicals was definitely important. Especially since they themselves would be responsible for keeping their sleeping quarters clean and orderly. Despite himself, he actually found himself fascinated with the obvious advances in fibers and designs in some of the cleaning tools while they were being instructed. So he absorbed everything they were told and showed like a proverbial sponge.
He appeared to be the only one however, as most of the recruits continued complaining until they began to receive physical punishments. When the choice was between push ups and learning how to dust the corners, nearly all of them finally capitulated.
They received no guns and no training on that first day and Emiya suspected it would be like that for the first few weeks. Rather, they would be exercising and eating for the most part, working up a base for later training along with being shown how to follow orders and how all things worked in the Navy. He did not know what the others had expected upon signing up but considering that he was effectively a street urchin, he didn't fault the Navy for having such low expectations for him. When you assume that your recruits are too dumb to tie their own shoelaces without guidance, you have a much smaller margin of error to deal with.
This he pretty much already knew from his own experiences as an instructor, before he observed it at work here.
Finally, at the end of the day, they were led to their quarters and told that they had an hour of free time before the evening routines would begin. Bringing down the Systems Alliance flag in formation, counting that everyone was present and accounted for, ceremonial greetings by the officers and such like.
It was quite different from how he had run his own boot camp once upon a time, but given the differences in scale and the aims involved, he figured that was be a given. Red team versus blue team, and all that. Overall, to him the day had barely been even a chore, given that he only needed to listen and follow orders.
Easy, but boring.
More than once his mind had gone back to the nano-fiber dust cloths with a certain longing.
"Holy hell! I didn't think it would be this tough!" One youth a few beds away from him loudly complained, making a swandive for his bunk.
"Yeah, sheesh. We must have counted our suits, like, twenty times!" Another answered, grousing along with equal fervor. "Like did they think we would eat them, or something?"
"Pfft, right. With the food we're supposed to eat, I just might."
"Man, when I went to the bathroom, the Chief fucking came in with me! How hard do you think it was to piss when she's staring right down at me, huh? I thought having a chick like her staring at my junk would be nice, but I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to get it up after seeing the face she made..."
Everyone within hearing distance laughed, imagining the nervous recruit opting to sit down on the toilet as the stone-faced Chief of a woman continued to stare a hole through him. Some even mimed the scene, playing up how dainty and embarrassed the recruit must have been to roaring approval. The recruit who had been complaining grinned, already fitting in and obviously happy that he was making good with his buddies.
Emiya affected minor amusement as well to fit in, paying more attention to how many seemed ill at ease with life at the moment. The laughter and cheer was the soft balm, after the first day that seemed to have shattered many expectations and daydreams.
It wasn't so much the physical stress as it was simply the complete change in lifestyle.
Civilian life was characterized by freedom. Freedom to do whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want. But in the military, having a hundred headless chickens running around would only cause needless chaos. Rather than herding cats, it made sense to drill in everything and regulate it accordingly, so that everyone knew exactly how and when things were done. It would probably change later, but for their first months, they would be constantly monitored and told what to do by their NCO instructors. When to wake up, when to shower, when to eat, when to sleep and when to move.
It would all be regulated until they were fit for being inserted wherever the Alliance Navy had need of a new cog.
"Hey, check it out! It's our only bird!" One of them whistled as a young girl returned from outside the quarters. She was wiping her short, red hair with a synthetic nano-fiber towel as she walked by a dozen beds. Unlike the dust cloth, the towels were designed to absorb and dry up with extreme efficiency. It was honestly a marvel and something Emiya had already spent a good half hour analyzing in his bunk before now.
The young woman—a slip of a girl, really—looked up, scowling at the shouter, but he only laughed as she walked past him.
"Huh, we're sharing a room with a chick? Shouldn't she like have her own room, or something?"
"Duh, on starships there isn't enough space for that kind of shit, man. Didn't you read the manuals they mailed us?" Another noted, raising his arm and turning his omnitool on. Emiya looked curiously at the hologram construct that came into being around the other's arm, seeing one for the first time and observing it with rapt interest.
"Dude! You had your omnitool on? I thought they told us not to!"
"Nah, I took it with me and had it in my box during the day; the rules and regulations allow that much."
"Shit! I could have brought all my movies and—"
"Fuck that shit, man, who cares! What about the chicks?" A third joined in, throwing a pillow at the second to shut him up.
"Well, you could look up the sections about fraternization. They just about crucify everyone involved and hang their bodies as warnings. More or less, metaphorically. So be my guest, man. I'd love to see you try, but it won't be pretty. Heheh."
"Nah, fraternization is for the officers and stuff. We're still just enlisted, so—"
"So banging her is fine?" The horndog among them piped up, sounding excited.
