Chapter 34. Business As Usual


Late 2145 CE, Citadel, Lower Wards

"Spirits, tell me you're making this up, Anderson," the turian exclaimed as he looked at the blurry security footage in front of him. When Anderson had asked him to meet him at this less than classy establishment, he had been prepared for the worst but now that he actually saw just what his friend had meant when he had said 'I need to show you something', he realised that nothing could've prepared him for this horror.

"I'd like to do so but sadly I'd be lying," the human replied grimly, his tone dark.

"This is bad, Anderson."

"I know."

"This is absolutely terrible."

"I know"

"How did this go unnoticed? How are we only seeing this now?" Saren exclaimed before placing the palm of his hand in his face, trying and failing to put some kind of barrier between him and the recording of two very familiar figures climbing alongside the edge of a Presidium apartment that was playing in front of his eyes in the foolish hope of rendering it non-existent. Even after realising that he needed to see this, it took every piece of resolve in his mind not to look away.

"Apparently the officer that was tasked with looking over the block that night recognized you and thought you were doing some highly classified Council business. The official recording went straight into C-SEC's archives, no second reviewing. Flagged as top secret. But he did keep a copy of it for himself."

"At least some good news," the turian argued, more than impressed by the fact that this entire ordeal had gone unmentioned for nearly eight years than by the feat of climbing a Presidium apartment in the state they had been in during that night without dying. "How did you get it?"

"The officer retired a few weeks ago and decided to solve the last mystery of his career before heading back to Palaven. When he didn't find you, he tracked down me. When he asked me about the mission, I very nearly gave us away."

"Very nearly?" the turian questioned as the two figures kept ascending alongside the building's facade.

"He caught me off-guard, alright? It's not every day that someone shows you a recording of your worst hangover," Anderson chuckled. "After stumbling over my own words, I told him we were tracking a contact of the Shadow Broker and since his agents were on our trail we had to act like drunken idiots to fool them. I think he bought it."

"Impressive," he admitted. "So he just gave you this? No remarks?" the turian asked as his mandibles twitched in embarrassment while the two figures stumbled over the railing of a balcony, knocking down several pieces of furniture before finally sitting down, bottles clearly visible in their hands. "How did he not see that we really were incredibly drunk?"

"Maybe he thought we were very convincing actors?" Anderson offered as the recording kept playing, every second causing Saren to reconsider if tonight, or ever again really, was a good time for their semi-regular social meetings involving alcohol. Maybe they should find another, less embarrassing activity like karaoke or stand-up comedy.

"I'm good, but not that good," the turian frowned as he rotated the glass in his hands, causing the blue liquid to spin in circles while Anderson, the one in the recording, fell face first over a chair he had knocked over a few seconds before, trying to roll in an attempt to break his fall only to bump into the next chair in the process, rubbing his head before struggling to get back on his feet. "And I thought learning that you tried Ryncol was bad enough."

"We agreed to never again talk about that particular detail," the human Spectre countered as he took another sip of his drink. "But then again, this one isn't over just yet. Take a good look at yourself, Arterius," he added as the two figures once more went over the railing, the Saren of the recording pausing for a few moments before deciding that the plant resting on one of the tables they miraculously hadn't bumped into should join them for the rest of their adventure. Seeing himself pick up the plant with one hand before easily descending the facade with only the help of his other one, he realised that even in his heavily intoxicated state the countless of hours of climbing he had done during his Blackwatch training had surfaced. At least now he had an explanation for having woken up alongside a piece of salarian shrubbery back then.

"Spirits," the turian growled at his past foolishness before he decided to down his drink either way. "How did we even get up there? Chora's Den is three blocks from here and the Presidium may as well be the other end of the Citadel."

"That my apparently botanically-inclined friend, I cannot answer," Anderson laughed before closing the omni-tool. "That's one more blank we've filled."

"Leaving just a thousand more," Saren argued as he leaned back in the seat he was occupying.

"Small victories," Anderson declared as he raised his empty glass towards the bartender before turning back towards Saren. "So besides your current embarrassment, how have you been? We haven't exactly seen each other a lot in the last year," he asked, the hint of concern in his voice not going unnoticed by the turian. He was right, between an unusually high amount of assignments, the writing of their respective reports and finding out that the Harbinger had exterminated the protheans, Saren hadn't found a lot of time for social drinking in the last twelve standard months. Sure, they had bumped into each other time and again but the last time they had actually sat down and talked had been far too long ago.

"I've been good. Busy but good. What about you?" the turian Spectre shrugged after deciding not to mention the later burden that was weighing him down before Anderson raised his eyebrow at Saren's reply. "What?"

"I know that tone, its your half truth tone, Saren," the human Spectre countered. "Come on," he pressed on. "You can talk to me, I've got the right security clearance for a pep-talk," he jokingly added before his tone grew more serious. "Did a mission go bad?"

"Not that I recall, no," Saren spoke as he wondered just how the N7 knew that something was up. Admittedly, he had expected to have a conversation along these lines shorty after their encounter with Tevos, the question as to how the asari knew of his beyond secret activities still unanswered, but when that hadn't happened, a part of him had started to believe that his friend had decided to let the issue of just what he was doing with most of his time go.

Apparently that belief had been wrong.

"Something's obviously going on, I can tell that much. You're acting different," Anderson countered. "Listen, I'm not expecting you to have an emotional breakdown any time soon, you're not that kind of person, but whatever it is that's weighing you down, you don't have to carry it by yourself. I'm not going to claim that I understand what's going on, I don't know if I do, but for your own sake, don't let it crush you."

