Pump some iron brah! Wow, I am really white.
The iron bar flexed in his grip, bent by the weight his body was putting on it as he pulled himself up until his chin was just above it. Sweat beaded on his forehead, emerald eyes burned even in their distant state, and his muscles flexed as he slowly lowered himself once more.
Corded muscles flexed and veins pressed against dark skin and in an instant he had yanked himself up above the bar again. The cast iron chain around his waist clinked with the sharp motion and the lead weights suspended below swayed.
Emile repeated the motion half a dozen more times before gently lowering the weights to the floor and dropping down once they touched. The Spartan began pulling the tape from his wrists and palms and undoing the chain around his waist, unmindful of the stares he was getting from the other occupants of the gym.
One day, that was going to get real old, as it was it was already annoying but bearable. Logically, it would make sense for them to stare. Most humans shouldn't be able to do one hundred and fifty pullups, forehand and backhand grip, let alone with around half a ton of lead weights chained to their waist.
At this point he was just glad the gym was as empty as it was, though it still frustrated him that the naval base didn't have a weight room. Marines stared just as much as civvies, but at least they knew better than to try and talk to him. Apparently a black N7 tank top meant that you wanted to be chatted up about irrelevant nonsense. Like the Indian woman who was still staring at him from the other side of the gym. She actually tried to talk about how empty her apartment was and how big her bed is!
Noble Four walked over the empty squat rack, quickly loading the bar to the maximum, not for the first time lamenting the fact nobody designed exercising equipment with his strength and size in mind.
Still, it was nice not fighting, going into stasis, waking up for a quick meal, a briefing, days of warfare, then cryo again. Here he was actually able to eat something other than basic rations beneath the ruins of what used to be a family's home while hoping some cloaked elite didn't stumble up on him while his helmet was off. The majority of his exercise was actual exercise, and not a futile struggle to stave off the slow demise of the human race. Five hours of rack time a night unless he was on missions, none of it in cryostasis or those sleeping pods either, since no one used the former, and he couldn't fit in the latter.
Of course, there were downsides. Three of them just walked by the front door in fact.
Aliens. Even in such a non-hostile setting, Emile had to repress the urge to crush the blue women's heads with his bare hands. The blue ones, asari they were called, looked human to an extent, and truth be told, it wasn't their appearance that set his teeth on edge, it was the way they spoke. They believed, no, they knew they were better than humans. Perhaps they weren't aware of it, just as Four wasn't always aware of how his size is perceived by the people around him.
The Spartan shrugged it off and finished his set, the steel bar flexing and bouncing as he rose and fell in quick succession. Fortunately, there weren't many aliens in Elysium. A few asari that were apparently looking to 'try out' humans, for whatever reason, some turians that worked private security for some corporation in Elysium City, and exactly four of something called 'quarians', here on a 'Pilgrimage'.
It was getting dark out, and Emile had walked into the gym sometime around midday, he should probably go do something 'fun' like Ryder had ordered before taking off with the battlegroup on a mission to the Attican Traverse. If Alec Ryder wanted him to have fun, then he should have brought the Spartan along to go fuck up some pirates, or slavers, or just something to shoot at!
What was he supposed to do here? Go to one of the bars with the other marines and get drunk? An exercise in futility, his metabolism was too fast to actually get drunk on anything capable of being safely consumed by humans.
Good for him, his mandatory seven days of leave only had three days left, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to survive the next three days of unbearable boredom. Eat, workout, sleep, repeat. That's all he could do. They wouldn't let him wear his armor, they wouldn't even let him go to the range and engage in target practice! The only thing they couldn't take, and lucky for them they didn't even try, was his knife, tucked safely into the waistband of his workout shorts.
It probably wasn't okay for him to have it with him in the gym, but one look at him, and the manager had wisely chosen not to say anything, or even ask if he had a membership.
