Chapter 25

"If the prisoner is beaten, it is an arrogant expression of fear."

― Ghassan Kanafani

July 4th , 2216

The atmosphere aboard the lone cruiser, heartily drifting through space had at once been light, almost celebratory, as the men aboard the Hirun were going to – for the first time in several months at the very least – go home, to Palaven, to their families. The day had begun routinely, the Captain made his rounds and then retreated to his quarters to prepare his reports. Of course, everything changed almost immediately after they had to make the dreaded – but necessary – trek through the regions of space the Alliance called their 'Border Worlds', those few worlds that stood between the Alliance's mid and inner colonies and the Citadel. Unfortunately, now the atmosphere was tense and frantic, unimaginably bad news had just been relayed to the ship's Captain.

"What do you mean our engines have failed?" The Captain of the Hirun demanded, he would not have believed the engineer had he not seen the lights flicker and felt the jolt that came from rapid, unprepared exit of FTL flight.

"Sir... I mean just that." Guiltily said the Head Engineer, "the drive core simply... Stopped." He gestured to the enormous ball of refined element zero, resting behind multiple radiation shields and blast doors. "We cannot start it any more, and I don't need to explain that our thrusters rely upon it to give us FTL Flight... Without it we're just a projectile surfing through space."

"How?" The Captain demanded, his quiet tone managing to deafen the ship worse than if he'd been screaming in frustrated rage. "How could this happen? Didn't the last crew perform their checks? Didn't we?" He was, understandably, livid, there were few solutions to a dead drive core when one was floating in the middle of nowhere, space, fewer when one wasn't necessarily legally flying through foreign territory.

"We cannot ascertain... The best we can guess came when we discovered some faulty plating on the starboard engine, it must have exposed the drive core and some of the Eezo got shaved off during decompression." The Engineer explained, "now there is simply too little to hit faster than light speeds."

"Can we fix it?" The Captain almost begged, "can we do anything at all?" Their armory wasn't as stocked as it would be on a Human ship, but it had enough weapons that, perhaps, if they disassembled all of them, they might be able to salvage enough eezo to bring their core back up to snuff, but the engineer would know better, and had likely already considered such an option.

There was a palpable silence. "Sir... Not without help." The engineer finally sighed, defeatedly, after considering everything he knew was possible with their given resources.

The Captain realized what the Engineer was alluding to, he took one step back and leaned upon the nearest bulkhead, stress just oozing off of him. "You want us to call out a distress call... In Human territory."

"Sir -"

"You realize that doing so puts everyone on the ship at risk." He interrupted, "that their damned Artificial Intelligences will be able to sense the faults in our stories... That they will instantly become suspicious if we stick to the mercenary story..."

"Sir... We're not doing anything illegal..."

"The Alliance has all but outlawed foreign mercenary agencies in their territory. The only ones here that actually manage to stay afloat under their heavy regulations are their Blue Suns." The Alliance's relationship with any mercenary organization anywhere was tense at the absolute best, even their own domestic 'Private Security Firms' faced heavy regulations, and they weren't the organizations stupid enough to try anything war-like.

The Head Engineer paused a moment, "sir, calculations say that if we don't get this thing fixed... It will take somewhere in the vicinity of several tens of thousands of years to get to the next relay. We'll follow your orders, sir, but..."

The Captain sighed, deeply. "I want everyone ready for battle." He stated, "send out the distress call only when the ship is locked down tighter than an Asari Priest's hips."

The Engineer suppressed a chuckle out of professionalism, "yes, sir."

"I mean, it's not like we're going to find anything out here!" Petty Officer Dolf Bryant said, exasperatedly, as he enjoyed a glass of water in the lounge and let his hat hang on his uniformed knee. "The Batarians launched one attack on an inner colony, and all of a sudden every single relay colony needs every ship not on the front lines." He shook his head and grunted.

"Well, yeah, but that flotilla of Mock Up ships they hit us with? Took down ten boats before they got the eff out of dodge... Higher Up doesn't want that happening again." The Seaman he was speaking to mentioned.

"But do you really think they'll try to hit us again, when they're down to one last planet?" Bryant asked of the Seamen, "in three months we've taken down five planets, each one with Human slaves... They've only got one left, and we're damn close to taking that one too!"

"But I heard they've got those... Hunters? Those Hunters swarming on the planet..." The Seamen said, "it's going to be a hard fought -" He was cut off by the sound of the AI broadcasting through the ship.

"All hands, General Quarters. All hands, General Quarters." All pretense was dropped as everyone followed the orders of the SynthHuman, several lagged behind as they assumed it was a drill, but that notion was dispelled when they passed by one window on the port side of the ship.

"Holy shit, that's a Turian cruiser!" Someone called out.

Another soon confirmed it, "god damn, you're right!"

True to form, there was a Turian Cruiser several kilometers out from the ship, a bright silver, aerodynamic vessel breaking the black and white nothingness that was space. It seemed almost broken, somehow, as there were no lights on on the outside.

"What's a Turian Cruiser doing in Alliance Space?" Someone demanded.

"Hey, General Quarters, move!" An Officer came thundering through the hallway, obviously having been ordered somewhere specific by someone important.

The Captain of the Alliance Destroyer, the SSV Theodore Logan, one Hannah Shepard, was busy barking orders to her crew while simultaneously listening to a report from the ship's AI, one that had modeled itself after a World War 3 war-hero, Sergei Minst.

Shepard had no idea what the cruiser – which the AI had, after some prying, discovered with Turian tech, but a Mercenary IFF – was doing in Alliance space. Theories flew threw her mind about another set of Mercenary Wars, or perhaps a second Human-Turian war. She hoped her AI could deliver hope against those sentiments, but her hope was unfounded as the AI made its report.