The N7 turned his head ever so slightly as he looked at him for some sort of reaction, unaware of the things going on in the turian's head. He wanted to tell him, he really did. Anderson wasn't just a competent Spectre or a valuable figure in the HSA's political and military network, he was also one of the few people Saren really considered a friend. Yet at the same time he knew that if his human associates hadn't done so up to now, there had been a reason for that. A reason that became evident once he gave it a few moments of thought. Anderson was a good soldier and an even better man, there was no doubt in that. But the shadows they were chasing were too dark of a place for men like Anderson to be in. A person that was as true to their principles as him was simply not the kind of person a situation such as the one he was in required. He knew Anderson, the moment he learned that something as dangerous as the Harbinger was being kept a secret, he would insist on warning everyone about it and under any other circumstances he would've agreed with that notion.

But sadly it weren't any other circumstances that he found himself in. They couldn't tell the galaxy what was going on until they had a clear idea of what the Harbinger was, it was simply too dangerous. Once they knew how to fight him, Anderson would be one of the first people Saren would want next to him but until then, he simply couldn't. With a heavy heart, he made his decision for on the matter for the time being.

"I'm sorry but I can't tell you," he sighed as he set the empty glass back on the table, the rays of the reddish club light dancing on its surface and reflecting of the droplets of alcohol as the music box next to them caused them to vibrate ever so slightly, the one he was focusing on slowly but surely running down towards the small puddle of liquor that had collected at the bottom of the glass, soon to be part of a greater whole. As their eyes met, he went on to give Anderson the reply the N7 was presumably hoping for. "But I'll be fine, trust me."

He knew that he hadn't sounded nearly as convincing as he would've liked to but there was nothing he could do about that right now.

"Alright," the N7 spoke as the suddenly present bartender put himself between them to not only pick up Saren's own empty glass but also sat down Anderson's fresh beverage, its golden content still putting a semi-transparent barrier between the two as the human lifted it to his lips once the salarian had withdrawn. He took a sip of the beverage before breaking eye contact, looking at something behind Saren. "If you're ever ready to share, I'll be here."

"I appreciate that," he truly meant it, even if it probably sounded like the kind of thing one was expected to say to such an offer.

"Good," Anderson nodded before his mouth twisted into a sheepish grin, a quick look over his shoulder allowing Saren to spot the small glasses at the bar which had caught the N7's attention. Before he could say anything, his human companion emptied the mostly full glass in his hand and began walking to the bar. "Now I've had about enough of this serious talk for now, let's try to lure out that botanically-inclined side of yours again, shall we?"

This would be one of those nights, wouldn't it? Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe he needed one of those nights to clear his mind. There was only one way for him to find that out.

"If I wake up next to anything worse than a salarian plant, I'm blaming you," the turian called before falling in behind him.

"I'm fine with that as long as I also get credit for you waking up to anything better than a salarian plant."


17. March 2405 AD, Arcadia, Peak Ninty One

"I can still get him," he muttered into his microphone as he pushed through the stream of people going along their business in spite of the rain currently pouring down on their heads. For a suburban area, the town square was rather lively, he had to admit that much. Of course it was nothing compared to Earth, unlike on the plazas of the mega city he had grown up in, one could still claim to have adequate room in this crowd. But even if it was far more spacious than he was used to growing up, the mass of people had still worked against him. Their mark, a wanted terrorist intending to strike at an as of yet unknown but presumably very sensitive location, knew that someone was tracking him and had done a more than just adequate job at putting as many bystanders between himself and his pursuer, using the sea of umbrellas to obstruct his movements all the while adjusting his speed to the flow of the crowd, making it incredibly hard to keep track of him.

"Don't get too cocky. He definitely saw you back there, you're walking into a trap," his partner replied from her elevated position further up. Sitting on the balcony of a cafe overlooking the small maze of alleys adjacent to the town square, she acted as his overwatch through the use of both her own eyes and a small reconnaissance drone currently hovering over the area, both allowing him to actually stay on the right track. "You've got to know when to call it, don't risk it."

"He's right in front of me, Yo-yo. We can't just let him get away."

"I'm not saying that we should. I'm saying that if he made you, his buddies are waiting for you. Get out of there while you still can, we'll get another shot later. Let's regroup and try another approach. The drone can keep track of him while we relocate."

Coming to a sudden halt in the crowd, he momentarily considered that particular approach. If the mark had really seen him, he would've called for reinforcements by now. Sure, he could take a couple of goons but they were supposed to capture and interrogate their target, if a fight ensured that might not be possible. Then again if he'd let him get away, they definitely wouldn't get another shot at him, even if their drone remained airborne. If the mark had anything resembling a brain, he'd disappear into a building and drop of the face of the earth before leaving HSA space, coming back stronger and more dangerous a few months later down the line. Seeing the figure vanish into a corner street that should lead him right to a subway station, he made his decision. The risk of continuing the mission was worth the prospect of stopping him right here, right now.

"You still got eyes on the mark?" he answered as he began walking again.

"Yes, he's walking into another alley way right now," it came back to him through the earpiece. "But I'm still telling you to get the hell out of there."

"So he's still alone?" he spoke as he pressed two of his fingers against the earpiece.

"Yes."

"Good, keep the drone right above him," he replied before dropping his arm back to his left side.

"What are you doing, Magic? Get back here, we need to regroup," Yo-yo insisted in an aggravated tone just as he picked up his pace.

"Just keep me on the right path," 'Magic' simply replied. He slithered through the dozens of people between him and their target and stepped into the corridor,his right hand lingering close to the SIS-8 stashed under his jacket, ready to be used. When he reached the first crossroad, unsure of which way to go, he didn't even have to ask.

"Take a right and then another right. He's using the blocked off backstreet running parallel to the town square. Looks empty, seems like the construction workers left early today."

