Six :::

Hear My Prayer


Present Day

Six months since the USG Ishimura Incident…


Hans Tiedemann has the CEC dominate side of the government facility of Titan Station on lockdown, as always. It is imperative that he maintained order and control at the unusual circumstances occurred on the station. Ever since they seemingly cracked the code in the impossibility of this artifact phenomenon, civil unrests has erupted all over the station.

Just last week, crime has risen tenfold mimicking that of Omega Station out in the Terminus System. Shootings, theft, robberies… pretty much every atrocity of society had snaked its way onto Titan Station. Hans couldn't help but wonder, could they, the CEC have any hand into what is going on? It sure crossed the minds of those working under him, rumors spreading that their research had sprung loose something neither of them could control for long. But Hans isn't going to let Titan Station descend into chaos on his watch. Superstition or not.

For decades, since its creation in Earth's brief spacefaring history, Titan Station remained the prestigious waypoint for Humanity's interstellar advancements. It didn't take long for station to transform itself into a cesspool once Humanity pushed their limits to the stars. It seemed like everyone was aimed in getting as far away from the Sol System as possible. But Hans is a loyalist, he loves his race and much like any CEC executive… he'll never turn his back on his people. He has done absolutely everything in his power to ensure Humanity's interest in the galaxy. Hell, he hardly ventures out of the Sol System that often. He doesn't pride himself to be much of a frontier junky, though he found his place at Humanity's epicenter. The lunching point of his race's advancements.

"Director Tiedemann," Hans' personal receptionist calls to him from his open office doorway. "They want to see you sir, right away."

Hans gives her a curt nod then takes a moment to recollect himself. Cracking the tension in his neck, Hans inhales deeply, pulling his arms into a crunching stretch from behind his back, then steps away from the panoramic window of his office, granting a breathtaking view of Saturn.

Abandoning his office, Hans takes a short walk down the carpeted corridor of the CEC facility to a door at the end of the hallway. Now, not even Hans, Director of Operations of Titian Station from its private police force to its handpicked engineers and work staff doesn't have clearance to pass through this door. In fact, this door didn't even exist until a little over a month ago.

Against Han's forehand, CEC certified construction workers were given orders by a confidential body to begin construction of another section to the CEC facility on Titan Station. They built this wing in the blink of an eye, with all its essential and nonessential utilities operational. None of it came out of Hans' pocket, of course. This… anonymous body, sponged from their own accounts. Hans did the math… in order to completely construct an entire new wing to the CEC facility in little less than fifty standard Earth days would cost an estimate of over ninety million credits. Whoever these power players are, they sure aren't any CEC or even Alliance bigwigs at that matter.

At the completion of the construction project, this mysterious organization issued hand written authorization passes to only Hans and a select few of CEC and other non-organizational personal access to this wing. Hans didn't think much of it, since he is the most powerful man on Titan Station.

Taking another breath, Hans' hand hesitates on the doorknob. He knows, the moment he passes the door's threshold, he'll be at the mercy of a greater power than himself. He turns the knob to the door and steps through.


Isaac Clarke lands on all fours onto the harden cement flooring of his cell, projecting a pool of vomit before him. The warm, sticky substance of his stomach contents spews across his hands, seeping through his fingers.

"Nasty!" One of the guards that dragged him in retorts.

"Good thing the foul piece of shit waited till we got back to his cage," the other guard replies.

"Fuck yeah! Don't want any of that shit on me!"

The two guards laugh as they slam the stainless steel door to Isaac's cell shut behind him.

"Fuck you!" Isaac manages to mutter loudly at the retreating guards who have been treating him anything less than Human for weeks on end. The room continues to spin around him, but Isaac manages to remember where he is this time.

Home sweet home, he muses plainly, spitting a wad of spit filled vomit to the floor.

Wiping his mouth clear of bile with the back of his hand, Isaac picks himself up and goes over to his cot where he sits. Given the extensive time in his cell, he begins to crawl into his memory—trying to retain something of which these people are so invested in getting to. For some odd reason, he is able to remember his memories in clear detail—even smell, taste and feel what he went through onboard the Ishimura. Yet at the same time, once that Asari is finished splicing through his mind, it all gets boggled up. He finds it nearly impossible to retain, like trying to remember the details of a dream upon waking up.

"Why can't I remember?!" He questions himself, burying his face into the palms of his hands.

