Chapter 38 – It's A Lot To Take In

March 19th, 2211, 0843 hours —Alexandra Spaceport— Temporary Barracks

Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…

(Spectre Operative 04272182-Cloud)

5 days after the mission to New Thebes

A brilliant flash of ruby-red light cut across my vision, blinding me. A large explosion sounded moments later, followed by the blaring of a loud horn.

My ears were ringing in pain. I blinked and rubbed my eyes furiously. The first thing I saw when I could finally see again was the face of a woman. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was smiling. She grabbed my face and kissed me on the cheek.

Above us, bright comets streaked across the sky to slam into massive, black tendrils of shrieking metal. Screams rang constantly in the background, sending the hair on the back of my neck crawling. The wind howled, forcing the nearby trees to bend and submit and keeping the skies clear of the smoke that was rising steadily from the city behind us. It allowed me to clearly see the carnage that was happening in the skies above.

"Mom, mom?!" I heard myself yelling. "You're coming with me, right?"

The woman brushed a strand of golden hair away from her eyes and smiled at me as more tears slid down her face. "No baby, I can't come with you. I'm sorry, baby... I'm so sorry…"

I struggled against the straps keeping me in place and tried to grab onto her, but she pushed my hands away. A man in armor standing behind her was yelling something in her ear. I didn't understand. Why was she pushing me away? Why couldn't she go with me?

Tears began to stream down my face as well. Outside the shuttle, the noises and the shouting were getting louder and louder. "No! You have to go with me! I don't want to go without you!"

The woman made a strangled noise – half-laughing, half-sobbing – and checked my seatbelt. Once she was done, she leaned in, quickly grabbed my hands and placed her forehead against my forehead. "I love you," she said.

I screwed my eyes shut and begged for it to all be a dream. Any moment now the screaming would stop. The skies would clear of the grasping claws and I could go home with my mother to the little apartment we shared. She'd make me a grilled cheese sandwich and I would watch my cartoons, just like she always did on a weekend morning.

I felt her kiss me one last time on the top of my head and then I felt her hands leave mine. When I opened my eyes again the door of the shuttle was beginning to shut and we had begun to rise. The woman was starting to fade. I stretched my hand as far as I could towards her. Why did she let go?

The doors finally closed and I felt the faintest tug of gravity as the dropship started to rise. With the doors finally closed it was now blessedly silent except for the sound of my own sobbing and a strange, chirping noise. What was that?

I suddenly woke up with a small yelp, panting hard. I wiped away the moisture beneath my eyelids and sat up with a groan. I was alone in the tent. My armor lay heaped up in a corner where I had left it after returning from my recon mission last night.

My omni-tool chirped again as it received another text message. I rubbed my eyes one last time and brought my omni-tool to my face, wincing as the motion triggered a sharp spike of pain in my left shoulder. It had not yet fully recovered from being dislocated by that massive turian saboteur last week during our mission to New Thebes. I'd been out of commission for three full days afterwards and only just yesterday had I been cleared for a recon mission by Percival. No combat missions though, as I still couldn't use my biotics.

[ ] [08:43]: You up?

[SpectreOp.0C] [08:43]: Yeah. What's the situation? I typed back.

[ ] [08:44]: Briefing room in thirty.

[SpectreOp.0C] [08:44]: Roger

I cautiously and gingerly raised both arms above my head and stretched. Percival and Cade had picked up the slack while I was out of commission. They had been working around the clock to find survivors and to coordinate their extraction by shuttle up to the ships in orbit owned by the Blue Suns mercenaries, who then shuttled them to the nearest Terminus Systems planet. The pilots were also working themselves to the bone, making constant trips to get the survivors out as fast as possible.

I cracked my neck and dug a fist into an aching muscle in my lower back, trying to massage the knot that I had picked up from last night's reconnaissance. Maybe—hopefully—it was just the constant combat I'd been engaging in recently, but physically my body had never felt so old and worn down. Technically, I would be turning twenty-nine this year according to the galactic calendar. Biologically, I couldn't even be sure. Stress, trauma, extended faster-than-light travel – all of it served to really play fast and loose with the progress on my telomeres.

I shrugged into my armor, strapped my weapons on, and left my tent.

I emerged out onto the tarmac and the rows upon rows of tents erected there. I sucked in a great, big gulp of that cool, morning air. It was truly a brilliant spring morning. The weather was cool and dry and there was barely a cloud in sight. Despite the late morning, the blue sky still had ribbons of orange left over from the dawn. Two of Anhur's neighboring gas giants – Sobek and Sekhmet – could be seen clear as day.

We had picked up a lot of survivors who were still awaiting transport. At first I had ordered all of them to be given shelter within the spaceport, but we had soon run out of room. Thus, I had made the decision to move the quarters of all our fighting troops out into the tarmacs surrounding the port. It was more poorly defensible, but we managed to erect a massive barricade around the spaceport and its surrounding tarmacs with the help of volunteer survivors.

Blue Suns mercenaries, surviving Anhur Defense Force troopers, and even a few Jaegers were all hustling in and around the makeshift living quarters. Most were preparing to head out on patrol or managing their equipment while some were headed to the mess halls. A few were even engaged in a game of soccer, Blue Suns versus ADF by the looks of it. While I wasn't the type of person to let loose like that while in an extended campaign, I wouldn't begrudge it of these soldiers. Effective stress management was an often undervalued tool in my opinion.

A familiar figure made his way towards me, hand outstretched in greeting. Second Lieutenant Accerrimus Burton had his full combat armor on, weapons on his hip, and two mugs in one hand.

"Heard you got back a few hours ago," Accer began. He handed me a mug which I accepted gratefully and began to sip.

I swirled the hot coffee around in my mouth for a bit, savoring it. "Did you somehow find a French press?"

"I am not going to pretend that humans are supposed to drink coffee that isn't French-pressed, and no, Sophia jury-rigged it together."

I took another sip and sighed contently. "Wow, she is talented. And yeah, I got back a few hours ago. One of the survivors we brought back yesterday said they spotted a group of saboteurs in Alexandria kidnapping other survivors. Trail was cold but I went to check it out."

"At night? You find anything?"

I shrugged and sipped at the coffee as we walked, watching dozens of refugees and soldiers continue with their personal morning routines. "Kidnapping seemed random, nothing to indicate why they picked those survivors or what they intend to do with them."

Accer scowled and took a sip from his own mug. "Goddamn sabbies are actually crazy. Look at everything they've done here, its thousands of times worse than what happened on the Hippocrates. Why on earth would anyone in their right mind want to create more of these things? And why would an entire Systems Alliance fleet go along with it?"

Those were good questions. Percival, Cade and I had decided to issue standing orders to capture any saboteurs we could. We'd been fighting in the dark for too long. The more we could learn about why they were doing what they did, the better a chance we'd have of stopping them.

"Your guess is as good as mine at this point," I replied.

