Afghanistan

2013

Lance Corporal Tyler Rawlings let out a quiet sigh as he forced his eyes open, having to blink a number of times in succession before he finally managed to clear the sleep from his eyes. His unit had been moving through Kabul for a few hours now, and he had taken the opportunity to sneak in a little nap in the meantime. This nap, in itself, was a luxury of sorts for him, considering he normally found himself operating the .50 caliber of the Humvee that his squad used.

He glanced around the vehicle, taking note of his squad-mates. None of them seemed to have notice his awakening, too caught up with whatever they were doing themselves. To his left, Private Dmitry Ivanov, a Russian American who he had befriended early in his first tour, looked ready to fall asleep himself; his eyes notably lidded, but still open for the moment. Tyler shifted in his seat, one hand unconsciously fiddling with the chinstrap of his helmet in his lap, as he decided to leave the Private be.

On the vehicle's gun was Private Lucas McKnight, the newest addition from the squad from Texas. He was a rather quiet lad, who spoke only when he needed to, with a rather noticeable drawl when he did. No one seemed particularly perturbed by his relative silence, since he handled a rifle better than most of the veterans in the unit.

Driving the Humvee was Private First Class Ferdinand Schultz, who simply went by 'Schultz' as far as the squad was concerned. He, much like Dimitri, was American born, to two parents who hailed from Germany, Stuttgart to be exact. Tyler was glad that he was on their side, because the man was, in a word, intimidating. He stood at six-foot-five easily, and looked like he could bench press an APC for fun. Hand to hand fighting was by no means fair when facing off against him.

The leader of the unit, who was currently riding shotgun, was Sergeant Matthew Newman. He was easily the oldest in the vehicle with a decade's worth of service on Tyler. He was rugged in appearance, and short in the reply department; assuming he wasn't barking orders at you like an angry dog. He had, like Tyler, signed up for the Corp only weeks after graduating secondary school; though Matthew intended to make a career out of it, whereas Tyler was planning to serve for a few years before returning to civilian life.

The Lance Corporal sighed, and ran a hand through his short brown hair, before pulling on his helmet. He glanced out the window again, taking in whatever sights there may have been. The view was a little more on the bleak side, as day turned to night, the sun disappearing behind the frosty mountains in the distance. The desert that lay before them was desolate, cold, and generally not the place that one wanted to find themselves along at this hour with many places where an insurgent could find refuge. It was for that reason that Tyler's squad did not find themselves alone on this lonely road. Ahead of them, and behind them, there were friendly armored vehicles.

The Humvee was silent for a few minutes, the only noise being that of the vehicle's engine or the occasional cough. Finally, an irritated sigh was heard from Dmitry, who had apparently woken up a bit. "Anyone know if we're close to being there yet?" he asked. They were supposed to be linking up with some French units, if Tyler remembered correctly, to perform some sort of patrol. None of them had been particularly attentive during the briefing except for their Sergeant.

"Negative Private, we're not even close. So keep your pants on." Sergeant Newman grunted back, not even looking over his shoulder. Something felt off about to him, but he didn't know what. He was the only one in the Humvee though that seemed to harbor any trepidation about their current location.

"Yes, please do. I don't need any mental scarring." Schultz added in, grinning wryly. That got a few chuckles out of the others in the Humvee. Their squad weren't known for having jokesters within their ranks, Schultz being the closest to one.

The revelry was short lived as Lucas the gunner added loudly. "Hey guys, I think I see something-RPG!" he barked out.

Things seemed to slow for a minute as the whir of rocket engines filled the air. With that, the MRAPs at the front and rear of the formation exploded, fireballs illuminating the night air. All at once, the convoy ground to a halt, the groans of protests that the vehicles let out drowned out by the sounds of gunfire.

There were no words, the occupants of the Humvee either too shocked or stunned to say anything. Up above, Lucas brought the M2 he controlled to bear, wasting no time in firing it. The vehicle shook as the gun began to rhythmically dish out death. On instinct, Lucas hunched down, seeking additional cover behind the weapon shield that surrounded him as enemy rounds and shrapnel pinged off the welded metal.

"Hostile contact!" Sergeant Newman grunted redundantly, casting a grim gaze out the window at a nearby hill where the enemy fire was coming from. Thanks to muzzle flashes, it was relatively easy to see where the enemies were on the hill, which wasn't especially comforting. There were a lot of flashes on the enemy's side, spread out across the hill. More than any of the Humvee's occupants could dream of counting. "Out of the vehicle, defensive positions!" the Sergeant growled, shouldering the armored passenger door open.

