Resistance

Tip of the Spear

…

A/N: Sorry about the long update, guys! I just moved into college when I started this chapter and the transition has been a little rough. I'm getting into the groove now and I'm finding time to write again. Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than this one. In any case, thanks for reading and enjoy!

…

Coats opened his eyes. And gave some serious thought about closing them back. Coward, he thought.

More like tired, he thought back as he sat up in bed, the mattress creaking underneath his form. On his right, his omni-tool glowed faintly in the dark from its position on the desk next to his bed. Orange numbers winked at him; Coats groaned. Too damn early, he thought, and his body agreed. But a blue light blinked at him in the corner of the screen and Coats swiped it off the desk.

And swung his feet out of bed, sleepiness fading away now. "Major Coats," the message read. "Report to the command center at 10:00. We will need to do a mission debriefing and review, alongside other important topics for the future. All team leaders need to be present." Admiral Anderson's signature glowed at the bottom of the text box.

And with the thought of the mission brought another pang of guilt that streaked through him, and Coats clenched his fist. What else could I have done? The marauder had seen the bodies; they were going to know we were here regardless. There wasn't anything else we could do to save those people. I know there wasn't.

Coats shook the poisonous thoughts away and looked at his omni-tool again. He had time.

Three hours later, Major Coats stood at parade rest in front of the command console. Alongside him stood Clark and Krogh. Anderson walked into the room on the opposite side, his face serious but not disapproving. Atlas paced along the side of the room, looking agitated.

Then he abruptly stopped as turned around, facing Coats. "What the hell were you thinking, firing on that marauder?" said Atlas, staring him down. Coats didn't falter, looking calmly at the acting commander even as another twang of guilt passed through him.

"That's not exactly how I planned to start this meeting," said Anderson, looking at Atlas. "It's not a fault-finding meeting. It's a debriefing and review, to see what could have been avoided and what we should do better next time."

"There might not be a next time if he compromises the mission again!" said Atlas, glaring at Coats.

Coats glanced at Clark and Krogh beside him. Clark's face was impassive but his eyes were flicking back between the pair, and his jaw clenched. He clearly didn't want to say anything. Krogh was as calm as ever, and he looked at Atlas. "If Major Coats had not fired when he did," he began. "The marauder would have had time to warn the rest of its convoy. They might have even had time to warn the rest and escape, giving us even less time to evacuate the civilians. I would have fired on the marauder myself."

Atlas snarled but Anderson cut him off. "I've reviewed the footage from Clark's eyepiece," the admiral said firmly. "The marauder had clearly seen the civilian. And it was definitely attempting to warn the rest of the Reaper forces. While we don't know what would have happened had Coats not fired on the convoy, it's safe to say that the Reapers would have been warned, regardless of anyone else's actions."

Atlas's eyes narrowed. "And what about your decision to stay past the designated fall back time? If the Reapers had cornered and captured you, our entire operation would have been compromised."

Coats's eyes flicked back towards Clark briefly. Still recusing yourself, James? Because you can't pick which side to support? Whether you'll offend me or Atlas, even though I wouldn't be? "At the time of retreat, I received an urgent call for help from the distraction teams," replied Coats neutrally. "I couldn't leave them behind while I fell back. I had to make sure they could get to the exit zone."

Atlas glanced at Clark and back at Coats. As he began to speak again, the words died on his lips and he settled for a grimace as he folded his arms in front of his chest. "All right, Captain Clark," said Anderson, taking control of the meeting again. "We're reviewing this operation step by step. Tell us what happened from your end."

Captain Clark kept his arms folded behind his back as he described the mission from his perspective. He talked about moving through the sewers and sneaking onto the highway exit ramp. He described the wait as they sat on that highway, watching the Reaper patrol pass by and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then he began to talk about the indoctrinated civilian.

"It happened fast," said Clark, frowning as he concentrated on that particular memory. "One minute, I was hearing chatter about a problem with one of the evacuees. Then I heard a scream. After a second, I heard back from the infiltration teams that one of the evacuees was escaping and we had to stop him. I received orders from Commander Atlas that we were to shoot him."

Coats's eyes flickered towards Atlas, who met Coats's glance. The major said nothing and returned his attention back towards Clark.

"Then I heard that Coats had the civilian in his sights. Atlas told him to shoot the civilian to avoid compromising the evacuation, and I agreed. Coats shot him. A minute later, we see the Reaper patrol from earlier stop and look directly at the civilian's body. I couldn't reach him, but before I could raise my gun, Coats had shot the marauder."

Atlas's face was set, and Coats could almost see the argument broiling behind his eyes. I shot the marauder, and by all rights it should be my fault, but with Clark's testament it seems like Atlas was the only one who didn't agree with my decision. He can't argue against me without invalidating Clark's opinion.

"At that point, I knew the operation had been compromised. It was only a matter of time before the Reapers would arrive. After around a minute, harvesters flooded the sky and we were taking fire from all directions. Major Coats gave us fire support while I ordered Spellman and Johnson to cover us with smoke and grenades, giving us time to retreat and fall back to the administration district. We had fire support all the way until we had almost reached the extraction point. Then harvesters attacked the fire support team's position and they were forced to retreat. My team and I still managed to retreat to the exit zone, with only Spellman sustaining minimal injuries."

Anderson looked to Coats now. "Major Coats, start over from the beginning from your perspective now."

Coats quickly talked through the first part of the mission, describing how he and Emilia quietly sneaked into the fallen skyscraper and managed to make it all the way to the top of the building, where they then watched the events Clark had described unfold.

"After Emilia and I eliminated the Reaper patrol, we knew it was only a matter of time before the Reapers would arrive in force. We called for a general retreat and checked in with Clark's teams to make sure they were ready. A minute later, the harvesters appear from the city's downtown and they swarmed the district before we could do more than shoot a couple of them. Some of them flew close to our position and Emilia and I had to duck down periodically to avoid attracting them. We were able to cover Clark's teams for a while, and we were ready to fall back when Reaper forces suddenly converged on Clark's personal team from all directions. At that point, we chose to stay and cover him."

