A locus of despair, within the confines of a mind

Bodies hung from the trees like twisted branches. Their tears fell like fresh dew, wetting the ground of ash below.

The sky was dark and devoid of stars, nothing but a jet black void above the trees.

Whispering voices penetrated throughout the foggy land, hollow words from long gone ghosts.

As he walked throughout the forest he felt their eyes on him, anger born from his presence.

He does not belong here.

Not yet.

The corpses he did not recognize, but they felt familiar. He had witnessed far too many fall to remember them all.

A girl, adorned in the armor of his company swung slowly, hanging from a noose of black bark.

Her amber hair was defiled, deeply soaked in her own blood.

He could not recall her name, but he had known her. It was like a lifetime ago, he felt. But so damnably near all the same.

The piercing stare of her empty, lifeless eyes met his tired ones.

He kept walking, ash turning to ice as he tread further deeper.

"Max?"

His feet stopped of their own decision, locked in place as her voice echoed in his soul.

His resolve faltered and his heart ached, as he remembered what would never be forgotten.

With every last bit of will Max had he forced himself to keep walking.

There was snow now. Crimson scattered across white, it's soft, flawless purity stained. Unraveled by blood.

His path became narrow, the hundreds of his deceased company closing in so tight he could not see outside of them.

"Why not join us?"

Their voices molded together, a union of torment and prodding which plagued his soul.

"Why do you never stay?"

He did not resist their words, letting them wash over him. Time held no meaning as the trees and bodies never ended, each step having what appeared to be no consequence.

After an eternity it became colder, frigid ice encompassing them, their damnation preserved in a terrible frost. No more words were uttered, only the sound of chilled wind in his ears.

Max witnessed the fog ahead of him give way, revealing a bed of flowers.

A woman tended to the small garden, a blank expression on her face as she hunched over the soil.

Max desperately wished that he could wake up. To end this nightmare of ceaseless sorrow.

But he could not stop moving, closing in on the bed of flowers glazed in snow.

She looked up, her eyes alive and gazing at him, mortified at what she saw.

"Look at you" She remarked with distress.

She slowly got up, and Max felt frozen with grief.

His spirit wilted as her full form was revealed, hopelessly trying not to look at the gaping, wretched wound in her chest.

Max closed his eyes, a futile hope that when they opened he would wake.

It was not be, opening his eyes as he felt her bloodied palm on his shoulder.

"Look what has become of you, Max." Sadness overtook her words, matching her look of devastation.

Max opened his mouth to speak, but found that he couldn't. He could not find the words he needed, no matter how hard he tried.

Her look of despair turned to one of loathing, as she spoke one final time.

"You're a Monster." She whispered with venom, turning her back to him.

Max watched as she faded from sight, molding into the surrounding fog which had reappeared.

A voice, born of another realm resonated throughout his mind.

"Stasis suspended."

Max opened his eyes as the pod opened in front of him, both hot and cold air whisking around him as he stepped out.

It seemed there was nowhere that torment would not follow.

Even across worlds, grief would not stop its endless chase.

"Sleep well?" Kimbra asked casually in his ear.

One half of the Spartan felt the urge to break something in his hands, to crush the life out of something in his grip. To divert himself from the ramping feelings of desolation which stirred within.

The other half, wished to merely fall, and weep forever.

Kimbra took his silence as her answer.

Max took a few deep breaths, letting his desires born of rage and suffering slowly dissipate.

No matter how tempting, Max refused to wallow in his own misery. It would be a disservice to those he remembered, the ones whose memories closely watched his every moment.

The smell of something sweet teased his nose, coming from the mess hall. Then, the sound of small conversation.

The Spartan suddenly felt cornered. His only way out was through the kitchen area. He could see others eating and mingling, many of them he recognized from his time in the medbay when he had first awoken.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Max resigned himself to what was likely to be an awkward morning. He only wished to return to the cargo bay and get away from others.

Before he could take his first steps he heard the sound of hissing air.

Across from the pod he had slept in, the blue creature stepped out of her own. A befuddled look crept over her features as she finished waking up.

Rubbing her eyes with a faint yawn she fully stepped out, gazing up at Max with a look of concern.

