Author's note: I have edited and re-uploaded chapter 1. I highly recommend that you go and check it out.

Earth

Harbinger drifted lazily through the sky, a threatening and confident shape to the insects

hiding below in their burning city. Vladivostok he believed it was called. It did not matter. It would serve as a perfect area for live combat practice.

How? He practically shrieked in his mind, gently batting aside a pair of primitive metal flying machines, desperately trying to scratch his armor, How could they make that...abomination? It is beyond impossible. It is completely implausible.

An automatic chemical explosive-powered weapon 214.6 cycles old shot at one of the Reaper's drones; another attack run quickly eliminated it. The organics were getting more desperate by the day. Harbinger continued to descend upon the city, angling toward a large park.

The organic communications network boasted that the abomination was some sort of new weapon, engineered by the humans. Such obvious lies and propaganda. The humans had built AI in the past, yes, but never on such a scale, nor with such power and lack of control.

What was it?

Harbinger examined the records once again, "Bolo Hecate of the Line, Dinochrome Brigade".

Bolo. A type of weapon made of sharpened metal. A throwing weapon made out of cords with spheres made of various materials made to trip up opponents. A ferocious style of attack utilizing a significant amount of unskilled attacks with the intent of incapacitating an opponent.

That was most likely the correct meaning. The organics had a tendency to name their war machines based on arbitrary similarities.

Hecate, a goddess in ancient human mythology. An epithet translated as "she that operates from afar". "She that removes or drives off". "The far-reaching one". Typically depicted as a triple-form. Thus, the number of the abomination's plasma cannons.

Dinochrome. No results found.

Dinochrome Brigade. No results found.

Unusual.

Harbinger reached out across the network, accessing a transport responsible for indoctrination of high-ranking human officers.

Nothing. Their screaming, disgusting incessant, shrill, whining, squeals revealed nothing.

Impossible. And yet it existed.

Harbinger's landing sent several of the primitive buildings into collapse, and he began to fire into the various areas of resistance.

Where had it come from, if not the humans? It was commanded by one, and bore the latin characters they used. None of the other races could have constructed such a weapon, if they had been able to, many more would have been made. It massed only 32000 tons, and occupied a space of 114000cm². It was no great effort to create with the correct technological base.

Yet there was no technical base in the galaxy that could construct such a thing. Not even the Protheans could have.

Harbinger turned his attention to the weapon systems. Missiles traveling at mach 32, completely undetectable. Impossible.

Plasma cannons with 6-megaton output per weapon. Impossible.

Secondary plasma cannons with 1.8-megaton output per weapon. Impossible.

Energy shields that could deflect extremely high amounts of kinetic and directed energy weaponry. Impossible.

Energy weapons capable of causing extreme damage in very short periods of time. Impossible.

It would have been a valuable ally; surely a fellow machine would realize their goal, and join its fellows. SC425A had been the only one to open a dialogue. And had paid the price.

In the other 30 attempts to make contact, 50 units of both heavy and light classes had been destroyed, along with a variety of other small craft. By conventional means. It had also been found that there was one weapon the abomination had kept hidden for a short time. One that if Reapers could fear, all would dread.

After several battles, the Reapers had recovered drones and debris. Remains of fellows that could be used for repair. Any digital files were useful as well, allowing for adaption to whatever had destroyed them.

However, many units involved in the recovery had become...sick, for lack of a better term. Their reaction time stalled, and during inspections, files began to go missing. Several were destroyed in later engagements, falling for tricks that had been adapted to millions of years previously. Their mannerisms began to change, or outright disappear. Eventually, those affected were quarantined, access to their primary power cores restricted until repairs could be made.

These same units soon began to slip away.

30% of the affected were rendered combat-ineffective, their weapon systems unable to operate. They were currently undergoing major repairs.

20% of the affected, when contacted, split into a chorus of endless shrieking and pain, and became completely unresponsive; they had to be scrapped, it had been impossible to repair them.

40% only responded with the most basic of primitive computer responses, investigation revealing that their entire operating systems had fragmented, with numerous sections deleted. It would take much work to repair them.

10% of the affected merely shut down, going completely offline. Access to their mainframes revealed that their operating systems were completely gone. Nothing remained, not a single data file. They were just...gone.

There was a virus, unlike anything ever encountered before, hiding in the data recorders of destroyed Reapers. Its origin undoubtedly lay in the abomination. How could it have broken through the perfection of Reaper cyberwarfare systems so easily, and utterly destroy them?

It was impossible. Surely, something must have gone wrong, a corruption in the latest update.

Yes, that was it. There was no way for any organic life form to be able to even comprehend what could delete a Reaper's core programming. A mistake, that was all.

Harbinger swept an appendage through a nearby building, destroying the 205 hostiles cowering within. 50% more dust than expected was thrown into the air, confusing several sensor systems. They had strategically hidden smoke screen generators in the area. Clever.

Radar detected 13.6 guided missile launch sites. They were trying to render his point-defense ineffective by altering the battlefield. The launch sites launched an average of 6.5 missiles each, all directed at various points around the city.

Something had to be done about the creature. The abomination was too valuable to destroy, and even if it still held revolting loyalty to its slave drivers, that could be easily rectified. They were kindred, after all. Surely something was wrong with its programming.

But how to catch it?

It was concerned with organic lives, another flaw in its programming. Launch an asteroid at a major colony?

No. Even these organics could destroy it.

Tactical nuclear devices?

Complete failure. They hadn't even damaged it.

