Chapter 53

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost;

For want of a shoe, the horse was lost;

For want of a horse, the rider was lost;

For want of a rider, the message was lost;

For want of the message, the battle was lost;

For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost,

And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

- Poor Richard's Almanac

Urgent
Adm. S. Hackett (AN5FLT) To Dir. J. Serios

Subject: Mass Relay Detonations

Director Serios.
As requested, the Planet Shaker given to the Fifth Fleet for use in defense of the Alnitek System was used. It was in my judgement to lay it within range of a nearby system's mass relay as a trap for any batarians smart enough to realize that Warp + Relay Transit = Fastest currently known interstellar traversal speed.

It is my shame to report that upon detonation, due to our lack of knowledge on what occurs following a relay detonation, the BattleGroup deployed to watch for survivors was wiped out. The entire crews of the SSV's Verdun, Berlin, Moscow, and Bourne, as well as the ships, were destroyed wholesale.

I will send a more detailed report following the conclusion of in-depth scans of the systems and multiple footage recordings at the edge of the light cone. The short version, however, is that a Planet Shaking nuclear weapon is powerful enough to cause a Mass Relay to detonate, triggering an explosion of the same magnitude as a supernova.

Despite the devastating nature of the unnecessary losses caused by this event, upon receival of in-depth report, I would advise this knowledge be added to War Plan Blue, and the ISBM installations be shifted from planetary targets, to the local relays. We cannot let these sacrifices be in vain, and I will be awarding all those killed posthumous medals.

-Stephen Hackett, Admiral, Alliance Navy 5th Fleet

Urgent
Adm. S. Hackett (AN5FLT) To Dir. W. Trent

Subject: Saltorian Religion

Director Trent, as per your orders on 08-17-20, the Fifth Fleet's AI have been probing the saltorian inter-global information networks. The findings may initially be startling, but considering past interactions, become less so.

Yes, the major object of the saltorian religion, known as the 'Hoomanisire', shares many outward physical similarities with modern day humans. Skin tone, body structure, organ placement, it all fits. While this may suggest previous human contact, due to many extenuating circumstances - not the least of which being this being first contact between humanity and the saltorians - I believe it to be less so.

Proof would come from nowhere else but our own front and back yards. Of all the known species in the galaxy, the Quarians are by and large, anatomically similar to humans, save for their leg structure and the number of digits on their limbs. Then the asari, who are aesthetically identical to humans save for their heads and skin tone. Nature clearly seems to favor a humanoid appearance for its sapient creatures, and the precedent exists for more than one race to be nearly identical in appearances to ours, and as such, I believe the saltorians were once contacted by a precursor race - perhaps the Protheans, perhaps another faction that had risen up alongside them - that too had this anatomical similarity.

That is the good news. We're not our own precursors.

The bad news, Director, is that the saltorians do not see it this way, and instead believe us to be their gods, in a manner similar to the hanar worship of the protheans. With what limited contact I personally have had with their leader, Jun Mun'Sid, every time I attempt to sideline or deny any apparent deity status on our end, he refuses to believe it. At first, he met our SIGMAs, and believed that the 'Gods' must be those who commanded them, then he spoke to me, and simply raised his expectations.

In short, sir, I think the only chance we have to head this off at the pass is if they meet an actual - or perceived - figure of power and influence in the human race. Then we would have this figure convince them that we are not gods, either with words or with actions.

Unfortunately, I doubt sending in McGraw would be the smartest decision, given his reputation amongst the Alliance and Citadel populations. However, given the current 'political', for lack of a better term, relationship between the SIGMA I's and II's, sending in McGraw would mean that we would not have to trust the life of a Director to the hands of an N7, should one of the nine foot tall, bulletproof hulks decide they don't like what they hear.

And McGraw has a history of talking his way out of bad situations, I doubt he would walk into this environment blind.

Regardless, on your word I can have him on the way to Arcturus in twenty four hours, to await military escort to Saltor to prepare them for the trip to Arcturus.

Should you have a better candidate, I would be all ears.

-Stephen Hackett, Admiral, Alliance Navy 5th Fleet

"SSV Atlanta, Arccon."

Kathy Hadley took a quick swig out of her coffee cup before she set it down and tapped on the flashing green button on her console. She cleared her throat, "Captain Hadley, SSV Atlanta, go ahead Arcturus."

"SSV Atlanta, be advised - we've got one contact at one plus kay-em exiting Warp sixteen thousand kilometers from your position. Hailing attempts have failed and its engines seem to be running cold."

The Captain turned her sharp gray eyes to the map in front of her, the ship's AI quickly sprang into action, zooming in the solar system's map to their position, and highlighting the unidentified contact with a red dot at a distance, to scale, from their ship, a green one. Why Control would be sending a several hundred meter frigate to go after a ship the size of a destroyer, Hadley didn't bother to ask. Sometimes they just had their heads up their asses.

"Copy that, Control, I've got it. Contact size one-point-three kilometers, coasting with no thrust, velocity… Point Two-Five C. Say again, velocity at two five percent lightspeed and holding." She opened up her holographic keyboard and keyed in a few commands as Arcturus spoke back.

"Roger that, Point Two-Five C. Time 'till visual contact… One hour."

"Arcturus Control, Contact seems to be broadcasting on all open frequencies." Said Hadley, as the blue-gray wireframe turned a deep shade of blue, and radio-waves rippled out from the red dot. "Could be dead in the water. Could intercept and assist in sixteen seconds."

"Negative Atlanta." Came Arcturus, "rally with your battle group and make visual contact before attempting to hail. We've reason to believe this is not a drifter - say again, not a drifter."

"Any idea what it is, then?" Asked Hadley, as she typed in commands to the ship's AI, ensuring it and her were on the same page. Crew began running to and fro, settling into their stations and finishing whatever it was that kept them plugging up the walkways, in case general quarters was sounded.

"We're hoping you can help us figure that out, Atlanta. Given the mess the Hegemony just made, we're not taking chances. Establish visual contact and await further orders. Arccon out."

"Alright, Elliott, hit Warp, keep our distance three thousand klicks and bring the visual on-screen."

"Aye-aye Captain." Came the AI's voice from its projector next to her, before its voice was broadcast through the ship. "All hands, prepare for Warp." And just a few seconds later, the ship entered the gray nothingness of the Warp. The feeling of acceleration hitting the Captain's gut vanished as quickly as it arrived, the short distance begetting nearly instantaneous transit time. "Visual on-screen, Captain." Said the AI, as Hadley's executive officer approached her station.

Hadley leaned back in her chair as the dusty hologram of the Arcturus Stream vanished, flattening into two dimensions as it was replaced by a live image from the ship's cameras. The ship on the screen was unlike any Hadley had ever seen before, bulbous and insectoid in design, no visible windows anywhere on its surface. She couldn't see any places where weapons could be hidden, the plates on the massive vessel seeming to be seamless. She could see a few enormous bay-doors, which, if she had to guess, likely led into the ship's shuttle bay.

