Chapter 8: Sweet and Fitting
Author's Note:
EDIT: Fixed that rogue linebreak! That's what I get for editing at night! I've also rewritten a part near the end that had a pretty out of character action.
Hello! This Chapter will try to incorporate some longer POVs, as I've gotten some feedback about there being a few too many switches in relation to word count. This also means that updates will have more words! Yay! This also means they'll take a bit longer to put out. Not so yay. Let me know if you prefer one way to another.
Further note, this one's content gets a bit disturbing near the end. If you aren't comfortable with certain themes of traumatic loss, please feel free to skip that section near the end.
Without further ado, let us begin!
The sun was rising over the lake, casting brilliant orange and red rays across the boundless water, and directly onto the basking Dalatrass. She marveled at how far she'd come, how much wealth and influence she'd managed to accrue in her life. How much pain and toil she'd needed to endure to make it here, to the twilight years of her life. Salarians often hid their smiles in the company of strangers, but she couldn't help but beam. Sur'Kesh truly was beautiful this time of year.
She nibbled at her favorite pastry, a liti, served with a nice spritz of jian sauce. Traditionally it was only served on Betau, but hell, she'd earned a bit of indulgence. A grandchild of hers ran up from the beach, a short and spritely young man who'd probably make a good agent. Jierto, was it?
"Dalatrass, I wanted to know more about the humans!" the little one begged. She ought to discipline him for not calling her Grandmother Daltrass, but he was too cute to discipline. She'd let his mother deal with that. She motioned for the boy to follow her inside, where a lounge was waiting.
"Well, my sweet one, what is it you wish to learn?" The boy made a supremely unique gesture, fiddling with his top antenna. Didn't the child know it was rude to do such a thing? Now she'd have to get up and tell his mother-
The boy had his arms crossed, as was expected of a child in deference. His arms still wiggled with his childish excitement, and she couldn't help but smile more. "Well, umm, mommy said that you were one of the people that discovered the humans. How'd that happen?"
"I suppose that's true, young one. My unit was assigned to shadow a Turian patrol fleet when it seems their Admiral fell on the wrong side of egotism, and started a conflict with a Human colony."
"How many patrol fleets are there?"
A curious question from a child, perhaps he'd make a good logistician for the fleets? "It's hard to know, something approaching a hundred or so, the avian bastards like their feathers numerous. Where was I… oh yes, in essence we just stumbled into the system, searching for more information. We should have just headed back to report our findings, but I figured we'd make the catch of a lifetime if we sold our information… elsewhere shall I say."
"Who'd you sell it to?" A feeling tingled at the back of her neck, as the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"Oh, I believe it was the Shadow Broker, but that's not so important little one, shall we-."
"Why did you conduct biopsies on the humans you captured?" That was not information she'd shared with anyone but the STG.
"Now where did you get the idea of that-" She watched as time rewound, watched the young boy… rewind. A blur of motion that ended right back before she'd-
"What happened after that?" The child continued, as if time itself hadn't broken down.
"What... what just happened there?"
What do you mean Grandmother Dalatrass? The boy looked quizzically, eyes narrowing impossibly, shrinking was a better word. The terrace was no longer warming with the sunrise. A chill breeze swept her into freezing cold. The golden rays of the sun faded, replaced by sterile lighting and great flares of light. The view outside had become stilted. She noticed a shadow missing, first on one tall, wind blasted tree, and then everywhere.
The lake went from calmly lapping at the shore to practically stagnant. "Wait, where am I?" Her voice shivered, the calm authority and grace seeping away.
Who assigned you to your mission? The boy said, mouth motionless. She gasped, and moved to step away, before suddenly finding herself strapped to a hard metal chair.
"Get away from me! Guards!" She called shrilly.
There are no guards here, give us what you know. The Salarian thrashed against the binds, as reality gave way. First the trees melted, yielding to the harsh light that enveloped the very air. Then came the walls, as an oily grey began to overtake the clean whites of her villa. The child next, as it morphed into the rough, humanoid shape of a hazmat suit. She tried to will her biotics to flare, but they sputtered weakly, even if they forced the human to step back. She looked around the room, and found herself surrounded. Humans, all in enviros, manned stations, and buttons. They chattered in the deep, yet musical tones she'd come to know from her own studies. It seems the roles had finally been reversed.
But then went the memories. She could feel the glorious days of her past wither, her accomplishments die away. She tried to hang on to her most precious memories, her first laying, the hatching ceremony, her enthrallment to the Dalatrass Committee, all of it began to wither away, like a leaf in fall, crisping and yellowing, till naught was left but the stem, the memory of memory. She began to scream, but then it became a sob, a wail of loss impossible to distinguish as naught but sorrow.
