HOLOCAUST
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE:
WAR IS HELL
July 29, 2186
1000 hours.
Northeastern Tunnels, Catacombs of Paris, Paris, Sixth Republic of France/European Union, Earth.
The Reaper War, Occupation of Earth: Operation: Far Gone.
Corporal Jasper Toombs, Corporal Erik Fessinger, Sergeant Major Leonard Descombes.
He was terrified.
For Toombs, terror was not a new feeling. It was something he had experienced aplenty in his life. As a former marine of the Systems Alliance, he was no stranger to the terrors of the galaxy.
Corporal Jasper Toombs, former marine of the now non-existent 55th Force Recon Platoon, had just been your ordinary citizen before he signed up. Having grown up in Edmonton in the UNAS, he had trained to be a gridiron footballer. By the time he was 22, he was a member of the Edmonton Eskimos football team, and competing in the Canadian Football League. Had he never met that one hanar, he likely never would have known another life. But he had; that one hanar had changed his life. That hanar's name was Phayl. Apparently, Phayl had been a resident of Edmonton for quite some time at that point, and was a fan of Canadian football. Before long, Phayl had locked his sights on Toombs, and the two developed a friendship. After a while, Toombs began to learn more about the galaxy around him, discovering just what he was missing out on. In the end, he simply couldn't resist. His curiosity got the better of him.
Phayl gave him the motivation, and he made the action: he joined the SAMC as an opportunity to explore the galaxy. He wasn't in it for any particular military glory or to get back at some blinks for the Blitz; he was there for the exploration. He wanted to see some of the things Phayl claimed existed. He wanted to see it all. And then, and only then, would he return to Edmonton and share all the things he had learnt. He was even proud to eventually be assigned to the 55th Force Recon Platoon, under the command of the great Commander Shepard himself, almost fresh from his moment of glory on Elysium and Torfan. Things were going right for Toombs.
And then that fateful day on Akuze.
For the first time in his life, Toombs experienced terror other than the stress of an examination room or football field. Their platoon had deployed in the early hours of the morning, deployed by the SSV New Delhi, to investigate Akuze's distress call; the small colony assigned to the palladium mining facility there had gone dark, but not before sending out a basic distress call; no text or message, just a beacon. The New Delhi was first on the scene, and the 55th deployed. Murmurs had gone amongst the group: what was it? Was it the batarians striking again? Was it a precursor to invasion? But like the calm man he was, Shepard had told them all to be quiet and stay frosty; with the Lion of Elysium and Butcher of Torfan by their side, they would pull through.
Their search had turned up nothing. They had found the colony, but it had been consumed by a massive sinkhole, one they determined was not of natural causes, and was caused by underground borrowing. With the sun going down however and Captain Dick Eisennhorn insistent on finding survivors, they made camp. Toombs had three guard duty in five hours, and he had tried to find sleep after reading an extranet article about his team's latest victory back on Earth. He remembered it vividly; he had been snuggling down, ready to watch the game's results live from his omni-tool, when hell itself was raised.
First it was the roars and the screeches. Then it was the ground tremors. Shepard ordered the 55th to set up defensive positions, fearing they had been fired upon by batarian artillery, and that the screeches were varren. But by the time Shepard finally found out what they were up against, the three of the creatures emerged and descended upon them.
Thresher Maws.
Phayl had told him about the wonders of the galaxy, but he had failed to mention the horrors; thresher maws were one of them. Enormous worm-like creatures, thresher maws were subterranean monoliths that originated from Tuchanka. Birthed through spores, they quickly spread to dozens of worlds, leading to them spreading like wildfire. It was suggested they never be engaged on foot, as they could slaughter entire platoons of troops without vehicle support, and that even with tanks, they could spit acid capable of melting the hull of a Grizzly.
They knew this because Akuze had been their precedent.
Shepard, amongst all the mess, sounded the retreat to the shuttles. He must have. He'd have been a fool not too. Either way, Toombs couldn't tell. All he could do was stand there, grasping his avenger rifle tightly and pointed in no particular direction, as he watched the ground seemingly disappear around them, tents vanishing beneath the surface in some areas, while marines disappeared in others. Some tried to return fire, but were largely consumed. He had remembered watching one unarmoured soldier trying to fight one with nothing but a pistol, only to get a face-full of acid in response; the look of his skin sizzling and peeling, while his eyes popped and blood vessels exploded would always haunt Toomb to the ends of his days. Other marines were devoured, screaming. Some lost legs and couldn't move, crying out to others to help them, only to get no answer. They were soon consumed, or, in one case, opted out.
With half their platoon slaughtered in just over a minute, Toombs finally decided to flee. He went in the wrong direction. He could see some of the platoon making their way into the vehicles to escape; some made it pretty far before the maws caught up. They managed to kill a few, while others were capsized or crushed under the bulks of the pursuing threshers. At the time, Toombs had no way of knowing whether Shepard was among those killed. He didn't have time to care.
All he did was run. Toombs sprinted from the camp, happy to know that none of the threshers were following or had noticed him. Threshers normally detected vibrations in the surface and used that to track their prey; to Toombs' luck, they must not have picked his up or were simply too preoccupied devouring his friends and fellow marines.
By the end, it was obvious what had happened to the colony; thresher maws, sixty of them, had formed a colony over a period of time directly under the colony. Obviously, the colony's drilling eventually hit their colony and pissed them off; ending in the colony being consumed. By the end of the slaughter, the entire 55th Platoon was no more; from what he had heard from the reports years later, nobody but Shepard had survived the massacre. He became known as the Survivor of Akuze. The Alliance would later attempt to call for a subterranean neutron purge to kill the thresher maws. Unfortunately, the Citadel Foundation for Wildlife Preservation (CIFFS) stepped in and objected to the action and the Alliance instead elected to establish the Akuze Exclusion Zone.
All of this Toombs would only find out six years later.
Unlike Shepard, who traversed twelve kilometers of open terrain to reach a safe zone for a shuttle pickup, Toombs was not so lucky. The official report until Toombs' return was that Shepard was the only survivor. Toombs was believed KIA with the rest of the platoon. Left behind on Akuze to die, Toombs lived on the planet for two days afterwards, trying his best to survive with only a few rations and a bottle of water. Both luck and disfortune finally greeted him on the final day of his entrapment when he signalled a shuttle down.
For the next six years, he would regret doing so. The shuttle had been Cerberus, and they had plans for him.
As he soon found out, the colony's placement over the thresher nest was no coincidence. Cerberus had deliberately directed the colony's foundation to make sure it was right ontop of the thresher nest. Apparently, they wanted the colony to be devoured so that the military would deploy troops. Doctor Bradley Wayne, the lead scientist in charge of the project, was ecstatic to find out there was a survivor of the attack: now they had someone to run tests on.
