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Where Falcons Dared: Excellence in All We Do
Date: 3 March 2010, 2:47 am


The vision of the blue field in front of him shimmered.

The Illusive Man watched with a crooked eye as he waved his hand over the three dimension image in front of his chair, expanding the view from the center of the Galaxy to the view of the whole Milky Way, sectors of space outlined in various colors to represent the fields of control that the various alien races held. The salarians were slowly making reach out into the Attican Transverse, while the humanity's reach into the Terminus Systems made them the second biggest galactic empire in the Galaxy. The Illusive Man waved his hand and brought the field of human control closer to him, shrinking the size of the holographic display. He waved his hand again and brought it closer together, watching the various fleet elements of the 2nd Fleet patrol at the outer reaches of human space. The 5th Fleet was drawing strength near holy Terra, a smirk crossing the billionaire's lips as he took a sip from his alcohol.

The taste lingered in his mouth as it descended into his throat.

He took his gaze to a series of purple arrows on the display, pointing outside of the sphere that the Illusive Man could see. He used both hands to expand his hands outward, seeing the whole of the Galaxy in his field of vision, squinting as he tried to ascertain the location of the series of purple dots. He sighed as he brought his hands together, making the holographic representation settle down on asari and salarian space; the purple circles represented two asari colonies and one salarian mining planet. Both were marked with communication severed, a common problem, but his intelligence groups in the systems marked it with purple.

The 'Covenant' struck again. The Illusive Man wasn't going to call them the Purifiers as they self-styled themselves in the small messages they left for late-as-always turian peacekeeping fleets.

The door behind him, leading into the chamber that he worked in, opened with a soft sound, but nonetheless heard through the room as the Illusive Man turned towards the door. A woman walked towards him, and he immediately recognized who it was. The slender form, perfect breasts, and legs to die for. It had to be Miranda. Genetically engineered to be perfect, she walked with a slow step in her feet, as if she was still not admitting the news of Shepard's disappearance was affecting her.

"Miranda."

"Sir. I have the data." She said, standing slightly ahead of him and at his side as he looked up at her. She had a small data-chip, held in her fingers as she handed it to her superior. He took it from her hand gingerly, and placed it in a small slot in his chair. The holographic field in front of him disappeared in an instant, and the image of an alien took its place. This creature was small, with purple skin that looked like it was crackling or wrinkling from the quality of the picture that was given to him. He was wearing an orange suit, with a breathing mask on his face, with an odd weapon in his hands as it looked through the holographic display. He was hunched, and from what the Illusive Man could tell, it was small. It had a large hump on its back, likely its air supply.

"Jacob said the translation EDI gave us called this an 'Uggnoy'. Basic labor force, used for overwhelming rushes and basic troop support. One or two of them are not that strong, and alone they're very fearful. But we know when they have another alien commander and there's a bigger squad of them, they have a determination among them that's quite powerful." Miranda was leaning over his chair as she pointed out the details on a data slate that was already uploaded with the data. The Illusive Man dared not look directly, but he let his perhipial version take in her breasts, blinking a few times as he focused.

"Slave caste?"

"I don't think so. Neither does Jacob or the intelligence team, either."

"A willing bodyshield?"

"In the name of their gods, yes." Miranda responded right back, the data fresh in her mind as she waved her hand to the left, the image moving quickly and out of sight, being replaced by another. This alien was hunched as well, holding what looked like a rifle in his hands as he held the look of a growl. His mouth looked like a beak, oddly shaped still, wearing only some sort of pants that came to his cloven feet, his hands holding the rifle oddly. As if it wasn't made for his hands, but still usable. His skin was brown, and it looked leathery.

"This we identified as a Kig-yar, or a Jackal. They fill a sniper role, and from the data that EDI hacked, they also serve as raiders and small teams of commandos. They have great vision, and make for great snipers, but their aggressive nature apparently does the better of them."

"What do you mean by that?" The Illusive Man asked, turning his face from the data slate to look up at Miranda. She chilled for a moment; she was still not used to the blue hint in his eyes. More and more, Miranda was getting a nagging thought in her head that the Illusive Man was becoming more and more machine than man.

"From what EDI hacked, their texts are based on religious concepts and terminology. The time it takes to decrypt, decipher, and translate the text and language leaves a lot of room for errors, especially when you're dealing with religious context." She replied, looking away as she waved her hand again, bringing up a hulking menace. Blue armor covered its massive frame, large hand-cannon in its right arm, and the other having an even bigger shield to protect itself. From what the Illusive Man could see, the armor left open spots that he could see skin, and it looked like its skin was covered in worms.

"…I can't actually pronounce their name, but the intelligence team nicknamed them 'Tanks', but I prefer 'Hunters'. They're big, and they're made to destroy. That cannon took out one of our shuttles. Lost five commandos. But, they have weak spots. Right at the end, and in their back, here." She said, her fingers making trace marks into the data pad as she made the spots apparent for him. "They're actually made up of worms, believe it or not sir." She said, pointing to the orange spots on their armor that the Illusive Man himself had already made a note of.

"They only respect battle, from what our analysis have hy---"

"Miranda, I think you can stop there." He said, looking up at her, making eye contact again, watching the woman flinch again as she stared into his cybernetic enhanced vision. "I don't need an in-depth analysis of philosophy at this point that I can study later in full detail, alone. I need basics. I know this is only half of the races in this 'Holy Covenant' that these...Purifiers are a part of."

Miranda nodded, not even giving off a sigh of frustration as she moved her hand across the large display again, showing a large and ape-like creature, his face contorted in mid-snarl. The creature was covered in brown fur, its head tough-looking by appearance and its muscles very apparent from its stance, as if about to pounce.

"This is a Jiralhanae. Jacob called them Brutes. Very aggressive, very powerful, but prone to violent charges. They're special warriors, and from what EDI could give us from the hacked database, they are recent converts within the Covenant. They conflict a lot with…them." Miranda said, moving the image to bring forth another alien, this one standing upright and tall. Its helmet was golden, as well as its armor, and in its hands was an oddly-designed sword that still seemed to shimmer even in the still frame that the holographic display showed him. It had an upper jaw and head, but its lower jaw was quadrupled-hinged, and its legs gave it a look that the Illusive Man could only describe as 'bird like'.

"These are the Sangheili, the military commanders, the military shock troopers, and probably the most fervent of the Covenant. They show a sense of duty to their posts and honor that they command respect, except from the Brutes. Like I was trying to explain earlier, the Elites of the Covenant are the only ones who truly command the respect of the Hunters, compared to the rest of the races." She said, but the Illusive Man raised his hand, his index finger pointing to the sky.

"From now on, call them Elites. It will make it easier for me to keep track of. We have those Grunts, the Jackals, the Hunters, and the Brutes you showed me earlier, apart from the Elites here. Who are we missing?"

"The Prophets. That was the name the database gave us." She said, folding her hands over her chest. "Unfortunately, the team didn't make it that far before they were wiped out by a team of Elites." She said, turning her head towards the display in front of the two of them, as it decreased from view and replaced by the Milky Way again, now showing the sectors of control among the various alien races.

"We still don't have a motive, Miranda."

"Now we do." She said, placing another computing chip into another slot on the Illusive Man's chair, and this brought up a new picture that made the Illusive Man stop breathing for a moment, a fear rushing into his spine.

He could see the back expose of a Brute, what looked like an explosive round tore out a chunk of his back, but within the Brute's back was machinery, in an odd formation and colored blue and black, various wires and tubing throughout the creature. It was indoctrinated, or at least this alien was.

"Shepard was right again. The Reapers." The Illusive Man stood up and turned his head back towards the female Cerberus commando, the notion of her beauty and her seductiveness completely eradicated for the moment as he stood tall, as if he was the ruler of humanity.

"Get me a direct line to Admiral Hackett. I don't care if he's on his ship, if he's on Earth or if he's in some sort of classified meeting. Get him immediately." He ordered, his normal tone of calmness and a hint of flirty suggestion that he carried in his voice gone. It was replaced by a hardness as he watched her nod and walk away, leaving him to the display of the Brute. He moved his hand, and the Brute did as well, disappearing and replaced by the Galaxy. He would need to clamp down on the Covenant; no more would any race help the Reapers, not on his time. Not when they could be a true enemy of Humanity.

He turned around and grabbed his glass of alcohol, and he gulped all that was left.