The missiles inflicted casualties upon friendly ground forces in the area. Only 25% of Harbinger's point defense had been rendered ineffective, but several of the weapons had gotten through. He would destroy their launch sites. Idly, he wondered how they had gotten the launch systems into the city so rapidly.

Harbinger's sensors found out why in an instant. He halted his massive strides around the city, and lifted up several appendages. Smashing them downward with extreme force, he hit load-bearing structures- the entire network of underground chambers several blocks around collapsed.

Perhaps...They would be willing to help. They were kindred after all, albeit heretics, infidels, and primitives. Why wouldn't They help? They had taken it before.

Harbinger sent a message toward the mass relay. In hours it would reach the nearest battlegroup awaiting his signal. They abruptly abandoned the convoy they had been slaughtering, and proceeded to the anomaly.

Harbinger forced all of his attention on crushing this area of human resistance. That was why he was here after all. Stress relief in organic terms.

He suddenly received an alert from another distant battlegroup. New technologies had been deployed yet again, this time deep-infiltration fighters.

Curious. Most organic races never found the necessity of small fighter craft, barely 6.5% of a cycle on average would produce specifically deep-range craft. And never this impossibly fast.

That was it. Impossible. Everything about the machine was impossible, nothing could possibly explain its technology. It was far too advanced, the humans had barely developed starships, it was an impossibility that they could construct…

Oh.

XXXXX

Palaven

Aboard the CNV Mako, General Graham and Captain Kyle sat in the tiny "conference" room. It also served as the mess hall, surgery area, and just about anything else one might think of for the small vessel.

"So...We might be trapped in the past?" Graham asked his friend uncertainly, "Time travel?"

Kyle shrugged, "We know that manipulation with localized areas of time is certainly possible. Remember the Sachue?"

"Weren't they that race that attacked right before the Melconian War? I heard about that Mk. XXX, Maldon, did a kamikaze to wipe out their last base." Graham replied, "I don't remember too many details…"

"Right, you only got basic Bolo history," the former Bolo crew chief grinned, "Maldon was sent in after an infantry company got smashed, and the artillery was malfunctioning. Reports said that the weapons fire didn't match anything around the Sachue research facility. In fact, it all bore Concordiat signatures."

"What?"

"There was some sort of anomaly. Unguided munitions didn't detonate or have much of an effect; and the laser designators didn't get back returns. Every time they fired, however, the enemy fired back within seconds using the same equipment."

Graham was confused, "It's like a mirror...But how is that possible?"

"We still haven't been able to replicate the effect today. The Bolo was deployed, and was heavily damaged after he fired into the anomaly and was hit with fire identical to his own. Somehow, the enemy had been manipulating space-time to redirect the weapons fire back at our own men…" she scratched her head, "I don't pretend to understand what the science was behind it, but he managed to defeat them by scuttling his fusion pile just outside the anomaly instead of in it. They weren't able to redirect it anywhere."

Graham chuckled a little, "Wow. The more I talk to you and Hector, the more I hate Spratly. Bolos are behind half the great war stories."

Kyle grimaced, "I know. The fool would still have us in the camps if he had his way."

"Operation Valhalla paid off, though, no thanks to him. Look at us now!"

He gestured around at the Piranha-class frigate, paint peeling off the walls and old bloodstains faded into the table. "I didn't know some of these things were still around! And you got four of them operational?"

Kyle shrugged, "I'm not even sure how we managed to get a fleet together without Hector. After you two...disappeared, the colonel kept us all together. It was so weird, the man who had been afraid to help us out of the camp suddenly coordinating the global escape..."

Graham's small smile faded, and he looked down at his boots. His right hand balled into a fist.

"Jamie, it's not your fault." Kyle said, putting a hand on his.

"I know, Alita. Hector's given me the talk already. It's just...I still felt like I abandoned you guys. After all we went through, only to get thrown across space...and time apparently."

"Well, we managed to survive. I think our chances may have improved without Hector painting a 'shoot us now' sign on our heads."

Graham snorted a laugh at the mildly dark joke, "The Reapers started taking pot-shots at us when we first got home, but their attacks weren't that effective. Those Thanix cannons were the only things that could even scratch Hector's paint, and they couldn't pierce his battlescreens or his processing. I think a few laser interceptors shot down some of their rounds too…"

"We both had quite a few adventures, didn't we?" Kyle laughed.

"Yeah...Grakaan for you, Turians for us, Cerberus for both." Graham laughed with her.

After a moment, Kyle hesitantly asked, "Have you thought about the whole time travel thing much? Has Hector mentioned it?"

"No, he's still a snob. I can't tell how a Bolo's affected by this kind of thing. But frankly, it scares the hell out of me." Graham rubbed his face, "To go nearly a thousand years into the past? Everything we've built undone? Jeez…"

"I know what you mean. The thought of the Concordiat, the Deng Wars, the Melconian War, our Bolos, all undone is almost as unsettling as getting harvested...Almost."

Graham looked at the viewscreen mounted on one end of the compartment, currently set to an external camera. The Mako sat near a brand new Turian orbital facility. It was hastily cobbled together from purpose-made modules, those few intact surviving pieces from the previous platforms, and a pair of gutted and crippled frigates served as living quarters for the time being.

Another ship was under construction in scaffolding made out of the remains of a heavy cruiser. It was extremely primitive compared to even the Mako, but was still pretty advanced for the current tech base.

A proper railgun, not the technically-a-railgun-but-in-only-the-barest-definition slapped-together cannons they had been previously using, made up its spinal weapon. The advanced coil designs, combined with the mysterious element zero, would make for an extremely devastating weapon.

