Author's Notes : Apologies for the late update. Life hasn't been kind to me and it's been affecting my free time. I hope to get back to my regular schedule, but no promises. Enjoy!
A starchaser hovered near a bell lily, its gentle wings humming softly as it moved in a blur. The long beak dipped slowly into the flower's petal folds, and the native bird hovered with a natural precision that few could replicate artificially. Nearby, a brook softly hummed a hymn to the nearby Moonwillows, allowing their crystalline leaves to catch the flowing wind.
Orangea's mornings were simplistic, yet beautiful—a testament to the city built to preserve the native fauna of this planet. Even those native to New Carolina would sometimes visit the city just to experience a fraction of what this planet was before the arrival of the humans.
The tranquility shattered like a dropped crystal as a tremor of gunfire ripped through the verdant embrace, its metallic echoes bouncing off the hills like harbingers of a storm.
Captain Marcus, the de facto leader of the Orangea Militia, stared down at his terminal with multiple windows displaying the scattered battle around the city. The aliens, the turians, had breached the city perimeter thirty minutes ago, marching forward with a battalion strength, quickly overwhelming the scattered residents on the city's edge before advancing deeper. Their rapid progress was now hindered as more and more residents took up arms, fiercely fighting back.
However, it was clear that the turians were better armed and trained. Most of the Orangea Militia members didn't have certifications above twelve, reflecting the older civilian population that had moved here from Inner Systems. They had retired in New Carolina to escape the busy, bustling life of a heavily developed system, mostly untrained and unfit for fighting.
In fact, the city's only real defensive force consisted of the younger residents, who fought more with bravery than strategic thinking. Despite their best efforts, the enemy's organization and discipline cut through them as the turians slowly advanced toward the heart of the city.
An alert window popped up, and Marcus held his breath for a second. He smiled when he saw the shield with the etching of the image of a palmetto tree and moon at the center. Clicking on it, he was met with an older gentleman, physically fit and well-proportioned, sporting a full, well-groomed beard and mustache. The uniform adorned with the rank markings of a general on his chest and collar completed the distinguished appearance.
The Militia Captain recognized him. It wasn't long ago when Governor Calhoun had announced the man's position as the Field Commander of the whole of South Charleston—General Hampton.
Instinctively, Marcus saluted, and the general saluted back, saying, "Captain Marcus, I've got armored marines on their way to support you."
"I'll have my Militia shoot up flares to direct them where to drop," Marcus replied.
"Affirmative, Captain," Hampton said. "Good job holding out. Now, let's drive these bastards back, shall we?"
Marcus could only grin as the window closed, then turned to his left. "Brody," he called.
A humanoid avatar of his AI appeared. "I'm now sending notices to all Militia squad leaders," Brody said. "They are all confirming that they have received the messages."
Marcus nodded and returned to the holographic screens, watching as some sectors, mostly near the front line, shot red flares upwards. Seconds later, blue light shone down from the heavens, and like avenging angels, dozens of armored marines appeared, descending from the sky.
Upon making landfall, the overwhelming and encroaching alien tide was completely stopped. Marcus witnessed the seemingly unstoppable force finally meeting a truly immovable object as the tall behemoths of blue and green marched forward steadily. Their powerful rifles exploded with such destructive force that each shot seemingly took down two to three enemies.
Yet the tight formation of the turians never fractured. Even when faced with such overwhelming power, they moved in an orderly fashion, fighting back even harder than before. It was oddly a visual treat to witness, watching the enemy maneuver themselves almost perfectly to meet the onslaught as the two sides mercilessly exchanged fire.
At the heart of the virtual Governor's office in South Charleston, General Williams observed the six others gathered around a bespoke conference table. A shocked silence enveloped the Drift, and he understood why.
Moments earlier, their discussion on how to handle the invading alien army abruptly paused due to an emergency. Orangea, Oakhaven, and Florenburg reported the enemy's advance toward their cities. General Hampton had to log out to coordinate MI reinforcements for the besieged cities.
Despite the temporary pause in the meeting, the other occupants of the virtual office that remained didn't just sit around. Williams turned his attention to General Moultrie, the Strategic Commander of South Charleston, currently deep in discussion with Elsie Richardson, the only woman in the room. Williams had collaborated with Moultrie back on Earth, working together to liberate the central regions of the former United States of America. Despite visible signs of aging, Moultrie retained his determined chin and slightly upturned nose.
