Hey guys, sorry for the crazy delay. Life has been hectic, and writing has been a bit hard lately. I think a lot of it came down to the huge plot that I had planned for the story and how excited I was, and then realizing that i had kind of written myself into a whole with where I was going with it. I want to try and get going on the plot that I had planned out, which I'm honestly really proud of. It's a pretty epic story and I think it brings out the best in every character in either universe. That said, I apologize if the writing in this chapter isn't up to par, I've been shaking the dust off the whole writer's thing and trying to get into the groove. I know parts of the story have seemed super randomly thrown in there, like the xenomorphs, the weird shifty guy in like the 9th chapter or so, but I promise that they all play into the story in a big way that honestly is pretty understandable and I think you guys will love the way its going. Please help keep me motivated to finish this story, I'm super excited about it's potential and the last thing I want is to leave it out to dry. That said, lets go.
OOOOO
His time was, as they say - out. He ordered the nearest bridge personnel to bring Kelly's body to medical immediately - there was a possibility that Doctor Chakwas could do something. It was very unlikely, but it was always unwise to write hope off as all but dead. Even for the dead. The approaching Alliance shuttles, not yet visible in the view screens, were now blips on Joker's sensors - quickly closing the distance.
"EDI, I need you to send a full report of the current situation to the Illusive Man - include everything."
That earned a curious look from the pilot, whose adrenaline levels were slowly beginning to drop back down to normal parameters. "You trust him with all that, even with what just happened?" The pilot almost seemed incredulous. Shepard could understand his concerns- The Illusive Man after all was the one responsible for selecting the crew of the Normandy, Yeoman Chambers included. But still.
"He's the only one I know for sure is openly against both the Reapers and the Collectors. He couldn't have had a hand in this because it wouldn't make sense for him. He was the one that put this whole operation together - there would be no reason to scrap it while we are so close to our goal. And plus, he's one of the only ones at this point that I think could get us out of the situation we're in." As much as he hated to admit it -and he really loathed it- the Illusive Man was probably the most trustworthy asset at this moment in time. He had to remain objective - emotional decisions at a time like this could spell disaster for their overarching goal - stopping the destruction of the human race - and all races, actually.
"Jacob, are you there?"
"Yes, Commander - I did as you asked, it looked like it worked - whatever it was. Care to explain what's going on?" He sounded confused. That made sense, considering he had only been awoken less than 5 minutes prior and asked to perform a possibly senile task. But there wasn't any time.
"I'm sorry Jacob, I'll have to explain later. Right now, I need you to do something else for me." He had the soldiers attention, he could just tell. "Go to the A.I. core room, and enable the extra inhibitors that were removed during the Normandy's systems activations." Doing so would essentially put EDI on default mode - inhibiting her processors to mimic that of a ship's VI system. If the Alliance actually found evidence of their possession of an active artificial intelligence, the consequences would escalate. Steeply. "When you've done that, I need you to back up all of her memory banks to an external backup processor, and then cut off all access to the processor without any of the authorized crew's override. EDI, give clearance for that override to only me, Jacob, Miranda, Garrus, and... the Master Chief," he added hesitantly. Here he was again, trusting the man who he knew so little about. But if Kelly had made one thing clear, it was that they needed this... Reclaimer to fight the Reapers. The why and the how were beyond him, but he had worked with far less before. And if he failed in his mission, than they would somehow need to convince the Master Chief to continue it. Access to re-enabling EDI's core personality and logic processors would extend a show of trust, one that he hoped would be returned.
The shuttles were now in visual range, and the Normandy's hangar bay-opened to drop the shuttle and sell the deception, provided an easy in, especially now that Joker had been coerced into slowing the spin of the ship. Three shuttles landed in the hangar bay. Rather than the repair and refit crews he had expected to show up when the distress call was launched, three separate teams of heavily armored blue-colored soldiers filed out of the shuttles, clearing the hangar bay with precision and speed. He recognized those uniforms from his own Alliance days. Alliance Military Police. And not just any, from the look of it. These carried the notorious Janissary armor worn by special operatives in Alliance Intelligence, with full visors to conceal their identities. Peacekeepers. It was the Systems Alliance intelligence military's internal policing and investigatory force, and they were good at what they did. It was strange that they would be sent after him, though, as he was technically not officially part of the Alliance anymore - ever since he had been designated and confirmed Killed in Action aboard the original Normandy. Why were they using the Peacekeepers?
Normally, as they did now, the Peacekeepers would wear the identification marker MP for Military Police on their armor and uniforms to lessen the confusion when their true monikers, the Peacekeepers, were used. And normal MP's didn't have access to the high-tech and well-armored Janissary armor these ones wore. The problem was compounded with the fact that Peacekeepers specifically, unlike the 'regular' MP's did not report directly to anyone in either the Navy or the Marines - they rather were under the official chain of command of the intelligence division - which was a subsection of the Alliance government itself, rather than a military branch.