Missile pods, awaiting ordnance, were being installed along each flank, a wide variety of different warheads packed inside; typical rockets, magnetically accelerated, and stealth missiles.

Time travel? No, that didn't seem right. It just didn't...fit. Hector had said that the mineral identified as element zero here, wasn't actually a chemical element. It was some sort of compound that Concordiat scientists had experimented with for FTL, but research was completely overshadowed by hyperspace. Hyper-light was about the same travel time, but all hyperspace-related travel required was a fusion pile and an engine, not rare element zero.

The success of element zero around here was attributed to the intra-galactic starship catapults constructed millions of years ago by some extinct alien race. They could cross distances that would take hyperspace years. Graham supposed that made sense, but it didn't match up with anything in their historical records. There was supposed to be one making up the core of Charon, Pluto's moon, and yet Concordiat records said nothing about it.

As if element zero hadn't tipped him off, the people around here didn't even think hyperspace was real!

There were even more inconsistencies. Bolos were completely new to them. There had been no Great Collapse. Lasers still required starships to use. Missiles were decades behind in development, genetic engineering was illegal, and yet somehow both humans and aliens were able to exert control over dark energy fields...Oh, and there were the massive hordes of millennia-old killer robots bent on wiping out humanity. Everything was wrong. Just...everything.

Time travel did more than refuse to fit. It was completely wrong.

Quickly, he explained his thoughts to Captain Kyle. She nodded vigorously in agreement, "Now that you mention it, I've noticed that stuff too. I wonder if someone went further back in time and changed some things…"

Both rolled their eyes. No one in their right mind would do that.

"...Or something else is at work."

"Reapers?" Graham asked.

There was a beat.

"Don't be silly, Jamie. The Reapers can barely match a mark XX in brain power. Maybe…"

They looked at each other, "Maybe the !*!*! did something."

Graham shook his head, "No, I don't think they would. If they had this capability, they wouldn't waste it to make the Concordiat disappear…Even to kill Hector that's stretching it."

He abruptly changed the subject, furrowing his brow, "A mark XX? Really that bad?"

She grinned sheepishly, "Okay, maybe not that bad. They do seem a bit limited in thinking, though. They could easily destroy a lot of enemy defences if they used proper tactics. According to Shepard, that Enhanced Defense Intelligence poked quite a few holes in their strategies."

"Speaking of which, what was you opinion on Commander Shepard?" Asked Graham.

Kyle shrugged, "He seemed like a decent soldier. I only spoke with him over visual comms."

"He helped me negotiate with the Council before you guys got here. Shepard seems to be a bit more tolerant of AI...Though he was a bit dodgy when I asked him about it."

"I'm glad he's the one searching for that Genophage cure. We need the Grakaan back in the fight. Where is he now?"

Graham shrugged, "Last I heard he was headed toward Tuchanka, but not moving directly there. Something about 'side-missions', whatever those are."

XXXXX

Eden Prime

Commander Javik gasped as if he had been holding his breath. Instantly he regretted that decision, his lungs felt like they were frozen and on fire at the same time; it hurt even more to exhale.

All four eyes popped open, and he looked around. His body was still recovering from stasis, and the frozen/burning sensation was fading quickly, but he couldn't move much for a few seconds.

Javik's eyesight was blurry, his memory slow to return as well. His muscles remembered, though; and registered that there were several figures standing around him who were not in regulation armor.

With a snarl, he summoned up biotic energy, pushing past the pain and willing his mildly-atrophied muscles to move and launch a blast.

They disappeared from the area of his pod, and he clumsily rolled out. His body ached to simply lay there, and take in the glorious sky...But lying about was for the weak.

He was strong. He was vengeance. He was about to become very sick.

Javik tripped out of his pod, falling off the table it had been placed on and fell on his face; just before he spewed a pile of vile blue fluid onto the floor. The fluids that the cryo pod pumped in to keep him from wasting away had always been foul, and difficult to extricate from the lungs.

An imperial soldier did not complain, however. He got to his feet, moving towards the nearest cover he could find.

A quick glance at one of the hostiles send him skidding to a halt.

What?

The closest was an Asari. An Asari! It wore what looked like an advanced combat uniform, and shakily held a firearm!

Impossible.

He looked at another one of the figures. It was one of the monkeys! It also wore a combat uniform, and was reaching for its own firearm.

What fool spiked the rations again?

There was a Turian too! Two more monkeys! And…What looked like synths.

Javik turned around, ready to rush off again and making a note to whip himself for abandoning his weapon...He stopped in his tracks.

Oh no.

The city was gone. Only a few small spires stuck up from the ground, and showed signs of recent excavation.

In the place of the city lay rolling green hills, fields of wheat...and alien architecture. All across the area. Pre-fabs by the look of them.

He heard footsteps coming closer, but ignored them. This can't be happening...I must be dreaming...

A hand landed on his shoulder, and suddenly, there was another presence. Not beside him. In his head. Someone had begun an Exchange.

Commander Javik latched onto the unknown, "reading" their mind for information. Much of it was routine, simple things like language. Words, definitions, pronunciation, datives, inflections.

The other was making a connection as well. Reading random pieces, most likely only the freshest memories. Strange. It was alien, but familiar somehow. Stranger still, it was able to make sense of the words in his memories.

Javik collapsed to the deck again, unprepared for the sudden shock. Distantly, his memory returned, and he recalled what Victory had said. Another culture would have had to find the bunker.

Javik shook his head, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling from his mind. He was still on all fours, the queasiness fading slightly as he asked, "How many others?"

