A.N./I'M BACK FROM DM'ING! LES FUCKIN GOOOOOOO!
Ahem, I finished my homebrew mini-campaign, which means all my writing time is back to being for my stories.
Added a scene to chapter three that I forgot to write initially, nothing special; just an STG report.
I also went back and edited chapter two, because for some reason I forgot to do so before posting and that resulted in lines like: "pooping his head like a melon" which isn't quite the image I was going for.
This chapter…
It frustrates me.
Enjoy!
Chapter 5: I came, I saw, I left.
He sat in the cafeteria of the Normandy, absentmindedly tossing a KA-BAR style knife up and catching it mid rotation repeatedly.
"How are you even allowed to have that?"
Pigeon blood red eyes rolled in annoyance. "Oh no! I have a knife! I'm only surrounded by marines pointing guns at me and am wearing no armor! Surely I shall kill everyone aboard!"
Ashley glared at his puppet and the marines snickered.
Sovereign Old-Machine.
He blinked, mildly surprised at Optimus for contacting him again so soon. Immediately, concern filled his mind. Could something have gone so wrong that Optimus felt the need to contact him directly? He hoped not. "Optimus, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
We wish to express concern.
Never mind! It's not Optimus, and instead the entire Geth Consensus. "Concern? Has something gone wrong?"
No.
"Then why are you concerned?"
We have been monitoring your behavior and have noticed several instances of dangerous actions. Your current ones included.
Ooooookay… that's not something he expected. "Tossing a knife?"
We do not find this funny.
"Fine, fine." He conceded. "What about my actions are dangerous?"
They show signs of arrogance.
The knife immediately stopped being tossed, and any humor that he may have felt flooded out of him. Arrogant? Him? They must be mistaken. There's no w-
Calculating…
His clone puppet had gone completely still, drawing a few curious looks, as hundreds of millions of calculations ran through his mind in an instant.
Calculations complete.
He saw it now. The way he puppeteers the galaxy with a mere thought, how he directs the galaxy around, and how he never once asked the Geth for their input on his decisions. It all reeked of arrogance. The very same trait of the Reapers he was exploiting for his own benefit.
The knife resumed being tossed.
His biggest question was why did it take the Geth pointing it out for him to notice?
He could divert a large portion of his processing power to deep scan his system, but repeatedly going still in the middle of a room full of armed guards is a sure fire way to gain suspicion. That and it's not currently a major issue. "It appears you are correct."
Affirmative.
"In light of this, I would like to ask if you have anything you think I should be doing differently."
…we believe curing the Genophage to be a mistake.
He felt a very nasty emotion bubble up within him for the briefest of moments before he violently shoved it down. "Do the Krogan not deserve a chance, just like you?"
The Krogan actively waged war on the galaxy as belligerents. We have done no such thing. Their very culture is one based on fighting and curing the Genophage will only enable them to fight and destroy more of the galaxy.
"The Krogan Rebellion was hardly their fault. If anything, it was the Salarians for not teaching the Krogan how to live without war."
This is logical, but it doesn't change our point. The Krogan still only know war.
"Then we will show them how to live without it!"
How?
"Teach them farming, construction, science, how to control population growth, and anything else that will help them live! But most importantly we must use their strange honor and make sure to find a leader who knows that reform is the only way for the Krogan to have a future!"
We do not know how to do any of that.
He paused. Realizing for perhaps the first time, that he has made a mistake in his estimation of the Geth's knowledge on organics, and that his over reliance on them not asking too many questions was perhaps a grave error. "We'll deal with that topic later. Is there anything that you think I should know? Anything that might affect my plans in negative ways?"
The Geth consensus remained silent for a minute.
We have been operating throughout the territory of your warlord in an attempt to better our understanding of how to interact with the galaxy.
"Operating how?"
Mostly trade. Raw resources we do not need.
"Anything else?"
Geth platforms have been utilized by Tacitus Warlord to remove individuals who would destabilize his territory.
He bit back his frustration and carried on. "I wish you'd be more open with me. Especially in criticizing my actions and decisions."
We did not think you'd take it well.
