A/N:

Phew! I'm glad Miranda didn't royally backfire on me, of the many - many - things that will happen in this story, that was one of the ones I was worried about.

Next: A lot of people have come to me, asking about the future of this series (Which I've been coming to call the 'Mass Effect Warverse', in lieu of the FartBurgerVerse... For obvious reasons.)
I'll say here what I've said every time: If I publish the story, two things will stop me entirely from finishing it: An act of God, or a series of unfortunate events.
So, as I've published this story (TSW), it will be finished. I am planning on publishing three more stories after this, and if at all possible, I will finish each and every one of them.

However I do have to mention, you guys are wondering what'll be happening *way* down the line... And we've barely gotten anywhere in this story!
I'm lovin' the love... But... Really?

And, without further ado:
We're off!

Chapter 3:

"Do you know how they make them, Threlnan? No, of course you don't. They find some barbaric planet where children fight before they can walk, and they hunt down the most bloodthirsty killers. They recruit them when they're twelve, thirteen, fourteen, with all that hate and that arrogance, just at the age when you think you're bulletproof and nothing can kill you. Then they keep them like that, give them a gun and some armour, and point them at the nearest enemy. They're not soldiers, colonel, they're maniacs."

— Lord General Xarius on the Space Marines, Warhammer 40,000

July 10th, 2215

Ducard hadn't lied when he had told John that he wouldn't sleep for two days. His second night, he did the same as the previous and stood vigil outside their barracks. The previous night had been horrible, Ducard had increased their workload over the entire day, by at least two. John was exhausted by the time they reached the barracks, but he knew he couldn't enter, lest he give in to temptation, so he stood outside, in the cold, Spartan night, and fought sleep as bitterly as he fought his own body.

That was merely the first day. Now, his body was exhausted, he had slight bags under his eyes, his dark green eyes had dulled to a dull gray, and he felt so much pressure in his brain that he knew not what to do with it. Many times he could feel sleep sneaking up on him, but it was only for the first half hour that he could stave it off with work. After that, his body was too exhausted to push himself up anymore, so he simply had to stand, and force his eyes to stay open, only ever to close when they had to blink.

John looked to the sky and sighed deeply, before he inhaled just as deeply and allowed the chilled air of Planet Sparta to cool his lungs, and provide some sort of 'wake up' message to his body. The sky above him was filled with stars, and the distant dark red nebulae in front of them. John was trying to find Sol, the star that fed the lifeblood to Earth, the home of the Human race. But he couldn't find it, he knew which star it was because it stood in the center of a cluster of six other stars, at least in its constellation. The six other stars were fairly dim compared to Sol, which - though John knew it was impossible, but still liked to think it - looked as if it was feeding off of the energy of those other stars, to satisfy itself and keep it bright, to keep it lit, as the beacon of hope for every Human in the galaxy, in the universe, in existence.

But John felt lethargy drag at him again, and knew he needed something else to occupy his time otherwise he would simply drop to sleep, and that would be worse than anything. Just as John considered going over the weight of his gun in either hand, since said gun had been given two live ammunition magazines, and three paralyzing paint magazines, and he wanted to get used to the weight, he heard the door behind him creek open.

In an instant, his lethargy was forgotten, his gun was in his hand, and he took two large steps back into the shadows. He suspected some sort of surprise, midnight raid by the Ones, they had done so before on many occasions. However, the figure that showed itself was not a threat, he realized, it was simply Miranda S2-106, who had thankfully come a long way in the last few days, but still held a rebellious air about her that had frequently gotten the exhausted child-soldier into deeper and deeper trouble.

"John?" She whispered.

"What?" Was his response.

"I… Where are you?" She asked, her light voice was thick with her Australian accent.

John hesitated for a moment, before he stepped back into the moons light. Sparta's two moons - one of which actually had its own stellar satellite, giving the moon its own moon - reflected sunlight stunningly, making the night sky - despite it being dark, and only lit by the stars - decently lit up. Miranda closed the door and leaned against it, John could immediately tell from her sagged posture, struggling eyes and slightly vacant stare, she was exhausted; something else seemed to be nagging at her mind however, and most likely it was this that was keeping her from the precious gift that was sleep on planet Sparta.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"How… How do you live with this?" Miranda asked, "and how aren't you angry? I've cost you meals, sleep, physically exhausting work, and you just take it in stride!" She said, John could hear genuine guilt behind her voice. "What makes you all so strong?" She asked.