She began to remember her capture, the massive things that eviscerated her team. That took her captive...
"Return her to Alpha Status, and remember the readjustments we made to the scenario Interrogator, we've only got a few more wipes before she a vegetable."
She closed her eyes, if only to escape the horrors of the now, and returned to a peaceful lake. The sun was rising over the lake, casting brilliant orange and red rays across the boundless water, and directly onto the basking Dalatrass...
Doctor Kingston was getting tired of this alien's bullshit. The alien had been generally quiet the last few hours, as he and it had spent that time in what could generously be described as a room together. Before that, it had been mostly inane attempts at getting it to understand English. He'd given it water, called it such, and presented that water to it. Since it was obviously intelligent, the fact that it said nothing back was likely meant to irritate him. The alien was behind a thick plexiglass plate, with nothing but a rough-looking bed to keep it company on it's side of the glass.
Kingston had taken a glass of water himself, drank some of it, and then presented it to the alien to drink. This glass was also ignored, though he could swear he saw it's eyes twitch towards it. The few other captured Turians he'd managed to wrangle into his makeshift POW camp had been more or less the same. You'd think they'd appreciate him saving their lives, it wasn't exactly easy to root around in alien bodies to try and find out how they worked. Perhaps they didn't appreciate being naked? He'd try fabricating clothes soon enough.
The bunker rumbled; this deep in the complex it was barely a whisper of noise and movement, which sent the doctor on his own bout of pacing. If he hadn't been carefully watching, he might not have caught the quick movement of the alien towards the glass of water. Kingston turned, just in time to see the thing quickly take the water, and make its way back to the bed.
"Yes! Yes drink it, it's safe see!" He took his own glass of water and drank it, trying to calm his jubilance at the same time.
The alien was still cautious, first opening it's three pronged mouth, and dipping it's tongue into the glass. After a few moments of contemplation, the Raptor drank.
"Thank god!" Kingston collapsed into the wall. He'd done it. Finally. He pointed to what remained of the water. "Water." He repeated the gesture a few more times, before asking it, in a roundabout way, if it wanted more water. He then realized that it didn't know how to say 'Yes' or 'No' in Raptor, and decided to just keep repeating himself till it decided to say water back.
Eventually, the alien got the memo. "Vantur?" It ventured, after finishing the rest of its glass.
Kingston leapt in the air. "YES! Water!" The alien, well he couldn't tell if it was happy too, but the Doctor certainly was. Progress was progress he supposed. He left the room for a moment, before returning with a tray of both water and an old ration pack. Bland, but still edible, every human on Shanxi could attest to that.
"Water." He pointed to the small glass. "Food." He pointed to the small paper package, activating the built in heater before opening it, and shoving a handful of what could generously be called 'pasta' into his mouth. He'd chosen the least offensive meal left, and plain pasta probably fits that description. However, the alien was less interested in this show of fraternity.
First, it simply refused. It didn't even take the cooling bag from his hands. It crossed it's arms, and turned it's head away. At least some body language was similar. He repeated his attempts to serve the meal, but it only reiterated it's 'No.' He took this opportunity to try and teach it 'no,' mimicking it's movements while saying 'no.'
Eventually, it seemed to work, and when Kingston tried to offer the food again, the Raptor said "No." Kingston sighed, and sat back down on the floor. This was gonna take forever. That's when the bastard decided to get helpful. He pointed to the still smoldering MRE, and made a gun shaped gesture with his hand, before pointing it at himself.
"Oh come on, the pasta isn't that… wait." He grabbed the pasta and took a bite, before exaggeratedly falling to the floor, clutching his stomach. He looked at the alien, as it began to make sound.
"Yeths!" it said suddenly, almost excitedly, before pointing at first the food, and then the prone Doctor.
"You fucker! You really did learn something!" Kingston took the food, and left quickly. The autopsied turian soldiers had, with luck, not been incinerated yet. He had more tests to run, but he was onto something.
"This sounds preposterous!"
"Respectfully Admiral, the evidence does not lie." The Head of Fleet Intelligence, once a woman that had nothing more to do than admonish horny privates about sending nudes home, was holding a secret meeting with Admiral Litrinox about an apparent infiltration in their ranks. She wasn't ready for that, and it was written all over her face.
"How did this happen!?" Litrinox reigned in his fury for the barest of moments to bark out his displeasure.
