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Beta(s) :
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I know I posted the wrong chapter before. I'm… Not sure how I did, but it's fixed. Apologies.
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Primarch Adrien Victus was going to die.
He had been whisked away by the Commander Shepard as if the Spirits themselves wanted him to live. He'd been the first Primarch in a thousand years and then some to set food on Tuchanka. He'd undone the single greatest genocide in galactic history besides the Reapers themselves and their 'great harvest'. Then he'd forged a new alliance, with seemingly every single race the Turians had ever wronged, the likes of which hadn't been seen since the founding of the corrupted and failed Council itself.
And after all of that, Primarch Adrien Victus was going to die less than ten kilometers from the outpost he'd been taken from what felt like a decade ago.
He'd have laughed if he wasn't too busy giving orders to do it, "Order units four, six and eighteen into the main entryway. Heavy weapons teams accompanying where possible. Information on our evac?"
"Secondary entrance just collapsed, Primarch." One of the soldiers manning the circle of command consoles around him called back. "And Warlord Kranekt is… He's no longer responding to hails."
"Last call?"
"There was a Reaper Destroyer hounding him…"
"Damn it." There went their chances of a daring rescue he'd have to pay out the nose for in Ryncol, then… And he could see the realization in his men's eyes, too. And in their postures. Stiff shoulders from Turians, gnawing lips from Salarians, and pale faces from Humans. All as good a sign as any of what he already knew. They were terrified.
So was he…
But he had a job to do.
"You two." He snapped, rounding on his guards. "Secure the doors, prepare for contact."
"But, Primarch-"
"You can best protect me by keeping this room secure." He growled, turning and calling out across the room. "Reinforce defensive units across the compromised sections. All hands on. Hell, give the wounded and non-combatants weapons and have them form a second line. Buy us as much time as can be bought. Demolitions teams are to use the time to rig explosives across the complex. Copy?"
"Yes, Primarch." The call came back from his men.
"This is it, ladies and gentlemen." Primarch Adrien Victus said as he drew his sidearm and looked down on it. When had he even fired the little Predator last? He couldn't remember. Speaking to himself as much as those who could hear him over their work, he said, "For Palaven… For the Coalition."
The echoing, shrill shriek of a banshee cut his contemplation off. He met his guard's gaze at the door and nodded. The soldier returned it and slipped through the door, opening fire on some monster Adrien couldn't see.
"Order our fleet to desert the sector, fall back to direct orbital defense. Abandon Menae." He ordered loudly, calling out over the room as the sound of gunfire built in the halls around the command room. "And... And designate Admiral Adriatus Quin as the next Primarch, with orders to secure Operation : Troy at all costs. Send the transmission immediately, and then all of you, check sidearms."
They were going to need them.
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Major Kirrahe ducked under the Brute's arm and raised his modified Scorpion pistol, lodging a half dozen rounds into the area around its neck. Turning, he leapt away as the shots went off, blasting its head clean off its shoulders. As it fell in the rubble of London, he rose, Omni-Blade extending as a Husk leapt for him. The super-heated weapon cut it in half as if the Husk were no more than air and he raised his Sorpion again, lodging shots all along the side of one of the ruined sky-scrapers that made up the city. In their wake, half the building came down, burying the broad avenue - and the Husks that had been swarming up it - in tons of rubble, rebar and glass.
"Good shit, Sal." The Biotic beside him said as she and the trio of Phantoms with her joined him, looking over the rubble for any survivors climbing over. Raising her voice, Jack ordered, "Build a wall, ladies. We have a squad of Marines coming in, and we all know those morons need cover."
"Yes, Ma'am." They intoned quietly, stepping forward to set to work with their Biotics.
"Thank you for your reinforcements." They'd come too late to save his unit, but he supposed that couldn't be helped. Straightening, he asked, "Has the situation changed?"
"We have coverage over most o' Europe, far as I know." Jack explained quietly, "Can't hold the ground, but we're hiding the horses."
"I see." 'Horses' was code, relating to the name of the operation they were undergoing. He'd need to look up the historical reference, if he survived to. "I suppose holding is irrelevant, as long as they hide the horses properly. Once the signal goes out..."
