Chapter 11

"I can't hold a glass of wine yet But they think it's fine to Have me hold a gun Kill a man or kill his son"

— Company of Thieves, "Quiet on the Front"

April 3rd, 2216

John 'Shatner' S2-15 was uncomfortable. He had been trained since childhood to be a Special Forces killer. He had been attacked at the drop of a hat by the Human race's - and arguably, the entire galaxy's - most trained, efficient, lethal killers, and had as a result been paralyzed more times than he could count. His body had been trained to be able to withstand weeks of torture, to be able to go for days without food and water, and to be able to lift at the bare minimum, twice its weight. His mind had been trained so that it not only had an IQ twice that of an average boy his age, but so that it could recognize almost every model of any firearm it could get the hands it controlled on, and so it could use said weapons in the most efficient way that would bring about the death of its target. He had even been through the beginning shots of a war. He himself was a child soldier, trained only to kill the Human race's enemies; the military was all the young man knew, it was all he would ever know, and after spending so long in it, it was all he ever wanted to know. He was so comfortable in this lifestyle, the lifestyle of a child soldier, that the lifestyle of any normal male of his age simply made the SIGMA Teen uncomfortable. John S2-15 did not like being uncomfortable, in any situation.

Many situations made the child soldier uncomfortable, a great many of them involved Ducard speaking quietly to him, but he had learned this day that there were a great many other things that made him uncomfortable, such as, playing video games, in the home of a teenage woman, who had - if only temporarily - been in the same situation as he had been. John hadn't even heard of video games, not until Miranda had suggested playing some ancient series that had undergone what she called a 'generational reboot', and though John had no idea what that meant, he hadn't the mind to ask, because he lacked the desire to know. All he did know is that Miranda had called it 'Halo', and he had called it 'a little too close to home'. The two had been playing the game's 'campaign', which apparently meant that the game had some sort of story behind it, like a book, or a film, for several hours now. John had, during that time, managed to catch at least eighty different, separate occurrences in which any rationally thinking military man, in the same position that John had been placed in, would have acted anywhere from slightly to vastly differently, but Miranda had told him that it was all a part of the game; though she had seen his frustration and, after a few hours, she had switched the first game for a new one.

John didn't know what 'Dragon Ball' was, and Miranda's explanations had only seen to confuse him more; and while seeing the odd ways in which the combattants fought was interesting, and trying to dissect the 'how' of how they were able to blast plasma from their hands was enthralling. Unfortunately, when neither the story nor Miranda could provide him with any explanation as to how, scientifically, the people in this second game could do what they did, John lost interest faster than a bullet left the barrel of a gun. Miranda just waved it off - after all, she reasoned, it wasn't as if the knowledge would do John any good. Biotics couldn't do anything near what the characters in the game were doing.

Eventually he became tired and frustrated with the whole thing, finding no enjoyment whatsoever in the 'Shooter' game from before, or this 'Fighting' game now. His hands were more trained for weapons, not confusing controllers, his eyes were trained to spot even the slightest of discrepancies in any possible environment, not for looking through virtual reality headsets, both of these devices he had nearly broken on several occasions due to impulse and reflexes honed to combat; his mind was geared more towards war, to finding creative, life and limb-effective ways of solving a situation and eliminating an enemy, not overcoming the problems of what Miranda had called a 'physics engine'. Nor did Miranda's best efforts to make John appear like a normal Human child bear fruit at dulling his ingrained, instinctual training. Every fifteen minutes, and not a second more, John found himself scanning his environment, thankfully in an inconspicuous way, but still doing so. It had put Miranda on edge, John could tell that his actions were making her think her ruse was falling apart, but John knew that the cloaked guard in the room hadn't caught on to anything, save for, maybe, the fact that John had a far less colorful vocabulary than the girl next to him.

Another situation John had not found himself prepared for, which Miranda and He were currently recovering from now, was a sport Miranda had called 'Tennis'. It was, apparently, a rather popular sport on Roof, with its 1.5 times Higher-Than-Earth Gravity, and thus a more present challenge, but thousands of people played it on Earth every day. Though, to say John was unprepared for it, would be to refer to the fact that he did not know the rules to the game. John was, physically, absolutely prepared for the game, the second Miranda had given him a 'crash course' in the rules of the game, he knew instantly how best to overcome her without the use of his biotics, how best to strike the ball, where to aim for an optimal landing zone, among many others.

In the half hour they had played the game, John had barely worked up a higher heart rate, let alone a sweat, while Miranda was profusely sweating in the hot Australian sun. She had complained about the unseasonably hot weather, but John hadn't noticed at all. He was used to Sparta's half-year blisteringly hot weather, and then half-year freezing cold weather. Miranda had, however, made mention of the fact that this had been the most fun game she'd played, that half hour had consisted entirely of John making score after score on the former-SIGMA Teen; their session had only ended when Miranda finally broke down and used biotics to increase the mass of the ball, which made it fall to the ground before John could notice the telltale signs of Element Zero Field Manipulation. The Asari teacher that had given him and the sixty other SIGMA Teens Commando-level lessons on Biotics, had been extremely thorough, though John knew that if she'd been here, she most likely would have punished him severely for not catching Miranda's trick.

When the game was finally finished, a profusely sweating and panting Miranda doubled over and caught her breath, while John, after realizing that this wasn't a ruse to lower his guard, simply stretched his arms and scanned his environment.