"Nah, lemme finish. It's still listed as 'inappropriate relationship' under service regulations."
"Aww, what the fuck man..."
Emiya turned his interest away from the trio as the girl walked up and settled in the bed next to him. She was thin and scrawny, barely bigger than he was. And he had been a literal street urchin. Then again, judging by her wary behavior and physique, she had probably been one as well.
She noticed him looking and turned to glare at him.
"What?" She asked, almost growling at him.
Definitely someone who grew up alone on the streets, he judged.
In the places he tended to travel while he had still been alive, children and teens often formed up into gangs and groups for mutual safety and security. Which meant they were great eyes and ears on the ground, especially since they were so easily ingratiated into due to their low social status. A bit of food and water, some chocolate and jokes was usually all it took to gain a group of allies in whatever camp or ruin of a city he found himself in at the time. It was strange to think back and realize he had gotten along better with war orphans than anyone else, during those later years. They were too innocent to understand what kind of man I really was.
What did mass murderer and international terrorist mean to a child, when they had received warmth and acceptance from him?
The way she squared up at him, the way she seemed to be getting ready for a fight, hoping to make him back down with a show of aggression. All the signs were there. Skittish and wary, yet somehow so very easy to see through. He stared at her for another few seconds, waiting until she was just about to speak up again, allowing the tension to turn cross the threshold from a stand-off into an awkward staring contest.
And just before she was about to dismiss him—in that critical juncture where all her expectations were reset and her guard was down, he spoke.
"Emiya."
He said that and turned on his side in the bunk, as if going to sleep. He could almost physically feel the confusion she felt as he smirked with his eyes closed. He really hadn't meant to tease her, but it sort of came naturally at this point.
She clicked her tongue after a second, before copying him and laying down in her own bunk to get some shut eye. Even so, he didn't miss her quiet reply.
"Shepard."
;
The next week went by in a blur.
Not to say that it went by fast, only that it all seemed to blend together into a messy mush. In fact, time seemed to actually slow down to a crawl, as every day was filled with chores and exercises. They seemed fairly pointless at first glance, beyond the physical exercises.
But Emiya knew that the pointless chores were a critical part of creating a reliable and structured military force.
At first it started out as a method for their instructors to get a feel for the physical capabilities of the recruits. How many push ups and pull ups could you do? How far could you run in ten minutes? How far could you jump from a standstill? These were noted down and the best among them had been rewarded with a day off that could be appended to the beginning or ending of any official leave. This seemed to work well enough for motivating everyone to give their best and many of them even seemed to be pushing themselves to their limits. And then they were told that if they showed improvement over the coming weeks, they would be rewarded for their progress.
Many among them loudly proclaimed their regret for putting in so much effort in the first time, but all of them seemed to grow closer over the experience.
After that, they continued to slowly whittle down the excuses and reasons for why the recruits had to be constantly doing something. If it were merely about getting everyone into shape, then running and PE was all that should have been necessary. Slowly but surely they would have gotten into physical condition. But this about something entirely different, something much more important than mere physical ability. For an army to work, it is necessary for a chain of command to work seamlessly.
For an order up high to travel all the way down, turning words into actions in reality.
Thus, they were made to do meaningless chores. Running back and forth. Digging ditches and filling them in immediately afterwards. Carrying around things and cleaning facilities that had already been cleaned not more than mere hours ago. And of course, marching in formation. Everyone had to be in sync with everyone else, ensuring that they moved as one. Left foot, right foot, left foot. The timing the NCOs demanded was exacting and precise. Some complained about that, as the Navy had a volunteer corps for parades, but their instructors cared little and drilled it all the same.
And so, slowly but surely the amount of physical strain on each day rose while the amount of meaningless chores continued piling up. Gradually, even the most fit among them began to grow tired and weary, as despite the sufficient amount of nutrition and rest provided the long days still wore them down. But this wasn't a physical strain, but rather a mental one.
Which was entirely the purpose of the chores doled out by the instructors.
By tiring down and getting the recruits used to the daily slog, the officers and non-commissioned officers did two things. First, they got everyone used to following orders without question. Secondly and also—in what might seem a peculiar inversion—more importantly, it also instilled a sense of camaraderie in the recruits. There was a reason so little theory was being passed down at the moment. Why so little was really being taught to them. Beyond the occasional and seemingly sporadic speech by someone, they had zero need to think.
They had zero time and energy to think.
But Emiya knew exactly what they were doing.
When faced with an outside pressure, the group begins to form a strong bond within itself. The in-group preference. The sense of us that stood in opposition—or at the very least, stark contrast—to them. The other. It was the strongest motivational force that existed on the battlefield. Beyond creed, beyond honor, beyond even love, lay only that bond with one's fellows. Where someone would hesitate to ever fire a gun normally, if it were in the defense of their friend in a desperate situation... Suddenly murder would become a matter of course.