And for six years, Toombs was their pet project. Held in a cell on a space station of who's name and status he can't even remember, Toombs was put through numerous tests and conditions that no organic being should be put through; they exposed him to numerous forms of radiation. As a result, he developed seven types of cancer. They injected him with drugs that was supposed to remove his ability to feel pain, before proceeding to break both his legs, both arms and five fingers on his left hand; it failed, and he screamed for days on end until all his bones were reset. He was then deprived of sleep for three whole weeks. Countless experiments, numberless 'therapies'. By the end, Toombs was a wreck.
Thankfully, in 2183 CE, his torment finally ended, years after he lost hope of escaping. As part of Operation: FLIGHT OF THE RAPTOR, the SIA had launched simultaneous strikes on Cerberus facilities in an attempt to capture key personnel, one of which was Doctor Bradley Wayne. Raiding the station, the SIA team killed most of the Cerberus crew, captured Dr. Wayne and his science team, and freed Toombs, who was sent to a reconditioning facility on Earth.
He was never the same. Sure, he could fight again, but he had lost all interest in doing so. In the end, he gave up on his family, he abandoned his sporting career, and he left the Alliance. All he could think about was revenge. So while Shepard fought Saren and the geth, Toombs was out finding every single member of the science team involved in his torture and killed every single one of them. By the time he cornered Dr. Wayne on Ontarom, the entire science team was slaughtered. He remembered putting the bullet in Dr. Wayne's head. He remembered it well. He had avenged the 55th, and yet the feeling was unmistakable.
Emptiness.
With a family who thought him dead and the SIA searching for him, he chose to hide in plain sight; he falsified his credentials and joined the European Union Army. A fresh start. A new life. He would remain a soldier, but now he could stay far away from the galaxy Phayl had claimed was so spectacular, and had only turned out to be the most terrifying place imaginable. Toombs would never leave Earth again.
Unfortunately for him, he was never given the opportunity or second attempt to rethink that decision. The Reapers hit Earth, he was still in Europe, and he had no choice but to join the worldwide resistance to repel them. Despite all his efforts to keep the horrible monsters at bay, worse ones had found and come to him. And this time, there would be no escape. No last minute rescuers.
So what better place is there to run from the terrifying monsters than to run into one of the most terrifying places on planet Earth?
The Catacombs of Paris had gained notoriety for their history. Built as part of the mines under Paris in 1810 CE, the catacombs are the largest underground network of tunnels in human history, spanning well over hundreds of miles, and seven levels. Filled with the bodies of the dead, only small sections of the catacombs were ever legally traversable, and even then, only by tour guides. That only made up a small portion of the catacombs, however; the rest could not be accessed. It could be, but not by legal means; once inside, only those who were professionals could ever hope to see the surface again, and horror stories of those who found themselves lost in the maze of tunnels haunted those who dared to explore their interiors.
And yet here they were, his squad, doing so under extreme duress.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea, sarge," Corporal Erik Fessinger, one of his French squad members, commented, albeit sarcastically. Toombs looked up from where he was, currently leaning against the stone wall behind him. The corridor they were in was in line with every other in the catacombs; narrow, only roughly two meters in width. The ceiling was just high enough that if he stood at full height, his head would have an inch of free movement. The darkness was all encompassing, with only their flashlights and the night vision in their helmets giving them an ability to move. The ground was waterlogged, with the corridors largely flooded and the water discoloured due to the effects of crumbling debris and dust. The exact color of the water was impossible to tell with what they had. The air was stale and the air freezing cold, the thermal heating in his armor only just managing to keep him from feeling the chill.
Toombs was wearing some basic HYPERION-67 combat armor, a less advanced variant of the HYPERION-82 armor that was standard across the Alliance military and largely utilized by the forces of the European nations. The armor was a lighter blue with yellow stripes lined vertically across the frame; color scheme of the EUAF. The circle of twelve yellow stars that was the insignia of the EU was stamped into the upper part of his helmet, as well as the shoulderpads and right breastplate of his armor. He held an M-8 Avenger assault rifle firmly in his grip, a M-3 predator sidearm holstered at his hip. Two incendiary grenades rested on his waist, and a pouch with thermal clips was located in a crevice in the chest of his armor. His helmet fully tightened on, night vision fully activated, he could see everything, thankfully, as the flashlight on his helmet only reinforced.
As he looked up, he could see Corporal Fessinger, as well as a second marine, Private Freedkar, facing opposite ends of the corridor; Fessinger was crouched, his vindicator battle rifle raised and finger on the trigger, guarding the way they came on; on the right. Freedkar did the same on the left, his helmet removed long before during a firefight, dried blood already crusting on his head as he kept his own M-9 Usurper rifle aimed down the passage they intended to cross.
The sergeant in question, Sergeant Major Leonard Descombes, could only growl and mumble in French as he cursed his omni-tool, turning his anger upon Fessinger as he pointed angrily, "Shut the fuck up Fessinger and let me think. You just keep the passage behind us clear."
Descombes was not the best commanding officer to have. Toombs' squad had once been at full strength, but fighting on the surface had reduced their numbers to this: himself, Descombes, Corporal Fessinger and Private Freedkar. They had been surrounded by Reaper troops, attempting to pull out as the rest of the European forces had, only to lose most of their squad. Unfortunately, Descombes had the 'brilliant' idea that using the catacombs to bypass enemy forces and find a way out of their pincer movement, which only led to them becoming lost. Figures.
Descombes, for a man of his position, was unfathomably idiotic. By leading them into the catacombs, he thought he could lead them to safety, and that he could use his omni-tool to find themselves a way out. Four major problems with that scenario; one, the Reapers had likely seen them entering the catacombs, and would have no problems dispatching troops after them. Two, the vastness of the catacombs and the fact that they were unmapped meant that Descombes had effectively led his men into a trap, making the job of the Reapers much easier. Three, they were so far underground and in Reaper territory that his omni-tool couldn't even connect to the extranet, let alone a nearby communications relay. Four, no maps existed for the Catacombs, which would have made his omni-tool useless even if he could have found a connection.
So what was his solution to the problem? What fantastic solution did Descombes have?
Sit. Wait. Why? Because maybe, just maybe, his omni-tool will find a connection.
Dim-witted imbecile. We're dead because of him.
Toombs didn't voice it, and neither did the rest of the team, but they knew any hope of getting out was near impossible. Even with all their advanced technology, it would take them weeks to find an exit in this maze of a network, and there were so many dead ends that the Reapers would surely find them before they could even get within a kilometer of an exit. They were royally screwed.
All because Descombes simply couldn't let them die with honor.
