AN: I'm going to try and push as many chapters out as possible, because I'll be dropping from the face of the Earth for about half a year, starting halfway through august. New steps in my personal life and all that.

Anyway, chapter 32! This one will be another big one, at 20K words. I want to thank you all for the overwhelming response to the last chapter! We've hit the 3000 followers and that is amazing!

-(++)-


Shadow of Intent

Rtas 'Vadum, Shipmaster of the Shadow of Intent and Fleet Master of the Fleet of Retribution, observed the schematics of an ancient space station, taking note of its size, shape and possible concealed weapon systems. For a dead civilization revered by the current civilizations, the "Protheans" did not seem mighty at all. To him, the repurposed station that used to function as this community's political capital seemed undeserving of that title.

Though the existence of these Citadel species had been a surprise for the Sangheili Shipmaster, the ancient archives revealed that the Covenant had been well aware of their existence. Why the Prophets never wished to reveal themselves to these species, 'Vadum was certain would remain a mystery. If the Sangheili knew then what they knew now, history would have been very different. The war would have been very differently.

The Shipmaster continued to stare at the station, unwillingly recalling how much human blood he personally shed. How many lives he took in the name of a false faith and unworthy leaders…

A faint growl escaped past his mandibles, and he straightened his spine. Dwelling on the past was useless. That was then and this was now. Their objective, their mission, would see to a better future not just for the Sangheili, but the humans they wronged so gravely as well.

A living God, a surviving Forerunner, contacted them a monthly cycle ago. Then known as the Separatists, the Sangheili who fought alongside humanity had turned their wrath and fury to the Jiralhanae, the warrior race whose blind loyalty to the Prophets would have seen them commit genocide on the Sangheili.

With superior strategies and tactics, the Separatists annihilated the Jiralhanae and their forces, plundering their equipment and repurposing their weapons and ships for their own. It was in the middle of that slaughter that the Forerunner revealed himself, having been freed from his exile by members of the Citadel Species.

Humble and desperate, the Forerunner offered his hand to the splintered remains of the Covenant. He sought neither fame nor power, favorited neither Sangheili nor Jiralhanae, and sought merely a galaxy united in peace.

Peace…it was strange how a word once meaningless to Rtas now drove him onwards.

"How long until our scanners are attuned to this…Element Zero?" He asked of his lieutenant, the Blademaster Vul 'Soran.

"Once we managed to calm their excitement, the Huragok immediately went to work, Fleet Master," replied the Blademaster. "This Citadel is the largest concentration of Element Zero that the species know of. Soon, its location will be revealed to us. It is a matter of days."

'Vadum nodded. This miracle substance was alluring, he had to admit, but the degree to which these species adapted to it? Dedicating their entire civilization to it, to the point that every last piece of technology utilized it? That, he thought, went too far.

However strange this substance was, it did not help these species when they meddled with the remnants of the ancients. A mighty machine intelligence had seized their capital, the so-called "Citadel", and transported it to an unknown location. In one blow, this artificial warrior carved out the political and cultural heart of the Council species. And now, everybody was searching for this Citadel.

And as always, those who stumbled upon the glory of success were those who least deserved it.

"Make ready to transition into Slipspace," ordered Rtas. He ran his right hand over the holographic display that contained the integrated maps of the galaxy as the Council species knew it. "The heart of the Terminus Systems, the Omega Nebula. From there, to the Sahrabarik system."

Uttering the strange alien name was difficult to do with all four mandibles intact, let alone his own. Already, the Shipmaster felt an irrational anger towards the system.

"Slipspace matrix energized," Zykan Raham at Navigation said. "Transitioning in five seconds."

As the stars on the viewscreen disappeared, Rtas considered what his fleet might be facing in that cluster. Alien mercenaries, pirates, slavers – all of those were barely worthy of target practice. But reports from alien governments had revealed that the lawless section of the galaxy might have found the Citadel station. This information was enough to concern the Forerunner.

If that knowledge was cause for concern, 'Rtas 'Vadum would act with concern as well. He would not make the mistake of underestimating this galaxy. He knew, more than anyone, what ancient horrors lurked underneath the dark blanket of space.

On his viewscreen, the stars disappeared as the Shadow of Intent and the rest of the fleet transitioned into Slipspace.

Bypassing the need to use the oversized musical instruments called "Mass Relays", the Fleet of Retribution crossed the hundreds of light years that separated it from its target in half a day. During that time, the Sangheili, Mgalekgolo and Unggoy warriors began preparing for the inevitable conflict that would follow in their wake. Word of the actions of other Fleets had spread through the galactic community. Rumours of war crimes comparable to those of the war against humanity had turned most of the Council species against them.

If these rumours were true, and another fleet had committed unnecessary violence against these people, the burden on Rtas' Vadum's shoulders had grown larger still. The Sangheili did not need more enemies. His warriors deserved their chance at peace.

Using the time he had left until the fleet reached its goal, the Shipmaster travelled to the main hangar bay of his ship to personally address his warriors there. They had to be made aware of the rules of the battlefield.

Fight only when necessary.

With that taken care of, 'Vadum returned when the Fleet of Retribution was about to transition back to normal space and stepped up to the command console of his bridge. The crew snapped to attention at his presence.

Time passed by silently. Eventually, Zykan spoke, "Exiting Slipspace, Shipmaster. In four…three…two…one…"

The bridge lights dimmed, if only for a moment. Stars winked into existence in the viewscreens as the Shadow of Intent re-entered normal space.

Flanking the assault carrier were six CPV-class destroyers, three CCS-class battlecruisers and a mighty ORS-class cruiser. They in turn escorted a small group of five frigates and a prized DAV-class light corvette, a stealth ship capable of performing its tasks without ever being noticed. Even now, as the warships that composed the Fleet of Retribution scanned the alien system they now found themselves in, the corvette seemed to fade from their sensors.

Nevertheless, even if the enemy would never see the DAV coming, there was no mistaking the Fleet of Retribution for what it was, once of entered the system. Rtas' Vadum had read the articles that the translation oracle had produced, working from the information databases known as the "Extranet" and the "Codex". The Omega Nebula served as the central hub of the lawless Terminus Systems and the glowing, tumour-shaped asteroid called "Omega" was its capital. Its habitants were paranoid about their vile business and quick to scrutinize visitors.

'Vadum balled his hands into fists when he saw the image of the station on his screen. What proud Sangheili would deal with scum like these to gain their information? If the "Queen of Omega" knew where the Citadel could be, she should be brought aboard the Shadow of Intent in chains, not bargained with!

"Alert the fleet to make weapons ready! We will not negotiate with scum!"

"Aye, Shipmaster!"

The Shadow of Intent advanced upon the Omega station. A thick field of asteroids and debris surrounded the station, but no Sangheili-crewed warship would fall prey to those. The Intent obliterated the large asteroids in her path with her laser batteries, while smaller pieces of debris merely bounced off her shields.

In no time at all, the Fleet of Retribution made visual contact with the station. Red rods surrounded an equally red ring lit up the remains of a large, dome-shaped asteroid, which served as the station's outer layer. Metal structures protruded from the neck, growing smaller and thinner as they moved further away from the main base.

Scans indicated that the station was armed with various defence systems, likely kinetic in nature.

Rtas snorted. Decay, rust and neglect. Was this the home of the self-proclaimed "Queen of Omega"? That filthy rock was not worth spending the lives of his troops over. "Charge up theleft urpeon."

"Yes Shipmaster. Urpeon charging!"

The urpeon-pattern superheavy plasma lance was an overcharged version of the standard energy projector. With its immense firepower, it could annihilate all but the largest capital ships in a single strike. One, perhaps two hits with the urpeon would incinerate this nest of vermin.

The Fleet of Retribution stirred up the Omega station, as a fleet consisting of dozens of small vessels rapidly gathered into formation, putting itself between Omega and Retribution. Up to seventy ships, the smallest of which were the size of Seraph fighters and the largest of which was as large as their stealth corvette.

"Prepare targeting solutions for plasma charges, targeting all vessels equal to and exceeding the size of this one," Rtas ordered, highlighting one of the larger warships in the ramshackle fleet.

The deck rumbled underneath the Shipmaster's hooves as the Assault Carrier responded to his demands. Once he was certain that this collection of filth would be utterly annihilated if it dared to defy him, 'Vadum ordered, "Hail their fleet. And prepare our Seraph squadrons for launch!"

On his screen, the four-eyed face of a non-Council alien appeared. 'Vadum, having memorized the various species that made up this strange community, knew this creature to be a batarian.

"Commanding officer of the Covenant fleet, I presume?"It spoke with a heavy, growling voice.

Rtas straightened his spine and glared at this creature. "Insult me again and I will dash your fleet to the winds. We are not Covenant, and you are not in charge of this wretched station," he spoke in the only human language he knew, assuming that the batarian's translator would pick up on that. "I am Rtas 'Vadum, Ship Master of the Shadow of Intent, Fleet Master of the Fleet of Retribution. I will speak to the self-titled Queen of Omega, and nobody else. You will make this happen."

The batarian's four eyes narrowed. He seemed to dwell on his words for a moment. Then, he calmly replied, "I will attempt to bring you in contact with her."

Following that, the batarian cut the connection from his side. The pirate fleet continued to fan out, larger ships in the back and smaller ones up front. They held their fire, as if daunted by the prospect of facing a mighty fleet like the Retribution.

'Vadum knew that the pirates were sizing his fleet up even as he waited for the Queen to contact him. Their weapon systems were comparable to those of the original humanity – the true humanity, in his mind – and different only in two regards. The kinetic projectiles would be smaller, but much faster. He would not be foolish enough to presume that his shields could survive a sustained barrage. The best surprise was a pleasant one, life had taught him.

An alien signal probed his communication system. He allowed it. Seconds later, the image showed him who this supposed Queen of Omega truly was.

She sat on a piece of fabric-covered furniture, one leg crossed over the other. She glared at Rtas with a haughty expression, one that told him that this woman considered herself the apex predator here. She looked human, but instead of fur, her purple hued scalp was covered in tentacle-like protrusions, all of them curving backwards towards her neck.

Asari¸ the Shipmaster thought.

"Few people appear in my system and demand to speak with me," she said in a tone brooking no argument. "Your reputation might work in Council space, Covenant, but you will find we do not bow to threats here. We're not quarians. So hop along, and fuck off."

Rtas 'Vadum did not care much about politeness, but he did value respect. Showing such a blatant disrespect to a Sangheili fleet of war was tantamount to suicide.

The Shipmaster felt his blood boil, and allowed himself a grin. "By the end of this hour, I will have carved my name into your soul, asari!"

Rtas then slammed his gauntlet against the holographic representation of the communications line. "Launch all plasma lines! Annihilate the targeted vessels, then release the weapons interlink safety locks!"

Eight boiling red flashes erupted from the Assault Carrier's sides, arcing towards their targets.

The pirate fleet immediately scattered, breaking up into evasive manoeuvres. At first, it seemed those larger warships could avoid the lethal plasma by accelerating away. Rtas would have liked to see the expressions of shock and despair on the faces of the enemy commanders when they realized that the plasma suddenly arced around and pursued them.

The Intent's intricate and highly advanced magnetic shaping fields meant that every plasma torpedo stayed on target. On his viewscreen, he saw eight enemy vessels be consumed by the heavy plasma charges, their outlines visible for a split-second before the heat and energy annihilated them.

This is what unjustified hubris brings you, Rtas thought. "Send orders to the rest of the fleet. Destroy all vessels that pose a threat, but leave those small fries intact. They aren't worthy of our attention!"

Deep chuckles and growling laughter echoed across the bridge as the crew began their bloody work.

"Shipmaster! Enemy fighters launching!" Yelled one of his crewmembers.

Irrelevant. The laser batteries would take care of those. "Direct the urpeon plasma lance to the base of this structure."

