A/N:

It seems you folks are split on whether or not my taking John's memories of Miranda was moral, and as such, needed.

Well, firstly, I say that you have to remember that this entire half of the story - John being broken down and built back up - is about bleaching the human out of a child, to turn him in to a heartless, cold, calculating, killing machine with a questionable god complex.
So knowing all of that, what is worse? Taking the child, conscripting him (which in and of itself implies non-consent), and training him to become a super soldier? Or taking the only recent memories said child has that could even remotely humanize him? (Especially when one considers that, at this point, John being 'human' may be more of a hindrance than a benefit.)

And secondly, the immorality is half of the point. The other half being the emotional bleaching. I can tell you guys right now that, as the series goes on, John will become vaguely Human, but damage is being done now that cannot be undone. Which is why I'm showing you guys this, his journey from child to soldier, because if I just tossed you guys in to the beginning of the Reaper Saga, when John will be at his 'peak' - so to speak - you'd all be more or less confused, and far more apt to compare him to the Master Chief.

So, in short: There's a method to my madness.

And my second point - a lot of you mentioned how many 'blank' spots will be in John's mind because of the mind wipe. Well, all I'll say to that is - in time, be it soon or later - it will all be explained. After all, the Mysterious One isn't one to leave experiments in a position to fail, especially not one as important as this.

Now, without further ado - we're off!

Chapter 15

"They shall be my finest warriors, these men who give of themselves to me. Like clay I shall mould them, and in the furnace of war forge them. They will be of iron will and steely muscle. In great armour shall I clad them and with the mightiest guns will they be armed. They will be untouched by plague or disease, no sickness will blight them. They will have tactics, strategies and machines so that no foe can best them in battle. They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear."

— The Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind, Warhammer 40,000

April 6th, 2216

John would awaken with a start a solid twenty four hours after his impromptu procedure the day previous. All of his senses were, for reasons he couldn't explain, stuck firmly in combat-mode. These very senses and instincts had been the ones that had led him through a lifetime on Sparta, had let him know when there were SIGMAs ahead waiting to ambush them, or when their barracks were about to be raided with paint-wielding supersoldiers. But these thoughts brought an intense pain to the front of John's mind, but just as the pain - sharp and electrifying as it was - made itself known, it disappeared, leaving John with the clear mind he needed to try and flip himself off of his bed. When he tried, however, he realized he was bound to a hospital bed, with bandages covering his sore chest, head, and left arm.

He sensed a presence in the room and the lack of a familiar weight on his hip, letting him know that someone was there, and he was unarmed. The person who spoke did absolutely nothing to calm John's nerves, he had experienced far crazier scenarios than this.

"Alright, John. How many times have we told you to remain situationally aware?" Demanded Joseph Ducard, as he leaned forward on the chair he'd been sitting on. He'd spent hours fabricating this story, plugging its holes and making sure loose ends were taken care of, namely the SIGMAs that had been directly involved, and could have refuted it. Ducard went with the 'cold fury' route this time, deciding it best for the situation at hand. "More than that, what have we told you about going AWOL?"

John blinked hard, some parts of his brain were still fuzzy, he tried to recall what Ducard was referring to specifically. "Constant vigilance, don't do it." He said, in order; his voice a little hoarse, had he been shouting recently?

"Then explain to me how you let a surgeon mech get past you, and why you thought it was a good idea to wander the station by yourself." Ducard demanded, leaning back in his chair. "Because I am stuck on this. Surgeon Mechs aren't self-aware, and you know how to watch for patrol routes, so how on God's Blue Earth did you miss it?"

John leaned his head back on the pillow, the memories slowly coming back to him. He was on the station because he'd gone Absent WithOut Leave in Australia, which in and of itself was fuzzy, had he suffered memory damage because of the mech? After he'd spoken with the John Doe, he'd taken to walking the medical station, waiting for either his punishment or his reprimand, then there was a flash of white, a sharp pain in the back of his head, and then he was here.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"Twenty Four Hours." Ducard stated seriously, "and let's not forget you going AWOL down on the surface. I had to call in a lot of favors to make sure you didn't get out of the city, boy. What the hell made you think you could just walk out of the Opera House like that?" Ducard emphasized 'favors' with a shake of his voice, John knew this was a reaction to fear, but what on Earth would Commander Ducard fear?