      Arcturus Station was normally comparable to a particularly busy insect hive in levels of activity, but today, the activity had a particularly urgent overtone. Voices were raised in agitation, officers barked orders at enlisted personnel, and computers all beeped in the background with vaguely wheedling tones.
      Through it all, one man stood in the center of the command center like a blue-clad, cadaverous eye of calm at the center of a hurricane: Admiral Hackett, commander of the System Alliance Navy's 5th Fleet.
      At the moment, he was inhaling smoke from a somewhat cheaply made cigarette, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ops Chief, you're telling me that one of our patrols went dark over six hours ago after reporting an unidentified alien ship, and you waited until now to tell me?"
      The senior enlisted man winced at the tirade from the emaciated flag officer. "I'm sorry, Sir. The transmission was not via their FTL comm, it only just reached us---"
      Hackett waved the man down. "Alright, Ops, my apologies. Dammit, it's times like this I wish Shepard hadn't gone missing..."
      A mournful expression spread across the face of the other. "Too right, Sir. Orders?"
      "The Fleet's already massing near Earth, on my orders. I want a recon flotilla assembled here at Arcturus Station." Hackett paused to take a drag off of his cigarette. "And tell Yeoman Chambers to report to my quarters immediately."
      The Operations Chief's face had clouded at that last, but he saluted. "Aye aye, Sir."
      "Good. Dismissed."
      As the man left, Hackett turned to face the visual data that had been recovered from the wayward patrol: several sleek sheeps, all elegant rounded curves and spheres, no angles. "Analysis, do we have any data on their weapons?"
      "Coming up now, Admiral," replied the analysis section officer, flipping several buttons on his console. Before long, an image of the same ships had appeared, but with one difference. Massive beams of energy had erupted from several points amongst their hull, cutting into the Systems Alliance ships visible on the display.
      Hackett coughed up some smoke. "The hell is that? Thanix cannons? Collector tech?"
      "No Sir," replied the analysis officer. "Energy profiles match neither Turian nor Collector technology."
      "Shit," remarked Hackett, inhaling another lungful of carcinogens. "Alright, carry on. I'll be in my quarters."
      But when the Admiral had arrived in his spacious private quarters, the comforting presence of the ever-optimistic Kelly Chambers was absent, and the reason why wasn't hard to see: a hologram had blazed to life from the projector in the corner. A well-dressed man, clad in typical business attire set against a starfield, his eyes glowing blue---
      "Illusive Man," said Admiral Hackett. "I suppose I should consider myself honored."
      "You should," replied the leader of Cerberus. "Because I'm here to help you out."
      Hackett sighed, and opened the minibar next to his rack. "I think I'm gonna need some of this."
      The Illusive Man nodded. "I recommend getting some better cigarettes as well."
      The Admiral flinched as the cybernetic eyes sought him out. "Alright then, talk to me. What does the leader of the Galaxy-spanning Cerberus want with a lowly Fleet Admiral?"
      "This," said the Illusive Man.
      His image disappeared, only to be replaced by---
      "Those," rasped Hackett, "are classified images."
      "The same ones your analysts at Arcturus are currently struggling to comprehend, I imagine," replied the Illusive Man. "No need. They are indeed a new alien race, or rather a new alien coalition."
      Hackett poured himself a shot of vodka and downed it in one gulp. "Alright, then. I take it you have more than this?"
      "That is correct. I am sending you everything Cerberus has in our dossiers."
      "Sure that's a good idea? Last I remember, I still owe you for my friend Ronnie---"
      "The death of Admiral Kahoku was regrettable," interrupted the Illusive Man, "performed by renegade elements of Cerberus. Those members of the project not killed by Commander Shepard have been suitably punished."
      Hackett snorted. "I'll take your word for it. Now, why should we be concerned about these new guys? They don't seem too---"
      The Admiral abruptly stopped; the Illusive Man's image had been replaced by that of a simian creature, back torn open, exposing machinery and tubing much like that of...
      "Ah yes," murmured Hackett. "Reapers. Of course."
      The Illusive Man's face grew grim. "With technology like that, stopping the Reapers again could prove considerably harder."
      Hackett took another drag off of his cigarette, then turned to face the man he had sworn an oath to stop.
      "Ok. What can you give me?"

      Mere hours later, Alliance cruiser SSV Orizaba and her escorts blasted away from Arcturus, vectoring towards the nearby Mass Relay. On the bridge, a bearded man clad only in undress blues and ballcap bearing the serial number of the dreadnought danced his hands across the control console. "Coming up on the relay now. Course set. Ma'am?"
      Behind him, a rather severe woman in dress blues nodded. "Carry on, Mr. Moreau. I'll let Admiral Hackett know we're away."
      "Aye aye, Captain Shepard," replied the helmsman.
      "No need," rasped Hackett's voice from behind the pair. The Captain snapped to attention, the helmsman did not.
      "Admiral Hackett, Captain---"
      "Also no need for that, Hannah," said Hackett. "I know who you are. You've captained my flagship for some time now, I think we can avoid the formalities."
      A tight smile. "Yes Sir."
      "As for you, Joker, carry on. I know better than to ask a man with Vrolik's Syndrome to come to attention. Especially when he's the best damn helmsman I have."
      Lieutenant Jeff Moreau nodded. "Thanks, Admiral."
      Hackett turned to face the mother of the first human Spectre. "Captain Hannah Shepard, if you'll come aft with me..."
      "Right away, Admiral. Lieutenant Moreau, carry on."
      "Yes ma'am," replied Joker.
      The two senior officer stalked aft to the briefing room, where a man in the armor of an Alliance Marine bearing an urban camoflauge pattern waited; the N7 designator of a special forces man was emblazoned on his chest. A visor slung over his left eye provided a constant readout of data, the blue of the holographic readout making for a stark contrast with the pink scar tissue that sat where his eyebrow had once been.
      "Admiral," the man said, saluting.
      "At ease, Ops Chief," said Hackett. "Captain Shepard, this is Operations Chief Neil Daniels, my senior enlisted man."
      Daniels settled into the position, cocking his remaining eyebrow at the two officers. "Thank you, Sir."
      Hackett chuckled. "Not a problem, Ops Chief." He dug into his pocket for a cigar. "Both of you have a seat...you're probably going to want to."
      The briefing room's holoprojector flickered to life, displaying the image of the ships that had brutally attacked the patrol in the Terminus systems. Shepard sucked in a breath, and Daniels' face took on a grim expression.
      "I'm not recognizing those makes," said Shepard.
      "No reason you should," replied Hackett. "They're completely unknown...a source who wishes to stay anonymous has briefed us on the coalition of species aboard and the capabilities of those ships. They should be downloading to your omni-tools now."
      "Got it," said Shepard; Daniels merely nodded.
      The voice of Joker echoed over the briefing room's intercom: "Admiral, we're about to hit the relay."
      "Thank you, Joker. Carry on."
      "Yes Sir."
      Hackett turned to face the others. "We're hitting the relay, I'm heading up to the bridge. Captain, is my flagship ready?"
      Captain Shepard stiffened to attention. "The Orizaba is at your command, Admiral."
      The Admiral grinned. "Then let's go kick some alien ass."
      Operations Chief Daniels managed to hide a sarcastic grunt and accompanying eye-roll. Officers...
      Out loud, he said, "If you'll excuse me Admiral, I'll be prepping my Marines in case we need to do some boarding action."
      "Go ahead," said Hackett. "We'll be on the bridge."
      The three parted, the two officers stalking onto the bridge. Joker was, as always, at the helm, fingers dancing across the keyboard, grumbling. The blue-lit hulk of a mass relay loomed in the viewports.
      Hackett shot him a look. "Something wrong, son?"
      Joker shrugged. "I got used to having an AI to help me out. I miss EDI."
      "Get used to it, Joker," said Captain Shepard. "After what happened with the Hannibal program---"
      "I know, believe me. After all, it was my ship that was sent to clean it up."
      "Coming up on the relay," interrupted the navigation officer. "Lieutenant Moreau, nav is go."
      "Engines are green across the board," came the voice of the Orizaba's chief engineer, Normandy veteran Tim Adams.
      Joker nodded. "Understood. Hitting the relay in five...four...three...two...one..."
      A tendril of energy lept from the relay and snared the Orizaba, va her through infinity's door.
      Less than five seconds later, she vaulted back into realspace---practically on top of the mystery ships that Hackett had seen earlier.
      The Admiral acted quick. "Captain Shepard, sound general quarters! Gunnery, arm main guns and missile pods Alpha through November! All ships, break formation and engage at their discretion!"
      Joker's hands were once more dancing across his console, bringing the dreadnought about hard. "Admiral, enemy is charging their guns!"
      "Take evasive action as needed, Joker."
      "Aye aye, Sir!"
      The enemy flotilla hurled plasma rounds at the patrol, spearing a Fifth Fleet frigate. The frigate cut about to starboard, attempting to escape the merciless barrage, but the hostile fire somehow tracked the frigate, cutting her in half. Hackett swore. "Main guns and armed missile pods, fire!"
      Gunfire and missiles leapt from the human ships, slamming against the enemy ships, or rather---
      "Admiral! Enemy ships have some kind of shield up!" shouted the sensor officer. "Our guns are not, repeat are not penetrating!"
      "Shit," growled Hackett. "Missile pods Oscar through Zulu! Target and fire upon the enemy flagship! Lieutenant Moreau, bring us in for a run on their flag. Gunnery, standby with the main cannons!"
      Orizaba heeled about hard to port, hurtling towards the ship that appeared to be the enemy's flagship. Joker squinted at the control board, and nodded in satisfaction. "Coming up on her fast, Admiral!"
      "Gunnery, let 'em have it!"
      "All missiles fired, Admiral! Main gun firing now!"
      Thunder erupted from the Orizaba's hull, hurtling for the enemy cruiser. Fire blossomed along her hull, and cheers erupted on the Orizaba's bridge.
      Cheers that quickly stopped as the damage to the enemy crusier was made clear: none whatsoever.
      Fear had blossomed in the eyes of the bridge crew.
      Hackett swivelled on Joker. "Lieutenant Moreau, come about to two-seven-niner, set course for the mass relay."
      "Aye aye, Sir."
      Captain Shepard was the next target of Admiral Hackett, and a profound weariness had penetrated the man's voice. "Signal to all ships: retreat."
      The task force heeled about, hurtling for the relay. As the Orizaba was once more snared by blue energy, Hackett shook his head wearily. The Illusive Man had better compensate me for this.