Following the instructions of his partner, he rapidly did as he was told, only slowing down as he got closer to the corner beyond which their target would be walking. His heart began to beat faster ever so slightly as he crept along the concrete wall, coming to a stop at its edge. This was it. He pressed himself against the wall of the hardware store and spun around, a quick look behind him confirming that no one had followed him thus far. Taking care not to create any sounds, he set his eyes on the dark-haired figure he was tracking and continued his pursuit, moving from cover to cover to avoid being spotted, using various pieces of construction equipment to stay hidden. The hands of their mark rested in the pockets of his leather jacket, increasing the chance of some sort of weapon being used against him and the unnaturally fast walking speed suggested that the mark was either in fact aware that someone was tracking him, or that he simply didn't fancy the thought of strolling through the rain without as much of a hood to cover his head. Pulling the pistol from his own jacket and pressing it to his chest to ensure his draw would be quicker than that of the mark, he quickly went over his options.

They were supposed to bag the man for questioning without making too much of a scene for the public so simply shooting him in the back was not the way to go. Tracking him until he was cornered also seemed unlike, if he had been made, there was no telling when his buddies would join the party. He could try to quickly gain on him before knocking him out at close range, his biotics would definitely give him an advantage over the dark-haired figure but dashing towards him would msot likely cause him to turn around, spot him and make a run for it, possibly leaving this more secluded part of town and once more putting innocent bystanders between them.

"You wouldn't happen to have a shortcut for me, would you?" he once more whispered into his microphone as he realised that he wouldn't be able to get to their mark in time without running towards him and in turn drawing his attention.

"Go behind the orange truck. There's a small fence you can jump. Go over it and head left past a workshop. If you hurry, you'll be able to cut him off at the end of the backstreet near a blue building."

"Much appreciated," he replied before climbing over the fence, dropping down on the other side and beginning a swift jog through the backyard of some sort of car store, jumping over a halfway disassembled vehicle that stood between him and the cross section he was heading for. Landing on his feet with practiced ease, he raised his pistol once more before closing in on the cut-off point near the blue building, his breath becoming slightly faster as he spotted a leg, which probably belonged to their target, appearing from beyond the corner of the backstreet he was looking to intercept. A few moments later, once the rest of the person had appeared as well, his reasonable suspicion was confirmed. He broke into a sprint just as the target turned his head, launching himself forward to close the small gap between them. His feet left the ground as a layer of purple embraced him, increasing the speed he should actually be able to achieve with a jump like that just enough for him to grab a hold of the dark-haired man. The two collided, rolling across the wet pavement and coming to a stop as they smashed into a large dumpster, denting it ever so slightly in the process. Trading a few blows, he quickly got on top of the man and locked his arms by pressing his knees as close to the target's shoulders as possible. He leveled his SIS-8 at the man's face , staring down the grey eyes, realising that he was smiling just as he felt an object made of metal touching his head ever so slightly, its cold end sending a tingling feeling down his spine and a grunt out of his mouth.

"You're dead, Agent Morneau," a voice chuckled, causing him to lower the gun and his mark to smirk even more. Turning to his left, he found Redford standing behind him, a pistol with blue highlights, marking this particular gun as a training gun, held firmly in one hand. "How does it feel?"

"Surprisingly lively. Although I thought the weather would be a bit nicer than this," he admitted before getting up, extending a hand to the other specialist he had been ordered to chase. He pulled him to his feet and the man wiped his hands on his jacket for a few times before cracking his neck. "Should've listened to Yo-yo," Morneau went on.

"Yes and no. We made you way before Agent Young called it. Played you like a fiddle ever since you split up," the mark, Alec Shepard, offered before nodding towards his partner. "We got you so focused on tracking me that you didn't even notice him tracking you."

"You played by our rules, that's what got you killed," Redford added. "If you allow us to, we'll always dictate the terms under which you have to engage us. That's never a good thing. On jobs like this you should try to grab your mark when they're not suspecting it. Lure them into a sense of security and corner them without them actually realising it," the specialist explained before cracking a smile,"and for the love of god, don't go chasing them through a bloody alleyway if you can avoid it. That's the complete opposite of them not suspecting it."

"Understood," Morneau nodded as he pushed the training pistol back into the holster hidden under his jacket, only now spotting the bleeding wound on his hand. Apparently their little scrap and the accompanying fall had been a bit more violent than he had originally realised. Wiping the dirt out of the wound in an attempt to clean it, he returned his attention to his supervising specialist. "This fuck up's on me, Sir. Young told me to abort and I didn't listen."

"Its never just on one of you, Morneau," the other specialist corrected before Redford could reply. "You work as partners, you fail as partners. She didn't notice him either. We played both of you."

"Look on the bright side. The two of you screwed up but at least you showed some bite while you were at it. Young gave you an excellent shortcut and once you saw Alec, you went all in," the blonde man finally shrugged after sharing a look with his own partner. "You didn't really expected it to work but you still tried to stop him because you knew that he'd get away if you didn't make a move. Sometimes being bold does pay off, you just picked the wrong time. Young reacted to your little stunt pretty much instantly as well, that adaptability can come in incredibly handy if you learn to capitalize on it. "Regroup and report back to me when the two of you arrive at the starting position. We're running the same scenario again," the specialist instructed before walking off the way he had come from, only taking a few steps before stopping dead in his tracks, "and Morneau?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Don't sweat it, we didn't catch anyone until our training was just about over either. We'll keep playing you for a long time."

Receiving another slap on the back from Shepard, he threw a look into the way they were going before glancing at the balcony, a brunette woman leaning over the railing and looking at him with what he suspected to be a 'I told you so' face. They hadn't worked together for that long, only starting their actual Section 13 training less than three months ago, but he didn't need to know someone for long to recognize a situation in which they'd have that particular expression.

"You heard that, right?" he spoke into his earpiece as the rain began to stop.

"Yep."

"Then why are you still standing up there?" he raised his arms at her in confusion before running a hand through his soaking wet hair.

"The elevator's broken and I'm not walking that flight of stairs again without someone sharing my misery."

"You'll really be that petty?" he chuckled as he began to walk towards the building.

"Why don't you consider it your daily source of cardio training?" Yo-yo visibly shrugged before sitting down on one of the chairs, evidently content with waiting.

"Don't get too comfy, I'll be right there."

