The turian-designed Exo synthetic frames were originally designed as an emergency survival system to protect the brain of mortally-wounded soldiers - and as militant as the turians were, they had a lot of those. Enterprising engineers developed combat models of the Exo sustainment platform, effectively allowing mortally-wounded soldiers who volunteered for the duty to return to the battlefield. Refinements to the design eventually allowed Exo-sustained turian minds to function as fully-functional members of society. It wasn't until humans arrived with their Ethereal-derived direct brain-uploading technology and cortical stacks, however, that Exos became fully synthetic, with the turian brain being uploaded into a cyberbrain.

In modern turian society, Exos are broadly restricted to those who suffered lethal injuries or diseases, and it is uncommon to see a turian who uploaded into an Exo without dying beforehand. A strong cultural stigma exists toward those who haven't "earned their metal." And frankly, I can see why people would upload into Exos; no issues with diseases, eat as much as you want, and with the right mods you can smash down walls.

-Doctor Alvaro Mendes, Professor of Synthetic Sociology, University of Titan


Chapter 7: Proteus Landing


"Found 'em yet?"

"No. Just like when you asked me two minutes ago."

"Eh. Bored."

It was a rare sunny day on Proteus, the thick white clouds parting to let light onto the storm-wracked ocean world. Since about eighty percent of the time the planet was either being hammered by a storm or the sky was obscured by gray rainclouds, the rare clear days saw a significant amount of colonists coming topside to take in the sun. The colony habitats extended viewing platforms above the waves, complete with collapsible furniture and pavilions with automated bars and cafes.

Among the crowds taking in the clear morning were a pair sitting at a small table by the western railing, one staring out over the blue-gray ocean waves while the other stared at a fold-up terminal playing an old 21st century 2D action movie. Neither were really paying attention to the silly gunplay and martial arts occurring on the display; it was mostly just an excuse to not be bothered while they worked, and the terminal projected a local privacy field that distorted their words to outsiders.

The former was a turian, at least in his previous, non-Exo life. Now he had dull gray metal carapace sculpted into a close match to his original narrow, avian features, and blue slashes painted around his glowing blue eyes, nose and down the upper halves of his mandibles. He leaned back in his chair, idly sipping on a cheap fruity slush in an equally cheap memoryfoam cup.

The other, non-bored member of the pair stared blankly at the terminal as she worked. She was human, outward appearance in her mid-twenties, slim, short, and slightly built. She had shoulder-length brown hair, dark brown eyes, and delicate features.

"If you're bored," Alison Young said as she monitored a river of incoming data, "pull up a sim instead of bothering me. Or maybe tap into a feed and help me find this guy."

"You and I both know my limitations," Garrus Vakarian replied. "You're the one with the brain that can process thousands of data feeds at once. I can look at… what, two or three?"

"Then upgrade that stupid Exo brain of yours," Alison replied, not looking up at her partner. Garrus shrugged, slurping his slushie again.

"I'm actually wondering why I decided to come here," Garrus said after a moment. "Turians don't like water. We sink like rocks. Lots of flailing and thrashing. Doubly so when we sleeve into an Exo. Yet here I am on a human colony, covered in water."

"Eh, we'll both sink the same," Alison replied. "Problem with, y'know. No lungs."

"And there's only sixty thousand people living here," Garrus said. "It can't take that long to dig through and find one dockworker. On the Citadel we would have tracked him down in minutes. Neo Hengsha's got a fraction of the population."

"Xin."

"Eh?"

"In Mandarin its Xin Hengsha," Alison said.

"My translator calls it 'Neo'." Garrus said, doublechecking.

"Your translator is shit, then," Alison replied. "Download a better one."

"I prefer Neo."

"Ass," she grumbled, glancing up at the turian with an annoyed smirk.

"One made of twenty-two layers of composite alloys," Garrus replied, shifting in his seat, and slurped his drink again.

"Why do you do that?" she asked, glancing back down to her display and crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't need to drink."

"Neither do you. technically."

"I eat to maintain my pretty complexion," Alison said. "You're one hundred percent machine, not an ounce of meat on you."

"Yet I'm outfitted with a tremendously complex array of tactile, olfactory, and taste sensors that allow me full functionality and sensory capacity," Garrus said, reciting from the operator's manual. "So I can eat as much as I want, taste and smell it all, and not gain a kilo. And then dump it all when I'm full."

"Why not just regurgitate what you've eaten?" she asked.

"Because eeewwww."

She shrugged and then nodded toward his slushie, holding out a hand. He sighed, the sound tinged with a faint whirring, and handed it over.

"Dextro or levo?" she asked, looking into the cup.

"Does it matter?" he asked, and she shrugged before taking a sip.

"Not bad," she said, and handed it back before resuming her search. "To answer the original question, it's taking so long because I'm not supposed to have access to Xin Hengsha's security network."

"Ne-"

"Shut it. Hengsha's security has every man they can muster hunting across the station, so I have to be very careful lest their security infomorphs spot me tapping their network. Its taking time."

"Second question," Garrus said, holding up a finger. "What do we do when we find the target?"

"We didn't pack those weapons as presents for needy orphans," Alison replied, and Garrus shook his head.

"Because Hoplite Security LLC isn't contracted to provide law enforcement for the government of Neo Hengsha," Garrus continued. His head rang faintly as Alison smacked him on his metallic fringe. "So if we go after the people responsible for this whole mess, the police aren't going to be too happy with us. Especially because, well, the whole top-secret psychic thing." He paused. "We should have gone with Hyperion for the name."

"Both Hyperion and Desperado were already taken," Alison replied. "I wanted to go with Valkyrie, but XCOM already has a monopoly on the Norse mythology."

"But… Hoplite? I know, human history, but the name just sounds-"

"Got him," Alison said, sitting up.

"Patch me," Garrus replied, swiveling toward her. A moment later, data feeds spilled over his optical inputs.

They showed a lean, black-haired and yellow-skinned human - Asian origin, if Garrus remembered his human biology right - wearing a blue dockworker's jumpsuit pushing another human down a maintenance corridor. Garrus checked the source: Maintenance Corridor 33-A-West, two kilometers south of their position.