In contrast, Richardson was someone Williams had only met a few days prior, and she served as the representative of the PMC Valkyries. Even now, he struggled to form an opinion about her. Known by the alias Brynhildr, her short, brown hair and unassuming appearance offered little insight into the renowned pilot ace. However, the steel glint in her eyes and the pragmatic design of her military-grade armored flight suit hinted that she was not one to be underestimated.
Their pairing struck Williams as peculiar. Yet, as he observed another duo, he realized it wasn't the most unusual in the room.
Major Derlin, the most senior figure in the virtual space, bore the unmistakable signs of experience—the silvering of his brown hair and mustache, and the lines etched across his forehead and eyes. His coat, colored in sunbaked clay, featured crimson streaks, symbolizing the South Charleston Militia. While not shabby by any means, compared to his companion, the descriptor would ring true.
Jack Harper, the representative of PMC Cerberus, stood out not only for being the youngest but also for being dressed as if he belonged to the most opulent party in the Inner Systems' most expensive city. His suit subtly caught the light, clinging to him like a second skin. However, unlike the typical spoiled youth in such settings, his eyes held no trace of careless drunkenness, and his smile was neither feckless nor ostentatious. Instead, it was careful, calculating, with a gaze hinting at glacial depths and a glint of predatory nature.
The two of them appeared engrossed in discussion, likely about the situation in the western district of Peninsula, where Cerberus had been deployed.
Finally, and arguably the most crucial figure in the room, there sat Governor Calhoun. He wore his suit like a work uniform, and judging by his physique, he hadn't let himself go, even after retiring from military life years ago. The only indicators of his age were his receding dark hair and a slight slack in his posture.
Granted, the slight slack could just be the result of him studying all the holographic reports popping in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he pored through them, the frown deepening over time. Williams approached him, and the governor briefly glanced in his direction before returning his focus to the reports.
"How bad is it, James?" Williams asked.
"Not as much as I thought," Calhoun replied with a sigh. "Orangea took the worst of it, as expected. Hampton sent most of the armored marines there. Florenburg didn't need any help, and in Oakhaven, these turians didn't get far." He then dismissed all the windows. "It also seems that the good general won't be joining us. He wants to personally oversee the situation for a bit longer."
Williams nodded. "I'm sure High Governor Carter will understand if we can delay the meeting to another—"
The governor shook his head. "No," he interjected. "We can continue the meeting. Pretty sure the lazy bastard used the invasion to avoid it altogether."
This elicited a chuckle from Williams. "Well, that's what you get for poaching Earth veterans to be in your military," he said with a smile.
Calhoun laughed too. "You knew him?" he asked.
"Know of him," Williams corrected. "Never met the man until today, but he did make a name for himself. Even those of us at Central heard of his West Coast Raiders and their campaign to retake the Arizona-California regions."
"And he never fails to regale me with it every time he sees me," Calhoun added with an amused shake of his head. "I'm tempted to give him a raise, only on the condition that he shuts up about it."
"That won't backfire in any way, I'm sure," Williams said with a small grin.
Calhoun smiled, shaking his head slightly before flicking his wrist to close all the windows in front of him. All eyes turned to him as he stood up. "Everyone," the governor called. "General Hampton sends his apologies for not being able to rejoin us. While unfortunate, we cannot afford to delay the meeting. Please, have a seat."
The generals took their places beside the governor, while Derlin and Harper sat next to Williams. Richardson joined Moultrie, giving him a sharp nod, which seemed to bring him relief, leaving Williams to wonder if a deal had just been struck.
"Now then," the governor continued as everyone sat around the conference table, "Let's pick up where we left off. High Governor Carter has been asking for South Charleston's plan of action, and we have one in the works. I shall let General Moultrie explain."
As the governor took his seat, the Strategic Commander stood up. "Good day," he greeted before flicking his wrist, and at the center of the table, a holographic screen popped into existence, displaying a digital map of the area around Peninsula, Orangea, Oakhaven, and Florenburg.
The map then zoomed into the Gossamer Glades, the expansive territory between those cities. If Williams remembered correctly, the place was a mix of woodland areas and expansive, relatively flat plains. Locals and tourists often used the area for hiking, offering a vast and diverse array of experiences that stood in stark contrast to Orangea's familiar and controlled offerings.
Now, the area appeared as enemy territory, ominously dyed in red on the map.
"Whether on purpose or not," Moultrie continued, "these turians chose their staging ground perfectly. As part of the Green Corridor Initiative, the Gossamer Glades have been left untouched by human hands. Consequently, we have no sensors or any technological footprint in that area, leaving us mostly blind to their actions. Satellite scanning can only do so much, and most of our air assets are either keeping the enemy frigates busy or are being used to maintain logistics for our ground forces. However, that is about to change."
