Chapter 34

"Recovering from a brush with death isn't about an appointment wit a psychiatrist or a week in Hawaii; it's about having a purpose. Whether its something to fight... or someone to hunt."

—Burn Notice

July 2220

It was a slow process. Slow, but not arduous. He could move his hands and arms with little difficulty, and tensing the muscles in his legs was preparing him for the ordeal of standing once more. It felt like the mornings did during his childhood, when his body would be sore and aching after a night's rest, and he would have to limber up in order to make it through the day. The feeling of relearning the control of his body was almost the same as that of his muscles losing their stiffness and becoming limber again, like he always had the skill, he just needed to dedicate to honing it.

Honing... To refine, or perfect, something over time. He thought almost unconsciously. His mind too had been changed, it worked far faster, far sooner, and with much less effort. Things once buried or forgotten now floated up to the surface with no prompting. He found that he could remember things he hadn't even thought of before, he could remember the smell of fuel-filled air when he had landed on Sparta for the very first time, the metallic smell of Fusion Thrusters as they powered down, blanketing the area in hot air. He could remember the sore feeling of the first time Commander Ducard had laid his hand upon his face, the pain of having to do another pushup after his arms had given up entirely and could barely move. He remembered the weakness he felt when the Quarian girl lost her mother so violently on Mindoir, and how it reminded him of losing his own mother. The feeling of power granted to him by his very first kill, the feel of the pistol bucking in his hand as he fired it and ended the Batarian's life. He remembered everything that defined him, and the determination that surged through his veins as these memories came back to him only spurred him to work harder to control his body. The only things he couldn't recall, the things he didn't remember, were those memories too distant to be affected immediately by his new augmentations. His mother's face was still a blur, her voice gone, her hair colorless, all he remembered was the smell of space; he would need something more to bring back to the surface those distant memories, something he would never again get.

Deciding that sometimes, it was better to run before he walked, he clenched his chest, held his breath, and he pushed himself off of the bloodstained, yet still sterile bed. He had a few missteps, two spasms of his right arm, but he kept his balance, his muscular, augmented legs and feet keeping him upright, the unbreakable bones in his legs supporting his new, augmented weight. With as deep an inhale as his lungs would allow, John S2-15 took his first augmented step forward.

Standing up had been an effort before but it was very rapidly becoming instinctual, almost unconscious again. He could stand, he could sit, he could flex his muscles and he could walk. Altogether, that made him Human again, but he didn't want Humanity, he wanted what he'd worked for for over a decade.

Increased bloodflow to circulate nanomachines which stimulate muscle development which sends signals to my mind stimulating my PBI... Were among the many thoughts running through his head at lightning speed, connecting countless dots and forming endless conclusions, as he fell forward onto the ground, hands extended and palms flat.

He hit the ground with a light clap, his twice augmented muscles groaning under the strain of sudden use, but he began pushing up and down as uniformly as he could. It only took him seconds of the exercise to realize that this was wrong, even after his first augmentations, pumping out pushups at this rate – more than ten every few seconds – would at least get his blood flowing, but now, his heart rate had barely even increased.

He knew he needed his blood to begin flowing again, and quickly at that, it would facilitate augmentation recovery and would at least set a baseline for his body, so he could jump straight in to the fray if need be. With this in mind, he increased his rate, going faster and faster until he was a tan blur on the ground, pumping out the exercises so fast that even the elite N7 would find themselves dizzied if they had tried to keep up with the rhythm.

His efforts proved successful after he worked for a quarter of an hour, he stopped momentarily and, with his left arm still keeping him upright and fighting gravity, he checked his pulse with his right. His heart was beating, not as fast as it could get going during training, but it was going quickly.

This is the best I can do for now... Thought the SIGMA II, as he got to his feet and stretched.

Before he deigned to leave the room, he had one last order of business. He reached back and felt around on his neck, when his fingers passed by a spot on its base, he stopped searching. A circular scar, about the size of a bottlecap, was felt by his extremely refined sense of touch. It was his new 'companion', its existence being one of the few unknowns to the SIGMA, who still wasn't sure if his augmentations were successful or if something had gone wrong, as it felt like it had only been a few hours since he had awoken. Could it see what he saw? Could it understand what he thought, feel what he felt, know what he knew? Did it understand his drives? Remember his experiences? Or was it in the dark, and it would have to rely on him for guidance?