Isaac knows, without a doubt that the people detaining him are after something he had encountered onboard the ship. He also knows, by the way these people are treating him, that by the time they're finished ravaging his mind, they'll dispose of him. This doesn't quiet rattle him as much as he thought it would. Nothing really does anymore. Ever since he managed to get the hell off the Ishimura, a relentless numbness had stuck to him like a curse. Seeing so much death, and unspeakable horrors, he thought he would have gone mad. He is certain that no galactic being to date has seen what he saw and lived to tell about it.

For now, Isaac gives his mind a rest. No point in trying to spurt his memory lapse back into motion. Sooner or later, he'll face whatever it was he had already fought weeks before on that ship. Either it be revealed to him by these people detaining him, or it'll just fly into his mind from out of nowhere.

"Just give it time," he says aloud to himself. He discovered early on his first days of captivity that if he spoke to himself often, it'll keep the whispering murmurs of his mind from creeping up on him. And it's also a way of jolting any loose memories strung together in the back of his mind, though not very effective at the least.

His mind still firing with questions, Isaac manages to lay himself down upon his cot, staring up at the bleak grey celling. The hieroglyphs that sketch every inch of his space show themselves to him. Before soon, Isaac can feel himself drifting upward, as if he is floating in the vastness of space, only this time the infinite of the void envelopes him—draws him in. He doesn't fight the euphoric feeling from taking over his body, a yearning sensation that he can remember feeling many times before. In this moment, all the physical and mental pains he has endured dissipate and the scant, raspy voices in his mind mellow out. A soothing tone of a familiar voice sends goosebumps rolling up his arm.

"Just let go Isaac," the voice whispers gently. "Stop fighting… let them have what they want from you."

The voice, so soothing, so reassuring. All Isaac has to do is give in—open his mind so that these people can stop torturing him. To end it all.

He suddenly finds himself more relaxed than he's felt in weeks. Every tense fiber under his skin uncoils and his breaths become even, like his room had just been pumped full of antistatic. His chest, rising and falling evenly with breaths, for a moment, he seems to forgotten that he's encased in concrete, plunged in near darkest with just the illumination of a single flicking light bulb buzzing over his head. He feels… at peace.

Then, the whisper voice comes again, this time it comes to him as if spoken into his ear. Isaac shields his eyes close, listening intently to the voice… a comforting voice that sounds awfully familiar. Something that he once cherished but the memory continues to fade to the edge of his conscious.

"You don't have to fight anymore," it says. "You've done your part. Now's the time to rest. Just rest…"

…A sudden and painful spike of a headache begins to radiate at the top of Isaac's skull. At first, the discomfort is minimal, the harder he tries to ignore it, the more intense the pain gets. Before Isaac knows it, the spiting pain drains across the side of his skull and then seeping down towards his neck. It becomes so unbearably that he starts to contort, rocking back and forth in his cot as if it'll rub it all away. He tries to open his eyes, though he finds the simple effort impossible, like someone had riveted them shut forever.

Panic immediately sets in, wiping away the brief moment of euphoria he had felt. He grunts and cries out from the pain now striking the insides of his body, twisting and turning violently until he flips off the cot altogether, bruising his ribs upon landing on the hard cement floor.

Within the darkness of his closed eyelids, a blast of fiery red flashes spark like fireworks in his head. First there is one, then two—now several, all blasting out from the reaches of darkness. Each one like a hammer slamming into his temples.

Now gripping his head, squirming and grunting loudly on the floor, Isaac can do nothing but endure the pain. He can feel his heart blasting in his chest; any moment now and it'll explode right out his body. His blood fire in his veins, every inch screaming for relief—begging for the pain to end.

The symbols keep flashing—broiling the insides of his eyes… until… till finally, they stop. The agonizing pain Isaac went through rinses out from his body, dissipating into the clammy air engulfing his cell.

His eyes blast open, light spots dance in his vision and the room is spinning. He manages to sit himself up, leaning an arm against the top of his cot.

"My God," he sighs, holding a hand to his forehead. "The hell… was that?"

Catching Isaac's attention, a hollow, billowing laugh drums into his cell. A sickening laugh lanced with madness. He doesn't know if it's his mind still recovering from… whatever the heck that painful spasm episode of his was. But then, as the world stops spinning and the intense ringing in his ear fades to the crevasse of his mind, he is able to tell that the source of this laughter doesn't resonate from his own madness. However, someone else being plagued with the crazies. Isaac is able to tell the laugher is originating from behind the wall of his cell. It isn't as thick as he first thought.

