Chapter 37. Past, Future, Present
5. May 2408 AD, Mindoir, Zhao County
Seeing the sky of Mindoir dotted with clouds of smoke rightfully inspired a sense of deja-vu in him. He had been here before, the colony had lived through an attack like this seven years ago. The last time batarian forces had tried and failed to take the colony should've thought them better. They should've known not to try the same strategy twice. While the invasion force had been numerous enough to allow some ships to slip past their own naval vessels, the transports that had managed to touch down had soon found out that the army had learned from their previous encounter. After the initial shock had worn off Mindoir's Colonial Watch had shown its teeth. Within the first two days of the battle batarian naval support had abandoned the slavers and a mere four days after setting foot on the planet with the intention of conquest their chain of command had been shattered, their biggest troop concentrations had been encircled and their hopes of victory extinguished. Five days after the invasion had begun the batarian forces had run into a severe supply shortage following the destruction of their logistical units at the hands of human special forces and had either faced annihilation, capture or had tried to flee from the planet with whatever transports still remained, only to meet their demise at the hands of the HSA's navy.
Yet in spite of their allies making a run for it, a week into the fighting the Blood Pack still made its stand on Mindoir, digging its claws deep into a railway station and refusing to give in to whatever the Colonial Watch threw at them. Unlike batarians, they were hard to starve out. Krogan could go for weeks without water or food before feeling the effects and somehow he knew that something as 'harmless' as dehydration wouldn't kill a vorcha. The public bunkers under the station allowed the Blood Pack to simply wait out orbital strikes and ground attacks through the tunnels had proven to become fatal the moment army regulars got within the favoured range of the krogan. Furthermore the two armored assaults into the area that had actually resulted in something akin to a success had also been both slow and costly, the tank wrecks he had passed on the way to this building serving as a painful reminder as to why Mindoir Command had finally decided to deploy one of the more questionable weapons within the HSA's arsenal on the last stronghold.
"Last one's making a run for it," the man next to him muttered as he lowered the rangefinder from his eye for a few seconds, revealing just how sleep deprived he really was. "Wind's still the same, distance is four fiftfy and growing. Doesn't look like he's going for cover."
"They don't learn, do they?" he replied while turning the small knob at the side of his rifle ever so slightly, the image of a figure dropping a heavy looking and probably incredibly expensive missile launcher before breaking into a sprint now completely clear. The alien was fast, he'd give him that much, but not even a feral vorcha could outrun a bullet.
"Nope."
"Stupid bastards," the ASOC officer muttered before squeezing the trigger just hard enough to cause a weapon's discharge.
With the recoil mostly absorbed by the armor on his shoulder, he barely felt the consequences of shooting the lone vorcha in the back. The bullet left the muzzle of the sniper rifle and tore through the fresh morning air, flying across the destroyed town, passing over damaged homes and alien corpses right until it connected with the spine of the mercenary, exploding upon contact. The sudden and violent separation of the brain from the rest of the body caused whatever remained of the slaver to stumble a few more steps forward before falling onto the hard pavement, joining the rest of his unit in death and in turn solving one more of Tore Haugen's problems.
"Confirmed hit, Phantom-Lead," the voice of Hofmann came to him through the earpiece he was wearing, temporarily muffling the distant artillery explosions, "we're not seeing any more targets in the area. That was the last team, over."
"Alright, I'll call it in, pack your things and make your way to the rally point, Phantom-Lead out," he whispered and flicked the safety of the sniper rifle back into place. Reaching for the radio next to him with the intention of changing the channel, a, aching sensation crawled through his back. Lying in the same position for ten hours was hardly his favorite past time but no matter how much he disliked, armed reconnaissance was one of ASOC's specialties. "Firefly, this is Phantom. Your skies is clear, over."
"Copy that, Phantom," it crackled through the radio as the distinctive howling of engines grew, revealing that the squadrons had already begun their approach. Not a second later his radio began receiving a transmission on an open channel, "Everyone on the ground, hold onto your horses down there, dropping Mark 79s now. "
As soon as the words had left the confines of his radio, an unearthly roar shot above them. Several fast movers shot over their heads and made their way into the direction of the distant battle, their shapes growing smaller with every second. When the pilots passed over the area and dropped the cannisters attached to their fighters, the remnants of Blood Pack still holed up in the abandoned train station were subjected to what could best be described as a hellish inferno. The moment the cannisters unleashed their payload on the former mercenaries an eery silence began to settle, the sound of distant suppressive fire dying down as soon as the flames swallowed everything in their path, burning whatever the human guns had fired at to ash. In a way it was a horrifying image but fire was one of the most effective weapons when fighting vorcha and krogan. It kept them from regenerating, an evolutionary trait that had turned out to be very useful in the prolonged engagements that had occured over the past days. While every human that was even moderately injured had to be removed from the battlefield sooner than later, every single enemy that wasn't outright killed or heavily crippled would be back in the fight not two days later. For that reason the deployment of Mark 79 Hibanas had been their most viable option.
"Holy shit," his companion muttered as the actual effects of the weapon kicked in. After the initial explosion of the bombs, the chemically fueled flames expanded in every direction, depleting the entire area of oxygen and filling the sky with a layer of white smoke. The attackers that had managed to avoid incineration up to now would soon find themselves suffocating and the handful of them that somehow lasted through air deprivation wouldn't be able to resist the HSA much longer.
It was a cruel way to finish things, he knew that, but it was a victory nonetheless.
"Good splash, Firefly. Hibanas working in full effect, " a voice most likely belonging to a forward air controller spoke over the open channel all HSA units in the area received. "Station's burning, over."
Haugen turned away from the effects of the incendiary bombs, praying to whatever deity currently watching over Mindoir that the city block around the station had been cleared of human civilians beforehand. He pushed himself to his feet, picked up the sniper rifle and collapsed its stock before slinging it over his back, favoring his SR-8 for the way back. Lightly kicking his foot against the back of his fellow ASOC operative, Haugen nodded towards the stairs they had used to get up here in the first place after quickly checking over his rifle.
"Come on, Miller, you don't need to watch this," he told the soldier, having a rather solid idea of what was going through his head right about now. "Our job here's done."