Is there even a way to communicate, without a medium? He wondered, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead.

He stared at his moist hand, an idea popped into his mind a second later. He strode to the wall and exhaled onto it, the condensation quickly coalesced and a decent portion was fogged up. He wrote quickly, methodically.

AI, can you see this?

There were several seconds of nothingness, this meant that either the AI couldn't see it, or had no means with which to portray its understanding. But just as he considered other forms of communication, he felt a pleasant heat light up on the base of his neck. He reached back and felt it, the AI's chip had heated up, and just a moment after he touched the skin it rested underneath, it cooled down.

Intuitive... But only good for yes or no questions. He thought. It can connect to my ocular augmentations and can increase the heat of its disk... Or perhaps it is the local nanites... He brushed the thoughts away.

Can we communicate without a medium? He wrote on the wall.

Silence. No heat, no attempts to communicate, sixty seconds passed, eighty, there was nothing. He asked the AI if that was to be taken as a no, and it heated up its disk. He got the picture, no heat meant no, heat meant yes. It was rudimentary, but it would work.

He spoke clearly, "can you hear me?" He asked aloud.

It heated up.

It can see what I see and can hear what I hear… But it cannot communicate to me aside from yes or no… An idea was slowly forming in his head, but he would need more time than he had at the moment to test it out. If the machine had access to his augmentations, it could likely access his implanted SSD, and likely influence the flow and function of his nanites, meaning it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility for it to vibrate the bones of his inner-ear and communicate that way. A good idea, but he decided it would be for another day - he had to get more used to his body before it was time to experiment.It is likely meant to interface with the Titan 2... He looked to his room's entrance, it stood there, inviting him to pass through it.

He hesitated, am I ready? He looked to the wall, where the condensation had cleared up. Is it?

He stood there, alone with his thoughts for several moments, until a brief, otherwise imperceptible glint of light caught his eye. It came from his dog-tags, still hanging around his neck. He picked them up and brought them in front of his eyes. The information held upon them was simple, his name, John, service tag, 2-15, blood type, and birthdate. Others would have religious information and other such amenities, but in that place he had something else, something that filled him with the alien sense of pride, and told him he was ready.

[John S2-15]

[O-]

[6-12-2202]

[SIGMA II]

Hours passed, he felt natural again, or at least he felt he had enough control over his body to report to his CO. John was walking through the station as if he hadn't ever had trouble with it. Sure, every now and again the neurons would travel down his spine far too fast and his augmentations would cause his body to react to fast, making the small step he had intended turn out to be a massively over-reached kicking motion that nearly sent him careening down onto the ground, but it didn't happen often, and it had only taken him the first fall to realize how he could bring his legs mostly back underneath his control.

Admittedly, it was frustrating that his body wasn't completely within his control. It was like he had a tool he had used his entire life, and had suddenly forgotten how to use it, and was aware of how much he'd forgotten. Everything in his mind told him he knew how he could use this tool and use it well, but the changes to his mind and his body brought things out of sync, or sped things up too quickly, or simply changed how some things worked. It was difficult getting his body back under control, but he was quickly getting it done and knew he would get it finished soon. Barely a day had passed since he'd woken up, but he was already feeling antsy and cooped up; he was a SIGMA now, he had a job to do, a job that had been waiting for him his whole life.

He passed by dozens of rooms on his way to the elevator. He still remembered every detail of this station from his first visit here, when he had gotten into a massive firefight with the Rebels who 'knew who he was'. He remembered every step, every turn, everything about the path he was taking, the only thing he didn't remember were the rooms, as he had only been in one patient room. The other ones, some alarmingly empty and some still containing an unconscious SIGMA II, were all foreign to him, no doubt as foreign as the were to their occupants. He had managed to find George during his trek to the elevator, the big man was still being cut into.

It had been odd, watching augmentation happen in front of him. The soldier hovered in gravity-less room, as the machines cut into him. It looked like they were working on his nanomachine colony's Solid State Drive, as the machines were busy cutting in to his neck, moving aside the skin and muscle, and piercing his bones. John absently reached back and felt the scar in the middle of his back, the SSD was just underneath there, inside his spinal cord. It looked like George's drive was being placed in right now, whilst the machines underneath him were simultaneously coating his bones in a thick substance, no-doubt the carbon nanotubes that lent to their skeletons invulnerability.