"What do you mean?" Calhoun asked.
Moultrie nodded toward Richardson, who briefly stood up. "Just a few minutes ago, General Moultrie had asked if the Valkyries could help in this regard," she said. "I've contacted our Chief of Staff, 'Freya,' and she has given us permission to field these."
She then tilted her head to the side, and the holographic image changed. The digital map disappeared, showcasing what looked like a spherical machine with four large fin stabilizers around it.
Harper's gaze narrowed. "Observer Drone?" he asked. "Considering the amount of signals they emit during operation, wouldn't they just get found out and shot down?"
Richardson shook her head. "It is one of the newer models with the prototype graviton cloaking systems," she replied.
The screen changed to a video of the drone hovering mid-air. It bobbed gently, seemingly unaware of the watchful eyes fixed upon it. Then, with a subtle shimmer, it vanished, leaving only empty space behind.
Beside the video, a complex graph flickered to life. The X-axis displayed a spectrum of electromagnetic radiation, while the Y-axis read 'Background Values (keV)'. Two lines seemed to be moving across the graph, and they were pretty much dead even with minimal deviation.
"I did not think cloaking technology had advanced this much," Harper commented, raising an eyebrow.
"It's still in its early stages," Richardson replied. "For example, it can only use the cloaking system if it's idling, but once activated, it should be invisible to all sensors except GRADR."
Calhoun hummed before asking, "How long before they can be deployed?"
"Thirty minutes real time, maybe less," she said.
"Then please extend my thanks to Freya," Calhoun said. "If this works, it will really help us in moving forward."
"Happy to help," Richardson said as she took her seat once more.
Moultrie nodded before speaking again, "Once we have the information on enemy positioning and movement, we can probably skip recon operations and start with the offensive preparations."
The central screen changed back to the digital map, revealing blue arrows emerging from the cities and the edges of the Glades, pushing back against the red shade.
"We'll have the armored marines march forward, and the Titan pilots and riflemen maintaining the perimeter," the Strategic Commander continued. "We'll let them whittle the enemy down until the only place for them to maneuver is towards the western district of Peninsula, and then we hammer them from all sides."
The map ended with the red shade confined to a small area just before the city limits, surrounded by blue. Then, most likely for dramatic effect, an X blinked repeatedly over the red zone before disappearing from the map.
"I worry that we're making too many assumptions," Williams cautioned, frowning. "This alien enemy might not react the same way we do. We need to factor in their nature before making such decisive plans."
Moultrie nodded. "You are correct," he replied. "Fortunately, we might have a clue on their inclinations. Major Derlin, if you would?"
The general sat down, giving the Militia representative the room. The old man stood up, gratefully nodding at the Strategic Commander, and motioned towards the center with his hand.
Another digital map opened up, but this time, showing the western district of Peninsula. Instead of the vague blob shape covering the area, the enemies were represented clearly in red shapes. At the center lay a red fractured triangle, and surrounding circles scattered all over the place.
Williams realized that the triangle most likely represented the crashed frigate, and the circles being the soldiers.
"Unlike the Glades," Derlin began, "Peninsula has traffic cameras and eyewitness accounts to help us track the enemy's movements. While we had a temporary blackout in Beaufort Park, all the data points to a peculiar behavior of these aliens."
The red circles, initially scattered all over the city, first clustered into smaller groups. However, as time passed, they began to converge together until they too formed a battalion group, then moved as one towards a building near the broken triangle.
"The first thing to note in the alien behavior is their movement," the major continued. "They seem to favor operating together in larger-sized groups. While they would deploy a fire team here and there to act as scouts, they would rather stick together, acting and engaging as companies or battalions."
"Reports from the attacked cities seem to corroborate with that," Calhoun commented.
Williams hummed before asking, "In the Militia's opinion, how well do they fight?"
Derlin seemed to pause a bit before replying, "The aliens are very disciplined, well-trained, and highly organized. While we can overcome their fire teams, they cover themselves very tightly when in a company-sized group."
Williams nodded before looking at the map once more. "How many of them are in Peninsula?"
"We've confirmed around nine hundred and seventy aliens," Derlin replied. "That was from three hundred reported sightings from the residents, eighty from the volunteer Militia reports, and the data of two hundred and seven traffic cameras."