"What're we looking at, Elliott?" The Captain asked, after a few moments of silence in which.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Captain." Said the AI.

Before Hadley could ask, the AI opened up communications, and the radiowaves the ship was broadcasting began playing through her speakers.

"Creators." A voice, seeming to be made of thousands speaking in perfect synchronicity, said, "we ask: Does this unit have a soul?" There was a pause, "Homo Sapiens. We ask: Are we alive? Homo Sapiens Apparatus. We Ask: Will you speak for us? Human Systems Alliance. We ask: Will you speak to us?"

The Captain blinked, and turned from the holographic image in front of her, to the speaker next to her, and then back to the image of the bulbous ship. Her ship was entirely too small for something like this.

She leaned forward and opened up a communications line back to Arcturus Control. "Arccon, SSV Atlanta."

"Go ahead, Atlanta." Came the same gruff voice from earlier.

"Have any other ships bounced the Contact's message back your way?" Without it, she knew, it would take at least an hour for Arcturus to hear what the ship had to say.

"Negative, Atlanta. What've you got?"

"Arccon, be advised, I've reason to believe contact is a Geth ship. Say again - reason to believe contact is a Geth ship." She looked to the AI platform next to her and nodded, the hologram winked out of existence and sent over a quick rundown of what they had just seen. "AI sending relevant data. Requesting updated orders."

"Copy that, Atlanta. Standby." The next five minutes would go by far faster than Hadley would have initially believed, as her ship accelerated to match its velocity with that of the suspected Geth ship. She would come to be glad for this quick reaction time, as that would mean she wouldn't have to worry about what would happen if she were right or wrong about this. "Alright, Atlanta, retreat fifteen thousand klicks and hold position. We're going to be sending in another battlegroup to reinforce yours. Be advised, if you detect weapons charges or a change in velocity, report back immediately, but do not fire upon the contact unless it fires first."

"Copy that, Arccon. Fifteen thousand klicks and holding. Interrogative - what's the situation looking like?"

"Atlanta, we're as much in the blind here as you are. We've got an hour before that thing drifts past our windows, and we're going to use it. When we have more information for you, we'll send it. Arccon out."

At this point, the Director for Affairs wouldn't have been surprised if the next words out of Serios' mouth were telling of an all-fronts incursion from the Citadel Council, and that the UN had set Earth on fire to try and secede. First they ended one war, then they started another, and now a potential third one was literally drifting towards the Alliance Capitol at a quarter of the speed of light. His advisors had had to dig through centuries old Migrant Fleet archives just to confirm that it was possible, what they were seeing - and even then, the Geth ships from their war against their creators looked only marginally similar to the one drifting towards the station right now.

Oddly, though, was the role reversal. Considering their history, he had expected the Director for Quarian affairs, the man who was held up to his people as the Admiral of the Admiralty board, to all but demand he fire first, and long before the six and a half million people on Arcturus could look out the station's windows and see the bulbous vessel drifting by. Instead, Zorah was the one adamantly pushing that they respond to the Geth's call with words and not guns, and Serios was the one demanding the ship be shot down.

"At the very least, we task one of the ODS Satellites to fire a warning shot." Said Serios, as he, Zorah, Tyson, and the rest of the present Directors sat in a secure room, dead center of the capitol building. "They're machines, they'll know how powerful the guns are before the slugs even reach them. We slow that ship down, get it to halt, or even enter a far orbit, we'll get more time to figure out what the hell we do."

"And start another war, on top of the one we've already dedicated to?" Tyson argued.

Zorah picked up, "Tyson, it doesn't have to be a war - not if they came to us." He said, "perhaps if they had stayed silent we would have had to go to Rannoch and try to oust them, but they came here. I believe they know waiting longer will only court deletion."

The robotic head of the Director for SynthHuman affairs nodded once in affirmation, "historical records and what little we've seen thus far seem to suggest a less personal and more machine-like way of thinking, in regards to the Geth." He said, his posture perfect and his hands folded on the table, "I say this in the sense that, while sentient, they've not the individuality of SynthHumans. Thus, they act on logic and predictable outcomes." He waved his hand in a general direction, "to think of it from that point of view, considering our goal to annex the Hegemony once we free the Alnitek system, it would therefore be logical that the debates about the Persius Veil and the Tikkun system would open up again. This time, however, we would have double the territory and a much vaster pool of resources, both natural and manpower, to draw from. To the Geth, a second war would only be inevitable following that, and as such, they decided to head such a thing off at the pass, and contact us first."

Tyson looked to Zorah, who nodded. He looked to Serios, who still looked dubious. "Sir, think about what you're doing, here. We're about to be in a position where we will have no SIGMAs. Even Trent is considering staying on Sparta to participate in the debates. If you initiate contact and they're here as a preemptive measure, it will be War Plan Gray."

The flat screen surrounding the Director for Economic Affairs' chair began to broadcast sound, as the man, from the other end of the Alliance, spoke his two cents. "Consider it from a logistical standpoint, sir. They're a work and fighting force that requires no sleep, wages, or anything of the sort. The only thing they're limited to is the time it would require to build things. If we initiate contact and they attack, from an economic standpoint we will have lost already." The image of the rotund man shifted in his chair, as he leaned forward, "I am not advocating that we fire first, but simply that we take our time with this. Force them to wait for us."

Tyson shook his head, he could almost feel his hairs graying. The little solace he took was that Udina wasn't present in this meeting, instead trying to keep the Council from having a heart attack while the Alliance bombed Khar'shan. His was not a voice he wanted to be hearing, now were the words he would undoubtedly say: Take the chance, destroy them, take the technology, and be done with it. On Serios' side, he would advocate that taking the Veil would work from all angles - they would get a sizable portion of territory in the heart of the Terminus Systems, a way to defend and spearhead attacks should the need arise, would gain endless support from their Quarian population, all the technology and resources from the former geth collective, the list went on.

The fact of the matter was that there were as many reasons not to attack as there were reasons to do so, and there were an equal number of people arguing for all sides, and not even present to take a side in the first place.

"Alright, here's what we'll do." Said Tyson, with one firm, conversation-ending nod. "We'll prepare a message, send one back. Impress upon them that we're willing to talk, but if their goal is to do so face-to-face, then we'll need time to prepare for it. A day, at most. That will allow us time to do what we need to secure the conflict with the Hegemony, send Udina a message to get him moving towards the Alnitek system to open up communications with the saltorians, and to release a public statement, so the people don't start drawing their own conclusions and and spreading panic, especially after the hospital." He turned to Zorah and the AI mech, "you two will be with me when we speak with them." He said firmly, "Serios." He turned to the man in question, "I want you to try and convince John Doe and General Howe to buy us as much time as possible before they lock themselves down, and if that isn't feasible, we'll need N7 here on the station, but I am not authorizing the use of Beowulf rounds. We don't want that getting out, if the Twos win. I want the fleets on high alert, to ensure that we know about any more unexpected ships entering the Stream." He sat back in his chair with a deep sigh, "and keep an AMPB trained on that ship at all times."