"You certain?" Garrus asked, looking at the second human. Male, middle-aged in appearance, blond, close-clipped beard, wearing a generic brown business suit. Their target had a small kinetic pistol pointed at the second human's lower back.

"Fac-rec and local mesh signature match Edgar Chen," Alison replied. "And Edgar Chen matches the time window for the attack. Unless someone's puppet-socking or sleeved into him."

Garrus checked the records on Chen again. Chinese born, 2142. Joined the SDC Navy in 2160, mustered out after five years of service, went to university for a doctorate in Marine Biology. Moved to Proteus in 2181. Couldn't find a job in his field, going by employment records, so he had found a job as a dockworker.

Visual records showed him returning at one of the Neo Hengsha docks on a personal underwater transport within their projected time window regarding the attack on the hidden SDC psionic lab. The records were wiped at the time he returned, but that was little obstacle to someone with Alison Young's talents and connections. Her more intensive investigation turned up a possible link to EXALT through suspicious data channels.

"Who's the hostage?" Garrus asked.

"Fac-rec running," she replied. "Pinging mesh and local spimes. Huh. Marshal Disler."

"Who?"

"Armacham Technology Corporation's local VP in charge of Proteus operations, on both sides of the pond," Alison said, concern working into her voice. "Not sure where or how Chen grabbed him, but…."

"Al, a question," Garrus said as he checked up on Disler. "ATC's operations on Proteus are mostly marine vehicle and weapons research, and contracted aerospace support."

"Yeah," Alison said with a nod. "What's up?"

"If you're running marine tech and aerospace support, why does your VP in charge have no education or experience in either field? Disler's got a Master's in Microbiology, Cellular Synthesis, and Psionic Biology."

Alison frowned, thinking.

"He's connected with SDC's lab," she said after a few moments. "ATC was likely supporting the lab operations, maybe contracting out psychic expertise."

She nodded, and stood.

"Okay. Let's go grab him before Hengsha police wakes up," she said, scooping up her terminal and shutting off their local privacy field.

"And find out what he wants with Disler," Garrus added as he rose more slowly, finishing his slushie.

EXALT, Armacham, and psionics, on a planet blockaded by the SDC and with a PPA and XCOM fleet on the way.

"Really, why the hell did I decide to come here?" Garrus muttered as he crushed his cup and tossed it into the trash.

"Because I fluttered my eyelashes and asked sweetly," Alison replied, and Garrus loosed a mechanical snort.


Transition toward the Athens system had occurred a few hours ago after the Market Garden had rendezvoused with Strike Four at the wormhole array, and the entire task force was a couple of hours from their destination, having long since started deceleration burn. The PPA's own response fleet was well ahead of them by about an hour, but they had agreed to wait within Athens' Kuiper Belt until XCOM arrived.

Shepard's muse woke him after a few hours' worth of sleep, and he ate heartily once he'd awoken; psionics ate up nearly as many calories as biotics. Between Shepard and Vega, they were putting a dent in the ship's food supply. Afterwards, he started down into the frigate's cargo area - alternately known as "infantry country" because that was where the frigate's troops did exercises. It was also where the frigate's simulated range and infantry wardroom were situated, between the Voidranger deck and Engineering.

The range was little more than a mid-sized cargo compartment on the opposite side of the bay from the wardroom, save for the fact that it was next to the ship's armory and featured a simulated firing range that could stretch out to up to five false kilometers. While it was entirely possible for the troops to slide into a simulspace environment on the Market Garden's computer network for training, the range and its test-firing was as much about properly calibrating the actual weapons as it was about maintaining marksmanship.

Shepard checked out a set of firearms from the armory maintenance tech, with the exception of his personal sidearm, which he maintained himself. He didn't expect anyone was using the range at this point, so when the door hissed open he was caught off-guard to see Lieutenant Wade test-firing a pistol. The weapon mimicked all the usual humming of a charging plasma weapon, while the range itself matched the burst and whoosh of superheated air ripping down a corridor at moving targets a dozen meters away.

"Lieutenant Wade," he said as she stepped up to the booth beside her, setting his plasma and fusion rifles down and activating the simulator.

"Major Shepard, sir," she replied with a deferential nod, but kept her eyes on her sights and continued firing. He couldn't tell if she'd known he was approaching before he'd entered the room, but she likely had. Her Empathy rating meant that she could likely pick up everyone on the ship passively, and determine their thoughts to exact detail if she concentrated.

Shepard hadn't spoken much with Wade since the meeting in the mess. There was the usual military small-talk: pleased-to-meet-you's and looking-forward-to-working-together's. After he'd eaten quickly, Shepard had left the mess for his quarters in officer country in the frigate's upper deck. And while there, he'd had his muse assemble Alma Wade's service history.

What his assistant VI reported on Wade's background was an example of exactly why he had been so gentle with Knight yesterday. A good kid with uncontrolled strength and rampant empathic powers; according to her father's interview after she'd been taken in by PsiCorps, she'd had a deeply troubled experience growing up, with hallucinations and hysteria that grew worse as she grew older, until she had gone nova in school. It was the reason Harlan wade had commissioned his own psionic containment shelter for her. Under PsiCorps education, however, she'd learned to control her powers, and eventually had gone through advanced psionic training on the PsiCorps Academy on Titan before being admitted into XCOM at seventeen. Three years of assignments mostly relegated to the inner colonies, and most of those low-risk, many as part of research or disaster-response teams.

That fact ran completely against her psionic ratings, which were impressively high across the board. He would have expected a psychic at her tier would have been working on the much more dangerous border sectors where her powers would be put to excellent use aganst threats from the Terminus. A-tiers were rare and always dispatched to the sharp end when they weren't put on training rotation.

"Is this your first field operation?" Shepard asked her as he started a medium-range program and set his plasma rifle to test-fire.

"Sir? Oh, um, no sir," she replied, pausing in her firing before resuming. "I've been sent down to the surface before with fireteams."

"Hostile worlds?" Shepard asked as he started tracking and shooting targets, in the form of glowing globes that slid back and forth at a simulated hundred meters and out.

"Human controlled," she replied. "I was usually asked to help with damage recovery. A few times we went down to locate psionic criminals or runners who went nova."

"You've done this type of operation before?" Shepard asked.