Most saboteurs had fought to the death, and unfortunately half of their leaders that we had encountered had been bat-shit crazy. Morder Zakiah, the salarian, was certifiably insane. Doctor Olivia Flanagan had been beyond insane. The N7 and the turian seemed more rational, but how could any rational person think that spreading a virus or contagion that turns living things into synthetic zombies was a good idea?

My mind flashed back to one of the saboteurs we had encountered on the Hippocrates. We had been fighting a group of saboteurs in a large equipment hangar. After we had defeated the others, we had cornered one in an attempt to get her to talk. She did talk, but what she told us had left us with more questions than answers. She had spoken of bringing people back—of some sort of transcending—just like Zakiah had in the Data Archives when we first met him. It had made absolute zero sense. It had sounded like some sort of religious fanaticism. Unfortunately, before we could take her in and question her further she had taken her own life.

Several unscheduled dropships suddenly flew past our heads, prompting both Accer and I to look up.

We watched as several dropships in Blue Suns colors but with different chapter markings land on the open tarmac in front of two more armored figures. Out of them emerged nearly a full company of heavily-armed Blue Suns mercenaries.

Accer and I made our way over to the scene. One of the armored figures was the unmistakable Revak Ghar'aran, Butcher of Bahak. He stood nearly a head taller than the other batarians and had his armor decorated in the ancient batarian traditions. From what I had learned, the black script was actually the battle-history of that particular clan or family, similar to how turians had a battle-standard or how the Krogans had their murals. It was a particularly interesting piece of batarian culture that not many people knew nowadays.

The other was the third company commander in Revak's battalion, Bastion Navarrian. Hailing from Invictus, the grey-plated turian served as a strange, cheerful foil to the two grim and dour Ghar'aran brothers. It was Navarrian who spotted Accer and I first.

"Spectre! Come! See what new friends we have brought to this lovely planet!" he crowed. His mandibles were spread wide, indicating just how pleased he was.

Navarrian draped a lanky arm over my shoulder, but quickly took it off and raised his hands apologetically when I winced in pain.

"The Fighting Pyjacks have lent us one of their companies. Good troops – almost as good as the men in our battalion. Should have seen them during the riots on Omega! Spirits they were a crazy bunch, they—"

I stopped listening and instead kept my attention to the new arrivals. Now that I was closer I could see their chapter insignia. It was a Pyjack holding a Predator pistol, aimed threateningly at a target off-screen. I suppressed a chuckle. Personally I thought it was a much better insignia than the ones the Ghar'arans had. Theirs was a batarian skull with two burning right eyes. An homage to their intrepid, slave-killing leader. Their chapter was called, as you might have guessed, the Burning Eyes.

Revak was speaking to the commanding officer of the Fighting Pyjacks company. Once he was finished, he made his way over to us while the newcomers marched towards the living quarters. Not only had they brought bodies, but they had also brought extra crates of heatsinks, medical supplies, and other equipment that would be vital to our continued survival.

Revak gestured with his armored hand towards the line of Blue Suns troopers. "Extra soldiers as I promised, Drak'Takai. Men that I trust," he growled. I could see a faint hint of pride in his two good eyes.

Accer regarded the new mercenaries warily. While not all Systems Alliance marines were called and bound to service by a sense of duty to protect those in need, Accer was certainly one of them. Soldiers who fought for pay and whose loyalty could literally change on a dime were inimical to the motives that drove Accer's service.

"Did the Council's budget committee clear this overdraft?" the Jaeger asked wryly.

The batarian turned to the marine. "We will be sharing a portion of our pay, and we have negotiated certain finder's rights over discarded property," Revak grunted in return.

Upon hearing that, Accer narrowed his eyes at the hulking batarian. "You mean to tell me that your new pals are going to be looting dead civvies?"

Both Navarrian and I tensed up. I fully expected the batarian to grab the smaller biotic by the collar of his armor and beat his face to a bloody pulp, just like he did to that one Corpser when he first landed on this planet.

Instead, the large batarian scoffed and regarded the marine as one would regard a tiny child who had just asked a stupid question.

"I have fought with them many times over the years. They are mercenaries, yes. They will be taking salvage, yes. But, they are disciplined. They will only take what I allow and when I allow. Above all, they know the value of secrecy."

Revak marched up to the young Jaeger. He was almost a foot taller in armor, and probably fifty kilos heavier than the wiry biotic. To Accer's credit, the young marine held his ground and didn't give an inch.

Revak's two good eyes glinted dangerously. "We wouldn't want word of what has happened on Anhur to make its way back to the inner systems, would we?"

Before I could react, Navarrian had already squeezed himself between the two soldiers. "Rev, let's remember why we're here and who we're fighting, brother. And lieutenant, these guys aren't your typical Blue Suns mercenaries from the newer chapters. They'll follow your rules."

The two stared at each other for a few more tense seconds. Finally, Revak scoffed again and broke away.

"Your fellow Spectre wishes to see us in the command center. We best not be late," he grumbled before marching towards the spaceport.

I gave a sigh of relief as the situation diffused. I glanced at the time on my omni-tool and quickly made to follow him. Navarrian and Accer soon joined me.

Together we walked by patrolling mercenaries and volunteer survivors running errands. In just a short amount of time we had created a tent-city of sorts, filled with all the little ecosystems you'd find in a regular city. Survivors ate their rations at tiny tables set out around the makeshift mess halls, chatting amicably. Disheveled children ran back and forth in a small patch of pavement, kicking a ball they had found and chasing each other and somehow finding a reason to laugh and play even in these troubled times. A batarian-led crew of survivors moved between the tents, sweeping up discarded garbage.

"So, Spectre. Revak calls you Drak'Takai, which is honestly less flattering than he believes it to be. You have a name?" Navarrian asked.

"Cloud," I quickly replied.

When I didn't offer anything else, the turian cocked his head. "That your first name or family name?"

The question took me by surprise. Not many people usually asked for more than that, usually because most people in the Milky Way generally clam up when a Spectre comes around.

"I… am not sure," I stuttered. "I was raised in an orphanage. It was the name that I was assigned – that and a birthday. My official 'name' is zero-four-two-seven-two-one-eight-two dash Cloud."

Navarrian's brow-plates came together in confusion. "zero-four…what in the Spirits?"

I mulled over how to best explain it to him. It'd been a long while since I'd last talked about it. The last person had probably been John back on the Citadel. Cade and Percival knew, Percival's family knew, but few others.

Not even Sarah had known. She hadn't been around long enough for me to tell her about my past.

"The orphanage I was at…" I began. "Their standard practice was to assign each kid a birthday and a single name. They gave us our birthdays because they received state funding based on the ages of the kids under their care. For those of us who came without any ID, they based our given birthdays on how old they thought we were at the time. They also gave us our names to tell us apart from the other kids who got assigned our birthdays. The names were mostly random, usually references."

"I never knew you were an orphan," ventured Accer.

I didn't know why I was telling them these things. Contrary to proper belief, anonymity is one of the greatest weapons a Spectre can possess. Unlike other Spectres, I had no prior military or civilian record, no family, no medical records – nothing that could be linked back to the person I was now. I was quite literally a Spectre.