To make soldiers, one needed acceptance of orders and the resolution to see them through.
"Give me another hundred squats! Come on!"
"Yesterday you failed to give me two hundred push ups. I guess it can't be helped, you're still soft after all. But I'm here to remedy that! That's why today we're going to all do at least four hundred push ups!"
The physical exercises grew gradually—though certainly not slowly—in intensity.
Many of them struggled to keep up, often due to various reasons, ranging from physical to motivational. But the most common was simply an unfamiliarity with the ability to push through pain until you got results. As a result, usually everyone was punished with more work. And with no other release—no means of escape or venting that frustration into other things—they could only improve. Some tried to feign illness and exhaustion, but sooner or later as the group needed everyone to keep up, even the slackers and weaklings among them had to catch up.
'If I can't do this, everyone will look down on me.'
'If I fail, everyone else will suffer more because of me.'
'As long as they can do it, I can't give up.'
Emiya could see those thoughts on many faces during those weeks as the pressure continued to steadily increase. For him it wasn't anything like that, though. Where he struggled physically, mentally it was nothing.
Easy, but boring.
All he had to do was manage his own physical strain and recovery to ensure he did not exceed his limits. Which meant plenty of food and rest.
At first people had looked at him strangely as he ate like a horse, but soon enough everyone else began to follow his lead as their enhanced metabolisms began to kick in to keep up with the demands of their new environment. They ate, and ate and ate. And as a result, they showed incredible results after every day. Well, most of them. Emiya had in practice no gene modification to help him out, so he lagged behind but he simply pushed through with willpower and hanged on barely so as not to overwork himself.
Better to let his body work itself up on its own, rather than risk injury and being set back. He also refrained from using magical energy or Reinforcement, for various reasons. He reasoned it might be noticed and draw unwanted attention, but he partly also felt that as long as he could keep up without it, he shouldn't fall back on his tricks. That old sentiment of never giving up, even when it served no use to push on, seemed to be rearing its head again. Then again, he wasn't the only one who struggled to keep up with the other's physical enhancements and recovery rates, so he could hardly complain.
Finally as they began to plateau physically after the third week, the amount of meaningless work began to lessen. And then the lessons began again with a vengeance.
A big part was simply making everyone accustomed to living as a part of a military organization. What to do, why, when and how to do it. Procedures and protocol for everything and anything was taught. Slowly, their pool of knowledge of how the Navy worked expanded and as it did, their instructors would pour more information in to keep them busy.
"Out there, among the civvies, you can do whatever! But not here! You are here to serve! Therefore, we have schedules! We have timetables! We have quotas and we have deadlines! Do you know why they call it that in the Navy? BECAUSE IF YOU FAIL TO MEET THE LINE, SOMEONE DIES!"
They learned ranks and protocol. Organizational charts and how to read and prepare different documents, mostly pertaining to themselves as individuals; how to request a change of gear; how to apply for vacation; how to file a complaint. What was expected of them in the day to day life and what to prepare for in the future.
"This is your Rules & Regulations book. Read it. Learn it. Live it. As long as you are a part of the Alliance Navy, your life exists within this manual! Every problem you may have will probably have a solution within its hallowed pages! So before you waste anyone's time with questions, Read The Fucking Manual! Any and all dumb questions will promptly and succinctly be answered as such in the future; RTFM! This is not only because it makes shit simpler for us up the food chain; the manuals exist for you! If anyone ever questions you, be it a fucking Corporal or a god-motherfucking-damn Fleet Admiral, if you have acted in accordance to the manual, that means you are one-hundred per cent FUCKING RIGHT! This is your sword, this is your shield! Read it! Learn it! Live it!"
This was probably the most interesting part to Emiya, as he had never had the chance to observe such things from the inside. Usually, he had always been on the outside looking in, searching for gaps and cracks to abuse. Red team-mentality and all that.
"There are no heroes here; we all work as a team. Either we all win or we all fail!"
And most importantly, they continued to raise the pressure on the group. Slowly molding them. Changing them from the outside. Managing their perceptions and beliefs with both overt and subtle methods.
"If you figure out how to do something, don't just stand around with your thumbs up your assholes feeling warm and good about yourselves! What are you waiting for? A pat on the back? A blow-job and some fucking champagne?! Go show your fellow recruits how to do it so that you can be finished more quickly as a whole!"
The results were obvious if you knew how to look for it. On the first day, there had been an uneasy friendship between everyone. But already those bonds were turning into something different, something far stronger. They were all in the same ship; recruits one and all, E1. The lowest of the low.