"I'll be right here."


7. July 2406 AD, Earth, District Southern Brazil, Marine Corps Recruit Depot Rio Grande

"You still like it?" her mother asked through the outdated terminal she had taken with her for exactly this purpose, the connection much better than she would've expected it to be.

"The food is terrible, the days are long and the humidity is torture," she replied before removing a surprisingly rebellious strand of hair out of her field of vision, leaning back in her chair only to realise that that particular area of the room was currently occupied by the final rays of Earth's setting sun, its orange glow finding its way through the open window and right into her eyes. Bringing up her hand to restore her vision, she cracked a smile. "But yes, I still like it. Once you get used to it, its not half bad."

"I told you to go with the navy. They don't have to run around the rain forest all day and they get decent food," her father shrugged as the red-haired woman next to him turned her head towards him, her look indicating that the statement was not only very far from the truth but also hiding her amusement at the irony of it. Given his job, he had most definitely run around a rain forest without decent food quite a few times."Are the people treating you alright or do I have to come over and have a talk with some of them?"

"Dad, please," she sighed with a small chuckle as another lighting storm in the distance made itself known through the first crack of thunder. They had already been soaking wet when they had been sent into the weekend, she didn't feel like repeating that now that she was actually completely dry for the first time in nine hours. She probably should get up and close that window before rain started to pour down from the sky for the second time of the day but for now the coast, or rather the sky, was still clear, the dark clouds only lingering over the distant green sea of tree canopies. She'd still have time to close it once she was done talking, no need to interrupt this long overdue, albeit digital, family reunion. While their jobs had been the reason they met in the first place, the lines of work her parents had ironically made it difficult to get both of them in one place more than three,four or five times a year. Growing up, she had come to tressure those times. Between her early childhood of living on Arcturus and the years since they had moved to Benning following the attack on the space station, she had spent far more time with seeing her parents being separated by several light-years than with seeing them in the same room. It was always nice to see them side by side, even if it came at the cost of her not actually being physically present. This was where they were at their happiest, few things could beat that in her mind.

"I'm kidding," he replied before his face grew a bit more serious. "Unless, of course, you want me to. In that case I'll be right over."

"Alec, we talked about this," her mother frowned through the comlink as she placed the palm of her hand square on her face. "Now that she's eighteen, no more intimidation tactics."

"Kidding it is then," the man rubbed his neck as he looked at her. It never got old to see someone in his line of work back down to her mother. "But the people are still alright, right?"

"Yes, the people here are a good bunch," Emily nodded to satisfy his mixture of worry and curiosity. She knew that he hadn't quite gotten over the thought of her growing up just yet, as such there was no need to be mean about it. It was kind of sweat, really. Furthermore, she had expected him to be even more concerned, he had never liked the thought of her enlisting at all, let alone with the intention of becoming an officer in the marine corps. While other recruits had stated that their mothers were the ones most worried, she had experienced the exactly opposite situation. Her mother, herself a commissioned officer serving in the navy, had not only praised her for the decision but actively encouraged her to go for it if she felt like it was the right path, only displaying the slightest hint of interservice rivalry when she had picked the marines in favour of the navy. It had been her father who had suggested that there were other ways for her to make a difference, ways not involving combat. But during her final school year she had come to believe that the corps was the right way for her, a believe that had already been all but confirmed during the two months she had attended basic training. "And sure, some days you really don't like what you're doing but when you settle down, you realise its not all that bad."

"We're glad you like it, Emily," her mother smiled as Alec placed an arm around her. "And words can't describe how proud we are of you."

"Thanks," she smiled, slightly unsure of how to continue the conversation. "So," she began in an attempt to get back on the more casual road, stretching the word out far beyond its natural boundaries, "the two of you got any special plans now that you're at home?"

"As a matter of fact we do," her dad replied.

"I'm listening," she said as she folded her hands behind her head.

"Your father is taking me out for the first time in ages."

"Does he now?" she asked, causing her dad to raise an eyebrow at her,"I'm kidding. Where to?"

"The restaurant we went to for my birthday two years ago, he always thought it would be nice to go back there once we have the time," her mother said as she poked the man next to her in the chest. "Probably because of the one waitress that liked him way too much."

"It's all about the kitchen," the man dismissed to defend his innocence, "Never eaten better food in my life." After another look of her mother and her own frown he realised his obvious and very nearly fatal mistake. "Except your mothers, of course."

"So that's how it is," Emily chuckled at her father's last minute safe, "you're enjoying fancy italian food while I'm being subjected to the abomination the corps calls spaghetti."

"You'll wish for those spaghetti when you see what the navy considers mashed potatoes," her mother countered with amusement.

"When's your reservation?" she idly asked, as another crack of thunder echoed through the air, this one noticeably closer. Maybe she'd have to close that window during their talk after all.

"In fourty minutes," her dad replied after a moment of consideration.

"Wait a minute. That place is thirty minutes from our house, isn't it?" she recalled from her memory.

"Don't worry about it, we still got time, we don't want to rush this," her mom countered. "We can always reschedule. Talking to our daughter is far more important than some reservation."

"No, no, no, no, no, it's fine," Emily dismissed with a smile after shaking her head. "You're not missing out on your first date in ages just because I'm feeling talkative."

Sharing a look her parents began to consider her words.

"We can't jus leave you all alone for the rest of the evening," her mother returned as she presumably realised that the room around Emily was still empty.

"Don't worry about me. You go enjoy your evening, I'll make my own candlelight dinner with two flares and a couple of emergency rations," she reinforced as she saw the doubt on her parents' faces. "It's getting late on Earth anyway," the still present daylight wasn't doing that statement any favour but she had to try. "It's fine, you go to your date and I'm going to bed. It'll be like the old days, only this time my babysitters are a bunch of armed marines."

"We love you, Emily," her mother replied, evidently feeling a bit of guilt.