John had to admit, he hadn't expected the question, nor how suddenly Miranda had asked him of it. If he truly thought about it, he realized quickly how much he didn't think about it. "Us all, or me specifically?" Miranda didn't answer, "Miranda, I've already told you that we're family, and that -"

"I know that… But the last three days… They've been the most exhausting I've ever had… And you've lived like this for years… Shouldn't you have… Something inside? Some sort of rage? Here I come, I literally make your hellish life worse, yet none of you have said or done anything except go with it!" She interrupted him.

"I can't speak for the others…" John said, walking over to Miranda and sitting down, not as gracefully as he would have wanted, but he was exhausted, the temporary adrenaline rush had long since worn off. "But I know what I'm looking for in this." John felt a confused gaze come from Miranda, and continued, "my mother died when I was young… I think I was six. Doctor Mossy told me that she was killed by aliens, enemies of Humanity." He explained, still remembering with almost perfect clarity the feelings of rage he felt when the auburn-haired doctor had told him of his mother's ultimate fate. "She told me that if I accepted this job… This… Life… I could get revenge on those who killed my mom. So I work through all of this, because I know it's what my mother would have wanted. She would have wanted me to become strong, in order to protect those who can't protect themselves. To kill those who prayed upon the weak and innocent."

"But… What happens after you've had your revenge?"

"I keep fighting. It will be all I know."

"And if you can't fight anymore?"

"I'll be useless and I will die." John stated, his face straight and his tone unchanging, he could tell from the momentary silence that Miranda only now knew he meant everything he was saying.

"But… You aren't fighting now…" Miranda pointed out.

"Now, I'm learning how to fight." John pulled out his pistol, and flipped on the safety. "This, is simply a tool." He extended his arm and looked down the sight, "an infant could use it. Thus is how easy we have made our killing tools." He paused, and then pulled his arm back, "but simply because we can use it doesn't mean we know how. That is what the SIGMA Twos are for. We spend our entire lives learning how to use these… Like the Spartans of ancient Greece, the second our hands touch one of these weapons we know exactly what it is, where it goes, how to use it, and how best to kill someone with it."

"Do you regret any of this?" Miranda asked, looking around.

"How can I regret the only life I've had?" John asked, looking into Miranda's deep blue eyes.

Miranda was silent for several minutes. John felt sleep drag at him again, just as Miranda piped back up. "Why do you stay outside?" She asked, "I asked Ducard during lunch… He said he would allow you to stay inside, where it's warm." She mentioned, offhandedly.

John grinned, "can you see them?"

Miranda's eyes widened, "who?" She sounded worried, as she reached for the gun strapped to her belt.

"The other Twos." Said John, "when we aged, and we became more used to our training programs… We elected days, secretly, of course. Essentially, they would be our days to stay outside for an extra fifteen minutes, enjoy the night air and think to ourselves." John looked up to the stars. "I like to look at the stars."

"Why?"

"Because they make me feel small." He said, "you've heard the phrase… You're one in a million?" Miranda nodded, "well… There are billions of stars in this galaxy. And if even half of them had sentient life orbiting around them, that's trillions upon trillions of people. So mathematics would dictate that if you're one in a million, there are hundreds of billions of people out there, just like you." He explained, "I look to the stars to realize that I'm not alone. That there's an entire galaxy… An entire universe out there, with hundreds of billions of people just like me… Just waiting to be fought."

"Hundreds of billions of children who'd had their lives stolen so they could fight in an army they knew little about?" Miranda sounded incredulous.

"Hundreds of billions of children who'd had their childhoods stolen, for whatever reason, and chose to fight so other children wouldn't feel the same thing." John said sagely.

The two were silent for several minutes. John enjoyed Miranda's company, it helped keep him awake. Unfortunately for him, silence festered lethargy, but Miranda seemed to sense when he was at the edge of his energy. "I'm one of those children… You know." She said, bringing John back from the brink.

"Well, you're one of us." John responded, offhandedly.

"No… Not exactly." She said, shaking her head. "I'm… You know of Henry Lawson?"

"Can't say that I do." John skipped mentioning that the only aspects of modern life in the Galactic society were the roles of its myriad militaries.