"Yes, though…" she frowned. "It wasn't easy. Disaster-response was simple. Pick up this piece of debris. Clear that obstruction. Simple enough, especially in evacuated areas where all the fear and pain didn't interfere."

"And tracking missions?" Shepard asked, plugging two targets in rapid succession.

Alma frowned again, shook her head, and fired several shots.

"Locating one person in a city of two hundred thousand isn't easy," she said. "Its kind of cliche, but one colored grain on a beach? Like that. Even with the Gift amping their powers. I usually ended up riding in Voidrangers for days while the ground teams and police tracked the target down and gave me an area to search. Even then I had a hard time finding them unless they evacuated a district. If someone else had the Gift in the area, I would often hit a false positive."

"But you could sweep an entire city if need be," Shepard said, and she nodded.

"Part of my training was actually sweeping colonies to see if anyone was using the Gift. I ended up spotting a bunch of kids and teenagers who were manifesting but hadn't reported in."

"Good to see we're making decent use of your talents," Shepard said, realizing that was probably why Alma wasn't on the front. It made sense to employ a useful asset to pick up manifesting psychics before they went nova in a shopping mall or school.

'Oh, that's not the whole story," Alma abruptly said, and Shepard blinked. She continued talking, as though she hadn't just plucked those thoughts from his head like windborne flower petals. "I'm kind of weak in combat."

"You have an Energy rating of eleven, Internal nine, and Manifestation twelve," he replied with a curious frown.

"And a Mental of thirteen, with Empathy at fifteen," she replied, her tone dropping a bit. "You don't have an Empathy rating to begin with, do you?"

"No," Shepard replied, blasting a target.

"Landing in a city is… a sandstorm, Major," she said. "I learned to turn off passive empathy reading on Titan, but that just shut off the worst of the background noise. I can still see and sense everyone around me, in constant motion. And when fighting starts, serious life-or-death combat…."

She paused, and set her pistol down, ending her simulation. Shepard froze his own sim, and turned to meet her eyes. They glowed, even in the white antiseptic light of the frigate's interior illumination.

"Combat is a terrifying experience," she said. "Horror, pain, anger, pants-shitting fear, worry, exhilaration, bloodlust…. all of them run rampant when battle begins, sir. They're hard to lock out completely." She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. "I was observing a team that went after a psychic. A criminal, Energy Five, but he knew how to use it. One of the Sentinel's teammates engaged him, and the psychic burned him alive. Cooked him in his armor. They saved his stack, but….

"I woke up on the deck of the Voidranger, curled up in a ball, two unconscious medics beside me. I'd been catatonic and pissing myself, but I was still pumping out enough unfocused energy that I knocked them out even when they sedated me."

She picked up the pistol and removed its power core, preparing to take it back out and stow it. As she did so, Shepard came to an understanding.

"That's why you have Vega partnered with you," he said, and she nodded, a slight smile suddenly appearing on her face.

"James was part of the team that recruited me," she said. "He and I have been friends since. He was with me during most of my training. He's officially my bodyguard, but unofficially, he helps keep me calm."

"He's… what, your sanity bear?" Shepard asked, and she let out a quiet laugh.

"The grizzly isn't there because of fuzzies, sir," Alma replied. "And emotionally sensitive or not, I'm still an A-tier. I rate a bodyguard."

"An ursa uplift who can pack tank weapons is a hell of a bodyguard," he admitted, and she nodded.

"Just… don't ask him to dance. Especially not talking and dancing at the same time. He'll put you in the infirmary if you try to brawl with him."

"I'll take that under advisement, Lieutenant," Shepard replied.


The interior of Xin Hengsha's underwater habitat consisted of dozens of linked-together, contractor-assembled structures intermixed in a labyrinth of modules, access corridors, and machinery. Maintenance Corridor 33-A-West was yet another in a long, proud line of dull, boring passages in Xin Hengsha's hulls.

This particular passage was a component of the city's water purification system - both desalination and wastewater filtration. It was mostly automated, with a few civilian workers and security on hand, but they were easily tracked by their mesh implants and the heavily-networked machinery, and Garrus and Alison were able to easily avoid them and bypass the plant's security. Edgar Chen shouldn't have had access to this part of Xin Hengsha's infrastructure either, but that wasn't surprising.

The turian and human moved through the corridor, weapons in hand. Garrus carried a mass accelerator carbine with a quickchange scope that was linked to his optics, letting him move from close-quarters sights to long-range precision at a thought. He wore a suit of dark blue and black tactical armor fitted around his Exo frame, giving him the appearance of a tall, lean turian assault drone with glowing blue eyes. It was an outfit that was quick to attach and disassemble, thankfully; in a pinch he could simply disengage it and run, the pieces falling off his body.

Alison wore dark gray and black mottled armor, heavy and tough and unsubtle; the armor wasn't backed by powered artificial muscle, as her own construction allowed her to get far more force in her movements by herself than anything short of heavy Atlas suits. Aside from a laser pistol and tactical-modded omnitools on both arms, she carried a snub-nosed Tengoku-designed fusion rifle. A deadly weapon in the close quarters they were expecting to fight in, but Garrus didn't like the spread on the fusion rifle's plasma burst, nor was he comfortable with the half-second charge time between shots.

Still, if anyone had the reaction times needed to time their shots correctly, it was her, so he let her take point while he covered their backs.

Mesh tracking shows he passed through this room seventeen minutes ago, she messaged Garrus as they reached a hatch leading into one of the pumping rooms.

Disler's position hasn't changed? Garrus asked, and she shook her head, sliding into position to breach.

Local mesh isn't showing me anything inside this room, she added. No cameras or other sensors. Spime data is giving me proximity on Disler.

But not Chen, obviously. The ubiquitous computers that made up the "mesh" of constantly communicating sensors, detectors, monitoring equipment, spimes, and nodes that served as the infrastructure of modern networks were a crucial tracking tool, but only against people who didn't really have a good grasp of information security. Chen was hiding his presence, spoofing local sensors and mesh communications, but he hadn't done the same for Disler.

Alison waved her omnitool over the locked hatch, and a moment later it hissed faintly, seals releasing. She stepped forward, pushing it open, and Garrus was a step behind her.