John thought hard, it was slow in coming back to him, "I apologize, sir... I thought I saw him."

John noticed how instantly that had stolen the Commander's attention. "Saw who, John?"

"SIGMA Two-Six Thirteen, sir." The SIGMA II program's only late-arrival, of course. "I thought I saw him, I wanted to confirm it."

Ducard stared intently at the boy, he had no idea what had been put in place of the memories that the Mysterious One had stolen, but the way John spoke of II-613, it made Ducard think the boy had died. He couldn't pry too far in to this, but he had a slight reason to, and was thankful he had the foresight to bandage John's head. "You were hit hard on your head, John. What do you remember of him? Two-Six Thirteen."

"During the cross-company training, Two-Six Thirteen was attached to Delta company. He went missing during a survival training incident on while we were in a savannah near north-western Sparta, after a boroid attack." John said grimly, "I thought I saw him, sir. I had to check."

Good, a fake conscript, that means I don't have to put a kid to death. Thought the Commander, though a new problem was posed by the kid's false memories: Validating them with the rest of Delta Company, and that The Mysterious One already knew, at least on some level, that the II's were children. The former would be difficult, the latter, horrifying. Ducard had to play carefully, "I know his death weighs heavily upon you, John. But you went AWOL, I'll let you off with a warning this time, but if this happens again I'll take you out of Alpha Squad, maybe even keep your rank low. Am I Understood?" He demanded.

"Understood... Sir." Said John, with a light nod.

The next day, everyone was assembled in Titan Med-Station's hangar bay. Six hundred twelve child soldiers, all awaiting their briefing.

This is it. Thought John-S2-15, as he stood in formation among his brothers-in-arms in the only room large enough to hold all six hundred twelve SIGMA II's. Seven full blocks of eighty SIGMA Teens, and the eighth having the remaining ones. They all were assembled for one of the most important speeches of their lives, it was the speech they would be given before their first augmentations.

John, and the entire room, went silent as Leonard Trent, the Director for Augmented Affairs, entered the room. Few knew, but the seven foot tall man actually was a SIGMA, himself. He had taken the 'SIGMA Seven' but had retired years before the Second Contact War even began. The stories went that he had been among the rising faction of augmented men and women thoroughly angered by the lack of representation in parliament, and that when he'd retired from active duty had spent years working to get in to politics, eventually gaining his seat on the Board of Directors; fewer still knew that the reason he won his re-elections was because of his pull on Sparta, as the SIGMAs would be far more willing to trust his word than a 'regular' Human's. He stood upon a small platform in front of all of the SIGMA Teens, upon which there was a single podium, which had a microphone and a teleprompter, in case the man forgot what he had prepared himself. The man stood for a moment, and surveyed all of the child-soldiers in front of him. He stood tall at seven feet, had a healthy crew-cut head of black hair, and dark green eyes hidden behind thick rimmed glasses. He wore an elegant tuxedo, which seemed to make his broad, strong build seem less so, but he still retained an air of strength.

"You all have come far." Said the deep-voiced, thickly southerly accented Director. "In seven years, you've all went from sniveling children, to soldiers capable of fighting and defeating any enemy who comes across them. With your training, you've strength enough in your six hundred to rival the millions of the Alliance Marine Corps, the single strongest infantry branch in the known galaxy!" He called out, his already loud voice broadcast all over the hangar bay. "You all have spent the last seven years training in ways that would break most men, under conditions that would destroy lesser beings. You've conducted and learned such subjects that would outwit college graduates, and you're only at the halfway point in your journey.

"Today, you are taking the next step in your training. Two times you will be augmented in your lives, today being the first. Today you will be bio-chemically augmented. Such augmentations to improve your reflexes, your intelligence, your healing abilities. Your bones will be stronger than the bones of our Orbital Dropping Death Dealers by a factor of six! Your organs tougher than wood, your lungs and blood capable of holding more oxygen. Your eyesight will be improved, your reflexes improved so greatly that you can match AI's for reaction time! You'll be able to lift three times your body weights, you'll be able to snap necks and break bones with ease! With these augmentations, the preliminary augmentations, you'll be stronger than most Special Forces Operatives! At fourteen! You've still four years and a set of far more advanced augmentations to go, before you will be truly considered SIGMA Two Operatives!

