Chapter 102. Déjà-vu


23. April 2417 AD, HSASV Normandy, Helm

After getting over the initial shock of Liara's three-way mindmeld and unsuccessfully trying to piece together what the bits and pieces of information that the asari had procured could mean, General Arterius, Liara and Alenko had once more left the Normandy to return to turian space. 'That's where I can provide the most resources to figure this out,' the Blackwatch commander had reasoned. Thus, with ten days of delay, the Normandy was once back on its original task, trying to locate the quarian Tali'Zorah on Cerberus' request to expand the team for a raid on the Collector's base of operations that – as of right now – was neither located nor any more reachable than when they had set out.

Truth be told, Shepard had expected Harper to give her more than a five-minute conversation to 'go on as before' after she'd spoken to him in the wake of the past days' events or at least hoped he'd say more than 'we're working on it' when she'd asked about progress regarding the Omega-4 Relay and the destroyed Collector Ship.

But much to her surprise – and in contradiction to their usually rather long-drawn holo chit-chats – the director had seemed in a rush and even more closed-off than usual… and not just because of what had happened on Sur'Kesh.

Shepard sighed as she passed the airlock.

Even if she suspected that the director was once again keeping something crucial from her, she knew that as long as she didn't know what to say to him, he wouldn't budge. Harper only ever disclosed a secret if the other party already seemed to know about to an extend, so as long as she was in the dark as to what was keeping him busy, she'd never get him to admit it.

At least he had managed to narrow Tali'Zorah's location down in the last couple of days.

The last time they'd spoken about her five days ago, he'd only been able to say that he had heard 'rumors' of where the quarian was going. It had been very vague and she'd already been on her way to the last known location of the Migrant Fleet by the time he'd sent an update to her personal terminal telling her where Zorah was. Apparently his sources had learned her whereabouts because of a distress signal that had reached the fleet yesterday detailing how Tali'Zorah and a squad of increasingly more worn-down Migrant Fleet Marines were stuck on Haestrom without a ship and in 'desperate need' of extraction that everyone with a half a mind knew the Fleet would not be able to provide.

Needless to say, that message had installed a certain sense of urgency in Shepard, which was also why she was now on her way to the helm to find out why the Normandy hadn't made the transit yet.

"Joker, EDI," she greeted as she entered the bridge.

"Commander," they replied in unison while going about their task. It surprised Shepard and for a second, she wondered if they might have sorted out their differences without her knowing about it and where now working in harmony.

"We haven't made the jump yet," she observed.

"Yes," EDI responded.

"Why?"

"Protocol dictates that we require your permission to initiate the transit towards the Perseus Veil, Commander," EDI commented as Shepard came to a halt behind Joker's chair.

"Slow your horses, evil cyber overlord. Since when is there a 'we'?" the pilot of the Normandy retorted before spinning around and moving his arms in a mockery of a primitive robo.

'So much for sorting out their differences,' she thought.

"Whether you hold sympathy for me or not, Lieutenant Moreau, we both form an integral part of the Normandy's helm. We cannot work without each other and as such it is correct to refer to as as 'we'," EDI's spherical avatar responded before turning to Shepard as well.

"Speak for yourself. I was working just fine before you turned up," the pilot grumbled before brightening up and looking at the N7. "So. We're really doing this, huh? Jumping into geth space without any backup."

"Yes, we are," Shepard nodded. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're getting cold feet. What's with the whole permission thing?" it would be atypical of Joker to suddenly get scared.

As long as she'd known him – which granted wasn't actually that long if one subtracted the time she'd spent locked in a Collector stasis weapon – the flight lieutenant had never skipped out on a chance to push the Normandy (be it SR-1 or SR-2) to her limits. As she'd been told in the wake of the Battle of the Citadel, his eagerness had even extended towards taking on Sovereign with nothing but a few Disruptor Torpedoes and maneuverability on his side. While that technically should have gotten him a court martial or at least the hatred of everyone on board of the frigate back then, the pilot had instead walked away from the battle with the claim to having fired the killing shot on Sovereign and gotten the collective crew of the SR-1 a unit citation for gallantry in the face of battle.

There had even been plans for the entire crew to be awarded medals when the clean-up of the Citadel had been finished, but since most of the SR-1's crew hadn't lived long enough to see that day, nothing had ever come from the idea.

She shook that depressing thought off and folded her arms.

"Me? Cold feet?" the pilot said with mocked offense. "Please. I'm asking out of a formality, Commander. Or as the robot put it, protocol. As far as the HSA is concerned, we're about to jump into hostile territory," he explained while looking at her N7 uniform. "Since you're only navy in name, that little piece of official declaration of hostility means that the CO has to specifically give their permission and go on the record to put their ship into this position before I can jump."

She looked at the flight lieutenant. "This is the first time I'm hearing this."

"Like I said. Only navy in name," Joker shrugged. "So. Permission to put us squarely into geth space?"

She nodded her head. There was no way around this. If they wanted Tali'Zorah, they needed to enter geth space.

"Permission granted."

"That's what I like to hear," the pilot stated. His hands darted over the holographic screens and a blue glow became visible on the exterior cameras that worked as the Normandy's eyes in space. Then, just as it had done a hundred times before, their frigate carried them across lightyears of space in the blink of an eye. As soon as the procedure was done, Joker turned around in his chair.

"It's official," he said. "We aren't in Kansas anymore."

Shepard, ever the colonial kid, raised her eyebrow in response.

"Kans-what?" she asked while EDI's avatar turned to her and began to pour out knowledge.

"Running extranet search," the avatar declared. "Kansas. A small subsection of the North American Administrative Zone located on Earth. Famous for sunflowers, tornados and its status as one of the few remaining agricultural zones on the planet," EDI said before her 'mouth' blinked. "I do however believe Lieutenant Moreau was referencing an old work of fiction by the title of 'The Wizard of Oz'. Are you familiar with it or do you wish to learn more about it?"

"Uhm-" Shepard began before Joker once more turned around and slowly shook his head and mouthing 'Please don't'. "No, thanks EDI. That'll do," she complied.

"Logging you out, Commander," the avatar disappeared.

"See?" Joker declared while dropping his arms in defeat. "This is what I have to deal with all day! She's infuriating!"

The avatar plopped up again.

"Lieutenant Moreau, you are aware that even after logging the commander out, I am still present. Correct?" EDI responded.

"Yes. And its making me miserable," the pilot sighed and Shepard smirked.

"Call me when we hit Haestrom."

"Sure. If I haven't stroked out and rammed the next asteroid by then," he responded as the N7 walked away.

"Lieutenant Moreau, in addition to my constant monitoring of your health status, which would prevent you from suffering a stroke to begin with, I can reassure you, that the Normandy's anti-collision systems would prevent such an incident. Rest assured that your concerns are unwarranted," she heard EDI reply before a much louder groan escaped from the pilot.

After entering the adjacent CIC, Shepard was set on getting back to her quarters to finish up the mission reports of Illium. Those had been lying in wait for some time now, in parts because she'd put off on writing them until she'd decided how to phrase the incident at the Dantius Towers. But instead of reaching the elevator, she was intercepted by Lieutenant Callius.

