Tushawara

Terminus-Attican Traverse Border

Tushawara. Of the many millions of celestial bodies spinning away in the vastness of the Milky Way galaxy, it was one of the prized few that could truly be considered a grade A-plus garden world capable of support levo-based lifeforms. Two and a half centuries earlier, it had been discovered by the James Webb Space Telescope -the replacement for the very successful Hubble program- two years after being put into service. At the time, of course, scientists had not been able to actually observe the planet up close and personal, but they had been able to make the normal estimations and other readings. They had deemed it a 'super-Earth' at the time, something that was only confirmed once humanity had gotten to observe it through the power of probes, and later with true human boots on the ground.

As far as characteristic went, the planet boasted a diverse ecosystem, bustling with native flora and fauna. Because of the two moons that circled it, there were quite some notable differences when compared to say, the planet Earth itself, or a world like Eden Prime. The combined light of the two natural satellites meant that the nights here in particular were bright, and it only got truly dark for a span of a week or two every couple of years. This was likely the reason that many of its predators were adept hunters, regardless of how little darkness there may have been available to them. And similarly, it was likely why many of the beasts that roamed the fields were either: incredibly fast, nimble, or able to camouflage themselves to the point that even infrared technology couldn't identify them. It was amazing what nature was capable of.

The actual population of Tushawara was a mixed bag of species, hailing from all corners of the galaxy. Humans and Asari were the most drawn numerous, followed by Turians, Salarians, Elcor, and so on. For the most part, the major city centers were towards the heart of the planet's continents, away from the oceans that experienced high and low tides that could be measured in the thousands of miles. Along with these areas, there were numerous farming colonies and small, tight knit communities spread out across the globe.

The lush planet was viewed as a land of opportunity, so everyone from farming types, to opportunistic businessmen looking for a way to skirt Council tax and labor laws were drawn here. The actual government itself was recognized by the Citadel as a Republic, however it acted in practice as a confederation. Leaders of city-states and small communities alike gathered at the planet's capital of Hospina once every four months or so. There wasn't a doubt in most citizen's minds that it was the big cities that had a say in how planetary policy was dictated, but given that no one group had too much power, or a downright majority even, only so much of a fuss was ever made.

Of course, like with everything, for all of the good that Tushawara had, there were downsides ready to go right along with it. The most prominent of them was the simple fact that it was a frontier world, nestled in that gray zone between the Terminus System and Attican Traverse. Literally on the line that divided the Council's civilization from the Milky Way's own wild west. Raiders and pirates came through during irregular increments, and rarely stayed for long, often focusing on the bigger targets in adjacent systems like Arvuna or the infamous Mindoir.

Or at least, that had been the norm for as long as the majority of the planet's populace could remember. Unfortunately for them, however, all good things had to come to an end sooner or later. At the edge of the system, not far from the only nearby gas giant, the mass relay began to power up.

Sunrise, and the bedroom was being touched with the first fingers of illumination, drawing long shadows on the walls, shining salmon and magenta beams through the tops of the window panes. Dzia Bagratuni took a long, deep breath as she awoke, and reached up to rub the sleep away from her cerulean orbs. The Armenian immigrant had never been a fan of mornings on Tushawara, they were always so damn bright that she could never sleep through them if she left her blinds open the night before. It wasn't an issue, really, she had to get up around this time anyways if she make breakfast for the kids and get ready for work. But speaking of her husband…

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she slowly sat up and tilted her head to look over at the broad form taking up the other half of their bed. Norazn Bagratuni, the man who she had fallen in love with so early and life, and the one who had suggested they start a new life away from Earth, was sleeping soundly on his stomach. His mouth was open, and a small bit of saliva dribbled down his chin and soaked the pillow underneath- it was an endearing sight to her. There was a reason he was still sleeping in though, sunshine or not. As a nightwatch captain of one of the city's police precincts, he had a tough job that required him to work late hours. He needed his sleep...especially after the fact that she had stayed up later than she normally did to welcome him home. It was what a good wife did, in her opinion.