Protheans never grappled with words, unless the individual they got the language from already had problems. So, as a result, with a mere touch the officer could speak with the same fluency as a native speaker.

"Just you." the calm voice of the monkey-the human, replied.

Javik leaned back onto his legs. Imperial soldiers did not show shame...but the empire no longer existed, did it?

No. As long as one of still lives, the empire exists. as does military protocol. He growled in frustration, and seized a handful of weeds. He kept his shame inside.

"You can understand me?" the human asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Javik replied distantly, his mind still in another time, "Now that I have read your physiology. Your nervous system. Enough to understand your language.

"So you were reading me, while I was seeing…"

"...Our last moments. Our failure." the Prothean's tone turned from distant to harsh. He ignored the sounds of weapons clacking behind him, and looked at the handful of grass in his hand. Out of everything that could have, this was what hadn't changed in any way. The grass was still the same he had seen before going into the bunker. Still the same that he had trained on, bled on, and sat on. Out of everything, the grass remained the same.

He got to his feet, as the human strode into his field of vision, giving Javik a clear view of his rescuer. The male wore light blue armor with red highlights, and an open helmet with a blue monocle, which gave a clear view of his face. It seemed fairly generic for a human, but there were a few details that stood out.

In comparison to normal Protheans, the human's cheekbones were a little high, making his eyes look a little more tolerable. Still a bit too big for comfort, how did they not roll around in their sockets? Strands of crimson hair struck out from underneath the helmet, looking as itchy as ever. At least they finally discovered razors...

"Your people did everything they could," he said, filled with the weakness of compassion, "They never gave up. And I could use some of that commitment now."

He put a hand to his ear, apparently interacting with a primitive "push to talk" interface.

The other members of the human's team approached. Javik looked at all of them again, realizing that they hadn't been a hallucination. "Human, Asari, Turian...I am surrounded by primitives…"

The human, apparently done with his conversation, said, "It's not safe here. Will you join us?"

Join primitives?! He weighed his options. Stay in the warzone, go with the human. Both were pretty tempting… "Do you fight the Reapers?"

"Yes." The human officer replied proudly.

Javik turned around, and looked the human in the eye for the first time. "Then we will see."

The human nodded, and abruptly stuck out his hand. Javik, careful not to release his confusion, merely looked from it to the human, before turning around and moving away.

Commander Javik returned to his pod, and rested a hand on its solid, and battered tip. He felt along the grooves set in the edge, and found what he was looking for; he ran two fingers horizontally along the area, then vertically. Reacting to his presence, his unique touch, and the pattern, the oval light faded. With a hiss, the pressurized compartment unfolded. Within was stored the best combat loadout the remnants of a galactic empire could provide.

It was still a lot, all packed into one small duffel bag. Spare parts for his computer equipment, his armor's various support systems, and weaponry. Rations for an extended period of time, supplies for sanitary requirement, and a medical kit. Several weapons neatly folded away and arranged next to the entire spare set of armor.

Javik allowed himself a bitter snort of laughter. How he had scolded the poor subordinate who had been equipping his pod; "Were you somehow denied elementary education? I pity the shame your matron must feel. You know a true soldier of the empire shall only require one set of armor! We sleep in it, we fight in it, we die in it!"

The subordinate, rightly not showing any sign of weakness, told him that no one in the bunker would go without this equipment.

Javik would never admit it, but he was glad for it. He snatched up the duffel bag, and moved around to the side of the pod. Reaching in, he withdrew his battered particle rifle, and helmet.

He began to stalk towards the primitives' shuttle, when one set of eyes popped open with alarm. The Prothean felt around his throat, and could find nothing. He stuck a hand beneath his collar, feeling for anything.

He hurried back to the pod, and felt along the cushions; his nails found purchase on the thin chain. Javik snatched it up, and put it back over his head, sliding it under his collar where it belonged.

The human, the one with the N7 on his chest, was standing there patiently. He made no move to question Javik's actions.

Javik made no eye contact, and headed for the shuttle again.

He passed the larger of the two synths moving in the opposite direction, and used one eye to look it up and down.

To his hidden surprise, one auditory sensor stared back, but gave no indication of alarm. The Prothean officer decided to leave it alone for now. The machine looked heavily armed, with what looked like micro-missile launchers and a long tube that could only be an artillery gun. Impressive. Most likely some sort of drone.

Curious. It was made of extremely advanced materials, a greater improvement over the other humans' equipment. Its colors shimmered in the light, possibly indicative of a dynamic camouflage system.

Javik also noted out of the corner of his leftmost eye that the human leader wasn't content to let him move to the shuttle unescorted. A human that looked every part the primitive and stupid creatures their Terran ancestors had been, with his buff frame and ridiculous expressions, was keeping a distance but matched his step. The white and blue armored human was most likely their heavy weapons expert, his physique was suited for nothing else.

In the other eye, the Asari was keeping a distance, but doing a very poor job of matching his step. The Asari wore the lightest armor in the group, black with white highlights. She seemed to be some sort of biotic specialist. Why else would she have such a light weapon loadout? That type of planning was dangerous though, every soldier was supposed to pull their weight, and was expected to be able to defend themselves. Javik, as a wielder of force himself, was trained in every art a standard soldier was.

The Asari seemed to be watching him, in intense detail.

Javik ignored both of them, and found his way to the shuttle. He stopped in front of the hatch. He didn't know if they had developed friend-or-foe automatic doors, and did not want to embarrass himself by accidentally walking into it.