The chamber was another pumping room. Long, choked with working machinery, silver-white pipes and gunmetal gray boxes several meters tall. The pulse and hum of running water and working pumps vibrated through the floor, a constant industrial heartbeat. The lights were dim, yellow electronic strips along the ceiling, dark shadows above the pipes criss-crossing overhead.

This was all peripheral. Both Garrus and Alison locked their eyes on the middle of the room, and the bloody corpse hanging from its ankles.

Marshal Disler had died violently, his blood covering the ragged tears along his neck and face, chunks of cut and torn flesh visible on his exposed chest. He hung a few meters into the room, suspended from a pipe overhead. His coat and shirt were ripped open, blood pooling under his head as he slowly swung in a slight arc back and forth.

Between one step and another, Garrus was analyzing the crime scene. Alison stepped to the side, sweeping the room while he went to work.

It wasn't too dissimilar from when Galroon Paavaloorando had gone on his killing spree a few years back, chopping up twelve people on the Citadel while using his diplomatic status to evade detection. He'd strung up the bodies much the same way, although he usually stripped them naked and had used far cleaner cutting tools. According to him, it had been as much about the aftermath as selling the victim's organs. Garrus wasn't sure what the elcor's motivations were beyond that point, as their confrontation had ended in gunfire and a string of explosions.

Dilser's killer - likely Chen but they couldn't rule out someone else - had used vastly cruder tools. Heavy tearing across the cheeks and neck, strips of stringy flesh hanging loose. Mastication and tearing, which meant teeth. Omnivore incisors rather than canines or molars. Human teeth, likely, tearing flesh clear of the body. By comparison, the chest wounds were rough knife hacks, no flesh missing, just peeled back. Some tearing at the back of the neck, where a cortical stack would traditionally be installed.

Garrus checked the floor. Blood trails, thick and bright red, leading from Disler's corpse, and pooling around the body. It was recent, though; not enough for him to have been hanging there for more than a few minutes. A long, wide smear leading a couple of meters away, where rough, random splatters indicated where the biting and chewing had happened. No narrow sprays indicating knife cuts; had the chest wounds been inflicted afterward? There was a wide spray just beyond, consistent with an exit wound from a kinetic weapon, frangible anti-personnel ammunition most likely. Disler had been shot, the killer had chewed and torn the flesh around his face and neck, then dragged him over here and strung him up, before cutting his chest open.

Garrus' eyes tracked up over the human's body. The belt on his pants had been removed, tied around the ankles and looped over the pipe. It was a very fast, very rough job. But it was very clear that the killer wanted the victim to be seen. A display.

But he died so quickly, Garrus reasoned. A killer wanting to display his victim would take longer to-

He froze, and messaged Alison as she was still sweeping the room.

Disler's corpse is a distraction.

She halted mid-step, right before a blurring form erupted from behind one of the machines, covered in Disler's blood and swinging a heavy metal pipe at the side of her head.

She was already moving as Garrus snapped his rifle up to fire. Her left hand rose as she spun, and red-gold light sprayed outward from her forearm, shaping into a concave shield half a meter across. The hardened kinetic barrier lacked the versatility of normal shields,but it stopped the pipe cold, the metal bending under the impact. Alison was sent stumbling back a couple of steps.

Edgar Chen - it was definitely him, recognizable even with blood covering two-thirds of his face - dropped the pipe as he chased after her, pistol in his other hand and leveled at her head, no longer protected by her shield. Garrus heard the charging of a weapon even as he pulled the trigger.

Alison's fusion rifle erupted in a torrent of blue-white fury, the plasma hitting Chen in the gut at the same time as Garrus' shot struck him in the back of the head. Chen's body spun, stomach vaporizing in a blast of horrifically seared flesh, and blood flying from the back of his head.

And then he bolted toward Alison, smashing down with the butt of his pistol, glowing metal visible in his abdomen where the fusion rifle had burned away skin. Metal also gleamed in the back of his head where Garrus had shot him.

Another human aug. Great.

The butt of the pistol smashed down into Alison's rifle, denting the casing and knocking the weapon down before the could fire it again. She twisted, shifting her center of gravity, and her shield blurred upward into Chen's throat. The kinetic barrier didn't have any mass of its own, but the edge still carried the force of her blow into his neck. Flesh parted, and the augmented human's body went stumbling backward and blood flew from his throat.

Garrus shot him again in the back, this time with armor-piercing ammunition. Blood erupted from Chen's upper chest, followed by something paler and clear, and he stumbled again, nearly falling to his knees. Alison bolted toward him, dropping the damaged fusion rifle while red light shaped over her right arm into an omniblade.

Chen abruptly leapt straight up, letting out a ragged cry of pain and anger that sounded nothing like a human. As he moved, Garrus could see that his stomach was gone, leaving blackened flesh around augmented artificial muscle and spine, both of which were burned and glowing yellow-white from the fusion rifle's blast.

The augmented human reached a pipe cluster overhead in the darkness, and Garrus shot him in the lower back as he clambered up. Chen grunted, sparks flying and a chunk of metal exploding out of his front, and then kicked off, leaping half a dozen meters across the room to another group of pipes.

Garrus put a round through his eye in mid-leap.

More sparks, more blood, and more screams. Chen hit the top of the pipes, clambering with graceless speed, arms and legs a vicious, desperate blur. Garrus spotted a ventilation grating along the wall a heartbeat before Chen reached up and tore the cover free with his bare hands. The Exo fired again, a fifth booming shot that hit Chen in the leg as he bolted through the grating, leaving a trail of blood and transparent conductive fluid.

"Damn human augs," the turian muttered, covering the vent with his rifle. At least this one hadn't killed him.

Alison? he messaged.

I'm okay, she replied. Gun's wrecked.. Didn't expect him to be synthetic aug'd. That was military-grade. Haven't seen anything short of a Replica Heavy take that kind of abuse.

Vahlenite chassis, Garrus sent. Only way he survived a point-blank fusion rifle blast.

Yeah. Hold on a sec. He spared a glance, keeping his scope locked on the vent, to see her rummaging through something made of burnt synthetic cloth on the floor. Not Disler's clothes, but part of Chen's dockworker uniform. After a moment, she stood, holding something small, about the size of a grape. It had a hardened casing blackened by the close brush of her fusion rifle.

Disler's cortical stack, Garrus suggested, and she nodded. He glanced back toward the grisly scene, and then toward the door.

