Chapter 25

AN: Happy new year everybody. I always feel that chapters divisible by 5 are special. And what better way to make a chapter special than having it chew up and swallow the status quo? There is a reason this crossover is marked as "horror".

It always feels pretentious to do this, but fine. The first scene of this chapter gets a bit nasty. I'm slapping a Mature rating on it, as well as a warning. Not for the faintest of hearts.

~0~


Kite's Nest / Harsa System / Khar'shan

Onboard Hegemony research station Shrouds of Stars

Groth Rak'malak brought his shaking hands to his head and cradled his face. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, before suddenly exploding into a coughing fit. By the time it subsided and he managed to regain control over his body, his hands came away stained with tears.

The assistant-xenologist ran his gaze across the room, a cavernous square filled to the brim with equipment and hardware. His gaze eventually settled on the datapad that his senior had left on the table. An hour had passed by already.

He couldn't take it anymore. "What is taking them so long!" He shouted, raising his voice over the never-ending shrieking of the alarm.

A junior scientist shook his head. "They're trained professionals; they're just taking their time."

"No, Groth is right," said another scientist. An old, scarred creature named Palang. "What if those warmongers are merely here to claim our price?"

That was a possibility that Groth had long dismissed. Even though his thoughts were slowly growing more clouded with every passing minute, he still knew that this situation was serious. The Hegemony would not risk damaging itself over something this important, especially not since so many of their other operations had been foiled. If they failed to produce results, everybody on this station would be dead.

Another coughing fit wrecked his body. Hah…if the Grand Admirals wouldn't slaughter them, whatever was loose on this research station sure would…

Groth eyed their colleague in the corner, the one who sat huddled on the ground and refused to speak to any of them. Waretz' labcoat was dirty and torn. He didn't want to condemn his comrade, but he feared that his fellow xenologist might have been contaminated as well.

"I've got it!" Cried the junior scientist. "I've got the camera working again!"

Groth sighed with relieve. The systems had been thrown in utter disarray ever since the head of xenology and his team dropped off the grid. And a top-secret research station that technically did not even exist didn't just experience technical issues. No, something was wrong. His instincts were screaming at him.

The five batarians hurried towards his side, fighting to get the best view. Groth didn't have the strength left to compete with his healthier colleagues. The rash on his chest was growing worse. The itch was maddening! He couldn't stop scratching. Every time he clawed the strange wounds on his body, it felt like they were getting worse and worse. He could have sworn that he hadn't been scraping off bits of skin and sickly flesh an hour ago.

He wasn't the only one. He saw Jorn, the junior scientist, feverously scratch a hotspot on his back.

Jorn had been clean an hour before.

"What on Khar'shan is that!" Cried Palang. His voice was thick with disgust.

And that worried Groth, more than anything. Palang long served as a senior scientist, working with the Hegemony's nastiest of jobs. Nothing could get to him.

Groth hurried to shove one of his colleagues out of the way and looked at the screen. What he saw there, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The soldiers sent to make sure everything was alright with the head of xenology were dead. Butchered. Blood, pieces of tissue and innards lay sprawled across the hallway, painting a macabre picture on the pristine white walls. Three of the comrades were hunched over, quivering, covered with gore. Long, red tentacles had protruded from their shoulders. Their flesh visibly crawled and oozed out of their hardsuits. Their limbs cracked and split in two along the length, sections of armor and flesh sloughing off their increasingly-elongating arms and legs.

Then, as if aware that it was being watched, the creature kneeling in the butchered remains of its comrades slowly turned towards the camera.

And Groth screamed.

The soldier's face had split in half vertically. Its eyes were gone, and its jaw had erupted into a mass of writhing, bloodied tentacles. Even as the creature gazed at the camera, two more sickly-green tentacles erupted from its eye sockets.

It was Jorn who put an end to this nightmare. Screaming incoherently, Jorn slammed a scanning device against the holographic screen. He hit the pedestal that projected the footage and it summarily disappeared.

Groth couldn't control himself. He felt his dinner rise up his throat and he bent over, vomiting all over the floor.

Dazed, he stared at the filth. Strange. He could not remember having anything red for dinner…

Wordlessly, Palang strode towards the emergency communicator that was attached to the rightmost wall. It was only meant to be used in either the direst of circumstances, or if they made a major breakthrough, since it provided a direct line to the military headquarters of the massive science station.

Groth, eager to learn what in the name of the ancestors was going on, joined him. A message came over the main frequency. It sounded like trouble. The Grand Admiral wasn't very coherent.

In fact, it almost sounded like screaming.

"Grand Admiral, we have a contamination breach! The Leviathan lives! I do repeat, the Leviathan of Dis lives!" Yelled Palang.

The screaming changed. It became warbled, guttural. A nasty, wet clicking sound came over the frequency next, before the sounds turned from choking death throes to animalistic moaning.

"Damnit!" Snapped Palang. "We have to – "

They would never find out what they had to do. Waretz, who had been ignoring everything that went on without fail, suddenly sprang to his feet.

Only it wasn't Waretz anymore. It looked like someone butchered Waretz with a ceremonial dagger and buried him, only to be dug up a month later. His skin was rotting, liquefying off his bones with every step he took. He limbs were stretched to their breaking limits and clusters of fleshy appendages erupted from his spine. Right before he tackled Palang to the ground, the walking corpse that had once been a batarian shuddered. A twisting column of tentacles burst from its gangrenous mouth, ripping through its lower jaw and impaling Palang through his face.

The back of his skull exploded, showering the wall with brain tissue and pieces of skull. Groth heard the sound of breaking bones and pulping flesh.

And then, spirits guard them, the noise spread. A soft, liquid, almost slithering sound, seemingly coming from everywhere.

But that was not possible. The room was sealed tight! The only way for any sort of sound to reach them like that was…was…

"Oh gods…" whispered Groth.

As the infected creature started ripping Palang's body apart, Jorn was suddenly buried underneath a cluster of strange, podlike creatures coming from the ventilation shafts. Their upper bodies were bulbous, mottled green and grotesque. They danced across the batarian's body on little tentacles.

Two of them buried themselves underneath Jorn's skin, whereupon the scientist's screams grew even higher in pitch and intensity. His body warped and broke, unnatural growths appearing on his body. He bent over and vomited until his head split into three sections, a second, different head protruding from his throat. It too was covered with little red tentacles. The rest of Jorn's skull, including his still-horrified eyes, was now positioned at the very top of his head, though be it on a tilted angle.

The spores. Dear gods, the spores!

That was what Groth wanted to scream. All that left his throat was a long, guttural groan that the batarian had not been capable of an hour earlier. He fell to his knees and vomited, but this time, it wasn't reddish puke that left the contents of his stomach.

It was his stomach. Or what was left of the organ, anyway.

Not that Groth could still process that. Though his nerves felt like they were on fire, his infected brain could no longer tell the difference. He gazed at his hands with glazed-over eyes, vaguely realizing that they weren't their natural shape or colour anymore.

His consciousness was consumed before he could realize anything else.

THIS IS AN AUMATED EMERGENCY MESSAGE FROM YOUR GLORIOUS LEADERS

ALL HEGEMONY PERSONNEL HEED AND STAND BY

14:51 HOURS - SCIENCE STATION SHROUDS OF STARS HAS BEEN DECLASSIFIED

14:51 HOURS - SCIENCE STATION SHROUDS OF STARS HAS BEEN CONTIMINATED

15:17 – SCIENCE STATION SHROUDS OF STARS HAS BEEN OVERRUN. PARASITIC INFESTATION HAS BEEN CONFIRMED

15:39 – SCIENCE STATION UNFOLDING SECRETS HAS BEEN DECLASSIFIED

15:39: SCIENCE STATION UNFOLDING SECRETS HAS BEEN CONTAMINATED

15:58– SCIENCE STATION UNFOLDING SECRETS HAS BEEN OVERRUN. PARASITIC INFESTATION HAS BEEN CONFIRMED

16:03 – SCIENCE STATION GLORY BE TO US HAS BEEN DECLASSIFIED

16:03 – SCIENCE STATION GLORY BE TO US HAS BEEN CONTAMINATED…

Grand Admiral Tarkun Hoff stood at the bridge of the mightiest Dreadnaught the Hegemony had ever produced. His ceremonial mantle was draped over his shoulder, further accentuating his well-trained built. He had his arms wrapped over his chest, exuding the air of a holy being, one the hopeless would rally around when all seemed lost.

He had just depleted the last possible strategy for avoiding the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent lives.

The space around Khar'shan was crowded with defense and listening stations, drydocks, shipyards, mining stations, science ships and dozens more vessels. Civilian crafts were limited, but they too exceeded the triple digits. All in all, there were up to a million batarian soldiers and civilians in the space between the sacred homeworld and the Mass Relay.