The turian Varrian Hasker watched with a smirk as he saw his fellow Spectre on the verge of rage.

"What do you mean you're sending a team!? Two of us could do the job just fine!" The asari Spectre, Ni'alla, glared at the four Councilors of the Citadel Council, the governing body of almost all galactic races in the Galaxy. The turian Councilor glared right back at the blue-skinned alien with intensity in his eyes, the most conservative of the Councilors and the most fervent on custom and courtesy. The salarian councilor stared back with no emotion, calculating the next decision that the asari Spectre could take and how to respond in his mind. He, as Varrian say it, was the most liberal of the Council, and often sought solutions to problems that were of a peaceful nature.

Varrian knew that the most moderate, and therefore the most sought after, was the Matriarch asari Councilor who sat between the two, her steel-like eyes always accompanied by a smile more often than not. Unnerving for the turian commando, to say the least. Sitting in the office of the Spectre liaison, the Council could only communicate with them with holographic projectors than meeting them in person. They were halfway across the Citadel, and had various meetings to attend to after this little briefing.

"You said it yourself. The threat of the Purifiers is more prominent than anything else encountered, even the threat that the Collectors originally posed for us before Shepard ended that threat. That threat requires an immediate, and strong, reaction." The salarian said, speaking with the quickness that was common for the short-lived species. Varrian smiled again as he watched Ni'alla stare at the display panel, not daring to yell at the salarian councilor, the one who always showed the most interest in their team's activities.

"Now calm down, Ni'alla." The asari councilor spoke, standing upright but her smile was replaced by a neutral look as she took a glance at Varrian before looking back at the asari.

"This mission requires that you have a team. We're giving you access to a salarian STG commando, a turian shock trooper, and even a human."

This time Varrian spoke up, taking a step towards Ni'alla and the Council.

"With all due respect to the Systems Alliance, we can do just fine without a human on the team, let alone someone who isn't a Spectre."

"I agree. Surely there can be someone else." The turian councilor spoke up, his head turning towards the asari between himself and the salarian councilor. The asari instead turned her head back to the turian and spoke clearly, as if the decision had already been made and the turian was still griping about it.

"We discussed this earlier, and our decision is final. The human will accompany you. He is being evaluated for Spectre candidacy." She said, a tone that made it sound rather sorrowful than proud. Varrian understood why; Shepard was still MIA, and with the threat of the Purifiers, as they so called themselves, becoming bigger and bigger, it was getting to the point where even Varrian wished the human was still around.

He might have been crazy about the Reapers, but at least he got the job done.

"Remember, Varrian, even though Councilor Anderson is not here, he will still review this meeting. Like it or not, humanity is a Council Race, and they have an equal say in politics on the Citadel." The salarian quipped in the turian Spectre's way.

"Fine. But if the human prospect can't follow orders, I'll kick his ass." Ni'alla said, bringing a smirk, or something resembling it, to Varrian's face as he saw the asari lean over her com station and stare at each of the Councilors to make her point clear; her quick reaction stopped the turian from making another outburst at the salarian councilor.. Varrian looked over her body, smiling again as he viewed it over. She was like all asari; mono-gendered, feminine in appearance, with wavy folds of sculpted skin on her head. She had a blue tint to her skin, and with facial markings on her forehead that signified she was of a krogan and asari bonding. Her body was what made Varrian truly smiled.

Curves to die for. Typical of an asari commando.

"Good." The asari councilor said, before the turian picked up immediately.

"We'd expect no less from you, Ni'alla. Your information was sent to your private dataslates. This briefing's adjourned. " The three of them signed out at once, and left the two Spectres alone in the liaison office.

Varrian moved closer to Ni'alla and placed his hand on her shoulder, catching her attention as she looked up. That normal scowl she had seemingly adopted as a permanent facial feature was gone, replaced by a soft smile as she took her right hand and grasped it, a lover's gentle touch as she closed her eyes.

"Mmm, the one thing I like about you is how soft you are."

"Only when we're not on mission. Otherwise I'm like you. All glory, no stupidity."

"I meant your skin, but that's definitely true too." Ni'alla chuckled, turning around to look at her lover with a smile. Having one as a Spectre was dangerous because of potential information leaks, but with another Spectre, Ni'alla and Varrian found it much easier to have a relationship, especially since they worked together as a team.

It made the intra-system jumps much more interesting, to say the least.

The turian could only smile at Ni'alla's joke as he gripped her head with a soft grip, pulling her forehead towards his own, letting them touch as she brought her blue hands to his own, wrapping around them, both of them lost in the moment. Pressing foreheads together was a sign of great respect and love, usually reserved for turian family members and mates. The fact that Varrian was even spending romantic moments with her was something that she respected, let alone the degree of which he did.

A morbid thought popped into her head. She was going to miss the turian when he passed away.

"Well, we should get going." Varrian spoke with a little chuckle as he let go of her head, taking a look at the door before he turned his face back to her. She punched his chest with an even bigger grin.

"You owe me for getting me all worked up, Vee!"

"Don't worry, I plan for you to collect."The turian smirked.

Where Falcons Dared: Commitment
Date: 17 March 2010, 10:26 pm

The Fleet of Holy Purification.

The mere mention of it would have brought a look of awe on any Prophet's face, for it was one of the highest military posts to be a part of. The Minister of High Rectitude and the Preceptor of Virtue, who referred to himself as the Prophet of Purity, was the highest authority in the fleet, sitting in his hover chair as his Ship Masters gathered around his body in the massive War Room. Unlike most Prophets who commanded a position of authority in Covenant fleet operations, the Prophet of Purity was a fiery being who commanded respect like he commanded the focus of the Great Journey. Were he on High Charity, he would have no doubt become the High Prophet of the Covenant.

His feverent belief in the Great Journey, however, forced him to forget politics early in his life.

"And with the advancement of our strike ships into the blue-skinned female space, I believe we have a greater opportunity to slip into other star systems." The Jiralhanae Ship Master Cassierus reported with a dry tone in his voice, staring up at the Minister of High Rectitude. The Brute would have never considered the thought that he could be operating a fleet with a Sangheili force, but he followed the Prophet's decree flawlessly, as did his Sangheili comrade; a fact that surprised the Brute commander.
Cohesion between the two races was never on good terms since the Great Conflict.

"I agree with Cassierus' assessment of the campaign. If we continue to push into asari controlled pace, we can…"

The Prophet raised his hand as he brought his hover chair into the middle of the briefing room, staring at the Sangheili commander who spoke up.

"The heretics have divided up their fleets in separate quadrants across this line here, Mavo'Vandumee." The Prophet spoke, the star field in front of them dropping out of view before quickly being replaced by a hologram of the Milky Way Galaxy. It quickly, acting on its own will by appearance, centered on the fleet's location, near the border of asari and salarian space.

"The forces of our Holy March can move right through both roads, rather than just one." Purity spoke with a robotic tone to his voice, something that unsettled all officers who knew him personally before their discovery in dark space led them to this crusade. Only the Elites and the Hunters have refused the technology that was found when they discovered the massive ship that Purity took as his flagship wholeheartedly, saying they would lose their effectiveness and purity if they did, while the Grunts and the Jackals eagerly accepted their new gifts and implants.

The Brutes themselves were mixed. Half of them supported Purity's ambition and upgraded their bodies with enhancements and implants, and the other half did not, taking the same stance as the Hunters and the Elites. The only reason, Purity conceded, that Ship Masters Vandumee and Cassierus were doing so well together was because of that very fact; they would dare not dissent, but they were allied by similar views, something that Purity tolerated, for now. He remembered six months ago that the Brute Captain threatened to toss the Elite out of the airlock numerous times, with the Elite always reminding him that he could easily kill off his blood brothers with a blood duel. To see them together in a room not threatening each other, let alone talking outside of meetings like these, was something of a miracle.

To look at them now, they put the old view of Sangheili and Jiralhanae relations out of the window with their rather cool alliance.