"Commander," the turian greeted. Immediately, it was clear that there was something on the turian's mind.

"Lieutenant," she responded. "How can I help you?"

In response, Callius opened the door towards the cross section that led towards the armory and gestured for Emily to follow her. Only when they were inside the small room and the door was closed with an orange security lock – indicating that no one but a select few people could enter - did the turian speak up again.

"I'm sorry if what I'm about to say will ruin your day, but I've been thinking about Illium these last couple of days," the turian admitted before pacing from left to right. Shepard had never seen her XO like this and truth be told, it worried her.

"What's going on, Lieutenant?" she asked carefully while eyeing the reddish-brown turian.

"While you were occupied with Doctor T'Soni, I talked to Vakarian and Samara," the turian explained before looking at her with amber eyes. "Did it ever occur to you how strange it was that this Morinth person knew exactly where to find you and Vakarian? Down to the minute?"

Shepard's face locked in a serious expression.

It had not.

"I figured the whole thing was opportunistic, actually. Someone saw I had arrived on Illium and put out the hit," the N7 admitted. "But considering we're having this talk right now, you don't think so?"

"No, I don't. Like I said, I spoke to Vakarian and Samara. According to the justicar, Morinth went to Illium for a specific reason but until Morinth tried to kill you, she had no idea what that reason was."

"Okay," Shepard nodded. "Sorry if I'm being slow right now, but what's Garrus got to do with this?"

"He used to be a detective. That makes him about the only person on this ship who knows how to interrogate someone without beating the crap out of them," Callius reasoned. "I asked him for help before I spoke to Samara. I had him give me some pointers and double-check if what I was worried about even made sense to begin with," Callius figured before sighing in the realization that Emily had no idea what she was talking about. "Think about this for a second. How can Morinth travel to Illium to kill you before you're even on Illium? How did she know where to go or where to find you?" as soon as the words had left Callius mouth, Shepard's eyes narrowed.

"Someone told her," she realized with a cold voice before understanding why she'd been dragged to the armory in silence. "You think we've got a mole," if Harper's silence wasn't enough to trigger a sense of deja-vu, this certainly was.

"Yes. Either someone on board or someone somewhere up the chain of command. It's the only explanation," Callius stated before the armory doors beeped open at the hands of an authorized overwrite and the sole other turian member of the crew walked in with a half-way disassembled sniper-rifle in one hand and a half-way eaten dextro ration bar in the other.

"Oh damn," Garrus exclaimed after having swallowed what he was chewing on. He looked at both of them. "I walked in on something important, didn't I?" he was about to turn on his heel before Callius opened her mouth.

"I told her what I asked you about, Vakarian," the female turian explained. "Your tips helped me. So much in fact, that I'm afraid we were right.

"Ooooh. Oh," the turian repeated before his mandibles locked against his jaw and he closed the door behind him, this time for good with a red lock. "That's bad," he stated dryly before looking at Shepard, "and kind of ironic considering last time we had this problem, it was me."

Now Callius turned towards Shepard.

"I was not aware that this isn't the first time your shipmates are trying to kill you," then she looked at Garrus. "Or that you tried to kill her," she looked back to Shepard. "Had I known, I never would've asked him."

Shepard only responded with a shrug while Garrus sat his snipe rifle and food down and looked to be somewhere between amused and offended. "For the record, it wasn't anything so drastic," the former detective muttered before glancing at Callius' tensed-up hands. "But for the sake of keeping my mandibles attached to my face, I think its best if you explain to the lieutenant what happened back then, Shepard," he told her.

"Long story short, C-SEC didn't trust me because Saren Arterius was best friends with my CO Captain Anderson. So Garrus here had to keep tabs on me for some time," Shepard went on. "We eventually found out and talked about it, so it's water under the bridge though."

Callius flicked her mandibles while looking at the other turian with a suspicious glance. "That's another one of your strange idioms?"

Shepard frowned. "Yes. Case and point, Garrus can be trusted and what happened back then wasn't anything like this."

"I see," the turian muttered. "That nonetheless leaves an entire ship full of suspects. And of course, all of Cerberus."

Shepard folded her arms.

"No it doesn't. I've served with half of these people before. The only ones who I can picture doing something like is either the new faces or someone working for Harper."

"And the director himself?" Callius offered.

"Probably already knows about this and isn't telling me anything because he doesn't want to show his hand to whoever is listening in," Shepard responded before pinching her nose. That would explain his very sudden shift in behavior.

"You really think he wouldn't warn you?" Callius asked. "That's a huge risk."

"Wouldn't be the first time he's kept something important from me that could possibly determine the success of my mission," Shepard replied with a sigh, thinking back to her first meeting with the Cerberus director. Back then he'd refrained from telling her that she was up against the Reapers right until she'd pushed the subject, which she'd only decided to do after her run-in with a certain specialist back on the Citadel who had insisted that neither Harper nor Anderson were telling her the truth.

"Still, to endanger your mission and your life like this…" Callius trailed off. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. He definitely knows," Shepard confirmed. "As for the whole 'threatening my life part'. Well. Cerberus or not, he's HSAIS to the core. Those guys don't lose any sleep over putting lives at risk. In their mind the equation's quite easy. What's a couple of dead grunts if it gets the job done?"

For a second Callius looked like she wanted to add something to it, but then she clearly decided against it and turned towards Vakarian.

"Just how long were you a detective for?"

"Long enough to know how to subtly look for a mole, if that's what you're after," Garrus replied before turning to Shepard. "For the record though, I'm with you. I don't think its anyone on the Normandy. We know these people. They're trustworthy."

"Trustworthiness set aside, I still think we should be vigilant for anything out of the order," Callius said. "With your permission, Commander, and with your help Vakarian, I would volunteer to look for anything out of the ordinary."

Shepard nodded. "Permission granted. At least for the looking part. I can't make Garrus help you," the N7 looked to the turian.

"You won't have to. I'll help. If my past experience of spying on the whole crew of a human warship is ever going to come in handy, the time's now," he went on before picking up his ration bar and biting off a piece. "First lesson for you, Lieutenant: it's awfully suspicious to insert yourself into this process the way you just did. I'd have half a mind to interrogate you, if I didn't know that you're Blackwatch," he observed dryly while pointing the ration bar at her, prompting Callius to narrow where eyes. "Just trying to be helpful."

Shepard looked at each of the turians.

"If you do this, can I trust you not to be at each other's throats?" she remembered what Leng had told her had happened between the two of them prior to Illium. As far as odd pairings went, they were probably the prime example.

"I can't speak for her, but I'm not about to let some bad blood get in the way of our mission or stopping someone from hurting you," Garrus responded, to which Callius could only nod.

"We're turians. We don't have to like each other to get the job done," she stated.

After being reminded of a similar exchange she had had with Alenko two years ago, Shepard let out a sigh.

"Just keep me posted, alright? And try not to be too obvious about it. The last thing this mission needs is for the crew to start distrusting each other."