"Well… He's my father… But not in the sense that he had me birthed through the same way your mother had you." Miranda began, "my father… Wants a dynasty. An entire generation of perfect children, modeled after his genetics. So I was… Well… Grown in a tube." She explained, aware that her story was enrapturing the child-turned-teen-soldier. "Everything about me, my Father had manipulated to be… Essentially, perfect. My voice, my body, my genetics, my looks and intelligence… Everything about me was manufactured to be perfect beyond recognition… And I've tried… God I've tried." She said, "but nothing is good enough for him." She stated, bitterly. "This one time, I came home from school with a silver trophy from a quiz bowl, at school. My father took one look at it, and said 'we don't celebrate imperfection in this house', broke the trophy, and threw it away. 'You can do better.' he told me… And I wanted to… I wanted to hear him say he was proud of me, and I thought that knowledge, a golden trophy, was my ticket to it." She explained.

"But?"

"But after studied for a year, got perfect grades in school, and studied literally everything they had put on the bowl before, and predicted what would come next, and after I destroyed the next year's competition like a Dreadnought could destroy a boat, my father took one look at my gold trophy… And simply nodded." She said, "no 'Good Job', no 'I'm proud of you Miranda'… Just a simple nod, before he walked off and left me to my thoughts." She explained, "even before then, we'd been growing apart but... you could say… After that was when everything fell apart... It just snowballed into this."

"So how did you land here?" John asked.

Miranda smiled, "he's been trying on his own, to create a perfect little soldier. I'm perfect in just about everything else I've done: School work, extra curricular activities, artwork, music, singing… Anything I do I do better than anyone I do it with. But my father wanted something more, so he tried to turn me into a miniature soldier." She paused, her smile turning from one of mire, to one of simple sorrow. "I cried for days after my first Paralyzing Paint match. I tried to be better, but I never could. Eventually, I started rebelling, he and I both knew I wasn't going to be what he wanted me to be…" She looked away from the sky to John, "so this was his answer. If he couldn't 'coddle' and 'raise' me to be obedient, if he couldn't spoil me, he would have those who knew how to train, force-feed, and if need be beat obedience into children. He spoiled me when I was younger, he sees now that won't work, so now I'm here, his backup option."

"So because you pissed off your father, the man who is supposed to love you more than anyone else in the galaxy… He sent you to hell." John summarized, to receive a shaky-lipped nod from the girl next to him.

"The worst part?" Said Miranda, "I feel more loved here, where my only guardian figure is on the verge of beating me every time I open my mouth, where my 'family' is on the verge of separating me from their lives every time I talk to the guardian… Where I've had to do the toughest work of my life… Than I've ever felt at home, with my father." John noticed a tear drop down her eye. "I don't want to go back."

"I'm going to stop you right there, because you are not staying here." John stated firmly.

"Then where will I go?" She asked, "I've no one else. The only person outside of my house that I can trust, is you, seeing as how most everyone here don't hold me in high regard." She said.

"Look around." John said, as he could see the first bright red flashes of sky over the horizon, "ask around. Dig through your Dad's files. You'd be amazed what you can find if you just keep looking." He said, with a deep breath, and an equally deep sigh. "You should head back inside."

"Thank you for talking to me…" Miranda said, "I appreciate it."

"Thanks for keeping me awake." John returned, with a grin.

John waited for a moment, after Miranda entered the barracks, before he hauled himself back to his feet and resumed his vigil. Neither of them knew, that orbiting hundreds of kilometers above the planet, a satellite with a foreign Artificial Intelligence had been listening to the entire conversation with barely contained interest.

I must show this to Mister McGraw… Were the first thoughts that ran through its mind, before the AI zoomed through the Alliance Satellite network to return to its creator.

"Mister McGraw…" Softly said the synthetic voice of an Artificial Intelligence construct, as its golden-orange holographic form formed into existence, the spectacle appearing like dust, swirling in a nonexistent wind, the particles eventually settling together in a distinctly Human shape. The AI's hologram was a softly glowing golden-orange, and had the appearance of a woman in her thirties, her long hair brought up into a tight bun, her lighter-orange lab coat neatly buttoned up, and her jeans ever so slightly baggy. She had a set of glasses upon her face that, despite all logic, the programming allowed to slip every so often, which forced her to 'push' them back up the bridge of her nose.