Tyler's heart was in his throat as he fumbled with his door, managing to get it open with more effort than was probably needed. His brain seemed to have a hard time processing what was going on. He had never really been in combat before. Up until this point, it had been long-range skirmishes for him, where the enemy either fled or air assets dealt the final blow.

The young marine grunted as he threw himself against the vehicle, rifle in hand. There was nothing particularly special about his load-out. An M4 carbine with a hardened metal-and-plastic Acog-sight in place of the regular iron sights, and a M203 grenade launcher in place of foregrip. The standard M9 was on his hip, along with spare magazines for both weapons that he carried.

Tyler wanted to freeze, and take a calming breath or two, but he knew that he couldn't, they didn't have that kind of time to spare. They were under attack, and were already eight men down at least. As he took up position at the back of the Humvee, his heart continued to beat, loud enough that he thought those around him would hear it. He did the sign of the cross, saying a silent prayer as he did so. If he died here, he was confident that he would be going somewhere good, but that didn't relieve his worries too much. He wasn't ready to die just yet.

"Goliath! This is Titan 547! We are under attack and requesting assistance. The enemy has ambushed our unit! Requesting immediate air and ground support!" Tyler heard Captain Danner, the commander of the unit, yelling into the radio. The commander must have been frantic if Tyler could hear him over the gunfire all around.

Peeking around the Humvee, the Lance Corporal eyed the nearby hill wearily. Not only had the hostile muzzle flashes yet to decrease in number, but they had gotten closer. The enemy was beginning to move through what trees there were, and with every moment, getting a little closer to the stalled convoy. To make matters worse, a horrifying noise filled the air around the young marine as he looked out nervously.

Tyler wasn't quite sure how to describe the noise, but to describe it the best way he knew how, it sounded like God was on the warpath, ripping the fabric of space into two. Each loudbang-bang bang-bang-bang that filled the air was followed by a 48-gram bullet capable of going through the body armor of a marine like a hot knife through so much butter. And it appeared that whoever was manning the heavy gun knew what he was doing, bastard, as the spray of fire alternated enough to keep the marines pinned.

"Dishka! Dishka! Dishka!" Tyler found himself screaming out, though no one actually needed to know what it was. It was a weapon they hoped to encounter as little as possible, and honestly should have been left at that.

"Don't just stand there, do something already, Kid!" Sergeant Matthew growled, before popping out of cover long enough to fire off a few bursts from his own rifle. Around them, what marines remained were already doing the same, their carbines and battle rifles chattering as they returned fire to the best of their abilities. By now, Dmitry and Schultz had managed to awkwardly crawl through the Humvee and into safety behind it alongside Tyler and Matthew, leaving only Lucas in the vehicle, manning the main gun.

We've been here before, it's this kind of war…

'Now or never', that was Tyler's mantra as he steadied himself against the side of the armored Humvee. He couldn't waste any more time than he already had: His unit was relying on him after all, repelling the enemy was a team effort. Sort of. The Lance Corporal took a final deep breath...and popped out of cover.

Crossfire flying through the sand…

In the darkness, Tyler could only make out the shapes of the enemy, between the muzzle flashes of their rifles and the light provided by the moon. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it gave him someplace to start. In a single, practiced movement, he braced his rifle against his shoulder, taking aim at one of the enemy foot-mobiles. With the target now in sight, his M68 CCO hovering over a darkened figure, he depressed the trigger.

Our orders were easy: It's kill or be killed…

The rifle chattered and bucked against the young corporal's shoulder as he held the gun steady. His eyes widened as he watched the figure in his crosshairs drop, not even a yelp to signify the end of an existence. He had just shot someone, killed him, most likely. He had always expected there to be a rush of emotions that came with the knowledge, but there wasn't. The only thing he felt was cold resignation as he shifted to acquire his next target, his training kicking in… So he kept on humming.

…Blood on both sides will be spilled…

Tyler wasn't sure how long he stood there, firing back at the enemy, though he suspected it wasn't as long as it felt like. He only had a thirty round clip after all, and was firing three-round burst with each trigger pull. Finally, his rifle clicked repeatedly, telling him that his magazine was spent. Shit!