"Of course, Commander," the lieutenant stated.


Two Hours Later, 23. April 2417 AD, Uncharted Regions, Planet H342-June-2378

Ten days.

That's how much time had passed since Horizon Company had gone into the tunnels, found some mutilated cyber-birds and subsequently flooded the entire place with NTX nerve gas.

Ever since then, Vega had barely been able to shut his eyes at night due to Eden Prime haunting him all over again and the separatist camp around him had continuously increased in size.

Despite their lieutenant's initial assessment that they'd be pulled out and redeployed, the incident of the night had clearly peaked the curiosity of the larger IFS command structure. In addition to the lystheni vessels and repurposed civilian craft that passed through here every now and again on supply runs, two actual warships flying the actual colours of the IFSDF had appeared not long after the night. They had not only dropped off half the prefab buildings now sitting around Horizon's fortifications but also deployed a unit of seemingly professional IFSDF soldiers who unlike Horizon Company -who were running around with repainted and repurposed HSA gear – were equipped with the same up-to-date hardware that he'd previously only seen on the LTs and Horizon's Captain. When he'd first seen the men in modern black and red body-armor set up shop next to Horizon Company, he'd snorted in humor. As far as the HSA was concerned, the IFS wasn't anywhere close to having its own production capabilities, yet clearly they weren't just building their own gear somewhere above Vega's level of membership, but also training up a proper military and finding the time for custom paintjobs.

As far as Vega was concerned, it was likely that they had financed themselves with various kinds of illegal activities similar to other insurgencies, but according to his new buddies who'd been with Horizon Company longer than him, this gear was coming from 'secret underground bases in the unknown regions' and 'factory ships hidden inside asteroid belts around the Terminus' that a fringe element of the IFSDF had established throughout the unknown regions prior to the end of the war to ease the way for the IFS' resurgence forty years down the road…

… needless to say, Vega was sticking with his assumption of smuggling operations.

Not that it mattered much where they were getting their toys from.

As soon as the NTX had gotten pumped into the tunnel, Vega had known one thing.

He'd ditch the IFS the first chance he'd get.

Nerve gas was kind of where he drew the line.

"Hey, you, care to give me a hand here?" someone shouted from below his guard tower. Vega peaked over the sandbags and looked at one of the aforementioned soldiers. "Yeah. Talking to you," the soldier said when he and Vega locked eyes. The man had been carrying polished crates with just the hint of sand clinging to their silvery frame which had fallen from the small hover-sled he'd been using for transportation. If the imprint on the containers was anything to go by, these were supplies from the Sirta Foundation, a large medical supplier from human space.

'Probably stolen from a supply ship,' Vega thought before sliding down the ladder and helping the soldier stack them back on the hover-sled. In the process of doing so, he naturally had to ask where the containers were form.

"So. Sirta," he said with a whistle after dusting his hands of when the last box as put on top. "Where'd you get this stuff anyways? Supply convoy raid? I heard we do those," he suggested. Back in his time with the marines, every year a couple of HSA transports would vanish or be targeted by pirates with just a little too much organization to actually still be considered pirates. Those convoys usually carried guns or heavier weaponry, but apparently, the IFS had upgraded to stealing medical transports as well.

"Doners, actually," the other soldier replied. "And whoever told you that should specify next time around or switch to another cell. You joined the straight shooters, pal. We don't do piracy. Especially not on medical transports," he pushed the sled. "Thanks for the help."

Vega watched him go and noticed the Valkyrie rifle attached to the functioning maglocks of his clean-looking armor.

"Yeah, no problem."

Secret bases and factory ships?

Personally, he was getting more of a 'Hahne-Kedar shopping spree' type of feeling when he looked at these guys.

Vega climbed back on his guard tower to return to his boring duty but paused halfway up the ladder when the canyon entrance came into view. They'd done some serious work on it when compared to ten days ago. There was a proper checkpoint in place now and the section of the canyon gap that was visible from the base had been covered by tall riot barriers the likes of which he'd last seen gathering dust in a cleared-out motorpool back on Amaterasu. They'd been used extensively in the volatile post-Fringe Wars martial law period, then quickly disappeared as to not wake any unpleasant memories of the time the HSA had practically placed up to twelve percent of its population in a permanent military lockdown and only resurfaced when they'd once more been erected in the CIP as a part of Operation Sentinel.

While their presence saved Vega from letting his gazes wander to the mural and being reminded of Eden Prime, he had to admit that those things being here was also kind of strange.

He'd much rather prefer to see what was happening below his feet, especially after what had happened to cause all of this.

But beggars couldn't be choosers.

Until he managed to find a way out of here, he'd have to deal with it.


Four Hours Later, 23. April 2417 AD, Uncharted Regions, BC-313 New Dawn

Admiral Drescher looked at the hologram of the mutilated avian and then towards the person in charge of the scientific operation on June. They'd all seen the bits and pieces of Eden Prime's aftermath that had managed to sink deep enough into the Extranet to become unreachable for the HAS, but seeing it first hand was still a very different experience.

"One artifact did this?" she asked before looking at Doctor Amanda Kenson, a woman who much like herself could be considered a separatist of the first hour if not for the small detail that she had spent a huge part of the time in between the war and today working back in the occupied Fringe Worlds. She'd only found her way back to the IFS in wake of the Skyllian Blitz and if not for her usefulness, Drescher would have never considered taking her back.

"This and twenty others," the scientist said before walking around the circular holo-desk and swiping through the various images of huskified creatures. "Admiral, if this is the consequence of what the EWD unearthed on Shanxi back during the war, then it's our responsibility to destroy those things. Every last one."

Drescher placed her hand in front of her mouth and thought back to what the doctor had told her. She briefly wondered what would've happened if the device found back then hadn't been destroyed by the HSA and then decided that the line of thought was no longer worth pursuing because for once in the entirety of the war, the HSA had actually done the right thing.

Anything that could do this to a living being needed to be destroyed.

"I wholeheartedly agree, Doctor," Drescher stated before fixating on the various implants crammed into the creature. From what their initial autopsies suggested, these implants were made from shards of material from around the camp and the research site and rare metals found deep within the caves of June…. but even with the knowledge of where the materials had come from, no one could explain how wild avian creatures no smarter than the average terrestrial bird could've suddenly produced these devices. "Still, you have to admit that its fascinating in a sense. Before the artifact did whatever it did, these things went down from a single round. And now, after a few alterations here and there… it took an NTX gassing and a lot of bullets to eliminate the last of them."

She looked at the depiction for a final time, trying to ignore how her military mind was telling her that this was worth pursuing, no matter how wrong it was.

"We went looking for the source of the technology of the New Dawn and we found this. Strange how the universe sometimes works, no?" They had only been on the search to understand why the ship that had attacked the Citadel seemed to share features with the New Dawn. Now here they were, being handed a horrifying bio-weapon on a silver platter.

It was tempting.

But they couldn't.

They had to be better.

Betraying their ideals for the sake of victory wasn't something they could afford.