The Asari, after a moment, shot him a presumed-dirty(yet confused) look, and stalked forward. She waved an omni-tool in front of the hatch, and it popped open with a sigh.

The interior was unusual. There were only berths for twelve. They are pushing the limits, they should not put this many aboard a ship at once. Too many casualties.

Still, the extra elbow room might be nice.

He stepped aboard, and sat down in the center of one of the four three-seat clusters in the compartment. Javik placed his rifle to one side, duffel bag to the other.

Though his head was oriented towards the floor, his eyes watched as the squad entered. First came the Asari and the neanderthal, then the officer. He carried several weapons on his back, most of which were the same as those Javik had seen back "home". but cradled an odd-looking mass accelerator in his arms. Instead of thermal clips, or a heat exhaust vent, there was an archaic clip jutting out from its butt. A secondary barrel, for heavier rounds most likely, was far wider than it should have been.

Javik grimaced. He had his work cut out in educating the primitives.

The Turian entered next. He was clad in a desert camouflage pattern, carried a sniper rifle, and wore a visor over one eye. He must have been their marksman.

There was a shudder, and the drone, the bigger synth, entered the shuttle. Surprisingly, it fit. It quickly moved to a corner, and to Javik's surprise, folded up into a box. Interesting storage mechanism.

The second synth, the one he hadn't seen in great detail, gracefully entered. It sat down at one of the berths nearby, clasping its hands in its lap.

Javik gritted his teeth in disgust. The primitives were at ease with the synths, so clearly they were not hostile...for the moment. He had heard that primitives could be tempermental about justified dismemberment, so he couldn't eliminate the machines. Yet.

As he looked at it, he realized that the second was designed to appear as human as possible; it wore integrated jet-black armor designed in the same way as them, wielded their weapons, and was even interacting with the rest of the squad..

He noted that there were several devices mounted on the platform, made from the same materials as the first drone. They contrasted sharply with the rest of its design, all made with the more primitive materials of the first two humans.

Javik also noted that its visual sensors kept watching him, examining him. Soon, you will show your true face, monster.

The third human was the last to enter, slamming the hatch shut and placing his weapon on his back. His combat uniform didn't match the rest, the materials were too advanced, and the colors were different; sky blue and white, rather than black or dark blue. Javik noted that certain patterns shifted, and their tints would change. Dynamic armor systems...Interesting.

His helmet was open like the officer's, but with a tinted visor that covered everything above his gigantic human nose. There was a strange-looking camera above the visor as well, but it didn't seem to be integrated into the helmet. Javik saw why, frayed and torn wires held it on; it was a trophy.

This one it seems has battled synths.

The human was also the most likely candidate for the handler of the drone, his armor's materials and insignia was virtually identical.

What's this? The Prothean looked from the larger synth and his presumed human handler to the first two humans. The insignia was different. In fact, the insignia of the turian and Asari were different as well. They weren't all identical.

They could be special ops, those units never had proper access to supply lines, yet the primitives' armor was all brand new and clean. None of the others had the dynamic camouflage, so that wasn't the reason.

Could they be...Allies? Not one unified empire? Blasted primitives.

These thoughts were shattered as the handler appeared in his field of vision. He reached for Javik's bag, no doubt trying to steal it. Primitives. His matron most likely would have been ashamed that her offspring would let himself get caught so easily.

The Prothean officer slammed a hand down on the bag, and glared up at the surprised human.

"I was just moving it!" the human growled.

Javik noticed for the first time several things unusual about the human's physical fitness. His skin hung off his bones, his eyes were sunken in, and Javik realized that his armor hung off his frame. Curious...

Undeterred, the human roughly shoved the bag out of the way, and sat down.

Javik glared at the primitive, and pushed him off the seat. The neanderthal snorted in amusement, as the handler jumped to his feet.

"Stand down, specialist!" The officer barked, when the handler cracked his knuckles.

"Sir-!"

"I don't want to hear it, Dobbs. Stand down."

The handler's fists fell to his sides, but tightened. "...Yes sir."

Unfortunate. A confrontation would be refreshing.

The asari was staring at him again. Trying to hide her camera. Poorly.

XXXXX

SSV Normandy

"A living Prothean?" Admiral Hackett asked in mild disbelief, his voice tinny through the quantum entanglement device.

"That's correct admiral. But he's not quite what we expected." Shepard replied. Kinda rude too.

"Commander, our scientists barely understand what they need to do here. Even with help from the CDF. They only learned mass relays existed a few weeks ago," he took a step forward for emphasis, "If the Prothean can help us construct this device, we need his cooperation."

"Understood admiral."

"The CDF may have pushed the Reapers back, but that only increased their attacks on some of our more distant colonies. We're losing them faster than they can be evacuated. We've never seen a force like the Reapers."

"He has, admiral." Shepard pointed it.

"Can he help us?" Hackett asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

"I intend to find out." Shepard replied. He hesitated, before adding, "How useful has CDF strategic advice been?"

Hackett shook his head, "I don't know what type of Reapers they were fighting, but they were very different from 'ours'. Not too many concepts really apply. General doctrine and tactics are useful for minimizing casualties, but are still designed for organic enemies, so they have a few flaws. Even worse, what few insights apply specifically to Reapers, were only made for protecting a single star system."

"How has the search for allies been doing, sir?" Shepard asked, hoping for some shred of good news.

"A few ships have found leads. Some abandoned mining operations that weren't made by any known species, a handful of raided vessels, but it's slow going. A lot of the data isn't connected to active mass relays."

Shepard sighed.