Perhaps it had been the dream I'd had last night. The nostalgia it triggered had caused me to let my guard down. I had been thinking about my mother a lot more recently. It was funny. The only memory I had of her — in fact, the only real memory I had of my childhood—was the last time I ever saw her, gazing tearfully up at me while a dropship carried me to safety. Carried me away from her.

I had tried a few times to find her after the war. I remember being maybe eight or nine years old with a shoddy, hand-drawn picture, showing it to random people on the streets of Terra Nova with Elektra at my side. People weren't very nice in the early years after the war. Most wouldn't even look at me –probably because there had been tens of thousands of other orphans just like me running around on Terra Nova, looking for someone they had lost. Some people would beat me or kick me and tell me to scram. Those who were kind of enough to even try would inevitably shake their heads.

When I got older, I scoured what records the orphanage had, trying to find where the transport I had came in on had originated from. That search had led nowhere either. The orphanage hadn't kept records during the war. They had been too preoccupied with accepting, feeding, and housing refugee children.

Eventually I stopped searching one day. It was likely that she had died on whichever planet we had lived on.

I never bothered to look for my father as I couldn't remember even the slightest thing about him. All I knew was that he probably had black hair like I did, since I remember my mother having lighter, maybe blonde hair. It was highly likely that he had died in the war as well.

"The Reaper War created a lot of orphans. Actually, Elektra and I came from the same orphanage on Terra Nova. It's how we met."

The young biotic whistled, "I didn't know that. I mean, I knew you two had history. No offence, but I figured it was just a few nights in Thessia after a near-death experience or something."

I gave a light chuckle and shook my head. If Elektra were here she'd likely have knocked him out. "No. We're childhood friends – or at least we were until a few years ago, right before I joined the Spectres."

"Want to tell me what happened?"

I pursed my lips and thought about it. Truth be told, I couldn't say that I was that torn up about it anymore. I definitely felt angry and betrayed at the time, but it had been Cade who had really been the most indignant about what she had done. Sure, we had ran a few missions together once we had both become Spectres, but we had mostly kept a professional distance. I guess it was because Cade had been one of my first friends that I had made upon joining the Spectres, and I had wanted to stay on his good side. Not that he was jealous. I was just socially awkward.

Since the mission started however, our relationship had been on the mend. To be honest, it was almost like the last five years had never happened.

"Maybe later," I replied. "We don't want to be late for the briefing."

Accer suddenly stopped in place. I turned around and gave him a look. "What's wrong?"

He stood there for a moment, staring curiously at me. "Nothing," he finally replied. "It's just that we've served on the Excalibur together for some time now. We've fought space-zombies together and a crazy space-cult, and in all that time we've never heard one bit about your past."

"So?"

The biotic shrugged, then resumed walking. "I guess I sort of expected it to come out in some sort of a more dramatic reveal. Maybe over a few drinks after a hard mission, or maybe right as we're all about to die."

I gave a light laugh. "This is real life. It's not a movie."

"I guess," he agreed. "Still, Reaper War orphan…."

"Yep, Reaper War orphan," I nodded.

"Not what I expected," he admitted. "You can look up Cade and Percival on the Systems Alliance encrypted net but you were the real mystery. We had a pool going on you know."

"Yeah, I'm aware. Jay thinks I was kidnapped as a child and cybernetically and chemically augmented," I deadpanned.

"What did you do before getting tapped for the Spectres?" Accer then asked.

I coughed. "That's a little bit more classified. Long story short I was a glorified delivery boy."

Accer rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. One step at a time I suppose."

We all walked in silence for the next little while, simply choosing to share in the moment. Accer gave me a few furtive glances, likely still shocked to hear about my past. I hadn't told anyone serving aboard the Excalibur, and Cade and Percival had also kept their mouths shut out of respect for my privacy. I'd kept my past a secret for most of my adult life – either because of my job as a Spectre or because it had been convenient. In some ways, it felt good to finally let more people in. It was truly a glorious morning.

"This Elektra… is that the female Spectre you two came with?" Navarrian asked.

I nodded. "Biotic, long brown hair, about Accer's height," I replied.

"That's the one," Navarrian nodded in return. "Is she seeing anyone?"

Accer let out a laugh and shoved the mercenary. "Did you not just hear Mister Drak'Takai over here? He will kick your scaly ass."

I shook my head and sped up my pace.

Accer turned his head to the turian. "Honestly Navarrian, are you half asari? You've gotten more out of him in the last five minutes than we have in several months of fighting together."

The Blue Suns mercenary chuckled and scratched at his mandibles. "Everyone loves good old Bastion. Haven't met a single sentient yet who has hated my guts, and I do very questionable things for credit. Around me, people just like to talk. Can't say why."

Accer chuckled as well. His expression suddenly went dour as he nodded towards Revak, who was still walking ahead of us. "He ever tell you his story?"

Bastion's turned his gaze to his fellow company commander. His cheery visage slipped a bit. "Revak is a complicated soul. You have no idea what he has lived through. Don't judge him too harshly, at least not before you've had a chance to really talk to him."

The young Jaeger scoffed. "My instructors were some of the very first Jaegers. The Jaegers started out as an anti-piracy and anti-slavery force. All of them served during the Slave Wars. I heard about Bahak and what he and his brother did to those slaves. Thousands died in that hellhole thanks to their handiwork."

Revak suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing the three of us to stop as well. "It was not thousands."

"What?"

The imposing batarian mercenary turned his head back towards us. "It was not thousands," he enunciated. "We had maybe two-hundred and fifty slaves in that facility at most, not thousands. We did not kill thousands," he said in a low growl.

Accer bristled and a tiny bolt of blue energy suddenly arced between the index and middle fingers on his right hand. "And why should we believe you?" he retorted. "You and your four-eyed pals stole thousands of people – men, women, children. Most of them never made it back home to their families. They survived the fucking reapers just to die in some titanium mine on some shitty, backwater planet so tell me, why should we believe you?"

There was another tense moment between the Jaeger and the mercenary. Navarrian and I had both fallen silent. I had never seen Accer like this before. He'd always been good-natured—quick to crack a joke even in the most dire circumstances. I remember how he'd laughed after losing his left arm aboard the Hippocrates and having almost been killed by a deranged asari doctor. Now, he glared at Revak like he wanted to tear him apart with his biotics right then and there.

The moment lasted for seconds, but as always it felt like an eternity. Revak once again was the first to break away.

"History is written by the victors," he muttered.

Accer was mollified at the batarian having been the one to look away first. Revak resumed his march towards the command center, but while earlier he had walked with his back straight and his shoulders thrown back, he now slumped forward and looked a bit smaller than he had a few moments ago.

March 19th, 2211, 0911 hours —Alexandra Spaceport— Temporary Command Center

(Spectre Operative 04272182-Cloud)

The conversation died and we made the rest of our way to the command center in silence. Revak pulled the door open and held it for us as we walked inside, declining to meet Accer's eyes as the marine passed him.

