A/N: Sorry for the long wait, readers. Besides working on this little side project, a ME Self-Insert fanfic called A World Known, I've also been dealing with a lot of real life issues. I'm sure everyone can understand the real world always takes priority, but I still never like having to delay something I planned on releasing sooner. Anyways, if you would be as so kind to forgive me, please enjoy the next chapter in The Hunt!

A/N #2: From this moment on, I will be saving a space below the Index/Codex at the end of the chapter for interactions with reviews. With this I can stay in touch with readers and answer any questions that might not otherwise be answered in the story. So please, don't mind giving my story a review! Whether it be good or bad, I won't mind! :D

Chapter 4

Crossroads

The eerie laconism that seemed to engulf the settlement put even Shepard on edge. Only the feint whistling of blowing wind and the occasional footsteps of his marines ever dared to echo through the dark alleyways and abandoned facilities. Even the sounds of distant gunfire in the backdrop had died out long before they arrived. Scorch marks, bullet holes, a few collapsed buildings, and burning vehicles littered the otherwise vacant streets, giving proof to the fact that the location had indeed been the site of a serious battleground. Even after having traveled deep into the center of the town, however, the commander and his small team had not yet seen a single body, whether it be synthetic or organic. Nor had they encountered any active Geth since those they fought earlier on the cliff side two kilometers away to the Southeast. It was incredibly suspicious and nerve racking to say the least and Shepard's paranoia was skyrocketing. He fully expected to run into a well-set trap any minute now.

"We're in the middle of goddamn ambush alley," weakly cried the feminine voice of one of the five marines stacked up on the wall behind him. "We need to get out of here, sir!"

The commander turned his gaze to see it was the second one down from him, Private First Class Mariana Rodriguez. However, before he could tell her to keep quiet and stay focused, Jackson, the marine behind her, beat him to it with a hard elbow to her arm. "Shut up! You're gonna get us killed saying that kind of crap!"

Rodriquez snarled at the Lance Corporal with a Hispanic accent. "Go to hell!"

"I don't have Spanish in my translator, Consuela!" That statement caught the attention of the other four marines without much difficulty, for both the comical mockery and the lack of a Spanish translation program in Jackson's omnitool. He noticed them all stare at him with curious expressions through their helmet visors. "What? Every human who matters speaks English or Chinese, and I got thousands of other alien languages and dialects to worry about."

Shepard nearly had to suppress a smile as he returned his gaze forward. If Jackson knew how to do something well, it was how to bring humor to otherwise dark circumstances. Even if it did temporarily distract people from the mission. Damn idiots, I swear. "That's enough, you two. Lock it up and keep watching your sectors."

"Aye, sir," replied the two marines in unison.

As the group steadily moved onward towards the corner of the next housing prefab, Rodriquez continued to bitterly mumble to herself while Jackson smiled stupidly for his partial victory over the PFC. The commander, no longer tolerating the childish behavior, hastily turned around to send a deathly glare. It quickly put the two of them back on track by the time he stopped within a few feet of the end of the structure. Now returning his mindset to the situation at hand, he aimed his rifle to the right and scanned across the t-intersection. Once comfortable with the lack of any visible activity, he brought his rifle back to his front and just barely poked it out of the corner. He then leaned outward as he checked around to the left with a practiced precision while the marine to his back, Corporal Kennedy, continued to scan the area across the street at a seventy-degree angle. Rodriquez kept her M-8 focused on the second story windows directly perpendicular of their position as Jackson watched the ground levels in the same direction. The second to last marine, who was the Australian-accented woman from earlier, and Corspman Alenko were both watching the rear angles of the stacked formation. "Left clear."

"Right clear," Kennedy informed.

"Kennedy, go."

"Bounding," the Irishman said as he pushed himself to a sprint. Once he ran the two dozen yards to the opposite side of the paved road and into an alley between two more prefabs, he planted himself on the wall and raised his rifle back up to cover Shepard's right. "Set!"

"Rodriquez, go."

"Bounding!" The female marine made sure to jump over a street lamp that had collapsed over the asphalt as she dashed across the road. When she was only about halfway, a single slug suddenly cut through the air with the ear-piercing CRACK of its bullet bow wave. It hit and shattered her shields instantly, the force of the impact shoving her to the side and slamming her into the skeleton of a blown up aircar. Both Shepard and Kennedy retreated several yards to their backs in response to the event.

