Vancouver lay in ruins. The City of Glass had been transformed into the city of rubble. The great edifices that stood sentinel over Burrard Peninsula, symbols of the strength of the Systems Alliance and the longevity of the United North American States economic supremacy, now lay in ruinous shambles. The Reapers had exacted a terrible toll on the city. The landscape was transformed from thriving metropolis to shattered ruins—much like every other major city on Earth. The Reapers had focused on population centers to best facilitate their horrible harvesting campaign. Vancouver had suffered immensely.
But mankind was rebuilding. As a major hub for the Systems Alliance Vancouver was a priority for reconstruction. Thousands of hopeful workers and laborers poured in alongside surviving architects and designers hoping to make their mark on the history of a post-Reaper apocalypse. Cranes reached up into the sky attempting to rebuild what was lost. Their silhouettes across the skyline were eerily reminiscent of the hands of the tens of thousands of young children that reached out to volunteers at the many Red Cross organized food distribution centers hoping for some degree of nourishment. When the Reapers came transports for evacuation were limited and many put their children aboard the first few waves. Many children survived the exodus, but their parents did not. They descended on the city after the war was won, naively hoping to find their homes in one piece and perhaps their parents still alive.
Yet despite the morose scene of destruction there was a hopeful atmosphere that pervaded over much of what remained of the city. Merchants and peddlers set up market stalls in the bombed out ruins of major malls and shopping centers. Individual entrepreneurs were already sweeping out the debris of a city torn asunder and everyone made their own individual effort in trying to rebuild what was lost. There were lively celebrations and some adventurous young musicians that brought music to the streets with their instruments. All of it was an attempt to regain some sense of normalcy, some semblance of life before the Reapers. And it was working.
The Systems Alliance had concentrated much of its resources back in Vancouver as it attempted to re-establish one of its major information fusion centers to conduct global search and rescue, humanitarian and reconstruction operations. The focus would be local, but the coordination would stretch across the planet to similar hubs.
Jack, formerly known as Subject Zero and often referred to as the Psychotic Biotic, found herself amid the rubble eking out a post-war livelihood. The heavily tattooed young woman with the body of a dancer and the mouth of a sailor had opted to remain with the Systems Alliance after the war had come to an end. She still felt a degree of responsibility for her Grissom Academy students.
Yet the spunky, hopeful young students she had once taught were a far cry from who she commanded now. Several had been killed in the operations they supported against the Reapers and many of the survivors had become disconnected emotionally. Even Ensign Rodriguez, most well-known among them as a caring and nurturing individual had become withdrawn and quiet. She spent most of her days writing in a diary she refused to talk about and often appeared sleep deprived, a result of continuous nightmares— no doubt a result of the horrors she had witnessed on the battlefield.
Others reacted differently to the stress and adjustment to peace. Jason Prangley, who had been the most talented biotic of the unit, drank often and stayed out late in Vancouver's ramshackle bar district. As a result he was often exhausted for the following day's training, irritable, argumentative and quick to disobey orders from senior officers. He had also become dangerously arrogant, proclaiming his skill was beyond anyone else in Vancouver, besides Jack. His actual performance on a daily basis left much to be desired.
Jack struggled to confront these changes in her students. She didn't have the complex understanding of the human psyche and emotions—nor did she fully appreciate the affects combat could have on individuals. Her students were thrust into the middle of an intense conflict and fought day in and day out from the moment Shepard had rescued them from Grissom. They had performed admirably, but now that the threat was gone the fissures were beginning to appear. Some of the students were unraveling and lashing out in ways Jack could not understand. In truth, their behavior mirrored her own years before she met Commander Shepard. She was anti-social, angry, quick to violence and lonely. She cloaked her loneliness with a distrust and viciousness. She couldn't fathom the thought of her students sharing similar traits—having spent so many years of her life in the center of death and confrontation. She couldn't deal with it. She was not Shepard. But one thing was clear; it was becoming increasingly disruptive and drawing the attention and ire of many superior officers in Vancouver.
First Lieutenant Kahlee Sanders, Alliance specialist in artificial intelligence and former instructor at Grissom Academy, was waiting for her with arms akimbo and a look of slight concern etched on her face. Her blonde hair, a rarity in this day and age, stood out from miles off. Jack greeted her with a cool shake of the hand.
"Sanders," she said evenly.
"Jack, I thought I would go in with you," the Lieutenant offered, referring to the reason why Jack was on her way to their unit's commanding officer.