Fessinger scoffed, shaking his head as he turned back to the corridor behind them, "Keep clear of what? The Reapers would take centuries just to find us down here, sarge. You led us into a fucking maze, and not even the Reapers would be able to get their husks out. It fucking reeks down here, anyway. The smell. The cold. The water. The narrow corridor...thank you, sarge. Everything I hate, all in one. I'm claustro-fucking-phobic, and you just had to lead me into the catacombs of Paris, of all places..."
Descombes snarled, turning away from his omni-tool once again, "Would you have rather died up there!?" his body shook with anger, likely frustrated more at their situation than Fessinger's words. His heavy French accent punctuated his voice, leaving his outburst more amusing than generally scary.
"Yeah, actually, I would have," Fessinger shot back, "At least then its in the open and we die quickly. Now we're trapped down here, and the only death we'll get is either starvation or killing ourselves. Neither are options I particularly wanted for my death. So fuck you, sarge."
"Shut the fuck up!" Descombes slapped an armoured hand across Fessinger's head, before turning to Toombs, looking him directly into the visor, "Do you have anything you'd like to say?" he then turned to Freedkar, who hadn't even turned to look at him, the marine sagging off to the side slightly out of exhaustion, "Or you? I'm sure you'd love to complain, Freedkar. That's all you've done so far!"
"Quit bullying them, Descombes. You got us into this mess. At least man up and take responsibility for it, you fucking French cunt," Fessinger spat, standing up, finally fed up with Descombes' bullshit. He holstered his rifle, turning back as he pushed Descombes back, water sloshing beneath them as their sudden movement kicked up some of it, the filthy liquid coating their boots, "I'll never get to see my sister again, because of you. Toombs probably won't see his family again either! Or Freedkar! Look at this shit!" he kicked at the water again, kicking more of it up, "We're walking on the bones of people who died over three hundred years ago! The air fells worse than my mum's gasses after a Christmas pudding, the water is so discoloured I'm starting to think it is Christmas pudding, and the air is so stale, I can barely fucking breathe! And this is your idea of fucking safety!?"
Fessinger's voice echoed through the tunnels, causing Toombs to tense up. He closed his eyes, teeth chattering. The cold, despite his armor fighting it off, felt like it was seeping in, creeping up his bones. He was terrified.
Please stop shouting. Please, God, please stop...
Descombes shoved him back, unintimidated, "I did what I had to do to save this squad!"
Fessinger laughed, pointing at both ends of the corridor, "Take a look around you, Descombes. What you had to do was get us out of there alive. That doesn't mean trapped in tunnels hundreds of miles long! We can't even find a way out! We're fucked!" he turned away, punching one of the walls directly with a fist, the stone crumbling and leaving a mark from the impact, the shards of broken stone falling into the water with heavy splashes, or echoing as they thudded off the walls themselves, "This isn't fucking fair! I promised my sister I'd be home by next week! Now I'll never see her again!" He slumped against the wall, "Guess it doesn't matter. She's probably dead anyway. Fucking Reapers."
"Panicking won't do us any good..." Descombes tried to argue.
"I'd like to see something that is doing us any good," Fessinger snapped back, shutting Descombes up. Despite being a sergeant, he was fairly inept at keeping his squad in check, something Fessinger took constant advantage of. He chuckled lightly to himself, turning away from their French sergeant, "Besides, this isn't panicking. This is acceptance of fact. We're trapped. We'll never find a way out. We've more than likely got Reaper troops down here looking for us. The Catacombs of Paris are infamous for a reason."
He's right...
He leaned back, the back of his helmet tapping against the wall. Just as well my family think I died eight years ago, or I'd actually be sorry for them. Dying to thresher maws would probably be more dignified than this...all alone, in the darkness, nothing but an idiotic sergeant, a pessimistic corporal and a mute private for company.
Private Freedkar was by no means a mute. He could talk, but for whatever reason, he had fallen entirely silent ever since their descent into the catacombs. It was very likely shellshock that was doing this to him, the loss of his squad coupled with the inevitability of their slow death creating a sudden realization that he was doomed. Toombs couldn't blame him. He thought the same when he was captured by Cerberus.
Unfortunately for them, there would be no happy ending. The SIA would not be sending a rescue team to free them.
We're going to die. All four of us; if anything, we're already dead.
"Wait," Fessinger spoke up, getting the attention of both Descombes and Toombs as they turned towards the soldier. The corporal was facing the way they had come, his hand held up, rifle hanging by the sling around his shoulders. He frowned in the darkness, continuing to look down the passage. He turned to them, clarifying, "Did any of you hear that?"
Toombs shrugged, "Hear what?" It was the first thing he had said since entering the Catacombs.
Fessinger turned back, licking his lips, "I definitely heard moaning. As in, you know, husks."
"No way," Descombes objected, turning back to his omni-tool, its orange glow lighting up the corridor once more, washing away the darkness and serving as a beacon of light in their night vision, "Its like you said, it would take them years to find us down here. They couldn't be that close."
"They followed us down, you stupid fuck," Fessinger retorted, "Its very possible they took the same passages we did."
That, or they just heard your shouting, Toombs mused.
Moments later, Toombs heard it. Moans. They were the unmistakable sounds of standard husks, but this time he could also hear screeches; the sound of cannibals. They were definitely close.
Toombs nodded to Fessinger, acknowledging what he had heard. Standing up, he raised his rifle, joining Fessinger in their narrow positioning and dropping into a crouch, looking directly down the corridor. Behind them, Freedkar got up and joined them, his Usurper aimed downrange.
Descombes, however, did not.
"Can't have found us," Descombes mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he frantically tapped at his omni-tool, refusing to pick up the M-37 Falcon rifle that lay resting against the wall behind him, instead shaking like an unseasoned child, "No way in hell. Mazes. Years to find us. No, no, no, no..."
"Sarge!" Fessinger hissed, trying to remain silent while trying to scare Descombes into action, "What are you doing? Grab a rifle! They'll be here any second!"
Descombes finally took notice, turning to Fessinger with nothing but fear in his eyes. Once more, he shook his head, refusing to take even the slightest movement to pick up his weapon as he just looked between the three of them, Freedkar remaining silent and unmoving other than the odd sweep of his rifle across the corridor, "No...no! I won't! Have...to get us out of here! We need to leave! To run!"
Fessinger frowned, looking at Toombs, who just shrugged. I'm just ready to die. For this to be over with. Running will only prolong it. This isn't Akuze. On Akuze, running was all I could do. There was no glorious death to be had against thresher maws. At least now I can take some husks with me...as empty a premise that may be.
Fessinger turned back to Descombes, "Are you deaf? Did you hear anything I said? We're trapped down here! You'll never find a way out! Running is pointless! You can either die fighting or die running," he turned back, one eye looking down range on his rifle, "I'm certainly not going to die that way, how about you guys?"