Especially after what that idiot Kamarov had tried to do, their movement was tainted with a shame it would never quite manage to rid itself of.

She'd have no part in further sullying the flag her comrades had been dying for over the course of the last forty years.

"Strange indeed," Kenson said before receiving a nod from Drescher telling her that the hologram could be collapsed.

"Alright," she said with a heavy sigh. "Any word from our new friends? They're bound to have enough of those strange rocks by now to warrant another hint, no?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid they ran into some complications," Kenson responded. As a part of their information trade with the lystheni, they had promised the nomadic tribe of salarian-offshots that they'd get their fair share of whatever the IFS found. For reasons unknown to Drescher, that share as of recently had also included a strange mineral found on June which according to the local scientific compartment was good for nothing but making lamps to create some nice ambient light.

"Some complications?"

"From what I understand, their last transport was raided by mercenaries."

Drescher peaked up.

"And you're only telling me this now?" it slipped out of her mouth harsher than she had intended.

The doctor remained calm.

"Since they only told me yesterday and clarified that it was definitely not the HSA, yes, I'm only telling you this now. I figured it wouldn't take priority over the… incident," Kenson stated, clearly not sure how to name what had happened.

Drescher frowned.

"And you were right. My apologies," unlike the military staff of the rag-tag separatist force that she was leading, she couldn't afford to alienate Kenson. Whereas her average rifleman only had jail or poverty to look forward to, the scientist very much had a future in the rest of the galaxy and Drescher was certain that if she said the wrong thing, Kenson would go back to her old life instead of lending her mind to the IFS remnant. Given her current association with the IFS, Kenson might not be able to go back to the HAS again, but on the top of her head, Drescher could still think of a dozen companies operating on places like Noveria who'd love to take her current scientific advisor of her hands. "Did whoever tell you this also happen to mention who exactly raided them? Other than it not being the HSA, I mean."

"No, they did not. You know how they are with outsiders. You ask them the question and all you get is 'Invaladrata like you can't know this'," Kenson retorted before typing something on her tablet computer. "If not for the stupid xenophobia of theirs, they'd actually be quite nice to converse with, but as things are, they're just a pain in my ass" she trailed of. "Anyways. You wouldn't be inclined to believe that this has something to do with Petrovsky's concerns, would you?"

Drescher glanced at the holo-table. For some time now, Colonel Petrovsky, one of her leading commanders, had been concerned that some of their operations seemed to have drawn some unwarranted attention. Up to now he hadn't been able to tell her more than 'one of the informants working back in HSA space thinks he's being trailed' or 'our ships caught a hit on their scanners before leaving for a rendezvous point'. As such, she'd only told him that this was likely the HSA following through on its continuous effort to see the IFS crushed under its heel, even after Petrovsky had vehemently claimed that he was sure that it was anyone but the HAS.

"I'm not sure," the admiral responded before deciding that this was not something Kenson should be concerned with. The doctor was important, no doubt, but considering her choice to remain in the occupied worlds after the war, she hardly classified as what Drescher would describe as her inner circle. Especially so after the most-inner part of her inner circle, Ronald Taylor, had betrayed her the way he had. "Thank you for telling me. I'll see to it later," she folded her hands behind her back. "Oh and Doctor," she added as Kenson was about to leave.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Please see to it that the fallout of the June incident remains as small as possible and that the cleanup occurs swiftly and decisively. Like you said, the artifacts need to be destroyed. All of them."

"I'll get right to it, Admiral."


23. April 2417 AD, Hourglass Nebula, Osun System, HSASV Scott, 17:17 Local Time

With the final relay cleared, they were now only one brief FTL jump away from reaching the Sowilo System. For his part, Morneau had spent the last couple of days with either extensively prepping the upcoming OP and going over BAR's assault plan alongside the regiment's officers or – as he was doing right now - reading over Redford's report about Insight. He'd already gone through it twice and both times had left a pretty bitter taste in his mouth. In addition to having happily murdered quite a lot of people with the help of the Final Wave, Aganian's files – which covered the better part of last year – indicated that PGI had paid the Wave for all sorts of strange ops that the likes of former huntresses, STG operatives and cabals were far too qualified for. They had requested asset protection for unaffiliated locations on secured Council worlds, hired private security for visits to corporate and cultural hubs including Thessia and Arcadia, and even paid the Wave to do something as basic as run a security check on their compounds.

While Morneau could obviously tell that there was a good chance those ops weren't what they claimed to be – after all his own visit to Kosh had been rated as nothing but a 'consulting operation' - he also couldn't claim to have the hint of an idea what they were actually up to except for the fact that they very clearly wanted Shepard and a couple of other influential figures dead.

Now the question was why.

As his focus slipped, Morneau squinted his eyes shut and yawned. He had no idea who had decided that the Scott's local timetable should run opposite to the Citadel's day-night rhythm that he'd lived in for the last two hundred days, but they were definitely his least-favorite person of the day.

The only thing he could take refuge in right now was that he'd already completed the most important event of the day: attending the earlier briefing of the boarding operation, pointing out the most obvious objectives – seizing the Shadow Broker and his network – and going along with all of the tactical suggestions of Captain Furaha. While he was technically the specialist in charge of this entire gig, Morneau knew better than to try his hand on the organization of a large-scale boarding operation through several platoons of highly-trained shock troops.

The largest thing he'd ever led was a fireteam back at Grissom and despite his HSAIS rank technically being the equivalent of a marine or army Captain or a HSAN Lieutenant Commander, he hadn't held a command in his life, let alone spent a single day at Officer School. As such, he hadn't dared to even think about telling Furaha how to do her job, even if the old Section 13 protocols from during the Fringe Wars technically gave specialists the authority to override everyone below the paygrade of a colonel when it came to their mission.

While a lot of his colleagues loved nothing more than to use that little protocol and had plenty of experience and reason to do so, Morneau liked to think that he had a decent grasp of what he was good at.

Leading soldiers or marines or sailors wasn't among those things.

Pointing and shooting and ducking and weaving was where he excelled.

So that's what he'd stick with.

After realizing that he'd gone a little off-rails, Morneau glanced at the little terminal he'd brought alongside his gear. Despite already being dialed down to the lowest brightness, his eyes were still starting to burn from its blue glow and as such, he decided that it was now time to go for a walk. With the Scott being radio silent and him being under strict orders not to reach out to people back on Cronos until the op was finished – which he was itching to do mind you – the only worthwhile activity he could think of was either to sneak into the cruiser's gym or to idly wander its halls. And since he'd already crossed off training for the day, idly wandering seemed to be his only option.

As a staunch believer in the practice of spending his entire life either on Cronos Station or on assignment, wandering around military-grey corridors of HSA ships and stations was something Morneau had gotten good at since finishing Section 13's training cycle. While the interior of human-made space craft and station appeared boring and bland at first glance, he'd found that you could meet some pretty interesting people and reach quite a few fascinating nooks and crannies by simply walking around without a clear destination in mind. Truth of the matter, practicing this exact habit for the better part of elven years (combined with a Section 13 clearance allowed him mostly unrestricted movement around the place) was how he knew Cronos Station inside out by now. Similarly, he also had a pretty good idea of how to get around most ships in the navy.