The Head pulled every ounce of disciplinary rigor she had to keep from stuttering. "I don't know Sir, I was alerted to a minor discontinuity in docking logs by one of our VI subroutines, it wasn't deemed all that important in relation to the battlefield scouring that is normally done. However, once a series of incongruities began to show up-"
"You called me down here, yes?" Litrinox growled.
"Yes Sir."
The Admiral stalked to one of the far off corners of the 'essentially impregnable' conference room at the heart of the Reticent. There, he screamed. A howl of pure and unadulterated rage. It shocked the Head, shocked the Admiral himself. He gathered himself, panting briefly in his little corner, before walking back to his subordinate with a practiced calm.
"Do we have any way to deal with this problem?" Litrinox ground through his mandibles.
"Unfortunately, all we have found so far has been evidence of a breach, we can't isolate whatever VI they're using-"
"Then what else can you do." Litrinox replied curtly.
"...Well Sir, several of my analysts concur that with the sheer determination the humans have displayed defending the tower, along with the high amount of radio traffic emanating from the Spire-" Litrinox stormed out of the room, prompting the beleaguered Officer to follow "-it may be possible that it's their center of-" Litrinox was already down the hall "...intelligence."
The Admiral barely even waited for his personal guard as he stormed through the winding tunnels and corridors of the ship. Perhaps it would be more convenient to use the turbolifts, but his rage demanded some act of physical expression, and ripping his way through the walls of an elevator would have been remarkably unseemly. His men, once the word spread of the mood of the Admiral, stayed far out of the way.
The bridge was quiet as the Admiral entered. The murmuring of officers and runners, the light sounds of work, all seemed to fall away as the Admiral entered.
"Weapons, spin up our primary mass accelerator, I'm sending you target coordinates on planet now."
A look of surprise crossed the face of the officer, who began to protest, "Sir, Citadel Conventions-"
"DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A PYJACK'S ASS ABOUT THE FUCKING CONVENTIONS!" Litrinox thundered across the deck. Desolas, as Sub-Admiral, was already on deck 'subbing' for the Admiral, and practically shouted at his superior officer.
"Admiral Litrinox, please! The officer is correct," Desolas tried to take his friend to the side, but Litrinox only shoved him off, wheeling his anger on his subordinate.
"My orders are final, Sub-Admiral. The Spire has been a thorn in the side of our advance for nearly a week. A calculated strike by an orbital cannon could drop the shield-"
"Or get you court martialed! Us court martialed!" Desolas whispered fiercely. All eyes were on the two Admirals, much of the fleet was likely wondering why the Reticent had climbing energy readings.
"What other choice do we have brother! If this siege goes on too long…"
"If it does we'll face consequences, but that doesn't compare to execution!"
"I tire of your insolence Desolas, if this is forced to continue there will be repercussions."
Desolas was taken aback. "Sir, please, you know what will happen if they find out…"
Litrinox had some retort in the back of his throat, but was interrupted by the deep and resonating thud that was unmistakable to any servicemen.
Litrinox weathered the roll well enough, however he still wheeled on the frantically typing officer at Weapons, still battling blaring red and white screens. "I don't know what happened Sir, the main gun just fired!"
"Where!" barked Litrinox, as he ran to Weapons' readout.
"Spirits… the coordinates are set towards the planet, aimed at one of our FOBs."
A dark look crossed the Admiral's face, and his mandibles began to twitch. "Do we have time to warn them?"
"I've already sent them an all-call, but it'll be impacting in less than 10 seconds."
Comms had already begun their frantic calls toward the surface and towards the rest of the fleet, and Litrinox stood alone, searching the ragged surface of Shanxi, trying to see if his eyes could spot the coming fireball.
A minute of fruitless watching left only a knot of hatred in his soul.
He turned. "Soldiers of the Hierarchy." He had to speak loudly to be heard over the horror of the now. "We have been compromised by enemy infosec, I am locking down all unregulated communications from this ship, and will begin preparations for further security sweeps." The room had settled into unadulterated shock. Turian cybersecurity was some of the best in existence. Dreadnoughts were especially impenetrable. Were.
"I am authorizing an orbital strike on the area that we have designated Spire. I'm prepared to deal with the consequences of that decision. We must prevent this species' continued attempts at dishonorable tricks and calculated monstrosity. This is the only way our forces can prevail. Weapons!" The officer looked up from his readouts. "What is the status of our main gun?"
"Whatever their team did, it simultaneously shorted the super magnets in the barrel while firing. We're out of commission till we can recalibrate."