"Die fighting," Toombs replied in response, a mere mumble, but enough to be heard. There were more screeches, these ones louder, now complete with the sounds of marauders and berserkers. It was likely an entire swarm was heading their way, which would make running even more pointless. A maze of tunnels and the possibility of finding an exit is almost zero...why even bother wasting the energy? You're better off putting it to use killing some husks.
He didn't see Freedkar nod, but he had no doubt the private did, as he made no move to try and leave. In the end, Descombes was outvoted, despite being the commanding officer of their unit.
What I'd pay to have Shepard as my commander again...he wouldn't have gotten us into this mess in the first place.
Descombes must have said or done something that made Fessinger fed up, because the corporal waved a dismissive hand, turning back down the corridor, "Fine, run away then. Get yourself lost. Run all by yourself and die alone. We don't care. You've already killed us. We're just choosing how it ends. So start running, Descombes. We'll give you a head start on the husks."
Toombs didn't even need to turn around to know Descombes had taken what Fessinger had said on merit. Before he had a moment to finish contemplating what Fessinger had just said to their CO, Descombes turned and ran, leaving his rifle behind as the splashes of his feet slashing through the water could be heard, getting fainter and fainter as he continued to run away, his footsteps fading away into the darkness.
Fessinger mumbled under his breath, doing so just before more screeches and moans were heard, just around the corner. He took aim, preparing himself, "Fucking asshole."
Toombs, in that moment, took a moment to think about his life. The choices he made. Would he be in this situation had he never met Phayl? Or, if he had, shown disinterest in Phayl's stories? Was it truly that hanar's fault that he found himself trapped down here, with a loud mouth pessimist and a mute, about to face off against an unstoppable force? Was it perhaps just mere chance that Toombs had taken the hanar's words as gold and decided to doom himself forever to the bane of curiosity? Perhaps it really was a case of being in the wrong city, at the wrong time...
All I ever wanted to do was play football. I was good at that. I liked it. I was loved, I had friends who cared about me, and family I could visit. Instead I had to let Phayl woo me with stories of a majestic galaxy, full of ceaseless wonder...the idiocy and naivete of youth drove me, took me away from everything I loved, and dropped me into hell.
For all I know...my family is dead. Harvested or killed by the Reapers, it doesn't matter. Very slim chance they're even alive. My football team too. Hell, Phayl's probably dead too. What does it matter? I lose everything, no matter what scenario. At least now I can fight back.
Great deal its done for me, though. Couldn't save my platoon on Akuze, and couldn't save my squad now. Might as well just accept it. I was doomed from the moment I listened to Phayl. I was doomed from the moment I was born in Edmonton, Earth in the 22nd century.
I was doomed from the very beginning. A sequence of events...and here's the resolution.
"Here they come!" Fessinger called out. Toombs saw them; a sloshes of water as dozens of husks made their way through the water, turning down the passage as they heard Fessinger call out. They all charged at once, as one, slowly but gradually making their way down to the group. Fessinger immediately opened fire, his rifle bursts lighting up the otherwise pitch black corridor as a hail of bullets impacted the lead husk, shredding its torso and causing it to fall backwards into the slosh.
Toombs and Freedkar followed, their own weapons bursting with light and fury as they too emptied what they had into the enemy's ranks. Descombes was long gone, lost in the maze of tunnels behind them...and for all Toombs cared, he could die. He was not going to die a coward, at the very least.
The rifle jolted against his shoulder as he emptied round after round into the husks, but they just kept coming, five husks becoming ten for every single one that died. It was a battle that was unwinnable, and they knew that. They didn't care.
They just wouldn't die running.
Miles down the catacombs, the gunfire continued, mixed in with the screeches and moans of the huskified army as it descended upon the doomed trio.
Somewhere, in the darkness, a whimper was heard, followed by crying.
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July 29, 2186
1145 hours.
The Long Table (High Command Facility Alpha-29), Thessian High Command, Kurinth, T'miix Continent, Thessia.
The Reaper War.
General Tristana J'Asa, Major General Delana P'Stri, Lieutenant General Kinriu T'reyma.
General Tristana J'Asa was probably one of the more calm and collected generals among her cohort, and even she was tense at that very moment.
The Long Table, as was the nickname for the debriefing room located in the headquarters of Thessian High Command, was exactly how the nickname described it. Made out of a material native to Thessia known as elesash, which was the closest equivalent to ebony on Earth, the Long Table spanned the spine of the room, and was sixteen meters long. The room was reinforced with electronic shielding generators and was a kilometer underground, making it impervious to an EMP strike or any form of bombardment, whether it be conventional, nuclear, antimatter or neutron. Possessing a massive backup generator capable of generating power for an entire century, and a ventilation system capable of venting out any type of gas, the Long Table was the safest room in the entire Asari Republics; virtually apocalypse-proof. While on the outside it was a debriefing room, the classified details was that it was a panic room for the Thessian elite; the president herself, members of the RBI (Republican Bureau of Intelligence), high-ranking military officials such as herself and the most important members of the Senate, all were considered those special enough to gain access to its safety.
The table was alined with dozens upon dozens of chairs, with a large viewscreen at the far end, and a thick, titanium-A3 reinforced entrance at the other. Along the walls were numerous paintings detailing asari history, from the Reign of the Night Winds to their fall, the first city-state to the Enlightenment of Thessia. The formation of the Republics, to the discovery of the Citadel. High-powered lights brightened the room, the walls, deceptively lively and harmless, hiding what lay behind them; titanium-A3 armor, strenghtened by solid concrete, and miles upon miles of compacted dirt and Thessian earth. If anyone wanted to experience safety from the Reapers, it was down in High Command Facility Alpha-29, otherwise known by its nickname, and now callsign, Long Table.
Tristana sat close to the middle, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes scanning the room. This was not the first time she had been in the Alpha-29 facility. 846 years old, and she had seen this room all but once before; that was during the outbreak of war with the geth on Rannoch, where High Command had gathered to decide what action they should take. In the end, the salarians, turians and asari had come to the same conclusion; let the quarians burn. Tristana had been part of that unanimous decision, as she had no love for quarians then, and she had no love for them now.
Why we gave them a spot on the Council was beyond me. They were irresponsible, reckless and selfishly stupid. That war was of their own creation, and I'm glad I didn't have to send my troops to die for a cause they didn't believe in. And now, from what I've heard, they've chosen now of all times to go to war with them again. Imbeciles.
Her uniform was creased in some areas, but was otherwise ironed and prestine. High Command had been working her to death ever since the Citadel Siege, with Tristana working day and night to decide troop movements and to coordinate with the naval brass where to send who. The asari's commitment to the war was initially very reluctant, with many generals wondering why they were sending troops to die out there when they could be defending their homeland. Tristana couldn't blame them. She had no doubt the turians harboured the same ill will.