The evening air was cool, as it always was this time of day. Elysium wasn't like Earth, it didn't have seasons. It was tilted on its rotational axis, just like Earth, but to a much smaller extent. Temperatures rarely ventured above thirty degrees centigrade, and never below twenty, meaning the planet was basically in the middle of a fairly mild summer, all of the time.
It attracted plenty of colonists, Elysium City was well over a million already. Impressive for a colony less than five years old. It was still mostly just the city, located on the shores of a giant lake that fed one of the largest rivers in the galaxy, but a rather significant agricultural base had recently begun taking hold, taking advantage of the planets rich soil.
Still, the planet was mostly reliant on the refineries located within the city, taking in raw materials from the asteroid field between the fourth and fifth planets and turning them into something useful.
Everything about this place made Emile uneasy. Highly populated, for this galaxy anyway, lots of resources and money, and a small patrol fleet that checked in once a week to rotate the two or three hundred strong garrison of marines. There weren't even anti air guns to dissuade anyone from landing shuttles or bringing in frigates to land troops.
Four didn't know why the Alliance didn't invest in a standing army. Put marines on boats, drop them into heavy fighting, the Army could be stationed ground side, permanently. There really wouldn't be a downside, a garrison of over a thousand could be maintained on a colony like Elysium without ever having to take people away from their homes. And maybe a thousand wasn't enough to completely fight off an attack, but these colonies weren't under threat of annihilation from Covenant, just slavers and pirates. All they really had to do was make the target too costly to hit. Make the conflict drag on, give the Alliance time to respond. They don't need to have ships everywhere, but they do need a sizeable force on the ground, people who were locals, who actually knew their way around.
Emile had told all of this to the Alliance before, but they wanted to treat each colony as an independent nation, one that was 'allied' with the other systems. That meant that they weren't allowed to station a permanent ground presence on colonies that didn't want them. Essentially, a colony doesn't want to pay a little extra to feed and supply about a thousand marines, and the thousand navy personnel operating a small defense flotilla, but blamed the Alliance anytime pirates or slavers ran right over the token garrison of marines.
It made him sick. Humanity was sitting on a gold mine. With the resources within their space, they could triple the size of their fleet. If ten percent of the population entered into military service, they could fill that theoretical fleet, and have enough left over to garrison every colony world with a standing army. Instead the people here just kept saying the Alliance wasn't doing its job to protect colonies, despite the fact they never even bothered to help.
Damn, he really should stop talking to Shepard. That girl had taught him more about politics than Four ever wanted to know. Honestly, he didn't even really want to talk to her, but the Covvies were going to give up their crusade against humanity long before the newly minted Commander stopped trying to talk to him.
He tried one word answers, he tried no answers, both to no avail. She just kept… emailing him! Asking how Alenko was doing, telling him how her new position was working out, asking him nonclassified details of how his life has been! He couldn't just brush her off, she was a superior officer now, something he himself had a hand in, a decision that he couldn't quite bring himself to regret, regardless of how annoyed he was.
Emile asked Alec Ryder why Shepard kept messaging him, but the old man just started laughing. When the Spartan pressed him, the father of two just shook his head and said, "You don't have much experience with women do you?"
At least the old man wasn't such a mope anymore, since his wife was cured. Just another piece of life changing tech the Alliance pulled from him. Not so much tech as gene therapy that could cure nearly anything. The UNSC hadn't quite perfected the human genome, but the average UEG citizen was faster, stronger, and more intelligent than some of the most exceptional humans in this galaxy, and Emile was an even better example of perfect human genetics. Maybe not as much as Jorge or any of the II's, but better than most of the III's.
"Lieutenant!" a voice called, "Hey El Tee! Over here!"
Ah crap.
To be fair, it wasn't Alenko's fault. He was a good kid. A bit on the shy side, which suited him just fine, Four wasn't really much of a talker anyway. The problem lay in the fact that Emile had saved Kaidan's life a while back. Crushed an asari commando's head with a casual backhand before she could unload her shotgun into the N3. Since then, the biotic had somehow gained the belief that he and Emile were… friends…
Ever since then, the pair of Lieutenants, though the Spartan did outrank the biotic, had… hung out… Not entirely against Emile's will, but the newly commissioned officer could, most definitely, talk.