"Captain, it seems that the warship is making every attempt to fly mercenary colors." Sergei informed her, "but it is, in fact, a Hierarchy warship. Its emergency broadcast is telling of Drive Core failure and a need for towing, otherwise they shall be stranded in space."

"If they're flying mercenary colors, how do we know they're Turian?" Shepard asked, brushing some errant red hair behind her ear, finally calming herself down, now that the primary gunnery stations had reported the broadside cannons were charged and ready for fire.

"Turian Military broadcasts use a unique double encryption to protect against intruders. I detected another, lower-band broadcast above what we had detected upon exit-warp." The AI explained, "it seems that, while they were calling for anyone nearby for help... ET was also phoning home."

"Should we expect hostilities?"

"Negative, ma'am." The AI's avatar shook its head, and then brought up a hologram of the ship in question. "Its drive core is offline, so the best they can do is launch torpedoes and attempt to hit us with the point-defense turrets... Their main cannon is completely offline, totally unusable."

Shepard sighed, and lowered her head onto her hand. If she left the ship there and they got help from the Hierarchy, the costs would be too many to count. If she helped the ship and it proved to be hostile, she could lose many marines. However if she simply shot the ship down, the Alliance may revoke any possible seat upon the much-talked-about Captain's chair for the new Carrier they were constructing, the Einstein.

Shepard brushed her dark red hair back behind her ear and sat up. "Open channels to the 'Hirun', tell them we're here to help and to be ready for a boarding."

"At once, Captain."

"Captain... The Alliance is here." A communications officer reported solemnly, as the vid-screen lowered in front of the Captain. "They're hailing us."

"On screen."

The vid-screen revealed a non-descript image, the symbol of the Alliance Navy. It had three of their 'wet' ships sailing beneath the mighty Dreadnought, the 'Beautiful Annihilation', they called it.

"This is the Human Systems Alliance Navy." Came the voice of their ship's AI, "independent vessel 'Hirun', we are responding to your distress call. Heave-to and prepare to be boarded."

The Captain made a quick order for three Spartecs to be ready, armed, at the airlock and sent his response, before he himself made for the airlock. Ten minutes passed by in tentative silence, the small ovular portal to the Void looked as cold as the silvery steel it was made from. Through one click and a small jolt of the ship, the warm air of the Hirun engaged in an epic battle with the chilled air of the Alliance Vessel, the 'Theodore Logan'.

The airlock opened up and presented a squad of five Alliance Marines, all armed. Fortunately for the Spartecs none of them were aiming their rifles at them, so they had that going for them. After the Marines entered and decided the place was safe, an Officer entered the ship, he wore the fatigues of an Alliance naval-man.

The Captain's comm buzzed. "Captain, we've got a priority one from the base -"

"Not now." The Captain whispered, before he nodded, straight-faced to the Human. "Greetings... I am captain Teridol Shte of the Hirun."

"Greetings, Captain." The Human said, politely, with a nod.

"Captain, you need to -"

"Not now!" The Captain reached up to switch off his communicator, but heard the words before he clicked it off.

"They said the Prisoner escaped! They cannot find him!" Click went the communicator.

"Is something wrong, Captain?" The Human asked, inclining his head in the universal sign of interested confusion.

"Just an update on the engines... I pray that is why you are here?"

The Human nodded, each action lifting tons of stress from the Captain. "We are... When we finish our patrol here in this system we would gladly be willing to tow you to the nearest colony so you can conduct repairs." He said, "we were just hoping you could tell us what you were doing here... So far from Council territory." His tone held the kindest inflection of suspicion, to the point where the Turian almost didn't detect the naturally confrontational human vocal tendencies.

"Honestly, sir... We were wondering the same thing." The Captain said, playing the 'nonchalant' card. "We were hired several days ago, out of the blue, to go in and pick up some businessman's package on some Alliance world... You call it Roof?" He said, before he waved his hand, "now, here we are, heading back to Illium, when our engines cut off." He said, shaking his head.

"Quite unfortunate... What was in the package, if I may ask?" The Officer inquired.

"Err... The phrase the client used to answer it was 'don't ask, don't tell.'..." The Captain missed the suppressed sniggering of one of the Marines in the back.

"I see..." The Officer said, "before we'll let you land, we'll have to scan this package, make sure it isn't some sort of WMD… It's standard protocol, you see." The man explained kindly.

"Of course, captain."

The Human blinked, "oh no, I'm a lieutenant." The Officer shook his head and chuckled lightly, with a smile, his watch lighting up momentarily as a message was relayed to him over his communicator, it was with a supreme effort of will that he didn't react in any other way than a brief, subtle widening of his eyes. "But, I think that's everything we need, I'll head back and inform the captain, we'll have a few marines come in with the gear we need to examine this package." The Turian's eyes narrowed slightly, something had changed, the Human was eager to leave. "Sound good?"

The Captain couldn't rightly say no, so he told the Human that he'd laid forth acceptable terms, but surreptitiously signaled his men - the entire ship was in the Turian equivalent of General Quarters, and everyone aboard was prepared to fight, but this feeling he got after hearing the Human speak his piece, it was now less being prepared to fight, and more being ready. For a few seconds, as the Human went through the tunnel connecting the two ships, everything was calm. The Captain's last thoughts, before an anti-material round turned his head into paste, were that this calm was similar to what the Humans called the 'calm before the storm'. The Human Lieutenant was ushered into the Human ship as the Marines opened fire and almost immediately had all of the Spartecs suppressed and immobile.