We had converted the spaceport's operations room into our makeshift command center. The last time I had been in here, it had been when we had received the distress call from Dennis Baird, a technician who had claimed he'd had intel on the saboteurs.

Speaking of which, a seat at one of the consoles swirled around to reveal the technician. The straw-haired man had filled out a bit of that gauntness after a few days of food and sleep, but it made the perpetual condescending expression he had on his face that much more irritating.

"You know, I was gonna shake your hand for coming to get me, but I heard what that turian did to your arm and I didn't want to make you cry," he smirked.

I closed my eyes and for a moment I wished fervently that he wouldn't be sticking around long in my life. What kind of person says something like that to the person who got hurt while saving him?

I ignored him and instead walked past him, ruffling his hair hard as I went by like he was a child, even though he was clearly maybe a decade older than me. He yelped in protest and glared daggers behind my back.

Percival and Cade were already fully-armored, peering at a hologram of the city of New Thebes with Captain Murgen beside them. Cade's once-immaculate set of Turian Ghost Infiltrator armor was now battered and bruised. The silver and blue detailing had dulled and chipped somewhat and the black plate was scuffed in most places. Percival's N7 armor had a line of dents leading up his back-plate. The red and white stripe on his arm was dirty and faded and his helmet had a noticeable scratch right above the visor.

The trio noticed me and gave me a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning their attention back to the map. Accer moved to join the other Jaeger squad leaders. There were a few other technicians and Anhur Defense Force personnel in the room as well. Malan Ghar'aran was already inside, standing in a corner and drumming his fingers on the barrel of his flamethrower. I was about to join my fellow Spectres when three other people caught my eye – three whom should have been up on the Excalibur.

Dr. Jaelen Veers, salarian biologist, gave me a cheery wave from his seat at another console. "Ah, Spectre! Good to see that you've recovered! Heard about New Thebes. Subluxations not pleasant. Have decent corticosteroids back in lab that I should have brought. Would have had you and your biotics back in top shape in no time!"

Beside him stood Dr. Rentea T'lana. The asari gave me a warm smile and a brief wave before turning her attention back to the display of the console Jaelen was seated at.

"What are you doing here, doctor?" I asked.

"Came to pick up samples, tell you about my findings, and conduct substantive interviews. Rentea here assisting. Also assisting medical staff," Jaelen replied.

The salarian's brow furrowed. "Findings not good, Spectre. Troubled, troubling things... Troubling signs… Will tell you all about it soon."

A hand tapped my shoulder and I turned around to see Camilla Martell, beaming at me. The young engineer was wearing partial combat armor over her fatigues. She had her signature geth shotgun slung over her shoulder and a toolbox at her feet. She raised her arms.

I gingerly gave her a one-handed hug and patted her on the back. "Shouldn't you be up in the ship? Your father would literally stomp me to death if anything were to happen to you."

She broke free and slugged me on my good shoulder. "I've been helping the pilots tune up their shuttles. Easier to do that down here than up in the Excalibur, since that hangar can only hold maybe four at most."

"You're doing fantastic work," I said. "Without those shuttles the civilians would be stuck on this planet with no way out."

"Sure," she agreed. "Honestly, my biggest concern would be the drive cores up on the mercenary ships. They're military-grade, sure, but they're not of the same quality that you'd find on a Turian Navy or Systems Alliance ship. They're not giving their cores enough time to vent between trips. If they keep this up, they could be at risk for a core meltdown."

"Hmm, can you develop and forward me a revised schedule to account for proper safety measures?" I asked. As much as it pained me to reduce the speed with which we could get the civilians away to safety, the loss of even one of those ships would hurt us a lot more. I wasn't going to pass on advice from Camilla Martell, a goddam certified drive core technician.

Camilla nodded. "Will do, and don't worry. I will try to make it as least-disruptive as I can."

I gave her my thanks. "And I'll see if the captains would be willing to have you come up and take a look. With a security detail of course. Wouldn't want your father dislocating my last good shoulder."

The engineer grinned. "Gracias. I'd be really interested in seeing what kind of modifications the mercenaries made. Systems Alliance regulations forbids engineering personnel from modifying drive cores on their navy ships."

At that moment, the doors to the command center opened once more and in walked our fourth Spectre. I did a double take as I took in her new appearance. For as long as I had known her, Elektra's hair had been one of her most treasured vanities. However, Elektra had cut off her long hair so that it ended right above her shoulders. A much more practical style to be sure, though if she was really concerned about function she could have either cut it even shorter or stuck to wearing her helmet more often. She looked paler than usual, and it looked like she had dispensed with her usual make-up aside from her tattooed-on, permanent eyeliner.

Rentea caught me staring a bit out of the corner of her eye. "I operated on Operative Elektra for a good four hours after you brought her back. The bullets missed her spine and she took to the induced coma with no issues, though we couldn't replace her right lung with a cloned one until just yesterday. She should be better than ever in a few weeks, though I am a bit surprised to see her up today. She is surprisingly tough"

"She's stronger than you know," I mused.

"For a woman who just came out of a medically-induced coma, she looks damn good," muttered Camilla.

Elektra gave me a brief look. I nodded in return as a way of greeting. The female Spectre then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and made her way to her fellow Spectres.

Percival suddenly clapped his armored hands together from his spot at the edge of the holo-table and the entire room fell silent. "Alright, gather 'round everyone," Percival ordered. "Cloud, you've had a rough few days so I'll take the lead on this, alright?"

I gave him a wave and gestured for my friend to continue. Everyone circled up around the large hologram in the table, which currently showed a map of New Thebes with a portion of it highlighted. I took up a position beside Elektra.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

"Been better, but at least I'm not dead," she whispered back.

I nodded and re-directed my attention to the others. That was all we could afford for now.

"Baird, tell us what you know," Percival began.

"Again?" whined the technician.

My friend glared at the smaller man. The look in Percival's eyes uncharacteristically promised a disproportionate amount of retribution for any further disobedience. My friend must have been under a lot of strain.

Baird wisely chose to back down after seeing the look in the larger man's eyes. "I escaped from a hidden facility somewhere around here, in New Thebes," he began. The man pointed at the highlighted portion. "The saboteurs—or whatever you guys call them—use it as a base of operations."

"I can't tell you exactly where it is. I told you guys all the landmarks I saw on my way out and honestly, I was pretty fucking scared at the time. All I can really give you guys is this rough location."

Percival tapped a few buttons on the hologram and a bunch of numerals and circled locations appeared on the hologram. "We've extrapolated a rough location based on the distance he travelled and the rough time he took, but there are a lot of possible candidates in that location. Beats searching the whole city though," Percival added.

Baird swallowed and continued on. "From what I saw of the interior, it looks like an old hospital or something – or at least, it was set up like one on the inside. It had some decent firewalls and security, so I'm not sure it was an actual hospital. I do remember a lot of cells…"

"And what were the saboteurs doing inside?" Elektra asked.

The engineer glanced at the Spectre and shuddered as he remembered. "They were taking people and bringing them inside…. I remember a lot of screaming and howling – howling like the kind those creatures make. I'm not sure what they were doing to them, all I know was that a lot of these people were never seen again, and what they did to them, they were going to do to me."