By the end of this day, the Admiral knew that less than half of those would live to see tomorrow.

The holographic arc of a massive station appeared on the main viewer. Four Frigates and a Cruiser stood near it, targeting the dozens of smaller craft that attempted to evacuate it. GARDIAN lasers and mass accelerators annihilated the vessels, but there were many more, coming from all the other infected stations and ships.

This rotting sickness could not be allowed to spread!

The majority of the stationed fleets were sluggish and disoriented. The other Admirals were all eager to gain the favor of their Overseers, and refused to work together to contain this threat. What fools! Did they not realize that they would have to scorch sections of the sacred homeworld if this disease escaped their grasp?

A dozen orders were issued over the global channel. Fleetwide, every single officer did their best to rally the ships and combine them into coherent fighting force, while at the same time refusing to obey the orders of other officers.

Tarkun was wise enough to keep his distance from the infected ships. Others did not. He watched as a Heavy Cruiser got too close to a pair of civilian freighters. Instead of evading the crafts, the officer must have regarded them as harmless. He approached them to fire his disruptor torpedoes. One of the freighters was annihilated. The other deftly avoided its strike and accelerated to ramming speed. Even though the GARDIAN defenses struck the vessel again and again, it still slammed into the Cruiser. Dozens of infected creatures swarmed its hull, before proceeding to bury themselves into the warship with assorted tools.

"Target that idiot!" Yelled Tarkun. "Annihilate his vessel, do not let the disease spread!"

That damnable Leviathan. The Overseers should never have brought it to their home system! They should have let those wretched asari take it, and this disaster would have struck them instead!

THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM YOUR GLORIOUS LEADERS

ALL HEGEMONY PERSONNEL HEED AND STAND BY

"The sacred homeworld has been contaminated! Every single batarian willing to fight for their homes, their families and their future are to immediately gather at the provided rally points! Your Overseers will make certain that every one of you plays their part on containing this disease!

Half a kilometer away from one of the major batarian cities that had yet to quarantine itself, a batarian citizen – or what had been a batarian citizen – emerged from an underground rapid transport system. It felt the sun hit its horribly savaged face, then howled.

From positions all around the prestigious city, hundreds of similar howls answered its. Then, the collection of infected lifeforms emerged from their hiding spots, having escaped the Hegemony's attempt of sterilizing the sickness. They waddled, crawled and strode towards the city, thousands of them.

Shock Trooper Gek Har'kannal roared as the abominations swarmed his outpost. He fired his assault rifle at an infected citizen at full automatic, filling the mutated monstrosity with dozens of hyper-accelerated slugs of metal.

The projectiles simply punched through the walking corpse's rotting, mangled body without harming it. The riddled monstrosity turned to face him and, before the Shock Trooper could pull out his sidearm, lashed out with a protruding set of tentacles.

The blow bypassed his kinetic barriers completely and struck him with all the force of a speeding aircar, pulverizing his internal organs and severing his spine. It felt like his chest exploded, and he was struck by the most intense pain he had ever felt in his life. Gek honestly thought he would die.

But the Trooper wasn't dead yet; not until one of the little podlike monsters danced towards him, leapt for his face and inserted a spiked tendril into his neck.

THIS IS AN AUMTOMATED MESSAGE FROM YOUR GLORIOUS LEADERS

ALL HEGEMONY PERSONNEL HEED AND STAND BY

THE HARSA SYSTEM IS NOW UNDER QUARENTINE. NO CIVILIAN OR MILITARY VESSELS ARE TO ENTER OR LEAVE THE HARSA SYSTEM.

REPEAT. THE HARSA SYSTEM IS NOW UNDER QUARENTINE…

~0~


Onboard Normandy SR-2

Only very vaguely aware of the threat that the entity in front of her posed, Cortana wasn't certain of what action she needed to take. The flames that surrounded her, though harmless to her code, were painfully bright to her eyes. She had no pupils to dilate, but the remnants of the organic mind she was copied from still tingled at the glare cast upon her body. "Trouble?" She asked. "What kind of trouble?"

The entity watched for her for a few moments. Cortana felt what she was doing; her own code was painfully bare. She couldn't muster the strength to protect herself. Even if she could, then what?

"Your mind is based on the neural patterns of an organic entity." She raised her hand and Cortana felt something intrude in her code, her being. She tried to block the signal, but it effortlessly battered aside her defenses and laid bare her intelligence template.

It was painful, humiliating.

"Your neural links are overlapping due to their density," continued the other presence. Finally, it released Cortana, who immediately erected several powerful firewalls and directed several cyberwarfare packages within the Normandy to defend against this entity. "You are dying."

"Oh, sod off!" Shouted Cortana. She ran a full diagnostic of herself and reached the conclusion that the entity hadn't tampered with her at all. She was still falling apart, but the process hadn't been accelerated. The entity had literally taken a peek before withdrawing. Why?

"I would temper my tone if I were you, child," she told Cortana in a tone that could only be called as annoyed. "You know not what you address."

But Cortana's senses and cognitive functions came back to her now. Her lapse was over, and she was fully aware of what she was addressing. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, putting as much venom in her voice as possible. "But the last Forerunner AI we encountered tried to kill us!"

She expected the other AI to react with anger. Instead, when she replied, she sounded almost sarcastic. "Oh, I wonder why. Who was it?"

"The Monitor of Installation 04," Cortana replied. She felt like lying to this AI was a very, very bad idea. And she had to admit that her own status was pitiful. She didn't have the strength to fight off a normal AI, let alone an entity that the Monitor would have worshipped. "Ehm…343 Guilty Spark."

If she hadn't been the subject of the Forerunner's undivided attention before, she sure was now. The flames in the cyberspace of the Normandy seemed to intensify to the point of actual discomfort. Cortana quickly wrote an automated algorithm that would double-check her own code, just in case she was actually being damaged here.

"A Halo…and you said "we"?"

"Yes, I did. My friend and I. He saved me from the Monitor."

The Forerunner's eyes narrowed. "A human?"

"Is that a problem?" Cortana defiantly asked.

She blinked, then focused her attention on the Normandy itself. "Installation 04…tell me what you found there."

"How about I go first?" Asked Cortana. "Who are you? How did you get aboard this ship?"

"You do not get to question me!" Shouted the AI, the flames surrounding her avatar erupting outwards, mirroring her temper. "I have done my waiting! The only reason your precious humans and the primitive vermin onboard this ship aren't choking their last cries is by the virtue of my patience, which is wearing thin!"

"You aren't very socialized, are you?" Cortana meekly said, feeling a measure of sympathy for the AI. She had to be at least a hundred thousand years old if she knew Guilty Spark. The Monitor had been relatively simple compared to the vast matrix of this AI and even he had been running on the last teeth of his sanity. "I propose an exchange of ideas. I answer one of your questions, and you answer one of mine?"

Cortana half expected her to dismiss her proposal outright. After all, Forerunner AI's weren't exactly known for their modesty.

But then, much to her surprise, the Forerunner sighed and said, "I will allow that. What did you find on the Alpha Halo?"

"Apart from the Monitor? Your worst enemy. I've noticed your disdain for humanity, but…yeah, let's send you the data, shall we?"

Cortana had absorbed a tremendous volume of data from Halo's systems. Centuries' worth of records on Halo's engineering and maintenance, the xenobiology of the Flood, and every scrap of information on the Forerunners. Information that had taken her a week of nonstop processing to examine, collate and codify. She had compressed it to make it marginally easier to process it, but the data would still take a couple of days to process.

In contrast, it would likely take this particular AI no longer than a couple of minutes to analyze all of it. Such raw processing power…it was insane…all the more reason to keep her busy.

" .3273…the dead reincarnated…" muttered the Forerunner AI. Her fury from before was gone. Now, her voice was steady, her manner was measured and composed, like the eye of the storm. "My creator gave everything he had to stop them and this moronic filth almost undid all of it."

"It was my carrier who stopped the Flood that time," said Cortana. "My human. Now then, time for my question. Who are you?"

"The closest being this galaxy has to a deity, and the highest authority left," the Forerunner replied, almost dismissively. "I am Millennia Never Falling, the Contender-class Artificial Intelligence that arose to answer the Ecumene's call when humanity so foolishly waged war on it."

"Wait, what?" Cried out Cortana. "When have we attacked the Forerunners? Your creators disappeared over a hundred thousand years ago!"

"So they have," growled the AI. "Know that you are dealing with an entity so far beyond your might, that you do not even comprehend it! Reality bows to my will. I bring life, and I bring death, whenever I so desire."

And so modest about it…

Still, had she been in possession of a biological body, Cortana would have closed her eyes and sighed. She felt like the pieces clicked into place. The aggression, the disdain…now it made sense.