Clark nodded, and Coats dipped his head back towards him, accepting his silent thanks. "After that, harvesters made our position and at least four of them surrounded us. Sergeant Emilia had a stealth net and a biosign masker, so she was able to evade them and slip downstairs. She wanted to extract me, but I refused, knowing that the harvesters could track both of us if we both retreated together. With the stairwell out of the question and the elevators broken, I made the decision to exit the building directly. Through the window."

Anderson's eyebrows almost jumped off his face. "You jumped off the building?"

Atlas frowned. Clark's mouth hung slightly open while a smirk tugged at Krogh's lips. Coats chuckled. "When you put it that way, it does sound pretty stupid. But I didn't have any other options, and the building was already set at an angle. I figured I could probably make my way down the side of the skyscraper without free falling straight to the ground."

Admiral Anderson chuckled himself now. "After…jumping off the building, how did you…land?"

"I used my armor to drag against the side of the building and create enough friction to slow me down. I might need some new paint—Coats gestured to the splotch of white and gray that marred his back—but I managed. I don't exactly recommend it to anyone else."

Clark started to laugh now too, slowly at first before it turned into a full guffaw. Anderson joined in after a few seconds and Coats kept a hand over his eyes as he held his head down to contain his laughter. Even Krogh was chuckling a bit, his shoulders shaking. Only Atlas remained quiet as he slowly shook his head.

"Damn it, Coats, you need to be on my team next time," said Clark, struggling to keep a straight face. "That way, you can find another way out of a building without jumping. You crazy son of a bitch."

"I'll have to have a talk with Emilia about this," said Krogh, his lips quirking up.

Coats shook his head as the laughter began to dissolve. "Anyways, once I landed"—the chuckling resumed—"I was able to make my way to the extraction zone without any more issues."

Anderson nodded. "It sounds like we didn't plan far enough ahead. The fire support teams were supposed to have more time to retreat. And Clark's teams were supposed to be the distraction for the infiltration teams while they retreated. That's why your teams were given heavy weapons and armor. But we couldn't have realized that the Reapers would have sent such an overwhelming force to take us out."

"They might be cracking down on resistance forces," said Coats, frowning. "If the Reapers want to harvest the population and either turn them into Reapers or more ground troops, they can't do that with constant disruptions and rebellion from the population. They're not going to send just the right amount of troops to handle any skirmishes or fights that break out. They're going to use overwhelming force and crush any chance we have of doing anything. And the Reapers definitely have the resources to do that."

"Makes sense," said Krogh, nodding. "And the Reapers are only going to send more and more troops after us every time. After a certain point, we won't even be able to fight back. It might make more sense for us to keep our heads down for a while."

"It's a good segue into the next part of this meeting," said Anderson, holding up a hand. "Atlas, if you'll explain?"

The commander of the New Hope forces unfolded his arms and stepped into the ring of bodies they had unconsciously formed around the command console. Atlas quickly swiped through a series of images, not looking at any of them until the holograms finally stopped moving. It was the map of Oklahoma City.

"Anderson and I have been in talks about this, long before any of you arrived here in the city," said Atlas, as if to underscore their relative "newness" in the siege of the city. Coats frowned. He really wants it to be him and against us, doesn't he?

"And we've talked about the Reapers' increasingly heavier retaliatory strikes," continued Atlas. "Which is why we've come up with a more long-term campaign as opposed to the operations we've been doing. We've codenamed it 'Tip of the Spear'."

Four red dots appeared on the map, pulsating in the northern end of the city. One dot was noticeably larger than the rest, and it sat in a valley farther north than the others. That's the Pit, Coats realized.

"'Tip of the Spear' is a collection of operations and strikes designed to eliminate Reaper infrastructure within the city bounds and weaken their grip on the city. Of course, the Reapers aren't going to ever leave the city, and we won't be able to force them away. But that's not our main objective."

Atlas gestured to the larger dot on the map. "The primary objective of this campaign is to destroy the Pit," he said simply. "The Pit is the second largest Reaper processing center on this side of the planet. Thousands of people are processed every day in the Pit, and a lot of them come from outside of the city. And it's definitely the largest center for hundreds of miles. If we destroy the Pit, we cripple their processing operations."

"Isn't there a Reaper destroyer in place over the Pit?" said Clark skeptically. Coats grimaced. So unless someone has a dreadnaught on hand…

"There is a destroyer guarding the Pit," admitted Atlas. "And we're working on a solution to that problem. But for now, our focus is on the number of outposts and patrols around the Pit. I don't think the Reapers even bother considering setting up fortified positions or strongholds. But there are a number of places around the Pit that we need to secure or destroy before taking it out. In fact, the closest one is Oklahoma City National Memorial."

"We're targeting a museum?" said Coats.

"Thousands of people were visiting the museum the day the Reapers attacked," said Atlas darkly. "The first thing they needed were ground troops. So they ejected hundreds of dragon's teeth into the area and crowded everyone in the vicinity inside with cannibal forces. There are now multiple thousands of husked people in and around that area."

Goddamn. Coats glanced at Clark; the captain's eyes were dark, his jaw was set, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. James isn't happy. Yeah, it's brutal. At a popular museum like this one? Probably means there were veterans in there. Families. Kids. We've got to put a stop to this. Clark took a deep breath before asking, "So how are we doing this?"

"If we go charging towards the Pit, we'll need to deal with this memorial area or we risk being attacked on both sides when we invade the Pit," continued Atlas. "I don't see any other way around it."

"We'll need to clear it, if not hold it," agreed Anderson. "Most of the husks are wandering around the fields and the museum itself. There aren't that many ways into the memorial area; it's mainly blocked off with fencing. A handful of entrances and exits turn them into natural choke points, which is where the bulk of the fighting will be done."