"Today you all will become augmented. If you wake up in a month, you'll join your fellow Human beings on the battlefield." Trent expected and was given the most subtle, almost undetectable outbreak of murmurs; he wasn't surprised at the lack of panic on their faces, however, it was drilled in to a SIGMA's mind from day one that they could very well die on the operating table. When they calmed down, he continued. "Your comrades' exemplary performance during the Mindoir invasion -" everyone in the room knew who the man was talking about, John S2-15, known by the fighters on Mindoir 'SIGMA Two Fifteen', the very same SIGMA who had ran away for several days and come back as if nothing had happened. John didn't like the popularity he was attracting, but made no attempts to suppress or exacerbate it. "- have convinced us that, after your preliminary augmentations, you will all be ready for combat roles! You are all the warriors chosen by the Mother Earth, to protect her and her people! You will be fighting for her far sooner than you expected! But you will be ready!" A pause, "why is that?"

"WE ARE SIGMA!" Shouted the II's, all in unison, the deepening pubescent voices mixing with the yet-to-drop tones of the younger operatives, though not to the point where their speech was unintelligible. "WE ARE GODS!"

"Damn straight!" Trent responded, with a firm nod.

Several minutes passed as he explained how the Augmentation Procedures would go. In a quarter of an hour, all of the SIGMA II Companies were on the march. Ten minutes after that, and all of Titan Station was filled to the brim with teenagers in their own rooms, lying down on surgical tables, and settling down for a journey that would fundamentally change them.

John S2-15 was among the last to find his room. It was a small, concise thing, with several computers surrounding a small, curvy, metal hospital bed with no blankets. There was a small glass panel on the center of the table, with lights periodically placed at regular intervals, its thinness reminded John of a Human Spine, the knowledge supported by the fact that he knew he had to lie down upon it. Before he did so, he removed his shirt, his boots, his socks and his pants; he folded them up and placed them in the corner of the room. Now clad in only his underwear and his dog-tags, John ambled onto the table. A small night-stand looking pedestal extended from the ground, John knew what he had to do. He removed his new Smart Watch, and placed it upon the pedestal, then he yanked off his dog-tags and placed them in the receptacle, and after they were scanned and acclimated, the pedestal sank back into the ground. John knew it was time, time to be changed forever. The child lied down and, after a single deep breath, closed his eyes. He heard the medical machinery begin whirring to life, and felt a flicker of fear in his belly.

What if something went wrong? What if he had Augmentation Rejection Syndrome? Was getting augmented painful? So many questions ran through John's mind, that he nearly jumped when he felt the first needle enter his skin, but the anesthetics in the needle immediately put him in a coma, keeping him blissfully unaware of the sensations of the machines carving into his body and changing it almost on a raw genetic level.

Hours passed by, dozens of needles and surgical tools were deposited in chemical baths to be sterilized, as the machines worked tirelessly to augment the fourteen year old child on the bed of metal. First came his bones, they were injected with chemicals, drugs, and stimulants that made them several times harder, thicker, and tougher than a bone structure of a normal Human's would be. In addition to their more efficient blood production, John's bones were being changed at a baseline level that when they were finished, outside of raw aesthetics, his bones would be unrecognizable from that of a normal Human. That process alone took hours, but it was eventually finished.

Next came his organs, which were coated with chemical, pharmaceutical, and even light radiological treatments to make them tougher, more efficient, and far more durable and protected than normal organs. Now, John's blood cells would be able to carry oxygen far more efficiently, and his lungs would be able to take in and hold it much more, giving him much healthier breathing abilities. John would be able to hold his breath for far longer, sprint for a greater distance, breathe in much thinner atmospheres. His heart and liver were both augmented, the former could withstand a far greater heart rate, and could pump much more quantities, and much more healthy blood, and the latter could filter much more through his system. His brain was changed enough so that his reflexes would be increased exponentially, now he would be able to react several times faster than even the most experienced N7 Elite, and it was much more susceptible to information, giving him an educational edge. His eyes were among the last - quite essential - things to be augmented, but they were changed successfully. Now he could see color far more sharply, giving eyesight greater than an eagle's, night vision greater than the most keen-eyed cat. The organ augmentations took nearly half the day to complete, but were done successfully with minimal, noticeable damage, his accelerated healing factor would have the scars fade in time.