He watched George's change from Clark Kent to Superman for a few more moments before he continued on. He made it to the elevator and ordered it to send him to the center floor, he knew Commander Ducard, and likely the other Company Commanders would be there. The others hadn't been there the first time, something he knew had angered a lot of II's. He had been angry, and his Commander had been there!

His thoughts were dashed as quickly as they came when the elevator came to a halt and he entered the main physical therapy wing. It had been the same area he had met Commander Ducard in after his first augmentations. It was empty. John blinked and in an instant his pistol was in his hand and readied, safety off and round chambered. The speed with which his body had moved to grab the weapon had stunned even him, but he hadn't even registered the emotion, he was moving.

He didn't call out, that would give his position away. So, silent as a snake, he cleared the room, keeping crouched low to the ground. The main room was empty, and the few waiting areas, offices and bathrooms were too. John didn't like this, but there were no signs of struggle, so that meant that the Commanders simply weren't there.

Check the waiting area next. If that's empty, hit the armory and then check the Communications Center. He thought, pistol still in his hand as he retreated to the elevator. The Rebels had found them once, it wasn't impossible to think they could find them again.

Fortunately for the SIGMA, he wouldn't have to once again raid the med-station's armory. He found a lone, irate Ducard in the station's main lobby. It was the very same one that John remembered battling in four years earlier, he could still remember how the battle had went, how the rifle felt when it bucked and barked in his arms, the sounds of warfare and the death-cries of the men when the power had been turned back on.

"I'm sorry, Admiral." Ducard spoke loudly, clearly, to anyone else he would have sounded respectful, but to John, who knew the man, he knew he was angry, and was silently venting this anger. "I have no SIGMAs to give, none of them are awake!" He was speaking to a holographic depiction of an individual John recognized as Admiral Stephen Hackett of the Alliance Navy's Fifth Fleet. The Fifth was lauded as the heavy-hitter fleet, comprised primarily of Destroyers and Dreadnoughts, with a few dozen Carriers thrown in for good measure, the Fifth was all but designed to destroy enemy fleets with extreme prejudice.

"Commander." John called out, holstering the weapon and slowly approaching the man.

Ducard whipped around, John noticed the Admiral's hologram perk up and look over the SIGMA veteran, obviously interested in what the image-recorders couldn't catch. His face remained impassive as it scanned John, though the II noticed the surprise in the I's eyes, he likely wasn't even expecting John to be conscious, let alone awake and moving.

"Two-Fifteen." The Commander nodded, returning the salute John fired off. "You're awake."

"I am." John nodded, "I was told to report to the exercise wing."

"I apologize for that, I was -"

"Commander, who have you got, there?" Came the Admiral's gravelly voice.

Ducard winced, but motioned for John to follow him. John stepped within the image-recorder's range, joining Ducard's conversation with the Admiral. "Admiral Hackett, this is John S2-15, he has just awoken from Augmentation recovery."

Hackett nodded, turning his intense gaze to John. Someone else would have shrunk beneath this gaze, but John held firm, he had seen much worse. "How are you feeling, SIGMA?" He asked.

"Different." John stated.

"Are you ready to fight?"

"Admiral!" Ducard nearly shouted, "he's just woken up, he needs time to recover, to get acclimated to his augmentations." He argued, "let alone the fact that he needs to learn how to move again, his biotic amps alone will change literally everything he's used to, he's not -"

"Where am I needed?" John asked, succinctly. He noted the look on Ducard's face, it was one of shock and light outrage, did he see helplessness in there too?