The maddening laughter abruptly stops and silence fills the space. Then, after an extensive pause, the scratchy voice of a man calls out to Isaac. "Having fun over there, are you?" Isaac could hardly make out what the man had said. His words were contorted in a mess of sporadic chuckles and or grunts, Isaac can't tell which though.

"What?" Isaac calls back at the scratchy voice, turning his face to the heavily carved wall to his right, where he believes he heard the voice.

"Heard you screaming… those joyful memories flooding back to you all at once, eh?"

As the voice muttered in laughter, Isaac sits upon the floor, back to his cot and contemplated what this madding person had said. "Wait, those were memories? What I saw—what I felt?"

The chuckling voice answers back, "trying to reach out to us they are, y'know? We're the trigger—you and I—they… they know that—they… want us to trigger it— they—"

"Hold on—stop for a minute!" Isaac shouts out, his head throbbed with pain as he did. "Now who are they, who are you talking about?"

"Don'tcha know?!" The prisoner spurts out. "They're already in your head—talking to us—cheering us on. Now it's time we've done our part. Set it free—make it whole."

Isaac's heart ran cold with that last phrase. Make it whole. He heard it before, just like everything—it's all been there a thousand times before. Yet all of it means nothing if he can't retain it. But it does come apparent to Isaac that this man—whoever the hell he is, knows more about what happened to him and what's going on now.

Before he could yank more questions out the crazed unseen prisoner, Isaac hears the prisoner's cell door open and the scuffle that soon follows. Prison guards had arrived to take the prisoner away, probably to get his mind probed by that strange Asari. But the prisoner isn't going without a fight…

"Son of a bitch!" One of the guard's exclaims. "Fucker bit my leg!"

"Hold em' down—get em' down!" Another guard shouts out. "Richardson, get the stun staff—shock this piece of shit!"

Isaac scrambles across the floor until he reaches the wall. He plants his ear to the cold clammy surface trying to get a sense of what is going on. All he hears are sounds of struggle emitting from two or more guards having a hard time restraining the crazed man. It isn't until Isaac hears the electronic burb of a stun staff shocking flesh, following a sickening cry.

"Ya like that?!" One of the guards taunts. "Hit em' again."

The sharp whine of the staff goes off again, but it is drowned out by the piercing cries of the man. Isaac closes his eyes and rolls over on his back. He collapses both hands over his ears in an attempt to cancel out the man's pains.

Finally, after minutes of torment, the screaming stops and a sudden silence fills its space. Isaac squints his eyes open the slowly removes his hands from the side of his head. The near silence nips at him with heighten anticipation. For a second, he believes the guards killed the crazed man, yet the quiet is broken by the voice of one of the guards.

"Is he dead?"

A moment later another guard pitches in with, "he's still breathing, just unconscious."

"What're we do now?" Another guard speaks up, this one sounding more novice than the rest. "Tiedemann and the Asari ordered us not to harm them."

"Relax kid, Director Tiedemann and his Asari pet are in some meeting," the graveled voice guard replied. The same one who ordered the crazed man to be shocked repeatedly. "We'll just say the prisoner was trying to bash his brains out like that other guy we scrapped up last week. No harm done."

It seems like majority of the guards agreed with this cover story.

"Richardson, keep an eye on the prisoner, tell us when he wakes up," the graveled voice guard instructed.

"Why me?" Richardson asked, fumbling his words.

"Cuz I said so."

And with that, Isaac hears shuffling of footsteps exiting the cell. All but poor Richardson who was left behind to stay watch.


Upon entering the newly rendered communication center that acts as the only gateway to these unidentified associates of CEC, Hans makes eye contact with his Asari counterpart. The alien doesn't say anything to Hans at his arrival. The two may not see eye to eye as to what they have been tasked in doing, and Hans could care less either way. Their research is vital in unlocking a secret larger than any of them could have ever imagine. That, and also all of Humanity and possible the galaxy is at stake of a larger threat lurker in the shadows no one has seen coming. Unfortunately, that doesn't go for theses strange non-CEC affiliates of which Hans' superiors had told him to report to.