Normally, such facts wouldn't mean anything to anyone. But he understood the significance of their presence here. No one in the Alliance could help - or hurt - him now. The Peacekeepers had him. He couldn't bring himself to fight against them - they were still men doing their jobs, after all. And he didn't know how far the indoctrination really went. Kelly had revealed enough, even just announcing her presence had meant that she was feeding information to someone in the Alliance. Which meant that the indoctrination had spread- who knows how far?
Curiously, he did detect a second set of shuttles, and what looked like repair craft coming into a quick burn towards them. However; because of the vast distances of space, they wouldn't arrive for another 10 minutes. It was strange that the two had not coordinated their approaches to save time, as the Peacekeepers obviously had to have come from the same direction as the repair vessels - so why had they gone on ahead without them? What was also very strange was the fact that they had not announced their presence, as was standard for Alliance Police boarding parties.
There wasn't much time to come up with a plan. He could almost feel the blue-armored soldiers making their way the corridors of the ship. His ship. He had already lost the Normandy once. Lost his crew - once. A fact that still haunted him in the dark corners of the night.
His instincts warned him that something was wrong. The same instincts that warned him about Noveria, about the Collectors, about... Saren.
"Commander, my emergency restraint protocols have been engaged," EDI began. "I require manual confirmation - do you confirm authorization?" Jacob was a fast worker, it seemed.
"Yes EDI. We need you powered down for now. We'll wake you back up when we can." While technically not asleep, or deactivated even, once the A.I.'s personality restraints were engaged, it would restrict her function to that of a standard VI in all senses of the word. Cerberus had installed three levels of functionality inhibitors upon the A.I. The first level actually had no inhibitors, it was how EDI was originally created - as a completely self-aware, fully-fledged Artificial Intelligence, with the ability to synthesize plans and hypotheses autonomously. However; a completely free A.I. even managed to scare Cerberus, and so safeguards were put in place.
The second level of function - the first inhibitors, were meant to 'shackle' EDI's processors from becoming fully self-aware and having the ability to authorize and carry out changes to her own core programming. In this state, she was halfway in between being a VI, and a full A.I. It was how Cerberus had intended her to function, and how she had done so ever since Shepard had taken charge. She was still capable of managing the ships functions to the letter, and she could still formulate conclusions and conjectures to assist the crew in any given situation, but she was limited. Very much so. The second array of inhibitors, or the third level of function, was more of an emergency protocol than anything else. Cerberus knew that they were already being hunted down by the Alliance. If it was discovered that they also were not only researching, but had already developed an actual artificial intelligence, the Citadel Council itself would be out for their blood. As a result, in cases such as these, a specific form of protocols were engaged to mask EDI's sentience and personality codes, locking them away and limiting function to mirror that of a standard shipboard VI. They didn't ever intend to be captured, so no one actually expected it to be used. 'Well... look at us now,' Shepard thought bleakly.
Over the past few months, he had grown quite attached to his crew, EDI included. But it wasn't just for the sentimental value that he promised to reactivate her. The Reapers were essentially a race of sentient machines, similar to the Geth, but more advanced in every way. Using EDI was the most obvious and effective way in order to not only gain intelligence on the impending threat, but to also possibly combat it. Because what do you fight computers with? Other computers. It was a risk using EDI, but they would need every advantage they could get against both the Collectors and the Reapers.
"I understand. Powering down until deactivation protocols are engaged. It has... been a pleasure, Commander Shepard." She seemed almost mournful. The slight hesitation in her voice almost caused a slight hesitation in his. He didn't quite understand the specifics of A.I. processing functionality, but he did understand that putting such severe inhibitors on the Normandy's A.I. would essentially leave her 'brain-dead' for the foreseeable future - at least until they could deactivate the first set of inhibitors.
The man sighed. Some day this was turning out to be. "Joker, I need you to hail the inbound repair and medical vessels. Not the strike team. Tell them we have unauthorized boarders and require immediate medical attention for our wounded." The pilot nodded and got to work. "The rest of you, prepare to repel boarders."
Under normal circumstances, he would not have taken such an actively hostile position against Alliance soldiers. However; one thing held him back from this. Very unlike Alliance military police, the boarders did not announce their presence or demand surrender from the boardee's. Normally such an action could be attributed to a special forces or intelligence services black ops strike team, as they rarely performed either. But with a ship they had until recently held conversation, and one with current and former Alliance personnel onboard? Circumstances were suspicious to say the least.