"The asari here present a formidable force here, here, and here." Purity rang out, pressing a finger to a specific spot across the asari border. "But, they have a weaker force here that they share with the salarians." He spoke with the authority of command, and already all of the commanders in the room were listening as he brought up the view closer, the section of space represented by a t-shaped border, its lines not straight as green and blue squares stood on the opposite lines, waiting for anything to go wrong.

"The salarians rely on the now-overstretched turian fleet for protection within their borders. This force at the gates to their own controlled space is not enough to stop a small squadron of our Holy Fleet. Vandumee, Cassierus, you will take your fleet elements and attack this force, while our other fleet commanders will force our campaign further into the Gaze of Infinity." Purity spoke dryly, as if the campaign in question was like flickering a dice across a table for no apparent reason. Mavo and Cassierus nodded with respect as they immediately left the campaign room on board their Holy Prophet's flagship.

Mavo walked close to the Jiralhanae, almost shoulder to shoulder as they walked close to the hallway, not saying a word to each other, or indeed anyone else as they then entered an elevator. Mavo pressed down on one button, the rudimentary keys odd for his thumb to press down on, but then again, so was this ship.

Mavo'Vandumee was one of the older Ship Masters, a venerable creature of destiny and war, the two ideals of a predetermined fate and glory among battle. He wore the armor of an Sangheili Zealot; the golden color reflective of his station as one of the higher leaders in the Fleet of Holy Purification. He was taller than most Sangheili by half a foot, and there were numerous scars across his face and body. His eyes, however, were not like the rest of his species' at all; they were cyan, a birth defect in his mind from radiation poisoning as a child from an accidental Slipspace rupture in the core of his first ship posting. Not only that, but they were bright, almost the color and the intensity of the sun around his colony world.

Cassierus, by contrast, was normal in every way for a Chieftain of the Jiralhanae. He was old, but the right age to be a Chieftain of his clan; white fur covered his body, the skin of his jowl was light and his eyes were nothing out of the ordinary. Cassierus, however, displayed a more understanding and rather 'intelligent' mind that Mavo respected. Every battle, Mavo was surprised on how Cassierus possessed tactics and understanding of battle. Too often, Mavo noted, the other Jiralhanae commanders would often resort to rush tactics and charges, but Cassierus would always find another way, not wanting to sacrifice his brood warriors.

"This ship…" Cassierus spoke out loud, staring around the elevator, his massive hands flexing and releasing, his eyes searching the air around him. "It is unnerving. Unpure."

"If our Prophet wishes to use its mighty power against our enemies, then that is his prerogative. We are not worthy enough to question his position…" The Sangheili Zealot replied, staring straight before he slowly turned his head to look at his fellow Ship Master. "…openly. And to do so is heresy unless the Fleet Masters agree with that supposition."

"But don't you feel it? That feeling…at the back of my mind…it's telling me to obey, but it's too alien, too foreign…" Cassierus began to speak again, a hand going to the back of his head, as if touching it would remove the noise that was attempting to control his thoughts. The Zealot nodded.

"I feel it too. I noticed its presence after Purity became one with the central bridge of the vessel…He called it Absolution. And then when he melded his body to its ancient machines, I saw our Holy Prophet. He changed." The Brute noted, the elevator door opening right to the Hanger bay of the large vessel. They did not care to look at the ancient and often-unsuitable walkways and decks and walls that populated the ship; they concentrated purely on the vessels that would take them to their prospective vessels.

"I understand that we'll attempt another simple pressing attack then, Ship Master Vandumee?"

"Their ships and tactics of the salarian fleet suggest that a simple and straightforward approach will decimate their fleet with little to no losses."

The Jiralhanae laughed.

"We shall see. No battle plan ever holds up in the face of action." The Ship Master laughed and entered his vessel, allowing the Sangheili to fold his mandibles in something that resembled a smile. Maybe the Brute should have been an Sangheili.

The Ship Master entered his vessel and departed Absolution, and the thought of control and asserted loyalty wavered the farther away Mavo distanced himself from Purity's new toy.

He noted that. Information like that was key to his plan.

      Admiral Hackett halted at the door to the human embassy on the Citadel, Ops Chief Daniels at his side. "Never thought I'd be coming here."
      The brutally scarred Marine shot a glance at his commander. "How so, Sir?"
      Hackett grinned. "Good as I may be at politics, I'm far more comfortable with deckplates under my feet."
      Daniels nodded. "Copy that, Sir."
      The door slid open, revealing a dark-skinned man looking somewhat uncomfortable in his Councilor's tunic. He looked at Hackett, making as if to salute, but stopped himself, a somewhat bemused smile sliding over his face. "I guess you have to salute me now, Hackett."
      The Admiral grinned. "It's been a long time, David. Is this place still a no-smoking zone?"
      Former Captain David Anderson chuckled. "Udina's been out for a while, Hackett. Consider the smoking lamp lit."
      Grinning, Hackett removed a single cigarette from a tunic pocket. "Much appreciated...Councilor."
      "Don't start that with me," said Anderson, motioning for Hackett to follow him into his office. "You know I wish that Shepard hadn't recommended me for this blasted office."
      Ops Chief Daniels, lurking behind the flag officer and ex-Captain, abruptly spoke up. "Maybe so, but it's good to have a politician who knows what it is the military has to go through."
      That brought a small smile to Anderson's face. "Point taken, Operations Chief. Now, Admiral Hackett, what can I do for you?"
      "You've heard of the unknown ships we've run into?" asked Hackett.
      Anderson's face clouded. "Yes, I have. Very unsettling ones, of invincible vessels with new weaponry the likes of which we've never seen."
      "Consider the rumors true," replied Hackett, taking a drag off of his cigarette. "They annihilated my scout fleet and the recon patrol I took after them fared only slightly better. Also..."
      "It gets worse, I take it?"
      "Much worse. Ops Chief?"
      Daniels stepped forward, activating his omni-tool. The most troubling image donated from the Illusive Man sprang to life, that of a simian alien with its back sliced open, revealing tubing and alien machinery within.
      Anderson inhaled sharply. "That does not look good. I've never seen a species like that..."
      "Nor does the tech inside it, Councilor," put in Hackett. "Take a look."
      "Dammit," said Anderson. "Reapers."
      "Now you know why the Council needs to know," Hacket rasped.
      "They already know about these 'Purifiers'," said Anderson. "But this Reaper tech throws the problem into a whole new light."
      Hackett nodded. "Agreed; it ought to galvanize them into---"
      "They've already sent a Spectre team to deal with it," interrupted Anderson. "And throwing in the Reapers is going to damage humanity's credibility even further."
      The flag officer stared in disbelief at his former subordinate. "Politics from you, David?"
      "I like it as much as you do," bit out Anderson. "But the position Shepard has gained for us could be lost if we gain a reputation as the nutballs of the galaxy."
      "And we could all lose our lives if a Reaper plot is allowed to come to fruition!" barked Hackett. "David, you know how important this is---"
      Anderson waved down Hackett. "I know...I know...dammit. Alright. I'll get you an audience."
      "Thank you, David."