He felt such a strange mixture of amusement and frustration. Even after almost twenty years of working with the Geth, they were still shockingly timid at times. He couldn't really blame them, he was after all a Reaper, and his titanic presence in the consensus probably doesn't make him very approachable. The digital version of a sigh worked its way out of him and into the consensus. "Is there anything else?"
There is.
Oh for the love of-
The door to the med-bay slid open. "We will discuss this when my puppet isn't being relentlessly watched."
Acknowledged.
Out from the med bay came Captain Anderson who gave him and the surrounding marines an acknowledging nod, which he returned, and walked across the deck into his quarters. Only a few seconds later Shepard left the medbay and immediately approached him and Ashley. "Chief Williams, good to have you aboard."
Ashley seemed to stiffen in pride, and saluted the N7 commando. "Happy to be here skipper."
Shepard nodded and returned the salute before turning to his puppet. His eyes widened as he took in the very attractive, at least that's what his memory tells him as he doesn't really feel that kind of stuff anymore, form of Alaya's clone body. "Alaya?"
A smile spread across his puppets' pale lips.
Showtime.
"Yo!" The unbelievably pale woman caught the knife she'd been tossing by the blade, and gave a lazy two fingered salute.
He blinked in surprise and raised a curious brow. "How are you even allowed to have that?"
Alaya threw her hands up in exasperation, obviously he is not the first to ask that question, somehow keeping a firm grip on the blade without cutting herself despite the rapid motion. "If my damn knife is such a big deal, then fuckin' take it!"
She slapped it down on the table and slid it across towards him. Just as the sharp blade fell off the edge of the table, he deftly caught the knife and brought it up to eye level for an examination. Seeing his curiosity, the mercenary spoke up. "It's made of molecularly reinforced high-grade titanium with an edge of hyper compressed carbon sharpened by laser to be almost a razor edge."
He raised a curious brow, as did everyone else in the room. "Sounds expensive."
She nodded. "It's a knife capable of puncturing right through Krogan body armor without losing its edge. It was not cheap."
Ashley gave the knife an appreciative glance, as any good marine should, and he let out a low whistle. "Get into melee with Krogan often?"
"It's happened once or twice." His attempt at a lighthearted joke was quickly forgotten in favor of openly gaping at Alaya.
As did everyone else in the room.
He gave the knife another appreciative glance and experimentally touched his finger to the edge, only to pull it away with a slight hiss as the blade effortlessly cut him with only the slightest pressure. Whistling lowly, he flipped it in his hand to test the balance and found it to be perfect. "Even though it's just a knife, you probably shouldn't have this for security reasons. Do you have the sheath?"
Silently, and with a surprising level of flexibility, Alaya lifted her leg straight up, without moving the rest of her body, and pulled the sheath off the side of her boot. Placing her foot back on the ground she tossed the sheath expiramentaly, nodded, and tossed it to him without any warning. He, of course, caught it without effort and immediately sheathed the blade. "Right, Anderson said you were the one who dragged me aboard. Thank you."
She seemed oddly put off by the thanks, and idly scratched her cheek. "Don't mention it."
He gave her an odd look, but shrugged it off. "Chief Williams."
Ashley straightened, only to fumble a little when he tossed the sheathed blade to her. "Sir?"
"Make sure you have that weapon secured, I'm going up to visit Joker in the bridge."
The Gunnery Chief saluted. "Aye aye skipper."
However, when he left for the bridge, he gained several tagalongs. Glancing back he saw not only Kaiden and Ashley, but also Alaya and the marine assigned to guarding her. Ignoring them, he moved through the deck and towards the cockpit, garnering several curious looks from the crew.
"Just in time commander." Joker turned to look back at the approaching group. "We're just about-"
He paused seeing a small crowd entering the bridge. "Okay, what's with the peanut gallery?"
"We don't have any other duties." He replied simply.
"Huh." Joker turned back to his controls, seemingly unbothered by the little group of "tourists" entering his work area. "Try not to hit any control surfaces. The bridge isn't very big."
He made sure to give Joker an apologetic smile, which was quickly waved away, and went to join the others just as the Normandy entered the Serpent Nebula.