Ever since the first 'outbreak' had occurred on a Human colony world somewhere near the Krogan DMZ, the CEC and their elusive partners were really quick in keeping this under wraps. Hans doesn't even know if the colony disaster had reached any ears among other Council races. As far as he knows, only a handful of people in the entire galaxy were aware of what was really happening… what really happened to that mining colony and the planet cracker vessel that orbited it. A momentary chill ran down Hans' spine as the thought sinks into his mind. It rattles him that he is among a few to partake in this discreet operation that has been happening right under the Alliance and even the Council's noses for months. What forces were they really dealing with?

"You're awfully quiet for a change," the Asari, Shiala says breaking Hans out of his troubling meditation. "So weird not hear you bark orders like some sort of slave master."

"Yes, well, I hope those days are behind us," Hans replies pulling at his shirt collar, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After a moment of silence had come between the pair, Hans is first to speak again. "You did well, Shiala. Your abilities are the very reason we are here today. I know the tasks we've been through have been daunting at times… but for the greater good of both our species longevity depended on it."

A twisted look came across Shiala's face; Asari body language is easier to read since they are nearly Humanlike in appearance. Unlike the other species, who are nearly impossible to interpret unless they speak their mind.

"Longevity…?" She retorts with the shake of her head. "I wouldn't call it that. Even after all the data that we… I had recovered for the project… longevity would be an antonym of what we're getting ourselves into."

Hans doesn't reply right away to Shiala's statement. He too has been feeling doubts as to what research they were uncovering, especially since his superiors hadn't really told him the ultimate goal of this discreet project. His orders were vague at best: study subjects who had exposure to the 'artifact'; discover what became of the artifact after Agies VII destruction. That was about it. Now for six months, Hans and his staff of researchers have been implementing data gathered from Shiala's ability to meld into the subjects' minds. This data has been transferred to Inner circle CEC executives along with their mysterious pals who choose to stick to the dark. Until now. In the first time in months, Hans is about to meet with this mysterious cabal who have been yanking CEC's chain for countless weeks, or possibly much longer.

"You never saw what was in those Human meat bags of yours," Shiala continues to say in Hans' silence. He steers his eyes in her direction after she paused on her words. "What I saw… it just didn't make any sense. I've lived centuries, melded with hundreds—thousands of organic minds since then… but this." She finally looks to Hans, her eyes connect heavily upon his own and he can see the strain of those six months weighing heavily on her conscious. "It's well beyond any restraint a singular mind could handle. I don't condemn those who sought out suicide as a means to escape the torment."

Now the Asari's dark eyes begin to shimmer with precipitation, yet her gaze remains glued on Hans' face. This was the first time Shiala has shared her experience of being in the subject's minds first hand with him. He knew it was bad… just not as bad as she's portraying.

"Their very thoughts had a mind of their own," Shiala goes on, her voice straining to maintain stability. "It was like a sea of deranged people were in their heads with them… tormenting them—stripping them of their moral actions and forcing them in committing atrocities against better judgment." Her voice drops to a near, dramatic whisper, "almost like an evil spirit had invaded their souls."

Okay… now she is starting to sound melodramatic. Evil spirits… really? Yes, she was a follower of a proclaimed religious figure—turned zealot in her years leading up to being recruited for this project. Hans had read her personal dossier: it seemed Shiala wasn't stranger in getting herself into otherwise unnatural events around the galaxy. A few years back, she was held captive by an ancient alien telepathic being that took residency beneath a Human dominate colony world. The colony had went to hell shortly after forcing an Alliance vessel to step in and sort things out. Details of the mission were closed booked, since it was a Council Spectre who also partook in rescuing Shiala from the ancient alien, but the incident always reminded Hans that Shiala has a few screws loose upstairs. He can't blame her though, he'll probably act the same way if the shoe was on the other foot.

Still, there was one thing that hit Hans like bricks to the gut: how whatever it was that invaded the subjects' minds made them commit atrocities. That very statement reflects exactly what some citizens on Titan Station have been doing. But how in the universe could anything of what the subjects be experiencing effect the population of Titan Station? Hans can't wrap his mind around that.

Ending their conversation, the lighting in the vertical, cylindrical room dims dramatically, like a moving starting at a cinema. A neon blue gridded beam scans up from a circular platform in the floor rising slowly up to the ceiling. Hans looks over at Shiala at his right, dumbfounded as to what is going on. Seeing Shiala's calm composure, Hans stops his fidgeting and remains still in his stance. The fluorescent blue beam comes back down to the circular device in the floor until abruptly cutting off.