"Emile! We were just headed out! You wanna come?"
Four really should have said no. The baby faced excuses for Alliance marines were strangers, no doubt to Kaidan as well. The biotic was no doubt harassed into going, and now was trying to drag the only person on the planet he knew along with him. Well, A239 supposed he should look out for the kid. Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble.
…
"No man, I'm telling you! Kirk was a better captain, it's not even close!" the big eared marine, Jenkins, told Kaidan over his beer.
Emile watched as the biotic waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "You're crazy. Picard was clearly the superior officer. Kirk had… what? Three hundred, four hundred people under his command? Picard ran a ship of over a thousand! A lot were civilians, but time and time again, he scored huge victories, with almost no losses."
Richard Jenkins shook his head before draining his glass and raising his hand to the dark skinned waitress, "That's your argument? The size of his ship? How bout some odds? Kirk was almost always by himself!"
Kaidan held his arms wide, "Hello? Borg? Emile! Help me out here."
The Spartan sipped his beer, fermented from some native crop that was supposedly very similar to wheat. The marine and the N3 both stared at him, even as the waitress, who they had said was 'bombshell' set Jenkins drink in front of him. Four set the glass down, still half full, and opened his mouth…
Only to pop an onion ring into it. Both men seemed to be hanging on his opinion now, the delay only exaggerating their need to hear it. This pointless argument over fictional characters was far more satisfying than he had originally thought it would be. It helped that the 'hanging out' he and Kaidan had been doing involved watching a twentieth century television show called Star Trek.
"Y'all both wrong," the super soldier finally got out, still using that same, low whisper that, according to what could possibly be his only friend in the entire universe, was more effective than the loudest scream any drill sergeant could muster.
Jenkins dropped his palms against the table, "Don't tell me you're talking about Sisko?!"
"Janeway," Emile clarified, "Was by far, not even close, the best captain. Including Archer, though he was a close second."
Alenko whistled, "I think he's got us there, Private!"
Richard shook his head, "Well… fuck. I can't really argue with you. Mostly because you terrify me!"
The private raised his glass to the Spartan who tipped his own slightly before taking another sip. The pair set their drinks down and Kaidan was about to get up for the bathroom when the bar shook.
"What was that?"
Emile leaned forward, adrenaline already spiking in anticipation of what was going to come. Sensitive ears strained, focusing past the immediate ambient noise of the bar and listening to the far off screams. Sharp eyes peered out into the street, where the people who had been out enjoying the night air had stopped and were all looking in the same direction. Finally another shake hit his palms laying flat against the wall.
"Get these people rounded up," the Spartan ordered, "Gather as many as you can, get them to the bunkers."
Richard shared a look with Kaidan before turning back to Emile, "What's going on?"
Emerald eyes pinned the private to his seat, "We under attack."
In the distance sirens began to wail.
…
It always struck Emile as strange that batarian's had such a nasty reputation. Sure they were slavers, pirates, murderers, thieves, and all sorts of nasty things, but warriors they were not. Bullies maybe, but they were just so frail. Weak chins that couldn't take a punch, a forehead with no rigidity, thanks to those four eyes, and the Spartan had yet to encounter a single one that could aim for shit. And that included Hegemony Special Forces.
Still, the fight was somewhat interesting, considering he didn't have his armor.
The super soldier crushed the barrel of some shitty generic assault rifle with his left hand and gave the Spartan equivalent of a love tap to the four eyed forehead, crushing the skull with ease.
Not letting the body go to waste, Emile pulled the corpse to him by its collar and took advantage of its still active kinetic barriers to absorb some of the errant fire from the other slavers. He charged forward into the main group, plucking a grenade from his meat shield's belt and tossing it to the pair of squints trying to flank him.