"You seem troubled." She said after a moment of observing him.

Years of war had meant Max spent precious little time out of armor since he had left Onyx. Now he realized that it had made him completely inept at masking his own expressions.

"Did you not sleep well?" She asked after receiving no response.

Max felt further cornered, deciding that he would rather face the potential awkwardness of what lay in the mess, opposed to the aliens poking and prodding words.

"No." Max answered strongly as he marched down the hall.

The instant he entered the kitchen he felt a number of eyes on him, followed by hushed whispers. Max paid them no mind and briskly walked forwards, feeling assured he would escape unbothered.

"Six?"

Shit, Max thought wearily

He recognized the voice, it belonging to none other than Shepard herself. Max turned around to face her.

She was seated next to the one he knew as Miranda, both of them with plates of food on the table.

Shepard gawked at him with such confusion and disbelief that it made Max uncomfortable, and he decided to speak up.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Still she stared at him with an unbecoming look of bewilderment, like she had borne witness to something she could not understand.

Max shifted in place, and once again broke his own habit of silence.

"Is something wrong, commander?" Max asked as steadfast as he could.

She stammered at that.

"N-no well, I-I, you..."

She collected herself for a moment.

"You're... just." Shepard gestured at him, as if he was supposed to know what she could possibly mean.

His look of complete ignorance made it clear that he did not.

Shepard realized that she would have to be blunt.

"How old are you?" She asked cautiously.

Max then understood. She had not been the first to be surprised by his young age, shrouded as it was by a life of conflict and the consequences it wrought.

There were two technically correct answers to her question, the first, technically being twenty four years old.

The Spartan III had been born in 2533, and was thrust into this strange new reality in the year of 2557.

But almost five of those years had been spent adrift on the dawn, kept in cryogenic stasis. Cryo sleep nearly halted aging entirely, and it was standard practice in the UNSC to subtract any time spent in it from ones practical age.

Max figured he wouldn't tell her a half truth, and gave her what he considered to be the actual answer.

"Twenty, commander."

Max didn't believe that the time he spent doing nothing but slumber was something to attach to himself. After all, to him, it had only seemed like a few mere seconds.

As he expected her look turned to even further disbelief, and the more stoic woman next to her couldn't help but do the same.

Shepard felt the urge to ask a multitude of questions as to how it was possible, the implications of his answer making her intrigued.

"Well, anyway, you should eat." Shepard said normally. She pointed to the empty chair across from her, an invitation to sit down.

Max had zero interest in sitting at the table, but knew it would be insubordinate and rude to reject her offer.

Besides, the food did look rather enticing.

He quickly sat down and Shepard got Gardeners attention, beckoning him for another serving of what she called French toast.

The chef promptly brought over a dish of the fluffy bread, thoroughly drenched in butter, sugar, and syrup. Surrounding it was a cadre of eggs, bacon and hash browns.

Max stared at it for a moment, the meal as foreign as the last one he had eaten.

"What's the matter?" Shepard asked.

Max realized once again how little he was capable of masking his own thoughts, looking obviously confused.

Eggs and sausage he had eaten plenty of, being a staple of MRE packages. But the strange looking bread and stringy, white matter was odd.

"I have never eaten this before." He answered straight forwardly.

Shepard smiled at that, pushing the tray closer towards him.

"You'll love it, trust me." She told him confidently.

Max cut up the soft loaf and took a bite, bursting sweet flavor following. It was perfect, somehow more delectable than the last meal he had eaten.

Only then did the Spartan realize how ravenously hungry he was, and he slightly grinned at how much food was in front of him.

Shepard watched with a glint of bewilderment in her eye, looking upon what was unfolding in front of her.

The man who had slain legions of Geth and mercenaries, fell onto a planet without a word, and had came from another realm of existence entirely was sat across from her. He was like a jubilant child, wolfing down his food with rapid abandon.

Miranda glanced at her with a amused look, raising an eyebrow at the clear juxtaposition before the both of them.

He soon finished the large plate, and only then did he finally look up. To his own surprise he saw the two women looking behind him.

"May I sit here?"