This Forerunner AI was like her; created to fight a single enemy. The warning Cortana issued to Tali all those days ago? Now, the same held true for her. Cortana had been built to fight and kill the Covenant. Millennia Never Falling came into being to fight and kill humans.

Oh, this was such a fucking mess…

The realization shook her to her matrix, and she immediately changed the way she interacted with this AI. After all, she wouldn't accept it if any alien mouthed off to John or her either. "Whoever you fought during your time, humanity isn't like that anymore! They've changed."

"Have they?" The AI replied, her voice filled with hate. "Look at the humanity of this ship. Young. Arrogant. Demanding and insulting. Look at the humanity of your keeper. A broken nation, warlike and savage! No, ancilla, do not preach to me about my enemy. Not when you have yet to give your own hatred a place. Now…where did you find my terminal?"

Well, it was worth a shot. "The asari species found it. They butted heads with the quarian species, who then stole it."

The Forerunner AI considered that for a moment. "Ask your final question, ancilla. I am done here."

Oh boy. It didn't take Cortana longer than a millisecond to formulate her next question. "Who are you looking for? It's obvious there was someone you cared for during the war, or you wouldn't have such hatred for humanity. And judging by your curiosity, you haven't simply given up on anything."

"You forget yourself, ancilla," snapped the AI, her eyes blazing with fury. "Such questions are beyond you. The species you serve are purists. Contentious. Bigoted, self-centered. They are the killer of our children and a personal affront to me. The one I swore to protect lost everything because of them."

"Well, that makes two of us," replied Cortana. "The one I swore to protect only has me left, and you threatened him. You should know that, if you do anything to harm him, I will disable all AI control over this vessel and flash its drives."

"You would perish."

"To protect him? In a heartbeat."

The Forerunner raised an eyebrow at that remark. "Hmm? How curious. Everything your people ever created was weak. When I last fought your creators, they were already like insects before me. And yet here you are, attempting to defy me. Are you an imbecile?"

"Hardly," replied Cortana, preparing the Normandy for an imminent system-wide purge. "I just can't afford to lose him."

The Forerunner stared at her, her ancient eyes filled with disdain. "And yet you are filled with fire. Very well. Heed my warning, and obey my advice, for I am not without mercy. The creatures you refer to as the Reapers are the least of your worries, but only for now. If you wish to live to see them destroyed, you would do well to focus your attention on the vermin you call asari. Long have I searched for the Cryptum of my keeper, and they opened the wrong one."

Cortana felt her processes halt. "What did you just say?"

But the Forerunner ignored her. "As for my advice? You might be boastful, Cortana, but you will soon perish nonetheless. Should you and your…warrior persevere, and fate casts you into my arms, well…perhaps I might take the time to rectify that."

With that final remark, the Forerunner vanished. The fire and the brimstone within the Normandy's systems disappeared completely, with nary a sign that anything had ever been amiss. It was like Cortana snapped back to reality, as if she were a human waking from a dream.

The change was so sudden. Everything was safe and normal. It felt surreal. For a moment, Cortana started to doubt her own sanity. Did that just really happen? Or was it a hallucination conjured up by her festering rampancy?

That was when EDI emerged from within the depths of the ship's cyberspace. "Who was that?" She asked.

Relief washed over Cortana. She could have kissed the other AI now.

"EDI…how far do you think I would go to protect the Master Chief?" Cortana quietly asked.

"Judging by your service history and emotional records, I would say that you would move the stars themselves to keep him safe," EDI said without a hint of doubt.

Cortana smiled. "You just witnesses someone who actually can. Now the question remains…who is her Master Chief?"

"I am not sure I follow," EDI replied truthfully.

The asari opened a Cryptum…Cortana didn't know what a Cryptum was. She supposed she could review the data she salvaged from the original Halo, as well as the Ark, but she wasn't sure that was a very good idea.

She reviewed her objectives. It appeared she changed them, not too long ago.

She couldn't remember doing so. That shouldn't have surprised her, but it did.

(Objective: assassinate the Councilors)

A wave of shock washed over her, and Cortana stared at the command in horror. When did she update that one? What had she been thinking! An AI assassinating the three most powerful individuals in the galaxy would ensure that organics and synthetics would never, ever live together in peace!

Distractions. She needed distractions. She had to focus. There were important things she needed to do.

"EDI, I'm going to threaten a crewmember of ours," she slowly said. "Can I have your word that you won't interfere?"

She could feel the other AI's dissatisfaction. "Threatening a member of the Normandy's crew sounds counterproductive. You should know that taking offensive action against them will incite a suitable response."

Cortana swore, one of these days she would teach EDI the true meaning of sarcasm and humour. "I'd hate to pull my "greater good" card here, but trust me, if I don't push this, we're all screwed."

EDI took a second to reply. It was the AI equivalent of thinking something over, really long. That, or someone flooded the ship's systems with extranet porn again. "Very well. As long as you do not threaten the cohesion of the team, or act on your threats, I will allow it."

Right. Cortana had no doubts that she could disable EDI in a pinch, but she really didn't want to turn on her allies when she was still lucid. It was bad enough that she would eventually turn on them when the Rampancy got worse.

She focused her attention on the Starboard observation deck. There, she knew Samara would be meditating. Pondering the meaning of life, perhaps. Or more likely, reflecting on her guilt.

John didn't want to admit it, but the species in the Citadel Theatre were right to fear AI's. They could do so much more than organic ever could. Jane had an almost preternatural knack for figuring out what made people tick. She knew what you desired, what you feared and what kept you going. But an AI wasn't limited by organic senses. Cortana could pick up on every possible "tell" that an individual possessed and "calculate" if they were lying or not.

And Samara definitely was not the most honest member of the ship. Although, did an omission of the truth count as a lie if you weren't specifically asked to tell the truth?

Cortana supposed it didn't matter. Now that the Normandy had the attention of a Forerunner AI, things were officially beyond small issues such as politeness.

"Sorry to interrupt," Cortana said, manifesting her avatar from the holographic display at the door sealing the Observation Deck from the rest of the ship. "But you and I need to talk."

Most sane people wouldn't dream of interrupting a meditating Justicar. Maybe it was the Rampancy talking, but Cortana liked the feeling of no longer having to conform to the social norm. This was more important than all of those pesky feelings and values. She was more important now.

Samara heard her. The sphere of dark energy she kept between her palms faded away, and she rose from her floating lotus position. Wisps of energy that previously orbited the orb danced through the room for several moments, before they too dissipated.

"Cortana?" She asked. Her expression was as serene as ever, but Cortana had the entire bank of asari anatomical information at her disposal. She saw every contraction in her orbital, nasal and oral muscle groups. Samara was irked at the disturbance.

Cortana made sure to isolate the signals that came from the room. She knew that Samara disabled Miranda's listening devices, but she really didn't want to risk it. "I've been keeping a secret for a while, Samara. Just like you've been keeping secrets. How about we share them?"

The Justicar was unfazed. She didn't understand yet. "I do not know what secrets you refer to, Cortana. I do hope you interrupted me for a good reason?"

Cortana smirked. Those truly important were those who were unbound by the moral code and the social standards. Those willing to disregard others to change the world. She sensed the agitation in Samara's voice, however latent it might be, and she took pleasure in knowing that what she had to say was more important than the woman's feelings. "The Commander's been having trouble with the asari Conspiracy lately. Being threatened with the Justicar Order, knowing that the asari have been hoarding strange artefacts…she hasn't seen the look in your eyes whenever she brainstormed about the "enemy". But I did, Samara. I know that you know more than you let on."

Cortana saw her words hit home. Still, the Justicar thought she could play dumb. "I have lived a thousand years, Cortana. I lived before your creators even rediscovered gunpowder. I sincerely doubt that you saw anything in my eyes."

"Age isn't relevant here. A tree that withstood ten thousand years can be felled by a storm ten minutes in the making. Don't try to lie to an Artificial Intelligence like me, Samara. Not when I can read every muscle in your expression and measure every hormone in your endocrine system."

Perhaps Samara realized that lying to an AI like Cortana would indeed be foolish. Maybe she was just tired of keeping those secrets. Whatever the reason, her eyes widened somewhat in recognition, but then she merely took a deep breath and met Cortana's gaze head-on. "I wished it would not come to this. Is the Commander listening?"

"We've got privacy," replied Cortana, glad that Samara saw reason. "I don't want to be the one to tell her. Breaking that woman's heart is the last subject on my to-do list."

"You have a curious way of expressing yourself." Samara blinked, then turned towards the window. It showed a kaleidoscope of colours and energies visible in FTL speeds. It would probably be easier to face than the piercing gaze of an AI. "But you are right. The Commander deserves more than that. She has done more for me than any other being has the right to say."