And they bonded over that. A month from now, he was certain everyone here would remember every face and name from this time for the rest of their lives. They would run around for hours, doing almost pointless chores and performing exercises, only to return to the barracks dead tired.
Someone would crack a joke, not even a particularly good one and everyone would fall apart and into laughing fits where tears ran freely for minutes at a time, leaving the whole room wheezing and completely reset. The bonds formed here were the bedrock of the humanity, since the dawn of time.
Of course, there were exceptions.
As their bodies were worn down every day, feelings would run hot.
Some would butt heads; some would argue. With the NCOs and with each other. One pair even got into a fist fight and ended up getting shouted at by the commanding officer in front of everyone. Just like on the first day, when he had given them a speech as they stood in a loose formation, now he dressed down those two in front of everyone.
It lasted for well over an hour. A public lynching, almost.
After that, those two hotheads grew into the best of friends. Running thick as thieves, they continued to make trouble for everyone else now. Emiya guessed the almost excessively-long dress down had served twin purposes; to erase any and all differences that existed within the ranks of the recruits by creating an external idol upon whom they could aim their anger and stress in the form of the practically untouchable officers, and to cow down anyone who thought about breaking the rules through public humiliation.
Humans are pack creatures. Getting them to comply wasn't really all that difficult if you knew the buttons.
Another exception was himself.
Certainly, his body had to struggle doubly hard to keep up under the ever-increasing workload. Certainly, he was in an alien location surrounded by unfamiliar faces beyond his fellow recruits. Certainly, he worked with them and learned to know and even trust them as they trained every day.
But he had been through so much more, that it barely even scratched the surface of his psyche. Unlike everyone around him, he would probably forget them all after a month's separation. Even now, their faces and names blended with vague figures from his past. Those with whom he had actually struggled and suffered with. Those who had died and disappeared in his wake. Faces of those whom he had had to leave behind in bloody battlefields and thankless turmoil. Of course, it wasn't a problem. He faked through the whole ordeal, maintaining a stoic and stolid appearance who fit in, even if he never quite bonded with anyone. Which was fine, since it was merely a means to an end—it was all accounted for.
But there was an exception he hadn't accounted for.
The redheaded girl, who slept in the bunk next to him; Shepard.
She didn't talk with anyone. She ate with no one. She relied on no one. Her face remained a scowling mask every day as she simply did as she was told and kept her thoughts to herself at all times. Certainly she got along with and handled everything as necessary, but...
Emiya sighed, glancing at the two approaching young men with one eye. This wasn't the first time someone thought to try their luck.
They walked up to Shepard, greeting her with enthusiasm. She looked up from whatever she was doing, squinting at them suspiciously.
"Hey, Shepard, right? I'm Franco." The one began as he grinned nervously at her.
"...That's right." She answered after a moment of silent staring. She had judged neither to be particularly hostile, but at the same time she didn't want anything to do with them.
"Nice hair. Red's pretty rare, heh. I thought you might have colored it, but you don't bring any hair-color with you to the showers, and the roots haven't faded either... So it's gotta be in your genes. That's cool; you don't see a lot of people with red hair anymore," the second continued, not at all disturbed by the awkward silence she had given them as he pressed on.
Shepard blinked, her eyes narrowing as she began to glare at them. "...Have you been watching me shower?"
"What—Uh... No?" The first tried, obviously panicking at the accusation.
"No, we just—"
"What do you want?" Shepard brusquely asked, glaring at them.
They stepped back at the vehemence in her voice, faltering at the intensity.
"We just— Your hair, I mean, it's a rare col—"
"So what? He's got red hair too. Go talk to him if you want to ask stupid questions," she said, nodding Emiya's way before turning her back to them.
The two exchanged looks, licking their lips in a hesitant manner at the dismissal. They realized others, who had their bunks closer to Shepard's than this pair had, were staring at them with amusement. Those closest to the redheaded woman already knew how cold she could be, having all more or less tried to talk to her themselves before.
The two hesitated, finally giving up. "Well, uh... See ya around, yeah?"
"Whatever," she said offhandedly, not even bothering to look at them as she dug in her chest for some of her exercise suits.
She probably wanted to go jogging again to get away from this situation.
Emiya simply listened, closing his eye and returning to his breathing exercises. Drama had never been something he had bothered to care about, though it was interesting to note how women's effect on unit cohesion and morale had changed since his days. Perhaps there was something in the food, or in the genetic therapy that made it so? Exhaling again, he dismissed those thoughts.
Though he didn't use his magic while performing his breathing exercises every day, he did use it to slightly enhance his recovery. Cycling trace amounts of magical energy through his body as he maintained optimal breathing technique helped him recover and it toughened him up at the same time. If he ever needed to use magic inside this body, going cold turkey would be a terrible idea.