"It took me… A half hour…" Breathed a tired Miranda, who had actually kept up with her physical exercise the past year, but had fallen far out of line of what would be expected of her on Sparta, thus her exhaustion. With each passing moment, John was having less and less confidence in her ability to stack up with him if things got loud, later on. "To get just one point…" She laughed, as she saw John take a large swig from his water bottle, completely unaware that he had only done so, so he would have an excuse to tilt his head back and scan his six O' clock, he saw no guards, and no tell-tale shimmer from a tactical cloak. "And you said you were…" She paused, knowing that they were alone, but still wanting to choose her words carefully, "leaving the Junior ROTC, to go to the regular cadets?" John nodded, and she shook her head, "god help us all." She chuckled.

John didn't laugh, but he did take an honest swig of water. He felt the cool liquid run down his throat, and couldn't help but steal a peek to the sky. Miranda noticed, and brought her voice down as low as she could, "I checked the satellite patterns, after you mentioned it. Unless they've got drones looking at us, we're clear for another hour or so, before some Korean 'communications' satellite passes over us." She took a gulp from her bottle, and crushed its empty carcass. John had scanned the skies again at her mention of drones, but thankfully he hadn't seen any, even though Sub-orbital Unmanned Aerial Vehicles were designed almost entirely for stealth, they could be detected by the telltale sheen of reflected sunlight, even a tactical cloak couldn't completely mask that. John hadn't discounted that there were SOUAV's being launched, but there weren't any anywhere near them.

In spite of it all, John had one thing he had to ask her, "how can you check Alliance Satellite Patterns?"

Miranda grinned, "I'm far more intuitive than you give me credit for."

"No, how?" John pressed, knowing they were safe enough to discuss this. "Alliance Cyber Security is tough even for the STG to break through. How'd you crack it?"

Miranda stared at John a moment, before she huffed, "the man I spoke to left a few backdoors open into his own system. A few hours of searching found that he had the access, so I'd ask him." John's silence beckoned Miranda to pick back up her act, "Have you ever watched a movie, before?" Miranda asked, honestly.

"War footage." Was John's answer. On important holidays, such as the Alliance Formation Day, New Year's, and Christmas to name a few, the SIGMA II's were given breaks, in which they were allowed to mingle amongst themselves for a few hours out of the day, eat imported foods, and watch war-footage movies. They were expected to dissect the mistakes of previous generations of Human Warriors, learn from them, and improve upon them.

"You sir, need to watch The Dark Knight."

"I've never heard of it." John assumed it was some sort of war movie, focusing on Special Operations soldiers.

"It's an ancient comic-book adaptation movie, McGraw actually had to look after me one day, and forced me to sit through it. It was the only positive memory I had of the day, it was amazing."

"What is a comic book?" Asked a bewildered child soldier.

Miranda was silent and still for a complete fifteen seconds, as she stared at John, who stared back, his blue eyes and slight scowl betraying none of the confused thoughts behind his mind. In one day alone, Miranda had made so many 'normal-life' references that they had made the soldier's head spin.

Miranda eventually settled for a shake of the head. She tapped John on the cheek a few times, in an apologetic way, and then said, "you poor, poor, uncultured soul. I've got a lot to teach you about in the next…" She checked the sky, then her smart-watch, "oh… Three hours." John caught on, it was her own creative way to sneak in their time-frame, under the radar of any possible listeners. Three more hours of the awful, uncomfortable feelings, then John would be able to get back into what he knew: Battle.

The two headed inside and went for Miranda's home-theater. She instructed John to sit down on the right chair, of the three that were in the small, dark room. Immediately John's instincts warned him that this was not a place he would want to be in a battle, and when Miranda dimmed the lights and started the movie, those feelings mixed with his uncomfortability, and only made him feel more out of place. This was an enclosed, dark place, there was an intense light source in front of them that would hurt their natural night vision to the area around them, that meant an Assassin could sneak in without them knowing and they would have no defense for a sneak attack. As well, the home theater was an enclosed space, so a single bomb blast could kill them both in an instant; or, at the very least, injure them both grievously. John surreptitiously adjusted his right leg, and felt the reassuring feeling of his gun pressing up against his thigh; he then thought of raising his barriers, just in case, but unexpected contact from Miranda wiped his mind clean of thought entirely.

She'd sat down on the chair next to John's, the center one, but hadn't settled back like the soldier had. Instead, she'd raised the arm of her chair and had wrapped both of her arms around his left, leaning upon him and bringing her shoeless feet up to the chair itself. It took an entire three seconds of blank mindedness before John's mind instinctually went to all the reasons that this was a bad situation. First and foremost, Miranda was effectively pinning him to the chair, by doing this, so he would not be able to jump to his feet if an attacker came into the room and made an attempt on their lives. Secondly, but just as important, he had no honest idea what to make of this. There was some odd, confusingly warm feeling in his chest, similar to the feeling he'd gotten the first time he'd eaten spoiled meat, and had been in the bathroom for hours as he violently vomited up everything he'd eaten the previous few days. But the feeling wasn't as uncomfortable as it had been when he was sick, if anything, it felt oddly refreshing, like a blast of cold air or a splash of cold water after a several-day training session with no sleep. The warmness in his chest seemed to permeate through to his head, and something seemed to break, and all the pressure that had been building inside of it, from the thoughts of the Alliance catching him, the plans for plans, for contingency plans, of contingency plans, should Henry Lawson ever discover John was not who he said he was, all the pressure seemed to simply flow away, as the motion picture began playing in front of him. Before John became enraptured by the centuries-old film, he eventually came to the decision that Miranda was doing this entirely for the act she had set up, over the past few months; that seemed to do the trick, because the warm feeling soon went away and the familiar pressure came back.

"Director, I do not think initiating Rug Protocol would be the best -" Joseph Ducard was interrupted by an irate Alliance Director for Augmented Affairs.