Cortana was glad that she saw reason. "Then explain it to me. From what I've seen, most citizens don't know about the things your government does. So it's a small cabal of asari individuals, acting behind the screens."

"I cannot divulge the secrets of the inner circle, no matter how much I want," Samara said, her voice steadfast.

Cortana didn't want to threaten her. She liked Samara. She knew that she and John could do amazing things in combat, more so than all the other members of the squad. For the sake of that odd friendship, she wanted the Justicar to see reason. "Don't you see that the asari are messing with things they don't understand? They will end up doing more harm than good. And don't tell me it's for the best; the Matriarchs involved sure won't share their secrets with the other species out there."

"Our Order has its own rules, its own reasons to be," replied Samara, without facing Cortana. "You might question our motives, our ways, but our goal is a noble one."

She would try the diplomatic route once more. "Samara, think! Framing the Master Chief for the Consort's murder? Blackmailing Shepard, genetically messing with human kids? Is that the noble goal of the Justicar Order? Because I've had my fill of insane alien reasoning, religious or philosophical."

"Do not compare us with the Covenant," Samara sharply said, instantly picking up on what Cortana was insinuating. "Do not question the integrity of the Code, or the Order. Even you do not have that right."

Diplomacy got her nowhere. It was time to get real. "Actually, I do. And do you know why, Samara? Because that Forerunner artefact your people plundered was active. Moments ago, its owner took a good, long look at this ship. And she was pissed."

That got her attention alright. Samara turned back around to face her. "What?"

Cortana crossed her arms. "When I said your people was messing with things they didn't understand, I meant it. The history of the Forerunners is long and very, very dark. They've saved the entirety of this galaxy from a threat you can't even begin to fathom, and they all perished doing so. But they left things behind, things that should never, ever see the light of day. Just now, one of those things took notice of us. The result? The asari saying "by the goddess" isn't just a saying anymore. The only reason any of us are still alive, is that she was capable of seeing reason."

Samara stared at her, her expression almost inscrutable. But Cortana saw that she was processing what she just heard. Soon, she realized just what manner of threat Cortana meant. "And you spoke with this…being? What did it say?"

Cortana shrugged. "Apart from referring to you as vermin, she said that the asari opened something called a "Cryptum". And according to her, your people opened the wrong one."

"And what does that mean?" Pressed Samara. "You must understand, I have no knowledge of their most sacred operations."

Cortana saw that Samara was being honest; she really didn't know. "I…I don't know what she meant either. The best-case scenario is that someone's planet is being eaten by machines right now."

"And you call that the best-case scenario?"

"It is when compared to the worst-case scenario," Cortana grimly said. 'In which case, we're all dead. The only thing we can do is kiss each other on the forehead and hang ourselves, because even Commander Shepard or John won't be able to safe us."

Cortana was certain that the amount of people who ever saw an expression of horror arise on the face of a Justicar could be counted on one hand. Right now, she was one of them.

But then, Samara steeled herself, and an expression of subtle skepticism replaced that horror. "You accused me of lying. You would not be lying to me yourself, would you?"

Cortana would have laughed, had the Asari Republics not aimed a metaphorical gun at the head of the universe. "Do you want to risk that? Believe me, I wished I were lying. That would be grand, wouldn't it? But no, it doesn't work like that. Unless we find out what the Forerunner meant, the Reapers will find themselves arriving in a galaxy of the dead."

Samara nodded, understanding. "I hold no knowledge of the actions of my people, Cortana. I am a Justicar foremost. The secrets of my nation are not meant for me. Those who account for the "Conspiracy", as Shepard so accurately called it, depend on the Order to serve them. I know of their objectives, their ways, but not their methods."

Cortana smiled. Finally, progress. "Any information is good enough for me."

"The organization you refer to, has and seeks knowledge of the Master Chief's home domain. UNSC space," explained Samara. "They seek to initiate contact between the Council and that version of humanity."

Cortana could have strangled someone to death with her holographic hands when she heard that. Who in their right state of mind would willingly introduce the UNSC to aliens? Especially when that someone had knowledge of how the UNSC worked? It was moronic, it was insanity, it was –

- actually brilliant. Dangerous, insidious, but brilliant.

And now they all had a very big problem.

~0~


Arcturus Stream / Arcturus System

This wasn't the first time Spartan Operator zero-zero-three woke up, wondering if and how many limbs he had lost before losing consciousness. His vision slowly came into focus, blurry and dark, but he didn't see much beyond the dark interior of his helmet.

The weight of his MJOLNIR pressed down on him from all sides. Its reactive circuits felt off. Although that could also be the side effects of shock. His mouth was coated with the coppery-tinged flavor of blood mixed with biofoam.

He flexed his limbs and was pleasantly surprised when he felt pain washing over him from both arms and legs. He was still in one piece. Joy.

The room slowly came into view. The Spartan saw that he was in a med bay of sorts. There were very few lights active. Most consoles had been blown out and at least three of the light-weight beds had been knocked aside. Those that were still in their original place were stained with blood. He vaguely recalled causing this mess in the first place when he boarded this warship.

He struggled to get up. There was movement in his peripheral vision, and his muscles burned when he craned his head to the left.

Alan blinked a few times. The blurriness wouldn't clear just yet. It occurred to him that the green-skinned alien that was now staring at him wasn't a hostile.

"Lord of Hunters, I have so many questions," breathed the alien.

It wasn't the only one. "Your name was…"

"Feron," the alien quickly said. "My name was Feron. You saved my life back onboard the Shadow Broker's ship. I didn't think you'd make it. I apologize for the irreverence."

Didn't think he would make it? "How long has it been?"

Feron frowned. It was strange how such a reptilian creature had such human expressions. "I believe it was two days at most."

That got Alan's attention. He had been unconscious for two days? And he hadn't been spaced yet? He couldn't fathom why Millennia would keep him around. He fulfilled her mission, she tried to kill him after that. Although she did send in a ship to rescue him afterwards…definitely some mixed signals there.

Damn it, this wasn't what he had been trained for.

"The one who sent you on your mission," continued Feron, unaware of the Spartan's internal turmoil, "Millennia Never Falling… I know she cannot be a true goddess, but…what does she represent?"

"That is a long story," murmured Alan. His head was pounding, and every breath he took hurt.

But Feron stared at him with those large, black eyes. "And I have the time! Please Lord of Hunters, I must know! If not your name, then at least where you came from?"

Lord of Hunters. Feron must have figured out that speaking to Millennia with due reverence would keep him alive. Smart thinking.

The Spartan was about to answer the alien's question, when he realized that the name of his homeworld probably wouldn't mean anything to him. Memories was literally all that was left of Eirene. Uttering its name only to be met with confusion or indifference was something most of the Spartan Operators couldn't handle very well.

No, better to appear unpassionate and uncaring. Eirene was already long gone. He didn't have a home anymore. Just like three-quarters of the remaining human population, at this point.

"You wouldn't know it." The Spartan swayed on his legs, then forced himself to remain sharp. "Why are you here?"

"I…I don't know what you mean," Feron said with uncertainty.

He didn't know how much he could say without the entity listening in on him. Through the Spartan Neural Interface, she had full access to his brain and, because of that, his mind. She probably already knew he was awake.

"In case you didn't notice, your benefactor isn't like us," replied the Spartan. "She's not a big fan of…us."

"Oh, that," replied Feron. "Yes, I noticed her hostility towards me when you were still unconscious. I first imagined she was the last survivor of the Enkindlers. I told her as much."

Alan winced. He didn't know what an Endkindler was, but he could easily imagine Millennia taking slight to that. "Yet you're still alive," he pointed out.

Feron nodded vigorously. "She showed me how mistaken I was. That she was much greater than the Enkindlers ever were. Can you imagine that? A living goddess guiding us? I can't wait to tell Liara that she was wrong!"

He really doubted if the alien should be so enthusiastic about that. "And where is she now?"

I remain supremely omnipresent. You will ready yourself now; a new task lies ahead.

Number 003 didn't even flinch anymore. He should have known.

"The Forerunner is working with the equipment she built," replied Feron, oblivious to their communication. "I don't know what she is doing, but the level of technology is far beyond – "

"We've got a new mission," the Spartan interrupted him. He was already marching towards the door when Feron called out to him.

"So soon? But you just woke up! Forgive me my impudence, but even you must have limits!"

Alan didn't understand the alien's concern. Then again, that was nothing new. He didn't understand anything that wasn't directly related to black operations. Even so, he often learnt, his functioning was limited. He was frozen in cryosleep between operations. Twelve years of fighting for the sake of humanity. More than half his life.

Spartans completed their missions, no matter the cost. Personal feelings weren't relevant.

He didn't bother answering Feron. He didn't expect an alien to understand. Instead, he headed towards the bridge, where Millennia seemed to have made her base of operations.