"We are not starting this day with the sleeping joke." The tired lump of bed sheets and blankets in the middle of a king-sized mattress groaned, his voice muffled by the blankets that were tightly wound around and tangled about him. "What do you want?"

"I have information about Miranda Lawson." Said the AI.

Silence, for several moments, before the mass underneath the blankets began shifting. The AI took this as her cue to bring the lights in the room. The room was lit up dimly by sterile white lighting, the room's walls were covered in pictures and paintings of various topics, many of which being antimatter/matter annihilation, but several being of the Second Contact War. There was one section of the wall which held a picture of the man of the room, one Christopher McGraw, holding and firmly shaking the hand of the then-Alliance Director for Affairs, Jason Whyte, as the man who had engineered Mankind's most destructive energy weapon received a medal from the man who had been the driving force for Mankind's sudden and explosive entrance into galactic affairs.

Aside from the paintings on the walls, there was a desk in one corner of the room, upon which papers filled with notes and math equations were laid. As well, there were dozens of tablets, each one marked with a single strip of masking tape, upon which a word or series of words was written, which denoted the tablet computer's purpose. To the desk's left there was a large glass cabinet, within which there were over a dozen model ships and antique weapons. The ships included an Alliance Dreadnought, with its cross Orbital Defense Platform/Warship aesthetic design, an Alliance Flagship, with its heavily armored submarine design, and a Turian Dreadnought, its sleek, almost aerodynamic triangular design in stark contrast to the bulky, and blocky designs of the Alliance ships next to it. The guns included a World War Three-era M4A1, which McGraw had meticulously located parts for so he could build it up to fire, an ancient M1911 pistol, also refurbished to fire functionally, and several of the Standard Weapons made famous by their use during the Second Contact War.

The Standard Infantry Rifle was much akin to the cancelled XM8 rifle in the pre-World War Three Earth. The difference between the two was that this rifle was a lot more sleek, and just a slight bit longer, by about three to five inches. It also held dozens of places upon which attachments could be loaded, such as a suppressor, a laser sight, a red dot site or a tactical scope, and a rail on the bottom of the gun's barrel that allowed for bipod or grip attachments, or simple grenade launchers. The other weapons included a Standard Infantry Pistol, a World War Two era M14, which he unfortunately couldn't refurbish yet, and a simple Kukri knife, made unique by the materials McGraw had forged it with: Tuning Metals.

Tuning Metals were a uniquely and exclusively Alliance creation. The Tuning Gates, known by the Galaxy at large as Mass Relays, were made of a nigh-impregnable and nearly indestructible material that, at the time of their finding, had been deigned 'Tuning Metals'. McGraw had been the one to suggest using Warp Technology to break off a chunk of a Relay to study the metal; after the attempt had been successful, the Alliance had been able to break down the metal and program it into their material synthesizers. Thus, they could make tons and tons of Tuning Metals out of other, appropriate massed materials. Tuning Metals, however, were expensive to make, more so than Antimatter and Adamantine, and ships armored by Tuning Metals were even more expensive, thus only Flagships were made with Tuning Metals. One dreadnought existed that was made by Tuning Metals, the Beautiful Annihilation, which served as the de-facto flagship for the entire Alliance Navy, due to its iconic image. It was with the Sol Fleet, and still in use, despite its age, there were many debates upon whether or not the ship should be decommissioned and made into a Museum ship.

McGraw finally disentangled himself from the blankets on his bed, and scratched his head with his right hand. His thick, slightly curly, and definitely unkempt hair was tangled heavily, but a quick swipe of his organic hand undid that quickly enough. His deep blue eyes stared at the metallic port on his left shoulder, upon which he customarily integrated his own, personal, self and custom-made cybernetic limb replacement.

"What's Miranda up to?" Chris asked, "heard her Dad sent her to Sparta."

"Yes." Said the AI, Gladys, "and it appears that she does not want to go back to her father." The AI stated bluntly.

Chris looked at the hologram, which 'floated' in the air in front of him. He blinked once, then twice, and broke the still silence with a simple, "what?"

"Your predictions were right, just too late."

"You mean I overestimated how long it'd take for her to decide to break out?" Chris repeated, "well, kudos for me, then." He chuckled, as he hauled himself out of bed, and grabbed his cybernetic arm. With a slight 'hiss', it clicked onto the metallic port on his shoulder and clamped itself shut. A moment passed as it interfaced with his body and connected with the nanomachines in his mind, and after a soft 'beep', it signified he was ready to use it.