Looking at the growing firestorm for a few more seconds, the man finally rose to his feet as well, shaking his head at the distant destruction and contemplating his role in it. Hadn't Haugen himself seen how the slavers that had raided Mindoir the last time had treated their captives, he might have felt the same emotions currently surfacing inside his comrade, that confusing mixture of pride and pity which crept up in most soldiers when they stopped to think about the implications of their success. But the images of the last invasion were still edged into his mind and would very likely remain in it until the end of his life, he couldn't claim to feel anything but a sense of relief upon successfully finishing his assignment. The Blood Pack had brought this upon themselves.
Walking towards the stairway, the pair of operatives began their several minute long descend through the ravaged financial district tower, passing by the same corpse they had already encountered on their way towards their observation point. Looking at the blood-covered elderly man, the sharp metal spike that had taken his life still embedded in the center of his neck, Tore knelt down and now took the time to close the man's eyes, a gesture he hadn't found the time for on their way up. While he couldn't bring him back to live, a part of him figured that he'd done his best to avenge the man. Batarian regulars didn't use the kind of weapon that had taken this life, that particularly crude gun was favoured by the Blood Pack.
Rising to his feet with a grunt, he decided that there was nothing else he could do. Carrying the corpse back to the base was neither his job nor was it a sensible decision, the man would have to wait for search and recovery parties until he could find his peace. Once more bringing up his rifle, just in case a lone enemy had somehow found his way into the building, the captain and his subordinate continued their journey until they reached the lobby of the building. Ignoring the destruction around them, they made their way outside and into the direction of the rally point, carefully maneuvering through the deserted streets of Zhao County, a subdivision of one of Mindoir's bigger cities and the last refuge of the slavers that had attempted to take the planet.
"Phantom-Lead, this is Phantom-Two. We're on site, how copy? Over," Hofmann's voice rang through the radio inside his helmet as Haugen passed by the damaged remains of a Kodiak, a quick look inside confirming that it was devoid of life, only the blood spattered on the seats and empty medigel syringes next to it giving any indication as to what had occurred inside the craft.
"Good copy. We're four minutes out," he muttered while the pair kept advancing, paying close attention to their surroundings. As far as Mindoir Command was concerned, they were still inside enemy occupied territory, meaning that the chance of encountering enemy stragglers was still very much existent. The two soldiers kept pushing forward right until both of them came to a sudden halt, the audible cracking of glass causing both of them to press themselves to the bullet riddled wall of the apartment building next to them, trying to locate the source of the noise before accidentally stumbling into an ambush. After scanning the windows directly opposite to them and finding no gunman whatsoever, the two operatives shared a look.
"I think that came from right above us, Sir," Miller spoke as Haugen nodded towards him. With the press of a button, their optical camouflage began to surround them and he took a step away from the wall, aiming his rifle at the windows above them, expecting to find a lone vorcha ready to kill him. But instead of finding the beige face of one of the aliens, he found nothing. For a brief moment his eyes darted to the part of his HUD that displayed just how far away the rendezvous point still was, considering to ignore the noise and instead link up with the rest of Phantom Squad. While the whole way would've been too much of a strain on the technology, they could remain hidden for the little distance that now remained.
That notion died the moment the door of the apartment was torn open, a scaly four-legged reptilian creature wearing a collar he had previously seen on batarian slaves jumping towards his fellow ASOC operative with lethal intend. Even before Haugen began moving his SR-8 over the rapidly moving creature, which presumably had simply smelled his comrade, it already started biting at his companion, only the optical camouflage keeping Miller from being mauled to death. Pulling the trigger while the soldier did his best to keep the varren's maw as far away from his throat as possible, the first burst of full metal jackets merely embedded themselves into the shoulder of the animal, only managing to anger it. Whether through the training of its masters or simply through being far more intelligent that its behaviour would indicate, the large lizard recognized Haugen as the bigger danger of the two soldiers. Jumping of the man on he ground, the beast now leapt towards Tore who barely managed to dodge its attack. Missing his throat by mere inches, the varren landed on his feet just as the captain was ready to finish things. Trying to turn back to its invisible prey, the dark-blue creature managed to get within biting distance of the ghostly figure just as Haugen centered his aim on its face. Pulling the trigger just before he could be thrown to the ground, a single SR-8 round drilled its way through the skull of the varren. Instead of tearing apart his throat, the batarian war beast died on the spot, its blood gushing from the small but fatal hole between its two large, orange eyes.
"You alright over there, Miller?" he asked while keeping his rifle trained on the dead creature, halfway expecting it to come back to life just to spite them. When several seconds passed without an answer, he turned around to check on his comrade, finding the spot he had previously been in unoccupied. "Miller?"
"Goddammit," he heard from both the squad intercom and the inside of the building.
"What is it?" Haugen replied before slowly walking towards the entrance, his eyes still trained on the very much deceased varren. Turning around upon reaching the door, the first thing he spotted was his decloaking comrade leaning on a reception desk, staring at something just outside of his field of vision.
"See for yourself," the man muttered once his camo had disappeared and a few steps later Haugen realised what he was referring to. Looking at a small cctv monitor labeled 'basement', the captain saw at least a dozen more varren pacing around a small room. How they had gotten there wasn't a question he could answer but what they had done down there was evident in spite of the poor condition the camera was in. Judging by how many gnawed corpses he could make out from here, the bodies of at least eight different people were spread out across the room. In retrospective it was a small miracle that the gunfire hadn't attracted them. Maybe they were too distracted with whatever it was that they were doing to notice that one of their own hadn't returned yet.
Still they had to make sure these varren didn't hurt anyone else.
Staring at the human remains for a few more seconds, he himself deactivated his optical camoflague and reached for the grenades attached to his chestrigging, a look to Miller sufficing in conveying his plan. The two soldiers, a grenade in each hand, slowly crept towards the basement and upon reaching the stairway leading towards the varren nest Haugen himself risked a glance around the corner, making out a slightly smaller lizard wearing a similar collar like the one he had already killed.
"Ready?" he asked as his thumb hovered over the grenade's primer. Miller gave a single nod and held up his own two explosive devices. "Execute."
Smashing the primer a bit harder than necessary, his own two small cylinders left his hands and flew towards the center of the room, hitting the ground just before the second pair. Lifting his rifle to his shoulder, he counted the detonations.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Spinning around the doorway, Haugen and Miller shot down the stairs, ready to fire at any varren that had survived their ambush. When the smoke settled and nothing had jumped them, he looked around. Only one of the creatures at the edge of the room had survived and if the blood surrounding it was any indication, it wouldn't last much longer.