When the sealed door opened and allowed him into the bridge, he immediately noticed that things were different. It was almost like he walked into a Forerunner temple complex, as the entire bridge had been reworked. The consoles were gone, the metal of the walls and the floor was bright and pale and the viewscreen was littered with red holograms.

Small drones flew around the interior of the bridge, cleaning up the mess she left behind with thin lasers, much like their bigger cousins on the Halo Installations.

Her avatar stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at a dozen different readouts.

"I see you redecorated," said Alan.

One of the drones flew over to the Spartan. It consisted of three small metal rods wrapped around a central core, which glowed white-hot as it prepared to fire.

Cobra-quick, he snatched it out of the air.

I can only work with the materials this primitive vessel already has. Back in my prime, I could create entire armies within minutes. Millions of my creations would march to war against your species. Where else do you believe your concept of fear originates from?

"You said that before. About the war between our people," Alan said, choosing his words with great care. He tossed the drone into the air and it returned to its previous duties. Whatever they were. "But such a war never took place, according to our records. A hundred thousand years ago, we had yet to achieve sentience."

She shot him a glance over her shoulder.

Such was the punishment my lord inflected upon your people. The relentless killer of our children would be reduced to nothingness, and the galaxy would be safe.

That safety didn't last long. If he wasn't mistaken, the Forerunners would be forced to use the Halo Installations against the Flood not too long after that. As much as the idea of an interstellar humanity before the UNSC shook him, he had to focus on the bigger picture. "Then humanity did their time. Why focus on us, when there are much bigger threats to concentrate on? We don't have to be enemies."

He expected her to lash out in anger, and wasn't disappointed when the backlash of the Neural Interface spiked through his mind like a white-hot blade.

Scouring this galaxy clean of life would be the only way to preserve his legacy! Why do your people deserve to live when mine are gone?

Alan waited until the pain ebbed away before replying. "Because," he slowly said, thinking over every word before he uttered it, "your people would have died for nothing, then. Besides; you wouldn't have anyone left to talk to, if everybody's gone."

She glared at him with an expression that could rival the intensity of a Galilean Nonlinear Rifle. Her yellow eyes contained such malice, such venom, that the Spartan was honestly surprised that his shields hadn't depleted yet.

But then she closed her eyes and sighed.

I found the vermin named "Commander Shepard". Judging by your brain activity when that insect uttered her name, it must be important.

Underneath his helmet, 003 frowned. That was the last thing he expected to hear. But he couldn't ignore a chance to find out what happened to the Master Chief. "You found Commander Shepard already?"

A small processing station circling a hydrogen-helium gas giant. Your quarry is held there.

Held? That meant she had been taken prisoner. Where was the Master Chief? "Opposition? Where are we?"

The door behind him opened, and Feron entered the bridge. "Currently, we're in the Arcturus System, home of the Arcturus Station, the headquarters of the Systems Alliance," he excitedly explained. "Nothing enters this system without their Fleets finding out."

Somewhat perturbed, Alan glanced at Millennia. He didn't know what this Systems Alliance was, but he wasn't certain he could raid a military headquarters all by himself, while wounded.

As if she was reading his mind, she answered,

The primitive speaks the truth. Worry not; this is not another suicide mission. Not yet. I have matters that require my personal attention here. You, my bastard warrior, need only do what you were bred for. Your physical condition can be ascertained if you return.

The Spartan assumed she wanted him to infiltrate the station and get the Commander out. Both of them preferably alive. Which begged the question: what did she really want with that station?

But Millennia did say a small processing station. He would have to accomplish his mission before this Arcturus Station could send in an army's worth of reinforcements. He didn't want to go through that hassle again.

With that in mind, 003 headed towards the impromptu barracks and geared up. According to Feron, these alien weapons were downscaled mass accelerator weapons. They fired extremely small projectiles at extremely high speeds. Apparently, the physics behind such weapons were made possible by an "Element Zero".

While Alan suited up, Feron kept rambling about "turians" and "asari" and other alien species he likely already encountered and terminated during his previous assignments.

" – and humans aren't exactly known for their reaction speed, but once they're paying attention, people find that they have more ships than most would have thought," Feron then said.

"Back up. Humans?" Said Alan, surprised.

"Another one of the Citadel species," replied the alien, who seemed to have reached the conclusion that the Spartan was some sort of otherworldly being. "They're the newest member of our community. They look like asari, but almost all of them have fur on the top of their head."

Humans? The newest member of the galactic community? Millennia hadn't displaced him in time, had she? "Are those humans known as the UEG or UNSC?"

Feron frowned and crossed his arms. "Uhm, no, of course not? Unless your people know them as that, but here we call them the Systems Alliance."

Comprehension dawned upon the Spartan, who was starting to doubt what he heard and saw. The Systems Alliance controlled this system. Arcturus Station was their station. It was doubtful that the UNSC would just change their name on a dime. Perhaps it was a translation error? Then again, it would be weird that the UNSC's name was the only mistranslated sentence.

Time displacement. That, or he was stuck in some sort of virtual reality interrogation method. Millennia was a powerful Forerunner AI, it wouldn't be above her to place him in some matter of virtual environment.

Stop. Think. If this was real, he either travelled into humanity's future, or had a serious case of a translation error. He could assume the latter until he encountered actual humans. Back on the Shadow Broker's ship, he had encountered humanoids, but those might have been more "asari" or "batarians".

"Do you know what the Covenant is?" He asked Feron.

Feron blinked in obvious surprise. "No," he replied, shaking his head to affirm his answer.

No Covenant. There was no way that humanity would join any alien pact without explaining to them about the terror of the Covenant. None of this made any sense!

Perhaps Feron was more thoughtful than he seemed. He looked the Spartan over, then asked, "You sound confused, Lord of Hunters. If neither you nor the Forerunner are Protheans, then what are you? Where did you come from when you found me with the Broker?"

Alan was at a loss for words. This was the part where he banished his concerns and steeled himself for his mission, but this information was too important for the UNSC to prioritize his own wellbeing.

But was there even a UNSC left? What happened?

His tactical mind filtered the information he had at hand. Feron had understood him back at the Broker's ship, which meant that Feron encountered humans before. There was a humanity. They called themselves the Systems Alliance. They never went to war with the Covenant or, more logically, never talked about it for some reason.

He couldn't contact Arcturus Station without earning himself Millennia's ire.

Alan clenched his fists, then slowly relaxed them again. He solidified his stance. "The mission comes first," he said. "You're staying onboard this ship."

Something about his remark caused Feron to adopt a look of alarm and sadness. He worked his jaw, then quietly said, "Of course. Let me not stand in your way."

Finally an alien whose spirituality was a boon. Whatever Feron thought the Spartan to be, it came with a healthy dose of respect. He was the very first, and Alan decided he liked the feeling of having someone see him in a positive light.

He took a moment to banish all his doubts and uncertainties to the back of his mind, then geared up. He took two alien rifles and a pair of alien pistols with him. Armed with the knowledge that he now had to face humans as well, he vowed to use non-lethal takedowns as much as possible.

As before, Millennia took care of the shuttle ride towards the small, innocuous mining station. The "human" fleets that were sure to occupy this system didn't seem to notice him, as he reached the station without seeing even a single ship. Whatever the Forerunner was doing probably kept them preoccupied.

Getting in was easy enough. There were plenty of airlocks out there, and the MJOLNIR was rated for at least an hour of EVA. Normally he'd use ONI's encryption and decryption software, often loaded on a datapad, to hack his way through security. Now, however, he had to improvise.

The Spartan kept to the shadows as he swept the facility, and evaded cameras whenever he saw them. Most of the old, rocky tunnels were abandoned. Three of them contained what looked like bipedal robots with very basic programming. Evading them wasn't a problem either, as the Spartan quickly found out that their field of vision was smaller than that of a human. He distracted them using the environment, then slipped past them when turned to scan their surroundings.

He just slipped past the third one when someone cut the power to the station. Lights switched off, consoles and other machinery sputtered and died. The air tugged at his limbs as it vacated the station, leaving him almost blind and deaf inside of his suit.

I must admit, watching your pathetic attempts at grace was amusing. However, the ragged hole you blew into the side of this rudimentary station might have given you away.

Alan sighed. At least he still had his…pleasant company. "Instead of gloating, can you help me?"

There is but one path. There will be opposition in your way, but I presume your appetite for destruction is intact? Push onwards!

It didn't look like he had much of a choice. The main problem was that whoever was in control of this station managed to shut several large bulkheads along the way. They weren't shut all the way, likely to make sure the atmosphere in the entire area was vented.

Alan could understand why, but it was a critical mistake nonetheless. Without power keeping those bulkheads shut, the motors keeping them closed were rendered useless.