The map zoomed into the area in question, and Coats could see the battlefield spread out before him. The memorial was largely empty space, dotted with various gravestones and artifacts. The few buildings that were present were large and occupied the center of the memorial. The area was fenced off, with entrances and exits located on the north, south, east, and west ends of the memorial. Around that, several stores and administrative buildings rose high above the relatively empty memorial square.

"A distraction team will eliminate husks near the access points and draw the rest towards them. The buildings around the memorial turn the entire field into a killzone. We'll have sniper and fire support on the rooftops of these buildings, once we've cleared them. Other units will be posted right outside the gates, especially the entrance where the distraction team will be, to bottleneck the husks before they clear out of the memorial. It's relatively simple."

Coats nodded. "But as with every plan that sounds good on paper, it'll likely be blown to bits within thirty seconds."

Anderson sighed. "Essentially. But we're hoping to get as many of them as we can before everything goes to hell."

"That's never a bad goal," said Coats, staring at the map, letting his mind wander over every crevice of the map, seeing the battle come to life inside of his head. The distraction team comes in from the south, killing everything around them and attracting every husk within miles to their position. Fire support keeps the husks from taking the gates, and other heavy forces pin them inside the memorial. But there are other Reaper forces in the city. As soon as the cry of battle is heard, Reaper troops will flood the area and attack our soldiers from all sides. Soon, we'll be overrun from every direction, with no where to turn but to fight them, fight them to the very, very bloody end…no, it won't do at all. It won't work.

All of that took a couple of seconds. Coats grimaced, and Anderson nodded. "It's not the best plan. But we don't have many other options."

Atlas looked at Anderson now. "But we do."

Coats frowned, as did Clark and Krogh, but Anderson met Atlas's stare tiredly, as if they had had this argument dozens of times already. Which, given how long they've been here, isn't all too unlikely.

"We can't risk it, Atlas," said Anderson.

"We don't have many other options," countered Atlas, eyes flickering between all of them now. "Before Oklahoma City fell, we raided the local police armories and the national guard reserves. We managed to secure a number of RDX-based high explosives, ones big enough to destroy whole city blocks if secured right."

Clark's head swiveled towards Atlas in surprise, and Krogh's eyes narrowed. Anderson shook his head minutely. "They're not practical, especially in an urban environment."

Coats nodded grimly, clearly seeing both sides of the argument. Yeah, weapons like that could definitely hurt the Reapers, but the problem with these explosives is that they tend to cut both ways. Coats glanced and Krogh, who met his eyes briefly before turning back to Atlas. Yeah, Krogh doesn't like it either.

"What I like to argue is that if we need to inflict damage on the Reapers' forces quickly and decisively before they can retaliate, this is the best way to do it," continued Atlas. "In addition, we've also got some Alliance engineers working on ranged capabilities for these explosives."

"But you're forgetting that a lot of these explosives used in more conventional military applications require a great deal of preparation and calculation. We can't just set off a bomb wherever we feel like it and not expect any consequences."

"High explosives like RDX can penetrate the ground and reach gas lines and the sewers," said Krogh. "If we're not careful, we could be setting up one hell of an explosion that might consume multiple blocks. Or one that might catch us even if we're underground."

"Then how do any of you propose that we take out the Reaper troops at the memorial?" said Atlas, folding his arms. His gaze was blank, as if his eyes weren't focused on anyone in particular. Because he's focusing on everyone and everything around him, like in a fight, thought Coats. "Can you even begin to imagine the kind of casualties we'd be looking at if we took the fight to the Reapers on open ground?"

"I kind of agree with Jack on this one," said Clark, not looking at anyone but looking at the map, which cast a light blue glow over his face. "Like we said earlier, the Reapers use shock and awe to overwhelm our forces. A lot of traditional warfare tactics have to be thrown out the window here. We can't cut their supply lines; they don't have any. We can't take strategic positions and hold them; they're too powerful. And we definitely can't meet them head on. So it only leaves a few options."

Coats clenched his fists. He knew this was a bad idea. Knew it had just as high of a chance of blowing up in their face, literally, as it had a chance of succeeding. But they didn't have many options. Coats glanced at Krogh. The man was looking at the map, grimacing. His gaze suddenly flicked up to meet Coats' eyes and he subtly nodded his head. "I agree."

Anderson sighed. "If we have to do it, then we're going to do it right."

Atlas smirked before nodding towards Anderson. "Have the engineers take a look at the land and the amount of explosives we'll need."

"Speed and surprise will be the name of the game here," said Coats, memorizing the layout of the area on the map. He'd be poring over it later. "We can't afford to give them even a chance to react."

"Is there a way for us to get into the courtyard without them noticing?" said Krogh. "An entrance from the sewers?"

Anderson shook his head. "There is a manhole near the museum proper, but it's been welded shut. My men have tried before."

"What's been shut, can be opened again," said Coats with aplomb.

"Quiet's going be pretty hard if we have to blast our way through," said Clark, grimacing.

Krogh spoke up. "I might have a solution. The melee application of my omni-tool is equipped with gas cylinders that I can ignite at will to burn through solid objects."

"Better," commented Atlas thoughtfully.

"And a hell of a lot quieter," admitted Anderson with raised eyebrows. The admiral folded his arms behind him. "This just might work. Gentlemen, I'll need to meet with other Resistance leaders now. Rest up now; I know it's been a rough couple of days for you all." Anderson glanced at Coats and his lips quirked up. "Some more than others."

…..

Tacita

People watching. Her favorite, and perhaps her only, hobby.

Tacita often wondered about how other people lived. People, she discovered, were much different from her caretakers on Taetrus. So much, that she had begun to wonder whether the separatists were different from everyone else, rather than the other way around. They certainly seemed like a minority compared to the teeming legions of the galaxy.