According to the Codex, the enormous spire below Omega contained construction of processing facilities, which extended vertically from the asteroid all the way to the bottom.

"Plasma lance ready, shipmaster!"

"Fire at will," growled 'Vadum, eager to see this asari vermin crawling on her knees.

The Shadow of Intent fired. A brilliant blue-white beam - a lance across space - struck the station. Gutted the station. The beam cut clean through the lower spire, stem to stern. Whatever shields or protective armour the station had, utterly failed to protect against the cleansing might of the urpeon. Explosions ran across the length of the spire as its superstructure boiled away.

The Queen of Omega insulted the pride of a Sangheili Fleet Master. Now, perhaps thirty seconds later, every ship capable of defending her home consisted of free-floating globules of metal. Pulse lasers nailed fighters and other, suicidal ships with lethal precision. The remains of the pirate fleet, having lost three-quarters of its numbers, retreated into the asteroid belt.

"Hail the asari again," ordered 'Vadum.

She answered his call a whole lot sooner this time. She stood, glaring daggers at the Shipmaster. "I don't know who you think you serve, but if you think Omega is undefended, you have another thing coming," she hissed, displaying a remarkable calmness for a woman who was about to go to war. "Our fleets outnumber yours thirty to one. Make no mistake; we have the capability to kill you and your ships."

Rtas would assume she spoke the truth. After all, Element Zero was dangerous. "Time is not on your side, asari. We can incinerate Omega along with you and everything you hold dear and disappear without a trace. Your reinforcements will not save you."

He raised his hand, and his crew aligned both urpeon lances with Omega's docking bays, where its internal structure would be the weakest.

The asari's expression was thunderous, but she remained silent. She knew that she had been cornered. "Ask your questions," she spat. "And pray your time doesn't run out."

For that alone. Rtas felt the urge to burn the creature, but he stayed his hand. After all, he was not here to shed the blood of millions.

So he asked his questions.

She answered them.

-(++)—


Section Zero

Jericho VII debris field

The first thing that shot through Veetor'Nara's mind was the size of the wreckage. It was like he found himself inside of an enormous cage, made entirely from solid steel. The lights carried by the recovery teams flashed across the walls, illuminating the occasional hanging signs and painted messages. It felt so different from the ship he grew up in. This vessel still felt like a titan of war, even though it had been defeated in battle long ago. A circular hole had been drilled through the entirety of the vessel, which was where their dropships had entered.

"What kind of ship was this?" He asked of his handler, a human soldier called Francesca Clark. She didn't like him because of he was an alien, and she already told him that. But she seemed to like it when he asked her questions about the ships he was going to work with, and this place piqued Veetor's curiosity like nothing ever had before.

"We called it a Destroyer," she replied. Her face was hidden behind her oxygen mask, which made her look strangely quarian. What little Veetor knew about humans didn't seem to apply to these humans, so he thought it was a good idea to treat them like fellow quarians.

"What was its purpose?"

"It's called a Destroyer, what do you think it was meant for?" Francesca bit at him.

"Oh…right…"

War, he supposed. The UNSC was like the Hierarchy, but they weren't so proud of it. Walking around this massive ship, which once housed hundreds of people, Veetor wondered how he would act if he had been during the Morning War. He decided that he wouldn't be angry with his handler for acting the way she did.

They moved through the dark interiors of the Destroyer, occasionally having to manoeuvre past or underneath larger sections of floating debris. For a ship gutted by an enormous energy weapon, this Destroyer was still remarkably intact. It was no wonder that the UNSC gave their new contractors this assignment.

"I think the superstructure is still intact," Veetor eventually said. "We can patch the hole up, replace the armour plating and beef up the engines. I just need to see the middle section of the ship. The internal structure, you know..."

"The armoury, then. I'll show you the way."

Francesca led him through a series of passageways, some of which were so filled with debris that they had to take a detour. Eventually, they reached a dark room, with alien letters written above it. Veetor guessed this was the armoury."

The soldier tried to get the doors open, but they were locked tight. Without power, those doors would stay closed forever.

"Damnit, they're jammed." She sighed explosively. "Gonna need to find a way around…"

"Can I try?" He asked.

"Sure. Knock yourself out…"

What a strange thing to say, Veetor thought as he knelt down in front of the lock and booted up his omni-tool. Most stereotypes didn't offer a complete picture. They were often exaggerations of a basic truth. Not all turians were disciplined and dutiful, not all batarians were pirates or slavers and not all asari were refined and elegant.

But quarian engineering was the perfect example of a stereotype that wasn't exaggerated or distorted. A quarian that wasn't handy with electronics or machinery was a useless quarian. Useless quarians didn't happen. The Flotilla couldn't afford that. There were verifying degrees of skill, but every single quarian could make themselves useful in the engineering department.

Though Veetor was by no means a tech wizard like some of his friends, he was still leagues better than what the galaxy considered average. He rerouted power from his omni-tool to the lock, managed to get just enough power to access its system to activate it and poked around its software. The lock was military grade and thus harder to crack, but after a minute, Veetor was rewarded with the sudden but silent motion of two doors sliding open. That there was no atmosphere left to vent from the sealed room meant that it had no escaped the death of the ship unscathed.

"Hey!" He said. "Look at that!"

"Hmm…impressive. You'll see a lot less angry looks if word spreads that you're useful. Why don't you have a look around?"

Veetor wasn't going to say no to that. He passed through the two open doors and entered a large, dark room strewn with weapons. Large, black weapons drifted lazily in the vacuum of space.

The young quarian wandered deeper into the chamber. It just now occurred to him how silent this whole ship was. Back on the Flotilla, a silent ship was a dead ship. It disturbed him greatly to walk around in this utter silence.

His omni-tool illuminated more weapons. Grenades, pistols, loose components and parts that he didn't recognize. Dark stains seemed burned into the deck. He didn't want to know what caused those. A large, tubular weapon seemed to materialize from the darkness and spooked him greatly.

His heart beating in his throat, Veetor backed away, only to hit something big and solid. He turned around and came face to face with the floating corpse of a human crewman. His skin was ghastly pale, and his eyes bloodshot. His expression was forever frozen in a scream.

Veetor cried out in fear and alarm and stumbled backwards, almost tripping over a fallen rifle in his clumsy haste to get away.

Francesca, having heard his scream over their communications link, rushed into the armoury with her weapon raised.

She saw the floating body, sighed, and put her weapon away.

"Corporal Clark here," she said, likely signalling another human soldier. "We've got another body. No, this one is…mostly intact. I'll tag it."

A trembling Veetor gave the corpse a wide berth and practically hid himself behind his handler.

Bodies. He hated bodies. There had been bodies on Freedom's Progress, where the Seeker Swarms took the people of the other humans. At night, he could still see their cold, vacant stares…

U-useful. Be useful. Calm down…

"Whoa, hey, easy there," Francesca told him. "It's just one of our fallen. Poor bastard likely got stuck when the ship depressurised. We'll mark his position and move on."

The ease with which his handler spoke about the fallen disturbed him. For quarians, dying on your ship was the one death nobody wished to speak about. If a ship went cold, granting the dead a peaceful and dignified way to go was the Flotilla's first concern. What great horrors must have taken place for these people to abandon their dead by the thousands.

When they finished their business on the fallen Destroyer and returned to the immense repair and refit station, Veetor learned that the other quarians who had accepted the UNSC's offer had experienced similar things. Some of them were still in conversation with their handlers and superiors. Many of the contracted quarians had managed to impress their human handlers, just like Veetor had. Those quarians had been asked to offer their professional opinion on other matters.

Soon, it would be Veetor's turn. But right now, he could enjoy a moment of free time with his kin. They sat in one of the empty cargo holds, where they shared what they learned amongst one another. Kinship, to help the others "be useful" as well.

"The average small-tonnage human warship has at least two-hundred crewmembers," one of the older quarians explained at hearing Veetor's experience with the corpse. He used to be Fleet Marine, but an injury forced him to retire for a while. "If every such ship saw total losses, there could be thousands of bodies still floating around there."

"I asked how many ships they lost, but the only thing my handler told me was that the casualties were heavy," said a younger quarian, one whom Veetor did not know.

"Dozens of Frigates, dozens of Destroyers," said another quarian. "That's how many ships took part in the battle. A dozen means twelve, so it could be anywhere from seventy to a hundred and fifty ships."

A hundred and fifty? If the losses were heavy, Veetor assumed they lost at least half their ships. "So that's about seventy ships lost with all hands."

"Fourteen-thousand bodies drifting in space…" the former Marine said. "That's a lot of families without closure."

"Keelah…"

"That's a low estimate. Two-hundred crewmembers for a ship the size of a Cruiser is not a whole lot. If we add in their own Marine detachments and make it three-hundred crewmembers, we're looking at twenty-thousand bodies at least."

Another quarian wrapped her arms around her chest and looked down at the floor. "I don't feel comfortable with profiting from such a situation…" she quietly said.

"The UNSC asked for us, not the other way around," the old Marine reminded her. "If they didn't want us here, we wouldn't be here."

"It's not so much the bodies as that AI that scares me," another quarian spoke up. "It's so lifelike. So human."

Veetor was aware that all of the contracted quarians – about a thousand of them, if he remembered correctly – were selected based on their compatibility with the UNSC. He asked for the job and was accepted because of his tendency to function well in small, isolated groups without too much external stimuli. Some quarians craved a hectic environment, but he was at his best alone.

When asked by the UNSC how he felt about possibly working for an AI, he hadn't really known what to say. He had grown up with the stories about the geth and how they mercilessly hunted the quarians to near extinction, but that was three-hundred years ago. Tali'Zorah and Admiral Raan insisted that the UNSC AI's were true, self-aware beings, nothing like the hiveminded geth.

"Tali'Zorah and the Admiral vouched for them," said Veetor. "And the UNSC seem to trust them."

"Unless these AI's are playing the long game," another quarian pointed out. "And they're waiting to set something in motion they've been planning for decades."

"That's a long plan they're making, considering these true AI's can do about a billion calculations per second," remarked the Marine.

At that, several of the quarians broke into laughter.

Veetor didn't care much for having fun in public, but he had to admit, he could get used to this.

"Still, even if our people vouch for them, did you get that speech the Republics gave?" One quarian then asked, and the mood instantly dropped again.

"What, the asari? No, I didn't. Our systems were running on backups for a couple of days, we must have missed it."

"Well, the asari denounced the UEG's actions. Can you imagine that! They said that UNSC interference with operations running from the Terminus Systems sparked more aggression from the Terminus species towards other colonies, stations and outposts in the Attican Traverse. They also said that their actions would lead to backlash to the Alliance, that the UEG's actions are putting their sister civilization at risk."

"Well, if they put it that way…you can't fix organizations that depend on slavery by forcing them to abolish that slavery. I don't know what the UNSC's motivations were when they – "

"Wait, my uncle said that the asari began broadcasting a day after the turian sent their delegations into UEG territory," another quarian cut him short. "I don't think the asari are that concerned with the Alliance if they start denouncing the UEG just when the UEG and the Hierarchy are growing closer."

The Hierarchy…Veetor knew that the turians weren't loved in the Flotilla. Supposedly, the turian Councillor in charge during the Morning War was the first to deny the quarians aid. That injustice was never forgotten.

That was when one of the doors opened and another team of quarians rushed in.

"Did you guys hear?" One of them asked. "An Alliance Dreadnought just entered the system!"

A couple of the quarians exchanged uneasy glances. That could mean anything.

"Guess the Systems Alliance came here to complain about unwanted assistance," one of them quipped.

Veetor hoped it was that simple. He didn't know a lot about politics, but he did know that the UNSC and the Alliance weren't on the most friendliest of terms.

