I'm back! Sorry for the long absence, but vacation was calling. I'm now back, and will be updating regularly (once a week) as per usual. Thanks for your patience!

As always, read and review. Feel free to message me at any time.

Ave Imperator.


The new Normandy had been built around the concept of efficiency. Everything was recycled. Air, water, waste, energy, all of it was gathered and transformed for other uses throughout the vessel. Two thirds of the ship's systems had been automated, run through a Virtual Intelligence system on board. Only vital systems, like engines and life support maintained a crew accompaniment. The entire ship was monitored through a ship wide network, allowing the V.I to provide second by second information to the ship commander. All crew members had been fitted with medical support nodes. Should a crewman's heart give out, the V.I would be able to render immediate medical assistance. Should a crewman begin to act in a concerning manner, the V.I could resolve the issue in a similar fashion. Only one person on board was separated from this ship wide network. He sat in a small office, also cut off from ship surveillance, perusing a positively geriatric hard copy of The Will to Power. The man appreciated his superior allowing him to choose his own name. The ancient Terran play Inspector General remained a continuing delight to him. Judging by the crew files, no one would notice the peculiar name. The Xenos wouldn't know better and he sincerely doubted the Commander appreciated literature.

He closed the book, placing it on a shelf with pious care. His black boots made no sound on the cloud of black carpet. The rug would have to go. Luxury distracted from work. This office was going to have been Operative Lawson's. It showed. There was a level of quiet opulence to the compartment. Lawson clearly hadn't had a problem spending her superior's money. No doubt she thought herself terribly clever. He laughed quietly. He did not like Ms. Lawson.

Shepard on the other hand, was someone he could work with. There was a file stowed away in his desk of a significant thickness dedicated to the Commander's military career. Most of it was full, operational transcripts, medical and physical fitness tests, and the occasional commendation. What separated Shepard's file from the thousands upon thousands of others he'd had to pore over, was a little pict print tucked into the back of the file. The pict was of ten men bearded and grinning. They wore miner's overalls and carried rifles. In the center of the pict stood John Shepard, a little younger, perhaps a little less scarred. On the back of the pict someone had scribbled ten names, and next to mine of them, three words.

KIA 12June87 Akuze

An Alliance Navy scout had stumbled onto a Cerberus research station. Due to time constraints, a proper clean up team had not been sent in. Instead, the Operative in command had detonated a small seismic charge beneath the station, driving the local subterranean wildlife mad. The inhabitants had been devoured by Thresher Maws, and so had the Alliance Marines deployed to sweep the station. Only Shepard, then in command of a recon platoon, had survived. Not only had he survived, but he'd accomplished his unit mission, recovered the dead, and returned to the scout ship with all personnel accounted for.

Shepard's commitment to mission success was unusual. In a hundred other equivalent studies, all other N series Alliance officers had withdrawn to space, or died with their men. Only Shepard had continued with his mission.

He and his superior shared an appreciation for a man with Shepard's dedication.

There was a short, sharp knock on the door. Shepard stood in the doorway. The commander had clearly discarded the Cerberus service uniform he'd even given as soon as he'd been able, opting instead for a hoodie and a raggedy pair of sweatpants. He looked rather homeless.

"Can I help you Commander?"

"Yes you can Osip." Shepard fell into a plush armchair in front of the desk. "I make it a habit of knowing the men under my command."

He paused, and leaned back in his chair. "You have questions about my ability?"

Shepard laughed. "Your qualifications, No. You're overqualified if anything. I don't think I've ever met someone who served with NATO Special Services. N-series and NATO don't mix much."

He smiled. "We would, but you wouldn't be able to keep up."

Shepard snorted. "Is that why S.A keeps you guys earth side? So as not to embarrass everyone else?"

"Your words sir."

On the desk between them, sat Osip's one luxury. A beautifully crafted metal chessboard. The commander glanced down at it. "Do you play?"

"Yes sir."

Shepard grinned. "I learned during the Blitz. You any good?"

The man extended a hand. "Would you like a game?"

The Commander nodded, turning the board so that the white pieces were on his side of the desk. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all sir." Shepard slid a pawn into the center of the board. From behind the black lines, Osip studied the Commander. Shepard might have thought his visit would be taken in the manner it was offered, a friendly visit, but Osip knew better. The Commander was playing for information. It was an attempt at cunning not without a measure of skill. In the manner of a fisherman casting nets, Shepard had cast his lines deep and wide, in an attempt to open as many lines of conversation as possible. The mention of shared experience and the game were Shepard's bait.