The shirtless McGraw then picked up his metallic walking stick, and exited his room, said cane making a soft 'click click click' with each step. The room he was staying in was actually just a small part of his own, custom-designed but professionally built, star ship. It was no where near as long as an Alliance frigate, which was near five hundred meters long, but his own quarter of a kilometer long ship was good for what he needed. His ship had space enough for him to work, and an engine powerful enough to power its defenses, those being a civilian-grade Rail Gun (modified by McGraw to fire much more powerfully), and the thickest energy shields the man could create.

As he walked through the ship, his AI lighting it up as he did so, he continued the conversation. "So what do we know and how do we know it?" He asked, making his way to his mess hall.

Upon entering, he saw a robot - a civilian model, one that anyone could pick up in a hardware store - up making his breakfast. The robot, piloted by Gladys, was what spoke to him. "I was in one of our sixteen satellites above Sparta." It said, "and I happened to be watching -"

"You were stalking them."

"I happened to be watching John S2-15, Doctor Mossman's recruit -"

"You were definitely stalking them." McGraw chuckled, as he sat down at his table.

"And I heard him speaking to miss Lawson."

"And?"

"She explained to him that, at its core, she didn't want to go back to her father, but knew she had no where else to go."

The gears in McGraw's bio-mechanically enhanced brain were already turning. "When was the last time I traveled to Sparta, Gladys?" He asked.

"Six weeks and twelve days, since yesterday." The robot responded, as it walked forward with McGraw's meal: powder-made pancakes with a side of dehydrated, 'tactical' bacon.

"And how far away are we, from the planet?" He asked.

"We are currently in orbit above the Salarian homeworld Sur'Khesh." The robot supplied, as it sat down to watch its organic creator satisfy his body's needs. "That would make the distance from our position to planet Sparta…" An instant's pause was all the AI needed to make the calculations, "three point six kiloparsecs… Rounded up."

"Should take about a week, then… Maybe less." He paused, "what's the Alliance Standard? What's the Spartan Standard?" He asked, tearing into his food.

"Alliance Standard Time is eleven thirty in the morning. Spartan Solar Time relevant to John S2-15 would be around five in the morning." Gladys supplied.

"Just enough time to warn the SIGMAs." Chris chuckled, despite the fact that everyone who he told of it, told him it was downright suicidal, he simply loved messing with the Alliance's Super Soldiers, watching them stutter and bumble and get pissed off was oddly satisfying, for the scientist. "Send a message to Director Trent, tell 'im we're commandeering the SIGMAs come…" He looked up and sighed as he decided on a date, "Saturday, the eighth."

"Message away."

"And set up the comm room, I'd like a chat with Timmy." He said, finishing his food and getting to his feet.

"The Illusive Man is currently awaiting your arrival in the communications room."

Asshole always was a 'one ring' kind of guy… Thought Chris, as he made his way through the ship. Ninety seconds passed as he walked to the elevator, took it one floor down, and then made his way into the communications room.

Inside the communications room was a deep, dark black void. It was by McGraw's personal choice it was like this, it wasn't a conference room, it was a holographic communications room, that could connect to anywhere in Alliance/Citadel space, and suffer a shorter time lag the closer the targeted location was. Jack Harper, his friend, co-worker, and 'CEO' of an organization the two had founded several years ago, had his space station an undisclosed amount of light-years away, but from this distance communications would suffer a three second time-lag. Chris entered the room, and immediately the dark void turned into a veritable solar system.

In the middle of the room, the brightest hologram was the vid-screen, showing Harper's upper half, waiting for McGraw to begin speaking. Orbiting the 'sun', were dozens of other holograms, ranging from documents, to other quick-communications-contacts, to simple muted news programs.

McGraw made it to the middle of the room, and sat in his chair. He looked at the holographic vid-screen, floating in the middle of the air and providing the role of the 'sun' in the 'solar system' his communications room had made. Harper was in his thirties, much like McGraw, but the signs of aging hadn't even thought to affect the two, who looked no older than twenty five. Harper's dark brown hair and slightly tan skin conflicted heavily with his cybernetic, steely-blue eyes, which seemed to pierce into McGraw's blank soul.

"I call you 'Timmy', right?" Was what McGraw chose to greet his long-time friend with.