Just as the nasty explosive detonated, Four was knee deep in corpses that hadn't quite acknowledged the fact they were dead yet. He would help them out with that.
Turn the barrel of a shotgun, jab to the throat.
Back kick with left foot to the knee of another squint before dropping his fists like a hammer on the back of its head.
The knife left his waistband, cutting the hand and sidearm from yet another squint, ending its parasitic existence with an aggressive lobotomy.
A239 spun the kukri into a backhanded grip, and disemboweled the penultimate four eyed waste of organic material before turning on the last one. A single kick knocked the rifle from its hands, and the foolish, brave, or just plain stupid alien decided charging was a good idea.
Emile picked it up by its throat before putting all twelve inches of razor sharp titanium to good use. When the Spartan left that particular street corner, the usual green sign had been redecorated, with a four eyed head.
It had been three hours since the slavers had landed and ever since then Emile had been doing whatever he could to harass their forces. Picking off scouts like this group, blowing up enemy armor with IED's, and intercepting larger teams that were moving in on civilian groups trying to make it to the bunkers.
It helped having Alenko and Jenkins feeding him information. The two marines were tapped into civilian comms and the local surveillance. They could point him to areas with heavy enemy presence, they could guide civilians through the holes he was opening up, and they were turning the bunker into an impenetrable fortress.
"Scouts down," he spoke evenly into his omnitool, "Next target?"
The holographic interface flashed as Emile slid the kukri back in its sheath and picked through the discarded weapons of the slavers, growling in disgust at the fragile peashooters.
"Okay," Kaidan's voice came over the comm, "We've got enemy armor coming down Deleware. Looks like two APC's and one anti-armor. The gun on that thing could break open the bunker door, add the troops in the APC's, we'd be done for."
"Options?"
"Got a natural gas line that runs underneath 9th. You've got ten mikes till enemy armor crosses it."
Emile looked at the street sign he left the slaver's head on, 18th and Minnesota, "I'll be there, any weapon cache's?"
There was a pause before the biotic's voice filled the line again, "There's an Elysium Firepower Shop on the way. Looks like they had a couple of M-8's in stock. Thermal clips too."
That'll do. Better than using these peashooters that didn't even have the decency to kick properly when fired. The turian's could bitch all they wanted, but Emile would rather swap heat sinks than have a gun with no power.
Even still, the Spartan would be glad when the Alliance finally approved field tests for the MA5 'Heavy' Assault Rifle. Slugs big enough to actually hold in your hand, propelled to more than three times the speed of standard gunpowder rifles, and rugged enough to club a krogan to death with.
But, Four thought as he smashed the glass cabinet open with an elbow, this'll do for now.
…
The tank top was ruined… so were the shorts. Batarian blood was the same scarlet as human, but it was definitely, significantly, more foul, and the Spartan had to deal with the fact his favorite workout clothes were soaked in the smelly substance.
Still, Emile powered through it as he slapped a new heat sink into his Avenger from behind the cover of what used to be a section road that had been forcibly uprooted by the exploding natural gas line beneath it.
The heavy tank that had been driving over it did not fare much better, two of the six wheels had been shorn off by the sheer force of the explosion, and the belly was stuck directly over the jet of fire still shooting from the gas line, cooking the squints inside.
The two APC's had escaped the blast, but now were stuck in a firefight with a Spartan. A situation not to be envied.
Four rolled out, putting six shots down range, popping the shields and the head of one slaver, before ducking down and strafing to the next piece of cover. Fortunately barrier technology had not quite caught up with the improving firepower of mass accelerators. It made Emile's work just that much easier.
Sensitive ears picked up the footsteps of an approaching squint. Four shots punched through its barrier, the fifth drilled right through the lower left eye and the sixth just made sure the job was done.