"Love you too," she quickly said. "Now go to your date, shoosh," she waved her hands at the screen until it finally turned black, sighing ever so slightly when it finally did. Sometimes they were too considerate for their own sake.

Now what to do with the rest of the evening?

Looking through the empty room, the fellow recruits that shared it with her off doing god knows what with the precious little free time they had, she eyed her bed for a few seconds. Now that she gave it more thought, sleeping didn't sound like such a bad idea but she just knew that she'd wake up the moment her 'roommates' showed up again, Emily had always been a light sleeper, a trait that while useful when being in the field had turned out to be anything but an advantage as far as life in the barracks was concerned. Not a day went by without some sort of noise waking her up in the middle of the night, whether it was as far away as a door being shut somewhere down the floor or as close as the snoring of one of the recruits she shared her room with. But as with all things, she had looked for and eventually found a bright side to her situation. Emily had grown used to the perpetual lack of sleep that was associated with serving in the military way earlier than most of her fellow marines, a fact that had already paid off when they had begun actually being pushed to their limits. When others were starting to make mistakes as a result of exhaustion, she managed to stay focused until she was actually done with whatever mission or assignment had been given to her.

That was something, right?

In spite of accepting that this night would be as short as the others, she found herself her yawning, stretching her arms into the air just before another, far closer crack of thunder accompanied by the sound of rain breaking from the clouds finally pursued her to close the window. Getting up from the chair, she pushed it under the desk for them time being before walking over to the opened window, shutting it after taking in a final breath of the unquie air that accompanied this particular show of nature's force. Satisfied with her measures to keep everything inside the room, including herself, from being drenched by the rain, Emily Shepard figured that while her bed would not offer her sleep until her roommates returned, it was still the by far most comfortable piece of furniture to be on for the time being. Kicking off her shoes, she climbed the ladder to the top bunk before dropping down on the mattress, the exhaustion of the day only now manifesting itself.

When she opened her omni-tool, its brightness caused Emily to finally let out a groan she had held in for the entire day. Between early physical training, a several kilometer long march through the rough terrain around their base and a few extra rounds across the obstacle course right after lunch, her legs were starting to ache more with every moment she spent lying down. The bed might not have been such a good idea after all but now she had to deal with its consequences. As always, she'd try to make the most out of it. Optimism hadn't failed her before, why should it start doing so now. While she wouldn't be able to get some quality time with her bed for the time being, nothing stopped her from being productive. Her mossy green eyes, which alongside her hair colour were yet another trait she had most definitely inherited from her mother's side of the family, adjusted to the orange glow and set themselves on a file she had meant to finish reading for quite some time. Opening the document, she began skipping ahead to the page she had previously been on. While this ancient piece of turian literatur, both the autor and the actual translation of its title lost to history and still highly disputed among leading historians but generally believed to have been something along the lines of 'Memories of the Night', was not a part of the list of reading materials she was expected to indulge in during her officer training, she saw no reason not to broaden her horizon during her spare time.

Since this particular book dealt with both the topics of warfare and leadership, it would do nothing but benefit her later down the line. While most of its raw tactical advice was outdated beyond believe, still referring to a spear wall as the most lethal formation on any open battlefield, the overarching ideas the unknown general had on maneuvering, the morale and most importantly the leadership of his troops were still relevant to this day. As she was one day expected to lead people, the least she could do was to prepare herself to do so. In her mind the only thing remotely as valuable in that preparation as first hand experience, which she had very little of at the moment, was drawing from the experience of others. If that experience was hidden between the lines of an unknown general's description of encircling an army and wiping them out to a man with pointy wooden sticks, she'd find it, even if it took her some time to do so.


9. Februrary 2407 AD, Uncharted Moon in the Skyllian Verge

"What the fuck are they doing?" Tore Haugen muttered as he lowered the binoculars and pulled his rifle back up, the distinctively batarian figures working on some kind of station once more turning into blurry, brown figures that merely clashed with the white around them. He recognized the markings on one of the brown hardsuits, this group was part of the Hegemony's External Forces. When he had been ordered to investigate rumors of batarian activity on a remote, mostly frozen planet orbiting a gas giant the HSA Navy sporadically used as a firing range, he had expected a lot of things. Slavers setting up a daring outpost in hopes of making a profit or spies trying to listen in on naval chatters being the two most likely scenarios. What he hadn't expected was finding an actual batarian army unit instead. Once they had arrived, his team had located a patrol and quickly stalked them back to the batarian base camp, if one could even be bothered to call a small transport vessel no bigger than a civilian transport and a single communications tower a base camp. After a quick assessment of the situation they were in, the ASOC operatives were preparing to strike.

"Damned if I know," Sergeant Hofmann commented from next to him, the filter in their helmets keeping their warm breath from revealing their position. "Looks like they're setting up some kind of transmission array, Captain."

"Sneaky fuckers aren't even supposed to be here," the officer replied as the press of a button made him disappear, his optical camouflage embracing the surface of his light armor and in doing so allowing him to blend in nearly flawlesslywith the snowy hill his unit was occupying. "What do you say, Sergeant, should we throw a little welcoming party for them?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Phantom Squad, form up on me," Haugen ordered as he rose from his prone position, a quick look to the left confirming that the blizzard was still slowly but steadily gaining on them. Unless they wanted to get lost and freeze to death, they'd have to make this one quick. Their hardsuits would give them more time than usual but even their heaters would eventually bow to the harsh climate of this moon. If the got unlucky and missed their extraction window, they might have to wait out the storm in the transport vessel, if they managed to get inside it that is.