"Sniper," the corporal yelled from across the street. "I didn't see a muzzle flash!"

The commander motioned his hand as if he were patting the air. "Stay down!" He looked over to where the PFC was laying on the ground in the middle of the street ‒ a small space between the metal pole of the fallen lamp to her left and the aircar wreck to her right ‒ and noticed she began moving. The round had fortunately missed her actual body. "Rodriquez! Stay down!"

She apparently had no idea how she fell to the floor and groggily attempted to push herself up. "What the he-" Another bullet abruptly cut her off, barely missing the top of the lamp pole and causing her to drop back down to the ground face first with her hands over the back of her head. "Fuck!"

"I said stay the hell down!" Shepard looked up to Kennedy. "You see anything that time?"

"Negative!"

"Shit." There was now only one viable way to find the position of the hidden sniper and, as always, he did not like having to resort to the option. Dealing with marksmen was, more often than not, a very dangerous game of luck. The only moment a truly skilled shooter would ever take a shot was if they believed they were guaranteed a solid hit. And that meant the only way to get them to shoot was by giving them something, or someone, to shoot at. "You." Shepard pointed to the Australian-accented marine. "What's your name again?" He did not want to admit it, but he was never very good at remembering names ‒ of those who were still alive ‒ and he had not personally spent enough time on the Normandy to memorize those of all of his marines.

The woman lowered her weapon and walked up to him. "Corporal Evie Robinson, sir!"

"Alright, Robinson. How fast are you?"

"I was a front runner on my high school's track team, but..." She paused for a moment in hesitation. "That was high school."

"You're small, light, and have track experience. That's more than enough." Shepard paid no mind to the slight grimace she had at the mention of her short height, which must have been no taller than 5'2". "When I tell you to 'go', you move your ass as fast as you can across the street and do not stop to help Rodriguez. Understood?"

Robinson moved off the wall and positioned herself in a running stance to prepare for the sprint. "Understood, sir."

"Good." The commander began inching himself closer to the corner of the wall until just before the tip of his rifle peaked out. Once he stopped, he turned to the female marine and nodded. "Go!"

Clearly remembering much more about her days in track than she would likely admit, Robinson practically launched into the road with the speed of a trained runner. "Bounding!" At the exact moment she passed him, Shepard leaned out and peered down the road to the left with his rifle's built-in scope. Kennedy did the same across the street, but instead looked to the commander's right. Not a half-second later did a slug shoot by with its supersonic CRACK accompanied by a slightly softer zip, meaning the round had passed a few meters away from Shepard's ears. Robinson kept on running as if she did not even mind getting shot at, completely ignoring Rodriguez's pleas for help when she ran by. It almost seemed as if she would make it all the way across too, until a second bullet shattered her shields and punctured her thigh when she was just a few yards away from the end. With a loud, painful yelp, she stumbled onto the floor at Kennedy's feet and had to be quickly hauled the rest of the way by the man. "SET," she angrily yelled out through clenched teeth.

Shepard managed to lean back into cover before another round, this one aimed at him, hit the edge of the corner, spraying his helmet with relatively harmless metal shrapnel. "I got a muzzle flash! Sniper's holding up in an observation tower about a klick to the West." And that meant the marksman's location was virtually right on top of the excavation site.

Jackson shifted over to the commander's side, still aiming his M-76 at the buildings across the street to their perpendicular. "We can call in the Normandy for some CAS."

"Negative," Shepard said with a disagreeing shake of his head. "If that's the dig site, we can't risk hitting the beacon."

"Then what do you suggest we do, sir?"

He spent a moment in deep thought before answering. "Pop smokes, then I'll radio in Team Two and see if Kurokawa can line up a shot. If not..." he shrugged. "We'll have to deal with it when we get closer."

—

Corporal Foster stared upon the dozen metal spikes, all lined up along the front yard of the residential colony prefab, with a dreadful disgust and growing nausea. Atop each was a single Human being, skewered through the chest and hanging at least ten to fifteen yards in the air. Their blood oozed down the chrome-colored metal in gallons, forming large puddles of red beneath the devices' pedestals. Some of the corpses' faces had frozen in shock and pain after their deaths; evidence that the victims were still alive and conscious when their Geth capturers herded them to the slaughter. There were men, women... even children among the dead. "They even killed the kids, Sergeant. The fucking kids!"