"It's for security reasons… Though I can proudly say we've decided upon your name." Said Harper.

"If it's 'The Executive Man', I will robo-slap you into next week." McGraw warned, with a lopsid grin.

"We felt 'The Intuitive Man' would suit your… Mindset best."

"Really? TIM and TIM?" McGraw laughed, "why not just go by tweedle-dee, and tweedle-dum?"

"I digress, would you rather another name?" Harper emphasized 'another', McGraw - true to form - was very picky with his code-name, and had gone through at least a dozen before, this one being the thirteenth.

"It's better than 'The Alpha Man'… Who the hell made that one up? Pressley?"

Harper was silent, once again showing his ever-present patience for McGraw's short-mindedness. "Intuitive Man it is. So what did you call me for?" He asked, lighting a cigar as he did so.

"You keep smoking those, they'll give you cancer one day." McGraw said quickly, before he brushed off the unimportant topic, "anyways, you know who Miranda Lawson is?"

"Yes… The young woman you've been watching closely for years now, and yet you haven't provided any of your field agents with a reason as to why." McGraw could see Harper's hands scroll through holograms off-camera, he was no doubt pulling up the teen's files.

"Well, you're about to figure out why." Said Chris, before he sat back in his chair. "This girl's 'father' - if you could even refer to him as such - was a lot like the late McGraw Bastard, err, I mean, senior." He explained, "he wanted the perfect kid. But instead of taking the route my dear old dad did, and injecting millions of colonies of self-replicating nanomachines to boost her intelligence and rot her attachment centers, Henry went a different route."

"What did he do?" Asked Harper.

"He grew her." Said McGraw, "and those were his words. These are the words from the man's mouth itself, I've pretty much fooled him into thinking I'm his friend. There's a reason I've dedicated all my resources into infiltrating the Lawson household, after all."

"I still do not understand why… By all accounts, the girl should be living a far better life than yours."

"But she isn't." Said McGraw, "Lawson wanted a dynasty of genetically, physically, and mentally superior Human children. Hell, he just wanted superior kids, didn't matter how. Miranda was the second one that worked long-term, so he's pretty much been spoiling the kid ever since she left the synthetic womb."

"Who was the mother?" Harper sounded interested.

"Didn't have one. Home grown, through and through." McGraw explained, "but the thing is, I can see a lot more of me in her, than simply comparable origin stories."

Harper leaned forward, giving McGraw the idea that he was finally finding the same line of thought as him. "What do you mean?"

"My intelligence is my best asset." McGraw flicked his head a few times to make his point, "but my intelligence is synthetic. I did the math, I wouldn't simply lose my brain power in six and a half months, if I removed them all, I'd turn into a vegetable." He explained, but he held up a hand to stop Harper from interjecting, "Miranda's IQ is already one hundred one, and she's only thirteen. Mine has leveled out the last few months at six twelve, but it's been a long while since I checked last." He explained, "she has the potential to be, what I can become."

"What is the difference?"

"When she hits my age, she'll most likely be smarter than me. She just won't realize it."

"That is over twenty years from now, realize." Harper warned, "that is a large gamble."

"But it's one I'm willing to take. My skill is with the machines in my brain, constantly boosting and constantly allowing it to evolve." McGraw said, "my IQ will probably, if my math is right and if previous growth patterns continue, maximize itself at around nine hundred fifty." Harper nodded, but knew better than to cut off his friend, "hers, without my synthetics, could easily breach a thousand, and she could still retain the Humanity I don't have."

"How is that possible?" Harper asked, "your nanomachines enhance your brain power at a near constant rate, always allowing it to evolve as you age. But at the cost of you being unable to become emotionally attached to things." Harper didn't miss McGraw's grin at that, and made a mental note to inquire about that later, "what makes the girl different?"

"Her father based her mind around my father's machines, and SIGMA One augmentations."

Harper's eyes widened, "she's a 1.5?"

"No." McGraw said quickly, "her muscles are naturally stronger than a Human's, but not SIGMA Strong. I said based upon." He explained, "but SIGMAs, both the Ones and the Twos, get brain-enhancing augmentations. To dramatically improve their reaction times, increase their intelligence, the works. My nanomachines constantly evolve my brain and always allow me to learn, absorb, and master new things, but at the cost of emotional attachments. Lawson's scientists fused the two, and managed to remove the side effects."