"I'll be straight with you, SIGMA, we'll be throwing you straight into the meat grinder here." The Admiral began, "several days ago we began assaulting a Rebel planet. We had been under the assumption that it had been a frontier world the Rebels had annexed to use for their purposes, but our initial assault proved our intelligence to be dead wrong. We sent in a small flotilla to assault Manheim." He paused a moment to allow John to respond, he didn't, so the Admiral continued. "I don't need to tell you why they are fighting so hard for this world. The problem is, we don't know where the Rebel Leader, the Terran Ghost, is, but we believe the answer lies within a former dead-zone on the planet. We sent in a recon force to scout out the area and report back, but it came under heavy attack, lost three quarters of its forces, and we believe they're being held prisoner." He explained, "the flotilla's commander, Captain Hannah Shepard -" John noticed the quick glance Ducard flashed between him and the Admiral, "- reports to us that we've got Marines trapped behind enemy lines and under heavy fire. The Captain and the Marines have both requested an Augmented Reaction, given what we think the dead-zone may be hiding, we're willing to agree. We want you to go in and rescue as many Marines as you can, and clear out the base if at all possible, but your priority is evacuating those Marines."

John looked to his left, though Ducard was standing straight and had a blank, laconic expression on his face, John could tell what the Commander was thinking: he wasn't ready. "Are there any other SIGMAs in the area, sir?" John looked back to the Admiral, who shook his head.

"There aren't any allied forces capable of making any difference, who are close enough to get there in a timely manner. You're the closest, and you'll still take several hours to get there, top speed."

"What about the flotilla's SIGMA detachment?"

"Didn't have one. Arcturus dedicated several dozen squads to an operation on Fehl-Prime. The rest are either on other planets, assisting with local forces, or are on Sparta, no one close enough to get there and be of use to the trapped Marines." The Admiral explained, his face compressed into a slight scowl, silently saying that despite the blank tone he was using, he was not happy about this information.

John stayed silent for a moment, his mind already running through the myriad scenarios with which he could reach this planet and be of assistance. He looked to his left, "sir." He said simply, his unspoken words immediately understood by the Commander.

The Commander stared at the SIGMA intensely, a scowl on his face. John matched Ducard's glare with one of his own, before the veteran finally blinked and looked away. "Granted." He said, reluctantly.

John looked back to the Admiral, "sir, consider me there." He nodded.

"Godspeed, SIGMA. We'll send you the requisite data." The comm-link was cut after that, with the Admiral leaving them with a solemn nod.

Ducard waited a moment before speaking, "this is not what I had planned for you."

John looked to the man, it was now that he noticed Ducard's own augmentation scars. Vastly faded with age, definitely, but they were still there, barely noticeable to any eye but a SIGMA's. "War?"

Ducard shook his head, "there's tradition to uphold, but we'll have to get to that later, follow me and listen closely." He said, beckoning John to follow him. "Long night made short, you're a SIGMA now, son. You are no maggot, you are no child, you are no Human, you're a SIGMA, and you have mine, and the respect of every other SIGMA out there, living or dead." He said as they walked back towards the elevator, John knew they were likely headed to the storage level, where his Titan Armor would be waiting him. "You've earned those tags just as you've earned your name." He added as an afterthought, "there's more, but that will have to wait. You're now enlisted, well and truly. Rank of Sergeant Major to start you off, gives you, your training, and your experience rank over the other enlisted men. You'll have to earn an Officer's rank." He explained, quickly, as the elevator began descending.

"To keep a long story as short as it can be, allow me to explain to you SIGMAuthority. In short, because we are trained and as skilled as extensively as we are, and many look to our judgement to begin with, SIGMAuthority was created as a way to supercede officers making bad decisions or are otherwise inept for the task at hand. With SIGMAuthority, you can give direct orders even to those above your rank. This is meant to allow you to make decisions to allow a victory for your mission, ideally with as few casualties as possible." Ducard paused, "abusing this power has drastic consequences, SIGMA, but neither of us have time to go more into detail about either of these things.

"So, you at least know of SIGMAuthority and you know your charge. From this moment on, everything you do is to protect Earth and her children. You will fight and die for Humanity." The elevator came to a stop and Ducard guided John through the storage halls, searching through over six hundred sets of armor for the one emblazoned 2-15. "You are a SIGMA, more than that, you, John, are a SIGMA Two." They came to his armor, Ducard nodded to a scanner on the machine which contained it.

John nodded and placed his hand on it, the machine opened to reveal the SIGMA Skin Suit. John stripped out of his clothes without any modesty for the man standing next to him and put on the suit, it sealed up to his skin and grew into its pieces, soon making it so the only skin showing on John's body was above his collarbones. Next, John hit a button on the machine and it came to life, two boots, both as black as his skin suit, appeared from the machine's foundations, lifting up from underneath its ground-plates and coming to a rest when they reached ground level. John stepped into the boots, and they collapsed around his feet, they squeezed for a moment before the feeling disappeared entirely.