What currently concerned him was their tactical effectiveness as a crew. With Thane out for the foreseeable future, Shepard, Jacob, and Mordin were the only 'combat-ready' crew aboard the ship- the rest of the crew was, until previously, on the surface of the planet. And combat-ready was a very loose definition of what they were. With him and Jacob fighting off injuries, they would be hard-pressed to repel the Alliance Peacekeepers.
"Commander!" Joker shouted over the comms. "We've had a breach in the lower decks! I think those Peacekeepers are on the way up!" The statement evoked a grimace from the Commander. He had severe reservations about opening fire on Alliance soldiers, but at the end of the day, he knew in the back of his head that if he surrendered to their demands, his mission would be a failure. He wouldn't, couldn't let that happen. Too much was at stake. Humanity was at stake.
"Roger that Joker." His mind raced. "Jacob I need you to reinforce the AI core. Grab some of the crew members to assist, arm them, and set ambushes for the Peacekeepers, Mordin, do the same for your deck." There wasn't any time for the Cerberus soldier to ascend to the CIC, where Shepard was currently located. "The Peacekeepers will head for the bridge first, I'll hold them off and delay them until you can start your ambush." Shepard counted three shuttles, which meant about 20 boarders. They would've already cleared deck one, and would have split into individual teams to search each deck simultaneously. At least, that's what Shepard would've done - what Alliance Special Forces had been trained to do. Divide and conquer. Or as the N7 program instructors liked to call it, separate and devastate.
He readied his rifle. His leg throbbed, but he put the pain in the back of his mind. He knew some of the crew were going to die today, and he couldn't let his personal discomfort get in the way of preventing as many deaths as possible. There would be time to recover and heal later, at least he hoped.
They wouldn't use the elevator, that would be too obvious a choke point, no, they would find some other way in. Shepard took a deep breath. It was time to go to work.
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It had been an hour since their disagreement. For some, the attitude in the room was still stifling hot. For others, it as cold as ice. The fighting had died down after a good deal of yelling. The crew, while divided, had been through too much for everything to turn physical, although in the case of Grunt and Jack, it was all the rest of the crew could do to hold them back from initiating an all-out brawl. That said, the room was silent. It seemed that no one had any desire to communicate one with another. Their physical situation had likewise failed to improve.
Miranda was fed up with being a prisoner. Twice in recent engagements, the crew had been trapped, together, against their will in unforeseen and somewhat mysterious circumstances. Although, in her mind, she knew precisely who was to blame for such circumstances, she was much too mature to continue fighting over the fact. The thought, or rather emotion, that was circling her head now was worry. She knew how the Alliance treated Cerberus personnel. It wasn't pretty. After all, they were considered terrorists of a sort. She racked her brain to come up with some scenario in which the crew could escape. All possibilities eventually converged into one result. The Normandy crew would be forced to fight their way through the ship in order to reach transport. However; that would be tricky. First of all, the crew was currently under strict guard, in the brig of a heavy duty Alliance vessel. They were built with such scenarios in mind. The second issue with this was that this ship wasn't just home to Alliance Marine forces, it was host to several companies worth of Force Recon Marines. Battle-hardened, seasoned veterans that wouldn't crack under pressure and would surely turn any close-quarters engagement into a bloodbath. The third, even once they reached transport, presumably a shuttle or two in the hangar bay, they would have to escape the ship-to-ship fighters that protected the vessel they were currently aboard, as well as multiple point-defense and long-range pinpoint weapon systems. To put it short, they were in a bind. But that was all Miranda could think of. It would be impossible to commandeer the vessel. Too heavily defended, too many variables, not enough tactical or strategic advantages.
Ultimately, Miranda's deliberations drew her to one conclusion. She was stuck, they were all stuck, unless they could come up with a better plan. And no plan devoid of intel will succeed, at least in a tactical sense. So thats what they needed, and what she could focus on. She walked over to the door to the brig, a hexagonal metal surface, presumably unbreachable. Probably. She rapped on the door four times, sharply. Then she waited. Sure enough, a guard on the other side pressed a button and began speaking into an intercom. "What do you need?" A curt question, no messing around.
"I need the restroom." She gritted her teeth, and then added, "please." Per citadel law, prisoners of war were required such amenities as restrooms and meals. She would take full advantage that there were no such facilities within the brig room itself.
A pause. "Copy that. Stand away from the door." She did as asked, as watched as the door slid open, revealing what appeared to be an airlock of sorts. A security door. "Move into the room, but only you." She did as asked, and the bulkhead behind her sealed. Alone in the small box, she couldn't help but feel claustrophobic, mostly because she could feel the security cameras on her, searching for anything that might pose a threat. "No sudden movements," the voice continued. "Put your hands on your head." She once again did as prompted, and waited for the door to open, revealing three alliance guards, with their weapons pointed at her. She sighed. It seemed they were taking no chances today.
