***EMERGENCY MESSAGE – GS 2783 041117***

REPORT; SCTR 119; MSV TALESSIA – CTE 19881743

**EMERGENCY MESSAGE – GS 2783 041117**

~~~POTENTIALLY HOSTILE ALIENS PAST RELAY 314~~~

~~~UNABLE TO ESCAPE~~~

~~~XUL PROTOCOL NOT ENACTED~~

***BREAK***

A low sigh. It tremored with the hint of fear, the indefinite possibility of bubbling anxiety. Cool air flushed about, yet it did little to sate the rising melt of warming cheeks and alarmed, perspired pores.

Tevos, of the Citadel Council, placed her datapad upon the council bench. She ran a hand over her face, giving another sigh. Her mind was reeling, sent spiraling down a well of uncertainty by the emergency flash message she had just read.

A quick glance at her colleagues told her that they fared no better. Councilor Sann's bulbous eyes flittered like drunken pyjaks, and Jorius' mandibles were spread wider than those of any turian she had ever met in her millennia of existence.

Well, it wasn't as if many turians looked kindly upon her, these days. Nor did they take a liking to Sann.

The council was silent for several more moments, their aides standing awkwardly to the sides. The well-worn politicians, with years of experience under their belts, could not have prepared for the message they had just received.

Of course, it was always something to be expected – perhaps a glancing option in the backs of their minds, as prosperous years continued to take hold in Citadel space. For, with the extent of yet unexplored territory within the Milky Way, it was only likely that at least a multitude of species lay dormant, unknown.

But to have such a discovery happen during their tenures, in such a manner?

How unfortunate.

After several more moments of utter silence, Tevos cleared her throat. After all, she was their senior – by hundreds of years – and damned if she did not take charge during such a dilemma. A crisis.

She wouldn't let Jorius take control, of all people.

"Right," Tevos began, her usually soft voice taking a tone of commanding respect. "We knew the risks. Activating dormant relays always carries these hazards – now, we need to discuss our immediate moves."

Jorius, to her right, stood silently for a moment, perhaps contemplating their options, before nodding his head.

"We need to act fast," the turian councilor declared, placing a hand down decisively. "Prepare some sort of defensive procedure, marshal the fleets. We cannot let—"

Sann cut the turian off, shaking his head. "No, no, we need to be cautious. We cannot afford to go flying into a sector of space we know nothing about." He brought up his arm, an orange hologram springing to life around his wrist. "I can contact the STG – perhaps we can send in some spy ships?"

Indignant at being interrupted, Jorius hissed, his mandibles flaring. "This is not the time for caution, Sann!" His eyes belied a certain fury, a distrust of his colleagues. "Every second we hesitate, we lost time to prepare. The aliens might be hostile, the batarians might prepare their own investigations, because we damn well know our communications are not—"

"Why," Sann sputtered, the salarian glaring harshly at Jorius. "Do you always have to bring the batarians up, Caio? Was it not enough to push them off the Citadel? Persecute them entirely?"

"They're slavers, Sann, what did you expect us to do? Sit back and watch as our people suffered?"

"We expected the turians to police the galaxy, not rampage across it to beat everyone down with a turian lawbook!"

Tevos sighed, watching as her two colleagues hounded and bayed at each other. Of course, she remembered a time when this hadn't been the case – yet, tensions seemed to now flow freely between the "Big Three" of the Citadel Council.

She was ashamed to know that she and her fellow matriarchs weren't immune to the juvenile nature of it all.

"Councilors," she finally called, preventing their argument from going any further. "Back to the topic at hand, if we will."

Jorius and Sann, to their credit, looked back at Tevos. They nodded, settling down. She was thankful for that, if limited, degree of respect.

"Alright," Jorius muttered. "I'm sure the asari have a wonderful solution. Some sort of compromise, maybe?"

Maybe not. Though she bristled, Tevos did not rise to the challenge. "Not quite a compromise, but something of the sort. Nothing has suggested that these aliens are hostile." Sann made to speak, but the matriarch held up a hand. "We've little information to go off, and one message does not mean that the Talessia and her crew are under duress."