A lingering darkness hovers over the chamber until Hans makes out the faint blue shimmer of something shifting in his field of vision. He glances over at Shiala then back at whatever this shimmering, static looking figure is. After a while, the shimmering, humanoid figure clears up just enough for Hans to make out a fellow Human being. The Human, a man, dressed in some sort of military style uniform approaches Hans, yet the man's footsteps hover a few inches off the floor in front of him. It doesn't take Hans too long to realize he is starring at a real-time holographic feed of this uniformed man.

"Y-you m-may be… experiencing some… in-interference…" The man's voice is scant, nearly indecipherable from Hans' end. It is clearing up as the holographic machine idles on. As the sound quality clears up, so does the visual, and from what Hans can see now, he makes out the holographic man's uniform. He surely isn't any CEC exec… he's military… Navy, officer too, high ranked. The shimmering distortion of the image clears radically, allowing Hans to make out the unmissable insignia embroidered on the upper right corner of the officer's naval slacks.

He's… an Alliance Officer?!

The Alliance Officer musters a rather genial smile, collapsing his hands behind his back. "Good greetings to you, Director Tiedemann. It is good to finally see you eye to eye, so to speak."

Hans' lip quivered before speaking, "you're… Alliance Military?" Saying it aloud doesn't aid in it making any sense in Hans' mind. He was made aware by CEC that Alliance brass had no indication within this matter, and that their mysterious corporate partnership was an entity even above themselves. Yet this grinning Alliance Officer, an Admiral judging off the epaulettes ornamenting his shoulders just threw a monkey-wrench into the mix.

The Admiral's grin fades from his face altogether, almost like it was set on a timer. His expression became a clean slate indicating nothing at all but order and dominance. "I'm sure you have many questions, Director. However, now's not the time nor reason for this briefing." The Admiral's warm formalities have long faded, now he is in a controlling state, demeaning all questions should only come out of his mouth and no one else's. A peg of burning irritation builds inside Hans' chest, he doesn't like being talked down upon as if he's some intern fresh out of college. Still, he remembers he really doesn't have a say here in this room. All bets are put on hold, for now.

"I've decided to contact you today as a gesture of extending thanks to you and your team's hard work." The Admiral says, picking at the bridge of his nose before motioning his arm back behind his back. "Discretion has been our second biggest weapon of choice in this matter. The first being our workforce's ability and ingenuity, of course. We've received and reviewed the data… all is well, everything has transitioned smoothly as perceived."

"Thank you sir," Hans utters out, "it has been… a pleasure to partake such an operation. Although, if I may ask?"

The admiral dips his head to continue.

"What will become of the numerous subjects?"

The admiral bends at his knees momentarily before saying, "we… may need two of the primary subjects in your inventory. Subject A and Subject B… the two who had prolonged exposure with the artifact. Don't fret about transportation, we'll send in a team to extract them for you, Director."

Studying the Admirals face, a small voice inside Hans sang with red flags. Something doesn't feel right about this. The CEC—Hans station personnel has plenty of men and women who could ship the two subjects off station. Why would this Admiral waste any of his personnel for something Hans himself can do?

"Are you sure, sir?" Hans asks, his voice coming out slightly cynical. "Titan Station trademark is its fast maneuvering personnel. I'll have the subjects onboard a flight even before you leave that office you're standing in now."

The Admiral cracks a slight smile then says, "you misunderstand me, Director. The extraction team is en-route for Titan Station as we speak."

The challenging smile on Hans' lips drops and an empty, dreadful feeling invades his gut.

"We'll know when they arrive," the Admiral goes on, holding that fake grin of his. "As I had stated earlier, Director… your services have been most appreciated."


Without further words exchanged, Rear Admiral Boris Mikhailovich steps out the virtual interface communication field which toggles the machine to turn off automatically, ending the conversation with Director Tiedemann. The lasting image of Tiedemann's wide-eyed expression just before the feed was cut causes Mikhailovich to chuckle to himself. He stops his laughter short, and replaces it with a sense of determination. The one's in tuned with the Marker signal will be his in short time. It's his define duty to do so… his mission.

Taking advantage of the enclosed room, with no one around, the Alliance Admiral falls down to his knees, out reaches his palms to the ceiling and closed his eyes. He allows his head to lean back upon his neck, as far as it can naturally go. The weight of the universe seems to have lifted, opening Mikhailovich to his destiny, to his prophet.

"Father Altman…" he begins to appeal with outstretched arms, "hear my prayer…"


A/N: Don't worry, I haven't gutted this story just yet... it's just getting good!