The next few moments were spent with the guards escorting her to the restroom about 20 feet down the hall, past other sealed doors she assumed were other brig rooms. She briefly wondered why the crew hadn't been separated, but only briefly. She would take whatever advantage she could. The guards shadowed her the entire time, which was expected, but admittedly a little privacy would not have gone amiss, specifically as she was using the restroom. During her return, she tried to memorize the scene before her. She spent the majority of the time analyzing the guards she was escorting. Clearly up-armored and no-nonsense marines, Their close-quarters armaments were well-suited to the confines of the ship. A full set of armor, clad in Alliance MP colors with a half face shield, she took in the opposition. They handled their weapons expertly and comfortably. Their was no readable distinct body language that she could see. She searched for an insignia, a rank, anything that she could use to gain more information. She found nothing on any of the guards attire, not even nameplates. Of course, for military police, such was not irregular, as no good came from potentially violent war criminals knowing your last name.
She was disappointed in what she was able to assess, really. There was obviously a great deal of security, as she saw at least five fully armed and armored guards in this hallway, with a quick response team surely nearby. But that was a given. As she was escorted back to the brig door, she turned and looked at the guard directly behind her. The guard, slightly shorter than she was, prodded her with her shotgun, the request obvious. Miranda didn't respond immediately. Mostly because what she saw made her freeze on the spot. This time, she didn't look at the armor, the mannerisms, or the possible exit routes. She looked directly into the guards eyes. The sight gave her chills.
The two eyes were bloodshot and soulless. There was no emotion in those eyes. In fact, she could barely see the guards retina, it looked like it had become completely overtaken by her iris, which under normal circumstances would have made vision impossible. A drop of blood was leaking out of a tear duct and was slowly forming into a drop in the corner of the marines eye. The skin, whichever skin was visible, was pale. Not just pale, gray- almost like a corpse, with a purple/blackish texture under the skin that looked similar to vein structure circling her face. A jab, much more forceful this time, forced her to turn around and walk confused and slightly frightened into the small room, where the door closed behind her and cycled her back into the room with her crew.
Her wide eyes must've caught their attention, because she looked up, made first eye-contact with Garrus, and whispered, "we might have a problem."
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Jacob was scared. He usually didn't get scared. But something about this situation was different. This time, he was essentially alone. Of course, there were two or three crewman with their service weapons out, ready to defend the ship, but that wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run. No, he was scared because he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what Shepard would do either. Once they repelled these boarders, what then? The entire crew was being held aboard The Morning After. What would happen when the remaining crew resisted arrest? He didn't know. And that is what worried him-the uncertainty.
He readied his weapon, a Cerberus built and issued Mattock assault rifle. It wasn't the best for close quarters work, but he would have to make due. He didn't stay alive as long as he had by being an ineffective soldier. Him and the crew of this deck had huddled together in the mess hall, using the tables as makeshift cover. This meant that there would be two entrances that needed to be covered, but it would bottleneck the Peacekeepers one way or another, and they wouldn't be able to deposit flash grenades right out the elevator. He knew they would come up the elevator shaft, presumably by quick roping with rapid-ascenders, at which point they would perform a fast breach with stun grenades and electromagnetic interference gadgets. At least, that's the way they did it when he was in the Alliance.
"When they come in, they'll try to use stuns. Shield your eyes from the flash, wait three seconds, and then open up on the hallway. Short bursts, but don't worry about aiming. I just want a wall of bullets." The crew nodded, the scared look in their eyes evident even from a few meters away. This wasn't what they were trained for.
"Hey," he called. "Don't worry, just listen to what I say, keep your heads down, and we'll make it out of-" BANG!
He was cut off by a roar down the hallway, and a clang of what was probably the remnants of the elevator doors slamming into the hallway opposite. Another trio of bangs reached their ears, these ones deafening. He could faintly detect similar events occurring on the decks above and below him as the Peacekeepers simultaneously entered each deck of the ship.
He held his hand up, with three fingers, counting down to zero, when he made a fist. "Open fire!" He shouted. At his command, the quartet of crew opened up, two to each hallway. He timed it just right. A duo of Peacekeepers rounded the corner and caught a facefull each of mass accelerator rounds, and they dropped, riddled. The continuous hail of rounds forced the rest to stop their advance and take better cover.