"Then what do you suggest?" Jorius and Sann's querying eyes met her own.

"Send a diplomatic fleet. A couple of civilian vessels, accompanied by a Hierarchy flotilla," the matriarch answered. "Not too many – we don't want to look like conquerors. Just enough to protect our diplomats. A few frigates, perhaps a cruiser."

To Tevos' relief, Councilor Sann nodded, a hand at his chin. "A good move. If the aliens prove hostile, they should have enough protection to escape, report back to the Citadel. If not, then first contact will be much simpler."

"All in favor?"

Two hands raised. Councilor Jorius gave a reluctant, yet defeated, sigh, before he too raised a hand.

"At the very least, we can raise some military readiness levels – prepare the fleets. I'll contact Admiral Arterius, see if he has a good commander in mind."

"Then it is decided. This Council meeting is adjourned."

Caio Jorius stormed through the halls of the Presidium embassy, diplomats and civilians alike jumping out of the growling councilor's way. A trio of asari attendants flurried behind him, in a vain attempt to keep up with the furious turian, but as he reached the doors of his office, he waved them away.

The office doors slammed shut, a red lock appearing over the center. Still growling, Jorius slammed a talon over his arm. An orange display fizzled into appearance, keys flying past by the second.

"Damn asari and salarians don't realize we've a mounting inter-galactic crisis," he muttered furiously, standing abreast his office window.

Jorius' office was, surprisingly, a humble affair for a councilor. Perhaps eight by five meters long and wide, the room was barely decorated – a small painting beside the door, from the turian Pars Culturae era, nearly seven thousand years before. There was a simple pot in a corner, a teesko plant from Sur'Kesh, the scent of which Caio had developed a liking for, and a bowl of asari sweets on his desk, beside a blue terminal.

Popping one of the sweets into his mouth, Councilor Jorius returned to his omni-tool. A message was displayed on the orange screen. With the taste of an asari sweet fruit on his tongue, Caio read the message, marked from a particular friend and colleague of his.

'Councilor Jorius,

Per your requests, the 15th Auxiliary Kabalim has deployed a listening post in the Caleston Rift.

Routes have been tracked, and preliminary data from connected relays suggests mass movement of unidentified vessels towards the Attican Traverse.

Traces of element zero waste indicative of traveling vessels also suggests movement in, and out of, the Orion Arm.'

Caio Jorius growled, his mandibles flaring. "Batarians," he muttered. He knew they were up to something, but his colleagues simply did not want to hear it!

Shaking his head, the councilor continued to read.

'Your belief that the Batarian Hegemony is smuggling vast amounts of resources in and out of the Attican Traverse may yet have some credit to it. However, the Hierarchy is not yet prepared to devote further resources to this task, and would like to prevent current mounting tensions with the Republics and the Union from developing any further.

In any case, I have contacted the satrap primarchs with the relevant information. Whether or not they prepare for any threats is up to themselves.

On a more personal note, Caio – I would please ask that you temper your nerves and your anger. My friend, I know you took your son's death on Oma Ker hard, but Flavian has been avenged, his murderers hunted down. There is no need to hound the batarians any further.

There are those in the Hierarchy that would see you demoted and stripped of rank. They see you as an agitator, desecrating our relations with the other Council species with reckless abandon. Our friendship is the only thing that has stopped them thus far. That, and my belief that Sparatus is not yet ready.

Listen to me, Caio. Your job is not the only thing on the line here.

Strength and honor,

Primarch Fedorian.'

"Your future with the Republic is not the only thing on the line here, corporal."

The bright light – it blinded him, a halo of accusation in the otherwise pitch black room. Victor Evans shook his head, trying to stir his mind from slumber.

The past few days had been a blur – the walls of that fucking cell, bereft of any color, any emotion. Nothing but bland food, no more than the thick paste of ground nutrients, and a water so shit he didn't truly believe it was really water.

Victor had barely gotten any rest, and the mindless days of deferent dormancy, piqued only by fading thoughts and unending reflection, had served to dull his conscious. He felt consigned to this fate, and the woman's voice in his ringing ears was a cold, hard truth.