Harper was catching on, he nodded as he sat back. "You're saying that the girl…"

"Despite how imbecilic it sounds, has an organic version of my nanomachines. Given to her by the fusion between the nanomachines and the organic half of the SIGMA Brain Amps." McGraw paused, and then summed it all up, "a perfect, ever-evolving, ever-increasing, ever-perfecting brain, with no side effects."

"How on Earth is that possible?" Harper asked.

McGraw smiled, "that's what I've been spending years figuring out. I've suspended work on my Crucible, to figure this out."

Harper paused a moment, lowering his gaze as he connected the dots. A full minute passed before he looked back to McGraw, "you wish to recruit her." He stated.

"I want to do more than that, Jack." Said McGraw, "I want to give her the choice her father didn't. The choice my father didn't. The choice she deserves, and the choice I can't make."

"What if she refuses?" Asked Harper.

McGraw smiled, "hey…" His smile turned into a lopsid grin, "I never said I wouldn't stack the odds in our favor. Listen to this…"

"We have breaking news!" Came the voice of an anchorwoman, interrupting the newest episode of the Alliance-wide television hit, Seeding Life.

"Oh come on!" Angrily shouted Jorell'Sahn nar Mindoir, as he sat in his father's newest apartment on the Alliance colony of Elysium. "Damn it, I liked that show!"

"Oh please." Came Jorell's Human friend, Tom Benthan. "You only watch it because of that Human actress, whatsername."

"And you don't?" Asked the chuckling Jorell.

"No, I watch it because this is the closest I can get to 'classic' sci-fi, without watching those cheesy-as-hell twentieth/twenty first century flicks." Tom said, "you, you're a colony kid, this is probably the coolest thing you've ever seen!" The two laughed.

It had been many years since Jorell could actually call himself a Mindoir resident, but it had been longer still since he called himself an Elysium colonist. During those years, Jorell, now fifteen, had matured into a general 'everyman' in the Alliance. His best claim to fame was his mother's political ties, and his father's status in the Alliance Marines. Jorell, six months from being given QIS 612, the medical nanomachine treatment that supplemented every Quarian's immune system, had matured into a strong young man. His body had aged into a physical form more fit for manual labor, as opposed to the leaner body types that represented the more intellectual of his species. His eyes were a deep, dark green, which, unlike the rarity of the color in modern Humans, was a very normal shade for Quarians, and his hair was cut short, almost like a Human 'crew cut'. The only reason he or his friend were even able to see his hair, at this point in time, was because Jorell - like his mother and father before him - only ever took his mask and helmet off at home, or for special occasions outside of home. His suit was a forest shade of green, with a darker shade for the skin-like rubber parts.

Ever since the Quarians had joined up with the Alliance, following what the Humans called the Second Contact War, and the Galaxy knew as the Human-Turian War, the Quarians were able to be a lot more creative and free with their technology. Quarian bio-suits now had a much more vast technological suite, and with the advent of Human/Quarian technological fusions, were easily twice as advanced as they were before. Quarian Omni-tools and Human smart-watches were oftentimes built into the suits, as well as having Human Augmented Reality technologies built into Quarian face-masks. Human energy shielding also made the Quarian Marines' armor much more effective, and when the two species had put their heads together, they were able to make the technology that allowed Powered Infantry Assault Armor's under suits to grow into wounds, do the same for suit-breeches. Should a Quarian suffer a suit puncture, the skin-like rubber parts of the suit could self-repair and seal the damage in minutes, allowing whatever damage that had been done to be minimal at best, and slightly alarming at worst, and that was for Quarians who opted out of QIS 612.

With QIS 612, Quarians had the immune system they could only have ever dreamed of, centuries ago. They had an immune system comparable to an average Human, and could walk around with others, with no mask required. Quarians hadn't done away with suits entirely, because of this, they were too ingrained in their societies, and QIS 612 couldn't be given to anyone under fifteen, to give their immune systems some time to build themselves. Many Quarians did walk amongst Humans with no mask, but a majority stuck to old roots and stayed in their suits, except when home amongst family, loved ones, or close friends, it was still considered a mark of ultimate trust and affection to remove one's mask to allow someone to see a Quarian's face.

Jorell, for instance, had only allowed one person outside of his family, his best friend, Tom, to see his face. Said face was currently growing a wide grin, as he silently laughed, "oh shut up, when the apocalypse comes, and I'm out there farming my way to godhood, we'll see who's laughing."