Osip could recognize a skilled player when he saw one, and Shepard was skilled. But to survive and thrive in the environment he had spent his adult life in, Osip had cultivated the depths of an ocean in which to hide his superior's secrets. Shepard was fishing with line that would barely break the surface.

He slid a black pawn forwards to meet Shepard's. Shepard took it. In reply, a black knight snapped up the overambitious white pawn. Shepard sent a white knight out to counter.

Chess was a profoundly psychological game. A player would expose themselves in the course of the game, revealing how they thought, and how they responded to various stimuli. To be even meddling at chess, a player had to learn to hide from his opponent and with the same stroke, pierce his facade. To predict his opponent's moves, and to formulate a stratagem, a player had to first understand his opponent's mind. Shepard, who had lost his knight in an over eager jab at Osip's queen, was not a good chess player.

Shepard tossed a Manila folder onto his desk. "That's the dossier I got on you from Tim. You fought at the Battle for Moscow?"

Osip took Shepard's bishop. "I was attached to 4th Special Forces during the invasion of Old Russia. My unit was deployed in support of the city."

"Word was, most of the 4th didn't get through that one." Shepard castled his king, sealing himself up against Osip's advancing bishops.

"Most of us didn't." He pursed his lips, then prodded a knight forwards to threaten Shepard's queen and his right rook. "My record is readily available upon request, sir."

Shepard waved a hand, and glowered at the board. "I already read your file." He waggled a finger at the manila folder. "Aside from your blood type and assessment scores, it's all black ink. As far as I'm concerned, if you can shoot and follow orders, you and I will get along fine. I do however need you to fill in some of the blanks." Shepard salvaged his queen, leaving his rook to the mercy of Osip's knight.

"Such as?" Osip's queen, lurking in the rear, revealed herself, cutting down Shepard's in a long charge across the board. Shepard frowned.

"Nothing important, just some basic information. Favorite food, place of birth, medical issues, stuff like that."

"Is that pertinent sir?" Shepard tried to parry the queen with a bishop. Osip let him take the piece. He edged a knight forwards.

"I think so." Shepard replied. "I don't like my crew hiding secrets from me." Ignoring the two knights looming over his king, Shepard lashed out with his bishop toward a line of pawns on Osip's right flank.

"That's my job sir." The knights continued their advance, leaving the pawns to their doom.

"To hide things from me?" Shepard didn't attempt to hide his smile as his bishop slaughtered the black pawns.

"To keep secrets." A black bishop slid forwards and took Shepard's other rook. Surprised, Shepard glared at the black piece. "How'd you do that?"

"Sir?"

Shepard gave him a long, piercing look. Osip waited patiently for the Commander, gently tapping his left index finger on the desk in a steady beat.

"Where were you born?" He asked finally, moving his now endangered king out of harms way.

"Moscow." Osip replied, sliding a knight forwards to threaten the king.

"Moscow is a beautiful city isn't it?" Shepard's king retreated.

"It was." The other black knight advanced. "Before the war."

"I grew up in the colonies." Shepard said conversationally. "Never got down to Earth myself. I'm planning a trip next time I get leave." Shepard pushed a pawn forward in a futile attempt to stall the black advance.

"I didn't know tourism coordination was in my mission set sir." The bishop slid forwards, and pinned the white king.

Shepard laughed and raised the middle finger of his right hand. "Fuck you." He flicked the white king over.

"Buy me dinner first sir." Osip smiled in reply. "Good game sir."

"You murdered me." Shepard snorted.

If you'd been more patient I wouldn't have. "I have more experience with the game sir."

"Right, you're Russian." Shepard rose to his feet. "Bastards grow up on this game don't you?"

"That and vodka sir."

Shepard laughed. "There's a game I can beat you in." He picked up the folder and made for the door. "We'll continue this conversation later."

"Yes sir." Osip watched Shepard leave, carefully reset the board, and with a clatter of keyboard keys, opened a private message terminal. A red light shone from the camera on his terminal screen. Osip raised one hand and presented a neat, simple steel ring, topped by a silver letter I with three small bars in it's center.