Without making it sound like he was bragging, he even figured that he probably had some of the maintenance guys beat when it came to navigating the spaceborne compartment of the HSA's military, which made it all the more surprising when he found himself lost after walking around the Scott for fifteen minutes.

After consulting a holographic map and stepping into an unexpected evening celebration, Morneau came to a rather simple conclusion.

Apparently the interior designer of the Scott-Line had saw it fit to make this new kind of cruiser very different from every other ship in the fleet and break with the rigid and pleasantly similar structure of other HAS ships.

Whereas every other large naval vessel had its community deck somewhere around the crew area – which he had steered clear of for that very reason - the Scott and its sisterships seemed to have their community deck where he had expected to find a small and hopefully empty observation room.

Because of this little mishap, Morneau had now done the exact thing he'd been trying to avoid the last couple of days out of the worry of running into some familiar faces… he was officially meddling with the BAR grunts, who seemed to be using the last night prior to their 36-hour pre-mission sobriety period to its fullest.

"Come on. I mean you gotta have some stories you can tell, right?!" one of the slightly intoxicated troopers asked before throwing his arm around Morneau and looking at the crowd that had collected around him. At first he'd only agreed on one drink, if only because he didn't want to feed the 'aloof HSAIS agent' stereotype, but things had quickly grown beyond his control.

The marine currently infringing on him was a darker-skinned man with black hair and the nametag on his uniform read 'Diego'. He couldn't have been older than twenty and considering the fact that his marine BDUs still looked like it had just gotten unpacked, the specialist assumed it hadn't been very long since he had graduated from Grissom. After trying to goat Morneau into talking, he mischievously winked towards his other, equally young and equally intoxicated pals, who'd arrived right around the time Diego had exclaimed that Morneau was 'that spy guy from the briefing'.

Much like Furaha had expected, the overwhelmingly twenty-something compartment of her marines found him fascinating. To them, a specialist was a walking myth and no matter how bad Morneau had tried to explain it, they willfully ignored that at the end of the day, he was just a normal dude with decent training, a somewhat abnormal job not all that different from regular-old special operations and a ton of secrets he couldn't breathe a word about to anyone. So even if he was a mortal human being like them and even if most of the stuff he did wasn't half as exciting as these kids were picturing, they still seemed to drink in every word he said.

… needless to say, that made Morneau distinctively uncomfortable.

Spies hated being the center of attention, at least when they weren't actively trying to be.

"Whatever you say, we'll zip it. Biotic brother pinky promise," Diego went on with a chuckle that seemed to infect the other young marines as well.

While the obvious and easy way out was to simply make something up, Morneau decided against it and once more tried the reasonable approach after sipping from the one non-alcoholic beverage he'd been able to find in the room, a glass orange juice.

"Afraid not," he shrugged. "My job's pretty boring most of the time, but even so, the HSA still slaps that giant 'classified' label on top of what I do. And since rules are rules," he said with a shrug before trailing off.

"Boring? Are you shitting me? It's badass! Fucking badass!" Diego said with a drawn-out emphasis on the last part before nudging his own alcoholic glass at another one of the BAR troopers, a younger woman with auburn hair and a nametag telling Morneau that she was called 'Rodriguez'. "Me and her. We've got a buddy in third platoon who was there when you pulled out from the Citadel," a frown appeared on Morneau's face, "and he says you stared down a whole bunch of killer merc guys and looked into a gun without as much as blinking before making them run with nothing but your words," he declared for the surrounding crowd to hear. "If that ain't badass, then I really, really wanna know what you'd call it."

He sat down his glass and turned to look at the marine.

"Terrifying and dumb," he stated quickly, briefly melting away the amused smirk on Diego's face. He looked at his glass and continued to say a little too much. "I ended up in that spot because I did something stupid and I hated every second of it. Nothing badass about getting your head blown off for nothing," Morneau muttered. "Oh, and for the record, the only reason they ran was because they realized killing half your pals before getting shot to pieces wasn't worth their salary. Only thing I did was give them a nudge in the right direction," he sighed before realizing he'd effectively killed the mood.

… this was exactly why he didn't talk about his job-

A grin flashed over Diego's.

"You say you were scared shitless, but you didn't even blink," he stressed before smacking Morneau on the shoulder. "Fucking fearless! That's what I'm talking about!" he cheered, reigniting the strange fascination that they seemed to have with Morneau. "With you on board, there's no way we're not kicking the Broker's ass!"

While he tried not to overanalyze things being said to him in private, this time around, Morneau did and immediately understood what was going on here. They were hanging onto him in the hopes of that somehow increasing the odds of all of them making it back.

He put down his glass of juice and looked at the marines.

Furaha was right.

Nineteen, twenty; basically kids with no real fighting experience to fall back on.

It was no wonder that they were scared of the prospect of going up against asari huntresses, turian cabals and whatever else was hiding on the Broker's ship.

Similarly, it was also no surprise that this state of mind would lead them to anchor to someone with his designation. Whether they liked specialists or not, pretty much every part of the regular military bought into the idea that they were miracle workers – which objectively speaking they weren't. They failed as often as they succeeded but because of their status as HSAIS' top field assets, no one ever heard of the times where a specialist got killed instead of pulling off the impossible.

But the young BAR troopers didn't know that. They where only seeing the myth of ever heroic Jon Grissom and his likes.

Hell if anything, they should be especially weary of him.

As far as bringing marines back home went, Morneau had failed the one and only time he'd honestly tried…

"Listen-" he began, only to get cut off.

"There you are, Specialist," a voice with a hint of authority and complete lack of intoxication declared before someone shouted 'attention on deck' and a hole appeared in the crowd that had collected around him. In his hour of need, Captain Furaha appeared. She took one glance at the glass in his hand and smiled, clearly finding it funny. Then he mouthed a silent 'help' and she continued. "I've been looking all over for you. You missed our meeting."

"Yeah. I was on my way, but I kind of got sidetracked," he replied before lifting his juice. "You wanted to talk to me about that thing," he added vaguely. "Sorry about the delay."

"Yes. Exactly. The thing," Furaha nodded with faked seriousness. If the people around him weren't Furaha's intoxicated subordinates, they probably would've pointed out the vagueness of their conversation. But since they were just that, no one spoke up. "Consider yourself main-tracked, and follow me, Specialist."

"Aye, Ma'am," he responded. He sat the glass down, patted Diego against his chest and got up. The appearance of their CO had very clearly frozen his enthusiasm in its track. "Afraid duty calls, sorry lads." He made his way to Furaha, who threw a neutral look at the rest of the BAR compartment and their alcohol.

"As you were," the captain ordered, amused, before walking the specialist out of the community room. "You know if it didn't look like I just rescued you and your juice glass from a batarian POW camp, I might be hurt that you declined the invitation to the officer mess only to get hammered with the grunts later on," they walked through the corridor and Morneau offered an apologetic smile. "How'd you end up in there anyways?"