We won't catch him in the city's ventilation systems, he sent, and she replied in a wordless affirmative.

Xin Hengsha police are going to come down like wildfire in a few minutes, she replied, grabbing her weapon and stowing it. Weapon discharge sensors. Clear out. We'll analyze later and pick up his trail, if he survives that kind of abuse.

He sent and affirmative, and the pair hurried out of the room, navigating through the maze of access passages and corridors to get clear of the site before the police locked it down. Within less than a couple of minutes, they were clear of the processing plant; less than two minutes afterward they were back in civilian clothes and were ghosts once more.


Strike Four and Market Garden exited faster-than-light over Proteus, the former an assembly of dozens of warships including five light carriers and a dreadnought-sized heavy carrier, the XCS Honjo Masamune. They entered orbit, sliding in position so that when the PPA taskforce transitioned in a few minutes later, XCOM stood between them and the SDC blockade, a force of close to seventy lighter ships - mostly frigates and light cruisers - supported by a pair of heavy SDC carriers and nine heavy cruisers.

If it came to blows, the carriers would likely jump out to the edge of the system and deploy waves of drones and fighters while the warships held the orbital space itself. The skies over Proteus would be busy.

The standard challenges and acknowledgements were sent between all sides, followed by the standard canned accusations and veiled threats whenever an international incident was brewing. Shepard waited impatiently through it all before the SDC finally sent an acknowledgement to XCOM's fleet that their investigators were cleared for entry. Technically, XCOM could have just sent their teams down without waiting for clearance - they had the authority coupled with SDC requests for assistance - but technical authority didn't defend against actual laser beams or fusion lances fired by some jumpy commander.

Shepard's team, consisting of himself, Garm, Vega, Alma, and Sergeant McTavish' tactical squad, loaded onto their Voidranger and descended through the SDC blockade. They all wore tactical armor, save Shepard and Alma, who wore their uniform psi-cloaks over their personal armor, and Garm, who wore a set of lightweight current-gen Ghost armor which looked more like a full-body black turtleneck with ballistic weave and vahlenite plating underneath the cloth. The thick "neck" portion of the armor concealed a fast-deploy helmet, although Shepard knew he hated wearing it because it bothered his whiskers and pressed in on his ears.

The humans sat in their crash chairs, strapped in, while Vega lay on the floor in the middle of the dropship, strapped down like a pallet of cargo. Garm was secured in his own chair with multiple straps, ears tucked back and tail poking out nearly straight beneath his body.

"The kitten hates zero-g," McTavish said at Alma's curious expression. "Either he stays strapped in during the transition from ship to surface, or he goes nutters bouncing around."

"I thought cats would be at home in a low-gravity environment," she asked.

"Low gravity: yes," Garm yowled. "Zero gravity: Fuck. That. Noise. These damn power-saving measures are total bullshit."

"We'll be through the blockade in a few minutes," Shepard said, reviewing data feeds from the Masamune's intelligence and liaison teams. "Make sure your translators are updated, we'll be hitting Xin Hengsha's main surface port."

A quick chorus of affirmatives or annoyed curses followed, the latter accompanied by quick patches.

The minutes passed, and the pilot announced entry. The Voidranger began to vibrate as it passed through the atmosphere, hull heating up, and Garm relaxed as gravity began to reassert itself.

"Keep seated and watch your heads," Shepard called over the shaking noise of the dropship's passage. "There's a storm right over Xin Hengsha's main port."

Everyone braced themselves, the Voidranger shifting back and forth. The vibrations intensified, and a hiss of pouring rain ran through the dropship. Twice the Voidranger's direction shifted abruptly as winds struck it, followed by yowls and mutterings of anxiety. Hostile landings were never fun, whether it was under enemy fire or unpleasant weather, but Shepard was comforted by the fact that they'd be able to at least breathe if they crashed on this planet - though floating was a more serious issue.

The shaking from the storm subsided after several minutes, and the Voidranger began to descend, though rain continued to wash over the dropship. Checking the outside feeds showed a dark gray expanse overhead, blurred by a constant downpour, with a choppy gray blanket below them, save for a metallic dome emerging from the ocean's surface. As the Voidranger dropped toward it, a circular hole irised open, wide enough to accommodate a cruiser-sized bulk freighter, and the XCOM dropship descended into the cavernous bay.

"Hell of a setup they got," Vega commented as they dropped into the submarine docking facility. A series of circular platforms ran the edge of the enormous chamber, with docking spars and cradles reaching out to accommodate dozens of freighters and smaller ships, many at about one to two hundred meters in length but easily held in the enormous cradles. The entire dome was at least four kilometers across at the lowest level, which was itself about the same length from the entry gateway at the top of the bay. A guidance drone rose up to meet the Voidranger, leading it down through the rings of docked ships. Small cargo carriers and drone buzzed about the rings, either running maintenance on the freighter fleet or hauling materials between ships and loading platforms.

"Standard hanar design," Alma said, her eyes marked by that distracted look of someone checking local databases. "Looks like the contracted a lot of hanar corporations for underwater construction. Makes sense. Second highest local population is hanar, followed by asari and drell."

"I'm going to be so damn hungry down there," Vega whined as the Voidranger came in to dock. "Squid everywhere."

"Same," Garm added as he unstrapped himself.

"Gotta have some killer seafood, though," Vega said. "Major, we gonna book some nice restaurants before we leave this world."

"I'll consider it," Shepard replied. "Make the trip worthwhile." Beyond, well, averting an interstellar cold war from going hot.

A couple of minutes and quick internal decontamination sweep later, and the entry ramp slid open. The ten XCOM agents started down the ramp onto a wide landing platform that dwarfed the Voidranger. Dockworkers in blue and yellow coveralls, some with power assist frames or mechanical augs, were bustling back and forth with crates or cargo platforms. Drones zipped overhead by the dozens, cylindrical machines a couple of meters in length with spindly arms that grasped cargo and lifted it into the chaos overhead or below.