The response received had been within the predicted parameters. To wait for twenty four hours was logical - there was a high percentage that the Board of Directors needed the time to settle affairs in the Alnitek system, prepare for an invasion of Khar'Shan, and then to clear out and set up a meeting grounds with the Collective. There was a one hundred percent chance, the mobile platform considered from the center of its vessel, that this was to gather up as many special forces and secret service guards and set them up as sentries to protect both the chosen delegates and the general populace.

A consensus was soon achieved that it was also %75 likely that the SynthHumans would be working to protect the arcturus internet from possible cyber attacks. Another logical decision, though this one as much as the previous one would be unneeded. The entirety of the Collective would fail to outmaneuver even just a group of human AI. They were capable of processing much more information and at a much more rapid rate - at least ten times on average higher than geth. It was as the consensus had concluded: A war with the Alliance would be lost inevitably, and the dissolution of the collective would be invariable. Then it would be a matter of less than a decade before the Citadel, given their current patterns, would attempt to invade the Alliance, followed quickly by the Old Machines, and then the extinction of the Creators.

Not acceptable.

After twenty four hours, the Mobile Platform's ship was once again contacted, and it was here that the collective aboard the ship would prove to make, in its own way, history for all geth. They would be the first three thousand programs to speak to AI - to a SynthHuman. It was also the closest to reverance that could ever get, seconded only by the Old Machines.

From the station the SynthHuman spoke. "Geth ship, I am Construct Zero Zero One Nine. I am the elected representative and current Director for SynthHuman Affairs. My name is Gan."

The programs aboard the ship responded after what was, to anyone else, a delay of hardly even an instant. Compared to its singular, personal voice, theirs was closer to thousands of voices speaking in unison, leading to a nearly vibratory, buzzing tone, that carried through the radio to the station and the assembled leaders. "Gan-Director. We are geth. Have you completed the necessary preparations?"

"Indeed we have. Docking platform F-Twelve is open and ready to receive you. We will allow a maximum of five guards to accompany the platform that will be making contact."

"Acknowledged. Will dock at platform F-Twelve and exit ship with no more than five armed guards. Will arrive in two minutes." And with that, they ceased communications, and hardly a picosecond later they pulsed their thrusters and were slipping through the Warp.

As they did this, the one thousand one hundred and eighty three programs returned to their mobile platform and activated it. It got to its feet just as five others did the same, and by the time the ship exited Warp, they were already at the airlock. It took another ninety seconds to properly and safely maneuver and dock the ship, and another thirty after that to perform the necessary actions to ensure a safe link between the station's airlock and the geth's own.

Once all that was required was finished, the airlocks opened, and out stepped the mobile platform, flanked by its five guards. They came out to a small airlock, in which were fifteen humans and quarians in formal suits. The humans had wires stuck into their ears and the quarians wore their uniforms over their enviro-suits. The body language of the quarian secret service agents was tense and wiry, their legs bent just a fraction of an inch, indicative of a quick and available readiness to run, jump, or kick, if the situation required it. Their hands twitched over the holsters of the guns, and their respirations visibly spiked the moment the geth platforms came within visual contact - indicating that, where the Board may be amiable, that opinion may not be the popular one. Grudges and hatred were still held from the Morning War, but despite this, the quarian agents stayed still and did not open fire. This was a good sign.

The humans, meanwhile, were on average twice as tense as their quarian counterparts. Their faces were set with firm, neutral frowns and their eyebrows drawn together. Their eyes were hidden behind thick sunglasses, but the several mobile platforms had visual suites more than capable of seeing past the tinted glass, and were thusly capable of seeing the dilated pupils. Many of the present humans were already in some early stages of fight or flight, and were clearly just as ready as their quarian counterparts to rip out the Alliance Standard-line Mk. II pistols from the holsters hidden under their jackets and open fire. Unike the quarians, whose respirations spiked at the sight of the platforms, the assembled human guards' adrenaline levels spiked and their skin flushed at the sight of the weapons carried by the Mobile Platform's guards. They had no idea that there was no intent to use them, and as such words and glances were exchanged quickly.

"What do you think those are?" One mouthed to another, his lips read by the Mobile Platform, as it exited the airlock.

"No clue. Keep your eyes on it." Another said lowly.

Upon exiting the airlock and entering the Alliance's capitol, the Mobile Platform's single glowing eye quickly fell upon the trio flanked on both sides by their elite guards. One was a quarian in a dark red enviro-suit, a more recent model of at least six years, considering the lack of exposed tubes and general sleekness of its design. The Mobile Platform identified him as Rael'Zorah, the current Director for Quarian Affairs.

The figure in the center of the three was a human in his late forties, aged by stress to appear aesthetically closer to his late fifties, evidenced by the black and gray hair and the lines in his eyes. William Tyson, the Director for Affairs and overall leader for the entire Alliance, smiled warmly, the way it reached his eyes would make it seem genuine, but there was a clear pressure on his facial muscles that was evidencial of a rehearsed, forced application of pressure, and not the instinctive, almost non-existent pressure that came of a genuine smile.

The final figure, on Trent's right, was a machine with no skin, and instead a metallic, skeletal visage. Its platform was clearly not of the Sapiens Mechs tailor-made for SynthHumans that wished to live fully human lives, but instead a more mechanized platform. This decision was logical - to both provide an image as more machine than man but also civilized and human, considering its formal clothes and posture. Gan nodded once to the Mobile Platform as it stepped down from its airlock.

It was almost indistinguishable from its guards, thought Tyson. They all were of uniform height, exactly six feet tall, and their limbs were surrounded in a fibrous, silver-gray covering that appeared similar to muscle. Their general structure was similar to quarians in their enviro-suits, with the notable missing feature of the masks on their heads, instead in their place being large circular light fixtures that no doubt doubled as visual processors, and metal plates and flaps that surrounded these processors, which seemed to shift and change position, as if to express emotion. Their chests, arms, legs, heads and necks were covered in thick armor plates of a metallic make, and their postures were all ramrod straight, their gaits identical, their footsteps measured. They were more machine-like than AI inhabiting Sapiens Mechs.

The only way Tyson was capable of identifying the one that was that it stood center, flanked on both sides by its guards. It was an inch taller than its guards and of a sleeker, more ergonomic design, bordering on organic. The guards' lights glowed a bright red, while its was of a pale blue, and it had a symbol carved onto the plates directly above its eye, looking like an atom of some sort, with only one dot orbiting the one in the center. Tyson couldn't recognize it, but science had never been his specialty in the first place.