Captain Murgen unfolded his arms and placed his palms on the holo-table. "We need to find this place. We still have no idea what these guys want or what their plans are. As long as we're in the dark about what they want we're going to always be one step behind them, fighting reactively while they continue to cause mayhem. We need answers, and this looks like the only place we'll get them."

"Agreed," said Percival. "The only issue is the location. That area in New Thebes is too big for us to canvas with the soldiers we've got. The other major cities on Anhur are too busy fortifying and evacuating their own regions to spare anyone."

The blonde Spectre let out a sigh and rubbed his jaw. "And there's more bad news."

He pulled up another section of New Thebes. This time it showed a portion that was situated deeper into the city. We could see a single dot maybe a few hundred meters from the coast.

"One of the survivors – an officer Emily Wright – said that the outbreak started when a batarian cargo freighter crashed into downtown New Thebes right about here," he said, pointing at the dot. "She was nearby with her partner when it happened. The control team here said that communications from the freighter suddenly ceased shortly before it crashed."

He pulled up a few images that looked like they'd been taken from the sky. Pictures of a mangled, burning freighter and a trail of shattered high-rises behind it popped up on the display. Corpsers and Changers covered the area like ants.

"I had one of our dropships do a quick fly-over," Percival explained. "They managed to snap this picture before a hidden SAM shot them down. Now I'm not a betting man, but I think it's a safe bet that the saboteurs must have placed a Reaper Core aboard that ship," he said, tapping the freighter on the screen. "That's what must have started the outbreak."

Elektra pursed her lips and swapped back to the hologram of the city. "The saboteurs managed to set up a SAM network?"

"Highly likely. If they're as competent as we feared they'll have rigged it so it can target anything and everything that flies over that portion of the New Thebes airspace. Either way, we need to destroy that freighter and the core its carrying. If we just leave it there, eventually it'll turn the entire planet into these things, or it'll get accidentally transported to another planet somehow."

"If they're Systems Alliance SAMS from the Ninth's inventory, they're going to be a real problem. Even half-a-dozen of those could wipe out scores of dropships in a matter of minutes," Cade grumbled.

Percival tapped the spot where the downed freighter was, then tapped the location where we currently were. "The problem is reaching the downed freighter. It's deeper into New Thebes than the rough location of the saboteur base and surrounded by these hidden SAM sites. Even with the additional mercenaries Revak called in and the surviving military personnel, we barely amount to a full regiment. New Thebes had a population of around forty million before the infection."

If the saboteurs had set up a hidden network of surface-to-air missiles sites, an aerial assault would be too risky. Our only option would be a ground assault, not that the casualties would be much better. "We need more soldiers, ideally an armored division—preferably three. And a neutron bomb wouldn't hurt," I offered.

Percival nodded in agreement. "Yes, and I'll get to that, right after we have Dr. Veers deliver one more piece of bad news."

Several people present began to grumble and Navarrian threw up his talons in frustration." Spirits, one more – you have got to be kidding me."

Cade cheerfully slapped the taller turian on the back. "Oh you have no idea… Back when we were stuck on the Hippocrates it was like a very badly-written horror movie. Consider yourselves lucky that he's capped it off at three," he chuckled.

Percival motioned for his fellow Spectre to be quiet and gestured for the salarian to take his place at the table. Camilla and Murgen both shifted to make space for the xenobiologist.

Jaelen coughed and ran his hands down the lapel of his labcoat to smooth it out. "Ladies. Gentlemen. Dr. Jaelen Veers, formerly of the Biology Division of the Systems Alliance Research and Development aboard the SSV Hippocrates – now lead scientist of the Science and Research Department aboard the SSV Excalibur and lead scientist for—

"Get on with it," growled Malan. Revak grumbled and jabbed an elbow into his insolent younger brother.

Jaelen halted mid-sentence, momentarily flabbergasted, until Rentea moved up and set a reassuring hand on his arm and shot a death glare at the batarian mercenary. Mollified, Jaelen continued.

"Now, I am the lead scientist attached to Operation: Transcendence. I was at ground zero when the outbreak started on the Hippocrates. With the assistance of Operatives Cloud, Kitiarian and Percival, I was able to sequence the genetic material of several of creature's the first victims."

Jaelen closed the hologram of New Thebes and inserted his own data drive into the holotable. A dozen windows popped up. Each showed a name of an individual, their species, and a genome divided up into three colors – red, blue and gray.

The salarian pointed at the first of the three colored portions. "The gray portion – that is the DNA belonging to the original victims."

He then pointed to the next one. "The red portion… that is inactive Reaper DNA. Inert, and though we do not know exactly where it came from, it is safe to assume that it was introduced into the subjects via one of the infection methods – either through a Crawler, a Changer, or some yet-to-be-determined method of contact with the infected Reaper Cores."

The salarian biologist pointed to the final segment. "That blue portion… that portion is the most intriguing. It doesn't match any known genome belonging to any life form we've categorized in this galaxy thus far. While we were on the Hippocrates, I observed it exhibiting some disturbing behavior. It was exhibiting signs of life. It was replicating and transcribing. At the time, we assumed that it had come from the Reaper Core and that it was spread alongside the inert Reaper DNA through one of the aforementioned infection methods. The Reaper CPU that Operative Cloud procured confirmed that fact."

Jaelen then pulled up a video file. "In all of the samples that we've brought from the Hippocrates that I've examined, the rough proportion of Reaper and unknown DNA compared to the original host's DNA was approximately one to ten."

He turned to look at me next. "However, Operative Cloud recorded footage that pointed towards some troubling hypotheses."

He began to play the video. I recognized it as combat footage I had recorded during our fight to take the Spaceport about a week ago. It showed a Changer directing a horde of Corpsers towards Cade, Elektra and I.

"These creatures were exhibiting behaviors that we had not encountered aboard the Hippocrates. Note the physical differences as well," Jaelen pointed out. He quickly pulled up two pictures side by side. "These new Corpsers… whereas only some specimens had metal plates on their supraorbital ridge while aboard the Hippocrates, now almost all of them possess them. What's more, every Corpser regardless of the species of their host victim has a more pronounced bluish tinge."

"To test a hypothesis I had about these creatures, I've examined specimens created from the infection that started here, on Anhur, and sequenced those as well," Jaelen continued.

A dozen new windows popped up. Like the last ones, each showed a genome divided up into the same three colors. However, in these genomes the proportion of blue had nearly doubled.

"This mysterious DNA—or Aggressor DNA as we've taken to calling it—it's replicating, and for lack of a better word, expanding. Not only is it expanding, it is, to put it in layman's terms, creating proteins that are rewriting their host's DNA, transforming it into more of the Aggressor DNA. As a result, these creatures are evolving."

Upon hearing that, the two batarians began to whisper to each other in their native tongue. The jaeger team leaders who hadn't been aboard the Hippocrates shifted uneasily. They had spent most of their careers fighting pirates and slavers. They weren't used to fighting creatures such as these. They had never fought in the Reaper War, where the enemy had also primarily been nightmarish horrors of metal and flesh, made in the twisted image of those we had known and loved.