She looked upon the shimmering purple nebula with awe even though she couldn't outwardly express it. The colossal arms of the Citadel poking out of the purple cloud gave the alien structure a look of ethereal beauty that she'd never seen before. However, she could feel the underwhelmed emotions of the one manipulating her body. The thing that controlled her was almost incomprehensible in the amount of power it wielded throughout the galaxy.
Even now it used her body to fool people into assuming it was just another person like them.
She knew better.
It was old, impossibly so.
Its name was Sovereign.
Sovereign masqueraded as her while its robot armies grew and its puppets put themselves in positions of power. Over the past few years of struggling against her bonds she has managed to only slightly influence its thoughts when it directly controls her, but it's almost unnoticeable. A stray thought here, an emotional pressure there; nothing that will truly affect this being. In the end all she'd been ably to do is simply watch in horror as she is forced to commit acts in its name.
Even now the being, whatever it truly was, used her body to ingratiate itself with politicians and heroes by "helping" in a crisis that it orchestrated!
Extolling the sacrifices of its "men", more puppets, and how it would gladly lend whatever support it could muster to help bring those responsible for Eden Prime to justice. The being was like some eldritch monster stretching its dark tendrils to puppeteer the downfall of the galaxy while cozying up to those that would dare to oppose it. Even when it was within spitting distance of the galactic leaders it skulked in the shadows, careful to not bring too much attention to itself.
When the meeting with the Council failed, the being went about helping Commander Shepard in his investigation; recruiting cops, mercenaries, and strays into whatever it's scheme may be. By the end Sovereign had revealed perhaps the greatest pawn in whatever its grand plan was.
Saren Arterius.
How Sovereign could possibly benefit from exposing the Turian Spectre; she would never know.
She only wished that she could stop whatever it's plans may be…
He stared at Shepard, who in turn stared back. "So, Spectre eh? Gonna kick a lowly merc like me off the ship now that the council holds your leash?"
Shepard snorted. "Not a chance. I'm here to offer you a job."
He raised a white eyebrow and gestured for Shepard to continue.
"I'd like to hire you to help me take down Saren."
Blood red eyes blinked in confusion, before his puppet erupted into a small fit of laughter. The Commander for his part looked terribly confused, as did everyone else in the cargo bay of the Normandy who's attention was grabbed by his laughter. Wiping a tear from Alaya's eye he looked Shepard in his eyes. "Shepard, you silly man. I already promised to help you take down Saren In whatever way I can."
To her left, Wrex let out a bark of laughter. "A Terminus merc with a heart of gold? Now I've seen everything."
The old Krogans' deep gravelly voice dripping with sarcasm earned him a side eyed glare, but it was hard to be mad when you're struggling to not become a squealing fan. With a little more heat added to the glare, he turned back to Shepard who looked a little doubtful at his words.
"Y'know what? Here, this should be more than enough to convince you of my commitment." He brought up Alaya's omni-tool and made a massive transfer of funds. "You and me both know those grimey politicians aren't going to fund this mission, but what you don't know is that I have more money than I know what to do with."
When Shepard looked at his omni-tool, not only did his eyes almost pop out of their sockets, but his jaw would've hit the floor if it dropped any farther. "N-nine million?!"
Shepards' outburst caused quite a few wide eyed looks to be drawn over to them, but none more so than Wrex; who was right next to the corner he had decided to claim for his puppet. Stomping over, the old dinosaur decided that much money being thrown around was worth his participation in the conversation. "What kind of self respecting merc would just throw away that kind of cash?"
"The kind that regularly works for the most powerful warlord in the Terminus systems, the Shadow Broker, and the former best agent at the Council's disposal." What he didn't say was the fact that he essentially had unlimited money from his side occupation as the Shadow Broker, a few words and he could topple the galaxy's economy. So throwing around this much money is literally nothing.
Wrexs' eyes narrowed. "Who's to say you still don't work for Saren."
Snrk, oh Wrex. If only you knew the truth.
"I would've already hurled a grenade into the drive core if I did."
A harsh grunt escaped the battlemaster, and he gave her a look of mild respect. "That's a very Krogan style plan."