As the other three members of his reconnaissance team followed him down the slope, a keen observer would've been able to tell that they were moving, their optical camo being just that, optical. Even if they were invisible, they were still present and as such each step they made towards the uninvited visitors and their base camp left a depression in the snow. Soon enough a faint but still visible path appeared on the slope leading down the hilltop. But it wasn't just the snow on the ground that could give them away. Small flakes of the increasingly faster snowfall were starting to cover parts of the almost invisible figures in a currently thin but still treacherous layer of white. Luckily for them, the batarians, who after leaving the ranks of the Citadel's associates were considered trespassers on a planet in Council Space, were far too busy with the tower in front of them to pay any mind to perimeter security. A dedicated guard or even a good look in their direction by one of the technicians would've been more than enough to warn them of the four ghostly figures wandering towards them and could've either prevented or at least delayed their impeding deaths. But apparently these batarian technicians suffered from the same tunnel vision their human counterparts tended to experience when focusing on the task at hand.

"There's another one behind the tower," he heard a member of his squad point out as a figure appeared from behind the array, their previous position making him impossible to see up to now. Like with his companions, pieces of his brown armor were covered in a layer of snow and each time he exhaled, a small cloud of hot air clashed with the breathable but painfully cold atmosphere around him. As the figure walked over to an orange glowing device drilled into the ground next to his working site, presumably some kind of heater that allowed the batarians to work in the cold for far longer than usual, Haugen spotted the faint outlines of yet another three batarians appearing near the array. Unlike the other new arrival, they seemed to appear out of the encroaching blizzard and as such quickly hurried towards the heater unit, longing for its warm embrace.

"Just as blind as the rest of 'em," another member of his team argued as the batarian threw a glance in their way, failing to spot them as the vanguard of the blizzard rolling towards them began to descend on their area.

"Let's make sure that it stays that way," Captain Haugen instructed before raising his hand and forming a fist with it, causing his unit to stop. "Get set, Phantom Squad. I want eyes on the ship, a rifle firing on the heater group and someone to take care of the stragglers. I've got the tower."

As he heard his fellow operatives space out to get a better line of sight on the group in front of them, he risked another glance to his left only to realise that the snow front was picking up its pace. They had to hurry if they wanted to avoid not only frostbite but also fighting in near zero visibility. While their HUDs could counteract less severe visual obstructions, a full blown blizzard would be too much of a challenge. In a few minutes all they'd be seeing would be a white wall of snow.

"I've got eyes on the ship," a voice whispered through the radio in his helmet while his HUD outlined the figures for him, putting markers on the ones the rest of his team were targeting, small red crosses appearing over the heads of the batarians one after another.

"In position for the tower," he replied as he took a knee to steady his aim, his sights coming to a stop over the head of one batarian working on a terminal adjacent to the array structure. The figure, much like his comrades, was still completely unaware of the ASOC unit that had stalked them for several hours.

"All set on the heater, Sir," Hofmann confirmed.

"Good to go for stragglers, they're not going anywhere."

"Execute."

In the blink of an eye a burst of full metal jacket rounds accelerated through the muzzle of his SR-8 before penetrating the thin back of a batarian helmet, a dark-red mist spraying onto the brownish metal of the communication tower before his body hit the floor, the warm blood flowing out of the wound quickly mixing with the white snow below it just as a detonation echoed through the snowy plain, the sight of several burning batarians covered in the liquid that had fueled the heater they had previously enjoyed trying and failing to extinguish the flames covering their armor appearing in the corner of his vision. Seeing them drop into the snow only to be struck by Hofmann's bullets, he shifted his rifle to a figure appearing to the right of the tower's terminal, the adrenaline running through Haugen's veins making his movements appear far slower than they actually were. The batarian walked a few steps forward and spotted the human shooters but before he could even go for the rifle slung around his shoulders, a hole exploded through his chest, six well placed rounds first collapsing the barriers before punching through the armor, the batarian and the tower behind it, a bright flash of sparks jumping through the air in the process. He broke contact with the dead alien to engage the technician currently working on the antenna of the tower, the safety ropes holding him in place making him a rather easy target for Haugen. He squeezed his trigger four times and not a second later the batarian, who had frantically tried to undue the ropes that were supposed to be his life insurance, went limp, blood dripping down from a hole in his neck as the corpse dangled in the half-opened safety harness.

More SR-8 fire erupted to his left as the skeleton crew of the transport left the safety of their craft to join what they believed to be an even firefight, their heated flight suits offering little to no protection as they stumbled down the ramp, dead before ever making a difference. As he spotted a batarian running towards the transport, he took aim but as the single bark of an DMR-8, a version of the SR-8 modified for designated marksmanship, roared through the now silent snow plain, the head of the lone survivor of the intruders exploding in a mixture of gore and armor fragments, he lowered his rifle. The ASOC operative scanned his surroundings, a quick count confirming that all batarians had perished while all four humans remained standing. Even with a numerical advantage, the batarians hadn't been able to cope with the element of surprise.

"Good job," he breathed in relief. This could've gone a lot worse in his mind. "Hofmann, you're on point. Take care of this thing so we can get out of here," he spoke as one of the ghostly figures, thin cloakes of snow now clinging to all of them, once more began to advance on the base camp, an ever faster moving wall of snow causing his HUD to increase the brightness with which it outlined the lone ASOC operative in an attempt to counteract the decreasing visibility.

When the wall of white grew even thicker, his naked eye already incapable of making out even the most basic features of his subordinate, his HUD made it quite clear that the soldier had already planted the demolition charge on the unfinished structure. As such he expected their demolitions specialist to return to the group any moment now but when that moment didn't occur after nearly a minute, Haugen got curious.

"Talk to me, Sergeant," he inquired as the NCO remained standing in front of the array.

"This tower is pretty curious, Sir."

"Curious enough to risk dying in a blizzard?"

"As a matter of fact it might just be."

"Clarify."

"This thing is just another part of a much larger network of communication links," the sergeant explained while his armor informed Haugen of the rapidly dropping temperature. They couldn't stay much longer. "They've been setting up some kind of rapid transmission system from here all the way to batarian space."

"What for?"

"Damned if I know."