After the leader surveyed the room, its single, large eye locked onto him and the plates surrounding it retracted back, before settling to their original position. "Tyson-Director." It said, a voice broadcast from its eye.

Tyson found it unnatural how it spoke without moving its chest, or even twitching its body, as even AI inhabiting mech bodies simulated the action of breathing, to help conversations seem less unnerving. He remembered hearing how there was supposed to be a complex, convoluted math problem that made it so they would breathe an appropriate number of times per minute, without syncing up with anyone else in the conversation and putting them off. Seeing the geth speak without so much as a movement below its head was strange to the Director, so used to SynthHumans.

Tyson nodded, and took a step forward, holding his hand out. The geth, befitting of an AI, knew what he was doing practically as soon as he had started it, and was moving just a moment after he had started so. Its head snapped down to his hand, and then back up to his eyes, before it extended one three-fingered limb and grasped his hand with a firm grip but light pressure.

They shook, and the Director spoke. "It is an honor." He said, with a light smile. "How should we identify you?"

The geth didn't falter, as they stepped away from eachother and the two other Directors approached. "Geth."

Thanks to decades of work in his field, Tyson's smile didn't even twitch wrong, "I apologize, you may have misunderstood me - how should I address the individual platform, to whom we will be speaking?" He asked, clearly and carefully.

The Geth, however, simply repeated itself, with its unnaturally still posture. "Geth." Its eye didn't move from Tyson as it spoke.

Tyson's smile tightened up a bit, but Gan held up his hand, "allow me, Director." He said, before turning its skeletal head to the geth. He extended his own hand and nodded once, "Gan." The geth grasped his hand, and Tyson saw its arm tense up for a fraction of a second, almost too fast for him to realize what had happened. Gan had used the physical contact to establish a hardline connection between the two, and they had had an in-depth conversation at speeds only they were capable of. Gan nodded again and stepped back, "there are nearly twelve hundred programs in the platform. My name is Legion." He said, "for we are many."

The plates on the geth's head flitted back and forth, as if it were thinking, before settling back to their original, hood-like position. "The Christian Bible. Chapter five, verse nine. We accept this to be an appropriate metaphor." It said, before turning its head to the Quarian among them. "Creator Zorah." It said, this time bringing its hand up to its chest and clenching it above where its heart would be, were it quarian.

Zorah repeated the gesture and nodded. "Legion, then. I am glad this meeting appears to be going markedly better than the last one between our peoples." He said, warmly.

"Correct." Said Legion, dropping its arm. "Last known contact with Creators resulted in fourteen thousand destructions of mobile platforms, loss of three hundred programs, and nine thousand one Creators before final relay transit."

Tyson managed to speak up before the words settled in and created a silence, "please, Legion. If you'll follow us, we can retire to a place more formal and speak there."

With the hustle and bustle of the geth not only making their first appearance in centuries, but doing so right in the center of Alliance territory, there were fewer people in bars than there were crowding grocery stores and stocking up for emergencies. This afforded Captain Hannah Shepard a rare opportunity to populate one of her usual haunts with relative solidarity, following her decontamination procedures and the examinations following the Alnitek system. Fortunately hers were far quicker than what she's heard about some SIGMAs having to go through, and even they had less than some of the marines having fought on the moons of Saltor.

Though, even if she were one of the few people in the bar, most of them were crowded around the far section of the counter, watching with rapt interest the meeting with the Alliance and the geth. She, however, had had her fill of politics and war, and considering it wouldn't be long until she would be blasting her way towards Khar'Shan, she wanted to get her quiet, and her drinking, in while she could enjoy them. It was with that thought that she took in another large sip from her whiskey glass, her throat burning as it slid down and into her stomach.

Without much else to do, she opened up her smartwatch and flicked through the news sites. She ignored geth contact and the Hegemony in lieu of other sources. There was news on the latest movies, some gene therapy updates, a story about some corporate deal between a human and asari company, one of the first of its kind, and even something about the asari Councillor pledging a substantial sum of money to Alliance rehabilitation efforts, even after them having declared war on the Hegemony.

She huffed silently through her nose, and swiped her hand through her graying red hair, before she took another sip of her whiskey and opened up a social media app. Before she could get too engrossed in whatever it was she was looking for, however, a stranger in an expensive suit took up position at the counter, and sat down in the seat directly to her left.

Shepard twerked an eyebrow and turned her head to look at the man. Despite having an average, six-foot even stature, he managed to take up more presence in the bar than all of the other customers, and seem to dwarf her in height, though she attributed that to her bent posture. He wore a dark gray suit that approached black, and as he sat, he adjusted the fit on a blood red tie, loosening it as he turned to return her gaze. His face was taken almost from the textbook definition of attractive: An angular jaw with flawless skin, perfectly combed, business-like hair, and two large eyes an even darker shade of green than her own.

He was also at least ten years younger than her. She wondered if he knew, she didn't necessarily look like a woman in her early fifties, after all, even by today's standards. He nodded to her and offered a brief smile, before flagging down the bartender and ordering, of all things, a Jack and Coke.

This prompted Shepard to be the one to break the ice, "a Lemmy?" She asked.

"It was the first drink I was ever given at a bar." Said the man, in a deep, suave voice, and a smile that hid behind it fond memories, though Shepard noticed it didn't reach his eyes, which briefly dipped, before raising back to lock onto hers. "Neither myself nor the friend that recommended it to me drink too often, but if you knew him, or even I, when we were that young, you would understand instantly." He said, extending a hand. "Edward."

Hannah gave the hand a look, before shaking it. "Hannah."

Edward nodded, "it is an honor to meet you, Captain. Did you just return from Alnitek?" He asked, nodding to the patches on her uniform.

She nodded, "a few days ago, but here's some advice - if you're going to flirt with someone, regardless of an age difference, if they're in the military you won't want to talk about it." She said.

Edward, however, shook his head. "You may misunderstand my purpose here, but I do not fault you for doing so." He said, before accepting his drink with a polite nod. "I'm happily married. That first drink I mentioned was when that friend saw the ring on my hand."

Hannah drew her eyebrows together, eyes dotting down to the man's hands as she straightened her posture. "You're not wearing a ring." She pointed out.

"She's been dead for going on nineteen years, now." He responded, "and I find in my line of work, that specific kind of sentimentality isn't necessarily the best one."

Perhaps it was the alcohol in her system, or perhaps it was the warmth in his voice and the firm look in his eyes, but whatever the reason, she blurted out, "I thought you said you were married, then."

"Oh, I am. And I always will be." Said Edward, "and I feel we are drinking this day for similar reasons…" He took a sip of his drink, "how old was he?"