"Given certain physical similarities between the infected creatures and with those who have so far died from the Phenomenon happening on several core worlds, I decided to compare genomes. After careful scrutiny, I found that traces of the Aggressor DNA was also present in those who had died from the Phenomenon, albeit in much smaller proportions – approximately point-five percent. Given the conspicuous lack of an outbreak, we have thus determined that it is highly likely that the Phenomenon is being spread from the Reaper cores."

"Wait… wait a minute," Accer interrupted. He held up his bionic hand. "Are you telling me that those infected with the Phenomenon could also turn into these things? I thought we were only worried about outbreaks starting on planets with Reaper Cores that the saboteurs decided to tamper with."

"Good question, Lieutenant. One of the first steps that Systems Alliance Research and Development took was to examine those who had died from the Phenomenon. We sequenced their genomes and by comparing that data to the data we have now, we have determined that all the victims had trace amounts of Reaper and Aggressor DNA within them, though in not as high a percentage as these creatures. However, unlike these creatures, it seems that the amount of Aggressor DNA has not changed. It has not started to expand like it did in these creatures."

"Therefore, it is highly unlikely that victims who have merely been affected by the Phenomenon will turn into these creatures. It is highly likely that the saboteurs must have done something to the Reaper Cores aboard the Hippocrates and the batarian freighter to trigger the Aggressor DNA's growth and rewriting of the host's DNA."

"So we're not going to see any more creatures pop up on planets with infected cores, unless these saboteurs somehow get to those too," the biotic clarified.

"Hopefully not," Jaelen replied. "Though in science, all theories have a chance of being proven wrong."

The salarian cleared his throat and continued his briefing. "The Aggressor DNA itself… I do not believe it is completely natural. Given its patterns and function, it is highly likely that it was engineered somehow. Furthermore, it likely already existed in the Reaper cores – our current hypothesis being that it came from one of the species that the Reapers once harvested and then used to create their synthetic starships. A partial recording given to Operative Cloud by one of the lead saboteurs while onboard the Hippocrates hinted as much."

I remember the recording in question. One of the lead saboteurs, the deranged Dr. Flanagan, had given me that video. It was a partial recording made almost twenty years ago of a woman speaking about DNA that they had found in recovered Reaper Cores. Unfortunately, the file had been corrupted, leaving unknown the name of the original species that the Reapers had harvested to create these infected cores. Our best Spectres had also failed to find the woman in that video. It was likely that she had died, perhaps killed by the saboteurs.

Baird suddenly cleared his throat loudly. The scrawny tech muscled his way in past Revak and Malan, oblivious of the glares they were giving him, to take a spot at the holo-table. He slammed both his palms down and began to stare everyone down.

"So let me get this straight. The Reapers harvested a species with wonky DNA. These lunatics played around with that and turned it into something that could turn everyone into space zombies. You have no idea why. Now, these space zombies are evolving, and potentially every planet with one of these infected cores can become an all-you-can-eat buffet for these things."

"Yes," Jaelen nodded.

Baird pointed at Percival. "And on top of that, you have no idea why these lunatics would do such a thing, or why an entire human fleet would go along with it, or what their plan is beyond what it seems like carrying out a galactic genocide."

"Yes," Percival nodded.

The tech opened his mouth as if to rant yet again, but he stopped himself. Wind whistled out of his nostrils as he let out a long breath. I could see the fear in his eyes, and whatever pain and trauma he had endured while held captive by the saboteurs and during his escape from their facility was etched clearly onto his face.

After a few more moments, he crossed his arms and nodded to himself in an exaggeratedly-slow fashion a few times. "Alright then. Fuck all of you, I'm out!"

Elektra gave him a look of disbelief and shook her head. "What do you mean you're out?"

Baird threw up his hands in exasperation. "I mean I'm out, sweet-cheeks. I'm out! I'm not sticking around any longer than I have to. You can count me out of whatever suicide mission you clowns are about to cook up. Don't like it? Well, you can damn well shoot me. Beats being turned into one of those things"

The technician pushed himself away from the table and turned to leave, but Malan grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him around.

"You coward! You reek of fear! Tas gut'ak vok drakka, vei'lon voss!" the batarian roared at the tech, all four eyes ablaze with fury at the smaller man's sudden announcement.

Baird held his ground. Though the batarian likely had more than a hundred pounds on him, was wearing bladed armor and had more than a full foot on him, the technician stared with cold, unflinching fury into Malan's four eyes.

"You don't fucking scare me, you four-eyed bitch. You weren't fucking there!" he spat. "These people, these saboteurs or defectors or religious crazies – whatever you want to call them – they were taking people! They took civilians! It didn't matter if they were young or old or poor or sick, they'd take them all the same! They took my friends…. They'd take them into these little rooms and none of them ever came back out!"

Baird took a step closer to the batarian. The technician now had a manic, fearful look in his eyes that set anyone who managed to catch a glimpse into them slightly on edge. Camilla looked very unnerved. Cade stood protectively beside her, watching warily and ready to intervene.

"I could fucking hear them though," Baird said in a low whisper. "I could fucking hear them. It all started the same way. They'd beg, they'd plead, they'd cry… the saboteurs would apologize to them… and then it'd get quiet."

Malan didn't say anything. He simply stared at the technician. His brother Revak placed a steadying hand on the younger batarian's shoulder.

"And then the howling would start," Baird continued. "What howling? Just step outside the base, I'm sure you'll hear it. You've been hearing it ever since you landed on this planet."

Malan let out a low growl but his brother jerked him away from the tech, all the while whispering furiously to him in batarian. Revak gave Baird a sympathetic look and tilted his head respectfully towards him.

Everyone in the command center watched silently as Baird turned and made his way to the exit.

The technician hovered at the threshold, almost as if he were hesitating. He stood like that for a few moments before turning around.

"I'm sorry guys…" he croaked out hoarsely. "I just can't do this… I just can't."

With that, Baird left the room.

We all stood in silence as we processed what had just happened. "Should I go after him?" Accer finally asked.

Murgen shook his head. "No, the man has made his decision. We can't force him to help us."

"We shouldn't blame him for his choice. He's been through a lot. Not everyone has what it takes, and we shouldn't be so quick to judge him without having lived through what he'd experienced," Percival added.

I crossed my arms and sighed. At the end of the day, Baird was still a civilian. Not everyone could be like Jaelen or Camilla or Rentea and go above and beyond when disaster struck. And Percival was right. We shouldn't expect that everyone should do so. It didn't mean that people shouldn't do it, just that we should try to show some sympathy to those who couldn't.

"Jaelen, I don't suppose you have any good news for us?" I asked.

Jaelen stared dumbly at me for a moment, so engrossed he'd been in Baird's departure. After a few seconds he snapped back. "Good news! Yes!" he replied vigorously.