It was the voice of the Justicar, standing behind and to his left.

His enhanced senses had been apparently dulled by the exquisite meal he was scarfing down, and he failed to notice her presence until then.

"Sure! Have you ever had human cuisine? Best breakfast you'll ever have." Shepard said cordially.

The asari took a seat next to him and Shepard once more beckoned Gardener for another tray.

As it was brought to Samara, Shepard spoke to Max.

"So, what kind of path led to you being a soldier, Six?"

The whole table eagerly awaited his answer, looking at him with wide eyes and inquisitive looks.

Max looked into his commanders eyes, unblinking and piercing for a short moment.

"It was my only true choice."

That seemed to keep their attention.

"Care to elaborate, o' vague one?" Miranda asked with heavy sarcasm, soaking her thick Aussie accent.

Max glared at her then, but against his better judgement, he would give her what she thought she wanted.

"When I was a child, I was offered the chance for vengeance. I took it. I and many others were taken to a world named Onyx. There, we were trained as Spartans."

"Spartans? Like the old Greek warriors?" Shepard asked Six.

"Those who created the program wished to refine their ancient practices. They succeeded." Max answered cryptically.

"What ancient practice?" Samara asked beside him with a mouthful of food. Her ignorance was unsurprising, not expecting an alien to know much of human culture. He was pleased to find that humanities old history in this world mirrored that of his own.

Miranda answered for him.

"They were an ancient society, a warrior state. Thousands of years old now. They had a famous tradition of training all boys as soldiers. Each and every male citizen was a warrior their whole life. It is what they are most remembered for, now."

"Correct." Max asserted. He was glad to find that he was not the only one who possessed a wealth of historical knowledge. He'd always taken a keen interest in the subject, the only real educational topic he had truly took a passionate interest in during his time on Onyx.

An odd silence fell over the table, and Max decided to break it.

"Does that answer your question, Commander?"

She appeared uncomfortable at that, a small look of guilt on her face. She knew that the past was not always a pleasant subject for some.

"Yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to bring up any bad memories." She responded. Shepard changed the subject, trying to distance herself from the gloomy conversation.

"You know, I'm sure we've got some extra clothes for you. I could have someone send a few uniforms down to the cargo bay if you'd like." She offered to Max.

He nodded, and stood up with his tray. He put it away in the sink, and thanked Gardener for the meal. With that concluded, Max walked to the elevator.

"So, do humans often use child soldiers?" Samara commented in between bites.

"No, we don't." Shepard answered quickly.

"Be that as it may, it explains the prowess he has displayed in your reports. Imagine an army of men like him." Miranda said, picturing the idea in her head.

"Always the callous one, aren't you?" Shepard replied. She shuddered to think back on what Six had said, the thought of someone so young experiencing the realities of war was not pleasant.

The Justicar, having finished her food gathered the tables empty trays, and wrapped them in a biotic field. With fluidity and care she floated them across the hall, setting them down delicately in the sink.

"That's a neat party trick." Miranda said, a dose of envy alongside her words. She could scarcely dream of using her own abilities in such a precise manner.

"I must say, the food was quite good." Samara said gratefully.

The three kept talking for a short time, Samara asking many questions and doing her best to learn.

"It seems you humans lead rather fast paced lives. A twenty year old Asari is barely above an infant in our eyes. It is interesting, to see how quickly you develop."

"We don't have the luxury of centuries." Miranda remarked slyly.

Samara said nothing, only shrugging her shoulders in admittance.

"It's been good talking, but I should go. I've got to get ready to head out again." Shepard said while standing up. There was one more potential recruit somewhere on Illium, a drell assassin of lethal repute.

Shepard went to her quarters, contemplating on which crew members to bring.

Six instantly came to mind, his extreme effectiveness and remarkable abilities making him hard to not consider.

But Shepard never wished to become comfortable. The last thing she wanted was to become complacent and over reliant on the abilities of anyone.

Samara was an obvious choice, Shepard wanting to analyze and understand the newest member of the small squad she was cobbling together.

As she looked over her armor, Shepard thought of who the third would be.