"I just got off the phone with Directors Serios and Tyson. I had to interrupt an emergency meeting of the Board of Directors, in order to get clearance to do this! Are you aware the Batarians dropped a Nuke on one of their planets?" The deeply southern accented Director demanded, "no! You're not! You're more worried about the subtleties of whether or not I should freeze all inwards and outwards bound space traffic by initiating the Rug Protocol!" He roared, "It's been hours, Ducard! John-S2-15 has been missing for hours, and all you've got for me is some report on the Lawson household!" The Director roared, "He could, for all we know, be halfway to the Citadel by this point! Or, god forbid, the Rebels! Do you know what that will do to the Alliance, and the Board, if he talked? I've already given the go-ahead, the Rug Protocol has been initiated. We have twenty four hours, under the pretense of a mandatory drill, to either find him on Earth, or decide beyond the shadow of a doubt that he isn't on the Earth!"

Ducard could feel a shiver run down his spine. The Alliance's Rug Protocol was an alien-contact safety contingency. If enacted, it shut down all inward and outward bound space traffic from a system, and forced any and all Human ships in the affected system to purge all data pertaining to star-charts, colony locations, population figures, medical data, the works. But what was focused upon more than anything was Earth, Earth was to be protected more than anything else, more than Eden, more than Sparta, more than Arcturus Station. The Rug Protocol was, at its core, akin to sweeping the Earth's location under a rug.

That Leonard Trent had gotten the clearance to enact it in the Sol System, of all places, only served to restate the direness of losing a SIGMA Operative.

"We have it on good authority, Director, he's still in Australia. Our SUAV's are scanning the streets and the buildings, he's not in any of the cities, and all ships that have left the wet-ports have been searched thoroughly." He implored, "all that's left are the private properties out in the savannas and lower-population areas."

"Then I want everything we have. Security Cameras, satellites, everything we can use to find him, I want it being used! And the second we find him, I you to make sure this never happens again!"Trent stated.

"Clarify, sir." The SIGMA Veteran requested.

"I got clearance from Serios. The Home Fleet is under our command until we find him. Specifically of use to us, the Orbital Dropping Death Dealers Earth Defense Battalions, the Alliance Marines in the H-Fleet, and the N7 Operatives that have yet to be transferred to a fleet that is en-route to Batarian Space." Trent explained.

"Sir…" Ducard hesitated, "how will we keep the deployment of all Home Fleet Ground Forces a secret?" He asked, "our training exercises are usually in the United States, in Russia, Greenland, or in Egypt… Not Australia… Sir."

"I'll work on a story when I have time, Commander. Now find him!" Trent sat down and immediately opened his laptop, Ducard could see the stress in his eyes and on his face before the communications uplink was severed.

Ducard sincerely hoped John hadn't deserted, just to try and escape the program. He could tell just by looking at Trent's holographic form, the man was considering executing the child.

John-S2-15 had never seen something like that which Miranda had made him sit through. Even now, long after the film had ended, and they were eating their dinner, he couldn't wrap his mind around what he'd seen. The war footage he'd watched on Sparta paled in comparison to the movie, which was - according to Miranda - over two hundred years old. He almost salivated, thinking of what movies made now, looked like, if that movie was that good. Was this what it was like to be a normal child?

Of course, the thoughts about the film and normalcy had been blasted from his mind the second he'd tasted the food upon his plate. Miranda's father had spared no expense, when she'd asked him if John could stay the night. His condition would that he would be staying in the guest room, far away from Miranda's room. John fully understood why he'd done that, but he didn't think about it long as he took his first bite of Spaghetti. The flavor of the sauce, the texture of the noodles, and the tenderness of the sausage all made his mind melt from the first bite alone. John almost regretted his instinctually fast eating habits, but paid it no mind as he was told he could make another plate.

Henry noticed that John had eaten the food fast, and was already - just forty six seconds after making the plate - halfway through his second helping, while he and Miranda were barely a quarter of the way done with their first meal. John had noticed that Miranda's eating skills had definitely diminished over the last year, but with food like this, he couldn't honestly blame her, much.

"You must truly be dedicated to the military, John." Henry commented, as he watched the teenager rampage through his meal like an Olympic Sprinter would tear across the finish line. "I've never seen anyone eat so fast, before."

John counted himself lucky that he'd stuffed his face full of food when Henry had spoken, it gave him a few moments to formulate a response. He swallowed the food with a loud gulp, "at the Shelter… It's kind of every man for himself, when it comes to food." John had remembered their first Christmas, when the SIGMAs had provided six - admittedly military-style - pizzas, that had been gone before John could even had smelled it, he drew upon that experience for the authenticity of his story. "When the food is good, you have to eat it fast, and hope you can get more." To accentuate his point, the SIGMA with the bottomless pit of a stomach, went for a third plate. Silently, he added, and weigh whether or not they are going to surprise you with an intense training drill.

"I see…" Said Henry, as he bit into his steak. "So tell me, John… What is so appealing about military service? I've heard a few of your conversations with Miranda, a man as informed as you, I would think you might have a chance in politics."

John shook his head, and swallowed another mouthful. "When you go home, tell them of us and say, For their tomorrow, we gave our today." He received blank stares, "The politicians fight with words. The soldiers fight with their lives." He simplified.

"Have you thought about any specific branch?"

"He's told me all about the Marines, father." Miranda chimed in, John nodded in agreement, as he continued burning through food.

John didn't miss the twitch-grin that had grown and disappeared from Henry's face. He wondered if he was recalling sending Miranda off to Sparta. "Why the Marine Corps, John? You could join the Army, and settle down on a planet, instead of being forced to pick up and move with your fleet." Obviously this man knew little about the military, "or you could join the navy and be in even less danger." Extremely little.