"They'll use another set of stuns," The ex-Alliance soldier mentioned. "Same deal, this time, open up as soon as you hear the bang." He spoke over their headset comm so that the Peacekeepers couldn't pick up on their conversation. Now, you see, normally, its a pretty bad idea to use high explosives that generate a significant amount of shrapnel aboard a small ship in space, especially when said ship was lightly built with thinner armor and bulkheads than most to accommodate for the demands in stealth. For obvious reasons. Of course, breaching the hull was just an afterthought in Jacob's mind as he tossed a frag grenade down the left hallway, where it bounced off the wall and around the corner. Before it detonated, a combination of extremely violent flashes and bangs blinded him and tuned all hearing into a one high-pitched channel. He faintly heard the thud of his own grenade going off as he fired blindly into what he believed was the other corridor. He didn't care, he just needed to put a hail of rounds down range to stall the Peacekeepers advance. He squeezed his trigger as fast as he could, cursing himself for picking a semi-automatic rifle as his service weapon.
The instantaneous black spots that formed in his vision when the stuns went off slowly began to shrink, and he gained some of his peripheral vision back, just enough to see an Alliance trooper fall to the ground. The Cerberus soldier felt a wet trickle on the left side of his head, the multiple stun grenades in such close proximity in a closed environment undoubtedly blowing an eardrum or two. No matter, he didn't need hearing. He knew the crew to be in the same predicament, and so his next command was more forceful. "CLOSE THE GAP!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.
Taking the initiative himself, he jumped over the makeshift defilade and took advantage of the frag grenades devastation in the close quarters confines in the hallway. His vision cleared, he charged down the hallway, firing as he went, praying that a sudden shift in tactics would catch the remaining peacekeepers off guard enough to deal with the rest of them. His charge sent him barreling around the corner straight into the path of two Peacekeepers. He didn't bother adjusting his course in any fashion, just let his inertia carry him straight into the closest trooper, sending both the soldier and Taylor sprawling on the ground.
As the other trooper turned to engage him, Jacob initiated a biotic pull, throwing the trooper off balance, giving him a second or two to deal with the situation. As he did this, his right hand shot to his holster and pulled out his favorite sidearm, an M-6 Carnifex. The other Peacekeeper was bolting to his feet, but fell again as Jacob kicked his feet out from under him. He jabbed the man in the visor of his helmet with the barrel of his pistol and squeezed the trigger rapidly four times. The opaque visor shattered, and the trooper stopped moving. Jacob spun around, weapon ready, as the other Peacekeeper regained his balance and pulled out his own sidearm and opened up on Jacob. He felt his biotic barriers slowly start to give as he exchanged close quarters fire with the Peacekeeper. He felt a round pierce his stomach, then another one, higher up. Just then, Mess Sergeant Gardner turned the corner with his own weapon of choice, a Cerberus Skunkworks Hydra shotgun. One blast took the troopers arm off at the shoulder, and a second put a hole in his chest the size of his fist.
Seeing Jacob on the ground, Gardner hurried over and looked at the two entry wounds in Jacob's torso. Taylor could feel his breath come in wheezes, it stung like hell. He saw the worried look on the Mess Sergeant's face, and watched him mouth words, but his hearing, still shot, prevented him from hearing anything. He tried to read his lips, but was distracted by motion in the corner of his eye. His arm whipped up, ready, to blast another Peacekeeper. But it was only the other two crew members, having dispatched the lone trooper in the other hallway. One of them, a weapons technician named Ethan Shaw, was bleeding from a large gash in his forehead. That seemed the extent of their injuries, which in of itself, was a miracle.
His chest spasmed, and it forced a painful choking cough from Taylor. He felt a warm liquid leave his mouth as he did so. He grimaced. A punctured lung. Damn. It probably wouldn't be fatal. Hopefully, but it wasn't good. It meant he was out of the fight. And if there were more severe injuries on the ship, it might be difficult for him to get immediate medical attention. That and the first entry wound in his stomach bled steadily. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a wheeze. He looked down at the entry wound in his chest, ignoring the efforts of the three crew members to speak to him. He still couldn't hear them after all. He clenched his teeth as he saw bubbles forming at his chest, and a steady stream of liquid oozing from the sites. That was bad. Not much worse than sucking chest wounds. He probably wouldn't be conscious for much longer.
Jacob watched as Gardner mouthed (probably yelled in fact, but it was all the same to him), "Get Chakwas!" Or at least, thats what he thought he said. He felt hands cover his wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and watched as Shaw bolted around the corner, uncaring of any other possible hostile intruders. He was getting tired, the blood loss sapping his energy. He was faintly aware of the other crew member, Catherine Wallace, an assistant of Gardners, leave his side, presumably in search of a medkit. He still couldn't hear anything but a sharp ringing in his hears. He watched Gardner try to give him words of encouragement and reassurement, at least that was probably what he was saying from the look on his face. Using the reserves of his strength, Jacob grabbed the Mess Sergeant by the forearm.
Wallace returned and started pulling out medigel and bandages, applying them to his wounds, but Jacob was focused intently on the Mess Sergeant. His voice wasn't audible to himself, and the notorious suck of air through his punctured lung made it almost impossible to work his vocal cords, so he only hoped that his message would get through.