Following his organs, were his muscles and blood veins. His muscles' density was increased, and they were made far more susceptible to flexing and growth. John could soon be able to lift several times his own weight, and with effort he could be able to bend metal pipes. His muscular and cardiovascular augmentations were amongst the most visible of them all, his veins were a noticeable shade of blue, and his muscles were far more developed and noticeable. He wasn't as big as a body-builder, but his development was definitely noticeable. His muscular augmentations took the rest of the day to finish, but were the most precise, more so than even the organ augmentations. Hours passed, and it was well into the next Alliance Standard Day, before they finished.

The rest of the augmentations, as precise and as long as they took, finally passed by with the coming and going of another Alliance Standard Day. John felt none of them, but even in his dreams he could tell something was being done to him. It was once all of his augmentations were finished that the last one came, his body needed to be aged in order to properly acclimated and evolved around his newly changed genetic structure. To this end, his growth hormones were stimulated, growing his body to its natural limits and beyond, his skeleton grew, his muscles densified, his body was aged in all but appearance. When his growth stimulation was finished, his augmented body would stand tall at seven feet, with the physical build of an MMA Fighter, thick muscles wrapped around his now indestructible bones, a tall structure underneath his tanned skin. Had no one had a good look at his face, still teenaged in appearance, they would easily mistake him for a decades-old veteran soldier.

Days passed after the augmentations were finished, and unbeknownst to John - or any of the SIGMA II's in recovery - their own, personal sets of N7 Light-Infantry Powered Assault Armor were being delivered. The Alliance spared no expense for the SIGMA II's, though would not dedicate the resources to make them Titan Armor sets, built around their post-preliminary bodies, because the full-sized versions alone cost nearly enough to make a starship, smaller versions, meant to cater to SIGMAs lacking the proper augmentations to wield a true set, would likely cost twice as much.

Fortunately for John, he would think not of any of this, as he was unconscious, being changed on the most fundamental of levels.

Days turned into weeks, and as the Alliance's first Child Soldiers were recovering, the war effort in the Hegemony was slowing to a grind. Now that the awe had passed the shock, the Hegemony had finally shaken themselves into a war-status, and were finally beginning to counter Alliance forces. Battles were being fought in which there was no clear victor, in which one side triumphed over another, both won equal territory, but the Alliance's military might always turned out to be too much, and eventually even the most fortified positions fell to the might of the Human/Quarian empire.

The Nuclear Detonation on Siler had not gone unnoticed. Tensions had been increased dramatically on the Alliance/Council borders, the Citadel had been somewhat willing to forgive the incursions into Hegemony territory, they were retaliatory after all. Considerations were taken into account that war conventions for the different societies, were as different as one species was to another, but the fact remained that the Citadel thought it was the Humans who had dropped the bomb, and the Humans were desperately trying to prove that it wasn't.

As a result of the Human-Batarian war's beginning, more ships had been sent to the Council's outer borders, to sway Humans away from mounting incursions on other Council worlds. The Humans hadn't thought of doing so, but the increased naval presence was testing their patience, and as a result, they too were sending their ships to bolster their borders. The Alliance Director for Affairs had been rumored to be seriously considering a draft, but had been swayed by the Director for Defense that the Alliance Military was strong enough as-is, to defeat the Hegemony and exact revenge for the lost Human and Quarian lives. Because of this decision, the Alliance hadn't been shifted primarily to a war economy, the final percentage of revenue pushed towards military funding, be it mech production, AI Synthesis, Ship Building, Weapon Crafting, or armor construction, remained at the same ten percent total it had been for the last decade.

Ever since the Nuclear Bombing had went public, the already swelled recruiting lines had increased in size. Every able-bodied man and woman was signing up to serve, if not to serve the Alliance, and the Human and Quarian race, than to make sure that a Weapon of Mass Destruction wasn't dropped on their home next. In weeks, over six hundred thousand men and women - primarily Human, but with a Quarian minority as well - had joined the multitude of Armed Services, which the Alliance was readily - and quite greedily - accepting, more than willing to beat the Batarians on a numbers game, as well as a territory, technological, and economic game as well.