"The Army isn't totally stationary, sir." Said John, "it is true, that the Army tends to be anchored to one planet or another, but in times of war they're picked up and brought along with the Marines. And being in the navy is a bigger risk than being in the Marines, you risk being thrown out into space if your ship's hull gets breached." He explained. "And the A/SF, if you're going to ask, is even less safe. Probably the least safe out of the standard branches. At least if you're in the Army you've got a planet, and the Marines and Sailors have their ships. A/SF pilots have just their fighters and their shuttles protecting them from the void."

"Interesting…" Said Henry.

The dinner continued in silence for several more minutes. It was around John's fifth helping that he finally slowed down, but that was due to instinct and training, more than a dwindling appetite. His rational mind finally kicked in and told him that running around on a mission, on an overfilled stomach, would be disastrous for their chances of success. Of course, then the argument could be made that, if he had to make extensive use of his biotics, he would need this food, and it was with that mindset that John deigned to finish this plate and be done after that.

Henry's next words would not be the last time that John would completely freeze this night, however. "So, Miranda, did you hear?" He asked, "the Batarians dropped a nuclear weapon on Alliance Forces."

John blinked, his eyes widening of their own accord, as his body continued eating the food on auto-pilot. Immediately war scenarios started playing out in his head. SIGMAs were probably already being deployed, the Alliance was most probably considering nuclear options of their own, they were most likely going to take this war a lot more slowly than they had been, to give time for a probable War Economy to take full effect. John also came to the conclusion that a Draft would be likely, though would probably be avoided by a possible swift victory. If they even needed a War Economy, was another thought that ran through the teenager's mind, before Miranda brought him out.

"John?"

He had to pick now to abandon the Alliance. What was his sense of duty for a single good meal, and several hours of unquantifiable levels of discomfort?

"John, hello?" Miranda ripped him from his thoughts.

"What." He said.

"My father's gone." Miranda deadpanned, "and you've been chewing that one bite of food for five minutes, now… What's wrong?"

"They nuked Siler?"

"Yes, apparently. I think Tyson's going to address the Alliance tomorrow." Miranda answered.

"We need to get this done, Miranda." John stated, swallowing his food. "I can't stay out for long, especially not with this happening." He powered through his food as Miranda responded to him.

"I've already got a plan worked out. I've got the mansion's power hooked up to my Smart Watch, and that will hopefully open up the hatch to the facility underneath -"

"Facility?" John clarified, "wasn't this a simple escape job?" He asked.

"I told you, there were two packages." Miranda's voice had suddenly taken a cold edge. "Myself… And someone else."

"Who?"

Miranda sighed, "my father had a contingency plan in place, should he have had to 'start again'… He called her Oriana."

"He grew another one?" John didn't believe it, what kind of sick man grew kids when his initial ones didn't work out?

Miranda nodded, "we've got to rescue her. Even if I can't make it out, I want her to get out of here." She stated, firmly.

"What's your extraction plan?"

"I've got a… Intuitive Man, let's call him… Waiting a few kilometers to the north of here, in a forest clearing. He's got his own ship and he'll be taking me out of the Sol System, to somewhere safe."

"You trust this Intuitive Man?" John asked, seriously.

"He got me the information, that helped get me this far. There aren't many more people I'd trust as I do him." She said.

"Infiltration and Extraction." John said, "break into the facility and high-tail it to a forest three kilometers to the north. How do we exfiltrate the mansion's grounds? Those walls were pretty high, and I don't have any TITAN Armor." John stated.

Miranda nodded, "I've got it covered."

John nodded too, "I'll be awake all night. You come to my room and knock when its time." John rapped the table five times, then twice, reveling in the feeling of the military-mindset, returning to him and banishing the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings that had clouded his mind the entire day.

John had been true to his word, he'd been awake for exactly sixty one minutes, twenty seconds. He'd counted each and every second he'd been awake, waiting for the clarion to be sounded. His gun had been cleaned and loaded at least six times, before he laid upon the bed and simply settled in to wait. The darkness of the room had quickly undone itself when his eyes had adjusted, and now he could see every detail of the ceiling above him. The cracks, the crevices, the small bumps and irregularities in the paint, he noticed it all and had nearly committed it to memory, when five knocks tapped on the door, then a pause, and then came two more.

In an instant he was on his feet, in a second he was at the door, his gun in his hand. In two, the door was open and Miranda was there, her SIGMA II fatigues on, and a dark gray sweatshirt covering her top. She had a pair of tight leather gloves covering her hands, and the Special Forces Pistol secured tightly to her belt.

John stared at her for a moment, before he took one look at the pistol, and that was all it took for Miranda to hear the unanswered question. "My father took it when I came home, but it only took me a day to figure out where he'd put it. Bi-monthly, I've been making sure it's still there, and I cleaned it yesterday."

John shook his head, and snatched the pistol out of its holster. He sheathed his own weapon and then cracked the sliding mechanism off of the gun, he showed her the weapon, which was missing the firing pin.

"Assume Worst: He knows." Was all John said, before he ejected the magazine, took the magazines from Miranda's belt, and nodded for her to guide them to where they needed to go.

The strong image Miranda had built when they'd spoken earlier seemed to falter, as they snuck through the house. But it only took it a few minutes for the faltering to end, and just like that, they were two soldiers, accomplishing a mission. The house seemed eerily quiet to the girl, who was used to some sort of life permeating its walls, even after dark, when she had - for the last year - prowled its halls, looking for the information her father had kept from her; she eventually just wrote off the quiet as nerves, and bade John to descend the stairs with her. To John, however, the silence screamed of traps, of ambushes lying in wait, of armed men simply waiting to cross paths and for a firefight to begin.