Note: Subject One Alpha

S,

Shepard exhibits characteristic aggression and confidence. Is prone to over reach and reckless behavior. Over all in keeping with pre-surgery psychological profile. Confidence and reckless nature believed to stem from service as Spectre. Recommend minor changes to behavior in regards to risk assessment and confidence. Loss or potential loss of comrades or friends should be sufficient. Please advise.

O

T

The Final Secret hung in orbit over Nirvana like a black bird of prey. Silhouetted by the glimmering white planet, the frigate's outline was visible. A tiny black craft rocketed upwards from the planet surface, disappearing into the Final Secret. A brief flare of the ship thrusters and it jetted into the darkness, once again becoming invisible to the eye. It slid through the void, bearing its deadly cargo towards their duty.

The thrusters flared again, and there was a brilliant flash of impossible color. For a moment the vacuum of space rippled with inhuman screams, and the stars writhed.

Then the light vanished and everything was as it had been.


Astaron Gerr watched with mild amusement as the deathly pale Raven Guard prowled around him. The Red Scorpion's armor was in stark contrast to the rest of the warriors aboard the Final Secret, a pure white instead of a deep black. His left shoulder bore the Death Watch crest, and his right bore the grey field and coiled red scorpion of his chapter. The Apothecary stood in a shuttle hold, hemmed in on three sides by the Astartes of Talon Squad. Two sat on storage crates, hidden in shadow. The third, hailing from the Raven Guard, circledthe new arrivals like a vulture.

"What're your names?" the Raven Guard asked. The marine's voice had a sardonic ripple to it, as though he was on the brink of laughter.

"Astaron Gerr."

"Lu'shan." Beside Gerr, a young Astartes from the Salamanders stuck out his chin defiantly. He wore a Techmarine's rig on his back, and a optic enhancement whirred angrily on his exposed right eye.

"And what makes you think you belong here?" The Raven Guard asked, leering into the Techmarine's face. "What honors have you won?"

"I killed Urak Fellhand of the Iron Warriors." He snapped back. It was an interesting genetic anomaly of the Salamanders, inherited from their Primach Vulcan He'stan, that all Salamanders had skin as black as pitch, and eyes of fiery yellow. As he snarled at the sneering Raven Guard, Lu'shan reminded Gerr of the dragons of Terran myth.

"We don't kill traitors here." A Death Watch marine bearing Ultramarine heraldry replied. Unlike the Raven Guard, the Ultramarine wore his battle helm. "Our task is to slay a much more cunning foe."

"Ever fought Eldar little lizard?" The Raven Guard gave the Techmarine a shove. "What about Tyranids? And I don't mean during your training with the Watch. I mean on the field of battle." The Salamander bared his teeth, ritually sharpened to fangs, but did not reply.

"Leave the young one Ghost." A dour marine in Exorcist colors called from behind them. "He'll cut his teeth in battle soon."

The Raven Guard laughed. "If he survives." He turned on Gerr. "And what about you Apothecary?"

"I've faced xenos before." Gerr replied coldly. He did not care for the Raven Guard's sneering attitude.

"Oooh, a veteran are we?" The Raven Guard snickered. "Mind yourselves brothers, we've a master among us!"

"Rot in the Eye." Lu'shan gave the Raven Guard a rough shove. The Raven Guard looked surprised for a moment, then cackled. "The lizard has teeth!" He beckoned Lu'shan forwards. "Come on then."

The Salamander stepped forwards, but Gerr's outstretched arm held him back.

"Death Watch does not war with Death Watch." He hissed. "They goad you so that you will discredit yourself."

"He impugns our honor!" The Salamander snarled, glaring intently at the Raven Guard.

"He tests you, nothing more." Gerr was prevented from continuing by a sneering cry.

"I did not think Vulcan's sons were cowards."

Lu'shan roared and lunged forwards. The Raven Guard met him head on. The two marines crashed together with a thunderous sound.

"Damnation." Gerr moved to get between the two battling Astartes. "Help me!"

The Ultramarine and Exorcist stepped forwards to intervene, and together, the trio pulled the battling pair apart.

"Enough!" The Ultramarine roared. "Raven Guard, enough! What will our Alpha say?"

"I can tell you what he will say." A deep, vibrant baritone echoed through the bay. A tall Death Specter librarian stood in the entranceway, flanked by an Imperial Fist of impossible muscular size. "Ghost, Salamander, Red Scorpion, to my quarters immediately. The rest of you, return to your duties." He glared at the Astartes of Talon Squad.

"I expect more from Death Watch."