The slaver wasn't alone, but that wasn't good news for the invaders as one of its friend fell to its knees, futilely attempting to stuff its intestines back inside its opened stomach. The last tried to run, but it was difficult to run with cut hamstrings, and hard to breath with two punctured lungs.
More rounds pinged off the concrete road behind him as he slipped behind one of the APC's large wheels. The Spartan slapped the side of the Avenger, knocking a half spent thermal clip from the chamber before slipping in a new one, not for the first time wishing he had his MJOLNIR with him. All twenty of these squints would be bloodstains on the sidewalk.
Six shots brought down another slaver, followed by an extended burst to force the others into cover as Emile advanced towards their position, intent on using his superior strength, speed, and hand to hand skills rather than take his time trading potshots.
"Lieutenant!" Jenkins voice came over the Spartan's omnitool, "El Tee we got problems!"
Four broke a slaver's wrist, threw an elbow into its chest, and slammed its head into the ground, spreading gray matter over the road, "Hit me kid!"
Rounds peppered his cover as he listened to the baby faced marine, "Public traffic cameras show the slavers landing a frigate in the park! They're rolling out armor, troops, looks like they've got Blood Pack mercs with them!"
Emile nodded once before popping up as the suppressive fire let up and managed two kills before the rest could duck and cover, "Time's up. You ready?"
"Good as we could get it! I've got some heavy weapons from the marine barracks, assault rifles, shotguns, snipers, anything that can kill a man. Booby traps on all the entrances…"
Emile grabbed the last squint by its collar, put one massive hand under its weak chin, and lifted the skull clean off its shoulders, "I don't need a by the numbers analysis. Will it hold, yes or no?"
There was a pause on the line, "With you here? Not a doubt man."
Four looked to the sky, dawn was still a few hours off, "Good. Be there in five mikes."
…
"Right side, overload!" Four barked over the sound of the heavy MG keeping the horde of batarians, vorcha, and krogan back.
The tech attack splashed across several of the goblin like vorcha before destroying the gas regulator on one flamethrower. Emile didn't bother watching the results of the fiery explosion as he peppered a krogan with rounds from his M-8.
"Top of the key! Tank!"
"Relocate Jenkins! Don't give em a good line on you! Alenko! Where'd I put the launcher?"
"I got it!"
The super soldier caught the relatively light grenade launcher fairly easily before popping back out from behind his cover and taking aim. The tank was well armored, and 30mm grenades weren't going to do it. Fortunately the slaver's were as dumb as they were ugly.
PLOOM… BANG!
Brick columns exploded outwards and the four stories they supported began to break apart from the rest of the building, dropping several tons of brick, furniture, duct work, and drywall on the military vessel. Whether it destroyed it or not was not really relevant, that it couldn't move was all that mattered.
"I. AM. KRO-"
High velocity armor piercing rounds shredded the toadlike krogan before it could finish its species typical, and rather unimaginative battlecry.
"Don't they ever say anything interesting?" Jenkins, the one who ripped the reptile apart with his heavy MG turret, asked rhetorically.
"Stow it marine. Keep focus on the heavies, Alenko, shockwave! Push them squints out of cover!"
"Got it!"
The civilian model Avenger was getting a workout, but Emile would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed by its reliability. The basic rifle kicked his shoulder every time he pulled the trigger, was workably accurate, and could put holes in goblins and squints alike. Right now he was using it to shred a couple of vorcha's heads.
SNAP!
"Shit! Sniper!" Jenkins cursed from his elevated spot above the entrance to the bunker, "Nearly took out the MG!"
"Eyes on!?"
"Negative, negative, he's ghost."
Four grunted in annoyance. Enemy snipers made everything more difficult. He loved having them on his side, but having one on the other side? Especially when he didn't have one?
"Keep to cover, two ticks and duck!"
Another krogan was moving up the left flank, using the parked vehicles as cover. Emile didn't bother with it.
BOOM!
Orange toad guts splattered the downtown buildings of Elysium City after the IED rigged up by the baby faced marine detonated.