Terrible, as in my arm just exploded from going from 0-to-a-100-terrible.
He would only make that mistake once. Though this body may have been made suitable for him, it was still a good idea to train it up to meet his standards. That, and he felt strange if he didn't do it at least once a day. It wasn't a physical itch or need of any kind, but simply an old urge to complete his daily rituals. He hadn't bothered with them once since he had become a Heroic Spirit inside the Moon Cell, but that seemed to have changed as he had been given a body again.
Perhaps it was the sensation of change that made it so. Of his body adapting and being molded by his every action.
How troublesome.
;
Shepard sat down, keeping the oblique glances to a minimum.
So far the Navy hadn't been bad. People had tried to feel her out and make good with her, but she had managed to keep them on the back foot. Like she always had. Playing them off against each other, letting the underlying tensions fly crosswise so she could step away unnoticed from situations. But it was still strange, seeing groups of people everywhere around here, laughing and grinning at each other.
It wasn't like that back on the old street, she thought frowning.
"Alright, today you will be taking your first looks at your lifelong partners. You all better pay attention, because this stuff won't be just for some test that decides your pay grade. Your life might depend on it one day."
The instructor spoke as she walked down the corridor. On either side of her, lined up on both walls sat recruits on the floor. Before each of them lay a deceptively simple looking device. But she knew what this was. She had seen one before.
A gun.
"This is the Hahne-Kedar industries mass accelerator, more commonly known as a Kessler pistol. It is the mainstay and workhorse of the Systems Alliance. Each of you will be expected to know how to operate, maintain and clean this firearm, regardless of whatever it is that you will end up doing in the future."
Shepard had never held a modern gun herself, but it felt quite similar to the one she had carried before. Back, before she had enlisted. The weight and feel were familiar enough, though this one was entirely alien in design and function.
It was bigger, too.
Put bullets in, pull back the slide, release the safety and pull the trigger. The dealer had told her that back when she had bought it. No more difficult than that. And it hadn't been. But this thing seemed like something out of this world. She smiled a little at that thought.
Like something beyond her old world; those dark places where no one and nothing was quite as pristine and pure as everything here. It reminded her of the night skies, back from the old street's roofs. When the light pollution was low enough that she could see the stars. Of when she could hear the distant roar of a starship, when at night it could be seen against the night sky as a dot of light leaving the grime and dirt of the streets around her behind it. She would wake up early in those days, before dawn whenever she could just to catch a glimpse of that other world, far from everything around her.
Somehow she thought she would like this gun very much.
Shepard glanced around, noting people's reactions and how they seemed to handle the guns placed before them.
"The ones before you lack an ammunition block and have not been charged, therefore they should be harmless. But that is a lie. Remember this, treat every firearm as if it is loaded and ready to fire, at all times," the instructor spoke, stopping before Shepard as she stared down at her.
She nodded, seriously considering those words. She had seen what that old piece could do to a human often enough. And in response to those memories a morbid curiosity welled up inside of her. What would this thing do to a person, if I shot them with it...?
Shaking away that thought, she looked around again and noticed Emiya, sitting some four places to the left opposite to her. He seemed utterly confused with the gun before him as he checked the bottom of the handle and the top of the barrel. She blinked, realizing something odd. He's checking the magazine well and the slide.
Looking back down at her own gun, she noted that the Kessler pistol lacked any of those features. They were relics; design artifacts in firearms from the days of chemical propellants and cased ammunition. It was a strange realization, that the short red-haired kid was apparently familiar with old guns more than new ones. Like she was.
Well, it was good that she wasn't the only one in entirely new waters. If nothing else, she could keep an eye on him to see if she'd missed something in the instructions.
The other recruits seemed to be somewhat familiar, even excited, at handling the Hahne-Kedar mass accelerators. No doubt they had seen in vids and games similar weapons their entire lives. She looked at Emiya again, trying to make sure no one noticed. She was pretty good at that; a talent she had developed back on the old street. You never wanted anyone to know you were looking at them. It made them aware, which was always bad.
The Asian boy had been younger and smaller than even she was when they had first arrived. But he ate twice as much as everyone else did and had only been eating more every day since. Almost every week it seemed like he had to go and change his gear due to one part or another of him having grown too large overnight.
Had he been in some gang as well, back when he had lived on the streets? It was obvious that he was another urchin, just as obvious as it was the she was from the slums as well. For a moment she entertained the idea that he had been sent after her, but dismissed it immediately with a scoff. Those guys wouldn't have known because she hadn't told anyone about leaving and the timing was off, anyhow. She had left at the last second, so that no one would have time to catch wind of her leaving.