"So around a thousand of them per ship?" Calhoun guessed. "That means the invaders number at around fifteen thousand soldiers, more or less?"
"It's a safe assumption," Moultrie replied. "Though we have to factor in their armored units. That will take space away from the rank and file, but if what they have is comparable to our Titans and armored marines, it'll definitely be a force to reckon with."
"Armor isn't the only thing we have to worry about," Derlin interjected, grabbing everyone's attention.
"What do you mean?" Calhoun asked.
Derlin's eyes darted around the room, a hesitant frown pulling at his lips. "We've encountered... some irregularities," he finally admitted, his voice low, as if he were confessing a secret.
The two generals, the Valkyrie, and the Governor leaned slightly forward, anticipation etched on their faces. Instead of answering, though, the Militia representative motioned to the youngest man in the room before he took his seat, letting everyone else shift their focus to Harper.
The man sighed, standing up to break the tension. "What the good Major means is, we've encountered instances where the enemy exhibits… capabilities that might fall outside the realm of the ordinary."
The central holographic display flickered to life, revealing blurry, body-cam footage. Judging from the utter destruction of the surroundings, it was taken in the western district of Peninsula. Even through the shaky recording, viewers could make out two figures in white and black hardsuits, their movements sharp and panicked as they weaved through debris, their armor's gold accents glinting in the light. As they got to cover, their affiliations were displayed clearly on their shoulders—a logo of a three-headed dog with the central head seemingly biting on a knife handle.
The Cerberus personnel's voices were barely audible over the distorted cacophony of the battlefield. They ducked, and Williams could hear a loud, sort of high-pitched whine as the air sparked in blue impacts of fleeting streaks of light. During a lull, the mercenaries raised their rifles to retaliate, creating that familiar sound of the distorting whistling cracks of the hypersonic rounds.
Chaos erupted in a heartbeat of desperate exchange. The turian weapons and the human rifles screamed at each other in turn, only for a sharp warning beep to cut through the din. Everyone viewing the footage quickly identified it—a proximity alarm.
The Cerberus agent whipped around, the camera lurching as he caught sight of the attacker. A turian, shimmering with unnatural purple light, loomed over the scene, curved blades glinting on its forearms. It slashed down in a blur of motion, the camera tilting violently as a metallic spray painted the air crimson. When it settled, there were blood spots on the lens, but the video was still clear enough for the viewers to witness what came next.
The ambushing turian seemed to have planned to move to the next target, only to sputter and stumble as it got caught off guard by the swift return fire. It threw itself to the ground in a clumsy roll, its armor's vibrant purple glow flickering momentarily as the hypersonic rounds impacted it. It found cover, but it crumbled under the concentrated fire of the team, making it duck and claw the ground.
Everyone viewing the footage realized that the turian was about to die. Even the turian seemed to recognize its predicament, its gaze darting wildly across the enclosed space, searching for an escape that didn't exist. Then, in a flicker that defied logic and reason, the alien was gone. No deafening blast, no plume of smoke, just a wisp of swirling blue light that swallowed its form whole and vanished like a phantom into thin air.
The video footage stopped, and everyone looked at Harper, who wore a grim expression.
The first to speak was Williams. "How?" he asked in a soft, shocked tone.
"We don't know," Harper replied. "Not yet, at least."
"Teleportation," Moultrie mumbled, cupping his chin. Then, in a louder voice, asked, "Can all turians do this?"
"I doubt it," Derlin was the one that replied. "That video was the second and latest encounter we've had. They're rare."
"Well, that's comforting," Calhoun said.
"I wouldn't be too relieved," Harper interjected. "There's a real possibility that they are the elite units that will act as the closers to the invading army. These encounters could just be warm-ups, to give them practical experience on how to fight us. Once they gathered enough data, they could come out in full force. That's why Cerberus wanted to discuss our plan with you."
"Let's hear it," Calhoun said.
"We want to dedicate most of our resources to finding and extracting these turians that showcase these types of powers," Harper announced before snapping his fingers. The video rewound and paused to a still frame of the strange turian before his attack hit. "Whether we can obtain one dead or alive, we can study it and compare it to the other turian bodies we have gathered. If it's biological, or a product of technology, we can find a way to counter them."
The governor frowned before looking at Williams. The general just nodded.
"Do what you need to do," Calhoun replied. "Though I am guessing that might affect Militia operations."
"Yes," Derlin agreed. "We're still struggling to find volunteers with high enough certification to deploy near the crash."