"You could say I kind of got lost," he offered.

"And accidentally found yourself in the middle of my impressionable marines sharing war stories?" the officer retorted.

"Pretty much, yes," he shrugged. "Although I didn't actually share anything. They just sort of filled in the blanks by themselves," he said, neglecting to mention that someone from the unit that had rescued him had very clearly broken the rules of the op-sec briefing they had gotten in wake of their little run-in with Section 13 operatives. In addition to not being the type to screw over the people who had dragged his ass out of the frying pan, he didn't exactly want to open the can of worms that a breach of that briefing would unleash.

"I see," the captain replied. "Still doesn't explain the POW look. I mean I know they're a bit much at times, especially when they're celebrating, but you really looked like you were doing the opposite of enjoying yourself."

"In case you couldn't tell by now, I'm not exactly a people person," he responded. It was true to an extent, at least when it came to people whose lives he might have to put at risk for the sake of his mission. He had a vague idea why Furaha was keeping an eye on him, and it certainly didn't have anything to do with friendliness. Despite their conversation when he'd arrived on the Scott, the officer still didn't know if Morneau would turn out to be useful or end up being the reason she had to type up a whole bunch of 'it is my solemn duty to inform you that …' - letters.

"Huh, I figured that was kind of a job requirement, actually," Furaha replied, unaware that Morneau knew exactly as much about his job requirements as she did. All he knew about how Redford had ended up with his name was that individuals recruited into Section 13 were selected by comparing lists of candidates from all kinds of databases with a set of criteria worked out by some subdivision of HSAIS's recruitment officers who he had never seen or heard of, despite them supposedly being stationed just a few floors above Section 13's level on Cronos Station. "If you weren't trying to get mixed up with the rank-and-file, where were you going?" she went on. "Or is that classified too?"

"Nah," he shrugged. "I was looking for the observation deck, but as you just saw back there, that didn't exactly work out the way I planned."

"No, not exactly," Furaha responded. "You're four decks off. And on the wrong end of the ship."

"Man, the guy who designed the Scott really didn't want it to be like the rest of our fleet, did he?" he stuffed his hands into his pockets and realized that the familiar shape of the rolled-up and worn-down Section 13 patch he usually kept in the left pocket of his trousers was gone. For a second, he wondered if he had lost it, but then he remembered that it and the pants that contained it had ended up in the same footlocker as the rest of his personalzied gear - which in turn was probably somewhere on this ship - because up until three days ago, he'd still been undercover. He was still getting used to the whole no longer being Solomon Gunn thing. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he deliberately tried to screw with people who got used to all navy ships looked the same on the inside," he said off-mindedly.

"Considering that I still get lost even if I've been here for half a year, I'll say yes to that. That's clearly what he was doing," with a tap of her hand, she called the elevator. "This is you. Four decks down and then just straight down the corridor. You can't miss it."

He stepped into the elevator and pointed at Furaha. "Remember that when you can't find for the op."

The other L1 biotic snorted in return.

"I might not know you all that well, Specialist, but something tells me, you'd claw your way through the Scott before missing your shot at the Broker. That's actually half the reason I'm ready to believe that you'll try to get my guys through this in one piece," she said as the doors began to close, proving at least part of his read on her wrong. "While you're down there try not to get mixed with the squids on nightshift, they're-"

A metallic clank cut off whatever else she had intended to say and Morneau found himself alone in the elevator, realizing that he was doing the exact thing he was trying to avoid at all costs: getting to know the people who's lives he had to put at risk.

He stared at the digits climbing down above the elevator door and was suddenly hit by an invasive thought telling him that even if Furaha and all her marines somehow survived the Shadow Broker op unscathed – which he doubted because one didn't fight the Final Wave without taking at least some casualties - they'd still get minced by the Reapers. He'd kept the floodgates on that train of thought shut for pretty much all of the Solomon Gunn op, but with the imminent threat to his life removed, the knowledge that the clock was running out broke free like a storm surge.

If what was headed for them was as bad as HSAIS' threat-analysts predicted, his fellow Grissom-Graduates wouldn't last a month before the Reapers utterly decimated them, especially if Redford was right about PGI already having infiltrated the HSA on the Reaper's behalf. The only thing worse than fighting galaxy-ending war machines was fighting galaxy-ending war machines who had compromized your command structure. So even if the day after tomorrow miraculously ended with no one on their side dead, the entire compartment of the Scott were dead-men-walking anyways.

Not the BAR or the rest of the Corps or the Army or the Navy or even HSAIS and Cerberus would be able to do a thing to stop a full-blown invasion of Sovereign-lookalikes and endless droves of husks. Even with all the guns in the world, they'd all just be speedbumps delaying the inevitable and while those odds obviously wouldn't stop Morneau from trying his hardest to make the Reapers bleed for every inch of turf, even he wasn't cocky enough to think that they actually had a decent chance at victory. At some point, grit and determination and sheer spite just didn't make a difference anymore.

No matter how hard they'd fight, odds were that the Reapers would do to them what they had done to the protheans and everyone else before them.

Right as the elevator pulled open, the darkhaired specialist mentally slapped the defeatism out of himself and remembered the most crucial part of his job.

Single-mindedness and compartmentalization.

He had a job to do.

Catch the Shadow Broker and – if presented with the opportunity - try to save Solomon Gunn's girlfriend from his captivity. Everything else, including the threat of galactic annihilation at the hands of an unfathomably ancient enemy, ultimately wasn't his problem right now.

Someone else was handling that to the best of their abilities. So he needed to stay in the confines of his small little world and trust the people handling the Reaper problem to do their job. After all, they also trusted him to clear the Shadow Broker off the playing field so that at the very least, the yahg wouldn't interfere when the actual fighting for galactic survival began.

To that end, he needed to get his head in the game.

He could think about facing down the Reapers when the time to do so came.

He absentmindedly walked towards the observation deck. It really wasn't hard to miss, just like Furaha had said, but by the time he got there, he didn't feel like enjoying the sight of stars drifting by and blurring together anymore.

He stood in the opened door and took one look at the fishhook necklace he was still wearing as part of his bet. Then he turned on his heel to head back to his quarters to hit the PGI files again, already having given up on the resolution that his only problem right now was the Shadow Broker.

Lessons learned on the job regarding single-mindedness set aside, until they hit Hagalaz, there was nothing he could do to stop the information dealer or help Wong.

The same couldn't be said about the Reapers though.

There might just be a single sentence or chunk of data that Redford had missed, something they could use when he finished things up here and got back to Cronos.

Morneau walked back to the elevator and punched the control panel hard enough for the device to scold him to be 'more sensitive in his handling of Navy property'. The specialist ignored the warning. He was already preoccupied with a new resolution.

If he was living on borrowed time – which considering his tendency to leap into the most dangerous situations with little to no thought or planning he most definitely was - he would be using every second of whatever timeframe they had left before Day X to make sure that maybe, just maybe someone else got to walk away from this after all.

… not that he was holding out any hope that it was going to be him, mind you.