"We win. Even if we die doin' it, we win." The Biotic nodded, tugging the sleeve of her fitted combat skin straight and looking up the road. "Another wave coming. And the Marines are… Three minutes out?"
"Three and a half, yes." Major Kirrahe sighed, reloading his weapon. "Let's get through this, then. I'll buy the drinks after, if we get there."
"Hah." Jack smiled, "I'll invite Miri."
Who that was he wasn't sure, but then, he had several more pressing grey concerns swarming over the rubble towards them. And his trick with the buildings probably wouldn't work a second time.
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Councilor Tevos sat in her apartment on the Presidium, looking out over the great arms of the Citadel Wards, and took a long draught of her whiskey. It was an expensive brand, aged for long enough that almost no one could afford it and imported from a small town on Earth. A small town that almost certainly didn't exist any longer. From what she understood, Germany and the United North American States had been the spearhead locations of the Reaper assault at the head of the war.
All she could think, though, was that it burned and tasted like ash…
"Why would anyone drink this?" She sighed, taking another long draught from the bottle. "Like less tasteful fire…"
"Ma'am, please, we need to leave." Her Commando guard said, leaning against the edge of the door-frame that let into her apartment. The Asari was young, at only six centuries, but had been sent along by a Matriarch of the Republic that Tevos knew well, so she was likely as lethal as a woman another two centuries older than her.
A shame…
"Where are we even going to go, Aria?" She asked, turning back to her spectacular view out over the Wards. And beyond, to the sea of stars pock-marked and laced by mass accelerator fire, rocket explosions, ship reactors going up, and Reaper fire carving through the Citadel Defense Fleet. Nodding at the display, she chuckled, "Which of those is our evacuation, do you think?"
"Councilor…" The woman trailed off and then sighed wearily. Crossing the room, she stood over Tevos' shoulder and started to talk quietly. Almost nervously. "I don't know. We've had our vessel designation changed half a dozen times in the last ten minutes alone. Goddess only knows how many since the Ascension fell…"
"Exactly." She said, taking another sip from her bottle and holding it up. "Join me. The fight will be here soon enough, I fear."
"Sober, I'll fight better…"
"How well do you think a barrier will hold against a lance of superheated metal courtesy of our metal friend sout there?" Tevos asked, raising a pristine brown knowingly when the Commando didn't answer. "Please. Drink with me."
"We're going to die, aren't we?"
"Oh, definitely." Tevos chuckled, laying a hand on the Carnifex in her lap and tapping it comfortably. "Every single one of us… Because I wouldn't listen to a man warning us about all of this years ago."
"You couldn't have known, Ma'am." Tevos could have, and had, but she didn't respond. Instead, she watched the commando take a sip from the bottle and wince. Coughing, she looked at the label and rasped. "What is this? It tastes like acid…"
Tevos only chuckled, and turned to look back out on the battle unfolding like fireworks a few hundred kilometers away from her.
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John Doe, hardened Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, adopted member of a Krogan clan, turned and yanked his helmet off in one motion. Collapsing to his hands and knees, he retched and heaved what was left in his stomach onto the floor while Omega watched. Trembling, he covered his hands against the wet sound of meat and bone warping, and the ghoulish howling of the Forerunner that had recorded the footage, and screamed for the AI to cut the feed.
After a moment longer, the Monitor did so, murmuring, "That is what forced my makers' hands… You understand, yes?"
"I do." He grunted, rolling over and sitting, back against one of the rails that held up the enclosing railing on the dais. "Going so far is… But if that thing was overwhelming them, they didn't have a choice."
"You say that as though it is a fact."
"Because it is." He grunted, reclaiming his helmet and standing. His throat hurt, but there wasn't anything for that. And at least he hadn't had much to throw up… Moving on, he tugged his helmet on and added. "At least, assuming you're telling me the truth."
"Oh, I am." Omega answered cheerily as a Sentinel buzzed into the room and began cleaning up his… Mess. Ignoring it, the AI said, "I'm merely surprised at how readily you agree with the facts of the matter being so indisputable. Simulacrums of Human minds, drawn from samples taken during the conservation effort, showed a tendency to reject the information outright. Or go into shock, if they did not."