"I'll have more MI join your efforts," the governor replied. "Governors Whitman and Alexis are already sending us some of their marines, so we should have enough resources to help the Militia."
"High Governor Carter talked to the rest of the governors as well," Williams announced. "They are pledging to send their MI to South Charleston as well."
"Then we will have more than enough people to shut this invading army down soon," Moultrie said with a relieved sigh.
"How about their air support?" Williams asked, turning to Richardson. "The enemy still had fifteen frigates, which are nothing to scoff at."
"They won't be able to muster much of it," she answered. "Their shielding limitations make them vulnerable to our cluster missiles of our HALO fighters. However, once they had unloaded their soldiers, they began pairing up." She shook her head. "Add to the fact that they are also the most agile ships of that size we've ever seen, sinking them is proving to be rather difficult."
"As long as they can't support their soldiers, keeping them away is just as good as sinking them," Williams said.
"Agreed," Moultrie added.
Calhoun hummed. "So, Cerberus will gather information on enemies with strange abilities, while we wait for the Valkyrie Observers to scout the positioning of their main army, and to see what kind of armor they have," he concluded.
"Sounds about right," the Strategic Commander replied. "Once we've ascertained their full capabilities, I'm confident we can put an end to this before the Carrier Fleet arrives."
"Good," the governor said. "Then I'm calling the end of this meeting. It's been quite productive and I'm very thankful to each and every one of you for participating, as well as your assistance in helping South Charleston in its time of need. May we get through this. Godspeed to all of you."
Mark Shepard took a deep, controlled breath, closing his eyes to revisit his recent confrontation with the turians. Eva had meticulously recorded every detail in his mind, allowing him to vividly recall the short yet intense skirmish that unfolded just hours ago. With laser-like focus, he replayed the engagement, meticulously dissecting each turian movement, from the creaking armor plates to the subtle give in their joints.
In the theater of his mind, the scene transformed into a brutal ballet. Fueled by adrenaline and fury, his avatar lunged into a decisive tackle, sending the turian sprawling. He envisioned twisting its arm into a lock, accompanied by a grunt, a thud, and the cold touch of the blaster against its skull.
Imagining victory, Mark faced a stark reality—it was a mere dream. His scenario ignored too many unknown factors. How strong were the turians? How agile or flexible? Methodically, he incorporated these uncertainties. What if they were stronger than him? How would he adapt if they exhibited superior joint flexibility? Before delving into these scenarios, a tap on his right shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he quickly spotted David looming over him protectively.
"Sorry," Mark said.
"Don't worry," David replied. "Found anything insightful to help us fight these turians?"
"Nothing solid yet," Mark responded. "How about you? Any luck contacting the people broadcasting the SOS?"
David shook his head. "No," he admitted. "They aren't accepting any handshakes. That worries me."
Mark frowned, realizing the urgency of the situation. "Are we ready to breach?" he asked.
David motioned over his shoulder. "John's about to finish setting up the demo charge," he informed.
Mark nodded and walked with his friend deeper into the desolate corridor. Within a few steps, they reached John, who was scrutinizing the wall where he had planted the charges.
"Are you done?" Mark inquired.
"Almost," John replied, not taking his eyes off the partition. "Double-checking distances to avoid a roof collapse. Alright, I'm about to activate the graviton charges."
The trio moved a few paces away from the wall, their eyes fixated on the five charges nestled into its cracked surface. Each bomb, glinting orange like an angry ember, pulsed with a rhythmic glow.
"Five seconds," John declared.
"Watch the corridors," Mark ordered, and all three of them readied their weapons. John and David aimed theirs at both ends of the hallway, while Mark focused on watching the charges blink.
He hoped John had indeed gotten it right. With lives at stake, a critical mistake would not only jeopardize the people inside the apartment, but risk their lives as well.
Then, the lights in the charges turned bright blue. A loud crack echoed in the hallway, and the portion of the wall lined with the charges completely disintegrated into powder, crumbling harmlessly to the floor.
"Militia!" Mark bellowed at the newly formed hole, his voice raw with urgency. "Coming in! Hold fire if you have weapons!"
He tapped David and John, both nodding in response, before Mark moved forward slowly and carefully. He kept his aim down, taking deliberate steps to avoid stumbling on the jagged concrete left by the breach.
"If you can hear me, please respond!" Mark continued, scanning the room on the other side of the wall. The interior was a mess, with kitchenware, miscellaneous items, and shattered glass scattered around like a bomb went off. The air smelled of acrid smoke and gritty ash from the outside, entering through the shattered window panes. However, it was the foul stench of bad meat and a sickly sweet scent of berries and apples sprinkled underneath that had Mark dreading what he was about to see.