John stopped Miranda with a hand on her shoulder, she turned around, an eyebrow raised. John was silent, he raised one finger over his lip, and when she nodded, John took the lead. He was crouched low, and he hugged the banisters to the staircase they'd taken, it wasn't the grand staircase he'd seen earlier in the morning, that would have been far too exposed, but rather this was a staircase to the home's basement, which - according to Miranda - was the fastest way to get to the backyard. John descended the stairs, and came to an archway that lead from their hallway to one of the mansion's many living rooms. The hairs on the back of John's neck were standing on end, he waited for several seconds, all senses reaching out, trying to discover what was making him so on edge.

Wait… Something 'clicked' in John's mind, he slowly placed his left hand on the wall he was waiting behind. The wall was warm, and everything fell into place.

One thing that Ducard had drilled into their minds, was to never rest on cover, bullets and even Mass Accelerated Slugs tended to travel along straight surfaces, so if you were resting upon cover, it increased the chances of your getting shot, greatly. Another thing that Ducard had warmed them about, was that nothing - absolutely nothing - could overwhelm the natural diffusion of heat, be it through flames, or simple body heat; only an actively canceling cold force could negate the diffusion, but this house did not have that, and what was more, the air conditioning wasn't on, so the walls should have been luke-warm at best. This wall, this wall in particular, was warm enough to raise the SIGMA-Teen's suspicions, and it only took John a second to decide what that meant.

A man, obviously without special forces training, was waiting against the wall, on the other side of the arch. John would take no chances, this one would be eliminated. He raised his hand in a fist, silently telling Miranda to stay put, as he got to his feet. He inhaled and exhaled, calming his nerves. His gun went in its holster, but was loose enough that it wouldn't drag if he had to draw it fast, the noise would be very counter productive, if he were to fire it indoors. Another inhale, he knew he would have to take this one out in hand-to-hand. The wall was warm, so the man obviously wasn't wearing armor, otherwise it wouldn't have been anywhere near as noticeably warm as it had been. That didn't mean he wasn't wearing a Shield Belt, though, so John needed a lot of force to hit him with.

He felt the biotic energy wrap itself around his fist, recalling to mind the words the ex-commando had drilled into his mind.

"Like your brain, your biotics are muscles! You work them right, they'll work for you. Don't work them enough, and they won't work for you! Work them too much, and they'll stop working for you!"She'd always screamed, forcing them to fight beyond exhaustion to make perfect the very technique John was about to perform.

All species had their biotics, there were Volus biotics, Turian biotics, Salarian, Drell, Hanar, Krogan, Batarian, and, of course, Asari biotics. John had even heard of a Vorcha biotic at one point. All species had no where near the biotic numbers of the Asari, of course, but they had enough that, eventually, species-exclusive Biotic Martial Arts had come to life. The Turians had their Helanaa,which focused on quick, tactically placed, but debilitating blows, that had their relative mass increased by the biotics of their performer. Salarians had Fumal, which focused on keeping the enemy off balance, and away from them, so they could get back to their weaponry. Asari had hundreds, but the most commonly practiced was Selai'Na-na. It focused on the near limitless Asari potential for biotic stamina; Selai'Na-na increased the relative mass of any of the limbs they would use to hit their opponents, for a split-second, just as their limb hit the opponent's body. So if they were to kick a person, the biotics wouldn't increase the mass until the last possible second, then they would flare violently, drastically increasing the mass - and, by proxy, the raw force - of the blow, and then shrinking back down to normal Asari biotic levels. The blows behind Selai'Na-na were devastating, because each and every one used one hundred percent of what an Asari could do to themselves, biotically, and thus, meant that no other species could match its raw power.

Humans, however, had something else entirely. Whereas other species focused on covering their weaknesses and playing their strengths through Martial Arts, Human biotic users melded Human martial arts to suit their Biotics. Specifically, the SIGMA II's who had had months to work amongst themselves to perfect it, used what they called Vi-Contactus, Latin for 'Force Contact'. At its core, SIGMA Biotic Arts threw away the common practices of other species' biotic users, who commonly tried to make themselves everymen on the battlefield, using Biotics to cover their weaknesses, and to bolster their strengths. Vi-Contactus, simply played their strengths, the strengths of a Child Soldier, taught from toddler-hood how to fight and how to fight, and how to win. Vi-Contactus used the raw battle-instinct of a SIGMA II to its advantage, and the SIGMA II's body as its tool. The SIGMA Biotic Arts combined raw, debilitating, brute force, with two simple mantras: If the enemy was bigger than you, keep it away, but if it was smaller or the same size as you, don't let go of it. A SIGMA II using Vi-Contactus had been able to utterly dominate the Asari Matriarch who had been teaching them biotic skill and mastery. The bewildered Asari had, before they were to be taken back home to Sparta, asked them to simply allow her to see how Vi-Contactus worked, as her curiosity in the simplicity of the art, far outweighed her fear in the raw damage it could do. The SIGMAs had responded that Vi-Contactus would be 'Human only', the same way the Commando Biotic Art, Fela'Sans, was exclusive to the Regius.