Kurokawa could not bring himself to look at the sight any longer. He turned himself away and practically threw the helmet off his head for a fresh breath, but soon learned it was to be a poor idea. The smell of death and decay had long filled the air, causing him to gag horridly. "This... this isn't right."

"It's evil ‒ that's what it is." Staff Sergeant Petrovka's eyes were burning with a sour animosity as his gaze roamed over every corpse. His heart, however, nearly stopped in his chest when he saw the last one on the left. The small face and petite figure impaled before him was a little too much to bare. "Bastards..." he whispered in translated Russian before returning to English. "We need to keep moving and mourn the dead later. Right now..." He turned around to face his small element of five marines. "We make those sons of bitches pay."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams nodded in eager agreement as she flipped the safety off of her 'new' M-8. "I'm ready to get some payback whenever you are." Though she was of a superior rank to Petrovka, Commander Shepard had ordered she follow under the command of the staff sergeant. It was an abnormal order to say the least, but she understood where he was coming from. Or least she tried to. She wanted to believe it was simply because the marines next to her were Petrovka's marines. They already had a certain level of trust, understanding, and cooperation in their team. They were also Recon, which made them an almost stereotypically... strange group of people. She, for now, wanted to believe it was not because of who she was ‒ a Williams. Keeping a mindset like that tended to make following such commands much easier.

"Team One to Team Two," abruptly came Shepard's voice over Petrovka's communicator. "We're pinned down over here by enemy sniper fire. Is Echo-Five-Kilo available for support?"

The staff sergeant immediately turned his attention to his radio. "Roger that, Team One." He pointed at Kurokawa, who had already put his helmet back on, and motioned his fingers for the sergeant to approach. "What's the location of the sniper?"

"One klick West-Southwest of your position. Target is held up on the top of a ten-story observation tower near the dig site. How copy?"

"Solid copy. Team Two will need one mic to get eyes on."

"Roger. Team One, out."

"Shepard and Team One are pinned down by a sniper," the staff sergeant declared for his marines to hear. "Kurokawa. Once we clear out this building, see if you can get a visual on the observation tower way out there about a kilometer to the West. That's where the shooter's holding up." The sergeant gave a simple, but firm nod. "Everyone else, stack up on me." A round of more nods and acknowledgements came from the other team members as they followed him to the front entrance of the nearest two-story prefab. With him on point, they lined up along the wall to the left side of the closed door and, one by one, quickly gave verbal call outs that they were set. When the last marine was in place, he gave a reaffirming nod to those behind him and raised his hand for a three-fingered countdown.

On the last finger, Petrovka opened the electronic sliding door with a fist to its holographic control panel. Instead of instantly entering the prefab, however, Williams walked around him instead and took the first steps inside. "Going right!"

"Going left," the staff sergeant then said, following behind the woman.

At that moment, everything that had been taught in MOUT training came rushing back for the marines like it was second-hand nature. It had long been drilled it into them to the point of it becoming instinct, just as it did for every other active marine serving in the Corps. Breaching had become a methodical procedure they excelled at and it showed when the team of six moved from room to room, clearing out the living area and kitchen of the first floor as if it was routine. They moved close along the walls, rifles up and ready at all times as they individually kept watch over their own window, door, or corner. The last marine would 'pull security' and focus on the last door the team entered through after closing it from the inside. "Right clear," Williams would declare loudly once a room was successfully breached.

Petrovka would proceed soon afterwards with "Left clear," followed shortly by a "Room clear." If there was any detail within the particular room they were in that was deemed important enough, such as a new unexplored doorway, they would call it out as a warning for those behind them. In the last room on the first floor, Petrovka immediately took notice of the staircase leading to the second level. "Stairs on the left."

"Roger, going up." Williams took point at the bottom of the stairs and, with the others stacked up tightly behind her, began slowly proceeding up step by step. At the top of the stairs was a left turn leading into a long hallway that stretched the length of the structure. When the gunnery sergeant turned the corner, she stopped in place and lifted her open left hand up, silently telling the marines at her back to halt. "Staff Sergeant, I got a Geth body on the opposite end of the hall," she whispered.

"Is it still active?"

She lightly shrugged. "I can't tell. The flashlight isn't on, but it doesn't look too badly damaged from here."

"Then keep going." Petrovka patted her left shoulder a couple times. "But slowly and quietly, and don't take your sights off it."