"Great," he muttered as he looked at the timer, deciding that their Kodiak had to start moving right about now. Sending the signal to the ship waiting in orbit, his HUD informed him that they'd make it out just in time not to be at the mercy of the snow storm. "Anything else left to recover?"

"The network is all I can give you, Sir. The actual hard drive is a goner, bullet went straight through it. There might be something left to salvage in the vessel."

"Unlikely, batarian crews wipe their drives clean when they're attacked in enemy territory. The Hegemony likes secrets," Haugen said as he remembered his past encounters with batarian forces. They hardly if ever left anything behind for their captors, especially those who were part of the more elite branch of the batarian military that ventured beyond the borders of their space. After realising that it had probably been his round that had done the damage, he cursed under his breath while looking at the rifle in his hand. That was the drawback of the SR-8's considerably higher armor penetration, had he used an SR-7, they'd still have that drive. They could've used that data, if the batarians were setting up a communication network in humanity's backyard, they needed to know why, especially now that the Hegemony and its slaver gangs were growing braver with every day. If they were planing something big, the HSA could use every shred of warning it could get.

"Alright, we can't leave that thing standing. Fall back and blow the charges. We're done here for now, the navy can take apart the transport tomorrow. Maybe this crew didn't follow protocol," he instructed, not really believing his last statement.

"Yes, Sir."


3. March 2407 AD, Kepler Verge, Fringe of the Newton System

"We both know the answer but I still have to ask for the sake of protocol," the woman frowned as they looked at the object on mainscreen of the bridge, countless of smaller scorch marks on the tip of its red bow and a gaping hole near one of its angled, black wings already telling her what she needed to know. "Did we detect any life signs onboard?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Alright. I can't believe that we actually found it," Drescher muttered as she remained fixated on the broken craft floating in the distance, its general shape resembling that of the aged cruiser she was currently standing on, the long, narrow center section encompassed by angled wings typical for all human ships, HSA or others. Yet for all the visual similarities between this craft and the ones flying under the colours of the HSA, they couldn't have been more different. An experimental drive core, an experimental layer of armor and four very much experimental spinal railguns expensive enough that they could've bought an entire fleet instead were just the most distinctive features which set this craft apart from anything their enemies had ever constructed. When she had gotten word that it had actually been found, she had been skeptical. No ship suffering the damage this one had suffered should've survived long enough to drag itself through a relay and out of combat but evidently the prototype had done just that. Instead of abandoning their posts in favour of an escape pod, the captain and his crew had decided to ensure that their vessel could be salvaged at a later point, hoping to make a final difference for the IFS.

"Should we sent the boarding party over now?"

"Yes, we need that reactor breach sealed as soon as possible. We can't power her up while she's still leaking," she replied as the screen in front of her magnified the hole, a crystalline cloud of blue Element Zero still gathered around it, "have them accompanied by a recovery crew. I want every sailor aboard identified and if possible have their remains retrieved. Their families deserve some closure, even if its been nearly thirty years. We'll notify them discreetly. Prepare a cover story."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Pressing a button on the tablet in her hand, the screen switched its perspective, a series of beaten, white letters accompanied by a nearly unreadable hull code appearing as one of the several cameras focused on that section of the hull was given the spotlight. For all its firepower, armor and speed, one couldn't forget the psychological effect this particular vessel had had on the crews of the flotillas it had attacked during the war. The letters 'BC-313 IFSS New Dawn' had struck terror into the hearts of dozens of supply convoys, frigate wolfpacks and troop transports right until a designated strike force had eventually been tasked with hunting the experimental battlecruiser across the Fringe, sadly catching up to it just one jump shy of safety, dealing a crippling blow to its hull integrity right before a mass relay had flung it into what the HSA had considered uncharted space back then. Everyone had believed the New Dawn to be destroyed, a reasonable assumption she and the rest of the IFSDF had shared right until the end of the war. Normally ships of its size that suffered this kind of damage before traveling through a relay were torn apart upon exiting the network but apparently the unique battlecruiser had been even sturdier than they had originally believed possible.

Maybe the senate shouldn't have abandoned the project 'due to its expenses outweighing its uses', a couple dozen more New Dawns may very well could've turned the tide of the war more than the ten regular cruisers they could've constructed for the cost of one New Dawn-Class. Quantity had never been an option for the IFSDF's navy, sadly the senate had failed to see that. A combination of fewer orbital docks than the HSA and a lack of large shipyards had dictated exactly what kind of vessels they could field and how many of those they could construct in a certain period of time. As such their navy had never enjoyed something akin to numerical superiority, having to rely on the moment of surprise, good aim and a high rate of fire to stand a chance at winning. Over time those factors had become the pillars of their doctrine, rapid engagements followed by a quick withdraw being the tactic she herself had first used during what the HSA had called the 'Dark Thursday'. Of course even if they aimed well, demanding a high rate of fire of her crews still meant that not every round they fired could hit its mark, an experience she had made during that day as well. Shaking her head to clear the image of Bekenstein's blazing surface from her mind, she returned her focus on the New Dawn. While it wouldn't topple the HSA, for all its advanced features it was still a cruiser that had been gutted by a single dreadnought shot, it could still gie them an edge. If the worrying rumors the Shadow Broker had informed her about were true, she'd be able to use the battlecruiser to fix some of the damage Kamarov had done to their reputation later down the line.

"When will she be ready?" she asked as she turned towards the officer next to her.

"Impossible to say exactly, Ma'am. The damage may either be a lot worse or a lot less severe than it actually looks. I can only give you a rough estimation when the breach has been sealed and power is restored."

"Understood. Inform me the moment you have that estimation."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Throwing a final look at the New Dawn, she stepped of the bridge of the aged cruiser they had commandeered thirty years ago. There was still something else she had to take care of, for now she'd leave the New Dawn in the hands of her capable subordinates.