"Want me to put it down?" Miller asked while he began scanning the room as well.
"Save the bullets," he countered as he began moving, stepping past one of the mauled corpses.
"My side's clear," he heard from behind him right as he spotted an anomaly within the room, the badly injured batarian looking right back at him, his hands pressed against an injury on his leg, dark-red blood slowly dripping from the wound and forming a puddle around him.
"I've got one," he in turn said, his sights centered on the alien, waiting for him to make a move for the pistol next to him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Will you accept my surrender, human?" the alien asked, not making a move for the weapon, apparently familiar with laws HSA military personal was bound by.
"I thought the batarians pulled out days ago?" Miller from behind him, moving to get a clear shot.
"They left in a hurry, makes sense they'd forget some of their own," the captain replied, ignoring the slaver's question for now. Had he stumbled upon the corpses or was he the reason everyone in this room was dead? Haugen somehow doubted that he'd get a direct reply from the injured batarian.
"I need medical attention," the batarian grumbled, his voice both deep and weak. "I already lost a lot of blood. Help me."
"Why the hell didn't the varren eat him aswell," Miller wondered as Haugen himself remained focused on the batarian's hands, halfway hoping that he'd try to go for a weapon.
"No idea, some kind of tech maybe?" Haugen replied, remembering the collars. "How come you're alive, batarian? Why didn't they tear you to shreds?"
"The varren only eat what I tell them to eat."
"So you're responsible for this," Haugen muttered while nodding behind him. As the eyes of the slaver narrowed ever so slightly, he got the answer he was already expecting. Lowering his rifle ever so slightly for a moment and giving the batarian no further reply whatsoever, he looked at Miller, noticing that the man's finger was already inching towards the trigger of his rifle. Shaking his head at him for now, the operative paused.
The HSA's rules of engagement were clear. An enemy that surrendered to them had a right to both medical attention and safety. Under no circumstances could they hurt a prisoner, no matter how much he deserved it. Killing this batarian would be a war crime. Yet in spite of that he knew that he'd very likely get away with doing it. Whether it was the small nod Miller gave him or the knowledge that helmetcam footage sometimes got corrupted during prolonged missions, he was convinced that no one, neither his commander, let alone the public would ever hear a single word about this batarian from either of them. No one would know if he had pulled the trigger.
"So, will you stand there and watch me bleed out," the batarian spoke up again, the lack of remorse evident in his voice. "kill me or get me to a medic?"
But he wasn't a war criminal. Even if no one else would ever know that he had shot an unarmed, injured batarian, he'd know and that alone was more than enough of a reason not to do it.
"I'm not going to kill you," Haugen replied, causing the batarian to smirk right until the wheezing of the heavily injured varren behind Haugen drew the attention of the slaver. Seeing the small, badly bleeding lizard struggling to get on its feet after removing the broken collar around its neck, Haugen looked at the gun on the batarian's side before making his decision, tilting his head to the right in the process and earning the alien's glare as a result. "Can't promise the same for him though. Let's go, Miller. Hofmann's waiting."
"You can't just leave me here!" he heard as they began to walk up the stairs. That wasn't quite right either. Being part of a special operations outfit meant that they could decide if they'd actually detain someone or simply leave them to their own devices. The reasoning behind giving ASOC and N7 this kind of leeway was that taking a prisoner could potentially jeopardize their mission which always took priority. The shouts of the batarian only stopped moments before they closed the door, the lone gunshot echoing through the basement behind them offering no explanation as to who had triumphed over whom.
Leaving the building without checking the monitor to see if the varren had done the deed, Haugen only slowed down to somewhat explain the delay to Hofmann, quickly summarizing their encounter with the varren but choosing to leave the batarian out of the story. When the two ASOC operatives finally reached the rally point, the rest of Phantom Squad had already been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes and by the looks of it used the delay to call in a more comfortable way of extraction.
"A Kodiak? Seriously?" he asked while walking towards Hofmann who was leaning against the exterior of the still hovering shuttle.
"We cleared the area, might as well reap the fruits of our labour for once, right?" the sergeant shrugged as they climbed inside. "Beats walking any day of the week."
Holding onto the slings at the ceiling of the crew compartment, Haugen felt the Kodiak take off once the final ASOC operative had made his way inside. Reaching for his radio, the captain quickly called in their success, expecting to be redeployed into another conflict zone at a moments notice. To say that it surprised him when his commanding officer ordered Phantom Squad back to an FOB instead would be an understatement. He dropped down into one of the seats of the Kodiak, removed his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty blonde hair, the lack of activity now exposing just how exhausted he actually was. Spinning the piece of armor in his hands for a few times, he let his head hang down and took the time to look at the picture attached to the inside of the helmet, the reason he always had to make his way home looking back at him. Hopefully the FOB had something akin to a communications array.
By now his wife was probably worried sick, even a small text message saying that he was alright would mean the world to her. While he didn't like doing this to her, it was simply a part of the life he had chosen. Besides, he'd rather have her worry about him than the other way around, even if it was somewhat selfish. Luckily for him half the navy, hundreds of light years, several million servicemen and two billion justifiably pissed off Terra Novans stood between her and the batarians. He liked those odds.
"You alright, Sir?" Hofmann's voice tore him from his thoughts like it tended to do in the quiet moments.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he nodded.
"While you were busy playing fetch with varren, I managed to get a sitrep from command," the sergeant said while undoing the seals of his own helmet, placing the piece of armor on the empty seat next to him. "Interested?"
"You know the answer to that," he nodded. "Let's hear it."
"Alright, the good news first," the sergeant began."Yesterday Elysium Command annulled Saber-One, their planet is officially clear of enemies. The Colonial Watch is digging in and everyone else is getting ready to take the fight to the batarians, at least the ones still around. While we were liberating Zhao County, the navy began its counterattack."
"How did it go?"
"Since they were flying side by side with the Hierarchy for most of it, far better than expected. Most colonies the batarians took are already back in our hands, apparently the Hegemony realised that they weren't winning the important battles and decided to cut their losses. A few worlds closer to batarian space are still under their control but everything between here and Camelot is back under our control."
"Sounds good," Haugen replied before sighing. "And the bad news?"
"Before they ditched they took thousands of people," the sergeant muttered. "HSAIS is saying that they're holding them as leverage but I think we both know that a lot of them will end up on the slaver market."
"How many thousands are we talking? Worse than Mindoir?"