-(++)—


2186 CE (Citadel Council Military Calendar)

Section Zero / Lambda Serpentis System

Alliance Fifth Fleet, aboard SSV Everest

Moments like these make me want to tear my uniform off, Anderson wearily thought as Admiral Hackett continued his attempt to talk some sense into the holographic representation of UNSC Fleet Admiral Harper. First time ever meeting eye to eye with the more official representatives of the UEG and, and what did the esteemed representative of the Systems Alliance do? Why, try to pull an old and weary veteran from his retirement home, of course.

"And since the Citadel was the political and cultural capital of the Citadel Council, it is essential that we find and reclaim it," Admiral Hackett patiently explained, referring to various schematics and video clips to help convey the proper message.

Fleet Admiral Harper was a sharp-looking man, clad in a black dress uniform, the right side of which was covered with ribbons. He was as much a veteran of the Human-Covenant war as Avery Johnson, and the Master Chief.

Anderson wished that the circumstances were better, but here they were. Screwed over by their own respective precursor species.

"We are aware of the loss of the Citadel," replied Harper. "But the Unified Earth Government insists that, apart from expressing our regrets and condolences, there is not much we can do to offer our assistance until we have solved our own problems."

"Yes, we know," Anderson replied. "But things have changed since then. If I remember correctly, Fleet Admiral, your ultimate term of peace was the enforcement of first inspection of Forerunner sites by UEG specialists. It was a Forerunner creation that took the Citadel. It was a living Forerunner who claimed the ultimate authority over this galaxy. The least the UEG could do is offer us their expertize!"

There were a couple seconds of silence as Harper's grey-blue gaze locked with Anderson's brown's. "The UEG will not be held accountable for the stupidity of Council species," he replied with an even, but stern tone. "We are investigating the appearance of the Forerunner, but since neither he nor the AI have shown any hostility towards the UEG, we will not waste our resources trying to combat them."

Anderson and Hackett exchanged a glance. Both of them were high-ranking individuals in the Systems Alliance. Sharing the same warship, even if it was an advanced Dreadnaught, was a huge risk to take. They weren't going to leave Section Zero empty-handed.

"There…is something else," Anderson reluctantly started. "The reason why Master Chief Spartan one-one-seven and Lieutenant Commander Shepard teamed up, all this time ago. Our diplomats left out the finer details behind the history of the Protheans during first contact. Various individuals, Commander Shepard and the Master Chief included, believe that the Protheans were destroyed by a species called the Reapers."

"We meant no offense when we omitted the theory of the Reapers, Fleet Admiral," Hackett added. "Not everybody accepts their existence as factual. Some governments see them as myths, and nothing more."

Strangely enough, Harper didn't seem at all insulted that they had not provided him with the full history of the Protheans. "That is quite alright. Councillor, Admiral. Some facts should not be revealed to foreign powers without proper planning. Before we continue about the Reapers, tell me honestly, if you can. Do you believe this Reaper myth?"

Since the Fleet Admiral sounded genuinely interested, not at all dismissive or sceptical, Anderson decided to be honest with the man. "The Systems Alliance takes this threat seriously. Though most of the evidence was destroyed, we have seen first-hand what a Reaper can do."

"We're not sure about the other governments though," Hackett said. "The Citadel Council maintains the status that the Reapers are just a myth, and that the geth were responsible for most evidence. We don't know if they honestly deluded themselves, or if they merely attempt to keep the peace without sowing panic."

Anderson seriously doubted the latter. None of the Alliance's intel pointed to even a basic build-up of equipment and ships among the other nations. None of the major species were preparing themselves for what was to come.

Harper nodded, clearly approving. "The Master Chief debriefed us about the Sovereign, the Collectors and the Reapers. Given our own history, the UEG will take this new threat very seriously."

David felt his blood boil. The other governments had the exact same debriefing with Shepard two years ago and they still didn't believe her! How could a military junta be more sensible than civilian governments?

…wait, what did Harper mean, 'given our own history'?

"That is a relief to hear," Hackett said. "According to Shepard – and by extension, the Master Chief – the Reapers might return in a matter of weeks."

When they do, it will like a galaxy-wide Human-Covenant war," Anderson said, slamming his fist against his palm for emphasis. "Uniting as one will be our only way to stand against them! We must find the Citadel!"

Harper raised his hand. "Don't misjudge our actions. We know why the Citadel is so important and that the Forerunners might appear as a problem without context to your people. However…" His voice trailed off as someone off-screen handed him a datapad. "…however, we do not have resources to spare…"

Anderson glanced at Hackett, who met his gaze. Something just came up, that much was certain.

It was time. "We…have a proposal," Anderson cautiously started. "As the representative of the Systems Alliance, I have been granted the authority to propose a combined operation between the Systems Alliance and the United Nations Space Command. The Forerunner intelligence that took the Citadel, as well as the Master Builder, are both connected to the appearance of a UNSC Spartan super-soldier."

"This Spartan," Hackett immediately continued, "Was spotted on Illium, a corporate world in the Terminus Systems that was assaulted and consequently ravaged in a fight between the Master Builder's Covenant forces and what we assume to be the Forerunner AI. If anyone knows what happened the last month, it has to be him."

Harper's expression remained perfectly neutral when he gave his response. "A combined operation to find a Spartan? Even if that intelligence is solid, training and ensuring interoperability will take weeks."

"Not exactly," Anderson said. "We have a special forces asset on standby. Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard. And we know that the Master Chief arrived in this system a couple of days ago. They proved to be a solid team before, we know they can do it again."

"The Master Chief isn't in this system anymore," the Fleet Admiral slowly replied. "And while I cannot confirm the presence of this alleged Spartan in the Terminus Systems, I would advise against trying to apprehend them yourselves. Our Office of Naval Intelligence is investigating the situation as we speak."

Naval intelligence…the UNSC's answer to the STG? "Fleet Admiral, right now, every person with a functioning ship is racing towards that planet to find the Spartan. Whoever finds the Citadel, holds the Forerunner's favour. Salarians, asari, pirates, everybody!" Anderson said, inflecting as much urgency in his voice as he could. "But only the UNSC has the know-how to deal with AI's. We don't want the wrong person to get their hands on that Spartan."

But the Fleet Admiral could not be persuaded. "We appreciate your offer of a combined operation. But the UNSC is spread thin. Too thin. And there is too much at stake to send the Master Chief into the Terminus Systems, especially given the accusations raised against him – and by extension, the UNSC – by the Asari Republics. We trust in the Office to make the right decision."

"Let's just hope that the Forerunner agrees with your Office's decision," Hackett said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And remember, Fleet Admiral. We found you. The Reapers will find you too."

"It's not the Reapers were are worried about," Harper grimly replied, before cutting off the conversation from his end.

Anderson felt the desire to smack something, but he checked his temper. Something was not right. "Shepard? What do you think?"

Jane stepped out of the shadows and into the room. She had the sort of smile that could change the climate of a room. Bur she wasn't smiling now. Clad in black N7 armour and with dark bags underneath her eyes, she looked like a completely different person. One Anderson, simply going by his instincts, wouldn't want to be in the same room with.

She glanced at Hackett for a moment, then locked her emerald gaze on Anderson. "He's withholding information. Spartans are to the UNSC what Justicars are to the asari. Revered and feared. The UNSC's not going to let aliens get their hands on one of their Spartans."

"You're saying they're already sending their own people?" Asked Anderson.

"That's what I would do. It's obvious they know things that they don't want the other governments to find out. Secrets they think are too dangerous to possess. This Forerunner business is only making them more evasive."

"What could be more damning than the Reapers?" Grumbled Hackett. He sighed explosively, then turned his back to the Commander. "One of the problems that this galaxy has with the UNSC, is that they feel no obligations to follow their own manuals, let alone ours. You can't plot against them, you can't plot with them. They go where they please, do what they want. Commander…as much as I hate to say this, I don't think we can trust them. Not while they refuse to explain just what the hell is going on."

Hackett then turned around, looking at the Commander with steel determination in his eyes. "Commander Shepard, I am ordering you to go to the Ismar Frontier, get to Zorya and find that Spartan. Find him and get him to Alliance space."

Anderson cast a questioning glance his way.

"If the batarians and the Covenant are willing to follow the Forerunner in peace, they have to feel the heat," the old Admiral explained. "Whoever holds the Citadel, holds the upper hand in the negotiations. I fully believe that the UNSC knows something is coming. I just don't know if that 'something' is the Reapers, or something even worse."

"Only one way to find out," Shepard grimly replied. "Get me a ship, sir. I'll get it done."

-(++)-


Ismar Frontier / Faia System / Zorya

Move! Move!" Sergeant Setius Tansis shouted as the grenade landed in the midst of his squad. The turian flung himself behind cover, closely followed by two batarian Troopers and a human Heavy. The grenade detonated with bone-rattling force, blowing apart the human's torso and shearing one of his legs off. Sprays of blood coated the thick canopy of the trees around them.

The man screamed, but he wasn't the only one. To his left, a barrage of gunfire cut through the bushes, nailing the two batarians in their heads. The stream of hyper-velocity slugs punctured their helmets and shredded their brains. To his right, precision sniper fire followed perhaps a second later. The projectile struck Setius Tansi in the middle of his helmet and exited through its back. His head snapped backwards as a thin spray of brain tissue and blood spurted from the exit wound.

The ambush was executed flawlessly. In the span of twenty seconds, all but five of the original twenty Blue Sun mercenaries who had been slowly advancing through the jungle had been cut down. The remaining mercs regrouped and headed towards the obvious way out, a thin clearing in the otherwise impervious foliage.

When the first Legionnaire pushed his way through the thick foliage, he was unaware that one of the ropes snapped by the passing of his right shin wasn't a natural one. His only warning was a sudden creak of rope and a faint, metallic sound, shortly before a pair of grenades detonated in the midst of their formation. Waves of heat and overpressure washed over the mercenaries, tearing into their armour and rendering them almost blind. The powerful shockwaves and clouds of shrapnel were intercut by another sustained burst of gunfire, unheard but ludicrously precise, which left the last survivor crawling on the ground.

"C-Command…" the Blue Sun trooper groaned, coughing up blood in-between ragged breaths. "N-need…air…sup…"

His legs were missing, and he was slowly bleeding out. He didn't hear anything through his helmet. He knew, almost instinctively, that he wasn't going to make it, and that scared him more than anything. Tears clung to his bleeding, wounded face. Already his vision was starting to waver.

Something massive and silent moved through the jungle, heading towards him. A monster clad in black armour with a gilded visor. It was wreathed in branches, leaves and saplings, making it appear like the jungle itself had come to life to claim them.

The young mercenary couldn't muster the strength to protest when the figure raised his pistol and shot him in his head.

Unbeknownst to the mercenary, the plight of his team had not gone unnoticed. Even as they were being picked off one by one by their invisible predator, their superiors were working towards a solution.

After the freak accident that saw Co-Executive Officer Vido Santiago hauling ass off planet, a select group of officers and veterans were left in charge of the capital base at the heart of the Blue Sun complex. These individuals, including head of operations Solem Dar'Serah, were now overseeing the arrival of a large flock of shuttles and gunships, all of which had been dropped off by a sizable asari fleet.

The condescending laughter and sceptical thoughts that followed in the wake of their arrival was quickly snuffed out when the Blue Suns realized just who were setting foot on their world. Before soon, these visitors had their every whim catered to, their every order obeyed without question.

One hour after Sergeant Setius Tansis' squad went silent, Tela Vasir stepped out of the main barracks. She was followed by three whole squads of veteran Huntresses, four Justicars and three augmented commandoes, informally known as Karita Sisters.

The three pale-faced abominations scared the piss out of Vasir, but she tried not to pay them too much mind. She had other things to worry about.

The home of the Blue Suns private security organization was an even greater mess than she expected, and she had already set her expectations dangerously low. This overgrown garden world was home to plants, funguses and more plants.