She had turned 18 just a few days prior to walking in to the enlistment office, having long since decided that a decade of service to the Systems Alliance was better than staying on the old street. And it also meant getting to see that other world up close.
Shepard almost chuckled at the furrowed brows of the red-haired recruit, as he stared in what seemed like frustration at the pistol in his hands.
"—it functions by shaving off a piece from the ammunition block and then accelerating it with the internal magnetic field to hypersonic speeds, as the mass effect field lightens it further to allow maximum velocity of the round to be achieved. Now, you might think, 'how could something so small be dangerous' right? Well... Once you get to fire these things, you will come to realize just how fast things can go. As you can see, there are multiple—"
Shepard sharpened up as the instructor passed by her again, droning on about how the gun worked. She tried to listen, but somewhere around the time eezo started to be talked about she honestly lost track altogether.
It didn't matter. She knew what she was good at and what she wasn't worth shit at.
She could read people quickly and she could take anyone on in an unfair fight. If you had needed to run away or if you needed something or someone found, she had always been the authority on the old street. That's why they had let her buy a gun instead of trying to muscle her out. More useful to keep her as a neutral street enforcer than to get stuck fighting for every street corner. She was going to find a similar place here, sooner or later.
Which sure as hell wasn't going to be fixing guns, that was for sure.
She just needed to know how to use this thing and from there it was just as usual. Keep an eye on people, see how they reacted to her, note any changes and see if they were trying to fuck her up. And then completely and utterly fuck them up first.
"—therefore the biggest limitation to firepower in the modern age remains heat. If you continue to fire your gun without pause, it will overheat and enter into a forced cooldown until the internal systems have stabilized again. The internal computer will handle all of that, but the specific settings depend on the maker and model of mass accelerator. For the Kessler, you will have to learn how to run a basic diagnostics, which can be done by removing the side panel on the handle and—"
Shepard continued to listen, picking out details which she knew to be important even as she let the technical dribble go in through one ear and out through the other. She learned a whole lot even as she barely understood half, but by the end of the lesson she felt confident in carrying the thing around.
Still didn't mean she knew how to shoot the damn thing, but all in good time.
Looking around, most people seemed to be at that same level of comfort and understanding of the guns as well. Good.
"Therefore, outside of timeslots where firearms are specified as necessary equipment, the pistols shall always be stored in the locker. The de jure-serviceman on duty by the front desk will be expected to keep an bi-hourly log to make sure that each pistol is accounted for at all times." The instructor finished, stopping her almost three hours long pacing as she placed her hands on her hips.
Shepard stretched her neck, feeling a slight stiffness from sitting for so long. As she did, she noticed Emiya again and she froze.
He had the whole pistol in what seemed like a hundred pieces in front of him, all neatly and clearly organized into sections as he went through it all. The redhead nodded to himself, before grabbing a piece and then with expert coordination began to put back the puzzle pieces as if he had done it a thousand times before
Thirty seconds later, it was all in one piece again. Flawless and pristine. He smiled slightly; an entirely new expression on his face. The strange kid would smirk, would grin and would occasionally give a ghost of a half-smile, but she had never seen such a relaxed and satisfied expression on his face before. Honestly he gave her the creeps, since she just couldn't get a read on him.
She blinked and then he had noticed her; the expression disappearing as his face morphed back into a stoic mask of indifference. It had been a momentary lapse, something which only peeked through the cracks in a moment of indulgence. But she had definitely seen it.
He raised an eyebrow at her, as if asking if there was something she needed. Shepard looked away, frowning as she considered what she had seen.
He learns quickly, she noted. And for some reason, that mysterious smile stuck in her mind for several hours afterwards.
;
Emiya jumped down, absorbing the impact as best he could even as the mud splashed on his face.
"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up! No dawdling around!" The instructor standing next to the wooden wall shouted at him, though he had already been making a decent enough to. Twice a week, they were taken to an obstacle course and made to run it several times. The average of their results would be measured and listed, the worst performing among them would be then given extra cleaning duties as punishment, to keep everyone motivated.
He surged forward, taking great loping steps as his feet pushed through and pulled out of the shin-high mud. It hadn't even rained recently, yet as always this section of the pit was covered in mud. Emiya assumed it was simply there to slow people down and to make the fall from the top of the wooden wall he had just climbed over less dangerous.
As he arrived to the hanging rope, he climbed up the pole until he was about 3 meters in the air. His hands found the rope, leading over the water obstacle attached to another pole at the other end of the water. Almost like a powerline hanging by the roadside, or a clothesline, Emiya thought with some amusement as he swung his legs up to hook himself up. He quickly moved down the rope, making it all the way over to the other side and then jumped down.