Smirking a bit at the memories, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, and murmured her love for him though he was dead to the world. Wearing not a scrap of clothing, she slowly eased herself out of bed, a pleasant ache in her muscles as she walked over to the nearby windows of their bedroom. She drew the blinds closed, casting the room into a somewhat darkness, before trekking over to her closet. Rummaging around for a few moments, she selected her the articles of clothing that she had to wear for work -a black skirt and white blouse- before heading into the bathroom. Her shower was a quick one, but getting her auburn hair to comply into a reasonable style was another matter.

By the time she made it into the main part of the house, she could already hear her children stirring in their rooms, lethargically pulling on whatever they were going to wear to school. Her daughter attended a private high school, while her younger son currently attended a city-run secondary school mixed-race classes. One her graduated from it, he would be enrolled in the same school as his sibling. But that was another matter for another day. Right now, the only task she needed to worry about was breakfast.

Given the fact that it was a Friday, she had decided to treat the kids to something better than the more simple tea, along with toast, cheese, and one kind of meat or another to hold them over until lunchtime. Instead, the night before, she had gotten a crock pot of Kalagyosh going at a lower medium temperature, knowing it would be ready to eat by morning at the rate it was cooking. In the simplest terms, it was a delicious stew of beef, lentils, fried onions, and matzoon. Once she poured the bowls, she would break pieces of lavash and mix it into the dish. There was also leftover Byorek from the night before that she reheated. They were technically pies stuffed with goat cheese, but in this case would make a nice pastry item.

It was around the time that she got the table set for three that she could hear her two children bickering about something. Peeking around the corner and into the hallway, she could see her daughter standing in her brother's room. Her hands were rested on the hips, and it sounded like she was the one speaking angrily. "Lasia Khngeni Bagratuni, leave your brother alone. Please and thank you." Dzia said using the girl's full name to emphasize her displeasure rather than raising her voice. She was never one to shout, especially not when her husband was sleeping. Norazn deserved his sleep, and she wanted to demonstrate that she could hold down the fort without his assistance.

Her daughter sighed and rolled her eyes as she turned back to her mother, before stomping off back to her own room. How very thirteen of her, Dzia thought, almost amused. While her husband might have done something more, she didn't feel the urge to go and punish her her daughter any further. Laisa had been rather temperamental lately, but plenty of that was likely due to the fact that end of the semester was coming up soon. It was enough to turn the normally model girl into a nervous, frustrated wreck.

Five minutes later, Lasia entered the kitchen in her school's uniform, and was soon after followed by her brother Rafayel. Their mother could only smile at them as she passed out their breakfast bowls and plates, ruffling her son's hair as she passed his seat. Dzia adored him, he was such a quiet little boy, which was very much a good thing, except whenever he simply let his sister walk all over him.

They ate their meal in relative silence: Rafayel for obvious reasons, Lasia likely due to the fact that she kept glances annoyedly at her brother, and Dzia because she was far too amused by the sight to say anything. When it was over, the mother of two couldn't help but smile wider as they gave her hugs and thanked her for breakfast, before padding off to get their things for school. Thankfully, buses from both of their schools serviced the neighborhood they lived in, otherwise they would have all been forced to get up much earlier so that the kids could get to their respective places of education on time.

As her two children shuffled out the door, Dzia carried out her last minute morning tasks, humming airly as she did so. Her purse was already on the table by the door, filled with what few things she ever carried, credit chits and makeup mostly. Anymore, the accessory was more for the sake of fashion than utility- just about everything could or already was done through the use of omni-tools and electronic transfers.

Back in the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee, the expensive stuff imported from Earth, into her travel mug. It was a custom one that her husband had given her years ago, and made her smile just about every time. By Java Alone I Set My Mind Into Motion, was the message inscribed in flowery letters. Part of the running joke that she couldn't function without anything less than her morning coffee.

The drive to work was usually the least enjoyable part of her day. Though traffic was light during the early morning hours, there was no way quick solution to the fact that her place of work -the planet's only intergalactic spaceport- was on the opposite side of town when compared to the suburbs she lived in. And with a population of just under ten million, the city of Hospina in between was not a quick flyover. She had half-jokingly asked her husband if he would remove the governor on her skycar, that kept her under a certain altitude and speed, so that she could get to work quicker; but he had just rolled his eyes and said no.