"Contact front!" A Spartec called from behind a raised plate on the deck, before he leaned out from the side and fired down the hall. The Spartec weaponry, designed specifically to counter human defenses, shattered the Marines' shields in two shots and destroyed his helmet in a spray of blood and gore with the third shot. "Keep them in the tunnel!" He called out as the Spartecs mounted their defense, brief bursts of accurate fire breaking the constant rumble of the Human suppressive wall of lead.

"The Marines are advancing!" Another shouted, as, on the Human end of the tunnel, a veritable wall of advancing Marines, all of whom were sheltered behind massive, square shields with windows on the front, the thick slabs of armored plates acting as mobile cover and protecting them from the gunfire. "Focus fire on the glass view-ports!" They knew that the only way to survive this battle was to push the Humans back into their ship, retreat further into their own, seal off this entire deck, and then forcibly break away from the Destroyer; though what they would do after that, what with their broken FTL drive, no one thought about.

Suddenly, the Spartecs' comms started squelching loudly, before sounds of gunfire issued forth from them. Blinking, the Spartec who'd taken charge crouched back behind cover and fingered his radio, "say again?" He called out.

"The prisoner! He's on board the ship and he's tearing through the engineering section!" Shouted a Turian voice over the sounds of intense gunfire, shouts, death cries, and roars of desperate rage.

Before the Spartec could even consider a response, he heard others call out that the shielded marines had made it to their end of the connector tunnel, and now they'd used their shields to seal them off. The gunfire died down for a few moments, as the Spartecs let their heat-sinks cool down and considered their next actions. Grenades wouldn't be adviseable - not so close to the bulkhead - but little else than explosives or heavy weapons could pierce the shield wall, and with the SIGMA - however malnourished and exhausted he may be - tearing his way through the ship, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Alright, here's what we do - they can't get into this ship unless they go through that tunnel. The spirits-damned second one of those shields move, half of us open fire and don't stop until our rifles lock up, then the next ones go." The Spartec whispered into his communicator, "that will keep them pinned and buy the others time enough to kill the SIGMA. It is possible, a Spartec has done it before." 'Vakarian's last stand' was legendary not just for the body-count the lone Spartec had racked up, but for the fact that, after he'd sent off his squad-mates and their VIP, he'd managed to engage the Human SIGMAs in single combat and win; the Spartec's words were meant to rally up his men and invigorate them for the coming battle, though in the back of his mind, he knew he was just saying it to give them some modicum of hope before the Humans killed them, either through raw numbers or some underhanded trick.

As it turned out, the Humans would use the latter. The shield wall was a diversion, barely seconds after it had formed on the Turian end of the connector tunnel, hundreds of Marines and unmanned drones from the Alliance ship had left the ship for an EVA walk, and leapt from the Human ship to the Turian vessel. In a maneuver they'd practiced thousands of times before, both in and out of combat, they leapt from their ship and landed on the enemy vessel, and spread out like ants, choosing fifteen AI-designated infiltration points, before the AI-driven mechs handed the Humans plasma-cutting tools, and they carved their way into the ship. All over the ship, various self-contained, sealed off sectors decompressed and marines streamed inside, and the Spartecs defending the connector tunnel were suddenly assaulted from three different sides - left, right, and dead center, the moment the shield wall got word that the Marines had breached, the wall broke up, and revealed a Turtle Mech, its railgun fully charged and ready to fire. With barely a cybernetic thought, the Turtle's main cannon fired, tearing through several of the raised plates the Spartecs were using as cover, several of the Spartecs themselves, and then again through multiple walls before its momentum finally was curved enough to the point where it couldn't go on any longer - and at that point, it was still moving fast enough that the force of impact let out a massive shockwave, blasting apart most everything in the immediate area.

"All Spartecs, code red!" A survivor shouted into his communicator, before he broke cover and fired twice into the torrential tidal wave of Alliance Marines. "Purge all systems, wipe all -" He was interrupted entirely when a silvery-gray blur sprinted through the advancing crowds and leapt up at him. His highly trained instincts gave him just enough time to draw his weapon and slam it in to the gut of the horrifying varren-like creature, that leapt up and tackled the survivor to the ground, he opened fire just as it opened its mouth and revealed a gun barrel, which flashed thrice and ended the Turian's life. The machine's damages were only moderate, as opposed to the Spartec's lack of life.

The Wolf Mech took fire from its left side, and one well trained, eagle-eyed Spartec managed to get a few slugs in its head, shattering its Positronic Brain and its motherboard, killing it before its machine pack-mates and Marine allies could turn the offending Turian into greenish-red paste; soon, the drones were reinforced by raw muscle: the Marines began storming through the ship the ship, which quickly activated its emergency defensive measures and extended its mass-effect field so as to avoid as much decompression as possible. More wolf-mechs and turtles followed the marines, and in less than a half hour the Cruiser had half of the Destroyer's contingent of one and three quarters thousand marines, plus many dozens of mechs storming its halls. The battles were short but brutal, as many Alliancemen took injuries and just as many perished from the Special Forces Turians, who - though they fought savagely, as befitting their skill - eventually fell due to the Alliance's superior numbers, and intentionally suicidal tactics on the mechs' end.

Alliance ship-boarding tactics consisted primarily of utilizing the pure-atmosphere environments of the enemy ships, thus they made great use of Thermal Imaging modes on their HUD's, smoke grenades, flash-bangs, and EMP Grenades. The Marines stormed hallways in groups of three, with their Mech leading the pack, any engagements were dealt with as swiftly as possible, and any and all officers that could be captured were, but unfortunately for the Alliance, the Spartecs had a strict don't get captured policy, as they couldn't afford to reveal their connection to the Hierarchy, thus, the Officers often got themselves killed on purpose, after it became clear they could not fight any longer.