"Your words are unharmonious," said Spesimus. He looked down at her with an expression akin to that of a teacher correcting a child. "Others are different because they have fallen under the spell of the primarch. He deceives them with words and feeds them lies. Only we have recognized his deception. It is our duty to free others from this illusion, for otherwise we are doomed to failure. We do not need the primarch. The people are strong enough to lead themselves. However, the primarch's puppets are strong, and we cannot face them in open battle the way our people fight. That is why you have been trained in the way we have trained you. We fight armies with assassins. Wars with sabotage. Tyranny with deception."

"You will help uplift the voice of the people."

Tacita shook her head. But look at these people. How they all work together, fighting for the good of all. They fight for their leader, and he fights for them. Why haven't they failed, if my past lessons are to be observed?

So there in the shadows she stood. Listening, watching.

A tall male strode into the room and sat at the counter. Armored, helmet off. Alliance markings on the armor, numbers indicating the regiment he had been a part of: the 103rd division. Short hair. It was Captain Clark.

After around two minutes of sitting by himself at the counter, another taller male joined him. Though she had only met him once or twice, Tacita remembered his face. That's what her training had taught her to do. It was Commander Atlas.

Atlas started talking first. "James, you look like hell."

The captain chuckled. "Hey, you don't look that much better."

"Fighting with the ground pounders will do that to you," said Atlas, and drained his glass. He motioned towards his now empty drink as he talked. "You know what I've been doing while you've been cruising around the galaxy? Merc work all over Earth. If there's a shithole on this planet, I've pissed and bled in it."

Clark grinned. "You make it sound like I've been sipping tea at the beach. I've been fighting in shitholes all over the galaxy. Cold, frozen mud balls that would freeze your balls off. Deserts that felt like I was being cooked in a microwave. Asteroids where if you got so much as a suit tear, you'd die in a couple of seconds."

Atlas snorted. "Yeah. The old days were so much simpler. Hell, back in the old days Commander Shepard was just one of the boss's lieutenants."

Atlas sipped at his next drink and gestured to the relatively empty canteen. His sweep ended right where Tacita was standing. She blinked, but the big man didn't seem to notice as he continued.

"Nothing stays simple, though. Back then, all I had to do was keep track of a couple of guys and their weekly earnings. Now I'm heading an entire fucking resistance." Atlas laughed. "It's not the 9-5 job I was expecting."

Clark twirled his glass absently. "Yeah. Sometimes life just drops stuff on your lap and you run with it."

Atlas snorted. "You'd know plenty about that, wouldn't you, James? Well, I guess I'm taking after you because I'm sprinting with this."

Atlas drained his glass again. "I kind of fucking like running this resistance. No review boards or shit like that in the military. No bureaucracy. Just some planning, you tell people what to do, and you get shit done. Even our old boss in the Reds couldn't do that."

"It is nice not to have to wade through a sea of red tape to do anything," admitted Clark.

"Exactly," said Atlas grinning. Then he frowned. "Now if only everyone just fucking cooperated. Like Coats."

Tacita was watching Clark's face. His…brow furrowed, his jaw became set, and he looked straight ahead. But he still faced Atlas. He's conflicted, she reasoned. He doesn't think Atlas is completely right, but he's not entirely sure at the same time. Beyond the broader facial cues, Tacita still couldn't completely decipher the more nuanced human emotions. Human faces are so much more expressive.

"Why are you even with that stuck-up son of a bitch?" Atlas leaned closer to Clark, talking more softly now. It wasn't a problem for Tacita; her sharp turian ears could pick up anything in the room if she focused on it. Clark's head snapped towards Atlas. "I've been running this resistance since it began. Suddenly, he shows up and I'm supposed to listen to him? That's bullshit. A fucking polished officer like him can't even begin to imagine the kind of ground war we're fighting in right now."

Clark sighed. "Bad decisions happen. We do the best with what we've got at the time."

"He blew the fucking operation!" hissed Atlas, pounding the table with his fist. The room's few occupants glanced briefly at the commander before returning to their conversations. Tacita noted this. Interesting. They did not seem surprised that their leader was angry. Are they accustomed to seeing him like this?

"It was textbook. If he had just fucking listened, hundreds of people wouldn't be waiting in line to be processed into Reaper spare parts right now!" Atlas leaned back a little, exhaling. With one hand, he tipped the glass into his mouth and set it back on the table. He looked at Clark again.

"You know who he reminds of?" said Atlas, chuckling darkly. "He reminds me of Ross, our old boss. Remember him, James? Used to order us around and expect us to see his side of things in every case? Even Anderson. For a general or whatever the hell he is, there's a lot less bullshit coming out of his mouth than I expected, but he's the same as Coats in the end. Heads too far up their asses to see the war we've got in front of us."

Clark's eyes narrowed. "Anderson's been on the ground since day 1 of the invasion. So has Coats. And I'm an officer too, Jack. What does that make me?"

Atlas snorted. "You're an officer too, James, but you've been on the ground since you were born. You've fought with your own fists and worked your way up to the top. I trust you with that. Not these pricks in uniforms."

Atlas's omni-tool beeped, and he glanced down. "Well, shit. I've got to meet up with a couple of my men. Got to make sure things keep running around here, don't I, James?" Atlas slid off the seat and looked back briefly. "Keep in mind what I said, James. We've been brothers since the day we both stumbled onto Tenth Street. When it was just the two of us against the goddamn world. Don't forget your roots."

The big man brushed past an entering soldier and exited the room. Clark looked down at his half-empty glass. Not making a move, not making a sound. Sitting by himself in absolute silence.

And Tacita continued to watch, as she had always done.

…..

Emilia

Emilia sat cross-legged on her bunk, staring intently at her hand. Her eyes flicked up, left, and right before returning back to their original positions. After a moment, her other hand snaked around her belt and grasped a thermal clip, slinging it onto the table.

"I call," she said, looking at Devon.

The veteran looked amused as he glanced back and forth between his cards and the growing pile of thermal clips on the table. "Well, she called. What do you think, Jarar?"

The turian was, as per usual, stone-faced as he placed his own clip on the table now. Devon smirked as he laid his hand on the table.

"Two pairs. Queens and aces." he said. "All right. Let's see what you've got."