His career in the Republic had seemingly come to a dead, cadaverous end.

"Are you listening, corporal?"

Victor knew why he was being interrogated – it was those aliens – well, alien, really, and what it – she – had done to him. Read his mind, forced his thoughts open to her in a fit of panic. The colonies, the Republic, Earth. He had given them to her like money to a mugger.

But could he really blame the alien, in the end? Perhaps, but he knew that she was as much a prisoner as he was now. And he could remember her fear – hell, he thought it had been his own, for a time. All mushed together like their minds had been.

And now, Victor was left with a much more intimate knowledge of the asari species than he would have liked.

A smooth hand cupped his chin, pressing hard as he was forced to look into the eyes of his interrogator. A pale-skinned woman, her blue eyes a stark contrast from her flowing black hair. She spoke with an Earth accent – Australian, if Victor remembered correctly.

"I asked you a question, Corporal Evans. Answer me. Now."

Victor groaned, instinctively trying to shake his head again, yet he couldn't. She held him too tightly.

"I am, I am," he muttered, slowly blinking his eyes. "C'mon, you don't have to be so rough."

The woman chuckled, a surprisingly melodic tone that sent shivers down his spine. "Oh, but I do," she retorted, gazing back into Victor's eyes. "You see, important information about the United Earth Republic, and humanity, may be compromised. And who, my dear marine, do you think compromised it?"

They already knew – Victor could see no other truth. Of course they were playing with him. What else did he expect from such agents? Kindness? Gratitude? Charity? Ridiculous.

What did they want with him?

"You already know," Victor spat, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. "Can I at least say that I didn't mean to give anything up? For fuck's sake, I don't even know if she remembers anything."

The interrogator simply smiled back at him, stepping back with her hands behind her back. "The alien? She does. Not much, from what she's told us. But, at the very least, thank you for answering one of our questions."

Victor leaned back – as much as he could – in indignation. "Wait, what?" he sputtered, shaking his head. "What, if I was listening to you? What do you mean? And what does one of mean?"

Without words, the woman circled the chair he was chained to, stopping behind him. Two hands grasped his shoulders, and Victor felt her hair brushing against the back of his neck. He froze, a tinge of fear shooting through his body.

"How old are you?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, Victor. How old are you?"

He could feel the woman's hands press upon his shoulders, her nails scraping across his shirt. "Twenty-one. I'm twenty-one, almost twenty-two."

"And you were already blowing through the marine corps. Impressive." Her voice was smooth, sultry, but it only served to chill Victor's heart. "And what do you want to do? How do you want to serve your nation?"

"The fuck kind of question is that?" he grunted, beginning to feel pain as the agent's hands clenched. "Fuck, could you let loose? Honestly, probably career military." he answered truthfully.

"Very ambitious." The woman released her grip, and Victor gasped in relief. "I'm sure you'll serve the Republic proudly."

Her words stung him, and Victor couldn't help but give a pained chuckle. "Yeah, well, I've screwed that up now, haven't I?" He tried to bring a hand to his shoulder, but cold steel bit into his wrists. His chair rattled angrily, accusingly.

"Not quite."

Victor's brows shot up, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

His interrogator moved opposite him, her icy blue eyes chilling Victor's bones.

"We have an offer for you," she smiled, tilting her head. "And, if you are to take it, then we'd be willing to forgive your… small transgression."

Victor looked up at the woman, his mouth open. Every inch of his body screamed "danger, danger!" but he couldn't help but ignore them. A light sparked inside his heart - one of hope.

He had been given a lifeline. Yes, of course, perhaps by one of, if not the, most secretive and enigmatic, and probably wicked, organizations in the entire Republic, but what was the alternative? Most likely life in prison, or death. A traitor's fate. What other choice did he have?

The marine gulped, giving a final nod. The woman smiled. Slowly, she reached back, bringing something out. Something metallic, shining under the sole bright light of the room. A cold hand clutched one of his own, and Victor looked down to see what it was that the woman gave him.

A coin. On its face was a three-headed dog, snarling and growling. And three words.

Chasser les Faibles.