David Archer, the autistic mathematical savant and former Cerberus guinea pig, stood inelegantly beside Lieutenant Sanders. Despite the chilling experiments that Cerberus had conducted on him as a part of Project Overlord, David had come a long way in his recovery. Still, he often had trouble fitting in with others due to his sensitivity to loud noises and poor social skills. Despite this, he held a special place among the Grissom Academy students who often attempted to protect him or shield him from those who were unaware of his condition or background. His eidetic memory and ability to perform immense calculations rapidly combined with his theories on interstellar cross-modulation made him an almost indispensable asset to the Crucible Project. Since then he had worked closely with Lieutenant Kahlee Sanders.
"Hello, Jack," he greeted. His lips were bent into an almost imperceptible smile. As usual there was little emotion in his voice. The young man still retained his shaved head and the almost sallow color of his skin; a result of time spent mostly indoors.
"David," Jack gave a nod. David was a source of budding compassion as well as anger for Jack. He was a perfect example of Cerberus' horrifying capacity for cruelty; a not-so-subtle reminder of what the organization had done to her as a child. When she considered his terrible ordeal beside her own she often felt he had suffered more. After all, his brother had been responsible for the experiments carried out on him. But Shepard saved David; just as he had saved her.
"I have no idea why I'm here," Jack admitted with a shrug, although she had an inkling.
"Rodriguez told me Admiral Mikhailovich was at their bivouac site today and didn't like what he saw," Sanders explained helpfully.
Jack let out a lengthy sigh.
Admiral Mikhailovich was a hard-nosed, by the book flag officer who epitomized the Navy officer corps and was all spit and polish. He'd done well enough to establish himself as a competent officer at the Battle of the Citadel against Sovereign and ostensibly performed admirably as a flotilla commander within the sword fleet that engaged the Reapers over Earth. But since the end of the war he'd been trying to keep his servicemen and women busy with inspections, extensive weapons and gear maintenance, organizing constant unit physical training, and an endless stream of classes. Jack hated it. She wanted to rest. She needed to rest. She and her students needed some time to unwind and let off some steam. But Mikhailovich was ever the disciplinarian and she knew her people were already on his radar well before his surprise visit to their camp site.
"So that's why the Commander wants to see me?" Jack asked rhetorically. Sanders answered with a nod. "Great."
Sanders' piercing blue eyes motioned to the flap of a dilapidated tent behind her. Its olive drab surface was tattered and worn having spent many a day housing the officer who called it his home. That was one thing Jack could certainly respect her commanding officer for. He lived a Spartan lifestyle and preferred little in the way of amenities. When some of the first few buildings were repaired and power was restored he was encouraged to move in and make himself at home, creating a new headquarters out of the newly restored structures. He refused and ordered the spaces be provided for the wounded still recovering as well as the remnants of the 7th Infantry battalion, which had been ravaged in the withdrawal from Vancouver during the start of the war. Their sacrifice had allowed countless civilians to escape.
Jack and Sanders stepped inside the tent. Jack saw Staff Commander Makani Kahoku standing rigidly behind his desk. His hands were clasped behind him, but he hardly looked at ease. He was a well-built man and handsome—in that military sort of way. He had an air about him that made Jack comfortable, reminded her of another Commander she trusted and believed in. But the two scarcely looked alike. Aside from a muscular frame Kahoku had caramel colored skin, brown eyes and chocolate colored hair. He smiled often. This, however, was not one of those times.
Beside him Admiral Mikhailovich stood stoically. He tapped his left foot impatiently, flanked by two junior officers—an aide de camp and adjutant. The Admiral leveled his disapproving green eyes on Jack as she entered. She could almost sense him turning his nose up at her and already she could feel her teeth clenching.
"So this is the leader for that disgrace of a unit I saw earlier today, Commander?" Mikhailovich began immediately, firing his first shot across Jack's bow.
"Uh, yes, sir. This is Jack," Commander Kahoku stated uncomfortably. It was clear he didn't welcome the Admiral's presence and likely just received a major dressing down from the flag officer.
Mikhailovich scoffed. "What is this? No uniform, ridiculous haircut and tattoos all over every inch of your body—which you can't seem to keep covered up," Mikhailovich barked. "It's no wonder the young soldiers under her charge are so abysmal. Look at the example they have to live up to."
Jack felt her face redden and her hands curl into fists.
"Jack," Mikhailovich began with disdain. "I toured your unit's bivouac area today and it was absolutely atrocious. The state of police was disgusting, personal hygiene of the individuals there was unsatisfactory, equipment was missing, one of the individuals was drunk on duty and two more were brought back by military police just as I was leaving. Apparently they had snuck into town without liberty passes. Is this the sort of behavior you endorse?"