Only difference is that Palaven actually is under attack. But when the Reapers come knocking on Thessia's door, who will be there to answer? No one. We'll all be out there dying, far from home.
Behind her was Major General Delana P'Stri, who, for lack of a better term, looked constipated. Tristana didn't know how else to describe it. Sitting ramrod straight, she looked back and forth at an almost rapid pace, paying attention to the many conversations in the room that were occurring in the interim before the meeting started. Her skin was a pale blue, and her face was scrounched up in what looked like constant pain; Tristana rolled her eyes, wandering just what her problem was. Was she actually, literally, constipated? Recovering from a sickness, perhaps? Tristana's guess was all she had in terms of information.
Lieutenant General Kinriu T'reyma wasn't much different, but she was a different kind of constipated: the kind the military liked. Kinriu looked every bit the soldier; she too sat straightened, her eyes calmly and stoically regarding the government official she was talking with, the only movement in her face being the occassional blink, nod of the head or shifting of her lips as she spoke. She never smiled. She never frowned. Her face was blank, a mask of emotionlessness. Her skin was a dark shade of purple, much darker than Tristana had seen on any other asari. From what she saw, Kinriu certainly lived up to her position; Director of the Commando Corps of the Asari Republics.
I'm sure she just loves attending all those formal parties. Plenty of time to look blankly at people and make them feel little and pathetic.
The room was a flood of activity. Every senior military official, aside from the High General herself, was present, moving around the room or sitting down at the table at their own pleasure. The voices of generals, admirals and air marshals flooded the room and echoed through Tristana's ears, all with a similar topic: the war. All about the war. Some talked about Cerberus, others about recent events such as the siege on the Citadel or Operation: Hornet's Nest, while some admirals praised the salarian victory at Mannovai. She even heard some talk about the UGC's involvement in the quarian-geth war, much to Tristana's disdain.
Why waste time on those idiots? They brought it upon themselves. Let them all die. Easier on us.
Among them were some of the top scientists in the entirety of the Asari Republics, most of them coming from DPAR (Defense Projects Agency of the Republics). Every single egghead, from the top egghead to the lowly egghead testers, was here. Those responsible for the invention of some of the galaxy's most advanced weapons systems, defense technology and warships; it was DPAR who invented the antimatter explosive, after all. Prior to the war, they were also working on advanced particle weaponry, until the Reapers arrived and funding was prioritized to ship, weapon and vehicle manufacturing.
Sitting at the farthest end, the one closest to the viewscreen, was the lead presenter; Doctor Rana Thanoptis. For someone of her position, she looked awfully jumpy; her eyes constantly darted around the room, she kept readjusting her collar despite it looking fine, and she looked the palest shade of blue; she looked almost sickly. Tristana couldn't help her grimace.
She looks about to throw up. Maybe DPAR has developed a new vomit collector and she's the test subject?
After a moment, the room began to fall silent, the numerous occupants taking their seats the room was called to order. The scientists sat closer to the front, as they were obviously the stars of the show. Chairs shifted into position, throats were cleared, documents shuffled. After a moment, Rana Thanoptis stood up, Tristana straightened as she prepared to listen to what the scientist had to say. Rana straightened her labcoat, smiled and nodded, before turning to read off a datapad, "Thank you, members of High Command and DPAR for attending this emergency session. As you all know, these times are dire, and any edge we can get is one we must utilize, so I will be brief," tapping a button on her datapad, they all watched as an image appeared on the screen, showing a Sovereign-Class Reaper on the screen.
She looked up again, hands clasped behind her back, "As many admirals and ship commanders will atest to, Reapers, especially of the type you observe on the screen, have shown incredible resilience in combat, something of which our military has never encountered before. Initial attempts to apply tactics utilized against krogan warships during the Rebellions have proved useless, and with High Command running out of options, they ultimately turned to us for a solution," she sighed, dumping her datapad on the desk as she looked up at the room, "Unfortunately, without a specimen to experiment on, we've been forced to operate with what we have...which isn't much."
Tristana sighed, rolling her eyes as she spoke up, "Can you get to the point? The whole goddess be damned galaxy is short of resources. Have you found a weakness or not?"
Rana visually gulped, sniffing, "Well...nothing. We've found nothing."
Tristana frowned, noticing that generals and commanders in the room were sighing or rolling their eyes as they turned away, annoyed.
However, Tristana was surprised to notice the scientists frowning as well, looking up at Rana with annoyed glances. One scientist, the closest to Rana and sitting on her right, pointed at Rana, calling her out, "Excuse me, Thanoptis? We most certainly did find something!"
What the fuck is this?
Tristana looked between them all as if they were morons, her frown deepening with every second they spent fumbling with each other.
Rana shook her head, "Lies, all of it. Our tests proved inconclusive! We found...nothing!"
Kinriu looked unmoved as always, while Delana looked about to deflate at any moment. The seven commandos protecting the room all looked between each other, each of them just as befuddled as the other. The only ones not confused were the scientists themselves; no, they were just angry.
Finally, one of them stood up, almost shouting at Rana, "That's a lie! Why do you lie?" she turned to the rest of the room, her eyes finally landing on Kinriu, "We do not understand Miss Thanoptis' behaviour, but we assure you that our tests provided interesting results," she snatched the datapad from Rana's grip, typing on it as she connected a direct feed to the viewscreen. Tristana rolled her eyes, looking past the scientist and at Thanoptis. The asari's behaviour was most irregular; having lied and been called out on it, one would think she would be more defensive. But it seemed Rana had simply given in, sitting down dejectedly, looking blankly at the table. Tristana just couldn't figure out her motive.
Why would you come here only to try and withhold vital information on the war effort? It doesn't even begin to make sense.
Her eyes were drawn away from Thanoptis as the feed appeared on the viewscreen, but something was wrong. The 'no signal' logo was onscreen for several seconds too long, and she could see the scientist typing more frustratingly at the datapad. After a few moments, she passed it on to her fellow scientist, who tried the same to no avail. Eventually, a signal did appear, but all that was shown was...nothing. Just a blank screen.
Delana finally spoke up, looking beyond annoyed, "Doctor, just what are we looking at here?"
"I'm...not sure," the scientist frowned, fumbling for words. She turned back to the room, shrugging, her mouth hanging open like a moron unable to comprehend a concept being taught to them. After a moment, she shrugged again, finally managing to form words, "We don't know. It appears...that the entire datapad has been wiped. Like...somebody just deleted everything. We had data. Statistics, weapons evaluation...we even had research on indoctrination and how best to detect and deal with it. We gathered as much of it as we could...we had petabytes of data, and its all gone!" After a moment, she hesitated, and all eyes turned to Thanoptis, who was still looking blankly at the table. This time however, Tristana noticed one new thing: her hands were twitching...it was very slight, but very noticable.