As a flight traffic controller, Dzia made rather good money, directing incoming and outgoing flights of vessels capable of entering the planet's atmosphere safely. Civilian and commercial freighters were about the only kinds of those types of vessels that she ever dealt with, the planet's Self Defense Force didn't maintain a very large orbital presence, and it wasn't as if the Alliance or any other galactic power with a navy was there to look after them. The most exciting thing that had ever really happened during her time on the job was when a couple of automated carriers handling fuel had crashed into each other just beyond the landing zones, which had made for a rather rattling, but glorious explosion that could be seen and felt from her vantage point in the control tower.

The morning, as far as they went, started off as many before had. She showed her security card to the guard at the employee desk before he could let her in. It was all theatrics, they both had known each other for years, but the man in charge of the building was a real slave driver, and had fired people for less than a simple breach of protocol. Dzia placed her purse in the small locker that was allotted to her, and double-checked her makeup in the bathroom mirror, before re-entering the hall and heading up the stairs to the control tower. The shift was in the middle of changing, so she was among the many new arrivals, while tired looking human and asari workers shuffled out of the room as they were individually relieved of duty.

Sitting down at her terminal, Dzia ran through the normal procedures of signing in, and waiting for everything to synchronize with the other computer systems in the room. She made small talk with her co-workers, a group of mostly humans and matron-stage asari, along with a couple of turian women. At this hour, traffic in and out of the spaceport was light, and in many cases were automated flights, which left their VI counterparts to pick up what slack there was. It was only when they were busy, that any deal of manual coordination needed to be done.

Around lunchtime, five hours later, Dzia was working the terminals, guiding a civilian passenger liner of around fifty people to its designated landing zone. The final checks said everything was good, the pilot was bringing the vessel in at the right angle and at proper speeds, systematically decelerating for a smooth landing. As the first landing strut made contact with the runway, there was a flash of red, a warning sign shooting across her screen. Her eyebrows rose in confusion, and she reached for her headset again, an automated message beginning to play.

The planetwide warning sound blared three times, an ungodly annoying noise that one would have a hard time forgetting. Then the message itself, voice generated by one of the cheaper VIs with a blocky, emotionless voice. "This message is transmitted at the request of the Tushawaran Ministry of Civil Defense. An undefined fleet of warships was detected entering the system via Mass Relay approximately three hours ago, and long range scanners have identified them as vessels belonging to pirate factions in the Terminus system. It is believed that Tushawara is the target of these forces, and that the planet will be under siege within the next one to two hours. All comm buoys have been determined to be either offline or destroyed, and it is unknown whether requests for assistance by the Planetary Parliament were successfully transmitted. All Planetary Defense and Civil Response Forces have been mobilized. Citizens are urged to seek immediate shelter at emergency vaults and bunkers maintained by the planetary government. Safety beyond these safe-zones cannot be guaranteed."

Over and over again, the message reached Dzia's ears, but she wasn't really listening to it by this point. Her eyes had gone wide, a mix of surprise and horror in them, and her plump lips were slightly parted. Had she a mirror, the Armenian woman would have confirmed that she had, in fact, gone quite pale. Her normally tan skin now an unhealthy light shade.

She couldn't quite believe it all. Pirates? Attacking her planet? That had never happened before, at least as long as she had lived here. Her first thoughts were of her two beautiful children, sweet and innocent. She couldn't stand the thought of them gunned down by invaders, or anything much worse for that matter. Realistically, they were likely among the safest, the city's school districts maintained what were supposed to be among the most secure and expansive underground bunkers on the whole planet. It was unfortunate that such measures had to be in place, but she was thankful that they were now.

Her second string of thoughts went to her husband. The man was as courageous as he was handsome in her opinion, and he was likely already in his police car; racing towards the station he worked at. Norazn was SWAT certified, and had served with the Terran Defense Force at one time. He would be perfectly fine, he always was. She had to remind herself of that as she tore her eyes away from the terminal screen.

All around, her fellow co-workers were in various states of panic as they moved about the room, chattering rapidly. Their tones were mostly ones of panic or fear, and they couldn't help but glance out the window every few seconds, as if they expected to see landing craft descending from the clouds like birds of prey at any moment.

Dzia was surprised that she was likely one of the more calm and collected, other than the turians, who were actually manning their posts; directing all traffic to engage in emergency landing procedures, and that all air and spacecraft were grounded until further notice. It was something that they had practiced over the years, protocol dictated it after all, but not something they had put into effect beyond training.