Oh, and an non-existent UNSC super-soldier, apparently. Now that they realized that the Master Chief and his AI were officially beyond their reach, the Matriarch composing the Inner Circle had set their eyes on the next best thing. After double-checking and cross-reverencing all their data with that of the salarian STG, they concluded that the life-sized toy soldier had holed up somewhere on Zorya.

Truth be told, Vasir did not look forward to hunting that freak down in this Goddess-forsaken jungle in the shape of a planet. But that was what she had the Huntresses for, she supposed. Fighting a group of them with orders to take you in alive was one thing. Actively being hunted by them in a jungle, where they were at their most effective? Yeah, no way this metal man had any chance. She'd enjoy watching him struggle against the Karita's.

It was just a matter of finding him. And this time, luck was on their side! For the past twenty-four hours, the Blue Suns had been harassed by an unknown enemy force. Barracks and training sites were found destroyed, entire units had gone missing and highly-decorated Blue Sun veterans were assassinated through various and sometimes ridiculous means.

Classic special operations stuff, only on a more ambitious scale.

Thousands and thousands of blood-thirsty and ruthless killers and they couldn't get rid of this one hostile element?

It had to be him.

"Vasir on the ground," she spoke into her team's communication link. "Ready to check out coordinates."

"I read you, Spectre. We are on site with Blue Sun command. Updating your maps with the latest sightings."

"Latest sightings…" One of the Huntresses muttered. "They have unlimited influence with politicians and the law, but can't find one soldier?"

"We have underestimated one such warrior before," a Justicar replied. "We must not do so again. These warriors are impressive, in their own right."

The other Justicars solemnly agreed. "Even for you, Spectre, caution is advised," one of them told her.

"Yeah, yeah," Vasir offhandedly replied. She didn't think the Justicar Order could get spooked by ghost stories. Supposedly, some bigshot veteran Captain had locked himself inside of his office after he realized that he was the highest-ranking officer left on his barracks last night. They found him sitting in his chair, murdered by a pencil. A fucking pencil. The windows had still been locked with no sign of forced entry. The same went for the door.

It was complete bullshit. "He's alone on a planet that wants him dead, in a galaxy that wants him dead. Let's not start a fanclub, okay?"

"Fan out!" Ordered the leader of the Huntresses. "Let's check out the first set of coordinates!"

One by one, the asari warriors melted away in the thick jungle, beginning their hunt for their quarry.

-(++)—


Slowly, ever so slowly, the Spartan broke the surface of the murky water, taking shelter in the dark shadow of a dead tree. On the banks, another patrol of mercenaries passed by. The blue-clad combatants nervously scanned their environment, brandishing assault weapons and shotguns. Their point man carried a large, bulky scanner.

That was the fourth one geared out like that, so far. It seemed that the Blue Suns had changed strategies again. Instead of scouting, they were now hunting.

Alan-003 let himself sink back into the water again. Ever since those spaceships touched down and delivered a whole mess of infantry in the vicinity, he had been laying low. Electronic sensors were all but useless here; heat signatures, motion trackers, all of them were rendered ineffective by the environment. Now, prey and predator alike had to rely on their senses.

It was a game that he mastered long ago. The reeking mist that clouded the swamps at night was a guerrilla fighter's dream. By the time they stumbled upon his traps, or realized that their rear guard was missing, he was long gone.

He was still a couple of miles away from his hideout – an abandoned mineshaft in the middle of the jungle. Normally, a couple of miles were nothing to a Spartan clad in full MJOLNIR, but he had to be patient. It appeared his presence in this part of the galaxy had not gone unnoticed. The Blue Sun mercenaries, to whom this world was some sort of home base, were the least of his concerns now. Her last warning was still fresh on his mind.

Beware the witches, who speak with honeyed words and twist your mind until the end of time.

Alan wished he knew why she had done it. After she summoned that blue, mechanical monstrosity, Millennia turned her attention to the Master Builder and, more specifically, the Citadel. While he kept himself busy with clearing out an entire asari warship, Millennia found…something. Something bad enough to enrage her. And then, she did something she never did before.

She gave him a choice.

Your role in this play is over, bastard warrior, she told him. . I longed for your death, but you persevered. There is strength to be found in perseverance. Your life is short, but you deserve to spent it the way you want to. So…go. Go cause mayhem somewhere else.

And then she left. She left him all alone on his mind, abandoned on an alien ship, with no home to return to.

So…go.

How could he simply walk away from this all, knowing what was at stake? Even if humanity's future didn't hang in the balance, he needed to know how this ended. He had to find her. This world was his only chance.

The Blue Suns patrol moved on. Alan waded towards the bank of the swamp, then slowly pulled himself out of the pond. No matter how many casualties he inflected upon the mercenaries, there were always more to take their place. An NGO superpower, with an entire planet' worth of resources.

It wouldn't help them.

The patrol group never saw him coming. Their armour might have protected them against shrapnel and spike traps, it didn't protect them against the slice of a knife, or a whisper-quiet takedown. One by one, Alan hunted them down. Some, he drowned in the bogs that surrounded them on all sides. Others, he broke with his bare hands. By the time the point man realized something was amiss and called out to his teammates, there was nothing he could do.

Spartan-003 pocketed a large stone and hurled it. The makeshift projectile struck the merc against the back of his head with a wet crack, having arced through the air too slowly to activate his kinetic barriers.

A stomp on his throat was enough to put the man out of his misery. It had been like that for the past couple days now. The jungle, thick and humid as it was, was a soldier's ultimate test. The thick foliage, the constant bombardment of your senses and nonstop dehydration could make even seasoned veterans crack. Jungle warfare was as much a mental struggle as it was a physical one. Here, a Spartan's MJOLJIR was far from his only tool.

The enemy sent their gunships and bombers after him, now that they lost contact with yet another team. They always did. They blew apart entire stretches of jungle, firebombing the most recent combat zone in a futile attempt to kill him. After that, the others came.

Most of the time, they were asari. Small, well-trained groups, disciplined and experienced. They were the hunters. Sometimes, it was the salarians. They avoided conflict and gathered whatever information they could. They were the spooks. Though they never appeared together, their combined efforts were solid enough to keep zeroing in on him.

Alan struck back at night. He always did. Through a combination of interrogations and espionage, he learned that the Blue Suns were no longer in control of this world. All these teams and organizations that set out to hunt him down were government-sanctioned. Salarian STG, asari Huntresses and Justicars - they wouldn't stop coming.

Every day, their position here grew stronger, while Alan felt himself growing weaker. Not physically, but in a way that was much more insidious, much more dangerous to his long-term survival.

"Shadow-One to Dagger-One," a timid, female voice crackled across a private COM channel. "I have eyes on dropships."

Alan halted. That couldn't be good. He made Annah sweat to uphold the radio silence unless things got really dicey. "What kind?"

"Different ones. Ehm…new ones."

That could mean anything. The only combat experience she had, came from this world. Killing a couple of mercenaries wouldn't be enough to help a normal civilian develop a good instinct, let alone someone like Annah.

Then again, she seemed to place great value on his words. If she thought this was important enough to break radio silence, he had to look into it.

"I'm heading back to base. Get down and meet me there as soon as you can."

No sooner had the Spartan given the order than he heard the tell-tale humming of enemy shuttles approaching his position, about twenty seconds away. Since he left the swamps behind him, he had to work with what else he had. He tore the moss and water plants from the makeshift webbing on his suit and replaced them with plants and dirt from his current surroundings. His instructors would have thrown him in a river if they saw how patchwork and sloppy it was, but he didn't have the time.

His estimate was off; the dropship came much sooner than he expected. He barely had the time to go prone underneath some shrubbery before the first ship appeared.

It was another damned asari shuttle. He didn't know how they did it, but those blue witches were very adapt at sniffing out ambushes and traps. It was as if they had the technology to personally track him down, which shouldn't be possible.

Three more shuttles circled overhead, before holding their position in a rough circle around the abandoned mine. They were boxing him in.

He needed more time. There was something hidden within the mining complex, a place where he'd certainly find the answers he needed. But until Annah found the entrance, he had to hold the line.

Alan slowly reached for his mass accelerator rifle. He wasn't a fan of these things, but it'd do the trick.

The first team dropped in about twenty meters away from his position. They plunged through the canopy of the jungle, using tethered ropes and their Biotics to stay on course. They issued orders at each other, but it was difficult to hear them speak over the natural sounds of the jungle critters.

" – up, second formation."

"Remember, nonlethal…"

"…crafty. Watch for traps."

One more individual dropped down in the asari formation. She wore skintight, red armour, with a decoration encrusted upon her forehead.

A Justicar, an asari class of untouchable, extra-judicial executioners that supposedly worked exclusively within asari territory. According to the Codex, they were trained for extreme strength, biotic capacity, resourcefulness, asceticism, and ruthlessness.

She was a high-priority target, dangerous enough to give him a challenge when he was at peak mental efficiency, let alone as he was now.

When the Justicar spoke, all the other asari were quiet. "The warrior is near. Find him."

Her confidence confirmed Alan's suspicions; they had some way to track him. Why couldn't the Blue Suns replicate that feat? Was this yet another Biotic ability, to "sense" your opponent?

From his vantage position, the Spartan took aim. He aligned the scope of his rifle with the head of the Justicar and pulled the trigger.

The grain-sized slugs slammed into the asari's head. A bluish field of energy enveloped her body, easily absorbing the projectiles.

She moved the instant her barrier activated, dashing out of Alan's sights in a wash of Biotics. He leapt to his feet and burst from his cover, moments the Huntresses opened fire.

A barrage of hyper-velocity slugs and other, stranger projectiles shredded the foliage around him. Alan sighted in on the closest asari. A sustained burst of gunfire was enough to punch through her Biotic barriers and shredded her head. But even as she sank through her knees, the other asari retaliated with their own Biotics.

The world slowed to a crawl. He felt his heart beating in his chest, calm and steady. He saw the gunfire streaking from the asari's rifles, betraying their locations. He saw the Justicar launch a field of dark energy from her hands. He saw a Huntress creep up from the right, brandishing a grenade. Another Huntress reached for a device on her belt.

His brain processed all this information in the fraction of a second.

Target grenadier first. Avoid crossfire. Prioritize Justicar; close quarters combat. Barriers won't block unarmed strikes.

With his attack planned, it was time to execute it. Time returned to its normal flow, if only for a moment. During that moment, the Spartan shot the grenade as the Huntress was about to throw it, took two large strides to his left and hosed the other Huntress with gunfire. Then, he lunged for the Justicar.

The resulting detonation of the grenade consumed its owner in a flash of blue light. Her mangled body was flung high into the sky, propelled upwards by the dark energy fields released by her explosive. Her comrade was forced to drop her equipment on the ground and dive for cover, leaving the Justicar exposed.

But the Justicar held her ground. Her expression was one of calmness and serenity. She shifted her stance, as if readying herself for something.

Alan was only vaguely aware of this. His instinct told him to be cautious, but he was overtaken by a desire to maim and hurt. He crossed the twenty feet between him and the Justicsr in one second, lashing out with a heel kick aimed at her neck

The Justicar brought her arms together, then flung them outwards, shouting. A massive Biotic pulse exploded outwards from her lithe form, devastating the foliage around her. The wave of dark energy washed over the Spartan, messing with his sight and causing his shields to flare. He missed his attack by a hairsbreadth. He landed on both feet and moved to strike the Justicar again, but he felt an invisible battering ram slam into his back.

Rolling with the blow, the Spartan noticed that one of the asari Huntresses now stood directly behind him. She had used some sort of Biotic ability to blink across the battlefield and slam into him with incredible force, without flattening herself against his armour. She brandished a long, thin sword, holding it reverse grip in her right hand.

The Justicar enveloped herself in a corona of blue light and struck at the Spartan, her fists glowing with distorted blue flames. At the same time, the other asari lunged for him, her sword aimed at his left shoulder.