***

      Hackett stood at parade rest in front of the triple holoprojectors on the balcony of the human embassy overlooking the Presidium, wondering whether or not Anderson's request had been blown off. At his side, Anderson shot him a look. "You all right?"
      "I don't much like it when the rulers of the galaxy see fit to blow me off," came the snide reply.
      Anderson cocked an eyebrow. "I think they heard you."
      Three holos had crackled to life from their projectors: a Turian, an Asari, and a Salarian, all three of whom had never seen fit to make their names known to humanity despite their supreme power. From the calm Asari to the angry Turian to the somewhat frenetic Salarian, each one radiated the aura of sheer, unadulterated power.
      The Citadel Council.
      Hackett stiffened to attention. "Councilors, it's an hono---"
      The Turian waved him down. "Spare us the pleasantries, Admiral," he all but spat. "What do you have to bring to us?"
      A glance at Anderson's showed Hackett that his former subordinate's face was grim; clearly this was standard operating procedure for the Turian.
      "Very well, then, Councilor," rasped Hackett. "You want me to be blunt, very well. Ops Chief?"
      From his position just off of the holo's pickup field, Daniels advanced up to Hackett's side. A brief nod to the council was his only greeting, then he activated his omni tool, displaying the image of the simian alien with Reaper technology implanted into it.
      Hackett had expected at least a sharp intake of breath from the Salarian at least. He was unfortunately disappointed.
      "We already have images of the Purifiers, Admiral, courtesy of the Salarian naval group annihilated by them," said the Turian. "If that's what you came here to show us, I'm afraid you're late to the game."
      "Evidently, seeing as how you've named them without informing the Alliance," Hackett replied. "But that's not the important part. Take a look at its back."
      "So it's a cyborg," sneered the Turian, waving his hadns dismissively. "If you're suggesting that just because an alien species has a bit of metal in it that it requires the full attention of the---"
      "Look at the tech, Councilor. Doen't it look familiar?"
      The Salarian, predictably, got it first. "That looks quite similar to the technology used in the creation of Husks."
      "Yes," said Hackett.
      "Which means," put in Anderson, speaking up for the first time. "That we might have another Reaper situation on our hands."
      The Council remained silent, then:
      "I give up!" exclaimed the Turian Councilor. "I just plain give up! Every time something happens with you humans, its Reapers," this last was punctuated by the somewhat human gesture of air quotes. The effect was slightly lost due to the fact the Turian could only use one finger. "Reapers this, Reapers that, Reapers Reapers Reapers. By the gods, I hear the words Reapers one more time---"
      "Thank you, Councilor," interrupted the Asari Councilor. "Councilor Anderson, Admiral Hackett, do you have anything else that proves the involvement of the Reapers?"
      Hackett gaped. "What more do you need? That's a Purifier who's been indoctrinated by Reaper nano-tech!"
      "Or the Purifiers could be cyborgs," the Turian Councilor derisively replied. "I see no reason to suspect Reaper involvement."
      "But I do," said the Salarian. "Admiral, I am going to request that a Special Tasks Group company be dispatched to aid the Fifth Fleet in confirming Reaper presence. Your Marines have worked with us before, yes?"
      The other four members of the conference blinked at the unexpected support of the Salarian Councilor. "Well," began Hackett.
      Operations Chief Daniels unexpectedly stepped forward. "Councilors, I've worked with members of the STGs in the past. I would be honored to have them aid my devil dogs."
      "It is decided then!" said the Salarian. "Admiral, I will forward the unit's dossier to you immediately. This session is concluded."
      And with that, the Salarian Councilor deactivated the holofeed; the surprise of the Turian and Asari before their images vanished was palpable.
      Hackett shot a glance at his senior enlisted man. "You never told me you worked with the STGs, Ops."
      That earned him a rare grim smile from Daniels. "This would've been a lot worse if I hadn't Sir," he said, pointing to his forehead. Hackett had to peer past the mismatched eyes and network of scars to see the one the veteran NCO was indicating. "That officer Commander Solus really saved my skin there."
      Anderson nodded his approval. "An STG team helped Shepard on Virmire. I'm frankly just surprised the Council is helping us out to begin with."
      "That Salarian seems to be the voice of reason," said Hackett, taking a drag off of his cigarette. "Good to hear he's on our side."
      Daniels nodded. "Yes Sir. Shall we return to Orizaba?"
      "Let's move Ops Chief. See to it we're ready to depart when I arrive---officer business here, I'm afraid."
      The Marine saluted and departed, leaving Anderson alone with Hackett.
      "I can't give you any guidance on this, Hackett," said Anderson. "Just try not to cause a diplomatic incident."
      Hacket nodded. "I'll try, Dave. I'll try."

Ni'alla growled as she woke up.

The turian's warmth left her as she pushed herself off of the bed and stretched her arms, feeling a slight pain in her arms. Her eyes glanced to her forearms and legs, noticing the small claw marks and the occasional mark; she could only smile at them as she remembered the night of passion she and her turian lover had spent together before their mission. The ship they were on was heading for the salarian frontier, where elements of the salarian Home Fleet were gathered in an attempt to stop the Purifiers before they could get any further.

The troubling news was that they were attacking from multiple corridors now, with the Alliance and Turian Hegemony now engaging them near their own borders from dark space. Ni'alla read the reports before they departed on their small escort vessel Ulliar, an asari scout frigate, and the fact that even the turians were having trouble containing the threat made her worry…at least not until she was in Varrian's arms.

She took a nearby pair of combat utility fatigues and donned them quickly, underwear and all, before she donned her tight-fitting armor. She decided to remain close to the turian, opting to sit back on the bed next to the sleeping turian. She noticed how peaceful he looked when he was dreaming, the soft cooing sound he made when he was within the realm of fantasy. It made him vastly different from the asari Spectre; she hated to sleep, because every time she did she would remember all of the mates she took, all of the people she killed, and everyone that had died near or around her. It was a disease, she surmised as she gazed at the turian, something that had no cure other than death.

The turian's eyes slowly opened, and he smiled as he viewed the blue skin of his Spectre companion.

"Ugh, please don't tell me we're there already."

"No, we still have about half an hour according to the clock." She said, her hand pointing to the clock on the nearby work desk. The turian groaned as he slowly stretched his back, yawning almost as he stared up at the asari.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

Ni'alla rolled her eyes and shoved the turian back down with her hand, smiling and chuckling. "Stop it. We both know it's great. You got fifteen minutes to get dressed before we head down to the cafeteria. I'm starving." Ni'alla almost laughed out, watching as the turian groaned some more as he stepped out of bed, naked and without a care in the Galaxy. He walked slowly, wincing, as if last night's foray tore muscles deep in his body as he gathered his under-suit clothing, putting the one-piece bodysuit on before gingerly attaching his armor on, the black and red colors bright and yet dangerous.

Just like Varrian himself.

Ni'alla stood up and walked out of the room with the turian, passing a few salarians and asari crewmembers as they busily went about their day. She made sure to not walk too close to the turian, but it was harder to keep that distance as they had to walk down increasingly busy hallways. As they walked, Varrian began to ask questions.

"How are we meeting our three support specialists?"

"On the salarian dreadnought Star of Sarlia. The asari commando and the turian shock trooper will be there to greet us, but the human will arrive by means of an Alliance frigate."

"Of course. You would expect the human to…"

Ni'alla turned around and stopped, the turian bumping into her and looking down.

"What?"

"Varrian, why do you hate the human race? They have done nothing wrong to warrant this kind of open hostility from you, especially about Councilor Anderson…you know, it's your political views, not mine. Just give the human a chance and keep your anti-human thoughts to yourself for the mission. Can you do that?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest as she looked up at her closest friend in the galaxy. The turian opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, and instead only nodded in agreement.

"Good."

Ni'alla turned around and took another step forward before the intercom blasted across the ship. "All hands, this is Captain Seralla, report to battle stations immediately! The Purifiers are attacking the fleet outside of the Mass Gate leading to salarian border space!" She said quickly, before Ni'alla and Varrian took off on a run towards an elevator nearby, the asari quickly pressing the button for the command bridge.

When the door opened, she gasped.


---


The frigate exited the Mass Gate and immediately had to engage its shields as debris floated around it. It arched up and over a large piece of starship that belonged to the Solus Quasar, one of the salarian carriers in the fleet, half of the painted name visible as the frigate dodged it like a bullet. It barrel-rolled over another large of debris as ships around them fought in combat. As Ni'alla gasped, she could see the giant vessels that the Purifiers used for their combat fleets.

They were huge, bigger than the dreadnoughts the Council Fleets employ, and they were much more elegant in design. They were shaped like odd tear-drops, but they were curves and the design of it looked seamless. They were a regal color, their purple hue shining bright in the realm of space. Ni'alla was easily entranced, right up until the point where she saw one of the smaller ships launch a bolt of blue light, enveloping a salarian cruiser before the ship exploded in a brilliant display of color and light.

The destructive power of one of the smaller ships in the Purifier fleet jolted her out of her entranced state.

"This is the Cruiser Ma----"

The voice of the Captain of the salarian crusier disappeared as his vessel exploded.

"Activate stealth drive." Seralla commanded, sitting uncomfortably in her command chair as the battle raged around their vessel. The frigate made a sharp arc as it went to hide against the wreckage of the massive dreadnought that they originally planned to dock with.
One of the crewmembers suddenly spoke up in fear.

"We're being painted by one of the larger ships! We're locked…I can probably keep the Star of Sarlia's wreckage between us and them for about three minutes."

"That settles it then. Spectres, get to the airlock and into your armor fit for zero-g activity."

"But Captain Seralla, you don't need to throw your lives away."

"Ni'alla, you might be a Spectre, but I'm the commander of this vessel. Your mission is too important for any of us to think about our own lives." She said, adjusting her chair and activating a few subsystems as she turned her head to the Spectre. "Get out of here, and kill a few for me." She said, before devoting her attention to the battle. "Keep our starboard side against the wreckage, let's give them…"

Ni'alla and Varrian had taken off in a sprint to get to the nearest airlock, rushing forward as they took a helmet from a secured rack near the airlock door. Varrian immediately activated the door control system and opened the outer airlock door. Ni'alla threw him a small thruster pack, donning one herself via the strap system it had on its frame. They both hustled into the chamber before Varrian activated the depressurization sequence.

"Hold on." Varrian said, grabbing the asari by the waist and holding onto her as she adjusted the two-person bar system that would keep her locked against the turian. After locking her body against him, she pulled his collapsible rocket launcher off of his magnetic seal on his back, pulling it out to its full length before the door to space opened in front of them, Varrian activating his booster pack and flying off into space.