"Corporal Victor Evans," the pale officer addressed him, and he looked back up. "When you're finding yourself out of options… When you find yourself alone…

Look for us.

Captain Marcus Shepard watched the interrogation proceed, as the young assault trooper was hounded and beleaguered by the intelligence agent. When she had first boarded the Crusader, flanked by a pair of black-clothed guards, Marcus could practically feel the atmosphere on the ship change. Introduced only as Agent Lawson, the woman practically had the entire ship held by a noose in a matter of moments.

The entire affair, wrought by the machine that was the Office of Republic Intelligence, rubbed the captain the wrong way.

A baritone voice interrupted his thoughts – he had almost forgotten Major Reyes was with him.

"What do you think?" the major asked Marcus, turning to the captain with quizzical eyes. "Hopefully our Corporal Evans won't be shipped off to some ORI prison somewhere. I hear he's a valuable asset."

Marcus shook his head. "They won't take him anywhere. I don't think Agent Lawson intends to court martial him, or anything."

"Why do you say?"

Shepard pursed his lips, glaring through the interrogation room's window. "I didn't say he was in the clear yet. Making examples, taking political prisoners – that's not how ORI operates," he said, though he was not entirely sure of his own answer. "If the corporal was to be court martialed, on trial for compromising human secrets, then ORI wouldn't be involved. But if they are interested…"

"Then he's not got the Office's slimy tentacles off him yet?" Reyes raised a brow, his features scrunching.

Marcus nodded. "They'll turn him into an asset. Maybe. Not sure. But I do know that marine will never be clean of ORI again. They'll watch him. Maybe forever. At the end of the day, he's on their 'list.'"

The pair turned away, leaving as the interrogation came to a close. They made their way through the ship, the bridge their destination. After a moment's silence, Reyes cleared his throat.

"I hear we've been re-attached?"

The captain nodded. "We have. Battlegroup Autumn – some detachment from the Fifth Fleet. Led by Rear Admiral Hackett."

"Already?" Reyes asked, his eyes widening. "Weren't they just supposed to be some sort of rapid response group they scratched up for this? I didn't expect us to get redeployed with them."

The Shepard patriarch shrugged, noticing that they had neared the bridge. Marines and sailors passed by, short salutes exchanged as the ship's crew went about their business. "Neither did I." He stopped for a moment, nearly causing the major to bump into him. "Frankly, I didn't know what I expected. But maybe they want to move us off all this first contact business."

Garren Reyes frowned, though he did not seem to be otherwise disappointed. "Suits me. I'm no diplomat."

"Same," Marcus shook his head. "That's my wife's job. But from what I've gathered, we're diving straight back into the insurgent hunting business.

"In any case," the captain continued, nodding. "We're posted in this system for a while longer. The alien – Arysa." Marcus said, testing the name on his tongue.

"What about her?"

"She assured us that this… Council, will either send a diplomat, or a military force. At this point, I'm not sure which I'd prefer. It all seems… surreal."

"I'd rather it was the former." Reyes deadpanned, raising a brow at Shepard as they passed into the bridge.

"Right, right."

A/N: Hey, all. Hope ya'll enjoyed this new chapter. Sorry it took a while. It's a bit shorter, because I decided to cut these next couple of parts in half - mostly due to the frequency of POV switches and breaks.

Review Responses:

Aptly-named First part: I'm of the belief that background information, such as things that you might normally see in a codex or timeline in stories on this site, is better reserved to be "shown," and not "told." I prefer to let all of this information, about the newly introduced factions, characters, and history, to be introduced naturally throughout the course of the story. Being given all of this information on a platter is boring to me, and is a signifier of dull, drolling, machine-like storytelling. In any case, if there's enough demand for a codex, which there has been a bit of already, and a timeline, I might consider placing one at the end of each "act."

We're in the Prelude right now, which should be finalized within the next two, three, or four chapters, in case anyone was wondering.

GeneralAllenWalker: Not quite the Russian Revolution, but still very, very large. It's a full on war, don't get me wrong, but it hasn't completely taken over the UER's resources, territory, or time. In a sense, it's very... concentrated.

: Refer to my response to First part.