Carefully navigating the scattered debris, Mark looked around until he reached a corner of the apartment. There, he grimaced as his gaze fixated on the dark stain spreading out from beneath the partially collapsed ceiling. A man lay there, arms frozen in a desperate push, as if shielding someone from the falling debris. A silent prayer escaped Mark's lips, the only grace he could offer to the dead, before he looked carefully on the floor.
There, amidst the scattered rubble, a dark shape caught his eye. A woman, soot-smeared and still, cradled a child close, their silhouettes stark against the grayness. The weight of the tragedy settled heavily in the quiet aftermath of destruction.
"Found them!" Mark shouted as he navigated the treacherous debris. "One confirmed dead! Checking on the others!"
Letting his rifle hang at his side, he went down on one knee and carefully brushed soot from their faces. As he removed his gloves and touched their necks, he wondered if they were breathing. He then called his AI. "Eva, run analysis."
"Nanite reserves depleted," her AI voice echoed in his ear. "Induced medical coma by their AIs. They are also running in low power mode. Inject emergency nanites. Blue pens from your medical pouch. One each."
Following her instructions, Mark grabbed the pouch given to him by the Militia in Beaufort Park. He snatched a needle-free injector pen from the inside, its weight reassuring in his hand. Shaking it, he inspected the fluids in the transparent reservoir; the nanite slivers shone, reflecting what little light was available in the room.
"Shit," David cursed as he entered the room, wearing a shocked and disgusted expression at the scene.
"The room," Mark pointed, getting David's attention. "I think it's clear, but just in case."
"Gotcha," was the reply, and David readied his rifle, sweeping the room and leaving his friend to his work.
Mark gently cradled the child's arm. The skin was cool, clammy, but oddly resilient as he pressed the pen's nozzle against the muscle. A click, sharp and sterile, followed by a hiss as the fluid flooded into the tiny body. Grabbing another pen, he moved to the woman, her stillness a terrifying mirror image of the boy's. As delicately as he could muster, he administered the nanites into her system as well.
"Eva?" he asked.
"Standby," she replied. "AIs Rex and Kai are utilizing the nanites and now entering normal operations. Handshake successful. They are now scanning the conditions of their humans."
Mark nodded, sighing with relief before glancing up. He noticed that David was now standing still, looking out of one of the windows. Glancing at the unconscious mother and child one last time, he got back to his feet and joined his friend.
The duo took witness of the world outside. The fires were finally receding from the destroyed city, though the smoke seemed to linger. From the height, they could see all the way to Ellisborough, where the turian ship crashed. Once a vibrant sprawl of steel and glass, it was now a gaping maw. Buildings weren't just missing; they were obliterated, vaporized into ghostly smears on the scorched earth.
"Damnit," David growled. "I knew it would be worse at the impact site, but…"
Mark nodded. "I hate the fact that I'm getting used to seeing these kinds of scenes," he said. "Wonder what that says about me."
"That you're resilient," David assured before motioning behind them, to the surviving family. "There are still many more who will need that strength, Mark. Don't tear yourself up over it."
Mark glanced at his friend before smirking. "I'm taken, dude."
There was a short guffaw before David responded with an amused "Fuck off."
The two stayed still, silently taking everything in for a few seconds before Mark heard Eva call to him.
"Analysis complete," she said. "Rex has urgently called for medigel injections. His human, Elizabeth, is suffering from multiple fractures in the skull, ribs, and spine, as well as organ damage. Nanites won't be enough to heal her, and she needs to be stabilized before bringing her to a medical facility as soon as possible."
Mark glanced at his friend. "Did you get that?" he asked.
David nodded. "Yeah, Nova is also communicating with their AIs as well," he replied as he turned. "John's got the medigel injectors. I'll get him."
"Thanks," Mark said, watching his friend leave the room. "How about the kid, Eva?"
"Kai advised me that while Donald had suffered a concussion, she took care of it, and he's stable enough to be transported," she replied.
"Good," he muttered before inwardly focusing. "El-tee?" he called.
There was a moment of silence before Amira's voice sounded through his ear, "I hear you, Shepard."
"Found the source of the SOS signal," he reported. "One dead, two survivors, both in medically induced coma. Child with minor injuries, woman needing medigel treatment to stabilize. She needs immediate transport to a medical facility."
"I'll call in a mediship," Amira replied. "Once you secure the survivors, bring them to the roof."