"Far worse. I've heard nothing concrete but the intelligence officer I spoke to said that they consider at least one hundred thousand people missing and that's only one the worlds we took back. A bunch of the colonies they hit were in the early stages of development, just a bunch of pioneers without serious protection. The slightly older ones had at least a bunch of soldiers to rely on but the really new ones? They didn't stand a chance at holding out."
He didn't even bother to think what kind of impact that would have on the enthusiastic expansionism mankind had practiced up to now. People would be far less likely to pack their things up and settle a new frontier if their predecessors had ended up in chains.
"Please tell me you're done with the bad news," he chuckled darkly, the expression of Hofmann already telling him there was still one more thing he had to say. "Alright, spit it out. Let's get this over with."
"From what I heard, the chancellor is trying to push a ceasefire the moment we've got our worlds back. She's been negotiating with the parliament for days about it," the sergeant explained as Haugen raised an eyebrow. "If she manages to convince the majority, we won't be seeing Khar'shan any time soon."
"Why the hell would they do that?" Miller, who had listened to the conversation quietly up to now injected, the angry tone in his voice giving both Hofmann and Haugen a good indication as to how he felt about that particular move.
"Damned if I know," Hofmann shrugged before growing more serious. "Maybe they don't fancy the idea of sending millions of us into a fucking meatgrinder. Fine by me really."
"And here I was thinking you were looking forward to having breakfast in Chairman Amon's mansion," Haugen replied dryly.
"Batarian food is way too spicy for my liking," the man smirked. "Respectfully, Sir, that shit isn't worth dying for on any day of the week." Having seen what batarians considered food, he could agree with that notion.
"There's something else, right?" he realised as Hofmann kept looking at him. "Didn't I tell you to spit it out?"
"It's not exactly bad news."
"Well?"
"The Union set its military in motion as well, meaning that if they hurry up we might be seeing salarians on the frontlines by the end of next week."
"Why wouldn't more allies be good news?" the captain frowned.
"The last time the salarians fought a war, they kind of talked the turians into committing genocide. I wouldn't call that good news, Sir."
"I wouldn't mind releasing a genophage on those bastards, God knows they deserve it," Miller injected. The ASOC officer could tell that their encounter with the varren had left a similar impact on Miller as the previous invasion of Mindor had left on himself. He got it, he really did, the batarians made it very easy to hate them and at times, he couldn't deny that he felt similar to the younger operative but that didn't mean he agreed with the notion of genocide.
"Miller?" he spoke, turning to look at him.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Shut up, alright?"
"Roger that, Sir."
12. May 2408 AD, HSASV Hannibal Barca, Crewdeck
Wiggling the pen in her hand, she knew that she should be happy that she wasn't currently being shot at, that's what the rational part of her mind told her. However in spite of considering herself a logical person, Emily Shepard found herself hoping for a mission or anything that would remotely resemble further development of the situation. As things were, her entire expeditionary force was stuck on naval ships, remaining on standby ever since leaving Elysium and slowly but surely the waiting was becoming worse than the actual fighting she had seen on the planet.
If the rumors were true, their current activity, or rather lack thereof, was rooted in the government's reluctance to push deep into batarian core territory. While she appreciated the concern the parliament showed for the lives of their troops, delaying things would only make the casualties worse. With every day they spent waiting the Batarian Hegemony fortified its worlds more and eventually not even the support of the turian military, which up to now had played a crucial role in the swift reclamation of several human colonies, would be able to prevent this war from turning into a slow grind and in turn costing hundreds of millions of lives.
Or maybe even more than that.
As part of the process of becoming an officer, she had learned about how devastating the Siege of Horizon had been, sat through lecture after lecture listening to seasoned commanders explaining why the invasion of a densly populated planet was the absolute worst case scenario for the marine corps. The highly urbanized terrain of large, developed worlds was a challenge in itself already but the fact that for every enemy soldier there were dozens if not hundreds of civilians made it even worse. The majority of people that had been killed during the most destructive battle of human history had been civilians and if her limited knowledge of batarian society was anything to go by, the Hegemony wouldn't go through nearly the same amount of effort that both the HSA and admittedly the IFS had put into keeping non-combatants out of the line of fire.
No, that was an understatement. The ruling caste of the batarian people would do the polar opposite of that.
Although military service in the Hegemony's military was restricted by their rigid caste system, she agreed with the longstanding military theory that the Chairman would at least conscript the majority of batarian slaves the moment the situation grew desperate enough, a Council invasion of Khar'shan very likely meeting that definition. While some people native to Horizon had joined the IFSDF regulars in the defense of Horizon, a fight on larger batarian worlds would resemble the ground engagements the krogan had fought against the Turian Hierarchy more closely, albeit that the turians that had once more taken up arms to defend their homes against alien invaders had enjoyed far more combat training than the batarian slaves they'd be facing at every corner once they made planetfall. Shepard had seen a few pictured of the cities the lower castes and slaves inhabited, fighting in the sprawling slums would be nothing short of a nightmare, especially if they gave them the time to turn every shanty into a small fortress, something they were currently doing.
Groaning in frustration, Shepard realised that she was rambling for the sake of delaying the choice she had been fighting with for the better part of the last hour. Looking at the mostly complete transfer form in front of her before once more rotating the pen in her hand, the dotted line asking for her signature still taunted her with every passing moment it remained empty. When Major Ramos had told her that she had made quite an impression, she had assumed that he was talking about some sort of combat award or maybe a small promotion, she didn't even consider that he was talking about something bigger than that.
Never would she have thought that someone would actually forward an N7 commendation to her.
This shouldn't have been such a hard call, she joined up to make a difference and this would be the place to do so. Yet she couldn't shake the thought of the kind of commitment the N7 program actually was. The navy gave the best to its special forces but in return they also demanded nothing but the best. If they sent an N7 unit, they expected to success, no matter the cost. N7s had to be able to reduce human lives to something that was spent to achieve an objective, make death a currency. A few months ago she would've simply called the kind of mindset the navy expected from their best a consequence of their training and their dedication to the mission, she had thought of it as an acquired skill. Now that she knew just what it was like to see people die around her, she began to question that view.
Before Elysium, she hadn't known what it meant to lose the people one was responsible for, to see marines she had lived with for the better part of two years die around her was something she would never forget. Would she be able to see the same thing happen over and over again or would it eventually devour her piece by piece to the point where she wouldn't recognize herself when looking into the mirror? What if she actually started to reduce the people under her command to mere pieces that could be used to gain an advantage? Would she even want to look at herself if that happened?