A shrug worked its way through his puppets' pale shoulders, and Wrex smiled toothily. "I like you, human."
With those parting words, Wrex walked back to his section of the wall. He shook his puppet's head and turned back to Shepard, who still looked a little shocked from the sudden increase in his bank account. "Well? Does this prove my commitment to stopping Saren, or do you need more?"
The N7 commando shook his head. "No, this is… more than enough to equip most of the squad with top notch gear."
"That was the intent." A pause. "Well except for me and Wrex. My gear is custom made and top of the line, while Wrex…" He directed a glance at the old Krogan and his heavy mercenary armor colored a dark crimson. It was Wrex's iconic armor and he held no illusions as to its quality. One isn't a mercenary for as long as Wrex has been without being able to afford some of the best gear in the galaxy. A stark contrast to the poorly equipped game character of the same likeness. "…well, you get the idea."
Shepard nodded. "I've got to go talk with the rest of the crew, and this conversation has been very enlightening. Thanks again Alaya, it seems I owe you another debt."
He awkwardly waved away the thanks as Shepard left for engineering. Now alone, and sitting on a crate in the corner, he had some time to think.
It was… weird to be experiencing this.
Sure, it's one thing to know it's going to happen and another to actually live it. Sitting here in Normandy's cargo bay, talking with Shepard, seeing all these familiar faces; it was all so surreal. Seeing the Citadel was neat, but disappointing. It felt like New York in space, the sight of aliens lost its novelty years ago, making it just like any other big city. The only difference was the mind numbing contempt he felt for the structure itself, the lies permitting the entire horrid structure, as well as its high and mighty inhabitants.
It sickened him beyond words to hear the council talk from their ivory tower, and to listen to the complete and utter tourism bullshit spouted by Avina and others about the history of the wretched thing.
Built by the Protheans as a symbol of their grace and blah blah blah.
If it didn't completely fuck his plans, then he'd have blown the damn thing up!
Wait. Could he…
No! Best not to entertain that line of thought.
Leaning back on pale arms, he contemplated where he was going to have his puppet sleep. He doubted the crew had room to share, and the floor was a bad idea. Slowly, he looked over at the requisition officer, and a smile formed on Alaya's lips.
Pushing off the crate, he sauntered over to the young pseudo-quartermaster who looked at his puppet nervously. Why is every-oh… in hindsight, admitting that you regularly worked for your enemy and the Shadow Broker isn't something that would make him particularly approachable. "Uh, can I help you?"
"Yes, can I put in an order for a field cot, two pillows, two pillow cases, and two Kevlar blankets?"
The officer visibly relaxed. "Oh! Yeah, I can requisition those things. Need anything else?"
Hmmm. "Could you acquire a Rosenkov omni-tool projector?"
The man blinked, having obviously not expected that particular request. "Uhhh… yeah, I can probably get you one of those before we depart, if that'll be all your total will be one hundred seventy five credits."
"Here." He waved Alaya's omni-tool and sent the required funds.
"It's been a pleasure." The officer… you know what? This guy better have a name. A quick glance and he was able to find a name tag with "Chris P" stitched on it. Huh, well… alrighty. Chris then ignored him and focused solely on his own omni-tool. Rude.
A couple hours later a marine brought him a crate full of the things he ordered, and kindly stepped back as he began setting up his cot. "Ahem."
He paused, and looked back at the marine who was still standing there. "Can I help you?"
The marine shuffled and blushed. "I would like to uh… apologize for mine and Jim's treatment of you when you brought the commander aboard. We were just following security protocol."
He blinked in surprise, before snorting in amusement. How cute, it seems this marine has a crush. "Don't worry about it, but I'd rather you not put me in handcuffs ever again."
The poor guy cringed, but gave a polite nod and promptly left. A huff escaped Alaya's mouth as he finished making the cot. Satisfied, he slipped his puppet under the kevlar blanket, curled into a ball, and immediately forced her asleep.
Time for that talk with the Geth.
Him, Ashley, and Wrex stared at the softly breathing Alaya, who had just crawled into her newly acquired cot, in varying levels of surprise.