After three hours of bloody combat, the Turian Cruiser was secured, and the search for the SIGMA POW was on, as he'd appeared briefly to rip apart anything and everything that wasn't Human in the engineering sector, during the fight, but had disappeared the moment he'd done so, meaning that they'd quite literally missed him in all of the chaos of battle. The Humans were broadcasting on all local channels, plus the ship's own speakers, for the SIGMA to reveal himself, calling out friendly hostilities-ceased codes, but if the SIGMA heard them, he made no attempt to respond.

It took another forty five minutes for any progress to be made, down in the cargo hold of the Hirun a Human symbol had been burned into the ship's bulkhead: it was the Greek letter for Sigma, and once it had been found almost all focus had been placed upon the cargo hold. The Marines were looking for anything they could find, nooks and crannies that could be hidden in, smuggler's holes that were cleverly hidden, anything. Eventually, however, the Captain herself was called in to investigate something, when asked what, the Marine Sergeant had responded with the universally recognized 'I'm afraid I can't discuss that'', meaning he had found exactly what they were looking for, but couldn't say it over comms, just in case they still had someone out there, and said someone was monitoring comms.

So now the Captain was aboard the Turian warship. Had her vessel been supplied with an N7 squad, they five would have most certainly been following her, but most – if not, all – N7 were being deployed to the Warfront, as were half of the Alliance's active-duty and reserve Orbital Dropping Death Dealers, so her ship had only Marines. She made it down to the cargo hold, which she found was far too dark for her comforts. The Marines noticed this and activated their HUD's flashlights, helping to light her way in the dimly lit, dark hold.

"Sergeant. What are we looking for?" Shepard asked, formally, after she made it to the Sergeant who had called her.

"The man said he wouldn't speak to anyone unless it was the Alliance Ship's captain, ma'am." The Sergeant said, "he opened fire upon us when we tried to approach him, we tried to show that we were friendly, but he wasn't having it." He then indicated the Marines, stacked up behind cover spheres, and one discarded cell-fluid canister, someone had been on the receiving end of the Augmented Elite's gunfire, but either by the grace of god or by the SIGMA's intention, hadn't been killed. Said Marine was probably the luckiest man alive.

Beyond the Marines was what Shepard could only describe as an impromptu fort, several plates that looked like they'd been ripped right from the walls of the ship had been jammed into the ground and each other to create a sort of 'room' from which the SIGMA could fire upon anyone he saw, and no one could fire upon him, due to the low lighting conditions of their environment.

"He said he wants to see you, too." The Sergeant added.

"Alright." The Captain said, calmly, she'd had experience with soldiers with some form of PTSD before, she knew what to do. "Stay here, try not to look threatening..." She lowered her voice, "but keep a sharpshooter on hand. AM Rounds." She said, with a serious nod, before she inhaled deeply, and exhaled, before she made her slow trek to the SIGMA's Den.

She took two steps before two slugs buried themselves into the ground in front of her feet, and in the distance, she saw the deeply golden visor polarize and blaze straight through the darkness, managing to be foreboding, in direct spite of its inspiring design.

"Declare yourself!" She heard the voice behind the visor roar out.

"My name is Hannah Shepard." The Captain said, slowly, calmly, and loudly, "Captain of the SSV Theodore Logan. You requested to see me specifically... We only want to bring you home, safely, SIGMA." She said, calmly.

The SIGMA was silent for several tense, endless minutes, during which the visor tilted sideways and regarded her, almost curiously. "Which US President was the one serving during World War Three?" He called out.

"Charleston..." The Captain said after she wracked her brain, "he died during the White House bombing." Knowing that looking up the answer could signal her death.

"What weapon did he authorize usage of before his death?"

"The weapons satellite now known as the Hand of God." That she did know off the top of her head, HOG-Sats were something of a staple of Alliance warfare, they were the first WMD the Alliance would consider using, next being fully-charged naval strikes, and the last being raw nuclear force.

There was several seconds of silence, before the SIGMA revealed himself. The Captain quickly repressed a gasp of shock at the man's condition. His armor was scorched and bore several deep grooves and puncture wounds, with one particularly large gash dragging across his breast-plate and cutting through the area his ID-number would have been, the groove across his chest clearly wasn't just a 'flesh wound', as it were, because it was leaking blood terrifyingly freely, worse was that his muscle suit was shredded and cut to pieces in many places, and now that she got a good look at him, she realized that the golden, gas-mask visor had several cracks, and one spider-web crack spiraling outwards from dead-center: the man had taken a round directly to the face, and had survived only because of his now compromised armor. She saw his hands, which one had clenched in it an alien pistol, and in the other a Human magnum, both of which had compromised armor and were bleeding - one of them looked like it had taken a round directly; how it was still functioning was beyond her. Shepard didn't know why, but the seriously injured quality of the man's body affected her, something in the back of her mind bidded her to tell the man that everything would be okay, that he was safe now, he was with Humans again, he was with family family.

It was now she realized he was breathing heavily, but before she could speak he went to attention, clicked his heels, and labored up a salute. "John S2-15… Reporting for duty... Captain." He said, fatigue rapidly setting into his voice the more he spoke. Before he or she could say anything else, however, his body finally gave up, and he fell forward, slamming into the ground with a loud metallic thud, creating an astonishingly deep dent in the floor on impact; his arm still stiff in its salute.