No, she couldn't think like that. She knew what it was the she was currently doing and it wasn't a good thing. The fear of the unknown was getting the better of her, clouding her judgment more with every hint of doubt. Faith in the chain of command was something marines learned early on, it ensured that they got the job done and came back to tell the tale. Someone obviously had enough faith in her to grant her this opportunity, if she didn't take it due to being afraid of what she might become, she'd regret it for the rest of her life. Besides, it was up to her to decide what kind of person she wanted to be. Emily believed that she could make a difference and she believed that she wouldn't lose sight of who she was along the way, no matter what the universe threw at her.
She wouldn't allow fear to rule her.
Looking at the stylized 'N7' stamped onto the corner of the form for a final time, she placed the pen on the line and wrote down her name, watching the blue ink dry for a few moments. Even if it had been surprisingly hard to get it there, now that her name was actually written onto the sheet of paper, it felt right and at the end of the day doing the right thing was the best anyone could hope for.
The right choice was never the easy one though was it?
Sighing, she closed the pen and placed it on the desk, holding the piece of paper into the air and reading over its contents for a final time. The moment she turned it in, she'd be enrolled into the 'Naval Interplanetary Combatives Training', being put into the next available class once the currently stagnant war she was a part of ended. She had heard stories about the seven training phases and the sheer endurance required to pull through the infamous 'Crucible' but in spite of her previous hesitation and the picture those stories painted, she very much found herself looking forward to it now that she had actually signed it.
The human mind was indeed a very strange thing at times.
Throwing her arms into the air, Shepard took a look at the clock on her right. Apparently deciding one's future was an effective way to pass time. Maybe she should simply start making life changing decisions until the Hannibal Barca was removed from stand-by, if this last ordeal was anything to go by the war would be over before she had even decided on what colour her retirement home should have. Folding the transfer form, she decided to drop it off immediately, it wasn't like she had anything better to do anyway. She pushed her chair away from the desk, got up and walked out of the room that she had called home for the last week, her intended target being her unit's commander. As with a great many number of things, the transfer form would move up the chain of command through him.
Reading the room numbers in search of the 'office' of Captain Kendrick, Emily idly wondered just where her parents or more specifically her father currently was. While her mother was in charge of a cruiser patrolling somewhere on the 'northern' edge of Council territory and had already checked in with her once she had heard about her deeds on Elysium, the whereabouts of her dad where questionable at best. She was more than certain that he was keeping tabs on both of them but given the nature of his work, finding out where he was and what he was currently doing was next to impossible. Even if she was the one technically fighting on the frontlines, she couldn't help but worry about her father. Section 13 had a knack for finding the most dangerous places to be in at any given time and deciding to go there either way. Given what she had seen on Elysium, she didn't like those odds.
Deciding that she'd rather not follow through with that line of work, she returned her focus on the room numbers, barely noticing the upcoming intersection and only coming to a stop when she saw something she was about to collide in the corner of her eye. Turning her head to see just who she had almost bumped into, she took a few seconds to actually recognize the man standing directly in front of her before taking a step back and once more creating something akin to space between them.
"Hey, you're looking better," she said after it finally clicked. "Leng, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Ma'am," the N7 replied, sounding very differently from when he had been on the verge of bleeding out. As expected, having all of his blood back had done his voice a favour. Awkwardly folding his hands behind his back, Shepard waited for Leng to say something else, not quite sure what was going through his head at the moment. "I feel like I own you an apology, Ma'am" he finally mumbled.
"You what?" she doubled back, raising an eyebrow. "What for?"
"The way I acted in the tunnel," he explained, "I wasn't just out of line, Lieutenant," he emphasized the later part,"I was wrong. If you hadn't talked some sense into me, we would've lost the battle."
She remembered the moment he was referring to. When Emily had initially stumbled over the N7, who at that point had been the lone survivor of his team, he hadn't placed a lot of faith in her ability to retrieve a detonator, wanting her to give up her rifle and turn around while he charged back into the breach. Only after a short but still rather heated discussion had she managed to convince him that only together they'd have a somewhat reasonable chance at success.
"You came through, didn't you?" she countered, hoping to ease whatever guilt the Petty Officer was still feeling over the incident. However instead of achieving that, the special forces soldier once more seemed to lock up, his expression stiff. "Listen Leng, don't waste time thinking about the ifs. We won, that's what counts."
Silently standing opposite to each other, the N7's face finally shifted into something akin to curiosity after spotting the piece of paper in her hands and somehow either recognizing or simply guessing its origin. "Going to N-School?" he nodded towards the transfer form.
"How did you-?" she began only to be interrupted.
"Educated guess. Completing an N7 mission is kind of a big deal," he explained, lighting up ever so slightly. "Go figure that someone back in Rio would like to see what happens when they unlock your full potential."
"When?" she chuckled, "More like if. Unless I'm mistaken, not a whole lot of people actually finish N7 training."
"Didn't you just tell me not to think about ifs?" the man offered. "The fact that you got invited to Rio already says a lot Ma'am. It means that someone who's been through N-School thinks you've got what it takes. That's way different from the people who apply on their own accord without a recommendation," Leng went on before actually looking at her for longer than a split second and making her wonder in which of the two categories he belonged. "You'll be fine."
"Speaking of fine," she realised when another wheel in her head finally clicked. While medical technology was advanced, two weeks were a very short timeframe to fully recover from the kind of injuries the Petty Officer had received on Elysium. "How come you're already walking again? Shouldn't you be in bed or something? You were hit pretty bad."
"I didn't become an N7 to lie in bed all day and I'll be damned if this war ends before I get some payback," Leng replied before cracking a small but much appreciated smile. "Talked the doctors into giving me painkillers and sending me off so they can take care of other patients."
"I'm not sure if I admire the resolve or worry about the stubbornness," she admitted.
"Once you're past a certain threshold of general agony, they're basically the same thing, you'll learn that in Rio."
"When you phrase it like that I can't help but look forward to the experience. Ever considered becoming a recruiter when you're done with special operations?" That earned her a small chuckle, something she'd rate as progress considering how this unscheduled encounter had begun. Since she had nothing else to do, she would've had no problem with continuing their little chat for longer but upon seeing her CO leave his room in the distance, Emily realised that she'd have to cut things short for now. "But before I can go to Rio, I'll have to drop this off," she explained while holding up the paper.