"Yeah, well…" John shrugged, "I'm not exactly a normal Human, I guess."
"This is evident… Very evident, as a matter of fact." Omega said, bobbing in place in what the ODST took for amusement. It didn't last long before the Monitor bobbed towards him, though. A bright blue laser shot out and broke apart into a thousand little lines that ran over every inch of him from head to toe before he could so much as blink. "Good, you're perfectly healthy and thus can be prepared for stage one of the Restoration Protocol. Wonderful!"
"That is…?" He blinked and cut a hand through the air, changing the subject before the Monitor could respond. "Wait, no, more important question. How are there two Earths?"
"There are not." Omega answered candidly, "There is Earth and Terra."
"I think you know what I meant…"
"Oh, I did, yes." The monitor answered wrly, turning and floating back into the center of the dais.
Once again, displays flared to life, but this time they showed two planets. One was green and blue, and he recognized it easily enough as an ancient Earth. One much closer to Pangea than the continents he knew now, but an ancient Earth nonetheless, with a moon visible in the corner of the display. The other was a craggy, ruddy red planet with a pair of micro-moons orbiting it and huge, ice-capped poles.
"Approximately ninety-nine thousand of your semi-standard years ago, in the midst of the First Flood Outbreak, it was determined that the Forerunners simply did not have the military power to defeat the parasite. At least not conventionally." Omega said, bringing up a third display, this time showing one of the great Halo rings that Omega had told him about in the last forty minutes of incredibly ancient history. "Initially, the Forerunners intended to return from the proverbial ether, after the Halo Array had annihilated the Flood."
"However," Omega went on, swapping the Halo out for a massive world overwhelmed with brown, "the Flood ended such hopes. Instead, it was decided that in the relatively short time left to them, they would find among the preserved races a race worthy of assuming the Mantle of Responsibility. After much deliberation, it was decided that your race would be the ones trusted with such a responsibility."
"To that end, in grave secret, a Forerunner known as the Librarian decided that the Human race's preservation needed to be… More guaranteed than simply reseeding Earth would allow." Omega explained, showing a feed of thousands of sleek white vessels descending on the second world and, in obvious advanced speed, reshaping it into the Earth he knew now. "Using a specialized construct even I do not fully comprehend, stationed in two mirror installations built on the planet, your race was seeded onto Earth and Terra both."
"The resemblance to your home system owes to Forerunner foresight and world sculpting." Omega finished, closing down the displays and rotating around to meet John's gaze directly. "The Librarian wished for the Humans of Terra to have as near to perfectly matching an upbringing as those on Earth. And so the two systems were reshaped with excruciating detail. This way, if Humans had to be transplanted after a disaster on either world, it was believed that it would be a… Gentler experience."
"So Terra is… What?" He asked, waving a hand around him, "A spare?"
"I would not phrase it so crassly, but…"
:You have to be joking!" He suddenly bellowed, making the Monitor flinch back in surprise. "You left them here where the Reapers could find them?!"
"The Forerunners arrived in this system via advanced Slipspace techniques, and detected a silent galaxy." Omega answered quietly, "The Reapers were an unknown, and by the time I detected them approximately seventy-four thousand years ago, the plan had already been enacted. Nothing could be done."
"Nothing could be…" It made his head hurt, but it made sense… Turning, he swore and sighed, "I guess that makes sense. It's a cycle, so… If they came between two of their attacks, then the galaxy would be quiet. They didn't question the Relays?"
"Only one was nearby." Omega answered, "It was inactive, and determined to be a derelict relic that would be nothing more than an oddity to the Terrans."
"Just a relic…" So from one frying pan and into another, thanks to dumb damn luck. Wasn't that just typical? Turning back to Omega he asked, "Fine. Then what's the Restoration Protocol?"
"Restoration protocols are used when it is deemed that the population of Reclaimers, your species that is, on either planet is going to go extinct. Whatever the cause, it is enacted in such crises. During this time, the problematic planets are purged of remaining life and then reseeded using genetic stores within the installations." He blinked, gaping, but Omega was not done yet and went on before he could collect himself enough to speak. "Once all life has been purged, reseeding takes an estimated seven years. Restoration, nearly a century. And the rise of the race on the planet can take thousands of years more."