"…aiming for Heaven…" Shit…

Practically panting, his shifted back to his original position behind the Humvee. …Shit…

"…though serving in Hell…"…shit…

His hands were shaking as he reached for a fresh magazine, slapping it in rather unceremoniously after he ejected the spent one to the dirt. He still had five left, not counting the onegrenade for his M203 and for his sidearm. He paid his squad-mates little mind as he reloaded, knowing they were doing the same as he. They were by-the-book soldiers, and this was a prime example of how to react to a battle drill #4 situation. When fucked, duck-cover-pop-shoot-cover.

"…victor is ours…" he didn't really believe his own words, more or a mantra than a statement; "Saint Michael the Archangel defend us in battle"

…their forces will fall…

Tyler found himself whispering in prayers. It wasn't something he normally did on the battlefield, but if there was a time for divine intervention, now was about as good a time as any. "Preserve us from every evil. Help our aim be true and our hearts be strong" Tyler muttered under his breath as he pulled back the slide. Locked and loaded, back into action.

"…through the gates of Hell…"

Tyler didn't pop out of cover immediately. Instead he cautiously peeked around the Humvee, seeking his first target. From what he could tell, the enemy's advance on their position had stalled, but the fire they were taking hadn't slowed in the least. "Contact, approximately 100 meters" Tyler heard in his ear-piece. As he leaned out this time, he almost slipped, as he boot caught on loose gravel underfoot. The three shots he dispensed went wide of his target, slamming helplessly into the hillside.

…as I make my way to Heaven…

Sadly, that wasn't the end of it though. Tyler had never been the most 'coordinated' out there to begin with. Instead of catching himself like any normal person would have, he stumbled out of cover, one arm shooting out in an attempt to catch himself. Unfortunately for the poor corporal, this didn't go unnoticed to the insurgents.

…through the bastards' lines…

As he landed back-first into dirt and gravel, the chatter of the enemy Dishka filled the air, the dirt being kicked up around him as large bullets, capable of penetrating armored vehicles, struck everywhere around him, setting the dirt on fire. He barely had time to process what was happening, before a few of those rounds struck home. Inexplicable pain filled his chest as his breath was suddenly stolen from him.

…primo…vic-…tori…

He could faintly hear people scream, yelling his name, and the calls for a corpsman. The loud whine of an A-10 Warthog and the subsequent, earth-shaking force of a JDAM didn't go unnoticed to him either, as he gazed up at the starry sky. Oddly enough though, his mind was once more free of pain, clear and sharp.

…through the gates of Hell…

As someone rushed to his side, inadvertently kicking dirt into his face as they did so, he took one last ragged breath.

…as I make my way to Heaven…

With that his world went black.

Classified Cerberus Research Station

Undisclosed System

Every day, was a bad day to be an employee of Cerberus in these times. It hadn't always been like this, oh no. There had been a time when they had been the 'good guys' in many people's eyes. Heroes even, depending on who you asked. But not anymore, no. Ever since the Alliance and the Council had branded them a terrorist organization – and the witch-hunt to root them out of every system and government had begun – things had gotten a lot more tense. Every now and then, a cell would report that they were under attack, or would drop off the radar altogether.

Honestly, you'd end up hoping to work in the front-companies instead. Deniability, and all that.

While there were a lot of security officers that were worried about their stations coming under attack, Alexia Vandenberg was not one of them. At the moment, the German officer was more concerned with keeping awake than she was observing the readouts that the station's security VI laid out before her in an orderly manner.

She had been manning this post long enough to know that nothing ever happened this far out in backwoods space. Hell, even the Quarian Flotilla had never been desperate enough to look for resources out here. Why the heck the Protheans had been dumb enough to put a mass relay this far out, she and everyone else stuck at the station, would never know. There wasn't even a planet worth colonizing, everything was either a gas giant or a barren, impact-scarred wasteland of a planet.

"I think I'm going to get coffee, want any?" a voice beside her broke the silence. It was security officer Hovestol, a relatively new member to Cerberus from New Svalbard. She had been tasked with training him, not that she minded all that much. He was a good guy, and relatively attractive, other than the few pounds he could've lost. She wasn't that judgmental though.

Plus, a girl had to find some way of keeping herself entertained in the ass-end of nowhere, right?

"Umm yeah, sure. I could go for a cup...or four" she replied lightly as she pivoted in her chair to look over at him. The Norwegian adjusted his grey uniform, and nodded, giving her a small smile before he headed off to the break room two hallways over.

With a shake of the head, Alexia swiveled her chair back around to look at her workstation. She blinked curiously as she saw a red blinking light on one of the screens. She quickly tapped it, making the small security feed larger. Her hands dropped to her side as she stared at the screen.