"Don't let me stop you, Ma'am," the man stepped aside once he noticed that she was looking at someone behind him.
"I'll be seeing you around, Petty Officer," she called after moving past him.
"Aye, aye."
18. May 2408 AD, Camelot, Colonial Watch Headquarters
"You'd think they would've found them by now, it's not like there are that many that actually fit the bill," Daniel Morneau sighed, looking at yet another suspicious candidate in the process. When they had been sent to Camelot on short notice, spending nearly a week going through highly superficial POW reports hadn't been the kind of assignment he had pictured. Instead of trailing a high value target, preventing a terrorist attack or crossing off some high ranking batarian officer, they had spent hours upon hours with the rather uneventful task of trying to figure out which of these 'lowborn', members of the caste that served as the rank and file of the batarian military but also filled roles such as cooks, technicians and nurses, were in fact part of the SIU. Following an incident during which several batarians previously listed as low-priority individuals had turned out to be members of the Special Intervention Unit before committing suicide by guard instead of facing interrogation, HSAIS had dispatched the two specialists to the planet in hopes of getting their hands on a living SIU operative. This way they might learn learning how the elite formation had managed to cause Cerberus that much trouble.
"They had to stay subtle. SIU are fanatics, they'd die to keep their secrets. If they catch wind of us doing this, they'll get some grunt to shoot them or throw themselves in front of a truck or do god knows what to avoid interrogation," Yo-yo replied from the other end of the room, equally occupied with searching through suspect dossiers that met the description they had gotten. According to Cerberus field intelligence, however reliable that might be considering the circumstances under which they extracted the information, they were looking for either a group of or one batarian female, which was a surprise in itself considering that the Hegemony's military usually excluded women from combat roles. Adding to that, they had enjoyed years of combat training, presumably undergone some sort of gene therapy and most importantly lived in far better conditions than the other lowborn batarians, meaning that upon closer investigation they'd eventually stand out.
"They could've at least cleared out the most obvious ones," he yawned while skipping the file of a nurse far too malnourished to survive going hand-to-hand with anything but a volus. "I'm slowly getting sick of looking at nothing but four-eyed women all day."
"Why? Batarians aren't your type?" his fellow specialist chuckled as she briefly looked up behind her own terminal.
"Nope, blondes are."
"Obviously."
"Hey, what's that supposed to me-," he was about to retort when something about the file in front of him made him take an even closer look. Staring at the side shot of a reddish batarian, he noticed that the woman had a a faint but still visible scar reaching from the side of her neck to the base of her skull. Rubbing the back of his head in a awfully similar spot and feeling the small L1 implant that allowed him to actually make use of his biotic powers, he transferred the file to his partner. "Yo-yo, do me a solid and take a look at this one."
"That's an amp, isn't it?" she replied after opening the file and spotting what he was referring to.
"Yep," he nodded. "Since you're the more cultured one of us, remind me what the odds are of the Hegemony actually giving a non-combat lowborn woman an amp?"
"Pretty damn low," Yo-yo muttered before pressing a series of buttons on her terminal and reaching out to the military police officer in charge of the site holding all batarian prisoners of war. "Major, we've got a likely positive, prisoner 118-A-29. Goes by the name of Jarna Dal'Serah and is being held in Block A."
"Likely positive? Can you be more specific, Specialist Young? We need more than a hunch."
"She's got a biotic amplifier even though she's listed as a cook. Is that good enough for you?"
"Yes," it came back through the speakers after a few moments. "I'll make the necessary preparations to subdue her, get a Kodiak and make your way to the site."
"Understood, we'll be there in ten," Young replied and the moment the line closed Morneau put his own terminal aside and practically shot up from his chair, the prospect of leaving behind the artificial light and stale air more than enough to wake him up.
"So, what's our plan once we actually got the SIU operative?" he asked on his way to the door, stopping only to grab the pistol holster from his footlocker before stepping out of the room and into the hallway of Camelot's military nerve center. "If they actually go through gene therapy, it's not impossible that their bodies react differently to the truth serum."
"I figured we'd just try talking for a change," his partner shrugged on their way to the outside of the base, the cold evening air brushing against his face being an unpleasant but welcome change. There wasn't much else they could do, until they had enough information to put the serum to the test by asking their target about things they already knew, the tactic usually employed to tell if the drug was working as intended, they couldn't know for sure that they weren't being lied to. Unlike with previously tested groups like humans, regular batarians, salarians or asari, everything the SIU operative would tell them under the drug's influence couldn't be considered a hard fact. For all they knew, the modifications could've included a resistance to the chemicals or trigger the same kind of hallucinations most volus experienced upon receiving a large enough dose.
"You really think she'll want to talk?" Morneau said once they reached the closest shuttle, its engines already spinning up before they even climbed inside.
"There's only one way to figure that out," Yo-yo reasoned before sitting down.
Lapsing into silence as the shuttle began its short flight, it didn't take long until the prison that served as the home of a good portion of the roughly twenty thousand batarians that had been captured following their defeat on Camelot came into view. Situated on one of the smaller islands off the coast of the archipelago that was the home to most of Camelot's seventy million inhabitants, the small security fence surrounding the perimeter wasn't the prison's main countermeasure to prevent escapes. Any of the prisoners being held on the island would not only have to somehow slip past the considerable military presence he could already see as the shuttle made its approach, they'd also somehow have to traverse the cold and deep waters around them and avoid encountering the deadly predators living in them in the process. Beyond the fence, rows of prefabs served as the homes of the prisoners, lowborn batarians who had either been unable to reach an evacuation point or hadn't been considered important enough to be rescued in the first place.
How and why an SIU team was among them was a question he couldn't answer.
As the shuttle got even closer to the island, the waves breaking on the steep cliffs below them, he could see the part of the island they were headed for. It was secluded from the rest of the prison and if the IFVs, shuttles, armed guards and guard towers were any indication, it served as the garrison of the island. Realising that the shuttle was already making its landing approach, Morneau let go of the sling he had been holding onto and opened the door of the crew compartment, as a result being the first to be greeted by the icy winds apparently common in this region.
As if an ocean full of sea monsters wasn't enough of a reason for him never to come back here in the first place.
The two specialists jumped out of the shuttle the moment it was low enough and Yo-yo immediately went for her omni-tool. "Major Caldwell, we're on site and ready to assist you in detaining the target."