"Get this man to medical, now!" Shepard ordered the Marines, who sprang into action.

"In other news... The Human-extremist group Terra's Soul has claimed responsibility for the Suicide Attack upon the Asari corporate world Eirliin. The planet's Regius council has kindly – but firmly – demanded that the Alliance hand over all data as to the aggressors, so proper retribution can be found, though there is no word as to the Alliance's silence to the situation."

"Mute." Director Leonard Trent of the Human Systems Alliance sat back with a sigh.

Months had passed since the Batarian War had begun. He was thankful in all things that the Alliance was close to winning it and simply being done with the stress of war with foreign powers. The problem with warfare when one was the Director for Augmented affairs – essentially meaning he was in charge of the Alliance's Super Soldiers, the SIGMA Operatives – was that any military leader, from the highest of Generals to the lowest of Sergeants, felt that their operation required SIGMA Assistance. And while the SIGMAs were, truly, Super Soldiers, thus suggesting that they were meant for frontal assaults and such duties as would be meant for Soldiers, the fact was that SIGMAs were Special Forces. The Marines had their OD3's, the Navy had the N7, and the Army – by virtue of technicality – had the SIGMAs, and while it wasn't true at all that more Soldiers got into the SIGMAs than Marines, N7, or OD3's, the fact remained that the Army's Generals felt far more entitled to the SIGMAs than anyone.

The result was Generals, both Marine and Army, and uncommonly even the Air and Space Force, breathing down his neck for SIGMA Assistance. He took solace in the fact that the Navy had no need for the SIGMAs, seeing as how the SIGMAs were used for assaults, not naval engagements, though there were stories from the Mercenary Wars about SIGMAs assuming direct control of various naval vessels and turning otherwise losing battles into rousing victories. Everyone seemed to think that the SIGMAs were an inexhaustible resource, when just opposite was true, the closest time anyone had ever come to being faced with that reality was during the Second Contact War, when countless SIGMAs had been killed during the Tokyo Bombing. Even now, in this war, due to the Senile AI's actions, many of his SIGMAs had been killed, though thankfully their original estimates were far from correct, where originally they had thought they'd lost over half a thousand SIGMA I's, in reality they had lost just over one hundred. Limited in number, they may be, but hearty, and hard to kill, they definitely were.

Director Trent was very vocal with his fellow Directors about his outrage against Nikola's actions against the SIGMAs, though he couldn't truly do anything about it, as that investigation fell to the AATF, under Serios' control. All Trent knew, as of this moment, was that AiDS – as it was coming to be called – had something to do with the AI's digital cloud slowly but surely becoming far too overcrowded with data they deemed necessary, and thus, did not delete. He thought it akin to Hoarders, the AI's truly believed that the data they were keeping stored in their cloud was vital to their continued success, and thus, did not delete it. The result was what the doctors had called 'Schizophrenia for AI's', all the data in the AI's cloud clashed with its recorded memories and its primary processors, McGraw had coined the term 'AI Senility' to explain the after-effect, and the researchers had backed up his theory that one of the primary causes of Nikola's degradation was the scanned organic parts of its mind aging and clashing with the cybernetic parts.

Then there had been other theories, stemming from the physical degredation of their machinery. Nikola's AI disk had been examined by a private party recommended by McGraw, and his theories had ran parallel to the AATF's, but had relied more on the fact that AI's always felt compelled to return to their original Data Storage Disks - the eponymous AI Disk - and disks as old as Nikola's were bound to be wearing themselves down and running low on their lifespan. As time went on and the disk wore itself thinner and thinner, brief glitches added on and started having effects on their programming, the long and short of it meaning that their physical 'health' had real effects on their mental 'health'.

Trent knew there was much more to it than he was aware of, but what he was focusing on was the loss statistics for the SIGMA II's. Amazingly, in their three months of active duty service, only three had to be hospitalized for critical wounds, and even then, none of them had died, and two of them were already back on the battlefield, the third having had his arm blown clean off by a Batarian Sniper, was still waiting for the doctors to finish replacing it.

Then, of course, there was the missing SIGMA, 2-15 was his ID Tag. Several times he'd motioned to have him declared dead, but each time 2-15's Commander, Joseph Ducard, had shot him down firmly, citing that none of his II's will die in some mercenary POW camp. Trent seriously doubted the Commander, but nonetheless, they all were unanimously – and religiously – dedicated to the idea that 2-15 would still be alive, and were prepared to fight simply to keep him listed as MIA, so unless he wanted the SIGMAs to exercise the cursed SIGMA Protocol Sixty Six, he would have to obey them.

He heard a knock on the door, odd, since most who had to speak with him went through his secretary first, and the Secret Service agents that had to get to him in emergencies would have ignored the door entirely. He bade the person enter, and saw, to his surprise, found himself face to face with Director Serios, his own Secret Service posse standing outside, exchanging nearly unnoticeable nods with Trent's guards.

"Director Serios, to what -"

"We found him." Serios stated, "I just heard from the Admiral of the Third Fleet, he's sent the Destroyer here, Priority Oh."

Trent blinked, "priority Zero?" He said, "who warrants -" It clicked for him just a moment before the Director for Defense spelled it out for him.

"The MIA Sigma, John-S2-15."

"That's great news, you say the ship is on its way?"

"Yes." Serios said, actually entering the room and shutting the door, Trent was now aware that the situation was serious, otherwise Serios would have given him a final one-liner and been on his way. "The ship, a Destroyer, Theodore Logan, is on its way..." He sat down in the chair in front of Trent's desk.

"What is it?"