"I have checked the combat footage of all the operatives and of all the Jaegers from aboard the Hippocrates. Not once did we encounter an infected turian or quarian! The creatures would simply kill them, but not convert them. That strange pattern of behavior has been observed here, on Anhur."

He pulled up a few more genomes and blew them up on the holo-screen.

"Look here. The proportion of Aggressor DNA to host DNA remains unchanged. My hypothesis is that the Aggressor DNA somehow uses the DNA of the original host to replicate, and the right-handed amino acids in dextro species are incompatible with this process."

"What the good doctor is saying is that we need help. We need the turian navy," Percival interjected. "We still have control of the planetary defense cannons which are currently keeping the Ninth fleet off our asses. Between them and a turian fleet, we could wipe them out here and now."

"And how are you going to convince the Turian Hierarchy to send an entire fleet out into the Terminus Systems?" Accer asked.

Percival and I both looked at each other, and my friend gave me a big grin. "Maybe you weren't paying attention back on the Hippocrates or maybe you forgot, kid, but we actually have a bona fide turian war hero with us," Percival chuckled. He pointed at Cade.

Cade raised both his talons to his face and pressed his head into his palms. "Spirits, no…"

Accer nodded as he slowly began to recall certain events aboard the Hippocrates. Cade was infamous for the role he had played in a major turian conflict a while back, and it had been a sore point of contention between him and the late Sergeant Vidanor Mardinus who had served on the other side. "Oh right, you saved the Primarch's life during the Palaven Rebellions right? Whatever happened there?"

My friend sighed and scratched the back of his neck-plates. "I'm sure you'll find out soon, probably in yet another series of unwelcome, interrupting flashbacks," he groaned.

Cade turned to Percival and I. "Spirits, I can't just leave you! You need me! Plus, the crime-lords who run the Terminus Systems won't take kindly to a turian fleet showing up at one of their biggest hub planets, guns blazing."

"Cade, without reinforcements we're as good as dead," Elektra said firmly.

Everyone around the room began to voice their own opinions and the noise began to rise in a sudden crescendo. My friend, however, didn't reply to anyone else. Instead, he simply starred at me. I knew exactly what was running through his mind. He felt like he was abandoning his friends, even if he knew it was our best hope and our best chance for survival.

I didn't say anything to him at first. I just stared back.

"Twelve days," I finally replied. That was my estimate as to how long it would take for Cade to go back, talk to the Primarch, recall a fleet, and come back.

"Ten," he returned. "The 32nd is currently already in orbit around Menae."

The 32nd was one of the Turian Navy's rapid reaction fleets. Unlike most other fleets which were often idle for several months out of a galactic year for maintenance and shore leave, rapid reaction fleets were always fully equipped and patrolling. They had all their refitting done via small supply ships instead of through dry-dock.

"You could be back in ten days then," I mused.

Eventually Cade nodded. He grabbed his sniper rifle, Meera, from where he'd let it rest beside him at the table and clamped it onto his back-plate. "Think you can make it until I get back?"

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "I'm sure we'll manage."

Cade nodded again. There were no tears, no one-armed hugs like the ones friends gave each other in the holo-films, and no final quips. He simply gave Camilla a brief kiss on the lips and immediately turned to leave. Spectres weren't ones for putting important things off. "I'll need to take the Excalibur. She's the fastest ship we have right now."

"Take it," I agreed.

"Cade, wait!" Percival called out. Cade turned around. Percival pulled a data-stick out from the holo-table and tossed it towards the turian. Cade deftly caught it in his talons and quickly examined it.

"It's a copy of Jaelen's data. Show it to the Primarch, make sure his fleet is ready for what they'll be facing here."

Cade raised the data-stick in acknowledgement. "You got it. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Percival nodded. "We're counting on you."

With that, Cade left the command center for the air strip. Ten days… We'd been here for just over six days right now. In that time, we'd lost dozens of mercenaries, Elektra had almost died, and I'd had my biotics taken from me after having my arm violently dislocated. Things had a habit of happening very suddenly during a combat campaign. To be honest, in that very moment I wasn't sure we could last another ten days. I hope that I'd live long enough to see my friend return.

"Alright, that's it. Everyone dismissed. Murgen, have squad one meet me on the tarmac in thirty, we're going on another patrol," Percival finished.

All of us broke off and began to head out and resume our duties. As I left the command center, I felt a hand tug at my elbow. It was Elektra.

"Hey, you have breakfast yet?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, woke up and came straight here."

"Same. Want to find some?" she asked.

I looked at her. My mind flashed back to the conversation I had this morning with Accer and Navarrian. Memories came flooding back. Memories of growing up at the orphanage, building forts in the fields around it, playing kickball with the other kids. I remember how we'd steal food from the stands that lined the open markets on Terra Nova. How we'd bring it back to wherever we'd decided to make our home for the day.

I remember how I felt when I had thought that I had lost her, just a few short days ago.

"You will never believe the conversation I had this morning," I began.

March 19th, 2211, 2231 hours —Anhur, City of New Thebes—Special Facility LV-427, formerly known as Misthaven Maximum-Security Penitentiary

Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…

(Field Commander Morder Zakiah – Project Transcendence)

Zakiah grabbed his helmet and hurled it at the wall with all of his might.

He wanted to scream. It wasn't simply because of the pain that currently wracked his body – no, he was finally getting accustomed to that.

The fight with the blue-eyed human biotic Spectre aboard the Hippocrates some months ago had left most of his body covered in biotic burn. For some strange reason they just wouldn't heal. As a result, Zakiah had been forced to permanently wear armor that was capable of keeping his body flooded with painkillers. He found himself pressing the trigger and self-administering the pain-killers several times a day. Though the wounds didn't affect his ability to fight or to move, without it the painkillers Zakiah knew he'd soon be driven mad from the pain. Well, madder than he currently was.

No, Zakiah wanted to scream for other reasons as well. For nearly half a decade, he'd been forced to wait as Alice worked to perfect their modified DNA strain in secret. He'd been forced to smile and work and joke alongside those who were ultimately destined to be nothing more than sheep for the slaughter. He had been forced to pretend that everything was right as rain.

Except now, five years later, Zakiah was rapidly approaching the end of his natural lifespan. Salarians had many gifts. They had natural photographic memory, the ability to sustain themselves with only two hours of sleep at night, and heightened reflexes and intellect compared to the other species.

However, all of these natural gifts had a cost. Salarians were notoriously short-lived. Only about half made it past their 40th birthday, and the oldest ever recorded salarian was fifty-one years old. Zakiah himself was forty-one now, and given the fact that salarians did not experience a period of senescence as other species did, death could come suddenly for Zakiah at any time.

It was a fact that Zakiah was keenly aware of each and every single waking moment of his life. Ever since he'd turned thirty, he had become somewhat preoccupied with the inevitability of his own mortality. After he had nearly died on a mission for the STG five years ago which had left Zakiah scarred and deformed, Zakiah had begun to search secretly and fervently for a means to extend his life.