"That won't be necessary, we already got her. She's waiting for you in the administrative hub, Interrogation Room C."
Sharing a look, both specialists wondered how exactly the army had managed to subdue a biotic SIU operative but decided against questioning things going in their favour. If it made their job easier, they'd take it. Reasoning that the biggest of the makeshift buildings around them had to be the administrative hub of the place, the pair set out to the collection of stacked prefabs in front of them. Once inside, it became evident that the HSA was preparing for a rather long stay in the islands. Besides staff members, security guards and communication technicians, dozens of engineers were still in the process of turning the linked living units into something akin to an actual building.
He could see what they were doing. There was now way for the HSA to know how long it would take before they could sent the batarians that were actual soldiers, not slavers, home. Even with human and turian fleets waiting just a few relay jumps away from Khar'shan and HSA probes, carrying the suggestion of a permanent armistice, regularly being sent into batarian space, it was impossible to tell when the Hegemony would realise that they couldn't take on half the galaxy and come out on top. Given their past track record, it was wise to prepare for a long wait.
Passing by a series of similar looking rooms, it was Yo-yo who spotted Caldwell first. Standing in front of a reinforced door and accompanied by two guards, the man waved them over. "We have her restrained and she should be waking up any time soon," he informed them once they were close enough.
"Waking up?" his partner asked. "From what?"
"We flooded her barracks with an odorless knockout gas, was the only way to be sure she'd be out cold," at least they had gotten an explanation as to how they had subdued her now. "We also took the liberty of muffling her biotics for the time being so you won't have to worry about that either. Just contact me if you need anything else. I'll be in the command central."
"Understood."
Giving them a final nod, the officer walked away without another word just as the dark-haired specialist placed his hand on the locking mechanism. Usually they knew at least something about the person they were about to interrogate but given the unusual circumstances of this missions and all the unknowns surrounding the Special Intervention Unit, improvising was just about the only thing they could do. Instead of trying to come up with a plan that could as easily backfire as succeed, he did what both he and Yo-yo knew he was good at.
Improvising.
Unlocking the door without further delay, the two specialists stepped into the brightly lit room and, just like Caldwell had said, found a batarian woman in restraints in front of them. However contrary to the Major's short briefing, the presumed SIU operative was not on the verge of waking. She was wide awake and not even bothering to put up an act, four dark eyes staring directly at his own hazel ones. If he had to put a label on the batarian's expression, it would probably be hateful. Leaving his partner to stand in the corner behind her, aiming to somewhat unnerve her, he pulled the other chair from the table and sat down opposite to her.
"Hello Jarna, if that's even your real name. First off, let me say that I'm really sorry about the knockout gas. Wasn't my idea," as expected he didn't get a reply at first. "We just had to make sure you wouldn't follow the example of your late friends," two pairs of eyes narrowed in response to that. "Now I really only want to know a few things about SIU from you, so why don't we get started?"
"If you think that I'll tell you anything, you're even stupider than I imagined," the alien replied, her voice surprisingly light by batarian standards. "Torture me all you want, I won't talk."
It was clear that the two of them had very different ideas as to where this would go. If he had to take a guess, it was probably her training that made her think she'd get tortured. Most special forces and intelligence services put their operatives through training designed to keep them from breaking, Section 13 was no exception to that, yet most people who had been in the business for a couple of years realised that torture only got one so far and was hardly if ever used by actual professionals. People who knew what they were doing, didn't need to lay a single finger on someone to get what they wanted. Unwillingly, Jarna had already told him that she was most likely not quite as experienced as other SIU operatives.
"Who said anything about torture?" he snorted. "You think I'm some kind of amateur?"
"You're human, it doesn't matter what I think. No matter how much you hide it, you're all violent primitives," he could tell that it wasn't just an insult, Jarna was entirely convinced of that narrative.
"That's what they teach you in boarding school, isn't it? I bet you grew up hearing all about these evil new guys called humans, right?"
"We don't need to be taught about your kind, anyone with two good set of eyes can see that you're doing nothing but evil."
"Well, enlighten those of us who only happen to have one good set then, will you?" he folded his hands in front of his face. If he managed to keep her talking about something she was comfortable with, he'd find an opening to use. If it took listening to batarian propaganda to get her to that point, he'd gladly listen to all that the Batarian Hegemony had to say about the HSA.
"You expand without control or right, take our worlds, murder our people, push us out of the Citadel and still pretend to be righteous."
"If we take your worlds and kill your people, why are you here? How come you're the prisoner of war and I'm interrogating you? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" he paused for a few moments, allowing her to form a reply that made sense from her perspective.
"You left us with no choice. We need these worlds to sustain ourselves. Future generations depend on unclaimed garden worlds in the Verge to feed them. If we do not seize them, they will starve. How many of your people burden this galaxy, human? Thirty or maybe forty billion?", she wasn't off by that much, he had to give that to her,"There are over a hundred billion batarians. You don't need these worlds," the batarian spat. "You just want them because that's what your kind does. You just take whatever it is that you desire without thinking about the consequences for others and those who dare to stand up to you are struck down without remorse."
"Let's just pretend the Hegemony hasn't been opening every mass relay they can find since they were kicked off the Council," another angry glare telling him that it was most likely true , "there are still hundreds of garden worlds in the Terminus Systems. No reason to go to invade the Verge whatsoever. Face it, you're here for a less noble reason, dying for a despotic government who left you to die without hesitation. Sucks, doesn't it?"
"I'm a soldier, human. Soldiers die for what they believe in."
"Is that why your comrades killed themselves? Because they believed in a senseless war of expansion?"
"My comrades chose to sacrifice themselves for the good of the Hegemony," once more he could tell that the batarian was unsurprisingly utterly convinced of what she was saying.
"Why die for the Hegemony?"
"You'd die for your people, wouldn't you, human?" she muttered. Had he just gotten a compliment from her? "My only regret is that I couldn't follow their example."
"You wouldn't die for your people though, you'd be dying for the Hegemony," he repeated himself if only for the sake to keep her on the track she was currently on.
"The Batarian Hegemony and the batarian people have been one and the same thing for two thousand years. Everything the Hegemony does, is for the good of our people," Jarna insisted.
"You can't honestly believe that that's true," Morneau replied. "How often have your own people risen up against the Hegemony? If everything they do is for the good of the people, why do your people keep fighting it?"