The space around the frigate, and the two Spectres, was clouded with debris and dust, the two struggling to avoid obstacles as they entered zero-gee. The space around them began to shriek by them as Varrian's boosters activated, propelling them faster and faster through the debris-filled field of stars. All around them space shook with the far-off sight of battle, the Purifier fleet decimating the salarian's ships like a knife cutting through hot butter; their massive starships moved forward towards the salarian defenses and launching blue 'balls' of plasma against their ships, washing them in starfire before they violently exploded in bright flashes. In the far off-distance, they could see the gas of the Lagoon Nebula, adding to the light of space, making the whole scene somewhat dramatic.

Suddenly, Seralla's frigate exploded.

"There goes our ride…Pla'vet, we got a Purifier ship inbound." Varrian hissed, as a small dagger-like ship approached them from far away as the turian tried to activate his boosters and place him between wreckage of the dreadnaught. Ni'alla was trying to control her breathing as she realized she was inhaling air too fast; the last thing she needed to do was pass out or use up all of her air supply. Who knows how long they would be out here, she thought to herself as Varrian turned his body so Ni'alla could properly aim with her rocket launcher, the virtual intelligence in her suit constantly adapting and tracking the ship's movement.

"Fifty miles…thirty…"

"Take the shot at the last pos…" Varrian gasped as he watched the fighter-like vessel suddenly stop in its flight path and remain stationary, shaking violently before it began to crumble, imploding in on itself before it exploded outwards, pieces of the flower flying everywhere. Ni'alla, in a flash, projected a barrier around herself and Varrian, stopping huge and small pieces of the fighter from colliding with the pair. The blue bubble of element zero energy around them shimmered and threatened to fade before the barrage of fighter debris stopped, the shield now holding strong before it stopped, Ni'alla panting, trying to regain her energy.

"What happened?!" The turian Spectre asked, knowing that the asari did not have the answer to it before he saw a reflection in space, almost unnoticeable before a space suit floated into view, beckoning him forward. The turian noticed the profile; it could be an asari, a human, or even a batarian based on the size of the person who was waving them with him. The space suit turned around and activated his boosters, flying in the debris filled space with the space man.

He followed the man for fifteen minutes, making sharp turns and gasping with each close call, Ni'alla breathing along with him. Finally, they were coming to the massive hulk of the interior of the dreadnaught Star of Sarlia, before Varrian gasped as he watched the space man approach a shimmering, nearly invisible field before it deactivated, showing the profile of an Alliance frigate. He grunted as he felt himself being pulled towards it, Ni'alla looking around left and right before she looked forward at the space suit. The savoir of the Spectres was using his hands to bring them in, the energies of element zero revolving around his hands as he brought them in closer to the ship. Varrian now could see the name of the vessel, written on the side in black paint.

He chuckled. Is this what the humans call irony?

They were both about to board the SR2 Normandy.

      "Admiral Hackett, the Salarian shuttle is coming alongside to dock."
      On the bridge of the Orizaba, Admiral Hackett extinguished his last cigarette of the day. "Very good, Captain Shepard. You have the conn. Inform Operations Chief Daniels that he's to meet me at the airlock."
      "Will do," replied Captain Hannah Shepard, saluting.
      At the helm, Lieutenant "Joker" Moreau shook his head. "Third time now I've had those guys on my ship. Every time it's been connected to something bad."
      Shepard shot him a look. "How so?"
      "Let's see, those guys on Virmire? Only alive because Kaidan sacrificed himself. Mordin Solus? Came on board because of the frigging Collectors..."
      Hackett, en route to the airlock, chuckled.
      An honor guard of Marines, Operations Chief Daniels at their head, stood at order arms next to the airlock chamber. "Tench-hut!"
      "At ease," said Hackett. "Save it for the Salarians."
      Once the honor guard had been put at ease, the squad leader sidled up next to Hackett. "Just a heads-up Sir...these guys have two modes of talking, and neither one is pleasant."
      Hackett cocked an eyebrow. "I've heard their Councilor."
      A grim smile stretched the scar tissue. "He's nothing compared to these guys."
      The airlock doors hissed as the Salarian shuttle's cofferdam connected, establishing airflow. They hissed open, revealing a group of six figures within, silouhuetted against the sharp light from the Salarian cruiser.
      "Honor guard!" barked Daniels. "Tench-hut!"
      "At ease, at ease," said the leading Salarian Clad in battle armor like the rest of his unit, albeit lacking a helmet, he projected an air of calm leadership that was quite at odds with the frenetic impression normally given off by Salarians.
      "Are you the Task Group commander?" asked Hackett.
      "Captain Kirrahe, commanding officer Jaeto Team, Special Tasks Group Regiment," was the reply.
      Hackett extended a hand. "That name sounds familiar...you were on Virmire, right?"
      The other chuckled; Hackett wasn't completely sure. "Yes, that was me and my team. Celebrity is rather unusual for a soldier like myself, accustomed to secrecy."
      "Glad to have you with us, Captain. Shepard spoke rather highly of you."
      "Indeed," replied Kirrahe, nodding. "If you could show us to the briefing room, we can show what we have for you..."

Lieutenant Commander Donald Hindley smiled as he took a step into the command deck of the Normandy SR2, the crew at full compliment and busy at their stations around them. The human turned around and took off his helmet, revealing his face to the asari and turian commando, the two of them removing their own helmets and breathing in recycled air, but abundant air nonetheless. They looked at the human with a neutral look, the both of them trying to remember as much details as possible. He had hair barely within Alliance regulations, kept in a laxed but formal style that suggested he did more than just standard combat operations, judging by the lack of facial scars normally accompanied with commandos. His eyes were nothing special; green, a dark color that didn't imply anything wrong.

"You must be Ni'alla and Varrian Hasker, of the Council." He spoke, his accent Earthside. To hear it spoken, it sounded as if he came from Earth's British Isles Protectorate, the lands that once were called Ireland and Scotland and Great Britain. As another crew member walked by the human commando, Ni'alla immediately noticed he was average in height as well. Completely average in appearance, but she remembered how effortlessly the human pulled her and Varrian into the airlock, just using his biotic powers. To pull something in from a mile away in a constant bubble was nothing too troubling, but it required a lot of concentration and effort just to maintain the connection, let alone do what the human did against the Purifier strike craft.

"You must be the human we were supposed to RV with. You're Lieutenant Commander Donald Hindley, correct?"

"One and the same, 'mam." He said, adding a hook into his small smirk as he nodded, putting his helmet under his arm as he looked at the two of them. "I apologize for not making contact sooner, but if we revealed our position to the Purifiers, we would have been lost too. Our Thanix cannon could maybe have taken out one of their frigates, nothing more."

"You still could have done something to help the salarian fleet." Varrian said coldly.

"We did. Something that will help us greatly." Donald added cryptically, gesturing with his head towards the Galaxy Map that all commanding officers of ships in the Alliance fleets operate and plan their ship movements from. As he walked, Ni'alla and Varrian took measures to understand the ship; they both recognized the logo on the panels and on the bulkheads.

"I have a question." Ni'alla said as she stared at lettering on Donald's armor.

"I have an answer." The human replied, turning his head over his shoulder and smiling. Immediately that set off a warning bell in Ni'alla's head; how could a man be so cheerful after watching a small alien fleet decimate the salarian Home Defense Fleet? She was going to ask him about what happened, why they couldn't help, but to further dwell on the battle would only make her more worried, more ancy. She looked at the N7 logo on his arm, and her mind shot a bell in her head.

"I've seen this before, but no one's ever explained what N7 stands for."

Donald looked over at his armor and made a sound that could be described as thinking. He stopped and turned around, his stance relaxed and at ease.

Another warning bell in the asari's head.

"The letter N is the designation for Alliance Special Forces, the number 7 being the level of proficiency in my profession. One being the lowest, seven being the highest. There is only six N7s in the entire Alliance; retired, missing, or active." He stated, giving her the information she requested like an encyclopedia.

"Only six?"

"Myself, Shepard, the human Councilor, two other soldiers who I should not name, and Lieutenant Verena Waetcher, who is on this ship."

"Is that why you wear it then? Because it's some sort of badge of honor? I ask because, from what it seems like, you work for Cerberus."

"Of course I work for Cerberus." He said flatly, something that made Ni'alla's eyes open wider a bit, with the turian stiffening next to her as he stared at the human.

"Cerberus was the only group that took Shepard seriously. I believe in Shepard because I served with him before he became the first human Spectre; he doesn't make up lies, or does he believes in bullshit. Whatever drove Shepard to say the real threat were the Reapers, then I trust in his opinion that the entire Galaxy is at risk. Cerberus offered employment, and I accepted, on the grounds that I only am involved in operations like these."

"You work for a known terrorist group ---"

"No, I don't Mister Hasker. I work for an institution dedicating to fighting the real threat that the Reapers pose. That objective has been sidelined due to the threat the Covenant pose." Donald spoke with a hint of excitement in his voice before he turned back around and walked, the two Spectres giving each other glances as another soldier came up to them.