John held his arms out as Ducard continued speaking. "You will know pain, but you will endure." The next pieces of armor to arrive were the bicep and wrist guards, they opened up at the seams and surrounded his highly developed, augmented muscles, sealing tightly against them, before their pressure too disappeared. " You will know hardship, but you will survive." The hands came next, with the plates slipping through his fingers and wresting on his joints, before his elbow pads were secured. "You will struggle like no man has ever before, but you will overcome." The plates and pads for his legs came next, with the codpiece following them. "You will experience death and destruction every time you pick up your rifle, but you fight on, not because it's your duty but because it's right." He said, as the chest piece extended down from above John. It had the appearance similar to a safety harness, and it too split apart at the seams and the joints, before it wrapped around his body and locked in tight. A moment passed, before the suit's extended 'spine' came to life, and extended outwards, around John's shoulders and to a single nexus of hyper-advanced machinery on Johns chest, completing his 'harness'. "You will know war, every waking moment of your life, but you will carry on, because that's what you were made for." For just a second there was nothing more from his suit, before it booted up and he felt it start acclimating to him for the first time, taking in his measurements, the way his muscles flexed and the sensors took in their readings. He felt sections of the skin-suit stiffen and lock into plates as opposed to skin, he felt the muscles stretch and coil as power ran through them and the synthetic muscles almost immediately began augmenting his strength and durability exponentially.

"Sergeant Major John SIGMA-Two Fifteen..." Down descended a helmet, it came to rest a foot from John's face, the machines let go of the man. "You who knew weakness, were changed to know strength. You who were naïve, were taught to be wise. You who were malleable, were molded to be indomitable." John reached forward and took the helmet in his armored hands, he turned it over to look at him. It was a fusion of a World War 3-era helmet, made of a cocktail of precious metals, and a similar-era M40 gas mask, its bulletproof eyes were polarized, reflecting John's face in their blood red, emotionless windows. "You... Are a SIGMA Operative." John put on the helmet.

It only took John a moment to revel in the fact, as the HUD booted up and synced up with his augmentations. He turned around and stepped down from the machine. He understood now what Ducard and every SIGMA had meant when they had explained why Titan Armor felt like a 'second skin', he barely even felt like he was wearing it, he felt no weight on his shoulders, no pressure against his body, it was as if he weren't wearing anything at all. John looked to his left, to Ducard, his HUD immediately tagged him as an ally and gave him a brief rundown of his information – name, rank, branch, even going so far as to scan him for health status, giving him details such as his rate of perspiration, his heartrate, and his pupil dilation- the information being absorbed and processed by John's mind almost faster than his eyes even registered they were on the HUD, as if the suit was downloading the information to his brain first and then displaying it on his HUD..

John dashed these thoughts when he spoke. "Sir, I need a warp-capable re-entry rated shuttle." He requested.

"You'll have it." Said Ducard, with a nod, as John made his way to the elevator, the armory his destination. "What do you plan on doing?" Ducard asked, following the II.

"A maximum speed warp jump would have me at the planet in six hours, not acceptable for my mission parameters." He waited a moment, and with barely a thought, accessed the information packets that the Admiral had sent him, making a mental note to introduce himself formally to the AI in his neck, which he noted was staying silent. "The planet is one cluster away from a Mass Relay. I will warp to the Relay Graveyard – seven minutes away – and use the recovered Arcturus Prime relay to connect with the closest Relay to the rebel world. Using Warp and the Mass Relays, I can slingshot myself across the galaxy." He left 'turning a several hour trip into a half hour cruise' unsaid.

Ducard nodded, John's plan was sound. "Is there anything you think you need?"

John looked down at his empty hands, the black synthtic muscle suit wrapped around them tightly. The SIGMA Two clenched them both tightly. "A weapon."

"Speak." Said the SIGMA, after his jump-jet detached from the medical station and rocketed forward.

There was only a fraction of an instant's silence, "you are speaking to me?" A female voice asked, its voice broadcast through the internal speakers in his helmet. John nodded, and the voice proceeded, "what do you want me to say?"