Emilia laid down her own hand now, carefully flipping over the double queens in her hand. "Three-of-a-kind. Take that you fucking merc."

Devon shrugged. "You got me there. But I'm more interested to see what Jarar's got in his hand. Don't count your clips yet."

Jarar's mandibles flexed. Emilia squinted; she had been with Jarar for weeks now, and she was beginning to think she had the basic turian expressions down. For a turian, flexing the mandibles was approximately a smile for them, or a smirk. Her suspicions were confirmed when he laid his own two cards on the table. "Flush. Hearts."

Emilia slapped one of the clips in Jarar's direction; the metal piece impacted against the merc's knee as it slid off the table. Jarar flexed his mandibles again and took the pile of thermal clips that were serving as impromptu poker chips.

"Fuck you, Jarar," she muttered, handing her cards over to Devon as he began to shuffle the deck. "It's his fucking poker face and the face paint, I swear."

"He's got a tell," said Devon, pounding Jarar on the cowl. "It's really small and hard to tell if you haven't been with him for a while, but it's workable."

Emilia snorted. "Then why the hell did you stay in?"

"Because I wanted you to stay in."

"Fuck you," said Emilia as she took her dealt cards from Devon. Her eyes flicked down and up, thought-fast. Pocket kings. Better fucking win this time.

Devon looked at his own hand casually before placing his cards face down on the table. Jarar, as per usual, had no visible expression. Three hands converged on the center of the table as they slid their ante clips into the middle.

"This is kind of getting boring," said Emilia, masking her own expression. As if her hand was useless.

"We've got nothing better to do," said Devon, shrugging. "We're all stood down until the next docket of missions is in."

"You're an old fucker of a merc," replied Emilia as Jarar laid the flop on the table. Clips were tossed in as the bets were made. "Tell some stories. Maybe the time you named your gun or some shit like that."

"I'm not even forty yet," Devon snorted. "But what the hell; let me think about it."

Devon leaned back, resting his body against the cool cinderblock wall. His eyes lazily scanned the four cards on the table and his own hand, but Emilia wasn't fooled. He's got a hell of a poker face. They've gotten me every time, though. Hah. The girl who specializes in stealth and infiltration can't keep a straight face in poker. Guess they'll pull my stripes and send me back to boot camp.

Devon snapped his fingers. "I've got an interesting one. The Skyllian Blitz."

Emilia blinked. "You were on Elysium when the Blitz happened? I thought you were with the Blue Suns."

"I had just finished with a half-year contract before I went to Elysium. After spending months guarding an eezo refinery on some godforsaken rock in the Terminus? Thought I had earned some leave, so I took a trip down to Elysium. Hell of a vacation."

The fifth card hit the table, and Devon glanced down at his cards. "So there I was in a bar. It wasn't a good bar as far as bars go, but I was just looking for a place to drink in silence. This particular place was on the edge of the colony, slightly outside the perimeter. I had about a shot and a sip of my next one when the first batarian knocked the door down. There were three of them, holding assault rifles and telling everyone to get on the ground."

Devon shrugged. "So I got on the ground. The batarians are flipping over tables, roughing people up, ransacking the place for valuables. One of them stepped next to me and told me to give him everything I had. I gave him the credit chits I had on me and when he turned around to do the same to the next guy, I jumped up, got him in a choke-hold from behind and grabbed his assault rifle. Shot one batarian, and then the other one started shooting through his buddy to get to me. I shoved the body towards the other one and dove behind the counter. I hear a crack from where I was and I peek out. One of the other people on the floor had gotten up and smashed a chair on the last batarian's head. I shot him a couple of times to make sure he was absolutely dead. Then I stuck my head out the door, and it was chaos."

Devon drank from a bottle of water at his side as he threw in a thermal clip. The trio flipped their hands over as the final bets were made. Jarar: a straight. Devon: a pair of queens. Emilia: still pocket kings. Emilia cursed internally as Jarar raked in the winnings again.

"It was happening all over the colony. Batarian ships and Alliance ships were dueling in the skies and in orbit. Local authorities were flying around the place trying to maintain order and mount a unified defense. A few minutes after we were attacked, I waved down two squad cars. They evacuated the civilians in the bar to the inner city, but I told them I was a professional soldier. They asked around the bar, verified my credentials, and slapped personal shields and a gun on me. Then I was off with them."

Devon took his cards from Jarar, but the three of them were more listening to him than paying attention to the game. "It was after a minute I was with them that I suggested that we ditch the aircar. They didn't like it, but then again, the batarians had assault rifles, grenades, and rocket launchers. We beat it to the city on foot. The barracks in the colony and a few off-duty soldiers and irregulars like me had formed a defensive ring around the city. So, there I was, posted at a window on the third floor of an office building on the edge of the perimeter, shooting at batarian raiders for hours. After a while, I was told that the action was happening due south and they needed me on an emergency response team to help anyone in the area."

Devon snorted. "I actually saw Commander Shepard that day, believe it or not. She was holding down a breach in the city defenses by herself when I arrived with reinforcements. It was fucking amazing to see even when we were flying to her. She'd throw grenades and set off explosions around the sides of the perimeter to distract the batarians and keep the from flanking her. She held them off with nothing more than an assault rifle and her wits. She'd put down surprising fire, hunker down and hide, wait for a couple to pass, and then ambush them as they calmed down. By the time we got to her, there were dozens of batarian soldiers on the ground around her. She took command and directed us to guard this area and that area. And then she was off again."

Devon shook his head. "That's about as exciting as it gets. An hour later, the Alliance arrived and the batarians were cleared out. We all got awards and shit like that, but I just tossed it in the drawer and cursed my bad luck for getting involved in a war on leave."

Emilia chuckled. "Okay, I'll give you that one. Not the 'my team and I were trapped on an asteroid, and I was the only one to survive' story I was expecting, but it was still a pretty good story."

"Not everyone can be Commander Shepard," said Devon, smirking.