Analysts from all sides had been discussing and re-iterating every bit of news that came in from the war-front. From the Citadel, arguments were made for and against assisting the Batarians, who were a Citadel Species after all, and therefore were afforded the protection of the Citadel Military. Those in favor used the previous reasoning, while those against said that Humans always attacked in retaliation, even during the ongoing Alliance Rebellion, the Alliance had only begun counter-invasions when the Rebellion had attempted to sack their Relay-heavy hub-world, Elysium. The naysayers argued that it was the Hegemony's own fault that they mounted incursions on Human territory, and they should be the ones to suffer the consequences, not the Turian peace-keeping forces.

Other arguments from the Citadel's side were of the use of Nuclear Weapons. The Batarians, the Council, and many other client races blamed it on the Humans, while the Humans blamed it on the Batarians. Evidence put forth by the Humans, consisting of the types of radioactive material left in the fallout zone, the type of weapon when compared to Human Nuclear Weaponry, and other such pieces of material were the primary argument of Human innocence. Many factions were ready to believe them; further, the Human reaction to the bomb, namely, the lack there of, with no known Human investigations being launched in to the ordeal, begged the Council to investigate the Humans in this. Some said that the Humans instigated the Batarians, to have an excuse to 'vent their frustration', as it were, in the only way they truly knew how: Brutalizing weaker militaries. Many had argued that the Alliance didn't truly try to stomp weaker militaries into the ground, but these arguments went dead in the water when all of the Alliance's Wars were brought to light: The Second Contact War, the Mercenary Wars, and now the titular Batarian War. The only military that truly challenged the Alliance Armed Forces was the Rebellion, and that was by virtue of the fact that the Rebels had bogged down Alliance forces for years, in a brutally violent guerrilla war.

Many on the Citadel had also debated the rapidly increasing military deployments in Citadel Space. The inner-territorial fleets had been quartered in the last week and a half alone, and moved to the borders, to keep Human Ships from going beyond their boundaries, and were expected to be completely halved, if the Humans eventually broke down and went through on their War Economy threat. As if in response to this, the Alliance had brought its available Naval forces to bear upon its borders, with rumors were flying that the Alliance was going to initiate the 'Jack Frost' protocol, and remove all relays leading to and from their core worlds, essentially 'freezing' their worlds from further assaults from the Batarians. Many reasoned that, while the Alliance would most certainly do this - Earth, Eden, Roof, and Valhalla, the Alliance's most critical Core Worlds, all already had their relays removed from the systems - the cost, both short and long run, would be crippling to their economy, which many predictors and analysts believed would suffer a huge blow, if they were actually going to go through with their plans to save all of the Slaves from Hegemony Space.

The Citadel wasn't the only coalition that was arguing, however. The Humans and Quarians of the Human Systems Alliance, also had heated debates with each other. The Quarians were often far more level-headed than the Humans, due in part to the fact that the Quarians hadn't known the horrors of war in centuries, and therefore had a far more neutral point of view, than the Humans, who had been in bed with war since before the dawn of their historic ages. The Quarians were always, consistently and constantly, pushing for the Humans to be less harsh on their enemies. They felt that the Rebels shouldn't at all be tried as terrorists, but rather as misguided, indoctrinated and tricked warriors, who could be treated and cared for, and won over; the Alliance responded simply by allowing Rebels the chance to surrender. They had felt that utterly destroying the mercenaries was the wrong course of action, as it could incite more violent repercussions; the Alliance responded simply with enormous weapons and massive invasions, if the Mercs were headquartered on planets, dozens of Kinetic Rods were dropped before the OD3's, SIGMAs, and then the Marines were brought in. If the Mercs were headquartered in Space Stations, they were simply incinerated in nuclear fire. Except for the few that had civilian hostages, but they were dealt with by the best of the best: Alliance SIGMA Operatives.

Many Alliance debaters had argued for a far more non-discriminatory approach to the invasion. Simply killing the offending Batarians, and leaving the slaves there to work amongst themselves. Ironically, the Quarians were the largest voice against the inhumanity of this idea, and it only took a few days for it to be dropped entirely. Another, far more popular argument, had simply called for large-scale civilian help with evacuating the former slaves, assisting them with recovery, and providing the Alliance with assistance wherever it was needed, be it in the war-front, or in the medical tents.