Ten minutes or so after the warning had been broadcast, the rapid click of boots could be heard coming up the steps that lead to the top of the control tower. Appearing a few seconds later were three soldiers, wearing the uniforms of the Planetary Defense Force, and bedecked in Predator-M Medium Armor produced by Armax Arsenal. They all clutched standard issue Lancer assault rifles, and M-6 Carnifex pistols were attached magnetically to their hips.

The leader of the group, an older man with graying hair and a fair complexion, panted lightly as he stepped forward and clear his throat to get the group's attention. "Excuse me, everyone! Can I get your attention? I need you all to remain calm, please," he said with a raised tone.

"Calm? You want us to be calm? We're about to be attacked by fucking pirates!" One of the older women screeched at the soldier, chocolate eyes wide with fear.

"Spirits woman, there isn't a need to yell," the turian worker beside her muttered as she raised a clawed hand to cover her ear theatrically. While the bipedal bird-like people were never known for having many distinguishable facial expressions, it wasn't hard to miss the anticipation in her eyes as she looked over the weapons the soldiers carried. Like many turians, she had a natural instinct for fighting, it was what her people were all but bred for. The only other thing that really got her blood racing was mating.

"Yes I do, ma'am," the leader of the group -a sergeant judging by the chevrons of his uniform- replied with slightly narrowed eyes. "If you're not calm, then you're going to make the job of both myself, and my men here much harder. Please, just listen to us. We're here to evacuate you. The shuttles and busses are already waiting, we just need you all to follow us out to them." He explained, trying to be as calming as he could. The other two soldiers were silent, just glancing back and forth at everyone in the room, their eyes hidden behind their polarized visors.

"I think it's best we listen to the man and pull ourselves together," one of the human male traffic controllers declared as she stood up. Slowly but surely, the rest of them did the same, forming a rough line so that going down the stairs would be less of a moshpit. Among those hustling down was, of course, Dzia; tapping out a quick 'I love you message' to her husband on her omni-tool all the while. Growing closer to the evacuation shuttles, she could see military gunships and craft either taking to the sky, or being hastily armed for combat.

"Enemy fleet is ten million kilometers from atmosphere and closing fast!"

"The Sayla and Benson are moving to engage and stall the enemy fleet!"

"Negative! Have them pull back to the far side of planet, and then flee for the nearest moon. The battle in space is already lost!"

The headquarters of the planet's defense force was in a state of organized mass chaos at the moment, especially in the central command center, where about every high ranking member and their staff were gathered; listening to the hollers and cries of battle management captains as they relayed situational reports to their superior officers.

The woman in-charge was Valeriana Ronchetti, a former officer of the European Territorial Defense Force who had migrated to the planet from Italy. She was a woman in her mid-forties with graying raven hair, and wore the rank of supreme commander, or five-star general by Alliance Marine Corp standards. Young for such a rank, but it wasn't as if she had much in the way of competition on this planet, given they only maintained a division sized force along with an independent brigade. For a woman of her size, only a five-foot-four (1.5 meters) or so, she could be quite scary when she was angry. In this particular instance, her ire was directed at the captains of the two patrol vessels under her command, both of whom were severely outnumbered by these invading pirates.

"Orders relayed, ma'am," the battle captain replied after a moment. He wearily stared at the terminal, which was displaying the relation of distance between the pair of friendly patrol vessels and the brigand forces. There was still a good eight-million kilometers between, far beyond the engagement range of either force, but that distance was grinding down rapidly. There was a pause as messages were relayed back and forth, and finally an answer. "They've acquiescenced, ma'am, and have altered their courses accordingly."

General Ronchetti let out a long sigh and ran her hands through her hair in annoyance. "Thank fucking Christ," she muttered under her breath. "What were those fools thinking?" She asked aloud as she braced herself against the table in the center of the room, which was displaying a layout of the capital city at the moment. Valeriana saw no positive effect of her officers taking such drastic measures, they had to be suicidal at best. Their ships were armed with out of date mass accelerator cannons, and were totally lacking on anti-ship missiles or torpedoes. They would have been reduced to scrap metal in short order, regardless of the specifications of enemy ships.

The defense was simply overwhelmed, at least on the space front.