"Can you plot a warp-vector to the Alliance Relay Graveyard?" John asked.

"Give me a moment, it's my first time... Okay." A second later a blue-gray Entry Point opened up in front of the shuttle, and it zoomed inside, the transition from Real-Space to Warp-Space as anticlimatic as dropping a grain of sand upon a beach. "So... Your name is John?" The AI inquired.

"Yes." John said, with a nod, as the AI took advantage of the jump-jet's HUD and appeared in it, it took on the form of a woman in a dark sweatshirt, sweatpants and tennis shoes, hair cut just above shoulder length, the overall color of her hologram being that of a dull gray. "What is your name?"

"I chose Cassidy... John." The AI responded.

John considered for a moment to correct the AI, to tell it that one had to earn the right to call a SIGMA by his first name, but then the side of him that told him it would be a waste of time, told him that the AI was literally a part of him, now. It was hard-wired into the machines that were hard-wired into his brain, by virtue of technicality, it was him, and therefor: Could say his name. "That is a long name. What do you know?"

"While you were recovering, I got many flashes of your memories." The AI explained, "I know at least partially who and what we are, and as such I know what our job is, from now on." The AI explained neutrally. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." The SIGMA responded as he checked the ship's fuel levels and killed its thrust, letting it drift through warp-space under its previous power, keeping in mind that it was a common misconception that one needed constant thrust to fly through the Warp.

"What do you want me to do?"

John had expected several other questions, but he had been prepared for this one. "I know the gun, the tactics, the battlefield... You need to do what I can't."

"Which is?"

"Hacking, vehicular instruction, battlefield awareness, communications tracking... Jobs befitting of a battlefield AI." John stated, sitting back in his chair and letting go of the flight-stick. John lifted his gloved, armored hand in front of his visored face, his HUD immediately marking it and giving him a light readout. "You and I are going to work together, from here on." He said, clenching his hand as tightly as he could, he could feel the skin-suit stretch across his own skin, the armor plates on his digits creak under the intense grip, the synthetic muscles enhancing his already doubly augmented strength. He felt power, and it was only his left fist, the soldier in him salivated at the prospect of how fighting would feel in this beauty of modern armor technology. "We're going to need to know how to work together. What our strengths are, our weaknesses."

"So you want me to do what you can't when you're killing people." The AI correctly declared, John grunted in acknowledgment. "Okay... I can do that." It said, with a nod of its holographic head. "You handle the physical things, I, the technical things."

"Exactly." The AI brought up a notification, a lot more time had passed than John had realized, they had thirty seconds before they broke warp-space. "First thing you'll have to do is make contact with the assault flotilla when we get to our destination." He put his hands back on the jet's controls. "Let the flotilla's commander know we've arrived, let her know where she can find the jet after we leave it."

"Leave it?" The AI repeated, after they left warp-space and entered a massive expanse of nothingness.

"Yes." Said John, as he pulled up and angled himself for the nearest primary Relay, the AI informing him that she was conversing with the defense fleet's AI's and they already had clearance for Relay Transit. "The Rebel Base's air defenses were said to be thick. We have to consider them too thick for our jet." He said, as he fired the thrusters briefly to get them up to speed and angled correctly.

"We're not going to warp in?"

"In-atmosphere warp-transit tears apart atmospheres and ozone layers, and the deployment of one terraforming disk costs approximately eight billion ninety eight million Alliance Dollars, and we would have no idea whether or not we would be warping right in front of a fortified structure, or inside it." John explained, as the relay he was aiming for turned on with a powerful blue glow. "No, we're parking in orbit." He said, as they soared towards the Relay, blue-gray electricity arcing from it and slamming into his jump-jet. John didn't panic, he knew to expect the powerful vibrations that the sheer amount of energy was projecting into the vehicle, just a second later he passed the Relay's nexus and was catapulted forward at several thousand light years per second. "And jumping."