Codex: The Fringe Wars 2379 AD

Following the return of IFS naval forces after the Dark Thursday of 2378, newly constructed and commandeered vessels alike now forming the IFSDF Navy, the deciding factor that had allowed the HSA its early victories against the IFSDF, orbital supremacy, had been removed from the equation as a certainty. While HSA forces continued their push through the Fringe Systems, the ancient issue of supplying a large military in enemy territory once more became relevant. As it became evident that the few Fringe planets that remained loyal to the HSA wouldn't be sufficient, convoys transporting supplies, troops and ammunition started their journeys from the rest of human space, soon encountering IFS raiders that sought to starve out HSA forces fighting in the region. At first consisting of frigates and cruisers that could easily be fended of by a larger escort force, the spring of 2379 AD saw a new vessel join the ranks of IFS raiding flotillas.

Christened as 'BC-313 New Dawn', an experimental battlecruiser prototype, a weight class previously going overlooked in favour of dreadnoughts, carriers and cruisers, left Shanxi's shipyard on the 3. March 2379 AD, quickly proving itself as the single most dangerous ship any HSA convoy could face. While a dreadnought would've been more than a match for the New Dawn, every human capital ship that could've put an end to the battlecruiser was tied down with the continued ground assaults on the separatist strongholds around Horizon and Shanxi, effectively allowing the ship to carve its way through the supply lines of the HSA nearly unchecked. Claiming thousands of sailors and dozens of frigates, cruisers and transports as its prey, the New Dawn soon received the nickname of 'Red Dread of the Fringe', becoming yet another piece in the psychological part of the war as the IFS employed false reports of its presence to guide HSA convoys into prepared ambushes.

However in spite of the strain on their supplies, the autumn of 2379 AD saw the armed forces of the HSA set their eyes on the first captial world of the IFS, Horizon. Founded before the dawn of the HSA, Horizon, while not the formal capital of the Independent Fringe Systems, remained its most populated planet, with nearly two billion humans calling it their home. Holding a large portion of the IFS' shipyards, factories, mines and military infrastructure, it was deemed that the fall of Horizon would break the back of the separatists, allowing the much larger HSA to simply overwhelm their foes through sheer numbers.

Scheduled as an invasion involving several million soldiers, five fleets, tens of thousands of tanks, gunships, shuttles, transports and nearly fifty percent of active Paladins, the time frame set for Horizon's fall was set to be three months. Beginning in October, the HSA's initial estimation of IFS forces present on the planet and their hold within the local population turned out to be utterly wrong. Instead of breaking the back of the separatists in one rapid assault, the HSA found a sizeable parts of its forces bogged down in an urban theatre, encountering stiff, organized resistance at every corner. Fighting not only mechanized IFS forces with acess to their own Paladins, but also swiftly trained militias consisting of the planet's population. The marine forces that were supposed to establish a beachhead within the first week of fighting had suffered well over sixty thousand casualties within that timeframe, finally receiving support in form of orbital bombardment targeting the enemy positions around them.

This engagement would set the tone for the next two years of warfare on Horizon, each fight growing more brutal than the last an eventually turning into the single most devastating site of the Fringe Siege of Horizon would last well into 2381 AD, eventually claiming nearly ninety million lives.

By December of 2379 AD the IFS and HSA began trading blows on the surface of multiple worlds across the region, each side suffering a crushing defeat for each victory they managed to achieved.


A/N: And just like that we're off to the second half of Season 2.

This took me longer than expected because I wanted the first actual POV scene of Shepard to be worth the wait. I know for a Mass Effect story that will eventually have her as the protagonist, she's been strangely absent up to now but that's mostly because I didn't want to force it into the story. I wanted to introduce her in a way that I could look back on and say that it already showed what kind of person she'll be. Furthermore I chose her training to be that time because I feel like its easier to relate to a character's abilities if we see where they started out. Considering the things Shepard does over the course of the games, I felt like showing her to actually work on becoming the person she'll be later down the line was the best way to do that.

Also since this is the first 'episode' of the next story arc, which will end literally where ME 1 starts, the tone of the overall chapter is going to be the one that's going to be the tone present throughout the entire arc. You may have noticed that Saren and the three backgrounds appeared in this, that's because those four will be the focus for this storyline. Each background will of course get his 'defining mission' chapters, you know, lone survivor, ruthless and warhero and Saren himself will once more regain the focus he had during several earlier chapters already because Mass Effect 1, in my mind at least, is still as much his story as it was Shepard's.

Now to the chapter itself, or rather the codex and the end of the chapter. I don't know how many of you read the codexes at all, but any observant reader will realise that some things Drescher said are basically either a different version of past events or an outright contradiction, which leads me to a theme I've been hinting at left and right but never outright stated. The Codex is the officialy recognized version of the story but not necessarily the truthful account of all events. I know some might not like the IFS as much as the Reapers and yet others feel like I've been pushing the fringe wars on a bit of a backseat considering how impactful they actually were according to my own lore but that's mostly because up to now, we've only ever had ONE horrible example of an individual that actually was part of the IFS, Kamarov. With Drescher, that's not the case. She's not a crazy terrorist and she's not just another IFS grunt with good intentions. She's an actual leader of the IFS. That's as good of a point of view as they're going to get.

I've said it before but I'll repeat it again, on the record. The IFS is not necessarily the generic bad guy terrorist insurgency serving as fodder for the characters, they're a very much justified separatist movement that simply lost its war for independence before the story kicked off. Everyone's a hero in their own story, that's a good way to describe Semper Vigilo's overall tone, and that tone is going to apply to the IFS throughout the rest of this fanfic. For those who're still sketpical of this entire Drescher thing, you know who you are, just trust me, alright? This is not Kamarov 2.0 and it won't be. Kamarov had his purpose, Drescher will have hers.

God, long A/Ns are really a habit I need to kill.

Review and tell me what you think about the chapter.

For the record we're at 280 reviews, 477 favorites and 585 follows. Now I'd love to crack 600 follows with this chapter but I don't think that's gonna happen.

See you around next time.