To Jorell'Sahn nar Mindoir, being sixteen Human years old, and thus only a year away from the age in which he could legally embark upon a Quarian Pilgrimage, these debates were of minor consequence. One thing many failed to mention was, in this new Quarian society, the idea of the Pilgrimage was an old and possibly even outdated one. How was one supposed to prove his worth to the fleet, if there was no fleet to prove his worth to? Many in the Admiralty board - which largely, now, served the same function as Earth's 'United Nations', serving as a guiding voice for the spread out but still united Quarian Race, - had been debating for years about whether or not to do away with the pilgrimage entirely. It was only in the last year did the Admiralty board finally decide that it was the best way to go with Human customs on this, at eighteen a Quarian would be considered an adult, but 'vas' wouldn't be entered into his or her name, as being called the 'crew of' something would need to be earned. Instead, they would simply be known by their title, that is to say, their name. 'Nar' was an optional, but still usable, part of their name that still existed on their records, but 'Vas' was a title that now had to be worked for.

The problem was, the Admiralty Board had yet to decide just what would be honorable enough to warrant obtaining 'Vas' in a Quarian's name. The only thing they knew, that is to say, the only thing they agreed upon, was that service in the Human Military was definitely a worthy title. Thus, a full tour of duty in the Alliance Military definitely earned 'Vas', and then the name of the ship, the colony, or the space station they worked upon. This was why so few current-generation Quarians actually had the title 'Vas' in their name, because the horror stories from veterans of Human Wars had shied a very great many away from joining even the Alliance Navy.

Jorell had only a few months until he himself would become eighteen and, by Alliance standards, an adult. He had had long discussions with his mother and, when he was present, his father, about what could earn the title in the eyes of the Admiralty Board. His father had told him the obvious, military service would earn it, but his father had been a Marine since the days of the Migrant Fleet, and he still was one, dutifully serving on a Batarian world, fighting the ones who had so harmfully injured his species' saviors.

That was one thing very few non-Quarians, and even many Humans, outside of Alliance Territory understood. The Humans were viewed with utmost awe by the Quarians, Jorell included, now that he was older and finally understood what their history meant. But the Humans weren't seen as awesome, because of their prowess with war, or because of their technology, but rather because they had saved the Quarians. Any other race, the crewman of the former Migrant Fleet knew, would have sacrificed the entirety of the Quarian Race, if it meant they could avoid war with the Turian Hierarchy, but the Humans had taken one look at the situation, and had responded by literally shoving themselves in front of the line of fire, using their outnumbered fleets, their numerically inferior armies, and their bull-headed tactics, to ensure one thing, that the Quarian race was no longer subjugated and exiled. Of course, Jorell knew that they were defending their Earth, but it had only taken them a moment to realize that it was because of Quarian lies that they had been attacked in the first place, but instead of acting with malice and hatred, like other races would, the Humans acted by warring on the Quarians behalf. The Quarians helped, but this war - and the Mercenary wars after it - had been largely Human affairs. It was only when the rebellion began, did the ever-grateful Quarians begin to repay their debts. For all their faults, one thing remained constant with Humans: Compassion. They had sacrificed almost everything to protect and save the Quarians, and now the Quarians had their first true chance to repay these debts, by bringing the might of the slowly rebuilding Quarian Race, down upon the Batarian Hegemony.

Jorell, however, had little time to think about these things. He'd taken Psychology this year of high school, not Philosophy. It wasn't a decision he regretted, of course, Dave'Jones was an amazing teacher, very funny. The problem was, though, becoming a psychologist wasn't going to do anything to help him become a Vas, a member of a Crew. His mother had suggested public service, but Jorell had no interest in Police Work, and he very much doubted the Elysium Fire Department would have use of his services. Then had come the idea of going to college and getting a job in politics, he could possibly get a job on Arcturus, and after a few years, earn 'Vas Arcturus' as his name.

They all sounded like good ideas to Jorell, but when he heard a knock on the door, his mind began wandering to other things. Things like that girl, Jessica, at the high school, he didn't know if she had been flirting with him because she liked him, because he was Quarian, or because he was reading too into things. And another thing at school, his grades in English and Kehlish had been slipping, he had to study on those now, but his Engineering project would be due in a few days, and he still had some work to do on the rover he'd designed.

Another knock on the door, it suddenly clicked that it was neither his door that was being knocked upon, nor was it the time to be knocking on doors. It was 9PM Alliance Standard, 11:30 PM Solar, so who could be at the door at this hour? His mother was home, probably sleeping or watching the news, and he highly doubted any of their friends were actually here to speak to them.