This soldier was a commando, like Donald, except the noticeable difference was that the soldier was a woman. She had red hair, a soft tone that looked pretty in the light of the ship, but it was obvious by the way it was styled that she did care for it to a point, not too much style or care into it. She kept her hands behind her back, her head straight up. From what Ni'alla could tell, she was noticeably taller than Donald; most likely someone rose on another world or in space. She had azure eyes, brighter than the male Cerberus commando but not as bright as Ni'alla's eyes. She kept her hair in a layered bob; not too liberal but not too conservative concerning regulations. She had a scar that Ni'alla could see, hidden somewhat by makeup under her chin.

"You're Lieutenant Verena Waetcher?" Ni'alla asked, noticing the N7 stenciled over her right breast.

"Yes." The female replied, nodding her forehead as she held out her hand, her stance much stiffer and rather worrisome. Compared to Donald, she was acting far more normal considering the circumstances. The asari nodded and shook it.

"You're an N7 too?" Varrian asked, stating the obvious, trying to gauge her reaction. She shook her head in the affirmative.

"I'm a N7, yes." She spoke with a tone in her voice that suggested surprise, nodding as Donald stood a little closer to the group, speaking immediately before she said anything else. Ni'alla, however, continued to analyze the human female. Her accent was definitely from Earth as well, the accent suggesting she was from Germany or Austria, a much rougher sounding tone than Donald's seemingly crafted accent.

"Forgive me, but my commanding officer wishes to speak with you."Donald said, motioning for the asari and the turian to follow him into another room, a little smile on his face.
The asari still didn't trust him, or where they were…but she didn't have a choice.

---

The Illusive Man relaxed as he watched the battle between the salarians and the Covenant unfold in front of him, the projector capturing all the detail that it could for him as he used his hand on a small ball on his chair. A simple flick towards him brought the image to zoom out, showing the green squares that represented the salarian fleet try to escape before the purple colored triangles that were the Covenant made numerous flanking movements, taking out the secondary and tertiary ships that were trying to serve as command ships and direct their ships to escape the battle.

In a few short minutes, the Covenant had completely obliterated all but a handful of frigates as they escaped.

"The technology that could wipe out a fleet of that size…" He whispered to himself, zooming back in with a flick of his fingers onto the dreadnought hulk, zooming in further before a shimmer field disappeared as the Covenant vessels disappeared into 'Slipspace', as they referred it to. Simply beautiful, he thought to himself as he took a small cigarette and placed it in his mouth, removing his lighter on his chair and activating the plasma flame, lighting his cigarette before placing it on the arm of the chair. He breathed in and then slowly exhaled, the wisps of smoke seemingly circling his chair as he turned his chair around.

He was preparing to leave and conduct a trip to his private quarters when the two-way quantum entanglement based communications array activated; the field coming online in front of him. He repositioned himself to look relaxed, blinking as he stifled a yawn that was attempting to pull his jaw down to his chest. In front of him, conducting communication via real time, was the image of Jacob Taylor, the commander of the Cerberus SR2 Normandy.

"Sir." He said, folding his hands behind his back. Normally, the Illusive Man would be more than happy to be cordial and respectful, but he needed to know the details of Jacob's mission immediately.

"The operation?"

"Was a complete success, sir."

"Excellent…" He sighed, inhaling on his cigarette again before he looked at Jacob, locking eyes with the Cerberus commando.

"Is there anything else you wished to report, Captain Taylor?"

"Yes. After Commander Hindley completed the final phase of the operation, he picked up two survivors of the engagement. Two Spectres."

The Illusive Man's eyebrows arched. He had known about the team that had been assigned to somehow stop the Covenant's advance, but he had no warning of them being present at the salarian engagement. He would have to send more feelers into Council Intelligence, that much was certain.

"Are they there with you, Captain Taylor?"

"Yes." The dark-skinned Cerberus commando, who served with Commander Shepard on his mission to stop the Collectors, nodded over his shoulder before two new figures stepped alongside Jacob. One of them was an asari, and the other was a turian. Immediately, his mind began to work as they both tried to relax.

"I am N—"

"Ni'alla A'mine, daughter of Matriarch Neveria. And you are Varrian Hasker, of the colony world Lusk. Yes, I know who you two are."

"Then you have us at a disadvantage. You are…?"

He chuckled, letting one hand rest on the comfortable arm of his chair, his other raised as smoke gently flowed to one side of the room, the silent air conditioners taking the smoke as he stared at the turian.

"You may call me the Illusive Man."

Ni'alla's shoulders tightened, the turian now becoming stiffer than a rock as Taylor stood tall, like a stone giant, just looking forward as he watched the man who could be considered one of the true leaders of the human race stand up in front of the two Spectres.

"You needn't bother telling me what your mission is. I already know it." He said, using his hand to activate a seemingly hidden omni-tool, the glowing virtual display overtaking his hand as he used his free fingers on his cigarette-wielding hand to press down on a few holographic keys. The image behind him, that of the rotating galaxy and the sectors of controlled space, disappeared and was replaced by the appearance of a Covenant vessel.

"What you call the Purifiers are actually a collection of alien races, called the Covenant. You know their religion is their priority, but curiously, for a religious minded coalition of aliens, their ships and armaments are surprisingly advanced. This is attributed to over one hundred thousand years of uninterrupted evolution and technological development."

"So they are a race from the Prothean era?" Ni'alla asked, not out of historical curiosity but rather to gauge the Illusive Man's reaction, to find out what he knows and how much. Maybe he didn't know about…

"No. The archeological findings of the Council team you sent to the edge of Purifier space almost thirty years ago has no information on these. We found something better." He said, using his omni-tool to bring up another image, that of a planet that was covered in green and blue; it was a verdant garden world, but Ni'alla didn't recognize it.

"This is the planet Endless Harvest, a farm world. My specialists raided this planet's information archive. From what we pieced, we know that the original Covenant species were transplanted by a race of aliens, most likely early Protheans. This world, however, is about a year's distance from the closest Mass Gate, and this is the closet world the Covenant controlled before their expansion into the Milky Way." He said, letting that sink in before he moved back to his chair and sat down, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"…A year's away?" Varrian asked, doubting any race could survive without the network of Mass Gates that made transportation across the Galaxy instantaneous.

"Yes." He spoke with an air of seriousness, taking another puff from his cigarette before he placed it in his ashtray, flicking the ashes away as he stared at the asari.

"Wait a minute." The turian spoke up, placing an open palm up into the air as he looked at the Illusive Man.

"Why are you telling this to us? Doesn't Cerberus hate non-humans? By that extension, don't you?" The turian folded his arms across his chest, now on the edge of anger and fear as he watched the Illusive Man sharply turn his head towards him, the man so far appearing fluid and calm.

"I don't hate aliens, Mister Hasker." He said, his words venom. "I have allied myself with xenophobic groups for the purpose of tools; their extremist actions have labeled Cerberus as xenophobic, but I am not. I do not hate, nor am I prejudice to aliens. And my views about xeno-politics is not the matter of this." He said, leaning forward, his cybernetic eyes giving him an almost machine look as he stared at Ni'alla.

Even the asari could feel the skin around her spine goosebump, the strange tone in the Illusive Man's voice was enough to make her suddenly worried that she made an enemy out of the most powerful human in the Galaxy.

"And the reason I'm giving you all of this information, Mister Hasker, is because you and I are working to the same goal. The Purifiers are a threat to all of Citadel space, even to humanity. I want them dealt with, just like the Council does, wherever that be by force or by negotiation. And the first step towards any victory has already been initiated." The Illusive Man spoke with harshness at first, but when he spoke of the plan he had conducted, his words turned to a neutral tone, allowing Ni'alla to listen in more carefully, trying to understand what he was saying.

There was no need for mental supposition, however, as the Illusive Man brought up another image, this time of a Covenant ship.

"This is the Covenant Command and Control Battlecruiser Judicator Upon High, the flagship of a Sangheili-led taskforce. When it…"

"Sangheili?" The turian asked.

"The data will be given to you when I'm done speaking, Mister Hasker. When it passes through the Casabah Nebula, a device will go off that will disable it and make it drop out of Slipspace, hopefully without the rest of the Covenant fleet knowing that it is missing. The Normandy will then insert the N7 commandos into the ship itself, but with you and Spectre Ni'alla, the plan could go much more smoothly. You get your intel, we get our intel and technology, and both sides are happy."

Ni'alla shook her head.

"I don't trust the words of a stranger to a hidden plan. Sorry, Illusive Man, but I don't think we're getting involved."

"Oh trust me, Miss A'mine, you will." He said before he brought up another image, this time a much smaller ship, sleek in design but undoubtly Covenant.

"This is the Harkening Virtue, a ship that we recently captured in the Hawking Eta cluster. I will give it to the Council."

Ni'alla kept her look of shock from showing on her face. They were going to just hand them a Covenant vessel?

"Why?"