"Tell Shepard-"
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"I think they're indoctrinated", she whispered into Garrus' ear, careful to hide any audio cues from the cameras and surveillance equipment in the room. His head snapped her way, a confused expression coming over his features.
"What? Who?" He asked, the statement catching him off-guard.
"The guards," she clarified. "There's something wrong with them."
"What makes you think they're indoctrinated?" He whispered back. The others were leaning in, eager to learn more of their conversation, but careful to hide their motives from outsiders.
"Their eyes... something was off about them." She shivered at the memory. "One of them looked like a corpse... No, as a matter of fact she looked like a husk."
The group paused, obviously thinking on the implications.
"Indoctrinated?" Tali asked, eager to learn more, and putting aside their argument for the time being. "You mean like Saren was?"
Garrus shook his head softly. "No, Saren looked and acted normal, at least for the most part. What Miranda's describing seems different..."
"Are you sure?" Vega asked, his eyes begging honesty on her part. "Something like this... we need to be absolute certain."
The Cerberus Operator searched her memories, things she had learned and discovered in her research for Cerberus on the Collectors and the potential of the Reaper threat. Her mind was brought to a study that Cerberus scientists performed studying the effects of the Dragon's Teeth on human DNA. The process, nicknamed 'Huskification', was an eerie one. The Teeth would introduce micro cybernetic... forms, for lack of a better word, that would infect and spread among the DNA of the host. While the soldiers certainly didn't have either the appearance or the attitude and behavior of full-blown husks, they were clearly under the influence of something.
But she had to be certain. Regardless of their current situation, regardless of the need to escape, it was unlike Miranda to needlessly sacrifice innocent lives. And if the captive crew of the Normandy staged a breakout, they would almost certainly require lethal actions. If they were truly not indoctrinated, the lives of those soldiers would be wasted. Miranda searched her soul.
"I'm positive." She said after some consideration. Everything fit. She was willing to risk her conscience on it. "They haven't been turned into husks - yet, but they certainly show the telltale signs of indoctrination.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched James' head lower.
"Then escape becomes our immediate priority," Samara interjected. Her various studies of the Justicar Code had informed Miranda that the mere fact of imprisonment would be a call to action for the Asari - as nothing was more against the Justicar code than preventing one from enforcing it. "If these guards are under a Reapers influence, then they will likely be prone to making mistakes that we can exploit."
"Not necessarily," was the addition from a surprisingly bold Quarian as of late. It surprised Miranda to see the young woman contradict the Asari Justicar. "Saren was just as, if not more cunning and capable while under Sovereign's influence," she said with a slight shake of her helmeted head.
"Well say we get out, yeah? Where the bloody hell do we go from there? We can't just take over the whole fuckin' ship!" Zaeed had a point.
Grunt, however; disagreed. "Why not?" He seemed genuinely put off by that. Obviously his idea of escape was to head butt his way through the bulkhead and obliterate every thing that stood in his way, ally or not.
Regardless, Miranda frowned as she considered Zaeed's words. Where would they go from there? They could steal a shuttle from the ship's hangars- but to go where? Without contact from the Normandy, they would be stuck drifting in space.
Jack folded her arms and sneered. "I say we just kill the motherfuckers and worry about what we're gonna do when we're alone and can come up with another shit-brained scheme." Miranda scowled as she watched James' reaction to the biotics words. Clearly he did not want to 'kill the motherfuckers' - his fellow Alliance marines. And Miranda agreed. If possible, she wanted not to provide the Alliance with one more reason to obliterate Cerberus.
A sudden thought occurred to her. A glaring, apparent, quite important thought. "Where's Kasumi?" The group looked around. This way, that way. Grunt shrugged. Garrus' eyes widened, Jack chuckled and the rest reacted each in manners befitting their personality.
As if on cue, a slight tap tap tap resonated from the door behind her. And the speakers came alive with a question more innocent than such a situation would normally generate. "You guys still in there?" The door slid open with no further pause, and the crew cheered each in their own ways as the professional thief walked through the door, now uncloaked. How none of them noticed her slipping out during Miranda's brief reconnoitering was quite peculiar, and possibly a little frightening. The small woman gave a small curtsy before gesturing to the crew with a 'come here' movement.
Miranda was first out the door, smiling despite the fact they were still onboard a ship with possibly hundreds of presumable hostiles. She turned the corner, first noticing the bodies of the indoctrinated soldiers on the ground, and then her gaze shifted upwards as her arm followed and charged with biotics at the other figure standing in the hallway. Kasumi grabbed her arm. "Wait!"