Curious, Jorell slid his chair back from his desk, and before he got to his feet, he snatched his mask up. One thing Jorell implicitly enjoyed about Human society was QIS612, the immunodeficiency nanomachine colonies that were traveling through his veins this very second. They allowed him an immune system comparable in strength to a Human's, and thus, he could be without his mask whenever he wished. But to his and his mother's wishes, he rarely wore the mask outside of his home, only his mother, his father, and his best friend knew what his face truly looked like. He clicked on the mask as he opened the door to his room, Jorell lived in the loft at the top of their house, it was a big room and it offered him the privacy he'd been craving the last few years. He often did little with this privacy, but it was the fact that he had it that satisfied him.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard wailing. It wasn't the wailing of police sirens, though, it was the wailing of a voice. A distinctly Quarian voice.

What the hell? Thought Jorell, using a phrase he was fond of, that he'd learned from his friend.

Jorell bounded down the stairs, his forest-green boots thumped loudly on the carpeted floor. He ripped open the door to the living room, and he sprinted out to the house's front door, what he was greeted with made him freeze. His mother was on her knees, sobbing, two Alliance Men in their dark Dress Uniforms were standing there, solemnly looking down on the sobbing Quarian as a third Alliance Man kneeled down and had his hand on her shoulder. In his hand was a box, and from this distance Jorell was able to use his mask's built in Helmet Mounted Display, to zoom in and read it.

In Kehlish lettering, it simply read, 'In The Event That I Die, Herinan'Sahn vas Midway.'

Jorell's mind came to a sudden and crashing halt, as it clicked what his mother was crying about. Numbly, he stepped forward, drawing the attention of the furthest Alliance Man. The furthest tapped the shoulder of the middle man, who looked from the first Human to Jorell, a sorrowful look on his face. This was one thing Jorell didn't like about Humans, it was far too easy to read them. He too collapsed next to his sobbing mother, who immediately clung to him for support, sobbing to the point that Jorell was only slightly aware that he was surprised she hadn't flooded her bright blue mask. Jorell wrapped his arm around his mother's shoulders as she sobbed, he felt so numb that he only barely heard the words coming from the foremost Human on their property.

"Regret to inform you…" Jorell's heart skipped a beat, "Sergeant Herinan'Sahn vas Midway…" Jorell's blood went cold, in spite of the gratious feeling he felt in the wake of the Human getting his father's name correct in its entirety. "Was killed in action." That was what pushed Jorell over the edge too, he felt the tears streak down his face, as his mother broke into desperate sobs.

"My… God." Said the Orbital Dropping Death Dealer, Sergeant Bill Sampson, when he first exited the medical tents, and then spied the rifles.

It was an age-old tradition in Human society, Marines, Soldiers, any Serviceman who fought and died in the battlefield, away from home, who couldn't be conceivably brought back home, would be buried under his rifle. But the nuke had incinerated thousands of Alliance Marines, and hundreds more Alliance Soldiers. The Rifles weren't simply lined up in a single row, the better word to describe what the veteran Special Forces operative saw, was a field of rifles, stuck into the ground by the barrel, with some having dog-tags hanging off of their stocks, and others simply being left unmarked.

"Fuck." Sampson thought aloud, his eyes wide and crinkled together, thoroughly enraged.

Thousands of his brothers in arms, be they OD3, Marine, or Soldier, had died in seconds, and they had been the lucky ones. Many still were dying because of radiation poisoning, and their bodies were so contaminated that Sampson knew that their bodies were being incinerated. But simply burning the bodies of the servicemen wouldn't do them justice, for the Humans, they were brought into orbit by Hazmat Ships, and sent through the warp, to be incinerated by Sol. A proper ending, the soldiers who came from earth would end their journey, in that which began theirs. The Quarians, however, were sent to Keelahnan's sun, as their home system's sun wasn't entirely accessible, thanks to the Geth.