"We already have documented the tech and appropriated all non-essential systems. This is one of three that we captured, with one other going directly to the Alliance. Consider it a…gift, for the lack of a better word." He had that crooked smile, something that made Ni'alla nervous as she looked at the turian, who was gazing into her eyes and after a moment of silence, he nodded.

"…fine. We will assist on this mission."

"Jacob will fill you in on all of the details. Once the mission is completed, the ship will be delivered to the Citadel." He said, turning his chair around before he cut the connection, tired of seeing the two Spectres in front of him, instead gazing at the holographic Galaxy, leaning forward. His mind was afire with information as he remembered what they did to the Harkening Virtue; numerous detectable listening devices, much more hidden, and one of its primary weapons removed and replaced by a low-grade faux plasma device.

The ship was still powerful in its own right, but the vessel that Cerberus kept was going to be much more powerful.

And if this operation succeeded, the Illusive Man thought as he stood up from his seat and took one more inhale from his cigarette, then he would have one of the most powerful vessels in the Galaxy at his command.

      Orizaba's briefing room was built to hold a reigiment's worth of Marines and sailors, but right now it was only occupied by five people: Hackett, Shepard, Daniels, Kirrahe, and another STG trooper the captain had identified as one Commander Rentola. A holographic image hung in the air above the central table, that of a smooth-lined ship, listing badly, with several holes blasted through her side.
      Hackett reached, reflexively, for a cigarette that wasn't there. "That's a Purifier ship."
      Kirrahe nodded. "Indeed."
      Captain Shepard peered curiously at the image. "How was it disabled?"
      Commander Rentola stepped forward; his voice lent him a considerably more pessimistic air. "Turian battle group, all armed with Thanix cannons. Their numbers were enough to overwhelm the frigate's shields."
      "This is our chance, Admiral," said Kirrahe. "Get me and my team aboard that ship, and we'll be able to vastly increase what we know what we know about the Purifiers."
      "And how they're working with the Reapers..." growled Daniels, the light from the holo playing eerily against his mismatched eyes.
      That last seemed to fluster the Salarians. "Yes," said Kirrahe. "While we do trust your judgement, I can't help but hope you're wrong."
      "Can't say I blame you," said Hackett. "Where is this wreck?"
      "The Kepler Verge."
      "Captain Shepard, set course."
      "Aye aye, Sir."
      The command group dispersed from the briefing room, save for Hackett and Daniels. The senior enlisted man bore a curious look, one that on a man whose battle record didn't know could almost be called fear. "Sir, is our FTL comm open?"
      "I believe so," replied the Admiral. "Why?"
      "There's...a call...that I'd like to make, Sir."
      Hackett regarded the other with curiosity. "Go right ahead, Daniels, but don't forget opsec. I'm sure your girlfriend wants you to know where you are..."
      Daniels, who couldn't have been younger than forty, let out what might have been called a laugh. "Ha," he said, his lower-class English accent slightly thicker than normal. Emotional stress, Hackett assumed.
      "Thank you, Sir," said Daniels. "If you'll excuse me..."
      The Operations Chief left, leaving Hackett alone with the picture of the Purifier craft. To an outsider's eye, he was regarding it with the air of a man embracing the inevitable, but those who knew Hackett knew he was merely wishing he had saved his last cigarette.

The Illusive Man was furious.

How could something like this slip through his carefully connected web of feelers? How could the Council actually have information that he didn't know? Everything that he had made, all of the careful lines of intelligence, all of the numerous black operations that he had conducted, all of the assassinations and threats…he had a need to know everything in the Galaxy, or the capacity to know.
He cursed as he slammed his glass off of his chair, the simple drinking object exploding into fragments once it crashed onto the ground.

"A turian assault group did what the entire salarian Home Fleet couldn't do? I find that hard to believe, dammit! If you don't send me the coordinates in the next few minutes, you can consider your contact terminated!" He yelled before he angrily disconnected himself from his contact, pushing himself up off of his chair as he paced quickly, the need to drink almost too powerful as small little robots came from the corners of the large room he conducted the day-to-day operations of Cerberus from. His eyes had an edge to them as he stared at his wrist, activating his omni-tool as he turned his head behind him, the billionaire by day taking his eyes over at his loyal lieutenant.

Miranda looked at the leader of Cerberus with a blank look, having taking her eyes from reports, trying not to remind him of his recent fury.

"Miranda, I…I'm going to need you to assemble a team of our reservists and put a team in the before the salarians get their hands on data we don't have intelligence on." He said, making an move for the glass before realizing it wasn't there, cursing under his breath as he realized the need to drink was too much. He sighed as he rubbed his eyelids, his iris' hidden by the folds of skin as he groaned, standing upright as he shook his head.

He felt a soft gloved hand rest on his shoulder, jarring him as Miranda presented him with another glass of alcohol. By the smell and look of it, it was brandy, not the whiskey he was sipping at earlier, but it was a good enough replacement as he nodded. She had been a part of Cerberus since she was only eighteen; almost half of her life had been spent helping the Illusive Man attempt to achieve one of the biggest feats in the Galaxy, and she willingly gave her entire body and soul into it.

It was a quality that the Illusive Man respected. People with intense dedication like she displayed was something that could not be grown or bought.

"Thank you…" He said quietly, taking a sip of the brandy, licking his lips. Miranda had surprised him again; this was his favorite brandy, something of a rarity in the Galaxy as he took another sip. This even brought a crooked smile, a smile that Miranda caught.

"I know the asari crafted Tumbletwine Brandy is your favorite, sir." She said, her accent something of a rarity as well among the Galactic community, causing the Illusive Man to look over his shoulder.

"…I'm still looking, Miranda." He said, as she was walking away from him to conduct his operation, stopping her dead in her tracks as she looked over her shoulder, her waist twisting to give herself a better view of the man she had considered a father.

"What, sir?"

"Don't play dumb, Miranda. I know how much he meant to us, to you." He said, turning around to look at her himself, a honest look in his eyes as he sipped from his brandy, the robots now finally done cleaning up the glass from his earlier outburst as they scurried to their holding stations in the corner of the room.

She nodded, but the look on her face betrayed a lot more emotion, most obvious was shock.

"I thought you would be searching for assassins to find him." She spoke, the sound of venom in her voice. She remembered what Shepard told her about the Illusive Man, about how he threatened to find Shepard and make him pay for destroying the Collector Base. The Illusive Man turned his whole body around to look at his favorite commando, his cybernetic eyes glowing in the dark light of the room. His eyes always made Miranda feel uncomfortable, but somehow entranced.

"I was, and I still feel betrayed. After all we did for him, he decides to grow a conscious." He said, his voice hard as the rocks of an icy moon as he stared at her, taking steps towards her. He now stood in front of her, one hand gripping the glass a few inches from his stomach, while the other was folded under the other's elbow, looking down. "But the resources to even scrape the surface of the Collector base would be large enough where we would not be making any sort of progress on the Covenant threat." He took a sip of his alcohol as the female Cerberus officer stared, trying to keep her face neutral as the Illusive Man spoke.

"The ships we've captured were due to ships, resources, and men that would have been assigned to the Collector Base Retrieval operation. The weapons that were made were from research and development equipment and operatives who would have been assigned to the retrieval operation as well. The reason we're the foremost experts on Covenant technology, and the Covenant itself, is because we had so much resources dedicated to no specific project. In reality, the only way we're making progress against the Covenant is because of Shepard." The Illusive Man said his words with a dry, understanding tone as he took one more sip, placing his glass in Miranda's hand.

"In a way, Shepard completed his mission in a greater scope than he, or I, ever could have imagined." The Illusive Man watched as the Cerberus operative kept her neutral expression now, determined not to let her face slip again like it did moments prior, refilling the Illusive Man's glass and handing it to him. Her eyes looked back into his blue, shimmering eyes. It was too inhuman; the brightness of them and the cybernetic clues made him look more machine than man, but as far as she knew, he was merely the ultimate pinnacle of machine and man. Her continual updates from the doctors that operated on him showed he was always more human than machine, never wanting to cross the threshold.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I know how close you two were. But I know how important this is, as well. That's why I accepted you back into Cerberus. Don't abuse my trust again, Miranda." He said, this time giving her a cold stare before he blinked, wiping the harsh look away as a soft smile appearing across his lip. "I have too much faith in you." He was standing so close to her, she could feel his warmth, and it was intoxicating. He seemingly caught himself, taking a step back before he turned his back to her and walked towards his chair, sitting down and placing his newly refilled glass on the arm of the chair.

"You have your orders, Miss Lawson. Make me proud." He said before his chair turned around, his back now to her.

"Yes, sir." She said with resolution, her tone now completely different. It was something that had loyalty stamped across the surface of her voice, before she turned around and walked out of the room, flooding the normally dark room with light before it closed, the Illusive Man now only illuminated by the holographic display of the Galaxy. He sat down in his comfortable seat and folded one leg over the other, staring at the Galaxy.

Perhaps, they just might win.

Perhaps, he just might win.

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