Alan brought his left arm up and battered the sword-strike aside, then darted backwards as two lightning-fast blows were driven toward his face. One of the Huntresses threw another Biotic projectile his way. He pivoted, allowing the bolt to harmlessly slid past his chest plate.

The asari team focused their assault in perfect fashion. Up close, the sword-wielder and the Justicar rained down blow after blow upon the Spartan, while the Huntresses who kept their distance pelted him with Stasis fields and Warp attacks.

Alan was forced to defend himself from three avenues of attacks at the same time. He matched the Justicar blow for blow, struck her with an open palm strike against her chest and ducked low to avoid the sword. He didn't want to put its sharpness to the test, not while his shields were struggling to defend him against those Biotics. He'd be dead if they caught him without them.

The Justicar reached for her chest, which had been left with an imprint of the Spartan's gauntlet. She fought with two different styles of martial arts, one that saw her striking him with reckless abandon and one that saw her keep her distance, fighting cautiously and playing it on the defence.

With his shields at thirty percent, Alan knew he had to finish this soon. When the Justicar lunged for him with both hands crackling with Biotic energy, he stepped in and pressed his hips against hers, before throwing her against the ground with enough force to crack her bones and pulverize her organs against her hardsuot.

The sword-wielder lunged for him just as another asari threw a Stasis field at him. He allowed the attack to hit him, freezing his right arm in mid-air. Her expression triumphant, the asari swordswoman stabbed at his abdomen.

Alan shifted his weight to his right leg and caught the razor-sharp blade between his left elbow and thigh, effectively pinning it in place. When the asari let go of its handle to pull out a grenade, he released the sword and kicked it in the air. It came down just as the asari was about to pull the pin and he struck at the pommel with his boot, sending the blade spinning into its former wielder.

The sword impaled her through the abdomen and she went down, screaming.

Seeing that his shields were now low enough to render him vulnerable to Biotics, the remaining Huntresses stopped firing. More of them were converging on his position, no doubt. He didn't have the time to drag this fight out!

"He's pinned! Stasis him!" Ordered the Justicar. She managed to crawl into an upright position and cast another dark energy projectile his way.

With his free hand, Alan pulled his last grenade from his pouch and flung it at bolt that surged his way. It struck the Stasis bolt and was frozen in mid-air, mere feet away from his right leg.

A serene smile played over the Justicar's lips. Then, she tossed a Warp bolt.

The frozen grenade exploded in a flare of blue light and rolling thunder, which sent the Spartan tumbling through the air. Pain washed over him as the glare in his eyes slowly dissipated, and he shook his head to clear the disorientation.

As Alan crawled back to his feet, his shields completely drained. A small report in the right corner of his HUD told him that his armour had been damaged in the explosion, but not yet breached. If he –

One Huntress dropped down out of nowhere, firing a net of some kind at his chest. He brought his arms together and prevented the net from completely wrapping around him, but it did pin him in place. A second later, electricity coursed through the net, shocking him through his weakened armour.

"Teams two and three, we have the asset!" Shouted the Huntress, rushing him with a shock baton in her hands. "Move in to subdue!"

Alan growled and felt his fingers brush against the strip of his combat knife. He managed to undo the button and pulled the twenty-centimetre knife free. Its self-sharpening blade was sharp enough to carve through Elite and Brute armour with ease. He banished the pain from his mind, then whipped the knife around and sliced through the electrified net.

Driven by aggression more than anything else, he tackled the Huntress to the ground before she could even fathom how he broke free. He straddled her chest and buried the knife deep in her throat. He pulled it out and stabbed her again, and again, and again, and again, and again…

-(++)—


Zorya

Aboard STG Stealth Frigate Violet

The Violet just returned from her patrol. The Faia System was littered with ships that had no business drifting within Blue Sun space. The asari's Second Fleet, an entire turian patrol group and to top it off, a group of Alliance vessels. Perhaps to avoid conflict with each other, every group of ships dropped off their personnel and distanced itself from Zorya. As it was, while the planet was now crawling with soldiers on government-sanctioned operations, the space around the planet was devoid of ships

That made it all the easier for STG Captain Rubann to keep tabs on the in-system activity. The STG had dispatched several team to Zorya's surface to observe the ground forces in general, and the asari in particular. The sudden aggressiveness of the Asari Republics the past week had piqued the STG's interest. While it was only to be expected for the major governments to wish for the Spartan's swift capture, there was something…desperate in the asari's tactics.

So far, the Captain had not noticed anything out of the ordinary. The teams reported no contact with the Spartan, but plenty of contact with local Blue Sun teams. It seemed that the asari had somehow convinced the mercenary corporation to assist them in their search.

That suggested the presence of the same enigmatic organization that seemed to be involved in every contact with UNSC assets, the shootout on the Citadel being the most public one. Rubann had orders to stay hidden, no matter what happened, but he felt sorely tempted to start sabotaging the asari's activities. His instinct told him that those currently in charge of the Second Fleet did not have the galaxy's best intentions in their mind.

In full compliance with their orders, the Violet's crew patiently documented every major occurrence in the system. They documented the arrival of a fourth Alliance Frigate, which deposited a single dropship to Zorya's surface and immediately left again. They documented the fourth flight of shuttles leaving the asari Second Fleet's hangars, heading towards the planet with more reinforcements and supplies. They documented the sudden activity of the Mass Relay, which indicated a large fleet was inbound.

That got Rubann's attention. His intelligence did not suggest the arrival of more warships. Were these mercenaries? Pirates? Perhaps the Lady Warlord's fleet, tired with this Citadel business in "her" Terminus Systems?

But the truth turned out to be much, much worse.

Every crewmember of the Violet stared at the main viewscreen, which displayed footage of the Mass Relay. Dozens of ships poured through, with smooth, streamlined designs and almost organic curves. Though the designs varied, every single ship looked insectoid in nature, and they were charging their weapons.

"It's the geth!" Snapped Rubann. "Remain in stealth mode, kill all non-essential systems!"

As his fellow STG members hurried to fulfil his order, the Captain nervously watched the geth fleet streak towards Zorya. Five of the vessels were over six-hundred meters long, thirteen of them were just shy of two-hundred meters and the swarms of smaller ships were all between ten to twenty meters long.

Cruisers, Frigates and a whole lot of Fighters and Dropships… enough to invade an entire planet. This was going to be bad.

Why you? Rubann thought, his mind racing to comprehend the one factor that seemed to draw everybody to Zorya. What could you possibly offer them besides the Citadel?

-(++)—


The shaking of the Kodiak shuttle ceased as it finally cleared the atmosphere. The pilot put the shuttle into a rapid descent to get under any radar or sensors as they approached the main barracks.

As Shepard performed one last check of her equipment, her Cerberus contact finally responded. She strapped her SMG to her armour and grabbed the datapad.

'/…I told the radar operator to take a break. Meet me outside of Barrack number four. I'm sending you the coordinates now.'/

The Illusive Man had kept his word, it seemed. He had sent her everything he had on this unknown Spartan. He was apparently involved in the death of the Shadow Broker and the Fall of Illium. Admittedly, it wasn't much. Still, Shepard had quite a few friends on Illium. If it was true, and this Spartan was responsible for the tens of thousands of people who died that day, he had a lot to answer for.

Shepard waited silently until the shuttle dipped down and landed. The moment the hatch opened, Shepard jumped out, weapon drawn and ready for any sign of hostility. After a couple of moments, she lowered her gun, confident that the landing zone was secure.

The Alliance pilot wished her good luck, then lifted off again.

Funny enough, Alliance intel was about the same as Cerberus intel, albeit much less useful. Both sources indicated the presence of various Council intelligence agencies on Zorya.

Zorya…the last time she was here, she ended up having to run through an exploding refinery. Back then, the reason she was there needed some sense knocked into him. Hopefully, that wouldn't be necessary this time around.

This world was home to the Blue Suns. Normally, they had people patrolling the entire perimeter of their facilities. That Shepard got so close to her meeting point without running into any of them, was a clear indicator of how messed up this situation was.

By the time she reached the coordinates, she encountered her first patrol. Makeshift platforms in the trees, four of them. They were on edge, peering through binoculars for anything Spartan-shaped. That meant Shepard herself was at risk too, ironically.

Her N7 training only covered the most basic aspects of jungle warfare. If the constant heat and humidity didn't stress you out, the fact that your vision was restricted to what was immediately in front of you sure would. She had to be very careful here.

Shepard moved ahead slowly, keeping her eye on the mercs in the trees. They hadn't seen her yet, so the element of surprise was on her side. Technically, she was on Alliance-sanctioned operation, but she wasn't about to catch a bullet because of some jumpy assholes.

She picked her targets, then prepared to unleash her Biotics. She lobbed a Singularity field in the midst of their formation. The dark energy vortex immediately sucked them, where the immense gravitational forces began breaking their bodies against each other. Before their horrified screams could rattle the other patrols, Shepard shot each one in the head.

For a moment, she wondered if she would end up with a spherical ball of armour, bone and flesh if she let the field do its job. Even on Elysium, she never had the time to appreciate the results.

Well, there'd be plenty of time to improve once the Reapers began turning planets into tombs…

Shepard moved on. Thankfully, she didn't encounter any more patrol groups, and she reached the gate of the Barracks within another twenty minutes.

It was a large structure made out of stone and wood. It was separated from the jungle by a large stretch of dirt and grass, likely the product of slash-and-burn tactics. A large, metal fence had been erected at the front, where a single mercenary stood on watch.

Instead of revealing herself to the merc, Shepard sent her contact a message, saying that she was at the location.

As she suspected, the soldier at the gate suddenly checked out his omni-tool and snapped to attention, scanning the treeline for any sign of her.

Time to see if we can trust you, Tim, Shepard thought, before stepping out of the treeline and approaching the soldier.

The Blue Sun didn't shoot her in approach, so there was that.

"Commander Shepard," he said in a hushed tone when she got within hearing range. "There's not much time."

"What's the situation here?"

The "mercenary" looked over his shoulder, as if verifying that they truly were alone. "They call it Svyatyagor, the forest demon. By now, almost three-hundred men lost their lives in that jungle. Seasoned veterans, sniper teams, fucking mortars and airstrikes – nothing worked. It still comes for us at night."

That sounded like a Spartan alright. "When did this start?"

The man shrugged. "We've got a lot of traffic on Zorya. Ships come and go every day. But the first casualties began about a month ago. You know, couple of days after the Citadel – "

"Disappeared, yes." Shepard wasn't sure. Was the timing just coincidence? "You've been fighting this guy for a whole month?"

"Fight?" The merc laughed without humour. "The damn thing has been haunting us for a whole month. We've lost more leaders in one week than we previously lost in an entire year! It doesn't matter how well defended they are. It doesn't matter how much security they have. We either find them dead, or we never see them again."

"Do we even know what he looks like? Did you score a visual?"

"No. That's why they took to calling him Svyatyagor."

The Master Chief once told her that Spartans were trained to operate in every possible theatre of war. Out here, this Spartan had countless miles of jungle to work with. He wouldn't be harmed by the heat or the humidity, neither flora nor fauna…these were the most ideal circumstances for a guerrilla fighter.

Now, Shepard needed to know just one more thing. "Where can I find him?"

Her Cerberus contact just shook his head. "Can't recommend it, but…you want to find the this thing? Just head out into the jungle, around the area of the abandoned mineshafts. I'll send you the coordinates. You get there, and it'll find you."

Somehow, Jane doubted he would. This place was big, and there were a lot of players in the field. Asari Commandoes in the jungle, salarian STG skulking around the Blue Sun bases and a UNSC dropship spotted somewhere to the east. Trying to contact this Spartan on a global frequency meant calling the attention of everybody with a working radio. Scurrying around the jungle until she stumbled into one of his ambushes was equally undesirable.