The AI inclined its holographic head, "jumping?" It asked, as John exited the Relay's mass-free corridor and found himself in a new solar system, the AI – predicting his orders – had an entry point ready in a microsecond, and with that, they were flinging themselves across the galaxy, several solar systems at a time. "As in, Orbital Dropping Death Dealers... jumping?" John's silence answered it; it considered inquiring about John's sanity, but then it remembered everything it had been learning about the suit of armor the Warrior was wearing, and realized that it was well within the Titan Mk. II's capabilities to conduct a 'naked' orbital drop. That, coupled with its medical suite, which told it that he wasn't kidding, lying, or otherwise being false in his words, he was dead serious. "Was this your first choice?" It inquired.

"No."

"What was?"

"A kamikaze strike." John deadpanned, "and I still haven't ruled it out. Keep a remote link to the ship after we leave it."

John had pushed the ship to its limits, both its structural and fuel limits, and as a result had cut his journey from its projected thirty minutes, down to twenty seven. He did not want to try something like that again - jump-jets were designed for Warp transit, not Relay transit, it felt like his jet was ready to fall apart. Exiting the exit-point right into his target star-system, Cassidy – a trisyllabic name he disliked the length of – immediately informed him that he was being hailed by the Einstein's AI. John delegated the AI to calculating his landing trajectory and required speed for geo-synchronous orbit, while he answered the hail; he was certain he could eyeball it, but he didn't have to - that was why he had a machine. .

"Unidentified jump-jet, this is a restricted area, declare yourself or be shot down." A male-voiced AI declared, hotly.

"This is SIGMA Two-Fifteen, I am here on orders from Admiral Stephen Hackett of the Fifth Fleet. Inform Captain Shepard that I will be abandoning my jump-jet in geo-synchronous orbit above the rebel base in the dead-zone." He spoke clearly, his deep voice cutting through the radio-waves as his HUD gave him a flight-path, and told him that he needed to burn for six seconds so the ship wouldn't shave off its orbit too quickly.

"Broadcast verification codes."

"Sierra, India, Golf, Mike, Alpha, Two-One-Five." John listed off as he cut the engines, the AI telling him he had the velocity needed for orbit. "Cassidy, open the canopy." His suit sealed up vacuum-tight as the AI complied, and exposed the ship to the void.

A new, womanly voice entered his ears, this one familiar. "SIGMA, our computers are telling us you just exposed yourself to the void, what are you doing?"

John recognized the voice, it was the Captain he was reporting to. "Ma'am: Jumping." He said, as he stood up and ambled himself onto the right wing of his jump-jet, his every step made the jet shift and turn, but Cassidy kept it oriented the right way: The planet was down, the void was up. Above him lay the stars of the milky way, their distant light from hundreds of thousands of years ago hitting his visor now, as it tinted in response to the reflected light from the planet below him, and the star beyond it. The planet in question, a massive, green paradise after the heart of Elysium, looked as massive to John as an Alliance Flagship would look in comparison to a fighter-jet. "Check HardLight." He said, as he activated his smart-watch.

"HardLight green."

"SIGMA, that's suicide!" The Captain came back.

"No it isn't, ma'am... An OIV would register a target on the Rebels' AA defenses." Said John, as he saw the massive vehicle's engines flare, no doubt making ready to come pick up is ship under the Captain's orders. "My body won't trip those sensors. I may be moving fast enough, but I would be too small of a target. Check armor integrity." He ordered, as he himself checked his suit's thrusters, which were green to go.

"Armor integrity at one hundred percent." Said Cassidy. "Calculating jump trajectory."

"SIGMA, you can't be serious." The Captain said, though John, the AI, and everyone in the room with the woman recognized the defeat in her tone: she knew he was serious.

"I -" His words were cut off by a brief, bright bloom many hundred kilometers below him. Cassidy was already scanning it, the fireball wasn't large, but the shockwave was visible from space and dust and debris had been shot up several kilometers. "Report." John wouldn't jump until he knew what he was jumping into, even on Sparta, there were horror stories aplenty about OD3's leaping into situations they were ill-prepared for; more than a few of these horror stories ended with SIGMAs or N7 saving their asses.

"Underground detonation… Satellites report no radiation… Around two kilotons." The AI said, "we're safe out here, you're just outside the planet's atmosphere, even if it were strong enough, the shockwave won't reach us." It reported.

John nodded, "Captain, I'm getting your Marines." He leaped off of the jump-jet.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Shouted several Marines, as the ground began heaving and shaking beneath them. "What the fuck is happening?!" Someone shouted, as others hollered various curses and exclamations.