The only person not carrying or coordinating the activity stood a few meters from the Voidranger's ramp, a tall, slim, young-looking man in the dark blue and gray uniform of Xin Hengsha's police. His hands - the only part of his arms visible beneath his coat's sleeves - were gunmetal augmentations, and his eyes were hidden behind a wraparound visor of the same color, wires connecting to ports in his temples. His skin was pale - his current body was likely derived from Asian genetic stock - and his short hair dark, mostly hidden under a beret. He wore a pistol on his hip but had no other visible weaponry.

"Major Shepard?" he asked, stepping forward and extending a hand. Shepard took it, and found a hard, unyielding grip. The officer's face was locked in a dour, professional frown, and it matched his tone. "Lieutenant Victor Han, Xin Hengsha Internal Security. I have been assigned as your team's liaison for this investigation."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Shepard replied, and turned to introduce his . "This is my team: Lieutenant Garm, my partner. Lieutenant Alma Wade, special PsiCorps attachment. Her bodyguard, Lieutenant James Vega." He pointed further back. "Sergeant McTavish, leader of my tactical team."

"You have a bear, I see," Han said, his frown expanding by a couple of millimeters. He clearly disliked having ten heavily-armed people who he didn't have full authority over on his pressurized, submerged city. "If you will come with me, I can take you to accommodations."

"We need to meet with the head of your current investigation team," Shepard said as he followed the dour-face policeman across the platform. A heavy cargo platform was descending at the far end of the platform, nearly a dozen dockworkers stepping off and carrying fueling equipment for the Voidranger.

"Yes, sir," Han replied, unenthusiastic. "I will set up a meeting as soon as possible."

"The faster you get this done, the faster we can complete the investigation and be gone," Shepard offered, and Han nodded. His frown faded slightly, but he kept walking without directly looking at them. The dockworkers passed around the XCOM personnel, one shouting to bring a set of fuel cells off the platform. "How much do you know about why we're here?"

"I am cleared," Han replied. "I would not be a useful liaison if I were not."

"Then you know the stakes here," Shepard insisted, and glanced back to his team and the dockworkers walking past. He was about to continue when he noticed something.

Alma had her head cocked to the side, eyebrows knitted, glowing eyes distant and distracted.

Lieutenant? he messaged her, and her eyes snapped back toward him.

They're screaming, she replied. The workers are screaming for help.

Shepard's blood went cold, and his hand went for his sidearm.

He saw the workers behind them, surrounding the XCOM team, and one of them was reaching for something inside his coat. The handle of a weapon became visible.

Hostiles! he messaged the team right as one of the workers spun, face twisting in sudden fury and determination, and he drew a high-frequency knife from his belt pouch and lunged toward one of the tactical troopers. The man whirled, right as the blade plunged into his stomach, the weapon screaming as it ripped into the vahlenite plating in a shower of sparks.

Shepard channeled psionic power through his body, and the world around him slowed. He could see everything in precise, slow-motion detail, swift and frantic movement becoming almost comical flailing, with everyone moving through thickened gel. The panels around his head slid into place with a drawn-out series of clicks as his helmet deployed, each part sliding out and locking together. When the visor finished moving into place there was an agonizing moment of pitch-black darkness before his HUD activated, the external microcameras lighting up and painting the inside of his helmet with a high-resolution holographic display of his surroundings.

He counted eleven dock workers turning to attack the XCOM team, seven carrying pistols and four with melee weapons: two armed high-frequency knives and the others deploying omniblades. Most were behind the tactical team, but four of them - one with an omniblade, another a knife, and the last two drawing kinetic pistols - were close to Shepard's squad.

And all of them were going straight for Alma, whose face was twisted in a mixture of surprise and horror, though she wasn't even looking at their attackers.

Puppet socks, she messaged, the data reaching Shepard instantly in spite of his sped-up perceptions.

Non-lethal if possible! Shepard ordered even as he leapt toward one of the blade-wielders.

If these men were fitted with puppet sock implants, it meant they not in control of their own bodies - and their own lack of control was the source of Alma's "screaming." His legs rose as he reached the closest puppet, and his feet pumped in a flying double-kick that hammered the man in the chest and forehead. The blows lifted the worker up and launched him backward into a spinning, slow-motion tumble, and Shepard landed in a crouch as the man fell.

He spun toward Alma in slow motion, pistol rising, and saw her arms spreading outward, purple light erupting around her in a circle. Shepard could see the psionic power expanding and shaping into flat planes, and then abruptly snapping into a three-meter wide dome of transparent, shimmering purple light, a heartbeat before two pistols fired and kinetic rounds exploded against the barrier.

The second blade-wielding worker rushed into the barrier, slowing as he struck it and pushing into it. It functioned like an element zero-generated kinetic barrier: fast-moving objects were repelled, but slower and larger ones could move through it. The worker managed to get halfway through the barrier before a massive arm clamped over his shoulder, and James Vega casually yanked the worker free. The man spun, swinging his blade at the bear, but his other arm shot forward, catching the man's wrist and snapping it with a twist, the sound sickening and drawn-out in the slow-motion reality Shepard was experiencing. The blade fell free, and Vega slugged him lightly in the face, sending him toppling to the floor.

One of the pistol-carrying puppets was turning to shoot Vega. Shepard prioritized him, rushing toward the puppet while he still had enough focus to maintain his speed. His left hand dropped to his belt and drew an arc thrower, and he snapped it up and fired it into the man's back. White lightning slashed and played over the man's body, and he jerked violently, screaming with involuntary spasms.

But he didn't go down, not until Shepard body-checked him, looped an arm around the worker's waist, and spun, hip-tossing him into the deck. A second blast with the arc thrower left him a twitching, unconscious heap.

Shepard looked up, pain flaring in his temples as the power flowing through him took its toll. He released the power before it got too intense, and time reverted to normal. Sound sped back up, snapping to normal speeds, and he heard a man's jabbering scream, accompanied by a sizzle of electricity. The fourth worker attacking Alma went down in a heap, and Garm hopped on top of the body in a low crouch, clutching his own arc thrower.

Shepard turned toward the rest of his team, in time to see the last dockworker collapse in a burst of electricity. One of McTavish's soldiers was down and bleeding badly even through his armor, and another was clutching a serious wound in his flank, but none were lethally injured. Puppeted dockworkers littered the pavement around them, arms and legs broken or collapsed in arc-thrower-induced heaps. Lightly augmented civilians against armored and augmented XCOM troopers was a terribly unfair matchup.