A final breath in, and out, and John hurled around the corner. Sure enough, his instincts and cautious attitude paid off, because an armed Human was waiting for him. John hooked his hand onto the wall of the archway, and his forward momentum was turned to circular momentum as he whipped around the corner, and towards the guard. Before it had even registered to the man that yelling for help would be a good idea, John's biotically-charged palm had slammed into the man's throat, collapsing his wind-pipe. An instant passed and John's left fist came hurling through the air in a wide arc, the blue fire of his biotics casting a horrifyingly ominous glow on his surroundings. John's fist, with its speed, raw force, and drastically increased mass, slammed into the man's nose, before John's knee roared into his solar plexus. John gave the man another right hook, which whipped the dazed and confused guard around, and in an instant John's right arm had hooked around the man's neck, while his left latched onto the man's left arm with a steel grip; thirty seconds passed and the man finally stopped struggling. John wasn't stupid, though, he'd seen this act before, he'd done it before. Another forty five seconds to make sure the man wouldn't get up, and John set him down to bleed on the ground, he didn't bother checking for a heartbeat as he stole the man's pistol, his magazines, and stalked back around the corner, he knew the man was dead, and he didn't reflect on what was essentially his first Human kill.

"Stay quiet." John whispered almost inaudibly, "that confirms he knows."

"But how could he have?" Miranda asked, taking the offered pistol and ammunition, "I've -"

"We don't have time for that, now." John said, though he already had several theories, "we need to move. Cut the power and get into that lab." Miranda decided now wasn't the time to argue with the child soldier, and simple nodded before she guided John through the dark basement.

Their trek through the silent darkness was not without confused feelings from John. That guard had been the only one they'd met, from point A to point B, at the hatch to the outside. He knew the man was a guard, he was armed and had a veteran look about him. Had he simply been at the wrong place, wrong time? Had he been placed there? John shook his head.

Expect the worst, hope for the best. Ducard had always told them.

Taking that to heart, John knew to expect that the door leading back to ground level, would have several dozen rifles pointed at it, ready to fire at a single twitch of the door.

"Hold." John ordered, "I'll open it."

"Something wrong?"

"Most likely."

The door John approached was veiled by light. John looked for something, anything, he could peer through, but couldn't find it. With a light sigh, John withdrew his weapon with his right hand, and ever so slowly opened the door with his left. When the door knob clicked its final resistance, John pushed the door open, little by little, until the light slowly began spreading through the basement, sending the small veil and turning it into a cloak that spread through the basement as achingly slowly as John opened the door. After a few seconds he had a crack open, just enough so that he could look through to the outside with just one eye.

Through the crack in the door, he saw the Lawsons' enormous backyard, which was intermittently lit by dozens of lights, all stuck into the ground, the lighting fixtures looked not at all unlike enormous fireflies, stuck headfirst into the ground. John couldn't see any enemies, nor, at first glance, could he at all see where there could be an entrance to an underground lab.

John holstered his pistol, and raised his hand and gestured forward, as he moved the door forward just a fraction more. Miranda slinked out before he did, and he silently shut the door after he exited the mansion; if all went to plan, he realized, he would never be entering that mansion again.

Upon exiting, the silence and darkness of the mansion was replaced by the lowlight and white noise of the Earth. John was successfully able to resist every single urge to simple wait in the shadows and absorb the scene around him. The small circles of light created by the fixtures in the ground cast a golden glow on the green grass around them. The clear sky above them was filled with the stars of the galaxy that, for at least a century now, the Humans of Earth could now examine up close and personally. Instead of focusing upon all of this, John focused on his immediate surroundings, he saw no soldiers, could spy no tactical cloak-shimmers, and couldn't - to the best of his ability - hear any drones, machines, cameras, or anything of the sort, anywhere near here.

John saw Miranda walk up to a small machine, hooked into the outside of her house. From the looks of it, John assumed it was the primary generator for the home's Virtual Environment Creator, he immediately knew what she was planning, when the girl activated her Smart Watch and began interfacing with the machine. The VEC was the recent successor to the V-Home, the two were essentially child and parent, respectively, though the VEC was far more advanced, and came with a vastly more customizable and easily understandable interface. The main weakness of any Virtual Environment, John knew, was that it had to interface with every single part of the house, including power. Miranda knew this too, and she fulfilled John's prediction the second everything around them, the house, the lights in the backyard, everything that drew power simply shut off.

"It will take an hour for the wireless generators and receivers to come back online." Miranda stated.

John got to his feet, "are you serious?"

Miranda blinked, "what?" She asked, looking to John.

"Mankind has had wireless generators since after World War Three, and even before then, we had backup generators in case the primaries fail... And you think this house will be dark for an hour." He stated, not as a question, but as a fact; Miranda made to speak, but John cut her off. "Where to next?"

"Follow me… It's rather clever, how my father hid the lab." She explained, as the two walked at a brisk pace across the pitch black lawn.

John couldn't help but smile, they hadn't done much in the ways of stealth yet - that was for the N7 training, that was still years off - but their Marine training had covered basic survival and stealth skills. Rule number one: Darkness was your ally; Rule number two: Never, ever rely upon it. John was embracing both rules as they walked through the enormous yard, made only bigger by the darkness of night. His eyes were wide, the darkness giving way to light as they adjusted to it, the cold air helped heighten his hearing as the bitter cool seemed to make the air still, and every little noise, from the smallest of crickets to the loudest of bullets, was made all the louder.

After walking across the dark green grass, they came to an area more closer to one of the wall's corners, than it was to the house. Within John's sight, was what looked like a smaller wall enclosure, which was filled with sand.

"It used to be my favorite play place, when I was younger." Miranda explained, a fondness in her tone. "What do you see?"

"A perfect place to lie in wait with a tactical cloak and a -"

"Anything else?" Miranda was only slightly surprised she hadn't seen that coming.