The moment the quakes had started and jumped straight up in intensity, Jorell had been thrown from his sedentary position to a prone one, a few cracks in his visor due to its rough impact with the ground. Jorell was shaking his head and getting to his hands and knees, but he saw stars and felt like his head was in an ice-cold vice grip, anything he did made things hurt more, and the noise and disorienting shaking didn't make things any better. If he hadn't voided his stomach through his mouth earlier, he would have done so now, things were so dizzying.

Where Jorell was in dizzying pain, the washed-out SIGMA was acting. He been a Marine so long to be frightened and dazed by a manheimquake. Something was happening, that was obvious. They were under attack, that was assumable. They'd gotten reinforcements, that was his conclusion. With the quakes, he could assume that the Fleet was beginning an orbital bombardment, and since they weren't dead, he was willing to bet HOG Strikes on the lower end of the TNT-equivalent scale. It was time to break out, and since the very earth was shaking beneath their feet, the superstructure of their jail would be weakened, and, more importantly, their cell-door would be easier to break down.

So, with all of his weight, and his armor keeping him somewhat safe from breaking every bone in his shoulder, Dosdon backed up as far back as he could go, and sprinted forward as fast as he could. One slam, the cell door rattled, but stood firm. Two slams, a horrendous grinding noise was heard, but nothing else happened. Dosdon backed up, staring at it with a look that could melt steel. To a real SIGMA, they would have been through on their first shot, so damn it, he'd get through now!

His opportunity came when the Rebel guard came stumbling in front of his cell door. He'd stood up when the ground had started shaking and the sound of thunder came from below his feet, but was now stumbling around in a desperate attempt to keep his footing on the shaking ground. Dosdon sprinted forward and instead of smashing his bruised shoulder into the door, bodily slammed into it and stuck his arms through the steel bars. Around the rebel's neck they went, and with a violent yank backwards, he slammed the back of the rebel's head into the door, knocking him out and cracking his skull.

"Jorell, get over here and hold this body up!" Dosdon yelled over the thunder, shouting, and shaking earth. He turned his head and saw that while Jorell was making an admirable attempt at following his orders, he was starting from scratch and was still in shock, he wouldn't be of help right now.

Grunting and growling through exertion, Dosdon hooked his arm around the unconscious Rebel's neck and braced him against the bars to keep him upright. He reached down and felt around in the Rebel's pants, his holster, he was looking for - he found it, stuffed down the front of his pants like an uneducated thug. He found them. An ancient but well-oiled machine capable of great mischief and mayhem that he could say he was surprised the Rebels hadn't made use of on their own.

With his free hand firmly gripping the barrel, he ripped the Painter's pistol from the rebel's pants and let the body fall. Dosdon backed up two steps as the pistol came to life in his hands. He aimed the pistol at the cell door and fired three times, the bright green, superheated alien substance collided with and melted through the steel in seconds. He was free, and the other Marines were noticing, and cheering him on.

Dosdon turned around and hauled Jorell to his feet. "Jorell, get up, Marine! The cavalry's coming and we're getting the hell out of here!" He said, giving Jorell a pat on the back when he nodded firmly, indicating he was at least ready to try.

It took him and the Quarian a few minutes to steal the keys and unlock the Marines, during which the shaking finally stopped. Dosdon and Lieutenant Ferrell were the only ones armed, with they two having stolen back the Painter Pistols, the riot gun having been damaged in the initial quakes. Everyone looked to Ferrell for orders, and he didn't disappoint.

"Alright, Marines! First order of business, get the hell out of this base! We're on the retreat, mission be damned, we're getting the hell out of here! I want you all to find anything you can fight with, rocks, enemy weapons, anything you can use, and use it to get us all the hell out of here! Oorah?!"

"Oorah!"

A/N:

Took 34 some-odd chapters to do it, but now our Meistro of Mayhem is all kitted out and dangerous.
Though, we can't forget our Superman Senior, either. Beaten and bloody though he may be, he's got a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.

I'm on Twitter, folks! -at-ProfFartBurger .
If you, like me, don't appreciate a character limit, you can always check out my Profile, for more lengthier, in-depth updates.

'Till next time!

-PFB