"Aye, aye." Williams acknowledged the order with a nod. "Moving." The hallway ahead had a total of three doors, all on the left side. Unlike the floor below, the hall was nearly entirely dark due to a complete lack of working lighting fixtures on the ceiling. The only limited form of illumination came from the meager amount of sunlight that glimmered through the open door at the end. "Set," she softly declared when she reached the first door. Petrovka again tapped her shoulder two times, signifying he was ready to breach. In response, she opened the door, aimed her rifle inside, and rushed in to the right without a word. "Right clear."

"Left clear." The staff sergeant, who had followed Williams in, took only a moment to scan over the furniture accessories and king-sized bed of the bedroom before turning back to the door. At the same time, he heard the voices of two other marines breach and clear the second room. "Two marines exiting."

"Exit," said Kurokawa from out in the hallway.

When Williams took her first steps back out, her attention, and that of the others near her, was instantly caught by the sudden yelp a marine from down the hall. She instinctively lifted her rifle in the direction of the noise, expecting an immediate threat in need of being eliminated. She instead, however, found Foster standing over the body of the Geth. And aiming his weapon at its now glowing head. "Hey! This thing is still alive, or... whatever! Its damn flashlight is on!"

"Hold your fire," Petrovka commanded before the corporal could pull the trigger. He speed-walked down the hall and pushed the barrel of the other man's rifle towards the ground. "Look at it. It can't move anything below the head."

Foster had a nervous and, quite frankly, terrified look on his face as he looked over the disabled Geth again. His tension noticeably eased up a bit when he took notice of the bullet hole that cut through the synthetic's neck, the occasional sparks of electricity that would burst from within every second or so giving proof of the machine's broken 'nervous system'. After a few deep breathes, he lifted his finger off his rifle's trigger with a faint, nervous laugh. "Yeah, guess you're right." In an attempt to instill some more confidence in himself, the corporal kicked the body of the Geth. When the synthetic seemed to shriek in a noise comparable to a garbled clicking with interfering static, however, Foster very nearly jumped back into the wall behind him. "Fuck me! Why can't we just shoot it?" His rifle was once again aimed at the Geth's head.

"Because I said no, Corporal." The staff sergeant practically shoved the marine to the side. "That's an order!"

Williams cautiously walked up to the two men. Rifle lowered, but at the ready. "With all due respect, Staff Sergeant, I don't think it's a good idea to keep it... alive. For all we know, it might be telling the entire Geth army where we are."

Petrovka dismissed the claim with a shake of his head. "I think we'd be hearing more of those clicking noises if it was." He too kicked the synthetic's motionless body, eliciting another mechanical shriek from the machine. "No, I think its long range communicator is fried and that is why the damn thing is still here. Why else do you think we haven't seen any other Geth bodies laying around?"

The gunnery sergeant cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "So you think their salvaging their dead? Why would they do that?"

"You think I know?" The staff sergeant snorted. "I'm a marine, not an expert on robots. I'm just saying the obvious." He quickly shook his head again. "It doesn't matter right now, anyways. We still need to take out that sniper. Has this last room been cleared," he asked no one specifically with a point of his finger at the last open door.

"Affirm," confirmed Kurokawa, who had been standing next to Foster. "We were just walking out when that thing activated."

"Then unless there are more rooms, the building's all clear. Did you find a good shooting position?

The Japanese sergeant nodded. "The window in this room had a good view on that tower Team One was talking about."

"Then get on with it. I want that sniper taken out now." Petrovka turned to the remaining marines behind him when Kurokawa and Foster ran back into the last room in the hallway. "Gunny, take position in that first bedroom and keep an eye on the streets. The rest of us will pull security down on the first floor. Any questions?"

"No, Staff Sergeant," was the collective answer from all three of them.

"Good," he said matter-of-factly with a groan. "Because I'm not taking any."

—

Nihlus saw everything from deep within the shadows of the cargo terminal. His breathing slow and silent. His body unmoving in the presence of the enemy. He watched diligently as the two Geth troopers dragged the screaming Human female atop the deathly altar. And witnessed in horror the moment when the tall metal spike shot up into the air from the device and through her chest, making a blood curling cry her final moment. As the synthetics, apparently satisfied with their work, casually walked away and out of sight, the Turian dreadfully watched the crimson red blood flood out of her mouth and sickly ooze down the metal spear from the gaping hole now present in her lower chest. The fact he was a well-endowed spectre notably helped him mentally block out any emotional reaction or connection to the event he might have otherwise had, but it could not have completely stopped the nauseating and stomach churning effect the scene gave him. However, if there was any positive consequence to it all, it simply fueled his determination to finish the mission and report these blatant war crimes to the Council as soon as possible.