What she wouldn't give to have Cortana or EDI on her side…

That left only one other option. When the tactical situation seemed impossible, you had to focus on what you could do, rather than what you could not. Shepard had a weapon that none of her rivals had: knowledge on the Spartan project. More so than any other, at least. The founder of the Salarian STG once said that as a rule, for every individual alive, there existed a combination of words that could make or break them.

Two years ago, Shepard had added a line to that rule. For every individual alive, there also existed a combination of words that granted you their trust, or control over their actions. She didn't know where to find the Spartan, but she knew how to make him find her.

She began making her way towards the coordinates. There was a lot of activity in the air, much more than when she came here with Zaeed. Gundships, dropships – everything that the present intelligence agencies had to spare. It seemed that their fear of sparking a war with the Terminus Systems wasn't as potent as their desire to get the Citadel back.

The enemy presence only became more concentrated as she advanced on her target. After an hour of crawling through the thick, spore-heavy jungle, Shepard heard the distant thumps of explosions. The ground shook and she steadied herself by grabbing a nearby branch.

"The hell?" She muttered. She thought the other governments wanted this Spartan alive, but now they were deploying heavy explosives? That didn't make sense!

That was when the communications began flooding the global channel. Most of them were loud warning of the desperate kind, declaring for all armed personnel to regroup. From what Jane could hear, it sounded like a massive hostile force was gathering. She initially thought it was the Covenant, since she didn't think anything could spook a military unit so badly to spam the global frequency.

But then she heard someone crying out that the geth were inbound.

Shepard winced. If that was true, and the geth really were here, they were likely scanning for any frequency they could tap into. If they were here for the Spartan as well, they now knew where to find him.

-(++)—


It was time to relocate.

Alan-003 had not expected the aliens after him to fire-bomb the jungle. Amidst the blaze, Alan-003 ducked low within the rock formation to keep the withering heat from burning his shields down. Large ships loomed overhead, unleashing a second payload on the square kilometres around his position.

The Spartan ducked down and covered his head with his arms, but was surprised when the ambient temperature went down instead of skyrocketing. The deafening blaze of the inferno surrounding him seemed to die down, and the glare of the flames grew weaker with every passing second.

He risked a quick glance over the edge of the outcropping.

Damnit.

Alien ingenuity. They bombed the jungle surrounding the mining complex from orbit with incendiary bombs, then didn't even wait for the flames to die down. Instead, they had one of their warships dump some kind of coolant on the burning landscapes. The result? Most cover was blown to smithereens, and now there was enough room for an entire army to besiege the mining complex.

Already, Alan-003 heard the sound of alien dropships roaring through his MJOLNIR's audio sensors. He hit the magnification on his visor and spotted a wave of black dots coming down from orbit.

Heading straight towards him.

He didn't have a lot of cover here. The entrance to the mining complex was built into a rock formation protruding from the ground. Plenty of concealment to buy some time. Apparently, the aliens wanted him alive. He didn't want to know why.

The Spartan grabbed one of the mass accelerator snipers, laid down on his stomach and took a closer look.

Something was wrong. These dropships weren't the bulky shuttles he was used to. They looked more like predatory arthropods. Without even bothering to touch down, they deposited several metal items, which landed with solid thumps across the landscape.

When Alan sighted in on the objects, he first thought that the enemy just launched their drone compartment or something like that. These things looked like sleek, humanoid robots. They looked familiar.

It took him a moment to recognize them. Then, it struck him. Geth. These robots were geth. The race of networked AI's created by the quarians, three-hundred years ago. According to the Codex, they hadn't left the Perseus Veil since.

He guessed that they too wanted a piece of Millennia's secret.

They could get in line.

"Annah, I am pulling back to your location," he calmly said, before aligning the scope of his rifle with the nearest geth unit and blowing its head off. "Be advised, we are facing synthetic enemies. Prep the according package."

"On it."

More geth platforms of varying sizes rained down around his formation, each one making a loud thump as they landed within the sooth-covered remains of the jungle. The Spartan made good use of the lack of cover on their side and began putting them down with precision fire.

The first dozen was easily dispatched, with their suppressive fire simply impacting on the rocks of harmlessly splashing across his shields. But then, Alan began taking fire from positions that initially seemed devoid of hostiles.

Pinpricks of energy gathered around a central point, hovering about a meter above the air. Those energy signatures advanced on his position, the air around them shimmering and warping.

Cloakers.

Alan drew a heavy pistol and squeezed off several shots, blinding the invisible geth with headshots before perforating their chests.

The dropships released more platforms, including a couple of big ones. He didn't have the firepower left to take those out, since he spent the majority of his explosives creating traps around the jungle. And since that jungle was now gone, he didn't have a lot of options left.

The Spartan backed away into the hidden passage into the mineshaft. He grabbed a hold of the rope he had rigged to the side of the shaft and rapidly descended into the darkness. After about a hundred meters of near-freefall, he tightened his grip on the rope and slowed his descent.

A week ago he discovered that the mining complex below the ground connected to a large research facility, which in turn connected to one of the Blue Sun barracks. He cut the power to the eastern-most wing last night, during his last venture into the Blue Sun base. If everything went according to plan, Annah could lead him to the door, which now lacked the power to keep it electronically closed. From there, he'd clear out the research base and reach the surface through the other end.

He sighted in on the rope all the way op in the shaft and shot it down, just in case. Then, he passed through the elevator doors he forced open days ago and melted away in the darkness of the underground tunnels.

-(++)—


The world was on fire. Bullets were flying everywhere, friendlies and hostiles had spread out over the entire AO. Blue Sun and Citadel dropships put up a brave, but desperate fight against the relentless geth dropships and drones, but it was clear that the geth were about to achieve air superiority. Hostile platforms had overwhelmed most defensive positions. Bodies littered the jungle, organic and synthetic alike.

Commander Shepard had lost her momentum. About one klick from her goal, she encountered resistance that was too stiff to break. Now, she was bogged down amidst the surviving Blue Suns and asari soldiers.

"Geth Colossus!" She cried, rallying the mercenaries by her side. "Keep your missiles in reserve, break its shields first!"

The Colossus stomped through the thick jungle foliage like it wasn't even there, wasting no time in bringing its automatic weapons to bear on the infantry. Shepard and the asari had no trouble dodging its attacks because of their Biotics, but the Blue Suns were less lucky. Three of them were caught in the open when the Colossus opened fire. Its heavy machinegun tore through their armour with ease and they went down screaming.

Cursing, Shepard sprayed the Colossus with her SMG, then blasted a geth Hunter with a blast of Biotics when it attempted to outflank her. The asari Commandoes were faring well, constantly weaving back and forth and taking down the geth infantry whenever they could.

But the larger platforms were a completely different story. A Geth Juggernaut rushed through the trees, flanking one of the Commandoes just as she blinked back in existence. A heavy energy blast knocked her off her feet, after which a single discharge from the Colossus flung her lifeless body against a tree.

Shepard leapt aside when a Rocket Trooper opened fire on her, landing amidst a trio of Blue Suns who were desperately firing away at the Colossus's shields. She spotted a Hunter from the corner of her eye, which was about to shoot the mercenaries in their backs.

She drew her Carnifex and put three rounds in its centre of mass. The hyper-accelerated slugs slammed into the geth's midsection, causing it to stumble and its cloak to fizzle away.

"Whoa, watch out!" One of the mercs cried even as Shepard Biotically flung the geth against a tree.

No time to respond. Another dropship circled overhead and deposited fresh geth reinforcements into the combat zone. The Colossus kept steadily advancing on their formation. Every time it fired its pulse cannon it blew away more of their cover.

A Rocket Trooper whirled from its cover and launched a missile at Shepard. She leapt forwards, then ducked and slid on her knees, using her Biotics to keep her momentum. The missile streaked past her, harmlessly, and she crushed the Trooper's head with a Biotically-charged fist.

In the meantime, the Colossus gunned down another mercenary, before blowing away the section of cover that the asari were using to such great effect.

That Colossus had to go down, or they were all dead.

Shepard sprayed the four-legged tank with her SMG, then displaced herself when a pair of Troopers turned towards her.

She lobbed a Singularity field in their midst, found a sturdy log to hide behind and then detonated the field with a Warp bolt. The resulting detonation annihilated the two Troopers and revealed another Geth Hunter in their midst, which fell to its knees as the dark energy fields ate away at its armour.

Shepard shot it in the head with her Carnifex, then spotted a Blue Suns engineer charging the Colossus with a bandolier of grenades. A Rocket Trooper spotted him put a missile between the mercenary and his target, knocking him to the ground.

That gave the Commander an idea. She renewed her Barrier and dashed towards the fallen bandolier. She felt her several shots hit home, but her Barrier held, and the projectiles did not penetrate. She hooked the bandolier around her left foot, landed on her hands and disappeared in a wash of Biotics, only to reappear a couple of feet to the left. Then, she flung the bandolier towards the Colossus, before immediately taking evasive action when half a dozen geth proceeded to pour fire in her direction.

The Colossus stomped towards her, positioning its body over the bandolier, as if to taunt her that she couldn't claim it again.

Shepard was fine with that. She pocketed one of the frag grenades she pilfered from a dead merc and rolled it between the tank's front legs.

The resulting detonation caused one of the grenades on the bandolier to go off as well, which in turn sparked the rest of the explosives. At point blank range, the detonation bypassed the Colossus' shields and shredded the armour on its front legs, forcing it to sink through them in order to activate its self-repair program.

Jane took a deep breath, then thrust her hands towards the geth formation. Two Singularity fields materialized in their midst and sucked the infantry in. She clenched her hands into fists, and the immense dark energy fields began crushing the hapless geth, their synthetic bodies unable to stand up to the immense gravitational forces. Their arms and legs were forced into their chests, their headlights sputtered and died.

An asari Commando saw what she was doing. She appeared next to Shepard, a couple of feet away, then flung a Warp field into the double Singularities.

The resulting explosion tore a good chunk of the jungle away, revealing another three Hunters in the process.

For a moment, it seemed that the tide would turn, but then…

"Geth Prime!"

Two rapid tremors shook the ground as an overhead dropship unleashed more infantry. Towering over the combatants at their full size, two white-armoured behemoths levelled their LMG's at the nearest targets – Shepard and the asari.

Jane's response was driven by reflexes and instinct, but more importantly, an entire wave of adrenaline. Between her and the asari, she was the first one out, disappearing in a wash of Biotics to avoid the blistering hail of fire that filled the air she just left.

An asari's body wasn't quite the deposit of chemicals that a human's body was. That, or she hesitated an instant too long. Shepard could hear her shrill cry of alarm to ragged screams as the two Primes perforated her with bullets, shredding her body and covering the ground with purple blood.

By then, the Colossus was back on its feet too. It apparently decided that having functioning front legs was for cyber-pussies, as it forewent repairing itself for more fields of fire. Maybe the damage was too extreme for it to handle.

Either way, that meant three heavy machineguns aimed by networked AI's were now seeking Shepard out, and no cover could protect her against the steady stream of bullets.

Jane erected another Barrier to protect herself. Individually, the geth were bad fighters. But the more programs they contained, the better they were. Legion could put many a soldier to shame with his close quarters capabilities and marksmanship. That was why the two Primes were a massive problem; their presence boosted the other geth around them, making them even deadlier.

Damnit, this was an extraction mission, not a fucking war insertion! She wasn't outfitted to deal with an army's worth of geth!

Shepard steadily backed away from the line of geth, hoping to pull back to the nearest Blue Sun outpost. There, she could make use of her surroundings to tear her opponents apart one by one. Out here, without cover, she was dead if they got their bearings.

Her comm buzzed with static, but nothing concrete came through. She blew a geth Hunter away with a blast of dark energy, quickly reloaded her SMG and blasted away at a pair of drones that kept feeding the hostile infantry with her location.

Not enough time!

The Blue Suns were dead. The asari were gone. She was alone, going up against two Primes and a Colossus. She focused all of her energy into her Barrier. Feeding the reddish-blue high gravity mass effect fields was the only way to keep herself alive.