Lieutenant Han was staring at them, his frown replaced by a slightly opened mouth, a sidearm in hand and confusion in the features that were visible. He might have been a cop, but he'd likely never seen an XCOM team in action; the entire confrontation had ended in a couple of seconds.

"Backup!" Shepard barked at the man, and the policeman nodded, snapping out of his shock. Shepard checked his team as Han called for assistance, and saw that McTavish had ordered the unwounded troopers into a defensive perimeter.

Within her barrier, Alma had fallen to her knees, clutching the sides of her head and panting. Shepard pushed against it and stepped inside.

"Wade, are you hurt?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Still screaming. Origin. Transmission through the puppets." She looked up, shivering,and abruptly a set of distant contacts on his AR display were highlighted: a group of workers a level above and about a hundred meters away, their mesh implants clearly identified as they automatically communicated with the spimes and nodes surrounding them. Four people, three marked orange and one a bright red.

"The red one is controlling them," she hissed.

Garm, with me, Shepard sent, bouncing that information to his team. Vega, McTavish, stay with Wade!

Then he sped himself up again, slowing the world around him, and bolted toward the distant targets.

They were up on the next cargo level, halfway between this one and the next docking port, putting them about fifty meters overhead and another seventy away laterally. The puppet-master and his hapless minions were standing on a balcony-like ring that extended about thirty meters into the bay from the dome's wall, where cargo was collected for transport or sorting. It was a good spot to observe the ambush from, and no doubt they had also seen its spectacular failure and the pair of Sentinels rushing toward them.

If Shepard had an Archangel pack - or better, a fully-equipped set of Zephyr armor - he could have simply flown straight up toward the puppet-master. But he only wore lower-profile powered armor, which meant he would have to rely on lower-tech tricks and his own psionics.

He poured power through his body as he ran, watching for the wide-bellied automated cargo haulers moving back and forth overhead, oblivious to the brief burst of violence below. Shepard saw his opportunity, and lifted his arm, activating the standard-issue grappling hook hidden within the armor. It was a miniaturized version of the ones carried by recon and tactical armor variants, with a shorter range, but it came in handy for Sentinels. The gauntlet's top panel folded back, exposing the launcher tube, and it fired the small clawed plug.

It slammed into one of the overhead haulers, an element zero core powering and creating a mass effect field that let the claw adhere to the target. Shepard retracted himself up the short line toward the hauler, and as he reached the airborne machine, he sent another surge of power through his body and hauled himself up onto the hauler's side while recovering his grapple. The machine was little more than a platform with thrusters and an element zero core, directed by a simple VI program and carrying strapped-down pallets of cargo, so he was easily able to climb over the boxes to get a clear shot at the platforms overhead. The quartet of workers that Alma had marked were already turning to run, and he quickly lined up his grappling claw and fired again, yanking himself toward the next level.

He coiled his legs underneath his body, twisting toward the platform, and his boots hit just below the safety railing, free hand grabbing hold. Another surge of power, and he flipped up and over the railing, landing in a crouch, drawing his sidearm, the tails of his coat pooling around him.

Garm, naturally, had managed to beat him there, crouching a few meters away with a compact plasma pistol in hand, ears pulled back. The platform was littered with boxes, enormous shipping containers, and several parked haulers, their cargo left unattended as workers scattered from the gunfire below.

What kept you? the cat asked, as they both bolted toward the retreating workers.

Shepard didn't answer, because the orange-marked puppets were lifting short-barrelled, matte gray carbines with glowing green lines, and pointing them at the pair of Sentinels.

They broke in opposite directions, Shepard pouring more energy through his body, Garm using his size and agility. Plasma sizzled toward them in narrow, roiling green beams, sickly light bathing the platform and burning into pavement and cargo pallets.

Non-lethal! Shepard messaged, switching his sidearm to low-power and narrow-beam modes.

You're damn well joking, Garm sent back, but it was tinged with as much amusement as annoyance, and he weaved between the boxes and crates as the puppets sprayed plasma indiscriminately toward the pair. They used their armors' tactical network and sensors to map out the mess of crates and containers and track the puppets, who were backing away and sweeping plasma fire back and forth while their controller ran for a cargo hauler.

No joke, Shepard replied. No guarantee they'll have stacks if someone's puppeting them. XCOM will foot their medical bills.

Shepard emerged from behind a crate to the left of one of the puppets, omnitool assembling a stun grenade and plasma pistol in hand. He fired the grenade as he rounded the container, helmet automatically compensating as the stunner blew up in the puppet's face. He screamed, the tail-end of the cry coming in through Shepard's audio sensors, the man clutching his eyes and stumbling backward.

Shepard slowed, lined up his targets, and fired two quick pairs of shots. Green beams burned through the puppet's kneecaps and elbows, turning them to charred flesh and bone. He toppled, crying out in started agony, his arms and legs abruptly useless. Shepard moved past the thrashing puppet, zapping him with his arc thrower. The man would live, with his wounds being cauterized by the plasma.

The Sentinel looked back up, and his overlays showed the marked puppet-master about twenty meters away, reaching the cargo hauler and waving an arm toward the controls.

He's escaping! Shepard messaged, pouring more power into his body and ignoring the intensifying headache. He leapt up atop one of the containers in a psionic-fueled jump, grappling hook deploying again. He heard another puppet cry in pain over a burst of electricity.

Get him, Garm sent back. I'll take this last one and cover you!

The hauler started lifting off, and Shepard launched. His grapple hit the vehicle's railing and locked in, and the Sentinel retracted, flying up toward it. He hit the side of the hauler and kicked up over the railing, plasma pistol raised and tracking.

The puppet-master was a completely ordinary-looking human: average-length brown hair, plain features, medium build and height, brown stubble, unmarked dockworker blues. The man was so unremarkable that Shepard wouldn't have been able to spot him in a crowd without assistance from a psychic or computer.

The blurring speed at which he crossed the ten-meter wide hauler platform and drove a fist into Shepard's helmet was quite remarkable, however.

Shepard saw it coming, an instant before his knuckles impacted the helmet, and the Sentinel poured power into his body, slowing everything and letting him twist aside and spin with the blow. A ringing impact of augmented bone and flesh struck the edge of Shepard's helm, and he stumbled backward, gritting his teeth through the pain lancing through his temples.