The weak, barely audible sound of a single footstep immediately caused the Turian to turn to the deeper shadows at his back. With the M-77 Paladin heavy pistol in his hand charged and ready to fire, he focused his aim on a turianoid figure slowly emerging from the darkness. When it finally approached close enough for the spectre to see relatively clearly, he gently lowered his weapon as an undoubtable expression of surprise and confusion crossed his face. "Saren?"

Saren Arterius, the longest serving and most highly decorated Spectre of the Citadel Council, looked coldly and emotionlessly at his fellow Turian with lightly glowing purple eyes. His 'skin' was a pale grey and he had no markings upon his body or face, indicating he was either born aboard a ship in space or had discarded his heritage completely. "Nihlus," he simply stated in his deep, unsympathetic voice.

Nihlus continued to stare questioningly at his old mentor for a few seconds. He took notice of the various tubes running along the side of Saren's armor from the left arm down to the hip, but dismissed it all as nothing more than an extensive use of cybernetics. The older Turian was always a significant user of implants and, at his current age, it made sense he would need to endure drastic procedures to keep his skills and intellect on par with his younger self. "This isn't your mission. What are you doing here?"

The older spectre walked up and placed his hand on his subordinate's side. "The council thought you could use some help on this one," he answered, attempting to sound faintly reassuring through his dispassionate demeanor. He returned his hand to his side and spoke again. "What happened to the Human soldiers I heard you were working with?"

"We separated." Nihlus very well knew of Saren's hatred for Humanity and its inherent desire for exploration and discovery. His old friend believed they lacked the same order and strength the Turian species used to control their aggressive natures and, in turn, thought of them as nothing more than a danger to galactic stability. It was a major ideological difference between the two men, but they nonetheless always respected each other as both fellow Turians and elite soldiers. However, as the younger spectre looked at the man who was once his honored teacher, something scratched as the back of his mind. Something just wasn't... right. "You know how I work better alone. So I left them behind to scout out the area." He intentionally left out the part where it had been planned for him to extensively cooperate with the Human commander. And that he knew the exact position of the surviving squad-strength group of marines.

Saren's mandibles twitched in what Turians would consider a very small smirk, though it only lasted for a split second before his face returned to a deadpan that made his old student look like the most expressive person on Palaven. "I shouldn't have expected the Humans to be equal to my former pupil." He continued walking forward until he was standing behind his fellow spectre. "It is... unfortunate-" That peaked Nihlus' curiosity. "-but predictable."

"Maybe," the younger spectre admitted. "But none of us were expecting to find the Geth here. The situation's bad."

"Don't worry," Saren said coldy. "I've got it under control."

Now Nihlus knew something was wrong ‒ the man he knew for years and considered a close friend was acting strange. As he continued to think about it, it was impossible for the Council to even know about the situation on Eden Prime due to the heavy Geth jamming, let alone have the ability to send another agent to a location on the edge of their jurisdiction so quickly. Whoever this Saren was, he was not the same person that Nihlus knew. "What is going on?" He began turning to face the Turian who claimed was his aging mentor. "You're not being..." When the younger spectre finally brought up his gaze to look at Saren, he was silenced by the end of a pistol barrel aiming at his forehead from just a couple feet away. His eyes widened and jaw dropped as a mixture of disbelief, betrayal, dread, and gloom overcame his emotions. "Why... why are you-" Nihlus was never allowed to finish when the hand cannon fired, sending a mass effect propelled slug into his head.

The scene was like a ghost town ripped straight out of a horror movie. Vehicles not destroyed from the large battle waged earlier were abandoned by their owners in the middle of the street, leaving some with their engines still active and wireless keys left inside. A few scattered aircars even had bagged groceries left to rot in the back seats or trunks. Many of the residential homes were left opened or unlocked as well, with clothes and accessories scattered on the front lawns displayed as evidence of the panic and desperation of those who once lived within the colony. The entire sight made Private First Class Riley Thompson that much more jittery as she stared up and down the wide avenue from the first floor window of the colonial prefab. She had taken off her helmet and was now fiddling around with her shoulder length dirty blonde hair in an attempt to ease her nervous sweat. "Looking at this place gives me goosebumps."