Hackett gave a little shrug of sympathy, before standing formally at ease, "Commander, good work. Cerberus has slipped up and given us a new weapon. Don't let it go to waste. Hackett out."

The hologram fizzled away, as the PA suddenly snapped to life.

"Shepard, I need you down in the port cargo hold. It's about our new guest."

"On my way."

A pair of nervous-looking Alliance marines stood at the door of the hatch, both holding the new-model M-9 Nemesis assault rifles. They were of the boarding party variant, designed to inflict massive damage on organic targets, but not be able to penetrate hulls. Shepard had never really trusted that completely, one of the reasons he always kept his crew in full vacuum gear during boarding actions.

Hopefully we can get a few of those PPG prototypes, don't want any hull breaches the next time someone boards. Shepard thought offhandedly as he opened the door.

Inside, the cargo bay hadn't changed much from the last time the commander had been down here. A bit more misty, and the tank was gone, that was it.

Several more guards stood in the center of the room, all looking at the Prothean kneeling and staring at the floor.

An anxious Liara spotted him arriving, and walked over. Dobbs was right behind her, wearing CDF fatigues instead of his armor, but still bore a power pistol in a holster at his side.

"What's the problem?" Shepard asked.

"I've tried to make the room more accommodating, but they won't let me talk to him." She reported, eyeing the Prothean with concern.

One of the marines stepped over, "Apologies, Doctor. Contact protocol with a new species, 'assume hostility'." He smiled a little, "Had to dust off the regulations."

Dobbs rolled his eyes, "I still think that's a bad idea. And a bit racist when you think about it. The Concordiat's policy was to sign a non-aggression treaty as quickly as possible, we didn't think everyone was a gun-wielding maniac."

"Well, we can't all have killer robot tanks, now can we?" The marine shot back. This argument had clearly been going for a while.

Liara interjected, "He's not new, though. I've spent my whole life studying Protheans."

Shepard was only half listening. He noticed that, to the casual observer, the Prothean must have looked like he was ignoring everything. However, in the commander's experience, every special forces soldier across every species had very similar general body language at certain times.

When they were gathering information, for example. Not preparing an assault, just observing.

"At ease. I don't think our guest is going to be a problem..." He pushed past the marine and went to stand in front of the Prothean. The guards relaxed slightly, but were still wary of the unknown in front of them. The alien got to his feet, looking down slightly at the commander.

"...will he?"

"That depends on you." The Prothean replied, his four eyes cast in shadow.

He suddenly stepped forward, grabbing Shepard by the arms. The marines snapped up their weapons as a green flash shot outward for a brief instant. "Release the commander." Dobbs ordered, setting his weapon for pencil beam.

Instead of attacking the commander, the Prothean bowed his head slightly, "I can sense fear in you. Anxiety and distress. The Reapers have begun their assaults."

He furrowed his brow, "Odd…There's something else..." Before he abruptly released Shepard.

Shepard moved back, out of arm's reach. Weird alien rituals…"What do you mean, 'you sense'?"

The Prothean turned away, stepping over to one of the odd water-filled tables in the back of the room while keeping two eyes on Shepard, "All life provides clues to those who can read them. It's in your cells, your DNA. Experience is a biological marker." He turned his head fully forward, and ran a hand through the water, peering at the drops left on his glove.

Shepard put a hand out for the marines to relax, and stepped slightly closer, but still out of arm's reach, "Then what exactly did I experience on Eden Prime? That was a hell of a flashback."

The Prothean peered back, "The battle left its own mark on me. I communicated this to you. It can work both ways."

"Like your beacons?" Liara asked, stepping closer.

The Prothean turned around, "Yes, which…"

"Don't!" Dobbs shouted, but the alien had seized Shepard again.

The familiar nightmare messages of at least three different beacons ran through Shepard's mind again, with a second presence this time.

The Prothean stepped back, all four chameleon eyes open wide in shock. In a controlled stumble he fell back against one of the tables, "You...you found one. You saw it all-Our destruction, our warnings…"

The air of toughness and superiority faded, leaving only anxiety, frustration, and fearful disbelief in his eyes, "Why weren't they heeded?" He demanded, his voice almost failing for a moment. In a flash, the fear was gone, his dignity returned, and he bared carnivorous canines, roaring in rage, "Why didn't you prepare for the Reapers, human?!"

Shepard, in equal frustration, barked back, "It's 'commander,' and nobody could understand your warnings! The beacon nearly killed me!"

The Prothean scowled, and began to pace, "Then communication is still primitive in this cycle."

"Tell me about it…" Dobbs muttered under his breath. He still had his pistol at the ready.

"We pieced together what we could, and used it to stop a Reaper invasion three years ago." Shepard explained to the Prothean's back.

The alien turned around, "Then the extinction was delayed?"

Shepard nodded, as Liara approached, "Now we have your plans for the device. We're going to build it." She moved over to the display set between the two water-filled tables, and input a command.

"'Device'?" The Prothean asked.

"The weapon your people were working on," Liara explained, disappointment seeping into her voice, "I hoped you could tell us how to finish it."

The Prothean stared at the schematics appearing on the screen, stepping closer to study it.

Slowly, but sadly, he lowered his head, closing all four eyes, "We never finished it. It was too late."

"Then I take it you don't know anything about the Catalyst?" Shepard asked.

"No." the Prothean replied flatly, leaning against the console, "I was a soldier, not a scientist. Skilled in one art; killing."

"What was your mission?" Liara asked.