"That they could buy us a few extra minutes to ready ourselves," one of her brigadiers pointed out sagely. He was Antonio Ramirez, commander of the 7th Independent Infantry Brigade, made up of mostly soft-shell troops who got around the planet quickly through the use of shuttles and gunships.

"A few minutes is marginal at this rate," the Italian-born general shot back, not caring to hide the irritation in her

"Perhaps. But noble nonetheless," the elder brigadier said as he looked away from her to study the holographic map in between them. Every few moments, more and more blips were coming online, deftly handled by the military grade management VI that operated the table. Blue Force Tracking and Force Manager Battle Command Brigade and Below may have been concepts from early twenty-first century warfare, but both systems were still very useful. Updated of course, to keep up with the rapid developments of human technology. "We cannot focus on that now, we must ready ourselves for the defense of the planet."

"Maybe they're just passing through, on their way to hit one of those mining stations the next cluster over," Ronchetti said dryly as she cast her gaze to the map as well. She was pointedly blocking out the rest of the noise around her at this point, focusing on what she could do to save as many lives as possible.

Rhetorical question or not, Brigadier Ramirez took it upon himself to answer. "Highly unlikely. Pirates would not want to pass up a target like ourselves, this far from Council space. We're just lucky they didn't come sooner," he said in a somewhat emotionless tone. "Will General Myshi be joining us shortly?" He asked after a moment.

The Asari officer in question was the commander of the only standing division they had, which was really more like a confederation of independent regiments and brigades spread out across the planet and its continents. A former Republican Huntress on Illium, she was known for being the rather driven and aggressive type, even if there wasn't much in the way of trouble to be found in the system at any given time.

"She will not," General Ronchetti replied with a quick shake of the head. "She was conducting troop inspections at Combined Arms Base Hydra. I've ordered her and her staff to remain there, and coordinate with local forces in that area. At the very least, she can keep the eezo mines and farming communities in that district safe."

"How convenient," the Brigadier said with dry amusement, lips pressing into a thin line. While the planet's capital was relatively close to the equator, CAB Hydra was their northernmost military installation, the one bastion of security for the planet's population living above the 50th parallel.

"Oh yeah, she couldn't have planned it any better," the general couldn't help but joke in reply. Things may have been tense at the moment, but at least her humor wasn't dampened yet.

"Back on topic," she finally said as she manipulated the map again. She zoomed out from the capital's map until they got a good view of the planet proper, each of its cities and independent communities laid out before their eyes; highlighted in green. "You know more about this shit than I do, where do you think they will target?" Ronchetti asked. The Italian had some ideas, but another opinion never hurt. After all, she had spent more years training to counter Russian aggression, rather than two-bit pirates and warlords who called the Terminus home.

Antonio was silent for a moment, his eyes scouring the 4D tactical map displayed before him. Only now, on the 'short-range' sensors, was the enemy fleet beginning to register. In greater detail and readout, there was a sizeable chunk of ships, however they were all older model vessels. Cheap and easy to procure, but would have likely been little more than a turkey shoot for any Alliance or Council fleet.

"I would be genuinely surprised if they targeted Hospina," the Brigadier said after a beat; glancing at the capital city of the planet. "While our lovely city may be the wet dream of these brigands, the defense here is too concentrated for them to possibly overcome, unless they were to throw every man and vehicle they had at us. Even then, I think it would be too much work for them. They're here for profit, not bloodshed," she shrugged. Lips pressing into a thin line, he motioned to the rest of the planet. "Outlying communities and towns, however, are another matter." There was a grimness to his tone that no one around him missed.

The fact of the matter was, and they all knew it, pirates and slavers were hunters of opportunity. Did some of them, particularly Krogan or Batarian bands, like a good brawl? Certainly. But at the end of the day, they were still out looking to make a credit, not end up dead or sent home with their tails between their legs. That was why they targeted those who lived on the fringes of galactic society, where there was neither the Council or Alliance to protect them.

"Planetary militias have been alerted to what is going on. They are arming themselves as we speak." Ronchetti replied after a moment; wearing a taut expression.

"That may be," Ramirez slowly. "But at the end of the day, they are just deputized rabble, if I must say so myself. If anyone is actually going to send these scoundrels packing, it is going to be our professional soldiers."

"Fair enough," Ronchetti conceded. "But we can only disperse them so much before we put the large cities at risk."