The scientist leaned against the table with her arms and leaned further in, getting her head lowered enough to get Thanoptis' attention. Rana looked up and into the scientist's eyes, and the scientist spoke with an almost harsh monotone, "Rana, where is the data? You collated it yourself. Where is it?"
Rana didn't answer at first, eyes looking at the rest of the room. Then...out of nowhere, catching Tristana offguard, she grinned, turning back to look at the scientist, "I destroyed it. All the research. Every single bit of it. Gone. I also wiped the backups, before you mention it. And those who knew about the data, and also had copies of it, and couldn't come...well, I arranged them to have some accidents."
Tristana's eyes widened. I'm so fucking confused. I...what?
The scientist accusing her stepped back, looking almost...afraid of the person before her. Suddenly, her compatriot leaned forward, almost screaming, "Why!? Do you know how valuable that information was!? You've sent us back to square one, you imbecile!"
Rana just chuckled, rubbing her head tentacles before turning back to the rest of the room, "I...I guess you could say I had an awakening. I woke up one day, and realized that what we were doing is wrong. All of it. I did what I did to save the Asari Republics. That data would have spelt our destruction. I did what was necessary."
A third scientist, from the left side of the room, slammed her fist on the table, almost screaming, "Save!? That data was on Reaper ships and indoctrination! That exact information could have saved lives! If we found weaknesses, we could have used it against the enemy! You haven't saved anyone! You've doomed millions to die with your misguided, twisted morality!"
Tristana leaned forward, a single fist holding her head as her elbow braced on the table. That...doesn't make any sense. What part of destroying our research spells salvation to her?
Rana just stood up, pointing an accusing finger at her, "Oh, shut up. All of you! Sitting there with indifference! Thinking you know the answer to your problems! You think the only way to win this is to destroy the Reapers! You're all fools! Morons! You would doom our civilization to complete annihilation! I saved our people! I did the right thing! I have saved lives! I'm here to show you a different path; a better path! That we should join the Reapers in harmony, not fight them!"
Tristana's eyes widened, finally realizing what had happened. Shit, I had heard reports...
Kinriu immediately stood up, her face remaining blank despite her seriousness, "Doctor Thanoptis, I hope you realize what you're saying. You have already committed treason against the Republics for destroying government property. What you're saying now...I hope you understand the gravity of the situation, because what you're saying is very reminiscent of indoctrination."
Shit, if she's been working for DPAR the entire time...what else has she sabotaged? How long has she been indoctrinated?
Rana just laughed hysterically, backing away until she was against the viewscreen. She turned to Kinriu, waving a dismissive hand, "All you care about is your 'government property.' Never about the people. I bring you a chance to embrace the gifts the Reapers give us, and instead you decide to lecture me about 'indoctrination.' I'm not indoctrinated; I'm simply not deluded."
Delana shot up, almost shouting, "She is indoctrinated! Listen to her! She's an agent for the Reapers! She's a threat to global security!" she turned to the nearest commando, sounding almost like a rabid varren as she spat, "Sergeant, arrest her! Seize her and remove her from this room at once! She is an inside agent! An enemy of the state! Seize her!"
Quick as a flash, two commandos moved in and seized Rana by both arms, rifles in their hands. The other commandos raised their own rifles at Thanoptis, in case she used her biotics to try and escape. To everyone's surprise...she didn't. A matter of fact, she didn't even make an effort to escape.
This made Tristana tense up, seriously worried.
Rana continued to chuckle, thrashing about in the arms of the commandos as they began to escort her from the room. Just before they got past the halfway mark, Rana stopped thrashing, falling completely limp. The commandos stopped, checking to see if Rana was awake. One of them looked up, the sergeant, and looked at Kinriu, shrugging, "She's unconscious, ma'am. No idea what's wrong with her. She seems to have just fainted."
"Wait, do you hear that?" Delana asked, and the room fell silent.
And Tristana indeed heard it. A low buzzing sound, getting louder. Suddenly, Rana began to glow, but to their horror, it wasn't the blue of biotics; it was a dull crimson glow, growing every brighter. Tristana had seen the reports. The reports of indoctrinated who had outlived their usefulness, but needed to go out with a literal bang...
Tristana immediately shot up, screaming, "EVERYBODY OUT! GET OUT NO-!"
A gigantic flash and a thunderous bang, along with a massive wave of heat, was all Tristana heard before the world went black with pain...
...and then ceased forever.
{Loading...}
July 14, 2186
2000 hours.
War Room, The New Order Headquarters, Dyuko District, Omega.
The Reaper War, Occupation of Omega.
Captain Armistan Banes, General Oleg Petrovsky.
Cerberus' gradual transformation of Omega from a filthy, disgusting space-bound slums to a regular city-station was barely taking shape from what Banes had seen, but what little he had, he noticed that the transformation was taking shape.
Cerberus logos replaced those of the original Omega insignia. The mines of Omega, dormant under Aria's rule, were now roaring to life again, pumping out raw materials and minerals for Cerberus to use in their ever expanding war machine. The docks, which had once been teeming with civilian merchant traffic, were now largely dominated by Cerberus supply ships and warships, the latter mostly coming from Petrovsky's First Fleet. In civilian dominated sectors, Cerberus patrols were frequent, largely containing assault troopers, centurions, the new Rampart mechs and the occassional dragoon. Cerberus kodiak shuttles and Mantis gunships patrolled the skyline, helping the patrols to enforce law and order across the station. Crime was at an all time low among the civilian populace. And, of course, force fields, built from scavenged Collector technology, now segregated different sectors, allowing Cerberus to more easily control their new territory.
Perhaps the largest change was Afterlife; the former night club was almost entirely unrecognizable.
Moving through the door leading to the docks led him directly to the entrance to the former Afterlife, with skycar garages off to his left (now turned into a massive storage facility for shuttles, gunships, Atlases and numerous ground vehicles), and the markets off to his right (which had been moved, and most of the area turned into a barracks). Above the main entrance, there should have been a massive viewscreen, where orange electronic flames would have roared hot with holographic light in the old days of Aria T'Loak's shrine of supremacy.
Now, all that remained was the viewscreen itself. Now projected was the gold Cerberus insignia, static before doing a 360 spin every three seconds. Below it were the equally gold-coloured words of 'Humanity First and Always.' The front entrance, initially destroyed during the initial adjutant outbreak in the War for Omega, had been replaced with the now traditional white and grey doorways used by Cerberus nearly everywhere, except larger and wider to accomodate for the large entrance corridor. Where they had once been an almost non-stop line forming, with an elcor bouncer monotonously refusing the same stupid human imbecile from getting in, was now eerily absent, replaced by a line of six Rampart mechs, behind them being a pair of assault troopers talking amongst themselves. Even the original sign hanging over the entrance that said 'Afterlife' was now gone, now replaced with the white words, 'New Order.'