Even if everything seemed to be written in stone, if their fate was apparently a sealed deal and he knew that even the impossibly unlikely scenario that they actually won this wouldn't end without a good portion of the galactic population dead and mutilated and civilization as they knew it being gone, he'd be damned if he just laid down and embraced the idea of everyone and everything he gave a shit about already being dead and gone.

He didn't care what it took or if he'd live to see the end of it.

Some things were worth fighting the impossible over.

He'd see this through to the end, no matter where that lay for him.


Meanwhile, 2158 CE, Haestrom

Night was falling around them and just like the last couple of times that this had occurred, Tali wasn't sure if she would live to see the next daybreak.

"I know it hurts, but you've got to stay quiet," Prazza hushed while pressing down on the wound one of the geth drones had given to one of the other marines. Among others, she had been hit in the leg, the arm, the shoulder and shattered her mask and ruptured crucial segments of her suit.

In spite of Prazza's best efforts, purple blood kept flowing to the floor.

As far as battlefield triage was concerned, that made her a goner.

But clearly Reegar's unit didn't subscribe to such believes.

While Prazza was trying to keep the wounded soldier alive and quiet, Tali and the others were clinging to the dark corners of the city ruins they had taken shelter in. The first part of her plan, stealing a drone to see into the Kaziel complex, had gone off without too many issues, they had simply caught a lone geth and reprogrammed it by using the knowledge gained through her father's project. She'd been optimistic back then, but when they had turned the drone back on, things had quickly gone terribly wrong.

First all geth in the vicinity had homed in on their position as if summoned by the reprogramming and cornered them. In the ensuing firefight -which very confusingly didn't seem to have started until Reegar's men had shot first- three of their own had been killed and their ship had gotten blown to bits. Subsequently, they had been forced to withdraw into the remnants of Haestrom's settlement. Now their only hope of rescue was the emergency beacon they had fired off and considering how the geth were seemingly become more aggressive with every minute Tali and her peers spent on Haestrom, the young quarian wasn't sure if they'd live long enough for anyone to find them or if there even was anyone brave enough to fly this deep into geth territory to begin with.

"Keep her quiet, damn it," Reegar whispered as a low whistling noise accompanied by a teal glow passed by a crack in the wall. Normally they could just mute the suit of the marine and ensure her silence that way, but since her mask had been cracked and they were all out of omni-gel from treating other suit ruptures, that was hardly an option right now.

In the back of the building, Prazza muffled the quarian through the broken mask, making her already high chances of suffering from an infection even worse. Meanwhile more of the geth drones passed the building and Tali tried to hug the ground even tighter, even if that seemed impossible.

She wasn't sure how long she remained frozen to the ground or how long it took for the final geth to pass by the ruin, but by the end of it one thing had become painfully clear.

They were down one more.

"Headcount?" Reegar ordered.

"Hinra's gone," Prazza muttered stoically while placing the quarian with the broken mask on the ground. From what little Tali could see of her face, the marine hadn't been much older than her and would have definitely been considered pretty if not for the blood spattered around her face. "Six more to go and we won't have to worry about who tells our families," he added darkly before shooting Tali a look. His tensed-up body language could be interpreted either as 'this is your fault' or 'I wonder when it's going to be me'. However he meant it, Tali was sure that he was justified in doing so.

This was her fault.

Her curiosity and her need to fulfill her father's mission would get them killed.

There would be no glorious return back to the fleet, no proofing to her father that his faith in her hadn't been misplaced, no grand heroics… they'd bleed out just like Hinra and the others.

"What's the plan, Sir?" Prazza asked before crunching down next to Reegar. Judging by what he said next, he clearly seemed to be thinking that she couldn't hear them. Or he had stopped caring. Both were equally likely. "And don't give me that 'we wait for the beacon' crap the admiral's kid tried. Both of us know that if they aren't here by now, no one's coming for us. It's just us."

Reegar turned his head to where Tali was listening to them and then back to Prazza.

"What do you expect me to say, Prazza? You think I'll suggest we go and steal a geth interceptor and fly off into the horizon?" he said through gritted teeth. "Our ship's busted, we've got no other way off-world and if we do as much as step into the wrong cone of light, we're screwed," he lowered his rifle and peered through the cracks in the wall and then turned back to Prazza to jab a finger into the marine's ribcage. "Unless you are hiding a ship up your ass, waiting is all we can do. Now scavenge all you can from Hinra's kit. We'll need everything and she's no longer got a use for it."

She didn't need to be a soldier to understand how Prazza felt about that order.

"Sir, yes, Sir," he snarled before walking back through the ruin and intentionally bumping her with his shoulder. "If you got any more genius ideas, now's the time," he spat. It was telling to Tali that unlike before, Reegar didn't immediately reward that moment of insubordination with a sharp 'Prazza' or a 'shut it, marine'. Despite his earlier faith in her, the lieutenant also seemed to have realized that this was entirely her fault.

A part of Tali – namely the one who hadn't even wanted to go on a pilgrimage to begin with – insisted that she just curl up and cry on the spot. After all, there was nothing else she could do.

But true to her resolve to no longer be that person, the young quarian utterly refused to break down like that.

So instead of suffering a probably somewhat justified mental breakdown, Tali once more put her head to better use. Just like every other night when there weren't any patrols in their immediate vicinity, she opened up her omni-tool at the lowest brightness (to conserve what little precious power remained) and studied a portion of the map in the hopes of finding anything that might save them Supplies, a ship, anything.

She had already eliminated the most obvious choices. The spaceport, the vehicle pool, the evacuation sites set up during the war, everything in the city center… even the old colonial administration. At this stage all she was left with were the outskirts of the town where the likelihood of her finding a place on her map that screamed 'I might have a functional spaceship' were basically nonexistent-

She paused her line of thought when she spotted a small circular compound located outside of the city above an old quarry she had already dismissed before the last patrol had forced her to shut everything down.

With a tap of her finger she zoomed in far enough to get her old map to name the collection of structures.

'DADEO' it read and with another tip of her finger, that meaningless term changed into 'Dholen Anomaly Dark Energy Observatory'.

… that sounded an awful lot like an old Conclave base, which in turn sounded like a much better place to hide in than the center of a geth-infested city.

Before raising any hopes, she checked to see if the place was connected to the same aqueduct system as the rest of the city and thus reachable. Only when that was confirmed did she dare to speak up.

"I know where to go," she declared, quietly. When she realized that no one had heard her, she repeated herself in a more leader-esque manner. "I know where to go."

Reegar turned to look at her. As did Prazza and the other remaining three marines. Out of the assembly, Prazza was the first to speak up.

"This another one of those bright ideas that got Hinra killed?"

"No," Tali retorted before looking at the most detailed map of the Dholen observatory and noticing a structure that looked very reminiscent of an underground hangar. "This is the bright idea that might just save all our lives," since that clearly didn't seem to convince the marines, Tali let out a sigh and tried to do her best impression of what a responsible leader sounded like. "I know I let you down before. People have died and it's my fault," she said solemnly. "Admiral's daughter or not, I will answer for my decisions and their consequences when we get back to the fleet," as it was usual when you got your entire expedition killed, "but until that happens, we need to work together. We are all out of options and if we do nothing, we are just as dead as if I end up being wrong again. So please, trust me. One last time."