"Order some of our vessels to carry out the order then. I shall be coordinating our security sweep, Desolas you have command." The Admiral strood from his position, leaving the bridge to jump back to action, however Desolas quickly chased after the Admiral.
"Admiral! I still don't think-"
Litrinox did not even turn to speak. "Sub-Admiral, do not think my orders mere suggestions." Desolas stared dumbly as his friend walked away.
The bombardment began shortly after the first shell impacted. Some had thought it was simply an accident. After all, why target their own troops? The next hit the shield directly, and shook the very air. Colonel Williams knew that eventually luck would run out for his little fortress. After the storming of the East Landing Garrison, morale had somehow broken the rock bottom it'd already plummeted to. Every round that impacted the shield splintered their resolve ever more. Still, he was surprised by how long it was taking. Maybe the Colonial Government was right about spending the billions of credits for a hardlight barrier.
One of the men who'd stayed behind sent something to his neural lace. Ah, Shields at 10%. He supposed now was as good a time as ever to start. Most personnel had evacuated ages ago. He'd somehow convinced a Spartan to do the same. All that was left in the rapidly shrinking bubble shield was the Spire, a few hanagers, and of course the Frigate.
The Merry Dancer had become something of a hospital ship in it's brief time under siege in the Spire. It was behind two sets of shields after all, and was at least mostly sterile, making it ideal for the severely wounded. Anyone too screwed up to make it through the tunnels towards the military hospitals was placed in there. Now, it was the last ride out of hell on Shanxi. The tunnels had collapsed under the sheer kinetic strain of being near the bombardment. So now about a thousand people were onboard a ship meant for three hundred. He didn't want to be the Captain leading that.
He chuckled darkly at that, even if he couldn't hear it. An enveloping wall of sound had forced the Colonel to the ground, as a terrible rumbling signaled the latest shell. He heard a subsequent cacophony as one of the nearby hangers collapsed under the stress. A subtle chirp in the back of his head told him about the status of the shield, but he didn't bother this time. Based on the previous pattern, he still had about 30 seconds until another round smashed the shield into bits, along with everyone left. However, he was far more cognizant of the prowling alien ships lurking behind the mountains, watching for any weakness to exploit.
The skeleton of the skeleton crew that was left in the command center numbered maybe three. Comms was mostly deaf at this point, hence the constant messages, and the Engineer, apparently the lead on the Space Elevator base they were currently inhabiting, was on the shield display, also mostly deaf. He sent a quick message to the man, who looked his way, and nodded. He lowered the shield.
See, it was hard opening slipspace inside a damn bubble shield, especially if the shield was basically as wide of a nicely sized football stadium. He watched as the Dancer rose gracefully through her hangar doors, splitting them effortlessly appart. A deep vortex of blue appeared before the craft, causing a shift in local pressure that popped his ears. The deep oranges and reds of the waning sun cast rays of light across the smoldering battlefield, catching the drifting mountains of smoke with a reddish gleam. The light glinted off the starship, as it soundlessly drifted through the portal. It was a sight few had witnessed with their own eyes, slipspace in atmosphere. One he imagined the alien ships struggling to catch the Dancer surely didn't appreciate.
The portal was already closing as he brought his mind back to his daughter. He remembered how she'd refused to see him off as he left for his tour. Teenagers were like that, shortsighted. He knew it was because she loved him, but that didn't make it hurt less. He tried to remember the last time he saw Ashley, the last time he'd hugged her. He let that warmth fill his body, his mind. He watched the portal close from only a kilometer away. He didn't stand a chance.
Meetings with the Board of Admirals went one of two ways. Intensely boring, or like a kick to your groin: painful and often nauseating. The Chancellor felt the latter heavily. When she was in the service her responsibilities were primarily herself and her subordinates. Now, she commanded nearly four billion soldiers, sailors, and enlisted men. That failed to mention the 40 billion other souls that elected her.
Still, she wouldn't let them walk all over her. "Full mobilization seems like a significant overreaction to what we currently know." Patricia placated, again. Grand Admiral Shiel was a warmonger, plain and simple. He had two default states at the table, Wants more military spending or Let's teach those alien bastards a lesson! The man was born just a few generations late, and everyone at the table knew it. Including him.
"Why in God's name should we wait!? Those alien bastards could be glassing Shanxi as we speak!" Shiel sat down in a huff, his lanky frame contorting remarkably to fit the chair.