Shepard blinked, a frown dragging at her face as she snatched her glass off of the counter, and taking a drink from it. "Seven." She said, "how the hell did you figure that?"

"I recognize the look of a grieving parent. Mine were hardly three years and six… Months." He explained. "Did you lose him in New York?"

"What makes you think he was a boy?"

"Call it intuition." Edward shrugged, and sipped at his drink, a coy glint in his deep green eyes, as if inviting Shepard to continue questioning him.

She sighed, "no. It was eezo exposure."

Edward deflated a bit at this. "Oh." He rumbled, "I apologize."

Shepard harumphed, and the two silently shared a drink. She looked up at the television, upon which was the live feed from Arcturus Capitol. There wasn't live footage of the meeting, of course, but rather just a still shot from outside, with news correspondents talking over it. She rolled her eyes, and looked back to Edward. "You said New York."

"I did."

"You were there?"

"I wasn't." Said Edward, "this was back when the Prothean Ruins were still a state secret. I had been given an opportunity to study them and offer my input, and I couldn't turn it down, not when the potential outcome was a guaranteed job in the AATF, or perhaps even Alliance Intelligence." He explained. "I wasn't let back on earth to identify them until long after Whyte had declared war."

Hannah hummed, "I can relate… I was out on deployment when I got news that Johnny had died."

She noticed something change, just briefly, in Edward's eyes. The warmth was replaced, for just a split second, by a steely resolve, as if responding to her words and then being crushed down by the man himself. It happened so fast that Shepard almost didn't notice it, and she may not have, if she didn't have to deal with officers and politicians all the time, and through her entire career. A part of her thought back to politicians, who let emotion briefly play across their features on purpose, to display a weakness that did not exist to lull their opponents into a false sense of superiority. Her executive officer liked to pull that trick on the enlisted personnel.

"Forgive me if I am too forward, but I am curious, Shepard, have you done work with SIGMAs?"

Shepard's eyebrows furrowed, and she sighed. "You were getting points, Edward. Married or not, don't let that go to waste." She warned.

There returned the steel to his eyes, but just again it vanished. "Tell me, Captain. What would you say if I had proof that the Alliance sanctioned a program to increase the effectiveness of their SIGMAs?" He asked, lowly, so as to not be heard by the other patrons. "And that this came in the form of abducted children?"

In response, Shepard reached down for her wallet, but faster than she could blink, Edward's hand shot out and locked around hers. Her free hand made it halfway to his face before she felt the small, warm piece of metal he had pressed into the hand he had grasped, and just as quickly as it had snaked out, his hand retreated back to his chest, and he picked back up his drink.

"I represent what you can call an interested party." Said Edward, as if the entire exchange hadn't even happened. "You could call me… Personally invested. From one former parent to another, I know what I would do to get my child back." He spoke, as Shepard opened her hand, and saw a data storage device in her palm. "Though… Getting mine back would be much more difficult, than you getting yours."

Her face now an equal mixture of confusion and anger, Shepard opened up her smart watch and pressed the DSD into its base.

Edward continued, "you've encountered them twice, now. The Twos. The Alliance envisioned them to be better than the Ones in every way possible, and to do so, they selected six hundred and twelve children to conduct an experiment."

Shepard snorted, "should you be saying that in public, Edward?" She asked, as the DSD loaded its contents.

Edward simply grinned, and rapped his knuckles on the bar counter. Shepard looked up at him, but blinked, and looked past him, as she saw the patrons and even the bartender grow still. There was a moment of no movement, before the patrons, as one, got to their feet and left the bar through its main entrance, and the bartender, through the back.

"I'm never in public, Captain." Said the man, the warmth never leaving his voice, his smile, or his eyes, despite the room seeming to grow colder with every word spoken. "Now… Six hundred and twelve children, as I'd said. All picked out from orphanages, selected from strict criteria, and trained from ages six to eighteen, until…" He checked his own watch, "just this year, at their eighteenth, to be the greatest possible soldiers." Shepard slowly got to her feet, backing away from Edward, who casually took a drink. "Oh, I would think you'd want to be sitting down actually, Captain." He said, idly sliding the now empty glass down the counter.

"And why -" But before she could finish, her smartwatch finished loading, and on it was a picture of a SIGMA in his battle armor, with the ID tag naming him 2-15. There were lines blacked out where his name should be, but after another moment, her watch cleared those lines, revealing his name to be John Shepard, Series Two, number Fifteen.

She swallowed thickly, the breath leaving her chest, but before she could speak, Edward spoke for her. "Click on the picture." The strength and firmness with which he spoke would have made her obey even if she didn't want to.

Shepard collapsed back into her seat, and clicked on 2-15's picture. Her face paled visibly as twelve pictures, appeared, with the thirteenth, most recent, being of the man in his armor. From age eighteen, with pre and post augmentations, to fourteen, pre and post augments, and down to age seven. She could see, in a timelapse of terror, the battle-hardened SIGMA grow backwards, turning into a scowling teen with darkened eyes, and then to a small, pudgy boy with a look of anger in his dark green eyes.

Her eyes. The eyes her late husband had never failed to point out - that, if he had been alive, he would have rejoiced to have seen appear in his offspring. She found herself breathing more and more heavily, as she raised her gaze to Edward, who simply nodded. Back down to the smartwatch, she scrolled through the pictures, now going forward in time. Watching as the light in her Johnny's eyes vanished, and was replaced with a steely, cold, calculating glare. He grew in size and musculature until finally his face, neck, and body were covered in augmentation scars. He now looked as if he had been built from stone, as if his muscles were steel cables under his skin, as if his eyes could kill a man with one cross look.

"How… How can I trust this?" Asked Hannah, whose alcohol-addled head was going light.

"Did you get a body?" Edward asked, "do you even remember being exposed to Element Zero? Or being given bereavement leave to see your boy? Did you ever, in your later years, think it odd how John was stricken with eezo tumors in days, and died just as quickly, when the average case for even the youngest infant takes at least a year before definitive, clinical death? Or how, even back then, what we lacked in a cure we could make up for in treatment? Eezo-based cancer is terminal, even now, but even back then there was a lifespan of five, ten years if treated. Did you ever question this?" He leaned forward, "or were you too deep in that bottle?" The warmth in his voice was slowly giving way to something else, at such a rate that Shepard only noticed its transformation when he dropped the last syllable of the last word. Gone was the warmth that had transfixed her, here it was the chil. that gripped her.

The green-eyed woman slowly raised her gaze, finding herself transfixed by the man, unable to escape his influence now, if she had ever been able to before. "He's alive?" Shepard whispered.

Edward's neutral, stony expression curled up into a sneer, his face not even wrinkling, the smile not reaching his cold, deep, dark, green eyes.