A mocking chuckle echoed from the other side of the family room. "We're in a warzone, Sister. Were you expecting leprechauns and rainbow shitting unicorns?"

Thompson shot a piercing glare at the speaker in question to the right with her sky blue eyes. "I was expecting to kill eyebag pirates, dickhead. Not fight a ground war with killer robots."

Corporal Jason Stafford turned away from his window and laid back further into the couch cushion as his laugh grew slightly louder. "Christ, you sound like a reservist." He looked down at an empty mug laying on the floor near his feet and kicked it halfway across the room. "Hey, Staff Sergeant," he called out toward the open doorway at the back of the room. "I didn't know we were this desperate for cannon fodder."

A faint chuckle came as a response from Petrovka. "Why don't you do me a favor, Stafford? Watch the front of the fucking house and make sure a clicker doesn't shoot me in the back."

The corporal returned his gaze to the shattered window in front of him before replying. "Saving egotistical foul-mouthed Russians from robotic overlords is exactly why I joined the Corps."

"Keep talking. I hear an NJP ready to knock you on your pretty little ass." Though Petrovka gave a semi-serious warning, the tone of his voice failed to mask the amusement he found out of Stafford's semantics.

"Love you, Staff Sergeant." With a large smirk on his face, the corporal looked at Thompson and whispered just loud enough for her to hear. "You think I have a 'pretty little ass' too?" He briefly lifted his thigh in a satirical pose that exposed the camouflaged jumpsuit skin of his rear-end and winked.

Thompson rolled her eyes, but could not help but smile at the other marine's intentional stupidity. "I don't know how you do it."

Stafford cocked a curious eyebrow. "Do what?"

"You know..." Her gaze shifted down to the floor as she shrugged halfheartedly. "How do you just... ignore what happened?" After about a dozen quiet seconds passed without an answer, she looked back up to see the corporal silently staring at her. Though she could only see his dark brown eyes through his visor, she could tell he was no longer smiling.

It felt like an eternity for the two marines before Stafford finally, albeit slowly, turned his head back towards the window. His previous attitude of bashful playfulness was now replaced by that of a darker somber atmosphere. "I don't," was the simple answer he provided.

Thompson watched as the man silently scanned the area in front of the prefab for the next several long moments. During the course of the laconism, it quickly became obvious he did not want to continue the conversation and, abiding by his unspoken wishes, she looked back at her own intact window without a single word. After another relatively short passage of time, the PFC took the opportunity to make a more in-depth observation of the current room she was in. Surprisingly enough, the furniture and accessories scattered throughout the living space were incredibly barebones: a coffee table in the center, a long couch stretched along the side wall facing inward, a single accompanying sofa chair ‒ which she occupied ‒, a decently sized holographic television screen on the wall opposite of the couch, and a well-crafted entertainment center made of wood native to Eden Prime standing below the TV. It was not as if everything deemed important was stripped away by the original owners when they had evacuated. The simple fact was there had not been many personal effects laying about to begin with. Something did, however, catch Thompson's complete attention. Sitting on the top of the wooden entertainment center was a small, metallic picture frame with what appeared to be a family photo. Allowing curiosity to control her, she hastily stood up and walked over to get a better look. As she reached out her free hand and picked up the vertical rectangle frame, she saw within it a photograph of an almost stereotypically average family. There was an adult man and woman, presumably husband and wife, standing behind two young kids, presumably their children, all with wide grins that gave off the impression they were the happiest group of people in the galaxy. "It's so sad," she declared out loud.

Stafford's gaze wandered around the room for a split second before it landed upon the female marine, as if he had not even realized she had walked away from her previous position. "What is?"

Thompson returned the family portrait to its original spot and slowly gestured around the room with her hand. "All of this." She paused until she was once again seated in her sofa chair. "Everything these people did to make a better life for themselves, all to be taken away and destroyed. The families torn apart and the children who will..." She almost could not bring herself to say it. "... never live life to the fullest."

A solemn silence filled the air between the two marines, neither one initially knowing what to truly say with that revelation. Eventually, however, Stafford decided to speak up. "You're a really depressing individual. Anyone ever tell you that?" Thompson shook her head in resignation and sighed, but the corporal continued before she could give a verbal response. "I think that's what I like about you, though."