She had by now assembled a fair amount of specialists, and choosing who accompanied her in operations was becoming steadily more difficult as their numbers grew.

Suffering from success, some would say.

Jack and Grunt were off the table, their aggressive behavior and chaotic nature being a poor choice for an introductory mission. Tali was off the table as well, as Shepard tried to avoid over working her crew on repeat missions.

Miranda or Jacob were briefly considered, but she decided that Cerberus members would perhaps cause problems on an alien city. Having now finished putting her armor on, the commander decided on her third.

"EDI, tell Garrus and Samara to get prepped, we leave the ship in fifteen minutes." Shepard said to the open air.

"Very well. Will that be all, Commander?" The A.I. said routinely over the intercom.

"No, thank you."

The feeling of boredom was a peculiar one, Max thought to himself. Always omnipotent at imposing itself.

He had attempted to fight it by creating a small, makeshift gym in the wide space that was considered his quarters.

The Spartan had happened upon a few dumbbells, and the materials to create a rough, but usable pull up bar. The wide open space of the bay also allowed for running, in a back and forth pacing manner.

He still yearned for more equipment, and with Shepard in the city of Illium once more, he could not request it.

For a few hours he exercised as best he could, knowing that his body was not a stable entity. Like any other piece of equipment it required constant, diligent maintenance.

In the midst of his many sets of pull ups, he gained a spectator.

"So, this what you do in your free time, soldier boy?" A voice teasingly said.

Max dropped from the bar and faced her, equally surprised and annoyed at the interruption.

He recognized her from the medbay, when he had first woken up aboard the ship.

She appeared the definitive example of a deviant. Tattoos of all kinds littered her body like a second layer of skin, only her face left mostly unaffected.

Her head was shaved, and her ears were pierced by strange jewelry.

Baggy thick cargo pants adorned her legs, contrasting an all but naked torso. Her chest was covered by a thin piece of leather, a rather bare minimum attempt at retaining some amount of modesty. In her hands was folded laundry, orange and white in color.

"Is there a problem?" Max said to her, his tone more irritated than inquisitive.

"Aside that for some reason I of all people had to give you these, there isn't. Everyone else was too much of a pussy to come down here."

She dropped the clothes nonchalantly, and looked at him expectantly.

Whatever she expected out of him it was not granted to her, and Max gave a simple thanks before returning to his exercise. It did not deter her from speaking more.

"What, that's it? Not gonna try and throw me like you did Grunt? Gotta say, that was some pretty wild shit."

Max did his best to ignore her attempts at goading him, staring at the wall as he continued his routine.

"Have fun I guess." Was what she said as she left, perhaps feeling unsatisfied at his unwillingness to to fire back at her.

"That was Subject Zero, or otherwise known as Jack. An extremely powerful biotic, and her psych profile matches what we just saw." Kimbra said assuredly, a tinge of a chuckle on the end of her words.

"By the way, I've been working on something since we've arrived on Illium. Once I formed a connection to the global extranet, I made what you could call a false identity for you." Kimbra said casually as Max continued his pull-ups.

Her presence was finally beginning to feel less strange, though he was far from used to it.

"Why?" He asked after a moment of thought.

"I guess you could say I was bored. This worlds government institutions have pathetic cyber security. I gave you the name of Matthew Jefferson. You have an address, digital birth certificate, and even a bank account. The only thing that I can't do, is retrieve the currency in its physical format. You do that, and we've got the markets of this planet at your finger tips." Kimbra pitched said in her best saleswoman voice.

What she was saying was surprising and Max knew what the A.I. was suggesting, and he was intrigued. The ability to make his own purchases would open a world of possibilities. A number of items and gear immediately ran through his head, enticing him with the potential that could be seized.

"So, whatcha say?" She asked eagerly.

The Spartan dropped from the bar, and answered.

"Where to?"

Howdy, I hope you all enjoyed this one. To tell ya the truth, I spend a ridiculous amount of time on these chapters. The amount of time I spend agonizing over every single sentence ten times over really adds up. This story is like my baby, a passion project for me that I want to be as perfect as I can make it. That's why updates are so sparse, but I hope the time waiting is made up for in some capacity. Thanks for reading!