Banes approached, the CAW Deliverance having recently docked at Omega after Randall's failure to capture Tali'Shepard on Rannoch. Something the Illusive Man will not be surprised to hear, given the many failures we've suffered at Shepard's hands, but still disappointed about. He had really hoped this operation would succeed. Randall's a capable agent, but it seems at this point, Shepard has no equal.
He arrived at one of the six mechs who, unlike the two troopers behind them, stood absolutely still, looking blankly ahead with their four diagonally aligned crimson glowing eyes. They looked perputually angry, some of them carrying eviscerator shotguns while he noticed two of them carried harrier assault rifles. Banes couldn't help but appreciate their design; being heavily modified and redesigned LOKI mechs, the Rampart mechs possessed much thicker and prominent body armor, possessed an omni-blade and enforcement gauntlet, could deploy an omni-shield as well as activate tech armor, and were also much more nimble in combat. Being mechs, they performed their duty as stoically and coldly as a geth would in combat. The Illusive Man had wanted a mech capable of performing law enforcement duty during Omega's occupation, and the Rampart mech was his answer. Now, the Rampart mechs served as Omega's primary law enforcement, with thousands of them patrolling the station, day and night, non-stop, dealing harshly with those who got out of hand. Another aspect of them was that they possessed advanced heat shielding; a technology also recovered from the Collector Base's ruins. With this equipped, Rampart mechs could pass seamlessly through the force fields while not being harmed.
The Rampart mech held up its hand, before quietly holding up its hand and using its omni-tool to scan him. Unlike their inferior LOKI cousins, the Rampart mech's voicebox was removed, leaving absent the LOKI's basic battle dialogue they made such as announcing loudly that they were 'reloading' or 'locking onto target.' Another major improvement, given that the voices of LOKI mechs were also obnoxious, and that the Ramparts would serve to be far more intimidating if all they had was their robotic movement, 'muscular' presence and those damn red optics.
Finishing its scan, the two Ramparts infront of him simply parted to the side without a word, and he continued past them. The two assault troopers stopped what they were doing to salute him; he did not return the salute, simply moving past them and through the entrance way into the main corridor.
This, like the rest of the ex-club, had changed as well. The walls had once been covered in viewscreens, with more electronic flames roaring up the walls, creating the only lighting needed as an orange glow filled it, giving the feel of being hot without real flames. Sofas would line the walls, while patrons lounged around either picking fights or engaging in casual conversation. Now the viewscreens, on both sides, had been torn from the wall, with the walls in the process of being painted white and gold. The sofas were gone, leaving a largely empty corridor and lights installed along the ceiling. Like the entrance, the door ahead had been replaced, Banes walking past the two guardians flanking each side of the door. Stepping through, he emerged into the center of the old club, which had gone through the most changes.
Afterlife itself was almost unrecognizable. The center of the club; a massive pedestal where strippers and asari dancers had once earned their paycheck sliding around poles and shaking their asses at the patrons below had been torn down and scrapped, transformed into a large, circular holding pen; a cell, if anything else. However, unlike most cells, this one had four large pylons at each diagonal edge, pulsing a steady blue. These were inhibitors; once a person was in the cell, the inhibitors could be switched on, and a pulse of element zero would be conducted between the pylons, immobilizing them; the effect was identical to that of a biotic stasis field, but without the biotic to generate it.
Up the top, looking over what Petrovsky had dubbed his war room, was Aria's former lounge; the overhanging balcony where her personal couch once sat, where Aria could look over the entire room and admire her dancers from up high, was now replaced by Petrovsky's personal command center; a QEC device sat in the middle, while a large viewscreen displaying Omega's schematics sat at the back of an added platform; built ontop of where the old stairway to Aria's couch used to be. A large terminal was placed where Aria's couch once was, allowing Petrovsky access to the stationwide PA system, as well as allowing him to contact his troops all over the station, control the inhibitor and numerous other functions Banes wasn't aware of. To allow him to get down, two stairways flanking the platform were built to replace the one that was removed, allowing access from the left and right.
The left and right sides had changed dramatically as well. What had once been a bar on the right and private room entrance to the left, was now a series of offices. Placed on elevated positions, these offices had numerous desks and their respective terminals placed in an even line, where numerous Cerberus commanders worked. The left side was the only one occupied however; the right side was still under construction, with scaffolding and ladders lying around to atest to that.
Banes wasted no time in ascending the stairs to Petrovsky's command platform. The man sat behind his main terminal, listening to reports from his subcommanders. Behind him was his QEC, but to the left of that was a small, circular table with a chessboard resting ontop; Petrovsky's signature quirk.
An odd one at that, but the man's tactical brilliance can't be denied. He's an asset to Cerberus and all humanity.
Petrovsky didn't even turn as he switched off his terminal and stood, straightening his uniform. The uniform was identical to an Alliance officer's uniform, but was white and gold instead of navy blue and black, and swapped out the Alliance insignia for the Cerberus golden hexagon.
"Captain Banes, your arrival was unscheduled," the general stated with his oddly neutral American accent, despite his obviously Russian name. He turned to face Banes, hands clasped behind his back and broad shoulders demonstrating the man's well-built frame and experience in the Alliance military. Banes had never seen Petrovsky in person, only heard of him; it was thanks to fate that they were even here to meet. His raven black chair was cropped and short, and his eyebrows were large and punctual. He had small, hazel green eyes and a large nose, accentuated darkened white skin. His head was almost square-ish in shape, with a taut jawline, and well-defined cheekbones. He had a jet black goatee that was the same dark color as his hair, with a similarly black moustache that connected. He moved with an air of authority Banes couldn't hope to match, and carried himself like an experienced and knowledgeable general; something he very much was.
Banes nodded, scratching his head, "Major Ezno ran into complications in his mission to capture Shepard's wife. The mission was a failure and we've been redirected by Cerberus Command to Omega. I'm awaiting further instructions from the Illusive Man himself."
Petrovsky nodded; brisk and to the point. Petrovsky didn't possess any mannerisms Banes could name, but that nod was surely one of them; simple and precise. Declaring understanding, but leaving his emotional reaction as neutral as possible. So far, he's everything I've come to expect from a man of his reputation. His capture of Omega has become legendary within Cerberus. Taking the station, let alone from someone has stubborn and dangerous as Aria T'Loak, was no easy feat.
"Then you best not keep him waiting," Petrovsky replied, motioning to the projector, "He is waiting."
Banes frowned, looking between the projector and the general, "Already? We only just arrived."