"No," Jack grumbled.
"No, what?" Mikhailovich turned a deaf ear toward Jack.
"No… sir," Jack seethed. She could feel her jaw set. "It's not. They've just been having a hard time adjusting… they went through a lot."
Mikhailovich smirked. "A lot? As if to say every person on this planet has not? I suppose your kids are special. I suppose they deserve exceptions be made for them given their exemplary service to the Alliance?"
"I didn't mean it like that," Jack corrected. She was trying desperately to corral her temper as she could feel it flaring up and getting out of control deep within.
"I don't care how you meant it," the Admiral responded immediately. "Let me be clear, as mankind goes forward and the Systems Alliance rebuilds we need to set an example. It's not just for the sake of these civilians whose lives have been destroyed, but also to deter any of these aliens from getting ideas about taking advantage of the Alliance's weaknesses—perceived or otherwise. I'm sure you've already heard the rumors about the batarians. We scarcely can afford to suffer similar issues with other species."
"I understand," Jack muttered through gritted teeth.
"Do you? Well, just to be sure—I want you to know that your students are not yours, but in fact a Systems Alliance asset that can be reassigned wherever they are most needed. With or without you," Mikhailovich explicated.
Was that a threat?
"So get your act together, young lady," Mikhailovich advised. He turned to Kahoku. "Commander, that will be all. I'll be keeping my eye on your people—hers in particular. Do not disappoint me."
Kahoku replied with a stiff salute. "Aye, aye, sir."
Mikhailovich rendered an appropriate salute in response and then, with his two cronies, he pushed past Jack and exited the tent.
Once the Admiral was gone Jack whirled on her commanding officer. "This is bullshit, Commander," Jack argued bitterly. She could still feel her fists clenched tightly. It took every ounce of her self-control not to immolate Mikhailovich while he tore her a part verbally. He doesn't know shit, she thought.
"Take it easy, Jack," Kahoku urged with an easygoing tone. He was well-aware of Jack's propensity for anger. She wasn't the same explosive individual reports had indicated. The legendary Commander Shepard and the war against the Reapers had tempered some of that edge. But Mikhailovich, well-accustomed to the power he wielded as a flag officer, had berated her severely and threatened to take away the one thing that kept her stable—her students.
"What does he know?" Jack demanded. "How the fuck is he going to stand there and tell me I suck at my job and I don't deserve to lead them?" But deep within, her growing concerns over the unruliness of her students-turned-veterans was being laid bare before her eyes. The Admiral was right—at least to some extent. And perhaps it was that reality that made her angrier.
"I understand the difficulty you're having," Kahoku expressed. "I'm well aware of your background and trust me—Cerberus has impacted my life too. I won't stand here and patronize you and tell you that I suffered from anything comparable to your own experiences, but suffice it to say Cerberus took something very dear to me and it's had an effect on how I live my life and the decisions I make as a leader.
"But you have to understand something, Jack. You have a responsibility to those young biotics. If you can't wrap your head around the complex issues they are facing and instill some discipline in them then the Admiral will likely fold them into the First Special Operations Biotic Company."
"That's bullshit!" Jack retorted, using a favorite expression. She took an instinctive, threatening step forward. "You can't take them away from me."
"It's not what I want, Jack," Kahoku told her sincerely. He shook his head and took a seat in the chair behind his desk. Soft green eyes looked up at his unruly biotic. "But unless you can square yourself and the unit away then we'll have no choice."
"I can't believe the Alliance is fucking me like this. After everything I've done to help," Jack complained venomously.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I hope things work out for the better. But rest assured, if they do not at the very least you can feel content in knowing they'll be transferred to one of the best biotic units the Alliance has to offer," Kahoku informed her calmly, his hands steepled and at rest on the surface of his desk. He certainly didn't want that to happen, but the Alliance and the Marines operated on what was best for the service's overall well-being and mission accomplishment. Individual wants and desires never played into command's decision making. His father had taught him that in the earliest days of his career. It was better not to get emotionally invested in circumstances you could not change; no matter how much you'd like to.
"Yeah, that makes me feel fucking great, sir," she jeered. Sir was said with derision and Kahoku could certainly tell Jack was cross with him. "Are we done?"
"We're done," Kahoku stated reluctantly.
"Good. Fuck this," Jack declared as her anger surged. "I'm out." Kahlee tried to interdict and end the meeting on a more positive note, but Jack smashed past her in a tornado of fury headed for the tent flap. I need a drink, she thought as she stormed out leaving Staff Commander Kahoku, Lieutenant Sanders and David Archer silent in her wake.