"That is something we all can agree on, Shiel." The Lord Admiral granted. "But we can't throw the entire galaxy's economy into shambles for one agriworld, especially without sending any scouts first." His commanding tone settled Shiel's side of the table down, momentarily at least, allowing the smooth voice of Minister of Defence Zimmerman to speak.
"Should we not make haste in our decision, Chancellor? As much as ONI enjoys keeping secrets," all eyes shifted to the conspicuously absent Admiral of Intelligence's seat, "the lid's gonna blow on alien invasion eventually. Could we at least redirect some of the garrison fleets around Installation-"
Garrisons Admiral Church sat up in her chair, "You know the importance of those fleets as much as I do, Zimmerman."
The Chancellor held up a hand, "Perhaps the man is right Church? There hasn't been a threat on the Halos in over a decade, a credible threat in far longer."
"Chancellor, you of all people should know the dangers of-"
"That'll be quite enough, Admiral Church." Steel had ringed her voice for just a moment, and the woman awkwardly slunk into her chair. "Our containment on all Flood bearing bases, including the Array Minister Zimmerman pointed out, is more than sufficient to deal with any flood outbreak, even at half strength. I understand your trepidation Admiral, but it is baseless."
An aide approached the Lord Admiral, before bending down and whispering in his ear. The dark, angular room was oddly juxtaposed by the crisp white of the Admiral's formal dress. She wondered how much bleach the Board's dry clears even buy-
"I take it you'll be ordering Installation 01's garrison to depart?" The Lord Admiral asked.
Her daydream interrupted, she refocused. "I will be Lord Laskey, do you have objections to this order?"
The man smiled wryly. "I don't Chancellor, though it seems Admiral Drescher has beat us to the punch."
"You're shitting me." Church sank deeper into her chair. "Please don't tell me she took the whole fleet…" Church sighed.
"It seems your personal wildcard has escaped your sleeve again, Kilney." Zimmerman japed.
"Can it Mike, or I'll lump you into the court martial too."
"Wait." Shiel choked, "You put that Drescher in charge of Installation 01? The Tiply Gaff Drescher?" The Admiral burst into laughter, taking the rest of the table with him. Patricia struggled against her own good humor, before herself cracking a smile. The Tiply Gaff was a severe overreaction to a smuggler operation that embarrassed the whole UNSC. It was also hilarious, at least in private.
"I thought a garrison duty would cool her off…" Church trailed.
"To be fair Kilney, an Ice Bath on Europa wouldn't cool that one off." the Lord Admiral chuckled. "Luckily, she didn't take the whole fleet. Apparently she has good intel that enemy numbers were approaching 59 ships. She departed with only two-thirds of her force."
The mention of ship numbers brought everyone back to earth. "Where'd she get that?" Patricia asked.
"An escaped cargo hauler, apparently they were hijacked by some kind of alien research team, got lucky with a random jump. We're receiving intel from ONI Datasec now, we'll have a preliminary report in 15."
The mirth of a few moments prior had been strangled out. Everyone knew what 'research team' meant. "Still, I can't condone such a reckless misuse of resources, especially in relation to Halo Containment." Church eked, a serious tone finally reestablished.
"Overkill is always better than defeat, Admiral, I suppose Drescher has taken that to heart." The Lord Admiral managed a slight grin, "Admiral Hsu will be getting a briefing on alien biology and technology shortly, and don't worry Admiral, I've already alerted one of our research hulks that we'll have new specimens inbound." The quiet, grey haired Admiral relaxed in his chair, nodding thanks. "General Ulna, I'll be forwarding you the report on general biology and weapon specs for the enemy, though I'm sure you'll be happy to know they don't stand up to Spartans that well."
"Which leaves me." The Chancellor stood, catching the table off guard and sending most of them into a sudden rise themselves. "I'll work on scheduling a press conference, get me that briefing soon as you can. And Zimmerman, please brief the Defense Committee as soon as possible. I don't want the Assembly calling me a tyrant again if I can help it."
"Of course, Madam Chancellor." He always did that after an order, and as annoying as it was she had to admit how snazzy 'Madam' sounded.
As she left the meeting and boarded the elevator up, Amorey joined her, rising from his languished sitting position. "Why is it you sit like that?" She asked, trying to purge the impending dread of breaking the shittiest news imaginable from her mind.
"Why not, Madam?" Amorey deflected her attempt at conversation so utterly she paused, simply to regard such a smarmy robot.
"I suppose I just assumed possessing a physical body would be something you'd hold in much more regard."
"I've seen humans drink before Chancellor, perhaps I should feel the same way?" The elevator dinged, and she secretly thanked the machine for having saved her from coming up with a response to that.