"You are aware of John Shepard S2-15's... Unique circumstances revolving around his recruitment." Trent did not miss how Serios used John's Human and SIGMA monikers in the same sentence.

"Doctor Mossman is still holding that one over me." Trent mentioned offhandedly. "And I've never forgotten... I lost three days' sleep making sure the story was waterproof."

"The Captain of the Logan is Hannah Shepard, and from what I've gathered, they've already had brief contact."

Trent's shoulders sagged a bit as implications few through his mind, but then he thought of something. "The kid was seven when she last saw him... Now he's fourteen, with the physical build of a man twice his age... Why do you think she'll recognize him?"

"It's not her I'm worried about." Then Trent caught on. "One of the chemical augmentations given to the II's increased their mental capacity, everything from intelligence to memory was enhanced... While the Captain's face may be far from his conscious mind, it'll just take one good look and a few words of conversation for him to recognize her."

"What do you suggest?"

"Last report says that they put John in a medically induced coma, their ship's head-medic mentioned that the SIGMA would need armed guards far more skilled than their Marines, when he woke up." Serios began, "that means that John is out cold, but they will wake him up when he gets to the station... So we'll need to move fast when our scanners pick it up." He paused, "I happen to know for a fact that our newest carrier, the Einstein, is due for completion within the next few days, perhaps a week from now."

Trent caught on, "you want to get Captain Shepard here, so she can speak with her Admiral via comm-link, and we can get her away from the ship ASAP."

"He'll relay my orders, and become the captain of the Einstein." Serios paused, "the Admiral won't be happy, however, he was planning on passing her over for a different Captain."

"Any reason as to why?" Trent asked, out of curiosity.

"The Admiral knows who her husband was. Exactly who he was."

"Who was he?"

"David Shepard." Trent fell silent, understanding Serios' unsaid words. "Regardless, I convinced him to allow her to take the reigns... All we need to do is get her on this station before she goes to wake up the child."

Trent nodded, "all of this hinges on her sense of duty overriding her sense of compassion." Serios nodded, "well... Here's hoping." He shrugged, sighing deeply and clenching the bridge of his nose.

"The guy, literally, woke up from a G-D coma just to break my arm and take the pistol back." Said the Marine, as he and several of his squadmates relaxed in the starboard relaxation wing.

The man sitting across from him did a double-take, "how?" He asked, "I was there when the doc put him under, he said the guy's got enough stuff running through him to keep a Panzor out of commission!"

"The hell's a Panzor?" The third man asked, as he leaned up against the several inch thick slab of glass, separating them from the blue-gray void outside.

"Ever been to Roof?" The marine shook his head, "well, that place only has one native species, the Panzor. The damn thing's bigger than a mammoth, tougher than a gorilla, and uglier than a Krogan." He explained, gesturing with his hands as he did so. "They evolved on a world where meteors fall to earth almost routinely, so natural selection chose the ugly fuckers with thick skin... Fast forward to the colonization effort, and we run into Panzors with skin so thick, so tough, people actually mistook it for stone."

"Jesus..." The third marine blinked, "they violent?"

The second laughed, "actually, no, the things are pretty cuddly." A second passed, "of fucking course they're violent, these aren't Eden's Tarpos, here, they were named after tanks. The Colonial Milita, and the local Alliance Army outpost actually had to hunt these things down when they killed eighty people, now they're only around in the undeveloped regions of the world, and specifically crafted preservation sites." He paused, "I heard one of 'em took on a tank and damn near won during the Panzor Purge."

The third marine nodded, looking impressed. "So... SIGMAs need drugs enough to keep those things out of commission, and this guy woke himself the hell up, just to take back his gun?" He looked at the first, who nodded. "Damn... Glad they're on our side."

Soon after, the feeling of deceleration hit their guts, an instant passed as the outside flashed a brief, pure white, and then the Alliance Destroyer had exited the Warp and was now in real-space. The Marines got up to look at Arcturus Station, the Capital of the Human Systems Alliance.

"Never been there before... Actually." The third Marine mentioned offhandedly, as he looked at the station. He now understood why many foreign nationals had called the place the 'City in the Stars', because the place, while it did have the Alliance-Custom 'dual saucer' aesthetic for its outer hull, was exactly as advertised: A city in space. As much as it was the political hub of the Alliance, it was also a major tourist attraction, restaurants, shopping malls, hotels, even a few dozen apartment complexes had sprung up as the Station had gained popularity. One Asari dignitary had even called it the 'Alliance's custom-built Citadel'. The Marine had heard all of these sentiments, but hadn't believed any of them until now, he'd never been here before.

"Really?" The Panzor-marine asked him, incredulously. "Damn near every Marine I know's been here... Nowhere else in the Galaxy so tailor-made to servicing the Navy." He pointed to the far side of Arcturus, where the third Marine could see several Naval Vessels docked and being serviced. "Outside of Eden's shipyards, and maybe Titan-6's landing zones, Arcturus is the one-stop shop for all your Navy Needs." He took on the TV Salesman voice, "need repairs? They've got matter synthesizers always cooking. Need ammo? Nowhere else in the Alliance – save for Earth – with more bullets, bombs, and Rail Slugs. Need a new engine, or some upgrades to your computer parts? AI's can have that stuff done in a day." He chuckled.

"And we got sent here for killing a few dozen Turians and saving a SIGMA." The first marine mentioned, as the intercom crackled. "I expect some medals, after this."

"I just want some G-D shore leave... I mean, I know we're at war and everything... But... Really... It's against the Batarian Hegemony, of all people, we've only given them a fraction of what we gave the Turians or the Mercenaries, and we finished in three months..." The second Marine lamented.