The impact was quite heavy again, but he absorbed it best he could by spreading out his limbs and using his large muscles to dampen the fall. If he had any criticisms about the course, it would mostly be the amount of sheer drops they had to take. Falls like this were fine if you had space to roll forward and turn the downwards acceleration into forwards movement—or had the ability to simply reinforce the body to be able to take it—but here that never seemed an option.
Then again, given that he was the only one who seemed to have noticed that, perhaps it was simply an archaic worry of a human being who did not enjoy the full benefits of gene therapy. No matter, the drops still made his ankles ache. He would have to get some cold packs and make sure to check it more thoroughly later.
He sighed as he got back into a run. Already, he was wondering if this really had been his best option. While nominally physically challenging, it was really the boredom of it all that was getting to him. He was running the calculations in his head again, noting that the shortest distance between Earth and the Charon Relay was far, far greater than even the longest distance between Earth and Mars. Even with the elliptical orbits, that hardly changed.
Given how many FTL-capable vessels existed on Earth, wouldn't it have been simpler to steal one after all?
No, the vessel would no doubt be discovered as he had landed and gone to the Mars' ruins, making the use of the vessel impossible for a return trip. Of course, given Archimedes he wouldn't have been too surprised if the plan was to have him simply go to Mars and then waste away without magical energy to maintain his spiritual core.
As Emiya climbed up a rope ladder, he stared down at the ground beneath him with some trepidation. This was even higher than the previous drop. I am definitely going to need an ice-pack later. I'll have to visit the infirmary again.
;
Emiya exhaled, letting the breath come out naturally as he simply relaxed his body. The long, rhythmic breathing pattern began anew as he pushed it just a fraction of a second further. His heart stilled for a moment again and his mind seemed to settle down into an absolute blankness.
Like a lake with a mirror-smooth surface, unbroken and undisturbed by anything—his self become void of ripples as he continued to cycle through the simple actions.
He had started out with a five second base; now he was already up to above half a minute. He inhaled slowly and as smoothly as humanly possible, drew out the action for over thirty nine seconds as he reached for his limits, but at forty two he had to cease as his lungs could not fill any more. He held his breath; not tensing a single muscle or holding his airways shut by force, but simply existing in a perfectly relaxed state.
Already, his heart was beating at less than 25 beats per minute.
Twenty seconds passed in stillness; the oxygen level in his bloodstream still high enough that he could easily last a minute like this. His consciousness felt detached. A sign of hypoxia he noted distantly, filing it away as unimportant. The body would pass out and resume regular breathing before he actually managed to really injure himself here. He knew he was pushing his limits, but given that he was forced to keep up with a group of highly motivated nigh-superhumans in their prime...
He needed all the edges he could get. If he could push it up to 45 or even 50 seconds, his anaerobic capacity would be quite close to the others. It would let him keep up, at least in that part of the ever-increasing physical regimen. Already the regimen was nearing Emiya's limits.
Of course, using magical energy always remained an option, but somehow it felt like he would be giving up if he fell back to using it. It was strange, how in this serene state he could reflect upon his character more easily. As if he became detached from himself, allowing him to more objectively judge his actions.
That or it was the hypoxia giving him funny thoughts.
It wasn't a matter of just being caught; just because he used Reinforcement did not mean that he would increase his performance proportionally and continue to excel. He could simply relieve the stresses on himself by keeping up with everyone else, allowing himself to strain himself less physically while staying below the radar.
No, this was a matter of willpower. Of challenging himself. He thought himself more mature than that; that he had grown out of his need to prove to himself. That he could do something or keep going until it became absolutely clear, that it was in fact impossible. Even then, he had often in the past kept going with sheer bullheaded stubbornness, as if denying the impossible with desperation.
Yet here he was again, refusing the easy way.
He began to exhale, drawing it out and letting his lungs deflate under their own weight and the compression of his relaxed torso. He drew it to match the inhale; when it came to controlling your own body through breathing, rhythm was the most important thing. He had originally studied ancient martial methods in hopes of learning something useful back when he had been alive. He had used what he had learned to modify his own breathing technique, the one he had used ever since he had first joined the kyudo club. Then he had begun to study more and more scientific methods and studies into the matter; how biofeedback functioned and how it was utilized in the modern world.
To control the parts and systems of your body that lacked a direct neural connection, it is only practically feasible through manipulating them with those systems which were controllable. Breathing and muscle tension stood at the forefront as he had found out, being the most easily learned and controlled methods.