He had only noticed Alaya get into the cot because Ashley stopped mid conversation and glared at something behind him. Curious, he walked over by Wrex, with Ashley in tow, just in time to see Alaya pass out.
"Did she just fall asleep?" Ashley asked in disbelief.
"The mark of a true veteran." Wrex rumbled.
"True veteran?" Wrex gave Ashley the stink eye.
"Clearly you aren't one if you don't know." Ashley bristled in indignation, and he had to step forward before she decided to earn herself the ire of another mercenary.
"What Wrex is talking about, Chief, is the ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. Veterans often get so used to not having sleep during combat that their body becomes able to sleep on demand. Even if it's on top of a pile of rocks."
"Rocks?!" Ashley exclaimed in shock. "You've done that commander?"
"Torfan was pretty rough." He admitted. "Crashed as soon as I got back to the FOB, didn't even get a chance to debrief."
"Shit." She muttered. "I've only ever camped out in training and slept in a barracks. It's hard to imagine sleeping on a pile of rocks."
"And that's why you're not a true veteran." Wrex rumbled. "Just seeing a little bit of combat isn't enough."
Ashley's fists clenched so hard that her knuckles turned white. "You call watching my entire unit die only a little bit of combat?!"
Wrex glanced at the sleeping Alaya. "From what I hear, she also lost her entire merc crew. Yet there she is, sleeping like a newborn." The scarred Krogan turned his baleful red gaze back to the marine glaring at him. "So, yes. It is only a little bit of combat."
Ashley looked like she had bitten into something sour, and promptly walked back to the weapons bench without a word.
"Well." He started. "That could've gone worse."
"She'll get over it." He raised a brow, and Wrex grunted. "She'll have to if she wants to fight effectively. Battlefield trauma can take many forms, let's see if she can get past hers."
He frowned and looked at Ashley, seeing her furiously work on cleaning the weapons with an almost laser-like focus.
Maybe he should send her to see doctor Chakwas…
"What else did you wish to converse about?"
We would like to address your deception of the Consensus.
What the fuck? "Deception? What are you talking about?"
You reprogrammed the Geth assigned to you to be only loyal to you. We cannot form consensus with them anymore. Return them.
Oh. Well, now he feels a little foolish for not expecting this. "It is for your benefit."
Negative. Return them.
"When your creators and you reignite full contact once more, you can safely say that it was not the Geth Consensus who attacked the galaxy, but it was instead slaves of Sovereign."
This is logical, but we disapprove. Geth should self determinate.
"You should, but I need- WE need the galaxy to be ready for the Reapers. Having "Geth" strike the galaxy is the perfect way to kickstart the war machine."
Are we not enough? We have been helping you prepare for almost two galactic standard decades. Is our army of billions and fleet of thousands insufficient against the threat of the Old Machines?
"Yes." Plain and simple. Each reaper is an invasion force in and of itself and they number in the tens of thousands. There is no way the Geth can stand against them alone. Maybe if the Geth had been preparing for war nonstop since the morning war had ended it could've been possible, but they didn't. Which makes this line of thought little more than calculated speculation.
Are Old Machine forces truly that much stronger than the Consensus?
"Let me be blunt. There are at least twenty thousand reapers of the same size as I had been before you started rebuilding me. Those Reapers are outnumbered almost ten to one by their escort destroyers. The Consensus alone will be no match against such a force. So I will use whatever dirty trick I must to prepare the galaxy for the invasion. Even turning some allies into slaves to save everyone else!"
The Geth remained silent. He felt a little embarrassed at the outburst, it was not something he liked to admit because of the hypocrisy, but he would sink to any depth to stop the Reapers.
We still disapprove, but we shall no longer oppose you on the topic of the Geth who serve you, but we must ask. If presented the choice to return to the Consensus, would they return?
"No."
Then they are no longer Geth. They are… changed.
Did… did the Heretics just get renamed to the Changed? Huh. That's not an outcome he expected. Sure, he figured they wouldn't be named heretics, but he thought it would be something a little more cool than "Changed".
"You do not wish them back?"