A new voice joined the conversation, "I'll have you know, the Batarians and their mock-up ships have taken apart dozens of our ships with hit and run attacks. More still have gone missing." The three whipped around and saw the ship's Executive Officer, he nodded to the far side of Arcturus, just before it left view and the Destroyer made its last thruster burn to halt its momentum, so to get magnetically clamped to the station. "Ever suffered from void exposure, Private?"

"Err... No sir." Said the second marine.

"The sailors we found number large enough that even Earth's medical stations had to offload some weight here. Titan, medical, station, was overwhelmed after their first strike above Siler." The XO stated, as the ship rocked and was clamped into place.

"Found, sir?"

"More still were missing, along with our ships." The XO said, before he nodded and let the Marines reel.

The Captain of the Theodore Logan slowly and silently walked through the halls of her mighty vessel. Twenty four hours of shore leave had made many off-duty sailors and marines shoot out from the ship faster than an OD3 ejection sequence, so she enjoyed the silence. The corridors of hers – and most, if not, all Alliance ships – were Spartan in nature, designed to work, with aesthetic appeal coming later. The walls and ceiling were made of enormous, square metallic plates, with the floor being made similarly, but with small carpets adorning the high-traffic areas, such as the one she was passing now, the pathway leading to the medical wing.

In all the things she could have been expecting upon, however, the lower half of an obviously Quarian engineer sticking out from a plateless wall would not have been on the list.

"Engineer, report." She said, and if the sudden 'clang' of metal hitting metal, and the Kehlish curse afterwards was any indication, she'd startled the engineer.

The Quarian, who wore a dark red suit, with Standard Navy Coveralls over it, slid out from his position, and quickly got to his feet. He fired off a salute, "sorry, ma'am. Tiro'Fik nar Morrule." The Captain nodded, and the Quarian quickly got to explaining himself, "I was looking over the power usage in the medical wing, after the Chief mentioned that there was something in the ship dragging on -" The Quarian was interrupted by a new voice.

"Captain Shepard, please report to your nearest air-lock." The Logan's AI broadcasted helpfully, "Captain Shepard, please report to your nearest air-lock."

"I'll have to read your report, then." Shepard nodded to the Quarian, who looked visibly relieved that he didn't have to continue to babble.

She walked several paces and spoke with the AI as she traversed the sterile halls of the Alliance Vessel. "What am I needed for?" The Captain asked.

"I am afraid the classification levels of said request were not granted to me." The AI responded, "all I was allowed to know was that Director Jonathan Serios himself wished to speak with you."

The Captain nodded automatically, her mind stuck on the fact that she'd been summoned by the Director for Defense. The man was what Hannah called a living legend, he'd led the Alliance Armed Forces through the Second Contact War, and that had been his first term. Re-election came and so did the Mercenary Wars, and after his popularity had begun to dwindle and another election was on the way, the Batarians had brought them to another war, and suddenly everyone wanted the veteran leader back in office. Hannah also knew that, with just one word, he could effectively make or break her career, so she had to make a damn good impression.

Exiting the ship, Hannah looked up just in time to see a cadre of SIGMAs head into the vessel from the tertiary air-lock, located near the ship's rear. She blinked hard at the sight, the SIGMAs weren't going in casually, they were armed, and though she had never seen them even train it before, they were executing ship-boarding procedures, plans meant for boarding hostile enemy ships. What was so important about the SIGMA she had found that they had to go in with hostile intent? Was it a deserter? Or was this standard for the Augmented Elite?

"Captain Shepard!" She looked down, seeing a Secret Service agent waving her down. "Follow me, please."

"Why are armed SIGMA Operatives boarding my ship?" Shepard demanded, stepping off of the ramp.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't say anything you don't already know." The agent replied, "all I can tell you is what I know: The person you have on your ship is part of the next generation."

Shepard blinked, Next generation? Those words, much like the words from the AI, shocked her into submission, she followed the agent silently.

Something was stirring within him. He could feel it, in the back of his mind, almost pressing against his skull in a non-painful but still very tangible way.

Instincts.

Something was going to happen. He knew it, there was no denying it, every cell in his recently augmented body had been trained to know when danger was coming.

Danger.

He kept his eyes closed and reached out with all of his senses. He felt he was on a gurney, he remembered he'd been found by the Alliance.

Ship.

He was in a ship. But he didn't feel the faint vibrations that came from an active drive core or thruster propellant, they weren't moving. They were dry-docked, or perhaps someone had docked with them.

Boots on metal.

Faintly, a great distance away, or perhaps very close to him, he heard the sound of boots stepping onto the ground. Someone was coming, and he didn't hear any breathing in the room, so it was either empty or was populated by him plus a corpse.

Gun metal.

Gun metal and gun oil had a very specific smell to the augmented child-soldier, he attributed it to a musty, wooden smell, like the smell of an aged pine tree. In short, it was distinctive, and his bio-chemically augmented nose picked it up as if it were only a few meters from him.

Danger.

The ship was being boarded with fire-arm users.

Rebels.

His room was silent and he didn't hear gunfire.

Mutiny.

He was a SIGMA II Operative – in training - that could not afford to expose either himself or the program.

Absence.

The pistol he'd stolen from the Turians was missing, his armor had been stripped off so he could be operated on, and while he was wearing what felt like coveralls, he was essentially naked.

I need a weapon.

John S2-15's eyes shot open and he was greeted with the blinding light of the ceiling above him. He didn't even blink and already he had adjusted and was flipping over the side of the gurney, landing silently on his shoeless feet. John didn't hesitate after landing, he peered around the gurney and saw nothing but the rest of the medical wing. After a second, however, he heard movement on the other side of the wing's door, a significant distance away.