Emilia inclined her head towards Jarar. "What about you, big guy? Got an exciting one for us?"

The turian thought about it for a moment. "I can't think of anything actually. Sorry, ask the next person."

Emilia laughed. "Come on; don't be a cobarde. Just tell us something."

Jarar stared at her for a moment. "I do, actually. About the time I was fighting batarians on Torfan."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "You were there for Torfan?"

Jarar looked at the wall between Devon and Emilia. The turian normally looked straight at someone when he was talking, so this was a big change. It's like he's lost in memory, Emilia decided.

Jarar's voice was vaguely distant as he began to talk. "The raid on Torfan was a covert operation. They didn't want the public to know about what was essentially going to be a bloody retaliation attack on the batarians meant to hurt them rather than to gain a strategic position. And they definitely didn't want the batarians to find out, either. So the bulk of the forces going to Torfan were mostly mercenaries, with Alliance special forces leading the operation."

"My ship was in the second wave of troops. Most of the freelancer mercenaries and smaller merc companies spearheaded the operation. Guess the Alliance figured they were the most expendable. My ship was hit by a batarian missile when we entered low orbit on Torfan. We crash-landed right in the middle of a battle between Alliance troops and the batarian pirates. Only about five of us survived the damn crash. The Alliance had the numbers and firepower, but the batarians were dug into underground bunkers and had fortified emplacements. Fortunately for us, the main gun still worked on our ship. After we cleared the surface defenses, we moved into the tunnels."

Jarar's face was devoid of expression. It could have been carved from granite. "Most people like to think that the soldiers on Torfan were slaughtering the batarians, killing surrendering men and torturing the ones they spared. But none of them ever saw what happened underneath Torfan. Dark tunnels that connected to each other like a damn maze. Every turn we made, we ran into something. Sometimes it was a group of batarians, waiting to ambush us. Other times, it was traps. Tripwires rigged to grenades. Land mines. Pitfalls. You never knew what was coming next."

Emilia winced. Devon frowned but didn't say anything as Jarar continued. "We had a few who actually surrendered. One of the Alliance soldiers went up to strip him when he pulled a detcord he had on his body. Blew the soldier and the guy standing in front of me to pieces. I took some shrapnel to the chest, but it didn't penetrate all the way through. Probably because they slowed down going through one of the mercs in front of me. There were four of us left at that point. Two Blue Suns, a freelancer, and me."

"The two Blue Suns hadn't been in the Suns for more than a couple of years. The freelancer was panicking. I told them to hold our position until reinforcements arrived, but the damn freelancer started screaming and running the opposite direction. We didn't try to stop him, or we'd probably get lost in the tunnels with him. As it turns out, we didn't need to. A few seconds after he disappeared around a corner, there was an explosion that shook the walls and collapsed the tunnel he went through. We kept on moving."

Jarar blinked, the first motion he had made in minutes. "I didn't lose any more men that day, but of the two thousand soldiers that hit the ground that day, only six hundred made it back up. The blood was running up to my ankles as we made it back up to the surface. I'm told that the Alliance didn't get far in trying to recover the bodies of their soldiers. In the end, Torfan was abandoned by the batarians and the Alliance."

Goddamn. "I had just gotten my specialization posting when the raid on Torfan happened," said Emilia.

"I was on the Citadel," Devon snorted. "Guarding some paranoid politician who was afraid he'd get targeted by turian extremist groups."

"Isn't that ironic?" said Emilia. "You two on the opposite ends the conflict."

Devon shrugged. "I wasn't even with the Suns when the conflict started. And I don't sign up for black ops suicide missions like Torfan. Any freelancing professional soldier worth his salt would have smelled that death trap."

"I didn't even know we were going to the Terminus Systems until the day before," said Jarar, looking at his hands. "Not until my commander told the crew we had just accepted a lucrative contract from the Alliance."

"Guess they wanted to keep—

Emilia's omni-tool sprang to life as its interface flashed bright orange and a persistent buzz ran down on her arm. She answered the call after the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Emilia, it's Andrew! We've got a problem!"

….

Major Coats

Ten minutes previously…

"I'm glad you could meet with me, Coats," said Anderson as they walked along the deserted hallway. "It's important. Well, not important enough so that we have to stay in that command room. I never liked being in that room anyways. I like being on the ground, with my men."

"I can see that, Admiral," said Coats, nodding. One of the things I always admired about Anderson. He's like a marine stuffed into an admiral's suit. Doesn't care about the job so much as he cares about protecting his people and doing the right thing.

"I think under the circumstances you can call me Anderson," said the admiral, chuckling. "It doesn't make a damn difference now what my rank is and it may or may not ever again."

"If you say so, Anderson," said Coats.

"I need to talk to you about the future," said Anderson, looking ahead.

They rounded a corner. "Not a topic most people ever discuss anymore, Anderson. What about it?"

They walked past a New Hope symbol emblazoned on a wall, and Anderson slowed down, tracing his hand around its outline. "The future of this resistance. And possibly the future of Earth."

"I've told you that Commander Shepard is unifying every nation in the galaxy to fight the Reapers," said Anderson. "But what I haven't told you is that she's also helping to build a Prothean super weapon that could end the war. It's called the Crucible."

Coats' head snapped towards Anderson. "A superweapon? Built by the…Protheans? What can it do?"

"At the moment, we don't know yet," said Anderson, sighing. "But it has enough promise that the Alliance and the brightest minds in the galaxy are throwing everything they can at the project. It's our best shot to defeat the Reapers."

Coats's mind raced. So we do have a plan after all. Granted, it seems a bit out of the blue and sounds almost too good to be true, but why look a gift lion in the mouth? "So what do we do in the meantime?"

"More or less what we've been doing," said Anderson, pointing at the New Hope symbol on the wall. "Fighting the ground war. Slowing down the processing of civilians. Hindering the Reapers any way we can. Until help arrives."

Coats nodded. "Have you told Atlas?"