SNAP!
"Got him!" Kaidan barked, "High rise, above the billboard with the ad for air cars."
Emile peeked over his cover, "I see him, keep me covered."
Blue pulses flashed and a few squints started floating out from their cover before a torrent of mass accelerators shredded them.
Four reached down to the pile of weapons stocked in his cover, plucking a Viper and moving to the other end of his steel barrier. What he wouldn't give for an SR-99 right now. The M-97 was a fine rifle, for picking off infantry, but nothing beat out the Anti Material when it came to killing other snipers.
Breathing out, the Spartan leveled the crosshairs on the shadowy figure of the other sniper. The rifle kicked twice in rapid succession, both shots deflected by a blue shimmer. A quick breath in and a slow breath out and the crosshairs focused in again. Distantly, the super soldier was aware of the fact the sniper was shifting aim, and he himself was unshielded, but Emile never really brought the thought into focus as the rifle kicked twice more, the first shot shattering the blue barriers, and the fourth punching straight through the squint's head.
SNAP!
Ow…
A239 rolled his left shoulder, the round went clean through, but it was still plenty annoying.
"Sniper's gone, but we got armor rolling in from the east."
Four leaned out and caught site of a six barreled turret beginning to spin…
"INSIDE NOW!"
…
BOOM!
Emile shook his head in annoyance as he listened to the slavers pound on the thick doors to the civilian bunker, "Get down with the civvies, arm anyone who can hold a gun. Set up overlapping fields of fire, booby trap the entrances. Ya'll know the drill, but don't, under any circumstances, let those people get taken."
Kaidan nodded, sweat rolling off of his black hair as he moved towards the passage leading down into the bunker proper. Richard stayed behind, looking at the Spartan, "What about you?"
BOOM!
Cracks were starting to appear in the concrete corridor.
"I'm gonna kick some muthafuckin teeth in. Now get the fuck outta here marine."
The baby faced marine didn't look quite as innocent as he did to start the night out. Sweat and blood streaked his face, puffy cheeks had gone gaunt in a matter of hours, and shining blue eyes were glowing with fire. The kid didn't argue, he could see the hatred burning in Emile's own green orbs.
"Yes, sir."
BOOM!
Four rolled his neck, feeling the tungsten coated vertebrae crack and pop as he did.
BOOOOOOOM!
Any second the door would break down and a horde of Blood Pack shock troopers would come flooding down this hallway. Well, they'd try.
The kukri slipped from its sheath, the wicked blade glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. Emile rolled his shoulders and relaxed his muscles, letting his feelings come to him. Leading a team, working tactically, required a clear mind, and he had to keep his emotions under a lid. What was about to happen?
These fucking squints, weak chinned, squishy little bitches. They came, hoping to take people infinitely their better and use them as slaves. Fucking property, not because they weren't able to do the work, but because they just didn't want to. They were lazy, sleazy little cunts, worthy of the title of monster in every way that even the Covenant didn't warrant. At least those mother fuckers had the God damned decency to kill their victims.
And those fucking krogan. Got it so bad? Can't have kids? They should have been wiped off the face of the galaxy a long, long time ago. All they knew was killing, fighting, fucking. Emile knew dogs smarter than those toads. They were a plague, eating away at galactic society and the universe would be a better place with them gone.
Vorcha… he'd seen what they had been doing to the corpses of human civilians, to the corpses of their own. Four had always taken special joy in mauling jackals, grunts and brutes who had been doing the same…
BOOOOOOOOMMMMM!
The door crumbled, smoke and dust filled the corridor. A krogan on the other side gave a battlecry. Doubtful that it expected a response.
…
The sun peaked over the horizon. Rays of golden light illuminating columns of smoke rising above a city that had seen many better days. Skyscrapers showed signs of damage, smoke rising from holes blown open in the side of them. Smaller buildings had bore the brunt of it, many of them being out right demolished.