"What. The. Fuck." She whispered to herself, accent suddenly thick, as she went for the alarm.

Tyler was falling, at least he thought he was, as winds whipped around him, jerking him back and forth. The young corporal was unable to do much more than grit his teeth as he tumbled through the air. He had no real sense of direction, other than the fact that he was going down. Everything around him was pitch-black, yet at the same time he could see. The pain was gone from his chest, and the wounds he received gone as well.

He had little time to panic about his situation, as rather suddenly, a portal seemed to open up below him. Suddenly the blackness was replaced by a rather shiny looking metal surface from what he could - Holy shit it was getting close fast!

On instinct, Tyler screwed his eyes shut and braced his elbows for what he presumed would be a crash landing. To an extent, it was, as he and his weapons crashed into the metal, though not nearly as fast as he had been expecting. For a few long moments, he laid there stunned, not quite sure what to make of what had just happened. As he pushed himself up with his elbows onto his knees, he groaned quietly, his body protesting in regards to the landing he had just made.

Blinking rapidly, Tyler looked around, taking in his new surroundings. It looked like he was in some sort of...storage room, that just so happened to look like it was as large as a football field. Long rows of neatly stacked storage containers made up each aisle, seven-digit numbers being the only markings on them. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was also another marking of some sort. A gold and orange colored shape that resembled a diamond, interlocking in a strangely familiar manner…

"What the fuck?" Tyler asked himself as he looked around, brown eyes wide and almost scared. Where was he? Was he dead? He really didn't know, but this didn't seem like Purgatory, where he had been expecting to wake up after death. As he looked down at himself, he realized that he was still in his uniform and body armor. He reached down to pick up his M4, which was at his feet as well.

"Well…shit…" he muttered, discarding the rifle as it broke apart in his hands, rust and mold eating it so fast he was afraid it would spread to him as well. Honestly though, he was so far past being shocked by now, that it wasn't even funny.

The longer he stood there, in the middle of the aisle, the more he realized that he couldn't simply stay put. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to take a little hike, it seemed. So, hesitantly, he began to walk down the hallway. He had absolutely no idea where he was going, since there were no directions conveniently posted up for him like he was hoping there would be. Because life hated him. That much was clear.

After a while of walking, the sounds of heavy footsteps filled the air, causing him to pause. He could hear people talking at a rapid pace, though he couldn't really make out any of what there were saying.

"Shit, shit, shit" he cursed to himself as he quickened his pace. He had no idea what he was going to do, but avoiding them was probably a good idea. Unfortunately, he didn't get too far.

"Halt!" a stern voice barked behind him.

Tyler's body went rigid as he turned on his heels to see what the source of the command was. He instinctively took a step back as he saw just what the origin was: It was a man, a rather imposing one at that too. That wasn't the scary part though, no, it was the fact the fact that he was dressed like a...space marine? His whole body was covered in some sort of power armor or hardsuit, as were his compatriots.

Among them stood a single woman dressed in a white, form-fitting suit, with raven hair that seemed to flow around her, even without any source of wind. Tyler could feel her blue eyes boring into him angrily, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. She was not a happy camper, it seemed.

And dear gods, he knew her from somewhere!

"Umm...top of the morning to you lads and ladies!" Tyler called back. As he yelled, he took steps backward, with the hopes of being able to turn and run if it the fan. After a few steps though, he backed into something. He was surrounded.

Tyler didn't even have time to react, as the sounds of electricity cracking filled the air. A sharp pain shot through the back of his neck as he body went rigid. His muscles seemed to stop working, and before he knew it, he was lying on his stomach. His world began to fade once more...right as someone drove their knee into the back of his neck.

…fuck…

"Hello Tyler" a deep voice said behind him. It was disturbingly friendly-sounding in contrast to its baritone…tone.

Tyler whipped around to face it, the voice that was.

Things were getting damn weird now.

So far, he had been shot, dropped in some unknown place, tazed, and now whatever this was. No longer was he in the large storage room, but instead in an open room with a single chair as the centerpiece.

The view, he had to admit, was pretty spectacular. It was an impressively large blue star…

…Fuck me with a cactus…

No, it couldn't be.

The only place he knew looked like this was the office of the Illusive Man, something that was little more than a work of fiction. Maybe this is just a big vid-screen, meant to confuse the fuck out of this place-

"Yes, this is Timmy's office. I'm just borrowing it for a few minutes" the voice interrupted Tyler's mental plea with a laugh. It belonged to a rather average looking man dressed in a suit of rather average quality. Because of the lighting, his face was shadowed to a degree, making it somewhat hard for Tyler to make out any of his features.