"Dad… Are you okay?" Sampson turned around and saw his beautiful daughter. She had long since discarded her bio-hazard suit, now able to let her auburn hair flow freely. She had been there the day before, when the Admiral himself had arrived to let the survivors of the nuke know two things, that lifted all of their spirits: They would be given medals, Purple Hearts, and leave. No one should survive a nuke, and have to go back to the battlefield, he'd told them, so now they were waiting for the shuttle to take the healthy to Earth, and the sick to one of the many medical stations orbiting it and Mars. Apparently Titan Station was being used in its entirety, which was a shame, its sheer size would be able to accommodate half of everyone here, slaves included. He had intended to ask what it was being used for, but the Admiral had simply told him that what was cooking at Titan would end up ending this war before it could get any uglier, and hadn't said anything else.

"I looked at the casualty lists. Sixty one hundred, give or take a few hundred. That's how many died in the flash. In the following half hour, five hundred more died through exposure. Twenty four hours after that, a thousand dead through side effects. Over the past few days, nine hundred more dead. Eight thousand, five hundred and twenty dead, Jillian." Sampson could see, in the distance, the clouds and the sky split as an enormous Alliance Transport Vessel broke the cloud barrier and entered the atmosphere. "I don't know what we'll be doing… But the Batarians won't be making it out of this the same way they went in. There will be a permanent scar on the face of the Hegemony, and, god willing, it's going to read Fuck You, signed by yours truly." He and his daughter grinned despite themselves.

"Jillian!" An Asari voice called out, "Jillian, what is that?" The Asari in question trotted up to Jillian and pointed to the rapidly approaching Alliance Vessel. "Are the Masters back, to take us from this?"

Jillian looked from the Asari to her father, who shook his head and sighed. The girl had convinced him to try and do what he was about to do a few days previous, even though it could cost him far more than his job in the long and short run. But he'd seen the flicker of hope in his child's eyes, and in the end couldn't say no."That's what we call a Colony Ship." Sampson supplied, "pretty much, it's an armed version of the Public Transport Ships the colonists use to settle worlds. It had a carrying capacity of over a million people, but can serve up to two, if the situation called for it."

"It is enormous... I never knew the Masters could make things so big!" The Asari cooed, as she watched the enormous, fifteen hundred meter long vessel hurtle through the air.

"You should see a Dreadnought, lady." Sampson said, without thinking.

"Dad…" Jillian reminded the Dealer, with a stern look.

Saira blinked, innocently, as she gazed from the colony ship to the Human. "The Masters changed their warships, too?" Saira asked, blissfully unaware of her friend's words.

Bill chuckled, "Oh no, not the Masters... You see, the Masters' Dreadnoughts are big ships, I don't know what they look like, to be honest, but they are big. But ours, they're guns." Sampson said, "Two and a half kilometer long guns."

The Asari looked bewildered, "truly? How is that possible?"

"Because we're Human. We're better at... Most everything." The snide part of him wanted to add 'except peace' to the end of his statement.

"Dad, I think you've frightened her enough." Jillian stated, firmly.

"But if your ships are so large, they would need -" Saira pushed.

"Lit-" A stern look from Jillian, "miss Saira, if there's anything I've learned raising my daughter, its that when she's said enough is enough, it's enough." He made a zipping motion with his fingers, above his lips. "I might be able to beat a Batarian, unarmed, with one arm only being held together by my armor, the other barely functioning, and one leg broken, but even if I was a SIGMA, I'm pretty sure my daughter could tear me apart." A pause, "so I think we'll talk about these things later, when we get to Earth."

This perked Saira up immensely, "truly? The Masters are sending us to the Earth?" She asked, the first flicker of hope entering her voice in centuries.

"That ship's taking the wounded warriors to the Earth Medical Stations. We've got a few other, smaller colony ships, coming in for the former slaves. I've... Got it cleared with a few friends who owe me favors, you can come with me." Bill explained.

Saira nodded happily, but then paused, "Are... You are sure?"

"Saira." Jillian forced the alien to look at her. "We're sure, now calm down." She said, with a light grin.

The mood instantly changed from light, to somber, and Bill, not wanting their trip home to begin like this, changed the subject. "Jill, when was the last time you had some good-ol'-fashioned New York Pizza?"

Jillian smiled as she immediately predicted what her father was doing. "A few years, Dad."

"And what about you, Saira?"

"What is Good-Ol'-Fashioned New York Pizza?" Saira intoned.

Bill and Jillian exchanged glances, and then looked to Saira.

"Lady, we have got a lot to teach you." Bill said, with a smile, as the ship came to a halt a few hundred meters northwest of their camp, and shuttles began pouring out of it.