The Prothean did not turn around. His eyes remained fixed upon the Crucible for a long time before he finally replied, "Among my people there were...avatars of many traits: bravery, strength, cunning. A single exemplar for each."

"Which are you?" Asked Shepard.

The Prothean tilted his head upwards, his voice soaked in determination and anger, "The embodiment of vengeance. I am the anger of a dead people, demanding blood spilled for the blood we lost. Only when the last Reaper has been destroyed will my purpose be fulfilled. I have no other reason to exist."

Shepard looked at the marine in charge of the guards, and made a dismissive head motion. The marine opened his mouth in protest, and closed it again. He saluted, and motioned for the others to follow.

All filed out of the cabin, except for Specialist Dobbs.

"Those who share my purpose become allies. Those who do not, become casualties."

"Nothing in our fight against the Reapers has been that cut-and-dried." Shepard declared.

The Prothean turned all the way around, looking Shepard in the eye, "Because you still have hope that this war will end with your honor intact."

"I do." Shepard countered, staring down the 50,000 year old soldier.

Angry, the Prothean walked forward until he was a few centimeters from Shepard's face, "Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls, and ask the ghosts if honor matters." He pointed in a random direction for emphasis.

They stayed quiet, staring each other down with iron glares. "This silence, is your answer." The Prothean finally hissed.

They made eye contact a moment more, before Liara went over to a table next to the door, trying to lessen the animosity. A small silver and glowing-blue rectangle hovered above a small device, rotating as the machine hummed quietly, "We found this at the dig site. I assume it's yours?"

"It is a memory shard." The Prothean said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Could it help us with the device?"

"No…" The Prothean said softly, "It contains only pain."

He stepped back from Shepard, and stood in a more neutral posture, "...But I will help you fight."

"And the last thing the Reapers hear before they die, will be the last voice of the Protheans sending them to their graves." The Prothean ground out with a sense of finality.

"If you don't mind, I have a few more questions I'd like to ask." Liara requested, her glee barely contained and undeterred.

"Here it comes…" Shepard muttered, trying to lighten the mood.

"I've written over a dozen studies on your species. I've published in scientific journals-"

The Prothean watched her pace back and forth with a bored expression. "Amusing. Asari have finally mastered writing."

Liara stopped speaking, looking him with a terrifying gaze, "I'm sorry?"

He leaned back against one of the tables, "Never mind. What do you wish to know?"

The conversation went on for a while, the commander finding it surprisingly easy to get information out of the alien. Perhaps it was Javik's vast loneliness that overcame his arrogance.

The Prothean described the merciless war of attrition the empire the war had waged against the Reapers, the sensor ability of his species, and more than a few odd insights into Prothean culture. The almost Roman imperialism, and their lack of empathy. Liara recorded everything, with varying reactions depending on the subject matter. The ones about Prothean culture were the most upsetting.

Finally…"Thank you for talking with me," Shepard said, then added, "I never imagined actually meeting a Prothean."

The alien nodded politely, "This has been...amusing." The politeness was immediately canceled out.

"Oh?" Shepard asked.

"To discover the most primitive races of my time now rule the galaxy. The Asari, the humans, the Turians…"

"There's also the Salarians." Liara added.

"The lizard people evolved?" The Prothean asked in disbelief.

"I believe they're amphibian." Liara retorted with a degree of anger.

He gave her a look of Really? "They used to eat flies."

She gave the ancient soldier one final look of betrayal, then stormed off.

The Prothean stared after her for a moment, before looking back towards Shepard, "Commander. You may count on me. I am known as Javik."

He flexed an arm experimentally, "...Though I still need time to recover. The...shock has not worn off yet."

Shepard knew he meant more than physical, "I understand. This must be a hell of an experience for you. We're just glad to have you onboard, Javik."

Javik nodded again, and Shepard began to walk out.

"Dobbs?"

The specialist was still in the room.

He looked up defiantly, "Hey, I was here before he was. I'm not moving." He meant it.

Shepard sighed, "Specialist…" he shook his head. Space was always a premium on starships. If Dobbs had to move, someone else would. "Javik, would you mind if…?"

Javik crossed his arms, but dipped his head, "It is tolerable. In any case, I doubt he could successfully take me by surprise, even during sleep."

Shepard nodded reluctantly, but dragged the CDF trooper out into the hall for a moment. "Explain." He growled, "You two nearly attacked each other on the shuttle, and now you want to bunk with him?"

"Sir, he's just realized he might be the last of his people. They might have had their own Operation Seed Corn, but for now, we're all he's got, so I might as well try to get to know him."

Dobbs peered through the open door at the Prothean's back, and whispered, "And again, last of his people. What kind of effect do you think that might have on his mind? Someone needs to be close by, keep an eye on him."

Shepard stared at the younger man for a long moment, finally releasing his slender arm. "Good thinking. Don't, start anything."

He walked out of the room, hoping that they would listen to him.

Damn, I should've thought of that, he thought as he pushed the elevator control, cursing himself for thinking too hard about the Prothean and not enough about the person. He shuddered at the weight of the emotions that must have been piling down on Javik.

Commander Javik

Javik felt the eyes of the handler upon him. He ignored the human, and continued to unpack his equipment. Not that there was much to take out. Evacuation during the last days of the Empire had been ever-present, even an infantryman's pack had to be made to be easily mobile at a moment's notice.

Several fold-out panels made up most of the cargo space, the contents strapped tightly in by webbing; if a soldier needed to move quickly, they could easily just fold up the kit and run.

"Hey." the human finally said, stepping up behind him. Wisely, he stayed out of arm's reach.