"The needs of the many outweigh the few." Brigadier Ramirez surmised with a grunt, pushing away from the tactical map. "We both know what needs to be done, Commander. I need to meet with my command staff so that I can coordinate my the actions that my troops will undertake. With your permission, I would like to depart now, while I can still travel safely."

"Granted," Ronchetti replied without a beat. "And...godspeed, Antonio. I expect to see you at the bar when this is over."

"And you, ma'am." The Hispanic replied with a nod, before snapping a quick salute. Turning on his heels, he departed, quickly stalking towards the nearest elevator, his two guards -a towering Male turian, and a lithe Asari- in tow as he moved to link up with his own command group.

Regardless of what most sentients living outside of Tushawara were inclined to believe, the city of Hospina was not the only major population center that could be found on the planet. There were several others, such as Yaayshi, a mostly asari and human municipality that was invested heavily in the service and information industries. It wasn't odd to find some kind of start-up company here, one that dreamed of becoming a member of the planet's meager stock exchange, which could be found near the city's center.

Vikal was another example, though it was a bit more unique in nature. The salarian only city was really more a community, located a good five kilometers under the planet's ocean in a series of interconnected domes. Originally, it had been established as a mining colony, but the discovery of -numerous- Prothean artifacts had put a halt to the majority of excavation operations.

The colony's investors had simply loved that decision.

And then there was the city of Marathon. Encompassing the better part of four hundred square miles, the casual observer might have thought it to be the most populous city on the planet, or perhaps could have even mistaken it as the capital city. But no, it was neither of those things. It's only real claim to fame -local, anyways- was that it was the manufacturing hub. If you purchased a domestically produced product on Tushawara, the chances were that it had originated from this city.

With little in the way of government regulation, and generally agreeable tax laws, it was something of a dream for manufacturing companies, large and small. And that was saying something, considering that most (legitimate and trustworthy) businesses wanted little to do with planets so close to the Terminus system.

Of all of the companies that were currently present in Marathon, it went without question that Haribon Military Industries was the largest of them all, with a campus that encompassed the better part of three-hundred acres. Situated on said lands were a complex of highly advanced factories and massive warehouses, all of which were guarded more tightly than Arcturus during a session of Parliament.

The local residents had often wondered what was produced within the closely-knit factory, but none had ever gotten close enough to get a peek firsthand. Speaking to the actual employees of HMI was nigh-impossible, as they either lived on sight, or in the nearby community of Sissak, which was wholly private and patrolled by the same private security firm that handled security at the factory itself.

Generally speaking, the factories of Marathon were always abuzz with activity, between the VIs that operated manufacturing equipment, and the shift workers who came and went every couple of hours. Ground based vehicles always seemed to be rumbling along the streets, hauling inventory to the city's large spaceport so that product could be exported to other Council or Human worlds. In an effort to reduce gridlock, most employees were often ferried in by shuttles and airborne busses, or perhaps the occasional hoverbike for the more well-to-do employees.

That was not the case at the moment, however. For close to a half-hour now, the city's warning sirens had blared repeatedly; causing everyone who heard them to abandon their posts and make a beeline for the nearest public safety bunker or safe zone, regardless of what the consequences could have been later. No job was worth risking their lives...or freedom, for that matter.

In a matter of minutes, the factory district had emptied out, leaving the place a desolate ghost town.

With the exception of Haribon Military Industries, that was.

At the first sign of trouble, alarms all around the property had blared, warning employees that they needed to seek safety immediately. Unlike their counterparts at other locations, however, the men and women of this shift reacted with an almost unsettlingly calmness, closing down their terminals that they manned, and then the production lines. Automated assembly and fabrication devices halted in place, as if frozen in time, or completed their last ordered function before powering down.

"Come on people, move your asses! We don't have all day!" One security guard barked at the workers as they hustled by. He was bedecked in combat armor, higher quality than anything someone in his position should have been wearing. Instead of some hardsuit model from thirty years ago, his was top of the line, military grade protective gear that looked like it belonged on an Alliance soldier. The only things that really set him apart from an allied soldier was the company logo stamped onto his armor, and the weapons he was equipped with. Clutched in his hands was a Harrier rifle, and magnetically locked onto his hip was a M-25 Hornet submachine gun.