"Would that be the best option, ma'am?" he asked. "There's evidence of structural degradation. There's a man in this apartment that was killed by a collapsing ceiling. It's possible there isn't a rooftop anymore."
"I'm seeing aliens, platoon strong, just a few blocks from your position," she said with a grim tone. "A ground evac might not be the safest option."
"Standby," Mark replied, before growling to himself, "Shit." Naturally, that was the time John entered the apartment, his hands in his medical pouch, and heard him just the same.
"What?" John asked, confused.
"That's Elizabeth, and she needs the medigel," Mark directed to the woman, before mentally going back to the comms. "Dave?"
"What, are you single now?" was his mocking reply.
"No," Mark responded in a short, sharp manner. "I need you to check the status of the rooftop. Amira has advised us that there's an enemy platoon close by, so we'll probably have to evac from there."
"Well, shit," David muttered, his tone serious. "Give me a few minutes."
Mark nodded, then looked at John's current position. He was kneeling in front of the prone woman, pressing a red and white pen on her neck.
"Medigel administered," John stated as he discarded the pen. Then, he looked up and asked, "What's next?"
"We wait until she's stabilized," Mark said. "Dave, how's the roof?"
"Just about to arrive," David answered. "Hold on." A pause. "The rooftop is slightly slanted, but mostly whole. Let me take a few steps… there's no give. We can use this."
"Got it," Mark said. "Ma'am, we're green on the roof. About to carry the survivors up."
"Good," Amira replied. "I'll be distracting our uninvited guests, so I need you to coordinate with the ship yourself. They'll be calling you soon."
He frowned. "Are you sure you'll be fine facing off against a platoon on your own?" he asked.
"Shepard, go teach your AI how to read the time," Amira chided with a wry tone.
Mark chuckled. "Roger that, ma'am," he replied, then called, "Eva?"
"I am reasonably sure I can read the time correctly," she answered.
Mark rolled his eyes. "She was insulting me," he said. "What's Elizabeth's status?"
"Rex has finished distributing the medigel to all the critical areas," the AI replied. "We are free to move her."
"Good," he muttered before turning to John. "Your shielding module, can you play with the settings enough to put a graviton field around a foreign object?"
John blinked, then closed his eyes, probably to communicate with his AI, then opened them again before replying, "No," he replied. "It's a G-Three-Plus type. Single purpose."
Mark nodded. "Then I'll take the woman. You'll have to carry Donald here with you."
John nodded, securing his shotgun to his back, letting it rest on his backpack before tightening the straps, keeping it from moving in place. He then slowly, carefully carried the little one in his arms.
Mark let his rifle hang across his chest before he knelt down and placed both his hands on top of Elizabeth. He closed his eyes, mentally connecting to his graviton module, and with Eva helping him with the calculations, the adjustments were done in seconds. The woman suddenly began to glow orange, and with little effort, he just lifted her up from the floor.
"What about the man?" John asked as he began to grab what looked like extra straps from his backpack, using them to assist his efforts in carrying the child.
Mark, meanwhile, was gently adjusting Elizabeth's position. He placed her over his left shoulder, wrapping his arm across her legs while grasping her left hand that draped across his neck, securing her position. He checked if she was stable in her position before he restored his shield settings, grunting slightly at the added weight. With his free hand, he unholstered his blaster, removed the safety, making it ready to be used. "We'll mark the place," he replied, grimacing. "Maybe someone can recover the body for the family once it's safe."
John frowned but nodded just the same.
As the two carefully made it out of the room, a gentle ringtone sounded in Mark's ear. He tilted his head slightly to accept the call and said, "This is Shepard of Team Bravo."
"Mark?" was the response.
He blinked, eyes narrowing as both he and John finally made it back out to the corridor. He aimed his blaster down both sides of the corridor. "Barbs?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, sounding a little more relieved. "We got a call for an emergency evac at building six-fifty-seven Palmetto Way?"
"That's us," Mark said as he led the way to the eastern wing of the floor. "We're on our way to the rooftop of the building. Expect a slightly hot extraction as there are hostiles nearby."
"Fuck," she muttered.
"Our team leader will distract them, so it should be relatively safe," Mark assured. "We'll send a flare up so you know our position. I'll call you back when we're on the roof."
"Alright," Barbs replied, audibly taking a breath. "We'll be there."
"Ma'am?" Mark called as they arrived at a section of the corridor where the elevators and the grav-rails—long metallic tubes that ran up the whole building—were located. The former weren't functioning, and for the latter, only one still worked. He quickly picked that one and punched the triangular button pointing up.