There was something to be said for surviving two in-atmosphere slipspace jumps. They sucked. John started to wonder if perhaps luck was a double edged sword. Sure, it meant he survived things, but it also meant that he had to dwell on them. And dwelling on the fact that he's probably survived more explosions than any other man in existence really wasn't a comforting prospect.
By the time John had chosen to leave, the tunnels leading out had partially collapsed, meaning that much of his escape had to be made on foot. The rubble of the building he'd taken cover in coated everything in a fine layer of swirling dust. The twilight had been rendered into near perfect darkness by the thick plumes of smoke and ash. Glowing flakes of purple glittered in the smoky haze, and for a moment he was back in Mombasa, dodging plasma rounds and shaking off the screams.
"Cortana?" Chief ventured, feeling his way out of the ruins of his impromptu shelter.
"Glad to see you're not dead big guy." Cortana chirped.
"What are these things?" He pushed a slab of granite out of the door way, before pausing to catch one of the small purple wafers drifting to the floor.
"I don't know, imaging on your suit cam suggests that it has a similar radiological make-up to scans of the Fork, and of the alien ships. My advice, don't take off your helmet anytime soon."
Chief placed the flake into one of his specimen pouches. "Should I take tasting them off the list too?" He reached for his plasma pistol, and found it right where he'd left it.
" Ha ha. Motion tracker's picking up movement about 20 meters north, but it's not staying consistent, might just be debris… wait, do you hear that?"
"I hear it." He'd thought it was part of his memory, but it wasn't going away.
"Is that… crying?"
John was already stalking toward the sound. It didn't take long to find the source. The boy was covered in blood, weeping over a mess of bloody meat. The boy was covered by the purple shards, the muted flecks of violet caught by the brackish reds of blood. John only watched, the grip on his gun relaxing, then slipping from his hand. The boy heard the small commotion, jumping up, and revealing a female corpse, crushed by falling chunks of rebar and stone. Her face wasn't anything recognizable, just chunks of flesh that seemed to coat the young boy in gore.
The child screamed, and raced to hide further within the rubble. "Wait!" John shouted, leaping to try and catch the boy. He covered the space in only two bounds, trapping the boy between himself and the ruined mess of his mother. The child tried to spin around, but only ended up tripping on the loose rubble, falling on his back. The Spartan wanted to reach for the boy to stop his pointless struggle, but he realized how much more terrifying he must have looked compared to the Raptors.
The boy pushed himself back, far from the Spartan's outstretched hand, till he was backed into a corner. John holstered his weapon, as the boy began to speak.
"Get away from me!" he shouted, a rock held high above his head. It was a pitiful threat against a Spartan. And yet John raised his hands.
"I'm not here to hurt you." He said calmly. "I'm just like you." he let his arms fall to his sides. It was almost laughable to say that standing nearly two meters tall in a giant metal suit, but that was all he had. The boy didn't seem to buy it either, and only seemed to tighten his grip on the rock.
"I'll prove it to you." John dropped to one knee, before reaching up, and pulling off his helmet. The boy reared to throw his rock, but stopped when he saw John's face. Tension seemed to flow from the boy's body, and he dropped his rock, staring at the newly human hulk of metal.
"What's your name?" John asked, tentatively.
"I'm Kaidan." The boy shot out. "Are you a Spartan?" John was taken aback by the question, he hadn't been expecting it. "I assumed you were an alien 'cuz I didn't recognize your armor, but if you're that big, you have to be one."
John looked at the helmet he was holding. It was scarred on one side, it's faceplate shattered by a brute shot a century before, his armor battered and shredded in a hundred places by a thousand things, old and new. To think he'd gotten it from Cairo so long ago, shiny and new.
"I am." John finally answered, before returning the helmet to his head. "We should get somewhere safe." The boy looked around, taking in the ruins of the city around him, lingering on the creeping puddle of blood.
"I guess so." The boy got to his feet warily, before walking towards John. "Where should we go?"
"I know a place."
"Then I'll follow you."
Author's Note:
A special thanks to a random HFY story I read years ago that had a similar kind of memory manipulation torture thing. I couldn't help but use that, it was just too cool. Also, before people start yelling at me about where they think human biotics is going, sorry, but I wanted to have the Shep Squad meet Chief before he's like 90 years old, so we're speeding up the timeline, and how things are going to work. Don't worry, this is actually going to be explained eventually, just not right now. As always, please leave reviews! They keep the pencil sharp!