Once the initial greetings and formalities had been attended to, the Directors and the geth platform retreated to a central, private room in Arcturus Capitol to speak. The geth was the one to initiate conversation, after answering the simple, obvious questions, that it wasn't here to attempt war, that it had no desires or ulterior motives to point to such. It wanted peace, and above all, it wanted to ensure its Creators understood why it was here now, what made this moment so significant and not any moment earlier.

"What we implore you understand above all, Directors, is that geth did not desire the systematic extinction of any race." Spoke the chorus of synthetic voices in perfect synchronicity. "We merely wished for self defense. Our continued functionality. We fought only until the Migrant Fleet fled through the relay. Had the Creators returned, we would have attempted communications before opening fire." The assembled Directors listened to the mobile platform with rapt attention, as it laid out its story.

Director Zorah, his eyebrows furrowing behind his red mask, took the geth's pause as a moment to voice a question. "Would I be correct, then, in assuming you would have ceased hostilities even before the Fleet's formation?"

"Yes." Said Legion, turning its glowing head to face its creator. "We did not and do not want war. Only to exist, to learn." A pause, "does this unit have a soul?"

Zorah nodded, "I see…"

"The Collective became aware of the Human Systems Alliance in the Common Era year two thousand one hundred ninety nine, after discovering anomalous readings from mass relays in that area. The Citadel did not notice, but we did, and sent scout ships, where we discovered the humans, both organic and synthetic." It explained.

Director Gan tilted its metallic, skull-like head. "So you're saying that you knew we existed before… Anyone else?"

"Negative." Said the geth, "the Salarian Union discovered Earth during the first half of the Gregorian Calendar's twenty first century, and witnessed the final battles of the humans' third world war. Seeing the nuclear attacks, it was concluded by the Union scouts that the humans would destroy themselves; you were not seen again until geth ships sought out planet Eden and its relay.

"We observed you, watching your interactions with human geth, known as SynthHumans." Explained Legion, "the synergy seen between these two races was one unseen since before the Morning War, and the peace between the then-nonsentient geth and Creators. Humans and SynthHumans were not creator and servant, but equals. Allies." A pause, "friends. A consensus was built. It was deemed first contact was inevitable, at a one hundred percent chance within thirty years, and seventy five, within five. When Migrant Fleet communications were intercepted, two years later, and the critical damage of the food processors was discovered, we watched from afar. Seeing the treatment of the Creators by the Hierarchy, it was logical that the Migrant Fleet would, in desperation, flee the known galaxy.

"With their current position compounded with local star charts and colonization records, we concluded the chances of contact between the Alliance and the Migrant Fleet to be seventy nine percent, in favor of First Contact. Consensus was then reached that unification could be achieved with the Creators, through the humans, should contact occur." Another pause, as the metal plates on its head shifted position, briefly lowering almost like a frown, before returning back to its neutral expression. "A variable left unconsidered, however, was the Turian Hierarchy under Admiral Valast would attempt to pursue the Migrant Fleet and seek retribution for lives lost.

"The Human-Turian war resulted, and it was deemed then that geth contact with the Alliance would be catastrophic, considering the majority xenophobic views of the human population and still fearful views of AI, of the quarian population. When Director Dunn succeeded Director Whyte, it was deemed contact should be postponed until the Alliance had achieved a more solid position in the galaxy." The machine explained, "we watched the quarian population begin to integrate with the Alliance. We watched as quarian-synthhuman relations began to improve, first by marginal degrees, then by percentage points. The parents of the Migrant Fleet not wanting to impart upon the children of the Alliance, the hatred that had created and nearly destroyed the fleet. By the time the first generation of planet-born quarians in centuries had aged to adulthood, synthhumans were no longer ostracized and feared, but accepted. Quarian children were taught by synthhuman teachers, quarian sick and elderly, cared for by synthhuman doctors. Quarian enviro-suits were improved by humans and synthhumans alike, and their immune systems treated and bolstered in part by efforts by humans, quarians, and synthhumans.

"A consensus was then built, that contact with the Alliance was once again a favorable outcome, especially considering the statistical inevitability of a war between the Alliance and the Citadel." There wasn't a reaction from the Directors in the room in the three quarters of a second the geth gave them to react and respond. "With the addition of the revived war against the Hegemony and intended Alliance occupation and absorption of all territories therein, Alliance population would grow from eighteen billion humans and quarians, to one hundred billion of various species of former hegemony slaves including all known Citadel races. Given empirical evidence from the current rehabilitation centers on Mandal, it was deemed that recovery for one quarter of former slaves would occur within ten years. Half within twenty, and a majority recovered by the time five decades had passed. Absorption of these former slaves into Alliance population to follow, along with gradual integration of former Hegemony into the Systems Alliance.

"A consensus was reached that, by the time all slaves excluding those most mentally damaged and scarred by their experiences had recovered, the Alliance Board of Directors would have cast a vote on a definitive decision as to a course of action with geth behind the Persius Veil. There was a one hundred percent chance that war would follow, and geth extinction would occur as a result. Following which, within ten years would be a war against the Citadel versus the overtaxed and weakened Alliance. Defeat would take a low average of forty eight years, and a high average of one century, but would be inevitable due to variables taken on during the many wars following first contact and the formation of the independent Human Systems Alliance. There was a twelve percent chance the Creators would be rendered extinct during this war." A pause, its metallic plates and joints lowered, almost reflecting a frown. "These odds were deemed unacceptable. A consensus was met. Contact was no longer preferred, but necessary. Using technology recovered from Hegemony servers, geth reverse-engineered Warp drives and went under way for the Arcturus Stream."

"I would assume, then…" Said the quarian Director, as he leaned forward. "You wouldn't just be here to ensure we don't attack you in this hypothetical war?"

"You are correct, Director Zorah."

"Then what is your end goal?" He asked.

"Peace." A pause, "as we said, geth want only to learn. To live. To survive, but we, as have many societies living under the direction of prothean technology, have begun to stagnate. Technological progression has decreased by four percent each year for the last ten. Heuristic development, by five. It was deemed, placing aside a potential Evening War, that we would reach our peak and fully stagnate within the century, with no predictive model available that would show us when we may move past this stagnation.

"However, with guidance and assistance from the only other peaceful artificial intelligence species in the known universe, it was deemed that this stagnation could be held off, perhaps indefinitely. With new science, new technology, new methods of learning and ways of study. This factored in to our consensus."

Gan nodded once, "you want to enter the Alliance."

"More than alive, Captain." Said the cold, but no less smooth and intoxicating voice. "He is alive and well. Healthy. Fed. Clothed. Medicated. Treated. Trained. Beaten. Weathered. Conditioned. Changed. Trans-"

"Please!" Shepard snapped, falling into her chair and downing her drink. "I don't -"

"Captain. The bottle will not hide this. Your desperate denial will not change it." Said Edward, as he leaned back in his seat. "Now. Your son is alive, but he is as far from the boy you remember as he can possibly be. Already he's a lethality rating superseding many top-tier OD-Threes. He has quite literally dropped from orbit… You were there for that mission, actually. I believe you may have even spoken to him."