Silence for several moments, "a place in which I could hide from pursuers?" John looked at it closely, wishing Miranda would just get to the point; if Henry was awake, and suddenly the power that wrapped his rooms in holograms was cut, there was no doubt in the Child Soldier's mind that he would be investigating the problem as soon as he could navigate through his home, which, given the thirty nine seconds it took for them to traverse the enormous lawn, they most likely had only two more minutes, but John wouldn't hold out for such an optimistic time, so he decided it would take forty five seconds.

"I thought you were the one who was supposed to see these things?" Miranda said light heartedly, as she activated her smart-watch, decreased its brightness, and began interacting with its holographic surface.

"I'm a Super Soldier, Miranda." John said, "not a Super Spy. What am I supposed to be seeing here?"

"This." Miranda hit a button on her watch, and then a second passed before a large metal wall divided the two halves of the sand-pit. The walls then extended their tops to cover the pit entirely, before they lifted upwards, to reveal a hidden, metal staircase.

"Cheesy, I know…" Said Miranda, as the metal sections drove into the ground, allowing them entry into the underground passage, "but I suppose you won't know wh-" She was interrupted by John, who saw the shimmer long before she did.

John's gun was in his right hand, and his left was wrapped in biotic energy, which surged forth in a powerful violet Flare. The flare's detonation sent a brief flash through the yard, followed by a loud - but muffled - 'thump', and a shockwave, but it only took John the flash to jump into actions. Their attacker was revealed, he wore a standard Alliance Special Forces Tactical Cloak over his armor. The clear, hooded cloak's cybernetics had been utterly fried by John's flare, which left the thing useless as anything but a piece of clothing. Alliance SFTC's were a new invention, coming after the similarly named Tactical Cloaks from the Second Contact War. Ever since the Alliance Armed Forces had tried to fund armor/cloak combinations that would make the 'perfect' invisible warrior, they had since realized that the power requirements would simply make the armor far too bulky for the stealth ops it was designed for. The answer to this problem was the product of CJ Manufacturers' long months of research and development. This new tactical cloak was far more accurate to its name, it was a cloak that interfaced with the armor's energy shields, bending the light around the wearer, effectively turning him invisible, and did so in a way that diffused shadows as well, a technological innovation that no other company bidding for the TC Patent could accomplish, before orafter the Second Contact War. The cloak consisted of a small chip hooked into the armor's shield generator. It took little more power to activate and sustain the cloak than it did to activate and sustain the energy shields, thus it was perfect for extended stealth missions.

Ever since their successful testing by N7 forces, during the Mercenary Wars, Alliance SFTC's had become a mainstay for Alliance Special Forces on stealth missions; they were most commonly seen in N7 and SIGMA Operations. Orbital Dropping Death Dealers had been shipped the cloaks, and could most definitely use them if they wished, but they had - ever since their near universal success in the Second Contact War - embraced their 'walking tanks' stereotype, and as such tended not to need or even want the cloaks.

This man's cloak, as advertised and as designed, did well to cover the man's armor, so John couldn't tell if he was wearing any of the three types of Powered Infantry Assault Armor utilized by the Alliance Special Forces, if he was utilizing Alliance Standard Infantry armor, if he was using custom made armor, or if he was simple wearing the cloak. The soft metal 'clunk' the man's boot made as it hit the ground told him he was wearing armor, so John had to prepare for energy shields. John tackled the man and they tumbled inside the tunnel, they landed within with a 'clang' that sounded as loud as a Railgun blast, but John paid it no mind at this moment. With one swift, powerful blow, John slammed his biotic fist into the chest of his target, overloading the shields and thus shattering the cloak, bringing him into full view. The man wore Blue Suns armor, which John had been briefed extensively on: Blue Suns were the only mercenaries who posed any true threat to the Alliance Armed Forces, as they had been made around and sustained with solely Human technology. The SIGMA Teen placed his gun within the confines of the man's energy shield, stopping it from reforming, and pressed the barrel deep into the man's throat; before he spoke he heard the doors to the surface close, and knew Miranda had entered and sealed them from the outside.

"How many of you are there?" John demanded, quickly checking his surroundings, which were all lit with the sterile blue/white light of Simu-Sun light bulbs, this light proved to his advantage, because it would make it far easier to see other cloaked figures, of which, there were none. "Are any more of you cloaked?" John stared at the man's face, which was covered in a gas-mask, much more violent looking than the SIGMA's SCBA-looking helmet/visor combinations.

"Oh fuck off!" The man roared, in an accent that John couldn't properly identify, but was not at all unlike George's, and though his voice was no where near as deep as George's, it was certainly more gravelly.

The man made to reach for John's gun. John would admit, the deeply accented man moved quickly, but John acted with ingrained skill. He slammed his biotic fist into the man's face, which caused his helmeted head to slam onto, and then bounce off of, the metal ground beneath them.

"God damn!" The man shouted, now reaching for his helmeted head, "you fucking pack a punch, don't you?!"

"Stay quiet!" John ordered.

"The hell kind of twelve year old can use biotics like that?" The man asked, ignoring John and peering into his ear, "without an amp, too! What the hell?"

"I said -" John dug the gun into the man's throat, constricting his windpipe. "-stay… Quiet."

"Jesus!" The accented man whisped, "fine… Fine… Damn job isn't worth being interrogated by a twelve year old…" The man looked away from John, at Miranda, then back to him. "Tell you what, I'll get up, and put my weapons on the ground. You, me, and the Boss' girl over there will have a nice chat, and I'll leave like I've never seen an armed twelve year old."

John waited for a moment, "give me assurance that you won't use your weapons to shoot her."

The man paused for a moment, as he wracked his mind looking for something to offer the kid. "BSA oh-one, deactivate energy shields and release helmet." He ordered his suit's onboard computers. A hiss and a silver-blue shimmer later, and his energy shields disappeared, and his helmet fell from his head. "There, clear shot to me head. Now get off!"