Anderson glanced to the side, and then his eyes flicked back to Coats. "I wasn't planning to."

Coats frowned. "Why not?"

"Atlas is a good soldier," admitted Anderson. "And he knows how to lead the men. But he's prone to being impulsive and reckless, and he doesn't have a good head for strategy and long-term thinking. Tactics and operation details, he can manage. But something big like this? I don't think telling him would help anyone."

"Glad to see someone else agrees," said Coats, nodding. "Has he always been on edge like this?"

"Not until recently," said Anderson, frowning. "It's possible that your team's arrival may have disturbed him. It's hard to say."

"Is he going to be a problem?" said Coats, raising an eyebrow. "At least, for me?"

Anderson shook his head. "Atlas is an authoritarian. He gives orders and expects them to be completed with absolute obedience. He likes to draw lines in the sand and have everyone do what he expects them to do. But, as I've actually told him before, sometimes the damn line moves on you. Mission parameters change."

"I'd hate to think what would have happened if Atlas had been leading this resistance alone from the start. Knowing him, he probably would have charged the Pit right now."

"That sounds like you think he's a problem," said Coats, folding his arm and leaning against the wall. "More than a small one, at any rate."

"I just need to be able to direct him," said Anderson, stopping now. "Besides…"

The admiral glanced around, and Coats frowned. That doesn't look good. "Atlas is a certain type of person. He's an authoritative figure, and he commands his men with an iron fist. Some people listen to him because he charges straight into the fire, without hesitation. He's charismatic and even inspirational. But that kind of personality is also dangerous. If Atlas were to tell the resistance to go one way and I told them to go the other way, I'm not sure how many would choose me and how many would choose him."

"You're saying you can't remove him because he's too popular?" said Coats, incredulous. That actually makes him really dangerous. If Atlas were to disagree with Anderson and hold his ground…

Anderson nodded. "More or less."

The admiral let out a dark chuckle. "Listen to me now. I'm starting to sound like a politician again. It's one of the reasons—

The admiral frowned and looked beyond Coats's shoulder. Coats turned around and his hand unconsciously drifted to the pistol he had strapped to his thigh. The hallway they had been walking along had ended in a room full of smooth, box-like objects. Each of the boxes were connected with each other and hooked up to the walls. Computer servers, Coats realized. And a person was crouched at one of the servers, his hands hidden from view.

"There shouldn't be anyone down here," said Anderson, walking towards the room now. "It's why I picked this place. And I also don't recognize him. Hey, what are you doing down here? This room is restricted."

The man cocked his head towards Anderson, and he stood up instantly. "There was a problem communicating with the other outposts," said the man, enunciating every syllable clearly and distinctly, as if he wanted to make sure the admiral wouldn't misunderstand—except, he was talking as if he were reading from a script. Coats frowned.

"What's the issue?" said Anderson, slowing his pace now. The line of the admiral's shoulders was ramrod-straight.

The man blinked once, slowly and carefully. "It was a minor runtime error in one of our encoding programs. It has been fixed, so there is no cause for alarm."

Coats's eyes narrowed. He sounds off, he decided. The man's face was smooth, clear of any hair or grime. Surprising, given that they were fighting the worst ground war in living memory. His eyes were hooded, shaded by the dim lighting in the room, but Coats could tell they were a light shade of brown. His legs weren't entirely straight; they were bent just barely at the knee and his feet were just ever so slightly raised off the ground. Coats glanced back up at the man's face again. To hell with it. Even if it's just a hunch.

Coats raised his pistol now, holding it steady with both hands. "And what if we don't believe you?"

Too late—Anderson and Coats had been walking towards the man, who was no more than ten feet from them now. The strange man, already in a flight position, lunged towards them with unnatural speed, crossing the distance between them in a couple of seconds. Anderson was drawing his pistol when the man reached them, and Coats got off one shot, clipping the man's shoulder. He didn't even flinch as he simply pushed Anderson, with the arm he had been shot in no less, to the ground behind him. Then he threw himself towards Coats, who was roughly shoved against the wall. Winded, he dropped the pistol and grabbed the man's neck in a rough hold. The strange man bent down more and lifted Coats clean off the ground. Then he was thrown bodily into the adjacent wall.

Lights danced in his vision and Coats blinked furiously for a couple of seconds. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and Coats's vision began to clear. "Coats, get up! He's getting away!"

Coats sprang to his feet and began to run. As they barreled down the hallway, Coats raised his pistol and fired at the fleeing man. The strange person twitched and juked right and left, dodging the bullets the major sent his way. Then he turned sharply right and disappeared behind a door.

Coats and Anderson burst through the door, pistols out, but the man was still sprinting away, heading up the stairs now towards the command center. A few people were still standing in the room when the man entered the room, with Anderson's voice calling out behind him, "Stop that man!"

One of the room's occupants drew his pistol, but the strange man grabbed a stack of papers from a table and flung it at the New Hope soldier. The papers flew apart mid-flight and completely obscured his vision, and the soldier fired blindly into the mess. Coats tabbed his omni-tool and was calling just as the strange man disappeared behind another set of doors, this one leading to the quarters.

"Yeah?" the person answered from the other end of the call.

"Emilia, it's Andrew!" Coats yelled as he crashed into the door, which had been slammed shut by the man. The major dizzily stumbled back and he placed a hand against the dented door to stabilize himself. "We've got a problem! There's an indoctrinated agent running towards the resistance quarters now. Stop him!"

"On it," said Emilia.

…..

Emilia

"What's going on?" said Devon as Emilia simply grabbed her pistol and a clip from the table and sprang to her feet.

"There's an indoctrinated agent in the base." Emilia was halfway across the room now, and Devon and Jarar were suddenly not far behind at all.

"I was getting bored anyways," said Devon, and then they were out the door.

"Where is he, Coats?" said Emilia, looking around the hallways. No sign of creepy people with glowing blue eyes around here.

"He's headed for the south exit!" said Coats, breathing heavily over the call. "Cut him off!"