It was the PFC's turn to go wide eyed and cock a surprised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "That stupidly kind and idealistic heart of yours, I think. You're so damn pure ‒ I just can't ever figure out what convinced you to enlist. And don't even get me started on why you joined Recon. We're like the marine corps version of special ed kids."

To that Thompson let loose a genuine laugh, surprising even herself. "A girl's got to have her secrets."

"You women and your secrets." Stafford shook his head with a chuckle. "All a bunch of drama queens if you ask me."

"Here we go," the female marine said jokingly as she rolled her eyes. "And men don't have secrets?"

"Of course we do! But none so bad as to start a social world war. Us men don't tend to gossip and connive like a bunch of little schoolgirls."

Thompson gasped in mock disbelief. "That is a sexist stereotype! We're not gossipers, we're master manipulators. Bending men to our will is how we thrive."

"See?!" Stafford pointed an accusing finger at her. "That right there! Everyone in the galaxy is afraid of AIs, but I'm sitting here fearing the most dangerous threat: the opposite gender."

Even Petrovka joined in on the warm laughter that ensued between the two marines. It was a sudden, but welcome change of pace from the grim reality that had been the center of attention during the course of the mission. "Alright, that's enough you two, lock it up. We're not out of the shit storm yet." As if on cue, the loud discharge of Kurokawa's sniper rifle almost immediately echoed throughout the residential prefab. A brief celebration from the two marines upstairs soon followed, proving the fact they successfully eliminated the enemy sniper. "Perfect timing," he declared a moment prior to Foster and the sergeant walking down the stairs. "I'm assuming you took out that Geth shooter?"

Kurokawa nodded with a soft, but proud smile. "Affirm, Staff Sergeant. Team One should be in the clear."

"Good shooting, Kuro. Williams," Petrovka practically yelled up to the second floor. "Rally up!" He waited for several moments until the gunnery sergeant came walking down the stairs, then turned to address those present. "All of you get your gear together and be ready to move out the second I'm done reporting to-"

The staff sergeant did not finish before he was abruptly interrupted by the sound of ruffling debris and rubble from outside. All of the marines instinctively raised their rifles toward the noise, which came from somewhere near the front of the building. In silent professionalism, they quickly took cover along the wall of the main entrance of the prefab while Stafford and Thompson vigilantly scanned the areas outside of their windows. The PFC had already put her helmet back on her head when she spoke. "See anything on your side?"

"Negative," replied Stafford. "I'm not seeing crap." His declaration was soon followed by more thrashing noises from the left, this time much closer.

Thompson, in response, slid her window open just enough to slightly stick her head out and get a better view back down the road the marines came from. The initial shock and disbelief of what she saw next caused her to lightly shake her head and squint her eyes a few times in hopes that she was not seeing correctly. However, when the sight remained unchanged, a nervous fear began to build up inside her. After she slowly inched back inside and closed the window, she turned towards her team leader. "Um, Staff Sergeant?"

"What did you see," Pretrovka inquired posthaste, having already noticed the PFC's sudden stiffness.

"The bodies..." The female marine's eyes were visibly wide and displaying early signs of panic through her helmet visor. "They're gone."

The staff sergeant just stared at her, clearly confused by her statement. "What?"

Thompson pointed a finger toward the left of the window. "Those bodies we saw impaled on the spikes? They aren't there anymore. And the spikes are, uh, smaller now."

Petrovka did not say another word as he moved to her window. When he looked outside and saw exactly what the female marine had described, he was nearly rendered speechless. "What the hell is going on," he quietly asked no one specifically. A moment later, after blankly staring at nothing particular in deep thought, he turned to the rest of his small squad to issue new orders. However, the abrupt sound of glass violently shattering from the back side of the prefab interrupted his thoughts. He and everyone else in the room reacted instantly by retrained their rifles back towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, but froze in place due to the low guttural moan that immediately followed from that direction. It was an organic, but completely unnatural noise that sent cold shivers up their spines. For several seconds afterwards, the nervous silence that filled the air was only broken by the sound of bare feet hitting against the metal floor of the building. Eventually, the cause of it all emerged from the doorway, forcing the group of marines to take a step or two back in horror.