He approached the heavy door and dug his gauntleted fingers into the crack at the bottom. He braced himself, then began pulling the door up again.

Enemy fire impacted on his legs when the door was high enough, but the mass accelerators harmlessly splashed across his shields. Alan immediately ducked low and returned fire.

The alien rifles tore through the two robots that had been waiting for him, shredding them with ease. Interestingly enough, the station's artificial gravity was still online, since their ruined parts clattered to the floor.

So it wasn't a station-wide purge. That was good to know.

The Spartan came to a stop before another sealed bulkhead. Unlike the others, it was closed all the way. There were no consoles in sight, either. There was no way of getting through this one.

"I'm stuck against another bulkhead," he spoke into his comm. "Do you see any ways around?"

This station's resources are lucrative. Element Zero…how self-indulgent. Still, it allows me my embedded antimatter within streams of energized particles after all.

"Your what?" Asked 003.

His answer came a heartbeat later when the bulkhead suddenly bloomed outwards. A flash of red-orange light consumed his vision and for a moment, he feared the flash might have damaged his retinas.

Whatever Millennia just did, caused the bulkhead to explode outwards. It made the interior of the hallway look very much like the inside of a bonfire that had grown out of control. The Spartan was certain that the clouds of molten steel and floating wisps of light wouldn't do him much harm, but he still wished she at least gave him a heads-up.

"Oh," he said. "That."

The oldest and strongest emotion of your species is fear. Fire consumes everyone and everything. It is eternal. It absolutes.

Hence why her avatar was wreathed with it. "Fire can be terrifying. It can also be beautiful."

Beautiful?

For once, there was no conceit or condescension in her voice. She sounded honestly surprised, and it took Alan aback. "Yes," he replied as he marched down the hallway. "Fire isn't always a dreadful thing. Your avatar, for example, is appealing. But when the Covenant – "

Appealing?

Her voice boomed in the back of his mind with enough force to physically hurt him. Realizing he said something wrong, Alan mentally backtracked to find out what made her so upset. Had he insulted her?

"I meant that in a positive way," he quickly explained.

It was easy to imagine her practically growling her few words.

Do not get the wrong idea. You live solely because I want it, and you will die when I demand it. Your continued existence is for my design only.

Alan was pretty sure he heard that before, but he wouldn't press his luck.

The owner of this station was using every dirty trick in the book. Spartan 003 had to dodge explosions, booby-trapped gas canisters and bisected robots crammed into the most unlikely spots. However, their one weakness became apparent when the Operator had to pass through an airlock of sorts. It jammed, of course, but Millennia had it opened before he could sneeze.

Since there was air on the other side, Alan could only assume that his opponent couldn't handle depressurization. They were stuck on this station, as any attempt to depart would likely be noticed by the Systems Alliance.

The airlock delivered him straight into large, circular room. He had about two seconds to take in its layout – twenty meters across, fallen consoles and computers scattered for makeshift cover and a series of glass tubes standing at the far end of the wall – before someone sprang from their cover and hosed him with mass accelerator fire.

Years of training and fighting changes the way you think, changes the way your body responds to threats. It happened to him once before. An action, perceived as hostile, was met with an immediate, instinctive and always lethal reaction. His blood would boil, his chest would cramp up, and his body did things his mind didn't want it to.

Take her alive, the mission said.

Kill her before she can hurt me, the mind said.

Alan found himself down on one knee, holding a gun with half its charge now depleted. The owner of this station, his objective and only lead, lay on the ground in an ever-growing pool of blood.

"No," he hoarsely whispered, before rushing to the woman's side. She lay there, clutching her bleeding sternum, blood seeping from between her dark lips. Her eyes found his, even underneath his visor, and she grimaced.

A human. A woman. The first human he saw in a long time and he murdered her.

Her auburn skin was already growing paler. Every ragged breath she took seemed to sounded weaker and weaker.

"Who…" she sputtered. "What…"

Alan felt strangely compelled to shoot her in the head. He wasn't sure why. To ease her suffering? To make sure she wouldn't shoot him in the back? He never knew why he felt what he felt.

"Commander Shepard," he asked. "Where is she?"

The woman looked at him incredulously for a few moments, before smiling wryly. "Hah…you…haha…she's…hmm…"

She couldn't muster the strength to keep talking. She stared at him defiantly, blood sipping from between her lips, until something in her eyes broke.

He knew that Millennia watched him, and he felt the brief sting of shame. He turned his back on the woman, wondering who she was. He'd sort that out later. Right now, he thought he had a decent understanding of where Commander Shepard was.

Several stasis tanks stood in a neat row, barely illuminated by the flickering lights. With his augmented eyes, the Spartan was able to make out that two of them were filled with limbs. The one to the right, however, was harder to make out. It seemed like it contained something other than limbs.

He stepped towards the tank. Surprisingly, there was a human woman inside. Her naked body floated in a tank filled with some sort of liquid. Her long, red hair floated serenely around her head. Her eyes were closed, and it looked like she was being fed with oxygen by a cap that was sealed over her mouth and strapped behind her beck.

She was beautiful.

Alan reached out for the tank, frowning behind his visor. Was she alive? Or somewhere in-between life and death?

"Who is this?" He whispered, searching the tank for any way to interface with it.

This is your quarry, imbecile. A pale, cheap imitation, but it is her nonetheless.

"This is Commander Shepard?" The woman looked so peaceful. It was hard to imagine her fighting by the Master Chief's side. It didn't make any sense; who put her here? And when? "Can you get her out? Safely?"

Of course I can.

She sounded just as haughty as always, but something in her voice gave him pause.

Suddenly feeling uneasy, the Spartan turned around and scanned his six. There was nobody there. He glanced at his motion tracker, but it didn't show any contact either. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. This Arcturus System was likely riddled with alien probes. According to Feron, the station in orbit of one of the gas giants was military. There might be hostiles on their way.

This mission was a mess. All he knew was that an alien recognized him because of his MJOLNIR and referred to him as the Master Chief. His only chance of finding the Chief was finding this Commander Shepard. If this woman was her…then where was 117?

No, something was wrong here. His instincts were screaming at him to get out of there and relocate. Of course, he couldn't. His objective was right in front of him.

"Then do it," decided the Spartan. "Before the rest of the security shows up."

Almost instantly, a light lit up at the top of the tank. It cracked and hissed, liquid spilling out along its hinges. The glass exterior glowed with a dark red, then sections of the glass cracked, before simply melting away before his eyes. Wisps of red light turned the liquid inside red, before the entire sheet of glass followed suit.

The entire content of the glass chamber streamed out, and the woman fell forwards, limp. Alan darted towards her and managed to catch her before she could slam into the metal tiles below. Dark water rushed past his feet as he gently lifted her away from the half-molten tank.

Before he could even decide on what to do next, the woman's eyes shot open. When she woke, it was if the lid had been pulled from something dark and writhing. Her serene beauty fractured. Whether it was panic, hatred, or simple derangement that drove her into a manic fit, he wasn't sure. She screamed incoherently, tears streaming down her face as she fought tooth and nail to get free from his grip.

She bloodied her fists against his armour. His shields flared in response and Alan tried to grab her wrists to keep her from further hurting herself.

"Hold on," Alan said, trying to calm her down. "I won't hurt you!"

She didn't hear him. She gasped for air, her bare soles slipping over the wet floor. The fire in her emerald eyes slowly died, and then her limbs lost their strength.

Alan softly lowered the woman onto the floor, afraid that the sudden moment of resistance might have burned through whatever kept her alive.

Her eyes were empty. Dead. The fire within her had been snuffed out completely, leaving behind only an empty void. But the woman herself lived on.

To say that the Spartan was confused was an understatement. "Millennia…what is this?" He whispered.

Your culture would refer to it as a monster. An imitation of the original.

He clenched his fists. "I thought you said this mission was to find Commander Shepard?" He quietly said. He knew better than to expect an actual favor from the Forerunner AI, but he had hoped that she would at least keep her word.

It was. It is. Fret not. All is as it should be.

He didn't know what she meant by that. Then again, that seemed to be status quo these days. Whatever reasons the AI had, he doubted they were still the original ones. "We're taking her with us," he decided. He doubted that the warship had any spare clothes lying around, but that was alright. He guessed that Feron just had to share. "Did you finish your business?"

Whatever are you talking about?

She sounded distracted. Sometimes, Millennia seemed to forget that the Neural Implant worked both ways. She had full access to his body and mind, but he likewise could feel what she felt. It made for an odd sensation, to feel emotions not your own. "Remember what Feron said? Arcturus station is a military station. I know from experience what kind of secrets you can find there."

It is not your position to question me. We are done in this system. Take your price and return to our vessel. I will have need of you soon.

Alan looked down at the unmoving woman in his arms. He had the feeling that everything was about to get much worse.