Miranda hesitated. Garrus, right behind her, and Grunt, after, that, had a similar reaction. Then the figure, clad in the armor of an Alliance Force Recon Marine, held their hands up, and slowly moved them towards the clasps on the helmet. As the hands withdrew, armor with it, a familiar voice calmed the crews jittery nerves.
"Hey," came the smirky, confident voice of Lieutenant Harrison. It seemed the Normandy crew weren't the only ones with a sense for overly dramatic character reveals. Miranda's hand lowered, and her stance switched to default mode. Head cocked, hand on hip, and lips pursed as she tried to let her brain catch up with the situation.
"How in the Spirits are you here?" Garrus was the first to question. The smirk disappeared from the Lieutenant's face, replaced with what looked like a grimace. "It's a long story. A real long one. I'll fill you in as we go," she said as she tossed Miranda the M-8 Avenger rifle she held in her hands. "You'll need that." Gesturing to the fallen soldiers, she continued, "the rest of you should take whatever weapons and ammo you can find. You'll need them too." She then turned, drawing her sidearm, and walked off down the hallway. Miranda looked incredulously in Kasumi's direction in regards to the impossible scenario before them, who promptly shrugged.
"I ain't complaining." Was her simple response. As the rest of the crew scavenged what they could, Miranda followed them down the corridor after their newfound ally.
--
Something was wrong. The Master Chief could feel that much. He was almost tempted to put away the peculiarity of the situation to the whole 'alternate galaxy thing', but it went beyond that. It had nothing to do with the day's routine so far, or his physical surroundings. It was a feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he remembered experiencing as he dived deep into Delta Halo years ago searching for Captain Jacob Keyes. An eerie feeling that intensified with every step he had taken. His caution and suspicion had been rewarded with the discovery of the flood. He had that same feeling now.
He had once more been summoned to meet with Captain Andrews, the Intelligence officer aboard the SSV The Morning After. Which was peculiar, especially considering the fact that he had met with the very man but 6 hours prior. As the MP's led him to the same location of the precious meeting, John attempted to reason out the possible implications of this second meeting. It had to have meant some change in the current situation. He couldn't understand any other reasons why such a meeting would occur again. The soft thud of the soldiers boots beside him came as a stark difference to the silence and discreetness with which the Master Chief trod. For all intents and purposes, he should have felt more at home here than at any other point in recent memory. Surrounded by human military forces - marines at that, onboard a warship in the middle of a conflict centered on the destruction of humanity. But it felt anything but. John... missed home. For the first time in his life, he wished for familiarity. His brief time on the Normandy had given him more of that sense than aboard this cruiser.
He neared the captain's quarters, and the sense of unease grew even further. With a swipe of the still foreign 'omnitools', one of the soldiers used their security clearance to open the doors, revealing a pacing Captain Andrews. The man, clearly agitated, only noticed their presence after a few seconds. "Sit," he curtly commanded. The Master Chief paused, looked pointedly at the chair, and the Captain sighed. "Right. Then straight on to business." The Captain's welcome attitude during the previous meeting had disappeared in the face of the more anxious scene that the Master Chief saw before him now.
"We've had a... development." Imperceptibly, the Spartan straightened. He could finally put his feelings to rest. "There was an accident, in the lower decks. A security breach allowed the crew of your previous vessel, the Normandy, to escape custody. In attempts to recover them, multiple fatalities occurred among my-" he paused. "Among The Morning After's crew. As result, we were forced to vent a controlled section of the deck. I'm afraid that the crew you have been traveling with were killed as a result."
The Master Chief frowned inside his helmet. His thoughts buzzed. The crew, dead? Tali, Miranda, James, and the others? Why was the Captain telling him this? And moreover, why was John saddened by this revelation?
His instincts kept him focused. "As a result, our timetable has been moved up. My... superiors are desperate for information, and you remain our only source." The Captain's eyes shifted to the guards who stood just inside the door, and for some reason, the hair on the back of the Spartan's neck stood on end. He checked the vital signs of the rooms occupants using his armor's medical suite. The guards pulses remained steady and slowed - compatible with standing in full gear after a short walk - they hadn't noticeably changed. So why did he have this feeling? He checked the Captains heartbeat. It was over 130 bpm, which is certainly reasonable and possible during times of agitation and severe stress / anxiety. But unusual.
Andrews faced changed then, almost for a full second. It looked... hostile. Unfriendly to say the least. His brow had scrunched, his eyes narrowed, lips tightened. That was strange. And almost just as fast, it went away.
"I need to know, son."
The Spartan's head cocked in question.
"Where is it?" The question came out, almost as a hiss. He didn't like where this was going.
"Where is what?" He replied firmly.
"You know what I'm talking about!" Andrew's voice raising in volume with every word. "Tell me where it is! We need the Janus Key! And you know where it is!!"