Dozens of high-velocity slugs slammed into her body as she sprinted for the next section of cover. Her concentration waned and she felt something akin to a knife stab into her calf. She gritted her teeth and flung herself behind an overturned log.

Machinegun fire flew over her head, just narrowly missing her.

Jane gritted her teeth in anger. She did not come this far to die now! She wasn't going to let a bunch of angry machines ruin everything she worked for!

The Commander rose to her feet, tapping into her fury to further power her Barrier. She extended her hands, allowed the flow of dark energy to flow more chaotic and uncontrolled around her body. The Geth Primes took up position, preparing to fire.

Shepard brought her hands together and was about to create a Singularity field more powerful than she ever created, when four blurred and impossibly-fast figures dashed past her. They impacted on the geth platforms with such force, such ferocity, that they dragged them completely to the ground.

The four figures were large, over seven feet tall and clad in heavy armour. And they were fast! They moved with such speeds that they appeared like blurs, tearing apart the geth in close quarters combat within seconds.

Flashes of gunfire erupted from their bodies, suggesting that they were using their firearms as well. Two of them worked together to tag-team a Prime, decapitating it with swift brutality. One of the figures clashed with the Colossus, leaping atop its head to bypass its kinetic barriers, then slamming their gauntlet into its frame. The figure then backflipped off the Colossus, firing at an invisible Hunter with two pistols.

By the time Shepard recognized these soldiers for what they were, they had all but annihilated the geth force. The Colossus was the last to go, exploding in a series of explosions when something jammed inside of it detonated, tearing it in half in a flash of blue light.

Spartans. An entire team of Spartans.

One of the four armoured behemoths approached her. Although he was almost identical to the other three, Jane still recognized him as her Spartan.

"Master Chief," she said, not wanting to immediately demonstrate that she knew his name. He might consider her a part of his unit, but that didn't mean the others did. She'd earn the right to call their leader by his true name later.

"Commander Shepard," he spoke with his familiar, gravelly voice. "What's the situation on your current mission?"

His manner of speech set off all kinds of alarms in her head.

Trouble, she thought.

"According to Blue Sun and Cerberus intelligence, the asset is holed up inside of the mining complex up north," she explained, noticing how the other Spartans kept themselves at a professional distance. If John didn't initiate a more familiar way of greeting her, she wouldn't press him on that. "The geth are here in force, so we might want to hurry."

While Jane waited for Cortana to contact her through her suit's communication suite, John merely said, "Then keep up, Commander. We have little time."

Cortana's lack of response set off even more alarm bells in the Commander's head. "Master Chief, the geth pose a significant cyberwarfare threat. Any advice from our mutual friend?"

He stared at her for a couple of seconds. Then, his helmet lowered, a fraction of an inch. As he turned his back to her, he merely said, "We should move."

Definitely trouble, Jane decided.

-(++)—


Alan-003 stepped into a stainless steel corridor, stopping only to brace himself against the wall when the ground shook again. The debris he left behind him wouldn't stop the geth for long, he had to keep moving.

Annah struggled a bit to keep up with his pace. Her body was just as augmented as that of the woman she was based off, but she hadn't quite learned how to make use of those cybernetics just yet. She had learned at a tremendous pace, mastering the ability to speak, read and control her body within the first few days. Just last week, she finally displayed her first sign of her latent Biotic talent. But without an Amp to fine-tune those abilities, and lacking the proper mentor to teach her the mnemonic gestures, Annah still couldn't unleash the devastating Biotic powers Alan hoped for.

"I can't see," she informed him with a relaxed tone as she broke into a quick jog to keep an even pace. It was the first thing he taught her: whatever happens, always stay calm. It was the first lesson his own instructors drilled into him.

Well, apart from the "shut your fucking mouth" part.

"Just stay close to me," he replied.

She was silent for a couple of seconds. Then…"I still can't see."

Because of whatever quirks her accelerated growth had, her mental development was a bit…off. Amongst other things, Annah was the most literal-minded person he had witnessed since Maine-007 and Math-011.

But since was effectively a Tabula Rasa – a blank slate – she was the only person he could trust. Her face could get them into places that his couldn't. His future operations would run that much smoother if she could provide them with either an alibi or a diversion.

That, and certain preparations just didn't take as long if you had a helping hand.

The two of them advanced through the dark tunnels, which had been reinforced here with steel walls. The laboratory complex was close, now. Just one more set of powerless, but locked doors to go.

When Alan reached the doors, he wrestled his gauntlets in-between them and began wrestling them open.

"Where will go next?" Annah suddenly asked.

"Away from here," the Spartan replied. He managed to creak the doors open somewhat and changed his stand, pushing his elbows outwards so that he could pull the doors apart.

"But where to?" She young woman continued. She moved next to him and found his eyes behind his visor, staring at him with those stubborn, emerald eyes of hers.

Alan wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't the most inept of the Spartan Operators when it came to dealing with civilians. He had manipulated many of them into doing his bidding, indirectly or even directly helping him achieve his goal. But honest interactions? He had no clue how to do honest interactions.

He ignored her question, focusing on pulling the thick, metal doors apart. Once he created an opening wide enough for him to pass through, he turned towards Annah again.

"We go wherever we need to go."

"For peace," she recited what he once told her. "And sanity. You say that…but..."

Her voice trailed off when she lost her focus. That happened sometimes.

When she didn't start another sentence, the Spartan assumed he could move on.

This section of the laboratory complex was without power. The design was relatively simple; several white rooms interconnected by thin, plastic doors. Machinery lined the walls. Consoles, complicated devices and racks filled with tubes. It was completely dark, safe for a couple of emergency lights that flickered every few seconds. They began making their way through the labs, but halfway through the darkened complex, Alan halted. He raised his fist to Annah, who stopped as well.

Something was off. Wrong. He wasn't sure what, but his instinct - that tingling little feeling in the back of his neck – whispered at him to stop and scan his surroundings. He focused on his audio sensors.

Nothing.

He switched to thermal imaging. Everything was cold, except for a small dot of heat at the far end of the hallway.

In 003's line of work, one could not be too paranoid. He had to assume someone opened the entrance to the laboratory complex. And that meant hostiles

The Spartan proceeded through a metal hallway with a high ceiling and flickering emergency lights. He approached the location of the heat signature, but didn't spot anything.

It was very likely that there was nobody here, but he hadn't survived the endless string of mission and assassinations by being optimistic.

They continued down a sloping passage. Alan moved slowly, scanning the lightless corridor in night vision every few steps.

There. Just around the corner, someone had constructed a wire trap connected to a few pieces of broken glass. If someone wandered through there, the sound of glass skittering across metal could be heard by anyone who knew what they were listening for.

He informed Annah about the trap and was about to step over it when it struck him how sloppy the trap looked. In these steel hallways, shards of broken glass stood out like a sore thumb. But anyone good enough to even think stetting a trap in an abandoned laboratory complex had to know that

Alan zoomed in on the tiles beyond the first trap. Just as he suspected. A second, smaller trap was hidden beyond the first, almost imperceptible. Another wire trap, connected to a piece of metal almost undiscernible from the floor. The sound that would make if triggered would be inaudible to most soldiers, special forces or not.

A heavy feeling settled within the Spartan's gut. Either this place was filled with specialized geth, or he had an elite unit after him.

He pulled out his mass accelerator rifle and kept a close eye on his motion tracker as he advanced. Only half a mile left. The next section of the labs had still been populated the last time he came here to prepare. The lack of noise suggested that had changed.

The next room was one of those large computer banks. The tables were lined with rows of computers and consoles. Last time he came here, Blue Sun technicians kept patrolling this area. Now, this place was dead.

No time to check for bodies. The enemy knew he was here. If he lingered too long, they'd box him.

Next room. Night vision revealed nothing amiss, thermal vision was cold.

Next hallway. The remnants of a crust of blood, smeared out then cleaned up. Almost imperceptible. Someone died here.

Alan had the sneaking suspicion that the Blue Sun patrols were all dead. No sign of residue Biotic energies however. These kills were extremely clean. His sense of unease grew; this was starting to look like his work.

A hundred or so meters to go. The entrance on the side of the Blue Sun base was situated in the centre of their outpost, accessible by a long flight of stairs. He never came this far. He hoped his exfiltration route was still viable.

Fifty meters to go. Another wire trap, but no hostiles. Annah didn't understand. Didn't have the instinct required of a trained assassin. But she obeyed without question, perfectly mimicking the way he stepped over the wire trap.

He approached the staircase. There was no light visible from all the way up. The entrance was still sealed.

His boots made no sound as they came down upon the metal steps of the staircase. Annah's did.

The Spartan winced. The wire traps were useless for an ambush from outside the complex. The enemy would be waiting for him at the top and now, they knew he was there.

His weapon drawn, he continued to make his way upstairs. He mentally counted each step he took, assessed his equipment and decided on what tactics to use when the inevitable ambush sprung. He was confident in his abilities to see him through, but the same didn't go for his companion. Now that the galaxy knew about his presence, it was more important than ever to hide behind an someone else's face.

Halfway up, he heard the subtle creak of leather. It was so faint, nobody without the MJOLNIR's powerful audio sensors could have picked up on it.

But it was there nonetheless, and they weren't geth.

Alan continued to make his way to the top. Despite the urgency of his situation, he felt strangely calm. His life revolved around situations like these. He had been on both sides of this situation many, many times before.

He rounded the corner, weapon drawn. Something dark and massive loomed at the bottom of the next set of stairs. It lunged for him, faster than he could pull the trigger. It ripped the rifle from his hands with surprising strength, then attempted to tackle him against the opposite wall.

Alan immediately snaked his hands around his opponent's neck, interlocked his fingers and slipped sideways, preventing himself from putting a dent in the wall.

His opponent struggled, then broke free from his grasp, displaying that same monstrous strength as before. Faster than any human, it darted backwards, then launched an open-palm strike at his midsection.

He sidestepped again, dodging the hit, before trying to slam his knee against his opponent's side. The hit landed, but it was blocked by a shimmering field that absorbed what would have been a killing blow.

After the first second of reflex-fuelled movement, 003 realized just what he was fighting.

A Spartan-II.

He didn't recognize their armour, although it vaguely resembled the Mark V (B) Variant, with a purplish colour scheme and an orange visor.

There was no time to wonder what a Spartan-II was doing here, or why they were after him. All Alan knew was that he now had to fight and incapacitate his opponent without resorting to lethal violence. The last thing he wanted to do was depriving the UNSC of one of the few remaining Spartan-II's.

But since his opponent was likely superior to him in every possible way, that might prove to be a problem.

It didn't matter. Alan didn't plan on losing here.

-(++)—


Staff Sergeant Malcolm Geffen backed away when the two MJOLNIR-clad soldiers began trying to punch each other to death with fists packed with superhuman power. They moved with insane speeds, their arms and legs moving like blurs. Striking, blocking and counter-striking.

Naomi blocked 003's left-right jab combination and landed a hit on his sternum, knocking him back. He stumbled against the wall behind him. When Naomi followed up with a stop-kick to pummel his shields flat, he deflected his leg with his left forearm, before countering with a barrage of lightning-fast hooks, jabs and elbow strikes.

Kilo Five's own Spartan blocked and deflected them all, landing several hits of her own in the meantime. Mal knew that her augmented nervous system granted her an unsurpassed insight in her opponent's movements, but he had to admit, he couldn't tell from 003's movements that he was a knockoff. He fought with laser-focus, not allowing Naomi to overwhelm him with the speed and ferocity of her attacks.

Mal spotted a woman dashing up the stairs. She was clad in one of those Citadel "hardsuits", black as the night. She spotted the two Spartans locked in their engagement and she snapped her weapon to her shoulder.

"Gun!" Mal cried, raising his SMG.