Standing there now was something that could only be described as an abomination. It was clear how the figure must have been a Human male at some point in the past, with it having two arms, two straight legs, five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot, and a freakishly Human-looking face. Regardless, it was most definitely not Human any longer. Its naked body was now, instead, something more akin to a cybernetic construct. Synthetic materials and wiring were crudely welded and merged with the pale flesh, while cuts and open seams littered over its limbs pulsed in a purplish hue. Metal tubing stuck out of the creature's mouth and appeared to have been shoved down its throat, causing the jaw to remain permanently hanging loose. When it turned its gaze toward the group of marines with a pair of deathly blue glowing eyes, it released an animalistic growl and charged without hesitation.

The creature did not even reach halfway across the room before the marines opened fire, mowing it down like a firing squad. Once its limp corpse was sprawled on the floor, sickly green fluid gushing from the numerous bullet wounds, a long moment of uneasy silence filled the air until Stafford spoke up. "What the fuck was that?! I must be going crazy or something, because I swear we just lit up a fucking zombie!"

As if to respond to the question, a chorus of loud husky moans resonated from nearly every direction outside. Even Petrovka was not immune to the fear that managed to crawl into his soul at the very sound of it all. It was as if the prefab had become surrounded by a horde of the same unnatural creature his marines had just gunned down. Hoping that to not be the case, he walked back to Thompson's window and looked outside to find his wishes brutally crushed. At least a dozen of the vile abominations were now roaming around on the streets and heading towards the building, having likely been drawn in by the sounds of gunfire and Stafford's chatter. "Mother of god..." He turned back to the men and women under his command with a look of dire urgency. "Marines! Prepare to defend yourselves!"

Index

CAS: Close Air Support.

Klick: Short for "kilometer".

MOUT: Military Operations in Urban Terrain. In the real world, MOUT courses are the USMC's version/form of Urban Combat training. Urban warfare is among the most dangerous forms of combat, and as such MOUT is considered by some to be the most important ITC (Individual Training Course) in the Corps. It is where Marines learn how to successfully breach and clear buildings in CQB environments, all the while being taught how to maintain as little casualties as possible.

"Echo-Five-Kilo" Explanation: When communicating over radio channels in an AO, it is typical in the military for a speaker to address someone by either their callsign or rank-specific designation. "Echo" is the NATO Phonetic Alphabet term for the letter "E", and in this instance represents the word "Enlisted", meaning not the rank of a commissioned offer. At the same time, "Oscar" would be used to represent "Officer". The US military's rank system is structured by pay grade, ranging from E-1 (lowest Enlisted rank) to E-9 (highest possible Enlisted rank), and O-1 (lowest Officer) to O-10 (highest Officer). The "five" in "Echo-Five-Kilo" represents the level of pay, meaning the person in question is an E-5, or better known as a Sergeant in the USMC/SAMC. The "Kilo" is the term used for the letter "K" in the NATO Phonetic Alphabet, and in a designation such as this simply represents the first letter of the person's last name. So in the story, the only person who fits the description "Echo-Five-Kilo" would be Sergeant Kurokawa.

Review Interactions

Jkdelta3

- In response to your question about why I use the M8 instead of the M7 Lancer, the biggest reason I have to say is because in ME3's Citadel DLC, when you are in the vaults and you find the rifle, it says the M7 was a weapon used during the First Contact War. One of your companions/squadmates, whoever they might be, especially say how it is a very old weapon. Now maybe others disagree and/or I misinterpreted the game, but I just don't see how it makes sense that the characters would say a rifle they used not two years earlier is old. Other than that, I just think it would be unrealistic to use the "level" system the first ME game used for it's weapons.

- As to whether or not there is an Alliance "army" alongside the SAMC, the answer to that is yes. I won't spoil exactly how I plan on having it work just yet, so you'll just have to wait and see. As to why you don't see this "army" on Eden Prime though, it's simple: Eden Prime is one of those colonies planted right on the edge of the Terminus systems, similar to Horizon and Freedom's Progress. It isn't exactly a place the Alliance would want to put a large military presence, as it borders a hostile area of the galaxy. Think of it like the ME version of Okinawa, Japan where the US has Marines (the III MEF) stationed near the border of China. Eden Prime is that kind of situation, so instead of having military bases and the real "army" of the Alliance officially there, it has a smaller task force stationed for, essentially, the protection of the colony (just like how the III MEF is stationed in Japan for protection against the beginning of a Chinese or, possibly, North Korean invasion).

I hope I managed to answer your questions well!