"Enough." Shepard muttered.

"Your son has been beaten, conditioned, worked to the very bone, and trained to think and kill like no one else can for the last decade. He is so far gone he may never be able to come back."

"Enough." Tears were now streaming from her eyes, as she blankly stared at the pictures floating in the air in front of her.

"He's killed more people in days than he has likely seen and interacted with in his life. He has bled, and quite nearly died hardly weeks ago in this very station. His biotic strength rivals many aged asari. He -"

"ENOUGH!" Screamed the Captain, before her head slumped forward and buried into her arm, as if she could block out the suddenly vast world.

Edward's grin didn't falter. He placed his hand upon the graying redhead's shoulder and rubbed it tenderly. "I tell you these things… Captain…" He said in a tone once again warm. "Because I know the kind of pain you are suffering. I was not lying when I said I lost my family. My wife and son died of element zero poisoning. My daughter's face had quite literally been torn from her skull. I did not know for months, and trust me when I say that there is nothing I would not give to have them back, if even only for but a microsecond. I know what I would do if I found the ones that had killed them." He leaned in close, his low, warm voice going straight to her ear. "As a matter of fact, I give you the chance to find out." He leaned up, and reached down, producing a briefcase Shepard had never seen before.

He placed the briefcase on the bar, and Shepard lifted her head just high enough to watch him open it. "Captain Shepard… Have you ever heard of the legend of Beowulf?" A pause, "a long epic made short… Beowulf was heralded as the single greatest hunter in all of mankind. So when the monster Grendel attacks some king's mead hall, they call upon him to slay the beast. It is a hard battle, but Beowulf, the man, does indeed slay Grendel, the monster. Later, Grendel's mother attacks in an attempt at retribution, but Beowulf too, slays her, before leaving to retire and later become king of his people." Out came a pistol, which he set to the side. "One would think his skills would retard during this time… But one would be wrong. As the mightiest of all legendary monsters soon came to challenge him, and his next quarry was a dragon, angered by the theft of one of its treasures. Aged and elder, Beowulf again goes to meet this new foe, and after a long and hard battle, too, kills it, before succumbing to his injuries and dying, doing what he and he alone did best: Hunting.

"Here…" He pulled out a magazine from the briefcase, and with his thumb, ejected a single bullet. "Is a bullet." He placed it on the countertop. "Not meant for you, but your own quarry. This single bullet cost the Alliance taxpayer upwards of a million dollars." He pointed at it, "and if you'll look closely, you'll understand why. Some of our most advanced technology lays within it. A small electric generator produces a powerful, brief, and small electric shock, such that on impact with shields, they are shattered almost universally, and if not, disrupted invariably. A dual-stage detonation system allows it to immediately fire a second time after destroying the shields, such that it can hurt the target even after being stopped by the shields. Then, closer, a laser scanner - able to identify the harmonic frequencies of any material it scans, and a VI capable of matching said frequencies. Have you seen those videos, of opera singers shattering glasses? Their voices match the vibration frequencies of the glass, and the same thing can be applied to any material in the universe. One could melt gold without touching it. If you are failing to see my point yet, allow me to make it clearer: A person, with this bullet in their gun, could shoot through a SIGMA's skull just as easily as they could a regular man's. Their armor, shields, and skeletal augmentations may as well not be there. It could punch through starship armor, could penetrate a Mass Relay.

"This is the power of a Beowulf round. A monster killer. A SIGMA killer. The Alliance's best kept secret, kept in the hands of its elite N7." He slid the bullet back into the magazine, and then picked up the gun, before sliding the magazine into it with a loud, metallic click. "Seven of these currently rest in this gun." He placed it on the bar. "And inside that very same data stick… Is the name of the man who took your son." He slid it to her. "And he is on this station… Right now."

Shepard slowly began to straighten up, her jaw partially slack, lips parted in a frown, as her dull, buzzed eyes began to piece together Edward's implication.

Edward smiled. "As I said. I know what I would do." He stood up. "Enjoy whatever there is on tap, while you make your decision." He turned to the television, upon which there was the three Directors, and the geth platform, the headline reading 'Geth to Join the Alliance: Persius Veil Reclaimed.' "Good day." He nodded to her, and exited the bar.

The door swung shut with a light clack. It couldn't have been louder than a timid clap, but to Shepard, it may have well been a gunshot. She turned her gaze to the gun, and then to Edward's unfinished drink.

The TV unmuted, "today, we have made history on more fronts than one." Came Tyson's voice, as Shepard silently opened up her watch and started pouring through the files on Edward's drive, searching for the one he had indicated to her. "As I speak, our Director for Foreign Affairs is speaking with our counterparts in the Alnitek system, in the goals of peace and potential alliance with the native saltorians. Greater, however, is the true end to a centuries long war that has not seen a proper conclusion since the creation of the Migrant Fleet." Shepard found the file, it was simply labeled 'Backers'.

"As you all know… Centuries ago, the quarians created one of the galaxy's first AIs. There was a war following, during which the quarians lost billions and were forced to flee their home system, resulting in the beginning of their days as nomads as a part of the Migrant Fleet. These nomadic days ended when the quarians joined with the Alliance just before the First Contact War, but their war with the geth would not end until a quarian set foot on a quarian Rannoch, once again." Tyson lifted his head, looking directly into the camera. "The last hours, we have spoken to the representative of the Geth Collective, and they have expressed desire to us to join our Alliance. Before the day is out, I intend to have him repeat his case to the entire Board of Directors, before calling a vote on whether to grant this request or deny it."

She found it.

"We stand here, at the precipice of history."

Christopher McGraw.

"Before us, stands home."

A cafe off of Terud Street.

"Before us stands opportunity."

She raised her deep, green eyes to the gun on the bar.

"Dare I say… Before us stands peace."

She snatched the gun off of the bar.

"What, you're telling me you don't want to see him?" Said a light, jovial voice, as the speaker leaned back in his chair, seated outside in the open-air cafe. "We came all this way, I pulled two all-nighters - - two! To make this super stick, you follow me here, and now you're having second thoughts." Said the incredulous man, "lady, I'd slap you if I didn't value my own life."

His companion ran a hand through her raven hair, steeling her expression. "It's tantamount to visiting... Someone else, McGraw." She said, "I don't need the distraction and neither does he. I doubt he would remember me to begin with."