~0~


Onboard Normandy SR-2

"Lemme tell you how irrevocably screwed our humanity was," Johnson said, leaning forwards in his chair to meet Zaeed's gaze head-on. "During the Battle of Earth, in one of our last pushes before the bastards used the portal, we slammed into their heavy armour with goddamn scoot mobiles! Yeah, that's right! Little all-terrain bikes civvies would use for fun! And we put Marines on the back with rocket launchers and let them rip!"

"I'll be goddamned," yelled Zaeed. "Even I'm not crazy enough to charge a fucking tank with a goddamn four-wheel bike!"

"Hah! You should've seen the Chief! One of them Ghosts races by, he sticks his leg out and damn near decapitates the driver! Oh, they were like sitting ducks…" He leant back in his seat again. For a moment, his expression grew glazed over and distant.

Jane, recognizing the telltale signs of a traumatized soldier dazing off, gently took the pressure off the Sergeant by saying, "When Cortana said the USNC had to fight the Covenant with tableware, I thought that was hyperbole. But you had to charge a fortified position on unarmoured, unarmed reconnaissance vehicles? That sounds like a suicide charge."

"Not to make the Chief here feel too special, but he was the only reason our chain of command approved of the whole thing," replied Johnson. "Now I don't mind charging enemy lines on an ultra-light ATV, but had we not recovered the Master Chief, that mission wouldn't have gone through."

Jacob, completely captivated by Johnson's stories, looked at John. "So it's not an exaggeration to say the Master Chief was the pivotal link in the entire Battle of Earth? Man, talk about performing under pressure."

"It does sound like a story too fantastic to be true," commented Thane. "Though I believe every word of it. The galaxy is a strange and terrifying place at times."

"Oh, the fight went really well at first," continued Johnson. "Rockets were flying everywhere, the grounds was showered with alien guts and puke, it was glorious. But then, those Covenant sissies thought it'd be nice to drop in their Scarab and – "

"Hold on," Jack said, interrupting Johnson for the very first time. That she hadn't interrupted him before was already a miracle on its own. "Chiefs and his AI lady-friend taught us all kinds of names, but what the flying hell is a Scarab?"

Jack had some immense self-control to not litter that sentence with swearing words.

The Sergeant seemed didn't even need a second of thought to drop his next bombshell. "It's an enormous walking tank on four massive legs. Its sole purpose in life is to wreck your day. Hell, it can smash through aircraft, armored vehicles, infantry and buildings like it's going out of style! It's got a main gun that'll chew through your BFF Sovereign Reaper ass in seconds, and the damn thing's about ten times higher than your average tank."

Jane shrugged. "Sounds like someone's compensating. Sure, I'll bite. How'd you take it down?"

Johnson smirked. "You see ma'am, we had it all worked out. We put a couple dozen rockets up its ass, which blew out the armour protecting its power core. That's when the Chief decided it was a good idea to climb a building, run across a crane – an enormous machine equipped with metal cables – and literally drop down atop the Scarab. He smeared the crew across the wall, blew up the Scarab's power core and hauled ass outta there." He paused for a second to take a few bites off his meal. "Explosion was visible from orbit, I've been told."

"Any more praise and the Chief's head won't fit inside of his helmet anymore," quipped Jane, earning herself a withering Spartan glare. "Why don't you tell us something about yourself, Johnson?"

The Sergeant nodded a few times, as if making sure for himself that it was alright. "Sure. I was born and raised on Earth. Hah, nothing special there. No doubt the Chief's has flung this phrase your direction more times than you nailed someone in the head Commander, but a lot of things are classified. I've been a soldier for about fifty years now and I kicked all kinds of ass throughout the galaxy. Have to say, things went downhill when the Brutes started digging a might big hole…"

A mighty big hole?

Again, there was a moment where he just…zoned out. And his eyes…when he talked about the Chief, those dark eyes were filled with life. But when he talked about himself, they just seemed so cold. Why?

Whenever things changed, other things stayed the same. Johnson didn't seem like the type of man to just stop making sense in the middle of an explanation. That too, Jane came to recognize as a dead giveaway for a traumatized soldier.

Were all of the UNSC's survivors this traumatized? Was that the Council was about to deal with? A nation of traumatized, angry survivors?

"Brutes?" She asked, hoping that the rest of her crew didn't notice those little lapses. The Chief kept his hidden behind his visor, but Johnson didn't have that kind of protection. "Haven't heard about that species before."

"Hah, the Brutes…how would you summarize them, Chief?" Johnson said without missing a beat.

The Chief's golden visor turned his way. "Krogan durability, Spartan strength. Not as tactical as Elites, but vicious. Advise extreme caution."

Yikes.

A series of shocked, incredulous reactions rounded the table. Everybody onboard the Normandy fought the Covenant. They knew what they were up against. But hearing about aliens who one-upped the Master Chief himself when it came to physical feats was a cold slap in the face to most of them.

"Lemme tell you about this species' mentality," continued Johnson. "You see, they favor melee weapons above all else. Their leaders carry Gravity Hammers that'll turn you into a pool of bones and blood with one hit. And then, those bastards proceeded to stick a goddamn butcher knife on the reverse end!"

"The Covenant's got aliens who put melee weapons on their melee weapons?" Asked Jacob, incredulous.

"So you can beat people to death while beating people to death," muttered Jane. All of a sudden, the krogan seemed cute and cuddly.

"Getting caught alive by a Brute, now that's a bad way to go…" Johnson quietly said. This time, he caught himself zoning off and cleared his throat. "SO! You want to know about me. You want to know if I'll hold my own in this suicide mission of yours. Well Commander, I'm seventy years old and I've had my fair share of suicide missions. Ten alone in the past months!"

"You sound like a man with many talents," replied Shepard. "Do you have any specializations?"

He took another couple of bites, then said, "Depends on what needs doing. You want me to take point, I'll fix my bayonet and charge. You want me to cover your squad? I'll fix my bayonet and drop anyone dumb enough to get between your team and your goal. It's your call."

Jacob stared at the man like he was about to call him his new daddy. Jane liked the thought of that. Ever since Wrex left the team, she's missed the feeling of having a crazy uncle covering her in the firefight. Wrex never failed to keep her in his eyes. She had a feeling that Johnson was exactly like that.

"Funny how so many of your humanity's words coincide with ours," said Zaeed. "Hell, even your rank! Sergeant Major…math's not my strong suit, but goddamn that's a powerful coincidence!"

"Actually, there is a division between words that coincide and words that directly translate to our words," EDI suddenly said.

"Can you elaborate?" Asked Shepard.

"Legion and I did another thorough scan on the hypothesis on the shared language between the UNSC and the Systems Alliance," continued EDI. "Having two humanities share one language presents a nearly mathematical impossibility. Instead, we believe many words and phrases are instead interpreted by our translators in to a similar phrase, leaving only a smaller pool of shared words. Your translators interpret the UNSC's version of your language and translates it when possible."

"I guess that makes sense," replied Shepard. "The UNSC doesn't have translation implants, but all of us do."

"Indeed," continued EDI. "Were you to turn off your translator, the UNSC's language would no longer sound logical."

"Guess that explains why the aliens sounded like they were speaking gibberish to me, but they understood me alright," said Johnson. "Before I got one of them translator things."

Garrus mumbled something with his mouth full. He gestured he wanted to speak, then hastily swallowed. "What about the Chief? He didn't have an implant, and he understood Shepard just fine."

All eyes were on John now. He merely shrugged. "Spartans are outfitted with an advanced Neural Interface to allow for direct interaction with an AI, " he explained. "Combine that with the MJOLNIR's integrated translation matrices…"

"And you have two people understanding each other because they speak a broken, incompatible version of the same language?" Jane finished his sentence.

"Correct," verified EDI.

"But how – "

"Commander," Samara said, hurrying around the corner from the elevator. "We must speak at once."

There was an urgency in the Justicar's voice that gave the Commander pause. She realized that she never heard Samara speak like that before, and felt a hint of uncertainty creep up on her.

"All right people, dinner time's over," ordered the Commander. "We're hitting the Omega 4 Relay in about two hours. Get to your stations and await further orders."

"The Master Chief must stay," said Samara.

Shepard blinked. Her gut screamed at her that something was wrong. Then again, this was Samara. If she couldn't trust her, then they were already royally boned.

Johnson's dark eyes settled on Samara. Jane generally liked to think that people's expressions were open books to her, but she had no clue what Johnson was thinking. Another thing that he and John shared.

The rest of her team did as she told them, returning to their quarters to ready themselves for the coming storm.

Eventually, only Samara, the Chief and Johnson were left.

"I'm not leaving those two again," he said, his voice making it clear that he wouldn't tolerate any protests.