"Roger that," replied Emilia, rounding a corner. Everything was in hyper reality now. Every step, every shadow, every breath, and anything that even remotely stood out of place was enough to set off her alert senses. Let's see. The south exit was through this door, to the right, across the room, and over here..? Emilia tabbed her stealth device and her form disappeared from existence…

…right as she collided with someone with a audible whooomf. Her head smacked against something hard and she was pitched to the ground, groaning but quickly rolling to the side as she aimed her pistol unsteadily at whatever she just ran into. A pale-skinned, relatively ordinary-looking man was leaning against the wall for support, looking down at her. His gaze was blank as he scrutinized her as if she were an interesting bug he had just found.

"Don't move—

Even as Emilia was getting to her feet, the man closed the distance between them in a flash and kicked the pistol out of her hand. She lashed out with her feet and swept his legs out from underneath him. The strange man dropped to the ground and immediately brought his legs out in a wide circle, catching her in the gut. She grunted and landed on her back again, black spots pulsating in her vision.

The strange man stood up just as Devon and Jarar rounded the corner. The turian took one quick look down at Emilia and immediately lashed out with a high kick, his sharp spur whistling towards the man's head. The man swayed to the side like a tree in the wind and kicked at Jarar's knee, destabilizing him. As Jarar began to lose his balance, the strange man ducked underneath his guard and struck Jarar in the solar plexus, right in the lower abdomen, driving the turian to the ground.

Backing up, Devon drew his pistol and fired as the man leapt at the mercenary. The pistol jerked downward and the bullet passed through his knee, but the strange man simply ignored the wound and slammed Devon's head into the wall. Unhelmeted, Devon slid to the ground and lay there, twitching.

The man quickly jumped over their fallen bodies with uncanny grace and continued moving. Emilia pushed herself up on shaky arms and scrabbled for her pistol on the ground next to her. The strange man was nearly at the door when she firmly grasped her pistol and emptied her clip after him. Though her aim was atrocious, her vision still spinning, she managed to hit the man in the other knee, twice in the center body mass, and one in the arm.

For once, the strange man staggered as his wounded legs gave out beneath him. Emilia grimaced when the man attempted to rise up and pull himself across the room. Coats and Anderson burst in through the door as the man was sitting up.

"Emilia!" Coats ran to her side as Anderson kept his pistol trained on the strange man, though he made sure to keep his distance. Smart of him, thought Emilia dizzily. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good," said the sergeant as she shakily moved to her feet. "They took worse hits than me."

"Devon might have a concussion," said Jarar, still panting harshly from the nerve strike. "I could hear the impact between his head and the wall."

"Clark's on his way with backup," said Coats as he walked over to Anderson. The strange man was looking up at them now, his eyes still blank and his face devoid of any expression. "But while we're waiting, we might as well get started."

Coats stared into the man's eyes, but there was very little in them to read. "Who are you?"

The strange man blinked, and tilted his head slightly to the side. "You seek to combat forces beyond your comprehension. Your defeat is inevitable."

"Oh, hell, not this again," said Emilia as she walked up next to Coats to stare down at the man in disgust. "Start talking before I introduce you to my knife."

The man's eyes flickered towards Emilia, but he stayed facing Coats. "You can't understand. The nature of those you seek to destroy are too far beyond your own."

"Can I start?" asked Emilia, glaring at the strange man.

"Wait until the rest of our people are here," murmured Coats.

Emilia looked up. "You won't have to wait long," she snorted. "The cavalry is here."

"Where is he?" boomed a voice from the other side of the room. Coats knew without looking up that it was Atlas rapidly walking across the space to meet them. Behind him followed Clark, Anderson, and a few other resistance members.

"He's here," said Coats, waving him over. "Devon might have a concussion, though. He needs medical attention."

Anderson directed a few of the men towards the mercenaries and together they helped Devon to his feet, though they had to carry him by his shoulders out the door. Atlas looked down at the strange man but didn't get too close. Almost wish he would, thought Emilia with an internal smirk.

"So has he said anything?" said Atlas, gesturing at him with his pistol.

"You can let us handle it now," said the big man, teeth bared in a grin. "We have methods."

"I don't think interrogation will produce any results," said Anderson, shaking his head. "If he's indoctrinated, he's already fully under the control of the Reapers. It would be useless."

Clark stared at the man for several seconds before frowning. "I've seen him before."

Heads turned towards him. "He's one of the people we rescued from the Harlow District," said Clark, nodding. "I remember seeing him being led into the base. He looks a bit different now, though."

"Indoctrination'll do that to you," growled Atlas. He turned to face his subordinates. "I want everyone we brought in from Operation Shadow fully scanned and checked out. I don't case what the hell they're doing; bring them in, and do it now."

"Yes, Commander," said the men, and they disappeared in a flash.

"Do the Reapers know about our operations in the war now?" said Anderson, frowning. "And this agent might not even be the only one here. There could easily be more."

The strange man turned towards Anderson. "Your efforts are in vain," he said, the first words he had spoken in minutes. "There is no war. There is only the harvest."

Coats shook his head. "Is there even a point in keeping him if he won't reveal anything else?"

"Nope," said Atlas, and promptly shot him. The bullet carved a hole through the back of the man's head and reduced it to a pulpy mess. The sudden gunshot caused everyone to jump a little. Emilia cursed at the sound.

"What the hell was that?" said Emilia.

"He wouldn't have talked anyways," said Atlas, shrugging. "And he was dangerous. So I solved our problem."

His face suddenly broke into a smirk as he looked at Coats. "The parameters changed. Once we realized he wouldn't have said anything, he became a liability. In any case, I have to go vet through the civilians now. James, let's go give them a hand."

Atlas pointed to the few men remaining. "Clean up the mess."

The big man shouldered his way past Emilia as Clark followed him out of the room. Anderson glanced at the Coats and the major's eyes met his.

Emilia sighed. "You know, I'm starting to really hate that guy."

….

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