Up in the 'main office' of the factory, a rather average looking man paced back and forth, even as the alarms around him blared that a lockdown was now in effect and that all non-security personnel needed to report to a safe zone immediately. Though pushing seventy, he didn't look a day over forty or so, courtesy of the longevity treatments he had undergone. With a pair of light brown eyes, a clean shaven face, and receding hairline, he wasn't someone you would pay a second glance towards. Neither tall nor short, fat or thin, he wore an expensive suit that had been made by one of the best Hanar tailors on the Citadel.

"Director." The deep, baritone voiced belonged to a Major who commanded all of the factory's security forces. "I believe it is time we move you to the bunker, sir. Raider forces are closing on the planet as we speak." Glancing around, he eyed the numerous terminals around the large office, all of which contained pieces of highly classified information, of one kind or another.

"For someone who has stared death in the face more times than one can count, you sure are jumpy, Arvid." The well dressed man replied in a musing tone, stopping in his place to gaze upon the Swedish born soldier. "And at the prospect of engaging slaver-rabble, no less."

The former Kalmarian soldier snorted, rolling his shoulders, which were covered in thick pieces of armor. "A vorcha with some piddly-ass rifle doesn't scare me in the least," he retorted; stepping forward, arms swinging at his sides. "But I'm sure the big man upstairs would have me drawn and quartered if you got so much as a scratch because of all of this."

The director chuckled quietly, and moved over to his desk. Rifling through it, he finally withdrew a M-6 Carnifex pistol. He couldn't help but frown as he inserted a clip, and deactivated the safety. Why any manufacturer would choose to go from heat sinks and ammunition blocks to thermal clips, he would never know. It was the equivalent of taking a couple steps back on the technological development scale. "I think that the Illusive Man fails to remember that I made it to N4 back in the day."

"That man doesn't forget anything," Arvid chuckled as he waited at the door; watching as his superior began to close out the programs he had been running on terminals. He seemed to be nothing less than a workaholic. "It's you age he is concerned about. War isn't a place for old me, if I must say so myself."

"I may be old, but I can still fight." The director grumbled, before pushing off from the desk he had been braced against. "Tell me, how is our defense coming along?" He asked as he silently acquiesced, moving out of his office and down the flight of stairs, putting himself on course towards the nearest bunker. He knew Arvid would be close behind, like a loyal hound.

"Exactly like we've trained for. Teams have locked down the perimeter, the group at Sissak is reporting in all clear as well. Our air-defenses are ready to go as well," he grinned; wishing that some dumb Batarian would make a move on their territory. "I've deployed additional teams to the warehouses in order to ensure that the Advent Project remains unmolested."

The director made a humming sound, pausing mid-step. "Speaking of that." He began, and then abruptly paused, rubbing his chin as he glanced over at Arvid, who rose an eyebrow, but waited patiently nonetheless. "What is your opinion of our little project? Do you think that they are field ready?"

The Swedish man blinked in surprise, and slowly shook his head. "Director...you know that the Illusive Man would never approve of such a sudden, and unsanctioned deployment of resources. Experimental ones at that."

"They'll never been more than experiments if he keeps them locked away all of the time," the director grunted; turning to stare down Arvid. "So, answer my question: do you think the project is field ready?"

The Swede shifted on his heels, but didn't look away from his superior officer. "Yes," he replied slowly. "Yes I do. I'm not sure I want to be around if something goes wrong with the equipment, though."

"Ah, but that is why we have dropships, my dear boy." The Director chuckled, and began to walk again. "Contact your men at the warehouse three, and inform them that I want four dropships loaded up immediately. When I decide where they should be deployed for stress testing, I will let you know." He went on, shoes clacking against the shiny white floor underfoot. Turning, he smiled.

"And Arvid? If the Illusive Man manages to get a message through, tell him that it was my idea. He'd sooner chew me out than actually fire me," the director chuckled, before moving on to join the others at the bunker.

AN: Alright ladies and gents, this was the beginning of the first side arc that I have planned. Soon, you're going to be seeing some of Cerberus's new projects, fresh of the line, experience tests on the battlefield. I'll admit that I don't have things planned out completely, but I have several ideas that I am bouncing between. As always, please feel free to favorite or follow as well as leave me a review, or even shoot me a PM, to share your thoughts on the story.

Take care,

tmroc725