"Dissidents and non-conformists will always exist, it's a part of life. An occasional slave riot means nothing," only a batarian could consider a slave riot 'occasional'.
"How often has the Hegemony ordered you to turn your gun on your own people, Jarna?" he asked, intending to crack through a part of her shell by attacking the one thing she kept coming back to, her loyalty to her people. The silence that followed indicated that he was on the right track. While he knew that he wouldn't shatter a life's worth of political indoctrination, this was exactly the kind of opening he had been looking for. If he could only get her to answer one question, he'd give other interrogators an opening to exploit. It didn't even have to be something about SIU, something more personal would be sufficient for the start. "Why are you here, Jarna?"
"I already told you, because you left us no choi-"
"I mean why are you here, in this room, and not on some space ship back on your way to the Hegemony? Why did your squad miss the evacuation? What happened?"
The crack started subtle enough. At first Jarna stopped looking at him, uncomfortable with maintaining eye contact now that he had put her into a situation of personal doubt. Glancing at her cuffed hands, the batarian balled her hands into fists several times before simply staring at them for a few moments. Finally a sigh escaped her mouth.
"We got conflicting orders from several sources," she finally gave in. "Our ground commanders told us to make a fighting retreat into the countryside, the fleet wanted us to make a run for every transport we could find and High Command back on Khar'shan demanded that we make a final stand, kill as many of your kind as possible and die on our feet as proud batarians."
"Alright," he said and decided to leave the question as to why they had surrendered instead of following one of these orders to someone else.
The crack he wanted was there and pushing her more might seal it again. Unfolding his hands, he nodded towards Yo-yo and got up, pushing the chair back under desk and walking to the door before giving Jarna a final look, the hateful glare he had received when first entering the room now focused on her own hands instead. In a way, he felt sorry for tearing down a part of the illusion she had spent her entire life living in but if it meant saving others from SIU in the future, he'd keep doing it.
The damage a few well placed words could do to a person was in equal parts amazing and horrifying.
Codex: Batarian Caste System
In its general concept, the caste system that's partially responsible for making batarian society the galactic pariah is based on the pillar-like symbolism found in their religion. Based on the believe that each of the thirteen castes represents a singular pillar playing its part in upholding the batarian people as a whole, the two fully enslaved castes, which respectively fulfill the roles of industrial and domestic serfs, are seen as essential. Controlling every aspect of a batarian's live, the caste system not only decided whether or not one has the right to freedom but also partially determines the walks of life a batarian can chose from. While the members of the largest and poorest caste, called lowborns by their peers, form the backbone of batarian society and are unrestricted in which profession they chose, members of most higher castes lack the ability to chose their future, instead being raised for a singular purpose, for example becoming a scientist or military officer. Those who seek a different future for their decentands have the ability to buy themselves into a different caste, a practice that has seen several lowborn families eventually rising to influential positions within their society.
The highest caste of batarian society, its name roughly translating to 'born from greatness', make up the exception to that rule. Forming the economic and political elite of batarian society and having earned the unique privilege of wearing the colour of the divine, yellow, the few highborn families that trace their roots back to the early days of the Batarian Hegemony enforce the caste system with an iron fist, well aware that their power is largely based on the other castes believing them to be the 'Athok', the central pillar, which they allign themselves with. Ensuring absolute loyalty in the lower castes through complete control of the media and education, the wealthiest noble family, Amon, has time and again 'reformed' the caste system to increase their power, slowly pushing the theocratic, scientific and military elite further away from their originally almost equal positions and maintaining a hold on the position of Chairman, the absolute ruler of the Batarian Hegemony, for nearly a thousand years.
Given the secrecy surrounding the internal politics of the Hegemony, it is unknown what kind of tension these reforms have caused over the ages.
While batarian historians claim that the caste society has always been a cherished part of their culture, evidence from the time period predating the rule of Verush the Divine, a batarian monarch who's empire spanned most of Khar'shan's surface, suggests that several now either extinct or enslaved batarian cultures harshly opposed the practice. Going to war against the 'Athok' dozens of times and nearly succeeding in toppling the empire that would eventually transform itself into the Batarian Hegemony on two seperate occasion, the Daharth, traitors, remain one of the biggest mysteries of batarian pre-mass effect history. (See Entry 'Batarian History until the discovery of Mass Effect Technology') Mentioned in one of the few historic documents that somehow found their way out of the Hegemony, it is unknown what eventually brought down the people that defied the rule of Verush and his descendants until the dawn of the Hegemony, only the unusually high traces of radiation measured in one of Khar'shan's deserts shortly after first contact with the Hegemony indicating their possible fate.
A/N: Jesus fuck this chapter was a small nightmare to write because I lost about 2000 words when my latest save was corrupted a few days back. Didn't think I could remember that much but after reading over it, I was somewhat amazed to realise that I kind of nailed the mental recovery (read that as I spent well over an hour trying to figure out what the fuck I had written in the last three before eyeballing it)
Anyway, this chapter is the second time all three backgrounds appear at once and for the first time, it's just them. I realise that Shepard is obviously going to be the highlight, but I like to think that the other two can stand on their own as well. So yeah, this is kind of a special occasion for Semper Vigilo, since none of the 'original' cast (read that as Redford, the other Shepard, the Arterius bros and etc) atually made an apperance.
Now I hope the whole 'fire' contrast (if you want to call it that) between Shepard and now Haugen wasn't too on the nose but I couldn't resist it, sorry mates. Basically this chapter kind of sets up the next *big* thing which...
...drumroll please...
is gonna be Torfan, not Akuze.
Haha! Gotcha, you few people who know the mass effect canon timeline and know that it SHOULD'VE been the Lone Survivor background.
The reason for this change of chronology is basically the narrative of the Lone Survivor 'story'. You know how I keep saying that Akuze is going to be the most different background compared to the games? Well it's due to its differences, that it needs to happen later. Otherwise it'd seem really fucking weird. Just gotta wait and see for now dudes. Now for the record, I don't know if I mentioned it already, but there are only seven chapters between here and the beginning of Mass Effect 1 so yeah, it's not gonna be THAT long till Akuze (even if I got into the bad habit of taking two instead of one week to finish a chapter, I want to get to ME 1 before 2017 is over so yeah, strap in. The pace is going to pick up from here on out.
So yeah.. sorry for fucking with the lot of you who were certain it'd be Akuze.
For the record we're at 306 reviews, 511 favorites and 614 follows.
See you around next time.