"Rebel forces -" Said the TV, cutting into the two's conversation, "have just made an attempt at besieging an Alliance farm world."

"Speak of the devil!" Tom said offhandedly.

"Due to the colony's independence from the Alliance Parliament, the colony had little defenses in the way of naval ships. However they had a militia, which was quickly overwhelmed by Rebel forces." The anchorwoman reported. "However, the Alliance Navy and Marine Corps quickly responded to distress signals, and after a six hour confrontation on land and in the void, said colony was quickly liberated, and the colonial governor made the executive decision to allow the colony to be annexed by the Alliance. Relief efforts are currently underway, as prisoners are rounded up, disarmed, and sent to Perol."

"Wonder if your Dad was there?"

"Doubt it." Said Jorell, running his three-fingered hand through his hair, "last I heard he was up in orbit." He pointed to the roof, "said he might get called out to one of the more heavily contested areas, following an OD3 strike." He mentioned.

The Gaian Rebellion was a relatively new war, in which the Humans and Quarians of the Human Systems Alliance found themselves entrenched. Ever since the former Alliance Director for Affairs, Jason Whyte, had made the decision to split the Humans and Quarians from the galaxy proper, and form a sovereign nation of unified governments and planets, under the flag of the Alliance, a small faction of Humans who directly opposed the decision quickly gained power. Several years passed as tensions between the Alliance and the 'Children of Gaia' increased dramatically, until finally - and suddenly - in 2211, the Rebels attacked with an enormous battle fleet. As it turned out, they had spent several days, post-Second Contact War, looting and proliferating the naval battlefields. Thousands of Alliance Naval vessels and a vast majority of Turian Combat Vessels were stolen and gone, but the Alliance had simply written them off as lost to the hazards of the Milky Way. Furthermore, the Rebels had been spending the years in which they'd been increasing tensions between the two factions, conquering independent colonies and brainwashing their denizens into following their lines of thought. The result was a workforce willing to build ships and arm soldiers, an army willing to fight so the Alliance would merge with the Citadel Council, and a navy that was essentially the only one with the tech to face the might of the Alliance Navy.

For years the Alliance had been bogged down in an intense guerilla war with the rebels. Planets were generally 'cleaned' of rebel rule in months, but the Rebels themselves simply went to ground and continued the war with terrorist attacks, which greatly slowed Alliance Progress in completely liberating and cleaning Rebel worlds. The Alliance Parliament knew that they had to hit the Rebels where it hurt to win the war, and run the risk of turning their leader - who only went by 'The Ghost' - into a martyr, but they simply didn't know where the Rebel's primary planet of operations lied. It was a massive galaxy, after all, and they ran the risk of having the Rebels be led from a space-station in the middle of nowhere space, which was an even worse prospect.

Jorell's family hadn't escaped being affected by the Rebellion, much as they wanted to. Most primary conflicts were conducted by the Alliance Marine Corps, before the Army came in to establish their foothold and continue the war. Jorell's father had seen action on a dozen fronts, but had fortunately avoided becoming one of the 'poor' Marines who were stationed planet-side, and began suffering from what they started calling 'dry feet'.

"How have we not found that Ghost guy, yet?" Tom asked.

"Because the guy's done what no other Human seems to be capable of -" Jorell didn't miss the grin on Tom's face, "- he learned from what other Humans have done. He saw that every 'great terrorist' gave himself a face. A name. They showed the world who they were, and that was enough to find them. So Ghost isn't showing anyone, anything. The Alliance spies in the faction have even said that he doesn't show his face to his own lieutenants!"

"Wait, we've got spies there?" Jorell nodded, "and we haven't whacked him yet?!"

"They want to catch him." Jorell explained, "and bring him in. Discredit him in front of billions of people. Otherwise, they'll just martyr him."

"Makes sense…" Tom nodded.

"No news as to the disappearance of Human ships along the outer colonies." The anchorwoman continued, "Alliance officials are advising against conventional travel in those areas, and have assumed that Rebel Forces have picked up patrols. If at all possible, Warp Transit should be conducted in the outer and middle colonies. The Department of the Navy has said that they will be sending out reconnaissance fleets to search for the missing ships, but no solid word yet on who has been taking ships, and why."