"Shepard?" Amira replied.
The tube started glowing. Nodding, he replied, "Received the call from our ride. We're about to get to the rooftop."
"Affirmative," she said. Suddenly, a suppressed, but still sharp distorted crack thundered outside. Then came the whine of supersonic rounds sputtering in response. "Got their attention. Try not to linger."
"Yes, ma'am," Mark said, motioning John to go first, aiming his blaster down the hallway. When he heard the familiar hum of the graviton field activating, he called, "Dave, John's on his way up."
"Roger that," came the reply.
Mark turned, making sure he wasn't inadvertently slamming Elizabeth's head on the wall, and checked on the other side of the corridor as well. He waited a bit, and before he knew it, David's voice rang in his ear.
"John's in the clear," he said.
Mark checked on the glowing tube, and sure enough, it stopped whirring. "On my way up," he replied as he entered the grav-rail. It detected his first step and formed a blue barrier underneath for him to stand upon. He just thought about going to the roof, and Eva did the rest. The tube murmured to life, and the walls blurred to orange streaks as he found himself shooting up the chute.
When he arrived at his destination, David was waiting for him, rifle ready just in case it wasn't him coming up. Once he saw him, he lowered his weapon and motioned to his left.
"Need a flare," Mark said as both moved towards the access door leading outside.
"John gave me one," David replied. "When is the ship coming?"
"I'll call them once we're outside," he replied. "Barbs is the one piloting the ship."
"No shit," David said, surprise coloring his tone. As they reached the door, he pushed on the crash bar and opened it. "Don't tell me Hannah is with her or something?"
"No, but she's probably helping the Militia Intelligence sort through the data in Peninsula," Mark replied as they finally got outside.
The rooftop was a wasteland of tilted concrete slabs, scarred with pockmarks and a mishmash of debris of twisted metal and shattered glass; yet, it still stood. A more spiritual person would probably have thought of it as a symbolic metaphor of the people living in the west district of Peninsula—battered, bruised, but still enduring.
"Eva," Mark said as the duo joined John at the least debris-filled part of the rooftop.
"Making the call," she replied.
Soon enough, Barbara picked up. "Mark?"
"Were at the rooftops," Mark replied.
"Give us a second," she said. "We're making the jump now."
In the midst of the sharp echoes of exchanging gunfire, a bassy thump reverberated in the air. The whining whistle of the turian weapons seemed to pause, only until another distorted crack sharply echoed in the silence, forcing its return.
"Flare," Mark ordered.
"Flare up!" David exclaimed as he aimed a pistol to the sky and pulled the trigger. A bright red light cut through the smoke in the sky, illuminating their surroundings.
"I see it!" Barbara declared. "Hold on!"
"Shepard," Amira's voice called. "There are alien fire teams making their way towards you. They noticed the flare."
Before he could respond, an orange tunnel of light illuminated the three of them on the roof. Mark looked up, smiling as he saw the hazy silhouette of the mediship hovering high above them. He then felt himself slowly being lifted off the roof, and saw his team floating alongside him. A relieved expression seemed to be shared amongst them, with David seemingly chuckling in disbelief. He didn't blame him.
"I don't think it'll matter, ma'am," he replied. "We're getting loaded up."
"Good job then," she said. "Drop them off at whatever medical facility is available. Then take an hour of R before going back to Beaufort Park. I'll be there waiting for your return."
"Roger that, el-tee," he replied. "Godspeed."
"You three as well," she returned.
As they slowly rose to the skies, the city slowly shrunk into a mosaic of orange fires and gray dust. Just below, small blurry dots of the turian teams were rushing towards the building. Mark half wondered if they were going to open fire on them, but that concern quickly faded as it came.
As they rose above the smog and smoke, the world transformed. Jessamine, New Carolina's sun, dipped towards the horizon, painting the clouds in hues of orange and gold. Its warmth bathed Mark's face, a stark contrast to the chaos just minutes before. He glanced at Donald, his head lolling against John's arm, and Elizabeth, nestled soundly against his shoulder. The weight of her form felt heavy yet comforting, a tangible reminder of what his day had been about.
As they were helped inside the mediship by the assisting crew, and with the EMTs taking hold of the injured, the trio sat down at the corner of the ship. Bottle of water on hand as they relaxed while they all left the destroyed city behind. This tumultuous day was coming to an end, but they knew theirs wasn't over yet.