By some stroke of galactic fate, the former STG captain had encountered and captured a group of smugglers who had been stealing high-end lab equipment for Alice and her fledgling experiments. Zakiah had quickly became suspicious of what use anyone could be making of such illegal DNA-splicing equipment. He had then killed the rest of his team, blamed it on the smugglers, then tortured the destination of the cargo out of them. Then with all the witnesses gone, Zakiah had headed to the destination where he then found Alice and Locke.

After a brutal back-and-forth with the N7, they'd come to an uneasy truce. The project Alice was working on, Project Transcendence, had the potential to bring back everyone who had died in the Reaper War. However, it also had the potential to allow Zakiah to live decades beyond his natural lifespan – perhaps forever.

He, Alice, and Locke had then entered into a sort of partnership. He would help them and in turn, Zakiah would be given a sample of the finished product. He retired from the STG soon after and took up a security position aboard the SSV Hippocrates, where he would spy on Project Prometheus and bide his time, waiting for Alice to perfect her creation.

Zakiah was screaming because he couldn't bear the wait much longer. Though salarians didn't truly feel the effects of old age, something deep down told him that his lifespan was now measured in months. True, Project Transcendence had escalated exponentially in the last half year but the end was still nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to go. He would do anything not to go.

Eventually the pain of his wounds became too much for him to bear on top of the creeping sense of doom that seemed to nip at Zakiah's heels, and he was forced to self-medicate once more. The aging salarian palmed the trigger on his button and sighed as the drugs flooded into his system.

He sniffed and then wiped the tears from his eyes. He was being a fool. A foolish newt of a salarian. He was still alive, and he would stay alive until Project Transcendence was completed.

Zakiah let out a high-pitched cackle at the thought of his own self-pity, drawing the frightened attention of several of the nearby Project staff outside of his quarters. Everyone knew to give the mad salarian a wide berth, especially when he was in one of his moods as he was now.

His omni-tool suddenly let out a ping to alert him to the fact that he was being hailed. It was Locke.

"Zakiah, get down to testing. One of the subjects have stabilized," Locke explained.

Zakiah's heart leapt into his throat. It was as if the gods had been listening and had decided to heed his prayers! To give him hope! Finally, after months of building upon the data gathered on the Hippocrates and weeks of testing, they had stabilized one of the subjects with Alice's new strain.

The salarian left his room and began to sprint towards testing. He snarled, viciously shoving away anyone who was too slow to move out of his way. Technicians, nurses and soldiers went flying as Zakiah flew through the hallways of Misthaven penitentiary – the New Theban underground prison that the Project had appropriated as their planet-side headquarters.

He passed rows and rows of cells. Some of them still had inmates of various species. Others were empty, their occupants having been appropriated as some of the Project's first subjects.

Those that were left were those Alice had deemed too weak or sickly to be tested on. Instead of murdering them in cold blood as Zakiah had proposed – all of them were imprisoned for heinous crimes after all – Locke had fought to let them live. A weird line in the sand as far as Zakiah was concerned, but the salarian had neither the patience nor the time to quarrel with the N7 in a moral morass.

These prisoners reached out through the bars with their skeletal, wasted hands, grasping towards the salarian. Their moans echoed constantly through the halls of the prison, setting the nerves of the Project staff constantly on edge. Despite Locke's best efforts at being a humanitarian, treatment of these prisoners had fallen to the wayside. Many of them were fed maybe once a day, and nearly none of them had been given the medication that they needed in weeks. Zakiah wanted to drag the blue-eyed N7 down here by the hair and make him confront his own hypocrisy, laughing in his face at how he had decided to manifest his own self-righteousness and supposed piety.

Zakiah finally made it down to testing. He pulled open the door and made his way into the observation room. Locke, Severus, and Alice were already there. Severus had a haunted look in his eyes. Zakiah knew that he'd recently lost several of his best commandos and had let one of the subject's escape, and that he had yet to shake the sullen feeling of defeat. Though Zakiah admired the young turian's fighting abilities, he sneered at his ineptitude and inexperience when it came to handling his own emotions and the loss of his men. Once Severus had learned how to distance himself from the turians under his command and see them as nothing more than a means to an end, he would become a formidable force.

All three of them were looking through the one-way window into the room beyond. Locke had one hand resting gently over a spot on his chest-plate. Alice looked absolutely enraptured at the sight in front of them.

"We did it…" she whispered. "We brought one of them back…."

Zakiah peered through the one-way window.

The room beyond was a standard operating room. Three medical personnel were currently inside, clad in hazmat suits and taking blood samples and monitoring the being that lay strapped to the operating table within. A monitor displayed the being's vitals, all of which were currently stable.

The being on the table at first glance looked to be an ordinary Corpser. It had formerly been a male human in his late forties, Caucasian.

It had many of the characteristics of the average Corpser, but with certain, subtle differences. Its skin was a more robust shade of blue than the pale, ghoulish-blue coloring that most Corpsers developed. Its flesh wasn't sloughing off as much and the metal scythes that extended out of its forearms were shorter. Instead of a gaping, split maw filled with organic and metal teeth, its mouth looked to be largely normal.

"Vital signs look good, Mordred," one of the staff reported, using Alice's codename. "Looks like its dreaming."

Alice thumbed the intercom. "Great, thanks Peter. We couldn't have done it without you," she replied.

The doctor flashed a thumbs-up through the window.

"This iteration of the Cerberus Revival Strain works," Locke mused softly.

Alice nodded. "Yes Tom, but look. It still has signs of the Reaper modifications," she said. The scientist pointed at the synthetic tubing and the metal plates protruding from various locations on its body. Though more intact than other Corpsers, parts of the creatures flesh had still fallen away to reveal synthetic flesh beneath.

"You can keep scrubbing it down, can't you?" Locke replied.

Alice shook her head. "I'm not sure how much more of it I can remove. The Originator DNA in these Cores may be too corrupt. Without a clean, uncorrupted version, the Revival Strain we developed would be useless. It would be like fuel without a car."

Zakiah ignored the conversation and placed both hands onto the window pain, peering wondrously through it at the being on the other side. Here was living proof that the Project could work. Here was living proof that immortality could be achieved.

Zakiah had to hold on. He had to hold on for just a few more months. A few more months and soon he would never fear death again.

The monitor began to beep loudly as the being's vitals suddenly spiked. Both Locke and Severus tensed up while Alice cursed and began to type into her omni-tool. The medical personnel in the tent began to scramble into action.

"What's going on? What's happening?" Zakiah urged.

The being strapped to the table suddenly arched its back. It looked as if something was trapped in its chest and trying to break free. One of the doctors moved to restrain it as it began to thrash around.

Zakiah whirled towards the other Project leaders. "Alice, what's happening?" he asked again. The monitor began to beep more rapidly as the being started to thrash and move.

She continued to type furiously into her omni-tool. When he realized that Alice had more pressing concerns, Zakiah turned back around and continued to watch the scene unfold, completely entranced.

He watched as the creature suddenly opened its eyes. Blood-red light poured forth, causing red flashes to dance around the room.

The being opened its mouth and roared.

Beautiful…. He thought. Absolutely beautiful…