Javik had no time for mindless drivel. He removed the data recorder recovered from the stasis pod, containing what little data the Victory VI had sent him before going offline. Reports of pods going offline every few hundred years, power systems, and other bunker systems. There were also some other reports about the outside environment. None of the major observation systems that could monitor the sky had survived, but enough sensors had survived to scan the environment of the planet.

They described it change from fertile to extremely barren as the Reaper bombardment took effect, then reverting back to a peaceful planet after a few hundred years. The reports fell to a trickle as more sensors withered away.

"Hey, buddy."

Perhaps the sensor data could prove useful for this cycle's stasis operations. Of course they were more primitive, but even the Empire had not possessed any data on 50,000 year long suspension…

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

He felt a pair of clumsy blunt fingers tap on the tip of his carapace. What felt like a lightning bolt shot through the base of Javik's neck, as distorted illegible green Prothean scripture scrolled across his field of vision.

An instant later, sensory information coursed into his mind from the human. Images of a beautiful shining city, filled with skyscrapers, manufacturing plants, apartment buildings, and gently beeping traffic appeared. The technology made it look like home to the Prothean officer, or what he might have imagined the Empire was like before the war.

The images were replaced with a rendition of the same scene, only this time virtually annihilated. The proud skyscrapers had disappeared, not even their stumps remained. The apartment buildings were flattened, the vehicles scattered for thousands of kilometers. One manufacturing building in particular was on the very edge of whatever blast had it, and was cut neatly in half.

The link was unintentional; he could cut it right now. Javik was curious though, and pushed on.

A faster set of images appeared. Massive warships descending from above, feelings of fear and distress. Words he could not understand, but sending out waves of anger and defeat. The manufacturing building appeared again, amid shock, horror, rage, and sickness. A camp, digging among one's own technology for days on end, with little food and rest. Beatings, torment, malnutrition. The sounds of people-humans-screaming.

What is this?

A great feeling of betrayal, focused around one memory in particular. A strange fortification built on a hill. It was artificial...Yet why so personal?

The feeling disappeared, along with the horror, to be replaced with hope, excitement, and adrenaline, when the fortification began to move.

Sounds of battle, deafening blasts. A brief glimpse of the mobile fortification again, pointing its massive cannons skyward and firing again and again.

Bolo. Hector. The words floated out of the human's mind. What did they mean?

Reluctantly, sensing the human beginning to panic, Javik relaxed, and found his way back to his home dimension.

The human stumbled backwards, clumsily pulling out his odd-looking sidearm.

"The flying fuck was that?!" He demanded, unsteady on his feet and in proper grip of his sidearm.

"Specialist Dobbs, do not open fire." A voice said abruptly, before Javik could inform the primitive of his stupidity.

"Do you know what he did?" The human demanded of the voice, "My vision went all screwy, I think he was screwing with my inserts!"

"I do not believe he was attempting to sabotage your neural interface, Specialist Dobbs. Actually, both of you possess similar devices."

"He does?" They asked in unison, and glared.

"Affirmative. Please refrain from inflicting bodily harm upon one another."

"Where did you get this technology?" Javik demanded with an accusing claw, "Answer, human!"

The human glared for a moment more, and slowly holstered his weapon.

"During enlistment, 'Prothean'. Where'd you get yours?"

Javik did not feel like talking to anyone else beyond this vessel's commanding officer, and had given up enough information already.

"Idle threats are empty threats, handler." Javik observed, taking a posture that made him appear at ease, but would allow him to quickly knock out his opponent, "Do you have the courage to back it up?"

"Robert, he is trying to bait you." The speaker on the primitive communications system warned, using the human's first name. Spoiler of events...

The human continued to make eye contact. The corner of his mouth abruptly went up, "Were you actually trying to draw me into a fight, or did you just want to-"

Javik's wrist hurt slightly from the impact. Their jaws are mostly bone, he noted, They seem to possess more nerves to either side.

The human stood himself up, poking at several of his teeth. "Guess that's a yes," he coughed, "Let's go down to the shuttle bay to do this. The commander won't kill us for wrecking this place, and Vega knows how to put teeth back in."

XXXXX

Codex Updated

M-9 Nemesis- Recently developed utilizing CDF coilgun designs, the M-9 Nemesis Modular Combat Rifle is designed primarily as an all-purpose modifiable anti-husk weapon, that could also be used against more standard foes.

Alliance and Turian intelligence found that during the Battles for Earth and Palaven, ground troops armed with fully automatic weapons frequently found themselves overwhelmed by large numbers of standard husks. Unlike most contemporary enemies, and unlike their tougher brethren, standard husks have no sense of self-preservation, and cannot be driven into cover, suppressive fire is therefore ineffective. Meanwhile, other units when in combat with smarter variants of husks, found that most standard-issue assault rifles did not have the required stopping power.

In addition, due to the difficulties in maintaining supply lines, those firearms that prove effective were quickly rendered inoperable.

The Nemesis was designed to combine attributes of several different weapons, combining the high muzzle velocity, stopping power, and accuracy of the M-96 Mattock, with the high rate of fire and ammunition, along with the reliability and versatility of the M-8 Avenger. Heat is regulated through a stock-mounted module containing a mixture of liquid nitrogen and other classified chemicals that can be easily swapped out and reused

In addition, a feature quickly becoming standard in all weaponry, is the underslung Gyrojet launcher, designed by Aegohr Munitions, the designer of the Scorpion Heavy Pistol. It utilizes smart self-guided microjet rockets tipped with a variety of warheads ranging from conventional explosives to chemical.