"Thousands of… Why did you check if I was healthy enough for that?"
"Because… I intend to preserve you, to lead the Reclaimers once they had reached sufficient development, so that they can properly repulse the Reapers when they next come." Omega answered simply, bobbing to the side in seeming confusion. "That is… The protocol, if the race on either planet is sufficiently advanced. This provides a great boon to the development of the species in such cases, at least to the point of what the Reclaimer in question-"
"Well, I'm not interested." He grunted shortly, turning for the door. Omega shot around him like lightning, blocking his way, and he growled. "What, Omega?
"Protocol dictates-"
"I am not abandoning this war, or the people in it. Not for you, not for some plan of yours, and not for some distant maybe of Humanity in however many years once the Reapers are done killing everyone I care about." He asserted sharpy, pointing a long, armored finger in the Monitor's… Well, 'face', or what passed for it. "And the Reapers won't just let you hide here, either."
"They cannot break through the defenses of this installation." Omega answered simply, firmly. "This has been confirmed in simulations and multiple actual attempts."
"Yeah, well, maybe they get tired of trying the conventional methods and drop the moon on you." John shrugged uncaringly. "Regardless, I'm not staying. No matter what you say or do."
"But…" The Monitor floated back and away, silent for a moment like it was looking for an argument. Finally, it settled on, "You will die, Reclaimer. Along with everyone else you seek to save, and for no point."
"Maybe I will. Maybe we all will." He nodded, stepping by and into the hallway while the Monitor followed him. "But I have a duty to these people, right now, right here. To fight and die to stop the Reapers from continuing. And we have a plan to make that happen, too."
"I could force you, you know."
"And if you do, my first act on waking up will be to find something sharp to fall on." He snapped, rounding on the AI. "I will die against the Reapers, or I'll win. But if you force my hand, I will die before you get anything out of it."
"But-"
"I will not abandon my people!" He snarled, baring his teeth and heaving for breath. "Not again! I will win, or die trying. Get it through your metal head, and then get over it already."
"...I did not believe that your kind were worthy of the Mantle, when the Flood forced the hands of my makers, you know." Omega said quietly, after a few long moments of quiet. Still quiet, almost contemplative, Omega went on, "It was my belief that the Human race was short-sighted, selfish, violent and cowardly. But the Librarian believed otherwise, and I was granted no course but to trust her judgement."
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry to disappoint you." He grunted, turning to make his way back to Wrex. "But humans are-"
"Ready, perhaps." Omega cut him off, sliding by and into his way again. Quietly, like it was thinking, it rambled, "Or at least, maybe you are. For a fraction of what your people are meant for. Perhaps so… Perhaps not… Perhaps it requires testing… Data, yes..."
"What are you…"
"I have decided." Omega answered suddenly, turning back to him and bobbing on the spot. "These Reapers pose too great a threat to this installation, and thus the guarantee of the Human race's existence, and such must be destroyed."
"Okay…?" He blinked, confused. "And?"
"And so I will assist you with your plan." Omega answered simply as a quartet of Sentinels surged down to flank it. "Until such time as the Reapers are at hand, I am diverting power and resources to this endeavor. My Sentinels are yours, merely designate a directive."
"Ah…" Well that was a surprising turn of events. After a moment to think, and not really knowing what Omega even had, he ordered, "Support anything fighting on this planet that isn't a Reaper."
"Confirmed." Omega answered as the installation thrummed around them. "I am activating primary power so that I may put the full force of my Sentinel compliment into the field."
"Well," he smiled, "how about that?"
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Note on Omega's history-
Omega is not telling full, actual canon. Omega is telling John what the Forerunners programmed into his databanks. Yes, the Precursors held the Mantle and wished it to go to the Humans. But Omega doesn't know that. Instead, Omega thinks that the Forerunners were the first to hold it, and passed it on of their own accord.
Just a note!
Also, good god, was the Omega set-up complicated… Even now, it feels messy, but I've rewritten it all thrice over and have to give up at some point and just accept what seems sold enough to me.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed~!
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Smokey Panda :
About that 'footage' part .
Foxcomm :
Not the WHOLE galaxy. Just Sol system.