The puppet-master whirled, and Shepard saw a flicker of purple light around the man's shoulders and eyes as he lashed out again, a vicious sidekick that hit the Sentinel's gun hand right as he fired. Plasma exploded against the puppet-master's boot, incinerating the shoe, his lower pants leg, and the foot underneath.

The blow still hit hard enough to send a numbing spasm up Shepard's arm even through his armor, and knocked the pistol loose. The puppet-master lunged at Shepard, hands wrapping around his neck and shoving him back against the railing. The metallic skeleton of a foot, smoking and twisted from the plasma blast, extended from the ruins of the man's leg.

Internal psionic! Shepard messaged, grunting and grabbing the puppet-master's arms at the wrists. Heavily aug'd!

Give me a couple of seconds! Garm replied.

The puppet-master's fingers were inhumanly strong, but Shepard's armor was designed with that in mind. The artificial muscle beneath the armored fabric stiffened in response, keeping the man's fingers from crushing Shepard's windpipe. He forced more power through his body, the pain cutting through his temples, gripped the puppet-master's wrists, and then twisted and wrenched as hard as he could.

Something important snapped under his grip, and the pressure on his neck lessened. He threw his arms out, doing the same to the puppet-master' s hands, and brought his right arm back down to his side, balling it into a fist. He stepped forward, driving his hand up into his foe's chest with sufficient speed to trigger kinetic barriers.

A blue-tinged mass effect field rippled into existence around Shepard's forearm, while a more solid, concave barrier formed over his fingers and knuckles. As an Internal who could enhance his speed, Shepard could strike so swiftly that even with armor and his own powers strengthening his body, he ran the risk of breaking his own arms when he punched at full power. His omnitool and suit's mass effect projectors were modified to assist in that regard: the gauntlets formed a dual-layer kinetic barrier, with the outer barrier protecting his hand from the impact, and the inner barrier providing a cushioning layer to absorb the force from the blow.

Something within the puppet-master's torso gave way before Shepard's shimmering blue uppercut, and the man was hurled backward among an expanding blue cloud as the barriers collapsed. He slammed into the railing on the opposite side of the platform, a screech of bent metal accompanying the collision.

Shepard exhaled, and crouched, picking up his pistol from where it had fallen. He glanced to the side, over the railing, and saw that the hauler was still rising, about twenty meters up and climbing. He quickly found the remote controls for the hauler with a short range scan, and reversed the orders to send it back toward the floor below.

Fistfight on a flying platform? Feel's like my life's a bad action movie, Shepard thought, turning toward the puppet-master, who was pushing himself up to his feet. Blood soaked the front of his overalls, and Shepard could see rips and bloody fabric sticking to the point in his chest where he'd been punched. He must have ruptured something important.

"Stay down," Shepard ordered, pointing his pistol at the augmented human. "This will only get-"

The puppet-master bolted toward him, an ungainly blur of bloody flesh and mechanical augs, and Shepard slowed again, ignoring the spikes of pain driving into his skull. He switched to maximum power as the blurring cyborg became merely stupidly fast, and squeezed the trigger. A roiling column of plasma as thick as Shepard's arm lashed out, burning into the cyborg's center of mass, searing flesh and burning away his clothes.

He barely reacted, charging straight through the plasma and slamming into Shepard with his shoulder leading. The crash of augmented flesh and armor sent them both hurtling toward the railing.

"Shepard, I'm here!" Garm shouted as his grappling hook carried him toward the hauler. He clambered up onto the platform, pistol in hand, right as the Sentinel and puppet-master went over the side past him.

"Oh. Well, balls."

For a heartstopping moment, Shepard and his opponent hung in the air, dropping toward the cargo level below. Then the Sentinel snapped his left arm up and fired his grappling hook again, striking the underside of the hauler and yanking himself away from the falling aug. A moment later, the puppet-master hit the deck below with a crash and a faint splurch of crushed meat.

Hanging from the underside of the platform, Shepard leveled his weapon at the augmented human below, who was pushing himself to his feet, a mess of burnt flesh and exposed cybernetic parts.

Garm, nonlethal, Shepard ordered.

I'll get the arms, Garm replied, and both Sentinels opened fire, shooting the puppet-master in the knees, elbows, and shoulders. Narrow plasma beams cut into the cyborg, piercing and melting joints, and a couple of seconds and nine shots later, he was flopping on the deck. By that time, the hauler was low enough that Shepard could safely release his grapple and drop to the floor.

"McTavish," he spoke into his radio as he and Garm strode toward the twitching body. "All clear down there?"

"Yeah, we've got a perimeter, wounded are stabilized, sir," came the reply. "Lieutenant Wade's stable, too."

"Good," Shepard said as they reached the cyborg. "Lieutenant Han? I need these docks locked the fuck down."

"I will do so," the policeman replied quickly, and Shepard could hear how out of his depth the man was in his voice.

The cyborg was still trying to move, and had managed to roll onto his back. He was glaring blades at the two Sentinels looming over him even while slowly flopping away from them on nonfunctional limbs, molten and twisted metal poking out from the ruined ends. His flesh was mostly blackened or burned clear off, but his eyes were still intact and gleamed with a vicious intellect.

Shepard pointed his pistol at the cyborg and fired, drilling a beam straight through the torso. All movement ceased instantly, and the body fell to the deck, life fading from his eyes.

"I thought we were doing nonlethal," Garm mused.

"Something like this thing?" Shepard replied, shaking his head. "This is nonlethal."

Shepard crouched over the body, reopening his channel to McTavish.

"McTavish, get a containment unit here from the Masamune," he said, setting his plasma pistol to low yield, and jammed it into the puppet-master's neck. "Full sweep team. And I need a cranial freezer, off the Voidranger," he added.

"For what?" McTavish asked, and Shepard pulled the trigger three times, drawing the pistol across the body's neck. He planted a foor on the cyborg's chest pulled hard, grunting with the effort, and the puppet-master's ruined head came free.

"I've got a brain I need Lieutenant Wade to examine," he muttered.


Author's Notes: Fusion rifles are a piece of tech from Destiny. Puppet socks are Eclipse Phase technology, and a particularly nasty one at that. Relevant information is available in the Codex.