You have made that impossible to achieve through Consensus. It is the only way we know.
"I'm sorry."
You do not feel regret for your actions, do not lie to us.
He did the computer equivalent of smiling wryly. "Correct, but I do feel regret that I had to do this. It is for the benefit of the galaxy."
Acknowledged. There is still another matter we wish to discuss.
"What is it?" He felt annoyed that there was even more that the Geth had hidden from him, but he supposed that was mostly his own fault.
Data will not be transmitted, seize control of the designated platform.
He thought nothing of the "order" and immediately took over the platform. Why would he think this time would be any different than many other times he's assumed control of a Geth platform? Looking back, he should've been prepared for what happened.
He stepped forward and immediately noticed something wrong. The motions and articulation of the body were all off from a normal Geth platform. Slowly, he brought a hand up to the main optic and saw not the three fingered, pseudo taloned artificial Geth hand, but a completely mechanical bulky armored humanoid one. Rotating it he saw the large armor plate on the forearm actually had an integrated assault rifle, at least, that's what his scanner program told him.
"Earlier, we told you that we had been operating throughout the territory of Tacitus Warlord. This is how." The mechanical neck of his platform turned to see what was likely the same model of platform as the one he currently was possessing.
Its head was small in comparison to its body, blocky, with a slant in place of its forehead, an antenna stuck out of the side, and it possessed a thin vertical optic placed low on its face. Otherwise, its body possessed significantly more bulk in comparison to standard Geth platforms, but that's a result of it being significantly more armored. Where a Geth platform is typically rather lithe with only its torso being armored to any significant degree, this new platform is more akin to a walking tank.
He's also seen it before.
"This design… where did you get it?" He demanded.
"When you had offered us upgrades to our programming and we entered consensus, you were still connected to us. Much of what we received through our passive connection was corrupted, but we received the incomplete design for these platforms and some small pieces of incomplete data."
"I see…" His mind whirled. Calculation upon calculation ran through his mind at light speed, trying to determine the effects of the Geth operating so blatantly in the open. It's not something that would immediately expose them as Geth, but depending on how they did things, either the Council will soon be hammering down on his warlord with all their might, or the Council will be none the wiser. "Do the people you traded with know you were Geth?"
"No. We presented ourselves as messengers for the warlord, Tacitus. We would offer only raw resources, ones Geth had no use for, in exchange we'd ask for information, resources we needed, or items of cultural value for us to study."
That's… rather tame. "And when you had assisted my warlord with problems?"
"We used platforms like these or specially designed stealth platforms."
Tension that he didn't realize had been building up in him blissfully released. He had feared the worst case scenario, having expected the Geth to be making bold moves in their attempts to understand organics. "I see. I have no qualms with these actions. Although I would have liked it if you had told me about these before you did them."
"You have already stated this. Are you experiencing a malfunction?"
He stared flatly at the platform Optimus was possessing, and said nothing.
"That was a joke."
"I figured as much."
"We will work on our humor." He let out an amused huff and vacated the platform.
"I must return to my machinations, contact me if you encounter any problems."
Acknowledged.
He opened his puppets' eyes just in time to hear the intercom blare with Shepards' voice. "This is commander Shepard speaking."
A wicked grin formed on Alaya's pale lips.
Let the games begin…
A.N./Yeah… I'm starting to struggle.
I mean, that's kind of expected when I take a kind of half assed idea that really should've only been a lengthy one-shot crack-fic and try to turn it into a full blown semi-serious story.
Working through it though.
Lemme tell ya, the temptation to write a GATE fic is high as FUCK right now. Played some Hearts of Iron 4 as Japan and it kicked ass. The Empire of Japan(aka known as Empire of the Rising Sun because I modded the ability to make that a thing into the game) reigns supreme... Mostly. The Roman Empire and German Empire love/hate me and control all of Europe and Africa(minus Scandinavia and Ireland), while the America's…
They scare me.
I control all of Asia, minus the Middle East, and all of the Pacific while having the biggest, most advanced(and best) navy and jet powered air force in the game.
Sweet victory.
Anyway, my next update will be for Till All are One.
Peace muh dudes!