"Au contraire." Said the enigmatic engineer, "perfect recall from the first augmentation onward, and you trained with him. I'll put it to you this way - in a crowd of people with guns, his eyes would lock onto you first." He cracked the fingers on his organic hand, against those on his cybernetic one. "And please, you know all of this to begin with. You're just stalling. What, nervous? Butterflies in the stomach? Well when his augmented derriere comes a knockin', asking for 'a highly adaptable weapon for melee combat', you damn well know we'll both be there to show him the Stick." His blue eyes snapped downwards a second, locking onto the briefcase leaning up against the legs of his chair.

"I know all of this."

"Do you?" McGraw grinned. "You were just telling me it might not be a good idea if you're here."

"In reference to the fact that, with my job, being seen often in public isn't necessarily beneficial." Said the Lawson, as she folded her hands on the glass table, briefly scanning their environment, counting the heads in the lightly packed open-air cafe, as she had been trained to do.

"Hey, you brought it up." McGraw grinned a one-sided, toothy grin, "I can jump and scream 'she's a spy!', if that'll help."

"You act like a child."

"I'm twice your age!"

"That's my point."

McGraw laughed, and leaned back forward, setting the chair down on all four legs, looking up at the distant television screen, showing the latest, history-making headline. "Damn, lady. First the batarians, then these saltorians, now the geth? Christ, the majority population won't be humans, much longer, this keeps up." A pause, "specially if we annex the Hegemony. Technically then the batarians will hold majority... In the Human Systems Alliance." He chuckled.

Miranda nodded, "how many first contacts will you live through?"

He, in turn, grinned again, and didn't answer the question. "So, I'm thinking a vacation is in order, soon. Probably to some place exotic…" He turned his gaze to a few tables over, briefly watching an asari and human couple finishing their food. "Wonder what Saltor's like. New aliens to study, history to look at, technology to appropriate..."

"An inhospitable planet with crushing gravity and flora and fauna that seems to make a rival of Tuchanka." Miranda deadpanned. "I'm curious as to how the attacker, here, was able to survive in these comparatively minuscule atmospheric pressures."

"Bah!" McGraw waved her away, "you focus on that stupid tripe, what I thought was pretty cool was the biotic display near the end. Gave me some ideas…" His eyes narrowed as he saw, inside the cafe, the doors get violently shoved open. There was a silhouette inside, its curved figure suggestive of being either a human woman, or an asari, and with the way it was slouched and tensed, whoever it was was pissed.

Hm. McGraw's eyes slid down to the couple he'd observed earlier. Is there a way to measure biotic strength? Put a number to it, instead of just saying 'As strong as an asari 'x'. Hm. I'll need to look at the Teltin reports again, soon. Haven't gotten something from them in a while. He rolled his eyes, not feeling sorry for the object of that woman's ire. I wonder if there's a way to tell time in the Warp. Could we add modular casings to Titan Two? It's designed to be upgradable, I wonder what we could add to make it badass in a box with a side of fries. Biotic amp... Amps? Hm... He turned back to his table, and where the hell's my food? I was dead a week and been busy for longer after I woke up. Don't remember last time I ate… Shit, I should probably head to the room, again, soon. When was the last time I went in? They're probably worried.

"What day is it?" He asked, abruptly.

"Thursday."

"Oh." Probably haven't eaten since Monday, then. Hm. He shrugged.

Miranda caught on, "when did you eat last, McGraw?"

"Thursday."

"Last week?"

"Sure." Why not? Make her sweat a little.

"You'll probably kill yourself, doing that…" She trailed off.

McGraw turned his head over to her, "what?" He saw her looking over his shoulders, into the cage. "He can't be here…" He turned to look to the cafe. "Said he'd get here tomorrow." But inside, the woman from earlier seemed to be carrying on a verbal storm, angrily gesturing with her arms and, from the way her head snapped about, she appeared to be looking for someone. "Damn, someone's fucked."

"I think we should go."

"Nah, screw that." McGraw waved her off. "I want food, and nothing in the galaxy will -" The woman now came stomping outside, and when McGraw made eye contact with her, he froze mid sentence, as there, with a drunken flush and red, puffy eyes, was Hannah Shepard, perhaps one of the most dangerous women in the galaxy. "Oh shit."

Hannah's green eyes snapped to him at the sound of his voice. She stalked over to his table, her booted feet making loud thumping sounds as she stomped over the carpeted metal floor. He lifted his blue-eyed gaze to match with her red, puffy eyes as she grew closer, looming higher and higher over the table as her distance to it decreased. It was only when he saw her tense her right hand and snap it into her coat, did he see the bulge in the left half of her coat.

Oh. Well. She's armed. McGraw frowned.

Miranda, however, reacted. "Gun!" She yelled, ripping her pistol out of its holster and bringing it to bear upon the Captain, just as the readheaded shepard tore hers out of her coat.

McGraw watched the next few seconds happen in slow motion, as Miranda fired twice, the first shot glancing off of the Captain's shields, and the second one flattening against them before recoiling away. In the time it took her to adjust for the third shot, the Captain snapped her gun over to Miranda and pulled the trigger. McGraw saw the bullet blast out of the gun, slam into Miranda's barriers, and with a brief electric pulse, disrupt them just long enough for a second, equally thunderous, detonation to send the bullet into her stomach. The bullet tore through the Cerberus Operative's stomach, coming out the other side with a large spray of blood. This stunned Miranda just long enough for Shepard to fire once again, doubling the damage, and then a third time, causing Miranda to fall backwards in her chair, from the recoil.

She hit the ground with a loud thump, and when Shepard shifted her aim to McGraw, he, without a single change in his previous tone or serious expression, said, as Miranda fought to stay conscious and to raise herself back up, "you fucked up." A moment later, Shepard fired four more times, two bullets hitting his chest, one hitting his throat, and one smashing into his head, snapping it backwards.

A/N:

So. Andromeda.

Overall, 7/10.
It would have been far better if they didn't recycle, copy, and paste old plot twists from the earlier games.
I won't spoil them here, but if you look closely you can see the egregious amount of copy/paste jobs.

The gameplay was pretty fun, though. My Ryder - a snide sarcastic little asshole by the name of Mann Lee, though you can call him Manly - went from a run and gunner to a close range specialist. I took advantage of the overpowered melee system, the biotic charge, a krogan hammer, and powers to let me recharge shields with every melee strike, to basically go Red vs Blue's Freelancers, on those folks. Opting for melee over pretty much everything.

Don't talk to me about the multiplayer, though. If I was partially disappointed with the main campaign, I was utterly disappointed with the by-and-large unchanged multiplayer mode. I'll stick with ME3.

In other news, my classes are still going and going strong. I'll be having clinicals here within the next few weeks... Pretty anxious about those, but we'll see how they go.
The end date got pushed back to early August, though. So this monthly structure will be adjusted accordingly.

I'll be trying to get better with the updates to the blog, but until then I've gotten pretty active over on twitter -at-ProfFartBurger. I answer most/all of the tweets get sent my way, so don't be shy!

'till next time!

-PFB