John complied, but he kept his finger on the trigger of the pistol he kept aimed at the man's exposed head. The man's face was ovular, with a close-cut head of hair. He had two dark green eyes, and a general look of having seen much war and death, and was hardened because of it. John got another look at the armor, now that the man was standing, and it only reinforced that the man was Blue Suns. John recalled much of the information he'd been given about the Blue Suns, they were a Human-made and led band of Mercenaries that was rapidly gaining power, rumor amongst the SIGMA I's was that they had enough power to take down either one of the 'Big Two' mercenary companies in Citadel Space, though not enough to take them both. What John noticed, though, as the man stripped himself of his weapons, was his rifle in particular, it had the iconic look of a rifle John knew almost better than the Special Forces Rifles most commonly used by SIGMAs, and it was because of this innate knowledge that John immediately realized that the weapon on the ground was not the civilian model.

"Is that -"

"My lovely Standard Infantry Rifle, yes it is, and I don't want to know how you know that." Said the mercenary, "I'll not be stripping of me vest, you can understand." He added, as he leaned against the wall behind him.

"Where on Earth did you get one of those?" John nudged his foot forward to kick the rifle and the pistol away, but the man roared loudly than he had before, which froze John and made the child soldier instantly whip his weapon back on target.

"Don't you touch Jessie, kid!" The man shouted, "that rifle's seen more blood than the Alliance Army has in its entire existence!"

"It's not a Civilian model, and the Alliance is very thorough -"

"You obviously underestimate what the rebels steal and sell to the outer colonies. This one here, and I dated it, is at least three decades old. Found by some kid on Newson." Said the Mercenary, "and this rifle specifically, not hours after it had been dug up, killed about sixteen people, before I myself -"

"I don't care." John interrupted, "about your story. I want to know your name now." He stated, getting things back on track.

"Zaeed." The man grunted with a shrug, "you'll get the last name if you give me yours."

"John Shatner." John stated.

"Massani. Who the hell trained you, kid? I've never been hit with a biotic bomb like that before, and I fought Asari mercenaries… Seriously pissed off Asari mercenaries, at that." He chuckled faintly.

"That is information you don't need to know." John growled, "now, how many other mercenaries are in this base?"

"I dunno, really… Last numbers I had rested at about eighty. I only got here a few days ago." Zaeed mentioned.

The Mercenary's last statement sent off alarm bells in John's head, but he ignored it for the time being. "How many others of you have tactical cloaks?"

The mercenary shrugged, "asking the wrong man there, mate. Like I said, I've only been here for a few days. I think I saw about a dozen cloaks, including mine, when I went in and got mine this morning."

"What does their equipment look like?"

"Alliance stuff, SIRs and SIPs, tough shields, but only a few people here have armor, the place isn't that big."

John nodded, "why are you giving all this information to me openly?" He asked.

"Because I don't kill kids." Zaeed stated, "I was told I'd be protecting this guddamned place from a squad of hardened Cat-Six mercs… Not a twelve year old and his girlfriend." He paused, "and I've seen what they're doing in there. It's horrible."

"What will you do when we continue on?"

"Put my weapons back on and pretend I was knocked out. I know the procedure." The mercenary said.

John nodded. Every single one of his instincts were screaming at him to simply shoot this man and be done with it, but he didn't want to rack up a body count, if he didn't have to. Zaeed did as he said he would do, and after doing so simply lied down in the corner of the blank, decoration-less room they were in, and settled in for a nap.

"That was… Interesting." Miranda deadpanned, after they left the room and entered a long, steep stairwell.

"We lost time." Was what John responded with, "do you know where we're going?"

"If we can get some tactical cloaks, we could -"

"That will take too much time." John urged, "where are they keeping Oriana?" He demanded.

"The rear of the base."

"Then we head there." John stated, nodding to the steel door behind them.

Miranda walked forward and hacked through the door's systems. Once she got the door opened, the two quickly entered the base. Its long, steel corridors were lit with pale blue/white light. On both sides of these corridors were doors that probably led to the rooms of those who worked here. The lab itself was silent, if not for the distant conversations of the scientists going to their rooms for the night, and the muffled rumble of the generators providing the lab with its power.

Their trek through the lab - led by John - was halted at several points by security cameras, security workers and scientists. The scientists all wore non-descript, uniform clothing, black slacks and white T-Shirts, with pockets on their chests. The security workers, much like Zaeed had advertised, were all in baggy clothing, save for the few John had seen so far, who wore Blue Suns armor. Several times did the two have to freeze, else they risked being caught by the guards, who were becoming more frequent the further they went.

Five minutes passed by in complete silence, twice they had descended a stairwell - on instruction from Miranda - before the unthinkable happened. By pure happenstance, the two turned a corner, to literally come headfirst with a Blue Suns mercenary. All three of them, John included, froze out of the simple shock of running into each other. Miranda had, for a moment, tried to think up a story as to why they were down here, but the Blue Sun knew his orders, if they weren't a mercenary, and if they weren't a scientist, they weren't supposed to be here. John snapped out of it as he saw the Blue Suns begin to shift his body to reach for his rifle, John leapt into action the second the Suns' hand clasped around the butt of his rifle. John and the Blue Suns slammed onto the floor, and, after making a split-second decision, John knew he wouldn't have time enough to choke the man, or break his neck, so he stuck the barrel of his pistol onto the throat of the mercenary, and fired twice. The first bullet soared through meat, the second one struck bone, severing his neck and killing the man.

"Move, move!" John ordered, abandoning pretense and getting to his feet.