I'm probably in a Taliban camp or…or something. Shit, this is not right.

"Who...who are you?" Tyler asked, taking a tentative step forward. He knew that he should have been angry, untrusting. But he didn't feel that way. Just utterly confused, and a little scared; "…And where are we?"

"That, my friend, is a good question. Drink?" the man asked, offering a glass of liquor rather suddenly. Where he had gotten from, Tyler did not know, and for that reason among others, he declined the offer. "Suit yourself" the man shrugged. "It's not my alcohol anyways, the host is the one providing" he grinned.

This is just so wrong for so many reasons…

"Anyways, back to the point. I'm a lot of people in a sense. Ares, Mars, Tyr, Patton on a bad morning... If you can think of an important warmonger in human history, chances are I had a part in it. Over time, I've made people just...naturally good at warfare, especially at killing each other. It's sort of my thing, ya know? Few things are more entertaining than watching you mortals slaughtering each other because some other mortal with a piece of metal on his head told you to... Never mind" the man continued as he nursed his drink, a sheepish smile on his lips.

…one reason being this guy's poor attempt at hiding his insanity…

"…Ri-Right…"

"Aaaand you want to know why you're here too, not unexpected. Pretty reasonable question. To put it into terms that you can comprehend" the figure said; sounding as if he was talking down at Tyler. "You have been, well, chosen for a higher purpose, like you always wanted. Though you're about to get a lot more than you asked for…Also you're sort of dead. Temporarily, of course, seeing how I needed you for the 'higher purpose'…I gotta stop drinking at introductions…"

"A higher purpose? What is this? Some kind of sick jo-? Who, the fuck, are you, and what is this higher purpose? Am I going to fight something for you?" Tyler glanced around, laughing at the insanity he was embroiled in;

"More or less, yep."

"Who, the Reapers?" Tyler asked, not really believing what he was hearing. Maybe he was unconscious back in Afghanistan, going through some sort of drug induced dream sequence or something.

"Got it in one. Yeah, Reapers are some nasty buggers, hard to find volunteers and all that. Sometimes we have to draft people to fight them. Congratulations, you're in the army now son" the man chuckled.

Tyler blinked, once, twice, three times.

"…This is so fucked over; I'm not even sure where to start…"

"A fairly common reaction, true." The man agreed, or admitted. Tyler had no clue which was which at the moment; "Now, there is a reason I picked you."

"Was it the mantra?"

"…No-o-o…" there was a short pause; "Okay, so there was no actual reason. I just took a random pick at the first, the best to die in this exact instant. Reincarnated always think they got chosen because Yahweh looks after you or something, Jeez…"

"…"

"Right, back at it. You see, I have need of…a host, to put it bluntly."

"…" Tyler just stared.

"Nothing untoward, I assure you." The man waved, as if trying to chase away the marine's concerns; "It's just a small civil war over the fate of all existence, and a sizeable portion of Nazara's spawn decided to take up physical forms untouchable by our side's Master, which means we have to get physical and enter the material plane."

"…"

"Silent type, huh?" the man sighed; "Not that I blame you: according to your science, this is utterly impossible, or at the very least utterly implausible. All you need to do is letting me use your body to kick ass from time to time, and I'll make sure you don't die horribly…again. Questions?"

"…have I gone insane?" Tyler wondered, more or less out loud instead of at the man.

"Felz'Harzen…Listen, it's that or try for yourself if there really is a Heaven." The man ground out in obvious annoyance; "Also…Right, my name is…well, just call me 'Alex', or something, if you need to. I'll put you down, nice and gentle, in the Cerberus facility, and you can go have a nerdgasm or something."

"…This is…it's real?"

"…Yes, I think we have established this to be quite real." Alex muttered, palming his forehead; "Regardless, just nod your head or something, and we can get this done with. I'll brief you as we go along."

The world swirled around Tyler, even as he barely finished the hesitant nod, but he didn't pass out. He now found himself sitting in a chair, both of his hands restrained. To the side, two people who he easily- and horrifyingly so at that – recognized as Miranda Lawson and Jacob Taylor were quietly talking to each other. After a moment, Tyler realized they hadn't noticed his awakening.

"Miss Lawson. Mister Taylor. It is… a pleasure to meet you two in person. I'm afraid I'm a little tied up though" Tyler forced on a smile, even as Miranda's expression became a storm; "…I come in peace?"