Petrovsky walked back towards the projector, Banes following behind him. Arriving infront of it, Petrovsky explained, "The Illusive Man was not happy about your failure, but he was made aware of your arrival at Omega; he gave that order himself, after all. He wishes to discuss with you the next step we'll be taking in dealing with Shepard."
Banes nodded, gulping, "Very well, then."
Petrovsky moved to the terminal and hit the necessary commands, Banes watching as a holographic projection of the Illusive Man appeared before his very eyes. Glowing bright blue with holographic pixels, the Illusive Man was seated in the same chair he always sat in, smoking the same type of cigar and with the same glass of bourbon sitting on the arm of his chair. He sat back, one leg crossed ontop of the other, one arm lying across the chair and holding his glass while the other leaned on its elbow on the other armrest, holding the cigar tightly between two fingers, smoke trailing from the end. The Illusive Man's piercing, blue cybernetic eyes were hard to miss even through the projection, locking onto Banes almost immediately. Everything about the man's pose was the same, although gathering from his skin, he looked like he had aged a dozen years since he last saw him in person.
"Captain Banes. General Petrovsky," the Illusive Man immediately spoke, taking another puff from his cigar, before taking it away from his lips to blow out another burst of smoke, "I am disappointed to have heard of Major Ezno's failure, but it seems, ultimately, this failure was inevitable. I should have foreseen the outcome myself."
"Sir?" Banes questioned.
The Illusive Man's eyes locked onto him again, always seeming to judge every inch of his character. Banes felt uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny, but always managed to hide it. The Illusive Man wasn't fond of weakness or hesitation, especially not since starting this war against the UGC. This time he spoke, less judgmentally than he thought he would, "Yes, captain. Captain Shepard has never failed to demonstrate his resourcefulness in and out of combat. Taking on his squad with just some assault troopers and our best manhunter was foolhardy at best. But I wanted to see how Ezno performed against Shepard. From what I've heard, he did not perform too badly. He almost succeeded; if it wasn't for unforeseen variables, its likely success would have been possible. Unfortunately, deploying a team on Rannoch of all places was foolhardy to begin. I believe that the next time will not be as lucky for Shepard."
"We almost destroyed the Normandy last time, sir," Banes declared, straightening himself as he quickly realized the Illusive Man would not be reprimanding him like he did Leng at the Citadel, "It is my belief that, with the proper resources and right amount of time, the Deliverance can succeed in doing so next time."
"That is also my belief, captain," the Cerberus leader replied, taking a sip of his bourbon before sitting it down again, "Which is why the Deliverance's primary mission, from henceforth, will be the destruction of the Normandy. Shepard has become a nuisance Cerberus can no longer afford. I will not condone it any longer," he turned to Petrovsky, exhaling, "General, Omega will now serve as the headquarters for the Deliverance until further notice. You will devote what resources you can to aiding in their mission to kill Shepard and his team."
Petrovsky nodded, "My troops are having little trouble dealing with the local resistance, so what resources I can devote are yours, Captain Banes." He nods to Banes, who nods back, turning back to the Illusive Man. With Petrovksy to help, I have no doubt dealing with Shepard will become nothing but an exercise in inevitability.
Suddenly, Petrovsky changed the topic slightly, "Speaking of Omega, sir, but I have not heard much about Titan in a while. I can control Omega for as long as necessary, but at this point, possessing our own space station would be far less costly at this point."
The Illusive Man nodded, snuffing out his cigar in the ash tray beside him, "I agree, Petrovsky. Which is why we are building Titan to begin with. I simply cannot continue to commit troops and resources to holding Omega for much longer. However, with the resources we are mining from Omega's mines, I have heard that Project Titan is nearing closer to completion every day. Once built, we will have our own way from which to control the Terminus Systems. Until then, we will continue to mine Omega for every last scrap of resources."
"Understood, sir," Petrovsky replied, saluting, "We are having to mine more slowly than we'd like; the drills haven't seen use for centuries and are very old; we don't want to strain them too much. But we are getting what's needed, and I'll make sure half is sent to Titan and half to other Cerberus facilities as planned. We will not falter."
"Excellent," was the reply, followed by yet another sip of alcohol, "We may have lost Eden Prime and failed to take the Citadel, but remember this: we hold Omega. As long as we continue to do so with impunity, our enemy cannot do anything to weaken us. Once Titan is built, we can destroy Omega and deny our enemy their foothold permanently. And once Titan is completed, we can dedicate further resources to Keyhold. Until then, you must hold Omega, general. I have faith in your capability to do so. Hold Omega and assist Banes in destroying the Normandy any way you can. If possible, and only if possible, recover the Normandy intact. It cost us billions of credits to have that ship built, and I would like to recover that investment if at all possible. If not, scuttle it. Its an advantage the UGC cannot be allowed to continually utilize. I want to be made aware of any and all developments pertaining to this mission," with that, he gave a final nod, hitting the control on his chair for the QEC, "Back to it, gentleman." The hologram then winked out, the pixels evaporating near instantly and the QEC powering down.
With a sigh, Banes turned back to Petrovsky, who had already turned to him.
"We have our mission then," Banes declared, gritting his teeth, "Destroy Shepard. That's a tall order, but it can be done."
Petrovsky nodded, "Nobody is infallible, as I have learnt. I admire the man, but there is a point in which such men become a danger to themselves and to progress. Shepard is a danger to everything we represent. If our cause is to survive, he must be stopped. In this, the Illusive Man and I wholeheartedly agree."
Banes nodded, before relaxing his shoulders, "I must return to the Deliverance and ponder our next move. Shall we meet again tomorrow to discuss plans for dealing with Shepard? I can bring Major Ezno."
Petrovsky frowned at that, "Why not Operative Leng?"
Banes shook his head, "Nothing more than an attack dog, I'm afraid. His special forces reputation gives him too much benefit. He's a rabid animal, not a tactician. Best to leave him out of it."
"Ah," Petrovsky motioned to his chessboard, a ghost of a smile, "A pawn."
Banes shrugged, "I guess you could call him that." A fairly accurate description, actually. He really is about as useful and little as a pawn.
"Very well. I would also like to meet this Major Ezno. We can discuss tactics tomorrow. 0900 hours," Petrovsky declared, offering his hand, "I have a feeling this will be a productive relationship, Captain Banes."
Banes took the offered hand, shaking it firmly, "I get the same feeling."
And hopefully Shepard will die this time. I can see the Illusive Man has had enough of him getting in the way.
And so have I.
A/N:
I wrote this the day before my next exam? Risky.
But its Maths so...fuck it, I don't care.
I like doing these kinds of chapters; world-building, I call it. After all, we have taken a large break from the Reaper War itself, so it makes sense to have a 'previously on...', for lack of a better term. The next couple of chapters will have themes like this, but we'll eventually get back to good old Normandy ass-kicking.
Until then,
Keelah Re'lai, troopers!