Reegar gave her a nod.

"Where to, Ma'am?"


Codex: The Fringe Wars 2381 AD

The last year of the Fringe Wars began exactly where 2380 AD had ended: a stalemate on the way to the IFS' capital, the continuation of the largest ground engagement of the war on Horizon, the ever more violent insurrection on Elysium and skirmishes on a dozen other smaller colonies and the continued disruption of the HSA's overextended supply lines by an increasingly thinner-stretched but ever resolved IFSDF Navy.

While the numerical disadvantage of the IFS slowly but steadily began to show, the early months of 2381 AD did not indicate a victory for either side of the conflict anytime soon.

With the IFS determined to secure the independence of the Fringe Worlds at any cost and the majority of the HSA's population growing tired of a war many had expected to end with the decisive and swift victory at Horizon that never came, Chancellor Noé's administration – which at this stage was operating in the third of four possible periods of emergency executive powers – was meeting increased resistance in the Arcturus parliament and cries for an armistice and a secession treaty with the Fringe Worlds grew louder. This clearly indicated that Noé would either be forced to declare a third extension and thus enter his fourth period of emergency powers – which would end with the dissolution of his administration – or end the war by the end of 2381, with a treaty or with a victory.

Until March of 2381 AD, all signs seemed to point to the Arcturus Parliament getting its will and ending the war through diplomatic means. In what would later be called 'a spledind example of naivety' ´the opposition had even begun drafting a peace treaty.

All of that sentiment and war weariness dissipated on the 27th of March 2381 when the capital city of Elysium, Illyria, was destroyed in a nuclear blast.

In the bloody finale of the Elysium War (See Codex Entry 'Elysium War'), the IFS commander Andrej Kamarov (subsequently known as the Butcher of Elysium and later killed during his attempted bombing of Arcturus Station) detonated a cobalt-isotope dirty bomb in the city center of Illyria during rush hour, incinerating hundreds of thousands in a single second and injuring and killing millions more over the course of the fallout.

While the death toll of the attack and its impact on the war is comparatively miniscule, particularly to the roughly ninety million casualties that the Siege of Horizon inflicted, the bombing of Illyria is unilaterally seen as the tipping point of the war that ended the possibility of a diplomatic solution.

In what has been called one of the most decisive moments of the political landscape during the Fringe Wars, the subsequent emergency meeting of the Arcturus Parliament began with Chancellor Francis Noé and the leader of the opposition, Rae Zhao, declaring that the Fringe Wars would not end until the IFS – which had shown its true colours with their actions on Elysium – where defeated and all those responsible were brought to justice.

With its war readiness reinvigorated, the HSA launched into the final offensive of the war which would end less than six months after the bombing.

Despite the Senate of the Independent Fringe Systems and the IFSDF opening diplomatic channels with the HSA for the first time since the beginning of the war to clarify that Kamarov had in fact acted without their consent and had been 'disposed' off for his 'horrendous act of terrorism', the attack had given the HSA the drive needed to finish the conflict.

In April of 2381, the insurrection on Elysium was ended by the implementation of a full-scale occupation of the planet previously viewed as 'too harsh'. This strategy would later be implemented on all insurrectionist worlds.

In May, a dedicated seek-and-destroy operation headed by the later Admiral of the Navy Jun saw the destruction of the IFSDF Raiding Fleets and the experimental warship 'New Dawn', effectively eliminating all organized efforts of the IFSDF Navy.

One month later, in June, the HSA forces secured the relay paths between Shanxi and the rest of the Independent Fringe Worlds, separating the government from the rest of the war and in July, the ground war on Horizon seemed to be decided with only a few population centers remaining unconquered.

As later discovered information would reveal, it was around early August that the first infighting among the IFS began to occur. This infighting would eventually lead to the deaths of all important IFS leaders with the exception of the unknown commander of the IFSDF Navy, whose true identity (and factual existence) has been the subject of many debates ever since.

At the end of August of 2381 AD, news of the deaths of high-ranking IFS military and governmental personal on Shanxi and the subsequent fracturing of the movement's unity spread across human territories and one after another, the remaining holdouts of the IFS began to surrender or negotiate armistice with local HSA troops.

On the first minute of the 8th of September, hostilities were officially ended and the Fringe Wars, which had claimed the lives of over 120 million human beings, were declared as over. While rank and file soldiers and junior officers of the IFSDF were granted amnesty, commanding officers and high-ranking officials were trialed and sentenced for armed insurrection, crimes against humanity and high-treason. As of today, all but thirty-five of these individuals have been released from prison.

Humanity looked forward to an age of peace and prosperity to mend to wounds of the war and in an effort to secure the fragile state, a transitionary period of martial law was declared. It was estimated that the Fringe Worlds would return to stability within five years and that the IFS would fade into memory within ten.

Civil unrest and conflict in the region last to this day and the Fringe Separatism continues to remain an issue even after thirty-six years of the official surrender of the Independent Fringe Systems.

To this day, the calls of NGOs such as 'Peace Among Mankind' or 'One Humanity' to finally stop the 'senseless killing in the name of a dead idea' has not been heeded.

The current death-toll related to the Fringe Wars and its consequences (as calculated by related fatalities caused by for example complications of war-related injuries, suicides, civil unrest, the belated detonation of up-to-then unexploded ordinance and continued acts of terrorism and separatism) rests at 144,232,117 people.

Unofficial estimates speak of over two hundred million.

Due to the unprecedented scale of the war, the true number may never be known.

Only one thing is certain.

As it is engraved on the countless monuments remembering those who lost their lives in the conflict:

May the lives and futures lost in the name of this war be forever remembered as the reason why peace among humanity must be preserved at any prize.


A/N: So I'm back after two weeks. A little later than planned... but I kind of had to move to the opposite end of my state. So yeaaaah. Pardon me c:

This chapter's the ususal SV Set-up chapter. I'm sure by now you know how those work. Before we get huge mission sequences, we've got to cross of the list of who's doing what right now :PP

I will assume that most of you are pretty eager to cross of the next three upcoming sequences for Shepard, Haugen and Morneau, and I promise you... we are getting there!

I find myself in the rare situation of having not a whole lot to say about this chapter other than that it introduces some ideas that will come back later and that after FOUR fuckign years of dragging it out, I finally wrote the whole Fringe Wars Codex entry series. . . yeah. In retrospective, 102 chapters in is VERY late to finish up a central theme... ups, I guess? :D

Like I said. Not a lot to say.

For the record we're at 772 reviews, 1191 favorites and 1281 follows.

I'd like to thank all the people who are dropping reviews or writing me PMs to give me feedback and do encourage all of you to do the same. Your insight (no PGI pun intended) helps me sort out what's working and what's not working, so yeah. Go ahead. I don't bite, I promise.

See you around next time.