As the sun climbed the sky, it shone on the bodies littering the streets. At first, most were human, with the occasional batarian or vorcha lying about, but as the sun finally reached the center of the city, literal piles of alien corpses covered the streets, rivers of red and orange blood that still ran hot with the heat of their donors filled the storm drains, and one living being sat outside.
Emile pulled his tank top from his torso. The garment no longer comfortable, and likely ruined beyond the ability of any water and soap. The slavers had run, finally turned away. By him, or a preset time limit, the super soldier had no clue. All that mattered was that it was over, and the people of Elysium City were safe.
Taking a large hammer stripped from a krogan warlord, the Spartan knocked the top off of a fire hydrant, cool clean water shooting from the top from a miraculously unharmed water system.
Orange and red blood caked his body, but the geyser quickly took care of it, cleaning not only himself, but his knife and 'borrowed' hammer, as well as the immediate street around him.
Once the sun got hot, the city was going to smell bad. Emile had been around plenty of human corpses in his day. More than a few had been nice and ripe, but nothing compared to the stench of opening up a krogan's digestive system. He had no idea what the toads ate, but if they needed a stomach that smelled like that, it couldn't be good.
Sonic booms grabbed Four's attention. Vapor trails followed Alliance strike craft as they entered the upper atmosphere, too late to help with any fighting, but fortunately for Emile, just in time to help clean up…
Damn he had made a mess.
A little shorter than the last chapter, but I didn't really want to get too into the Skyllian Blitz, or else this would have been like a five or six chapter story arc. Actually, that wouldn't have been such a bad thing… if this was a Mass Effect story, and not a Halo/Mass Effect crossover. Like if I had a bunch of OC's that I really wanted to build a backstory for or something, but the fact of the matter remains, I wanted to get this out of the way.
I still spent way more time on this than I did in the last version of this story. The last time I think I wrapped all three pre stories into one neat chapter that honestly didn't make much sense. Hopefully I'm a little more coherent.
Yes, Emile is very, very, very xenophobic in this chapter. He should be. All he's ever seen, his entire life, is aliens killing, or trying to kill, people who were like family to him. His actual family, his fellow Spartan III's, Noble Team. But I think you might find his opinion starting to change next chapter… I've got something a little devious in mind…
Also, before anyone jumps down my throat about how I mentioned Emile's genetics. As far as I can tell, from the information provided to me by sources other than people's comments. Emile and the other Spartan III's of Noble Team were of similar genetic stock as the Spartan II's. It's one of the reasons they were given MJOLNIR and pulled from Alpha and Beta Company. A lot of people are still going to give me the business about it, but you have to understand… go fuck yourselves. This is the canon I have been able to dig up, and it is what I am going to stick with.
I understand his augmentations were to a slightly more limited effect. Bones, muscle, and nervous system augmentations were kept the same, but their training and education wasn't as broad, and they weren't given the thyroid implant to drastically increase their growth. But still, as far as I'm concerned, Emile at age 30 is probably just as strong as Master Chief at age 30. Notice how I specified they were the same age in my fake scenario. I know the Chief is stronger than Emile in canon, the same way my dad is still stronger than I am, because he's 26 years older than me, I won't catch up until he starts deteriorating. It's the same with the II's and the III's of Noble Team.
Actually I just shouldn't have said anything in the notes. I'd still get the bitching, but I wouldn't have given them so much to bitch about…
Anyway, Shepard is still around. Some of you, most of you, were dead on with what was going on with her. Some of you jumped straight on the Cerberus bandwagon, which… no thanks.
Also gave you a small peak at some weapons I have planned. I'm sure I'm going to get some comments about it, but whatevs.
Also, opinion on possible inclusion of side missions related to these chapters? You know, the guy from Akuze being tortured, the pirate that was all upset about how he betrayed his entire species and didn't get paid for it, and Major Kyle?
Drop a review, don't want to write, what you don't want to read.