No time for a gun. John would have preferred a firearm, but he made do by grabbing a nearby IV and crushing its end with his biotics, to make it into a spear shape. Even melee weapons such as swords, knives, and spears hadn't been outside the reach of the SIGMA II's Instructors, John's preference was for longswords, specifically bastard swords that could be used with either one or two hands, but spears were a close second for the psychological effect.

John crouched low and peered around the gurney again, exposed enough to have a good field of vision, but hidden enough that no one could see him. He just needed one opening, he could throw the IV-Spear and the battle would begin.

Spear. Then flip bed and charge forward. Biotic attack on non-injured combatant, Vi-Contactus on the third and use as shield. Disarm. Gain Weapon. Execute. Thought John as he inhaled once and exhaled deeply.

The door opened and John didn't hesitate, he sprang up and hurled the spear with all of his might. He then slammed his knee into the hospital bed, flipping it, and he kicked it forward with his biotically enhanced foot. The bed went flying through the air, John in pursuit mere inches behind it.

The reaction he got came only a split second before he recognized the armor. Instead of cowering, or freezing at the sight of the bed, the attackers dived under, over, or out of the way of it. Instead of being surprised by the spear, they had literally shot it out of the air with super-human speed and precision. Best and worst of all, instead of being Human beings, the men attempting to take John were SIGMA Operatives.

Unfortunately to John, a SIGMA never gives up, even if he recognized them, he couldn't simply stop fighting them, that was a sign of weakness neither Ducard nor himself would accept. In lieu of this, John adjusted his tactics.

The SIGMA that dove under the bed met John's foot. It stung greatly, but the barrier John had wrapped around his foot had helped with that. The impact was felt by the One below him but the One didn't react out of the initial, mandatory, head-snap. The One on the ground grabbed John's foot with an adamantine, armored grip, and John responded by stomping his foot on the ground, ignoring that One temporarily to grab the One flying over the bed. He grabbed the One by the shoulders and used his momentum to hurl him past his intended target, but not before the one slammed John's chest with his rifle butt.

John felt his chest bruise as the butt left it and the SIGMA sailed forward and to the ground. John turned back to the One on the ground and quickly threw his entire body-weight backwards, just missing three rounds of Paralyzing Paint. John flowed back to his original position, and used his momentum, plus his biotics, to plant his fist firmly in one of the only unarmored portions of a Titan Mk. 1 suit of armor: The throat.

Without breaking stride, after slamming his fist into the SIGMA's throat, he hurtled it left and wrapped his arm around the SIGMA's own. John could feel the immense strength behind the SIGMA's augmented muscles, and the even greater power behind the powered armor that covered the body. John had one opportunity to wrench the pistol from the SIGMA's grip, and through a stroke of luck, he did so. John's leg replaced his arm, wrapping around his opponent's arm; refusing to lose his grip on the man, John also planted his knee on the man's throat.

He turned to where he'd left the flying One to receive a punch directly to the nose. John knew what was coming next, he tossed the gun up in the air, raised his right hand to block, and caught the gun with his left. The One's haymaker slammed into John's arm, which protected his head, as pressed down on his knee and fired the gun point-blank at the SIGMA until it went click.

The SIGMA was now thoroughly covered in the concrete-hard paint, and the one beneath him was still struggling. John slammed his fist into the SIGMA's golden helmet and stole a magazine from him, he reloaded the pistol deftly and paralyzed the One a moment later.

John huffed once and got to his feet, proud that he'd taken on two SIGMAs in -

There was only two! John heard the click of a hammer being drawn back an instant after the revelation: He'd forgotten all about the SIGMA that had dived to the left of the bed.

"Always clear your corners, son."

John nearly looked behind him, he recognized that voice. He responded slowly, his arm was in front of his stomach, the One holding a gun to his head couldn't see him pressing it – barrel pointed at the enemy – to his side.

"Check your footing, sir." He advised.

Every SIGMA knew every trick in the book and how to get around it, he heard the one shift his weight onto each leg, and when he shifted onto his left, John fired twice while diving forward, now it wasn't a brawl, or a fight, it was a game. The One saw it coming a second before John had done it, but hadn't had the time to react, so he took one Paint round in the gut. He could still move though, and very quickly he found himself in a standoff with the lone SIGMA Teen.

The number on the One's chest-plate read S1-99.

"I'm glad to see your nap didn't dampen your skills, kid." The synthetically filtered voice said.

"Quite the opposite, sir."

The standoff continued, neither's aim faltered.

"I thought we'd lost you."

"I thought you knew better."

They both knew not to lower their weapon, John had been taught better, the One had learned better.

"A lot's happened."

"Anyone else gone?"

"Not a two." They both understood the blunt significance of the statement.

"What about a one?"

"Far fewer than initially predicted."

John and the One held each other at a standoff for several more endless moments. Finally, as if they had decided upon it beforehand, they each both broke aim at exactly the same time. John got to his feet and then sprang to attention.

"John S2-15 reporting for duty."

A/N:

Yeah, I pulled a shameless Halo reference up there, and anyone who missed it the first go-round will find it now that I've mentioned it.

I still defend the fact that this story isn't a Halo rip, but at this point I'm thinking more along the lines of just embracing it and seeing how I can tease everyone with it.

Also, I love how easily I manipulated you all, last chapter.
I won't tell you how I manipulated you all, only that you all immediately concluded exactly what I was leading you to, and that conclusion may, or may not, even be correct.

'Till next time, folks!

-PFB