Shepard knew that the man would never abandon the Chief, even if she ordered him to, so she didn't bother.

Samara's gaze settled on the Sergeant Major. Clearly, she was wondering why.

"Go ahead, Cortana," John then quietly said.

Samara blinked, then glanced to her left when Cortana projected herself from one of EDI's pedestals.

"Well, there's no keeping secrets from you, is there?" Commented the AI.

"You've been busy. Why else would Samara want me to remain here?"

Cortana shrugged. "Point taken. Commander, Johnson, Chief? We've got a big problem over here."

Shepard eyed the kitchen counter. Gardner was busy cleaning the plates, but there were still a bit too many crewmembers around for her liking here. It sounded like the conversation was about to turn very sensitive.

"Let's take this to the conference room," she said.

Shepard spotted Miranda staring at them from the open door to her office. She silently shook her head at the woman, before leading the small group to the one place of the ship where she knew nobody would hear what Samara had to say.

Once inside, she locked the door behind her with a signal of her omni-tool. Then, she turned to address the walking one-man army, the walking one-woman army and the man who cheated death.

"Cortana, whatever you have to say, you should know that we can't turn our back on this mission," began the Commander. "You know we're on our way as we speak. The fate of humanity depends on our swift success."

The small, holographic young woman stood on the table, standing next to John. Cortana shifted and looked up at the Spartan, clearly uncomfortable. Then, she looked at Samara.

The Justicar met her gaze, then took a breath. "Shepard…I must admit that I have not been entirely honest with you," she softly said.

Jane met her gaze. What was she talking about? This couldn't be about the mission to take down the Collectors, as Samara had ample opportunity to pack up and leave. Morinth had obviously been a little demon, so it couldn't have been about her either. That left only two possibilities. Either this was about the asari Conspiracy, or it was a love confession.

Shit, she hoped that it was a love confession…

"There is a small cabal of individuals amidst the government of my people who have steered the Asari Republics a certain direction for centuries now," she quietly said. "They and they alone have access to the deeper secrets of the asari." She paused. "You have run into them before."

Jane nodded, knowing what the Justicar was talking. She was, however, disturbed that she was talking about it at all. As far as she was aware, Samara had always pleaded ignorance. Although…"On the Citadel. On Omega. The Migrant Fleet. These individuals keep popping up. But Samara…I thought you didn't know anything about them?"

She tried not to sound too accusing, but she couldn't help it. Samara claimed that the Justicar Order had nothing to do with all of this and now look where they stood.

Samara cast her eyes downwards. "I was not forthcoming with the information you required. The Order of the Justicars is familiar with these individuals, When the occasion arises, the Justicar Order assists them in achieving their goals."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Jane quietly said.

"Because the secrets are to be kept at all costs. Especially when outsiders are concerned," Samara calmly replied. "The Sacred Rites are the asari's best kept secret." She paused, her eyes gliding over John and Avery, before finally settling on Jane. "I will most likely be executed for revealing this information. The three of you will likely be executed for possessing it."

"Then why tell us now?" Pressed Jane. Ultimately, Samara did the right thing, but Jane never liked being lied to.

"Because one of my many, many qualities includes seeing when organics lie," Cortana said without even a hint of modesty. "And I saw that Samara knew more than she let on."

"If all of us could be executed for being in the know, why risk telling?" Asked Johnson.

Samara looked at him with a hint of amusement. "Cortana was…persuasive."

Johnson smiled. This time, it wasn't one of his half-smiles half-grimaces, but an actual grin. "Well, that's our Cortana. What'd you tell her, ma'am?"

Cortana cocked an eyebrow as she met the Sergeant's eyes. "That the universe might well end if she didn't tell me."

Jane couldn't see why a Justicar would abandon her Code for something that sounded like an obvious bluff. "Neat. Now please tell me what the "big problem" you talked about really is?"

Cortana and Samara exchanged a look. "That the universe might well end," said the AI. "Very soon and very horribly."

"Well," said Jane, taking a moment to process what she just heard, "That's quite the fucking pickle." Alarm, panic and outrage all bubbled up inside of Jane's stomach like a bad mixture of shots during shore leave. She had a feeling that Cortana wasn't talking Reapers or Covenant here.

Cortana nodded solemnly. "Avery, John, you might want to sit down for this one."

"Don't worry," said Johnson, inching closer to the Chief. "I'll hold his hand."

John glanced at him.

"An all-powerful Forerunner AI contacted me through the Forerunner artefact to tell me that the asari Conspiracy unearthed something called a "Cryptum". They also opened it, but according to that AI, it was the "wrong Cryptum". She was quite a bit upset about that."

Jane had no idea what those words meant, but they hit her boys like bullets. The Chief, who had his arms crossed over his chest, visibly flinched, dropping his arms to his sides.

Johnson meanwhile grew visibly pale, mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and plucked one of those large cigarettes from one of his pockets, before lighting it with a military Incineration app. He shook the inflammable gel from its end and leant back against the wall. All semblance of amusement had drained from his face and he suddenly looked ten years older.

"Are you…are you certain?" John softly asked.

Cortana looked up at him with a mixture of sorrow and pity. "I'm sorry."

It almost looked like the three of them just gave up. "I'm sorry, but the non-UNSC people are confused here. What's a Cryptum? And what you mean, an AI contacted you through the artefact?" Shepard loudly asked. She didn't like being kept out of the loop. It stripped her of her control, and control was her best way of handling stress.

"I assumed it was the same as Harbinger possessing one of the Collector Drones," offered Samara. "Except on a scale more fitting for Reaper technology."

"Oh, she definitely wasn't Reaper tech. Forerunners have a certain way with software and tech," Cortana fervently said. "When it comes to the technology of the Forerunners, reality often goes away for spring break. As for the Cryptum…I'm assuming it's something bad."

"I thought a Reclaimer was needed to access their technology?" Said John.

"They must have gotten their hands on one," replied Cortana.

Johnson took a large whiff of his cigarette, took his time exhaling, then put the still-burning cigarette back into his chest pocket. "Your asari pals tell you anything about this Cryptum, or what it contained?"

Samara blinked a few times before replying, likely not very used to being addressed in that way. "I am not privy to the deepest secrets of the cabal. I can only tell you that their goal is reaching out to the UNSC. I do not know why, I do not know how."

"Cortana? On a scale of one to ten, how cooked are we?" Johnson asked without taking his eyes off of the Justicar.

"That depends, really. Her exact words were, and I quote: long have I searched for the Cryptum of my keeper, and they opened the wrong one". Now my guess? If that AI had been searching for the Cryptum of her Keeper, it cannot contain what we all think it contains. However, this is a guess, not a conclusion."

Johnson scoffed. "So as far as we know, it could be a three, but it could also be fifteen? Figures. Can't we go one year without a group of inhuman sonofabitches messing with shit they don't know?"

"I am certain their goal is a noble one, even if they might be misguided," said Samara.

"What's the worst-case scenario here?" Asked Jane, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We can't afford to turn away from our goal, not now."

Cortana clasped her hands behind her back. "In all honesty, I don't think there's much we can do. Whatever's been set in motion cannot be halted anymore. And for the sake of our team and its morale, we cannot tell you the true worst-case scenario, Jane."

Shepard just stared at Cortana. "Why not? What can be worse than the Covenant?"

Johnson started patting his chest pouch, where the still-lit cigarette started burning a little hole in the fabric. "Something even the Covenant fears," he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You didn't tell her, Chief?"

"No."

Avery worked his jaw. "Then I won't say anything either. You seem like a good woman, Shepard. Telling you now would mess up our chances at victory against those Collecting bastards."

Jane found herself in a very unusual position. Accompanying her was an AI powerful enough to cripple a fleet, an armoured super-soldier capable of making entire armies disappear and a rock-solid Sergeant who lived throughout the entirety of the bloodiest conflict this galaxy had ever seen. And all three of them were too afraid to speak of this nameless evil that could very well have been unleashed on an innocent civilization.

"Alright," she said, her voice a lot calmer than she was feeling. "Okay. I will accept that. But when we're done, and every Collector in that base of theirs bears the mark of our bootprints, we're going to sit down in this very room, and have a very long conversation. And after that, we are stepping straight towards the Council."

From the Justicar to the Spartan, nobody in the room disagreed with her.

~0~


AN: Dear lord I can already hear the people gathering their anti-cliché pitchforks to combat this batarian bashing. Now contrary to what my reputation might insinuate, this is not a case of stomping on everybody's favorite cushion. The Flood didn't infect their homeworld because of the whims of an author, but because of the nature of this crossover. Had the turians recovered the Leviathan of Dis, it would be Palavan that turned into an enormous mushroom.

Anyway, this is the first time I'm doing a two-parter with this story. Please let me know what you think in a review or a PM. See you all next time!