One of the simplest was the Hook breathing method; the Anti-G Straining Maneuver. Used by fighter pilots and others who regularly performed in situations with incredibly high forces playing havoc on their bodies. Were a regular human being placed into those circumstances, they would begin to feel nauseous and weak after a mere couple G's worth of stress, whereas these people had to regularly and for prolonged periods of time perform challenging duties under that stress.
The main problem one would face is that as one makes a tight turn and the G's pile up, your body would want to keep going in that direction, including the blood inside your veins. This usually means that it wants to collect in your legs and arms, instead of in your head where it is most vitally needed. Thus, for untrained people a flight in a high-power plane would end in unconsciousness or even death as they lost conscious.
To counter this, the AGSM has two main parts; tightening your muscles in your legs and torso to give the blood less space, forcing it back up, and breathing in a specific rhythm by repeating the word "Hook" as you did.
For Emiya, there had been some use to such techniques, but mainly he had been interested in the studies and methods used to investigate into such techniques. Thus he had acquired instruments which allowed him to sample the oxygen level in his bloodstream or in his cells, like with a hyperspectral imager to figure out how to maximize the amount of oxygen he could retain with his breathing.
Later on, it became useful as a skill when his opponents began to field the same technology on the battlefield to detect hostiles. Being able to control your body to pass through a crowd, entirely unseen despite the equipment internationally praised as unbeatable had gotten him through more than once tricky situation.
While he could not move so quickly as to need to worry about passing out from all of his blood leaving his brain, like in a fighter jet, it was a concern for him that he could run out of breath and pass out after a minute of intense exercise when fighting at his utmost limits. Now and back then.
He had started out just sitting and meditating, recording how different things affected the level of oxygen in his blood and muscles, and then he moved up to training his breathing as he fought. He had learned other tricks as well; how to heat up or cool down his body, how to force more blood into his brain to wake himself up more quickly and how to train his anaerobic capacity without actually needing to physically strain himself, like he was doing right now.
His muscles needed to recuperate longer than his peers' did, given their more advanced effects from the gene therapy. He couldn't afford to go running simply to enhance his cardiovascular capability when he needed to recover in time for the next training session.
In essence, he could receive the benefits that someone who lived in high altitudes would if they were to come down where the oxygen levels were higher, simply through breathing exercises. It had even been used by some to prepare for mountain climbing, allowing them to cut back on the time needed to adjust for altitude.
He finished his exhale; emptying his body wholly.
Emiya became a void.
Whereas when he was filled to the brim and became a serene lake when he held his breath upon the inhale, in this moment he was completely and utterly devoid of anything and everything. He held no thoughts, no beliefs and no consciousness in this moment. Though his blood still held oxygen and his muscles were not under any strain, it has been nearly two minutes since he had last inhaled.
He continued to restrain from breathing in; forcing himself to maintain his complete absence of self and breath for as long as he could. In this state, complex thought became impossible. Even counting the passing of time became muddled and difficult.
But it also proportionally increased his capacity for acting anaerobically, thus he did not give up. Not quite yet. A little bit more. Just a few seconds—
Something jostled him and his eyes shot open, his mouth opening as he inhaled what felt like an entire roomful of air in a single second. His limbs tingled, his stomach half-cramping as his body greedily took in the air. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the redhead who looked back at him.
She had tripped somehow and taken support from his bed frame, making her arm accidentally touch up against him, nothing more.
"Shit. Sorry." Shepard grimaced, looking sheepish as she backed away from him.
Emiya blinked, exhaling as he normalized his breathing. His thoughts came rushing back as his oxygen levels normalized as well and his body began to slip back into what felt like reality. The veil of self-induced distance from all vanished. He glanced at the clock, noting that he had been meditating for over an hour already.
He grunted at her, leaning slightly to look at her. She had apparently tripped and almost fallen on top of him, something quite unlike the stoic and unsociable girl. "Are you alright?"
"Huh? Yeah, fine." She glanced at him, waving his question and walking away. But he couldn't help but notice the slight limp she had. Had her foot fallen asleep when she had been lying in her cot? ...Or was it something else.
He shook his head; it had nothing to do with him. Yet even as he thought that, a memory of the past welled up. There had been someone like that in Cambodia. Or perhaps Johannesburg. At this point many of his memories had begun to blur together.
Someone who had clawed their way out of a slum, always hiding their weaknesses and treating everyone as a potential hostile. The name had long since been forgotten, but the way he had died after getting an injury and refusing to ask for help had stuck with Emiya.
That night, he couldn't shake away the memories of the past.
Things he had thought he had long since cast away resurfaced unbidden to cling to him again. Those whom he had left behind; those who had parted ways with him, unable to keep up with his mad zeal or unable to understand his reasons; those who he had failed due to never managing to communicate properly.
Slowly but surely, the rusted cogs that had spun in his internal world for decades began to cease their turning.