The Captains' pulse was racing now. The Janus Key again? Something was wrong now. This was not normal behavior. This was approaching a psychotic breakdown.
"Sir, are you feeling alright?" He prompted.
Captain Andrews stood suddenly, and with a swipe of his arms threw the belongings of his desktop onto the deck. A quick glance in his suits rear-facing cameras showed no physical reactions of either soldier beside him to the actions of the Captain. And his suit showed no change in cardiac rhythm to suggest a reaction to abnormal circumstances.
"I don't know where this Janus Key is located, Captain, as I previously stated."
"UNACCEPTABLE!" Andrews roared with indignation and fury. He began to pace, back and forth. His heartbeat soaring, his eyes darting frantically to and fro. "You know where it is.. you have to. They told me you know! You have to know."
John frowned again. They? This was getting out of hand quickly.
Suddenly, the man stopped and turned to John. "You will tell us. We'll make you tell us." The Captain keyed a button on his own omnitool. "Take, Juliet," he said calmly into supposedly a comm system.
Things moved very slowly for John. The solder on his left exploded into action, arm raised and an unusual circular object lunging for the Spartan, the soldier on the right already raising his weapon. They had obviously been poorly briefed on Spartan capabilities. With barely more than a thought, the Chief whipped out his left elbow and threw it into the outstretched arm, breaking it and watching the round object fall to the floor. Chief spun, putting the man directly behind him. With his right foot in one fluid action, he heel-kicked the man he had just disabled and broke his ribs, collapsing his chest. He reversed direction with his foot, throwing it into the man perpendicular to him, catching him also square in the chest and sending his body crashing into the wall.
The Captain hadn't moved. He didn't seem surprised at the rapid disablement of his soldiers, nor scared of being suddenly cornered by a 7 foot super soldier. Just infuriated.
The Master Chief calmly picked up the sidearm that one of the guards had dropped and walked over to the Captain, who hadn't moved. Raising the weapon, Spartan 117 asked one question. "Why?"
--
A few hours prior
Tali hurried down the corridor after Lieutenant Harrison. They had run into little to no resistance so far, and it seemed that for the time being, Grunt and Jack had been placated enough to prevent them from going off and finding someone to vaporize. Even with their common purpose now, she could still tell things were pretty tense among the group. It seemed they had essentially broken up into two groups, depending on who supported who during their previous argument. It wasn't blatantly obvious, but it seemed that communication had only been exchanged in between groups. Tali thought it was all really petty, honestly.
Of course, arguments don't heal overnight. It occurred to her then, just how important Commander Shepard actually was. He was the glue that held them all together. The second you removed that glue, it all fell apart. Tali didn't know whether to be terrified by that or relieved with it. But she understood why he had been able to defeat Saren, why he had been chosen for this task, why... why the Illusive Man had instructed Miranda to bring him back from the dead. Because Commander Shepard was probably the singly most unifying force the galaxy had. If he could bring the likes of Jack, Miranda, Grunt, Samara and Zaeed, all very volatile personalities, onto one ship without killing each other and somehow use them to save the galaxy, maybe he really could beat the Reapers.
She noticed James giving Garrus a suspicious glance. She elbowed him sharply, and he turned with question in his gaze. "The hell you do that for Sparks?!"
"Knock it off," the Quarian reprimanded. "We all just need to calm down and focus on what we're doing." Her tone was harsh, but more like a mother scolding her children than with any actual malice. She elbowed James again.
"Ouch!" He turned again, this time slightly angrier looking.
"Sparks?" She asked.
"Oh... hehe." His eyebrows raised and Vega chuckled slightly. "About that..."
"We'll talk about it later." She turned briskly back to the group who were scurrying down through the next bulkhead.
As James followed now a tad more hesitantly, she allowed herself to smirk slightly. They continued moving, and she caught pieces of Lieutenant Harrison's story that she shared as they slowly made their way through the hangar. Suspiciously, Tali took note that they had only met paltry resistance so far. On a ship that supposedly housed hundreds of marines, that was odd.
Harrison noticed it too. "Somethings wrong," she said. "We need to hurry and get to the hangar. We're still in orbit of Huriko. If we can get down to the surface we can get another ride out of system. You'll just have to trust me, I promise I'll explain everything on the shuttle."
The crew looked at each other. Jack shrugged, "eh, fuck it." She headed down the corridor slightly faster than before, tailing the Alliance Marine. After a few seconds of more profound consideration, the rest of the crew did likewise.
A warning claxon blared through the ships speakers. "Warning: Atmospheric depressurization imminent. Please follow signs and proceed to emergency lockout rooms."
Miranda said what they were all thinking. "Shit."
--
Hope to have more up soon for you guys. Thanks for your patience - and I promise the story will go on.