"I got the bitch!" Val growled, beating him to the trigger. Vasily squeezed off several shots, but the woman had her own set of kinetic barriers, which deflected the shots.

She brought her attention to the two ODST's now. She extender her hand, palm out, and thrust it towards them.

The next second, Mal felt an invisible boot kick him in his stomach, throwing him off his feet and shoving him into the far wall. A loud cry of alarm from Vasily told him that his comrade suffered the same fate.

Biotic, the Helljumper thought, before climbing back to his feet to engage this woman in close quarters. He didn't know who she was, but their orders were clear. Number Three had to go, and everybody who bore witness to their operation had to be dealt with too. No witnesses, Osman had ordered.

Mal clashed with the woman before she could perform more of that space magic bullshit. He punched her in the stomach, then attempted to daze her by striking her neck with the sides if his hands. She blocked his strikes with both arms, then attempted to grab his wrists. Malcolm immediately shifted gears, grabbing her helmet and dragging it down towards his knee.

But she was stronger than he anticipated. She resisted, then brought her own knee up and slammed it against his chestplate.

Though the reinforced plate could protect Mal against small arms fire, the impact winded him, and he was forced to release her helmet and shove her backwards.

Val caught up to them, brandishing his combat knife. He slashed at the woman, bypassing her kinetic barriers. After two slices across her chest, she managed to grab a hold of Val's wrist and pulled him closer, hitting him in the throat with her free fist.

Their fight was interrupted when Naomi flung 003 against the ground, nearly crushing Mal's toes with his bulk. The Staff Sergeant uttered a cry of surprise and backed off, even as Naomi attempted to stomp on 003's head.

He rolled out of the way just in time, hooked his leg behind hers and swept her to the ground. He followed up with an elbow strike, but Naomi blocked it and followed up with a heel kick to his face, which he blocked as well.

His shields were down, but 010's held fast. Each hit she landed weakened the rogue Spartan, while he struggled to keep up with her.

Using brute strength, Naomi broke free of their stalemate and straddled 003, before pulling out her combat knife and bringing it down on his head.

He intercepted her wrist at the last moment, a mere inch away from his throat. Its sharpened edge, driven by the insane force of a true Spartan, could penetrate his neck seal and kill him.

"Come on Naomi!" Val growled out, locked in a struggle of his own. "Kill the fuck!"

Number Three resisted Naomi for another second, likely found that he couldn't match her strength and pulled her closer instead. Her knife narrowly missed his neck, etching a line across his left shoulder and driving the blade home in the steel floor. Immediately thereafter he managed to wrestle Naomi away, before kicking her off.

Naomi staggered backwards against the door, then rushed for the younger knockoff again, trading another series of lightning-fast blows with him. Malcolm was forced to engage the Biotic woman again, but since he and Val covered each other, she couldn't get enough grip on either of them, preventing her from truly maiming them.

As she blocked a wicked hook from Vasily and kicked Malcolm away, the Helljumper saw 003 slam against the locked door, after which Naomi performed a leaping kick. He protected himself with his armoured forearms, but his shields weren't there to absorb the blow. Naomi's kick sent him flying through the steel door, which busted open outwards when its frame tore away.

Three rolled with the blow and got up in a fighting stance, wielding a combat knife of his own. Bright sunlight pore in through the newly-created opening, temporarily blinding Malcolm, since he had kept his VISR up throughout the entire fight.

"F-fuck," he brumbled, hasting to turn the VISR off.

Somehow, the unknown Biotic managed to capitalize on that. She punched Vasily in the stomach, then threw him over her hips down the stairs. Malcolm moved towards the door, but felt another invisible battering ram strike him in his back. He found himself flying face-first into the dirt outside of the research complex.

"Staff Sergeant Geffen," Black Box's voice came over the comm. "You should know that a UNSC dropship is approaching. Commander Shepard is aboard that ship."

"Shepard?" Muttered Malcolm. He had no idea who that was.

"A famous and infamous special forces soldier from the Systems Alliance," BB answered his unspoken question. "She is well known for her close relation to Master Chief Spartan One-One-Seven. She was likely sent by her superiors to apprehend Operator Zero-Zero-Three. You are authorized to use lethal force."

Well, Malcolm guessed that a woman capable of forming a "close relation" to the Master Chief himself was a threat in ONI's eyes. He didn't really like it, but he hadn't been assigned to Kilo-Five because he lacked the stomach to do what needed to be done.

Number Three charged Naomi, attempting to land a solid hit on her helmet. She sidestepped his charge and drove her elbow into his back, then darted away from him as he performed another legsweeper. Naomi then landed a powerful heel kick to 003's stomach, but he managed to catch her foot and shoved it away, before darting after her and launching a snap-kick at her exposed midsection.

Though an oversight on Naomi's part, he actually managed to hit her. Her shields flared as his boot connected with the side of her head. She crashed to the ground and she had to perform a backwards cartwheel to keep from falling.

By then, the unmistakable roar of a UNSC dropship became louder and more noticeable, seconds before the craft itself arrived. It wasn't Kilo-Five's craft, which meant that the UNSC sent their own teams to go after this bastard in the off chance that he got away before Naomi could wreck him. How did this Shepard get onboard then?

A woman leapt from the dropship, landed on her feet and came up with a large pistol drawn. She wore a skintight black undersuit underneath the black armour of her hardsuit. She was tall, taller than Malcolm expected for an SA human. Well over six feet tall, maybe more with her armour on.

She didn't wear a helmet. Her skin was pale, but flawless, which wasn't that common with special forces. Her green, piercing eyes drawn to the two Spartans who, oblivious to the arrival of the Pelican dropship, were still wrapped up in their fight.

She began talking, but Mal didn't give her a chance to do so. He raised his SMG and fired a sustained burst of caseless rounds her way.

Much to his surprise – and utter chagrin – she too was a Biotic. She flickered out of existence, then reappeared a meter to her left, her pistol in her hands. She returned fire, then dashed towards the two Spartans.

Mal ducked low, felt a mass accelerator round flatten itself against his chest and muttered a silent "thank you" to the developers of the ODST BDU.

Someone emerged from the underground complex. At first, Malcolm thought it was Vasily, and he was right. Well, only half right. His friend staggered away from the opening, clutching his abdomen. His right hand held a sidearm, which he raised at an unseen opponent.

An explosion of blue light sent him flying away from the mercenary base. The tall, unknown woman from before strode from the complex's opening, surrounded in a crackling field of Biotic energy.

"Val!" Naomi cried out. Her concentration wavered and 003, the slippery bastard, made a break for the dropship.

"Don't move!" Shepard shouted, pointing her gun at him, and he skidded to a halt a couple of feet away from her. "Everybody, just calm down! There's no need for this to turn ugly. We're all on the same side here. We just want to know where the Citadel is!"

Strangely enough, Naomi stood down. She slowly sheathed her knife, then addressed Shepard. "I know where the AI took the Citadel. I can show you."

At first, Malcolm thought that their Spartan took too many blows to the head. But then, he realized that she was just performing Kilo-Five's overall orders to sow chaos and unrest, but on a smaller level. This Shepard had no clue which Spartan the galaxy wanted. If she sided with the wrong Spartan, the alien races would lose their capital and the other humanity would lose one of their best agents. Two birds, one stone. Less threats to the UEG's stability.

"Commander Shepard," 003 then spoke up. "Don't be fooled, they're UNSC blackops. They can't help you. I can."

Ever the fucking meddler. But as long as Naomi didn't move, neither would Mal. It looked like Val was seriously hurt, and between two Biotic bitches and a maniacal Spartan, he didn't want to be the asshole who escalated this standoff.

"The hell you can," Val growled out from his prone position. "You're fucking traitor! You've got nothing!"

Malcolm winced. Smooth going, Vasily…

"I have evidence," retorted the Spartan. "Annah, take off your helmet."

The other Biotic woman did as he instructed. When she took her helmet off and clipped it to her belt, Mal felt his anger turn to outright confusion.

Does Shepard have a twin fucking sister?

Shepard's eyes widened. "The hell?" She muttered. "Are you – "

Naomi burst into a sprint, her knife held in a reverse grip. She crossed the dozen yards that separated her from her kill faster than Malcolm could blink. He heard the metallic groaning of armour slamming into armour when 003 intercepted her, and watched as the two Spartans crashed into the ground in another furious mess of rapid strikes.

Then, several things happened at once. The "other" Shepard rushed towards the two fighting Spartans, which prompted Vasily to pull out his second sidearm and open fire, A moment later, Malcolm joined in with his own pistol.

In a feat of surprising strength, number Three managed to throw Naomi off him. He followed up with the same kicking technque that Naomi had used to fling him through a solid steel door, sending her stumbling backwards, her shields visibly struggling to remain active.

Then, Commander Shepard seemed to explode in a roaring storm of Biotic energy. The shockwave of dark energy sent the three members of Kilo-Five flying. They came to a rough landing a couple of meters away and Naomi immediately leapt her feet, but by the time she was up, both the Biotic women as the rogue Spartan had leapt into the Pelican dropship.

The three of them opened fire on the bird, but there was no point. It spun around and, its unknown pilot pushed the throttle and the Pelican immediately accelerated away.

"B-BB!" Malcolm groaned into the comm. "Hail Devereaux! We need a ride out, now!"

-(++)—


Once she eased herself into one of dropship's seats, Commander Shepard took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her limbs trembled, her nodules flared in pain. She might have gone a bit overboard there, but it was the only way to get out in one piece.

Once they picked up John and the rest of his Spartan team, they'd rendezvous with the Frigate and get the flying fuck out of there.

"So…" She said, steeling herself and offering the black-clad Spartan a reassuring smile. "What do I call you?"

Despite the tremendous beating he had to have endured, the Spartan was just like the Master Chief. He showed no sign of discomfort as his dark visor settled on Shepard's face. "You are Commander Shepard, Systems Alliance, Spectre."

"I know."

"You can call me Spartan Zero-Zero-Three."

"Yeah." Shepard shot a glance at the strange woman who had accompanied Three. She sat two seats away, having donned her helmet again. "Alright. I take it you uhm…you know me?"

"I know a lot of things," he replied. "Cerberus, the Council, the Alliance. Which do you represent at this moment?"

"The Systems Alliance."

"What's your next step?"

His voice was surprisingly rough. Given that he just fought another Spartan super-soldier in close quarters combat, that was to be expected. Still, Jane thought she sensed an emotional edge in his voice. A hint of challenge, a hint of aggression.

"Escape the geth fleet, link up with the Alliance and get some first aid," she replied, keeping her voice calm and neutral.

"I don't require first aid."

Before meeting Blue Team, Jane would have asked herself if all Spartans were this stubborn. Right now, she didn't even bother asking herself. She already knew the answer. "You're limping. I know your visor is thicker than it seems, but the dark splotches in its corner suggest you're bleeding, likely on the inside."

He brought two fingers to the dark stain on the inside of his visor. He gave no physical reaction to her analysis, but he didn't refute her either.

So, Shepard turned her attention to the other woman in the ship. "I know I don't have a long-lost twin sister. Who are you?"

Instead of answering, the woman turned to look at the Spartan, as if waiting for confirmation.

Interesting.

"That's a long story," he simply replied after a couple of seconds of silence. "You can call her Annah."

Annah. "Uh-huh. I'm not going to lie, Three. Nobody will try to kill you over it, like those guys back then, but the Council species would like their Citadel back. Any idea if you can help?"

"That's…a long story."

Jane rolled with her eyes. Spartans and their long stories…she still didn't know what the deal was with this whole Forerunner business. John knew. Number Three knew.

FIne. More trust she had to earn, she guessed. "That's okay."

All the fighting, all the suffering…she hoped it was worth something..

-(++)—


AN: Finally, our stray Spartans are about to meet. A small victory for Commander Shepard, at long last. Please let me know what you think of the chapter in a review or PM.