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Chapter Text

Melee

Mk. VI General Purpose Combat Knife

Introduced: 2560

A build-on of the Mk. 5, this 10-inch blade is made of a stainless steel-nanocarbon alloy, it is one of the most durable parts of a soldier kit and is able to do a multitude of things, either cooking smores or brutally stabbing your enemy in the face and then cooking smores, it is an essential part in the kits of the soldiers of the UTSC.

Mk. XII Xiphos Special Purpose Combat Knife

Introduced: 2578

This 16-inch blade, being an upgrade over the older Mk. 11 Spartan Combat Knife, is made with hyperdense alloys, as well as implementing Nanomilite into the construction, with a special hardlight edge.

Small Arms

MA-50 Infantry Assault Weapon System

Caliber: 7.62x51mm

Introduced: 2562

The MA-50 IAWS is a fully automatic assault rifle deriving from the MA-5 series. The MA-50 builds upon the frame of the MA-5B but adds a coil-lined barrel and a battery pack in place of the usual flashlight handguard. The MA-50 is ambidextrous and also lacks an ejection port as the rifle uses caseless 7.62 NATO ammunition recycled from the massive stockpiles accumulated in UTSC Ammo Dumps. The rifle is commonly used in Army and Marine units and has become the standard backbone of UTSC small arms since its introduction.

MA-6 Infantry/Operator Carbine Weapon System

Caliber: 5.56x45mm (A), 10x51mm (B), 9x19mm (C)

Introduced: 2585

With the retirement of the M-7 SMG and the introduction of the MA-50, the UTSC found no need for a new submachine gun. However, with growing tensions with the Republic, HIGHCOM decided it needed a new rifle that could be used in close-quarters combat due to the large amount of urbanized planets in the Republic. So the MA-6 was born with Misriah Armories taking cues from their earlier MA-5K, the MA-6 is meant to be used by light infantry units, usually Army Rangers, and is also issued to tank crews. Many ODST units also field the rifle due to its faster-than-average muzzle velocity, its lightweight, and the ability to carry more ammo. ONI employs an integrally suppressed variant running as their choice of operator rifle.

BR-75C Battle Rifle

Caliber: 9.5x40mm, 10x51mm (H), 8.6x70mm (M)

Introduced: 2530

The BR-75 is a battle rifle that improves upon the design of the BR-55 and was simplified for the Human-Covenant War. The BR-75C is the modernized version of the BR-75, introducing a coil barrel and a caseless cartridge coupled with a standard 32-round box magazine. The BR-75C is commonly used in the Marines and the Colonial Defense Forces, with the latter replacing the M-932 DMR with the BR-75C.

M-250 General Purpose Machine Gun

Caliber: 7.62x51mm (A), 9.5x40mm (B), 5.56x45mm (C), 8.6x70mm (D), 10x51mm (E)

Introduced: 2559

The M-250 GPMG is a belt-fed machine gun which is the standard UTSC Squad Automatic Weapon and is used in heavy-fire support roles. The M-250 replaced the M-247 GPMG, M-739 SAW, and M-73 LMG since its introduction, taking up the role of all 3 of them in 1 standardized package. The M-250 uses the same coil-lined barrel as the MA-50 (and same FCS) and can sustain a rapid rate of 900 rounds a minute. The M-250 can also be assembled with spade grips and be hefted around with a Smart Harness or on vehicle mounted systems such as CROWS or dropship mounts.

M-100 Close Quarters Special Applications Weapon System

Caliber: 8 Gauge Magnum (M-882 Magnum Slug, M-884 HEAPFS Slug, M-886 Rubber Solids, M-888 Buckshot)

Introduced: 2560

The M-100 CQSAWS is a build-on of the M-90 and M-45 series of shotguns. The main difference is the dual Kel-Tec type tubes (6x2) on the top of the gun and the fact that the M-100 can switch from Semi-Auto to Pump Action. The M-100A is the Marine variant of the M-100 series whilst the B variant is the Army's, the main difference being the A has a pistol grip whilst the B has a traditional rifle stock. The M-100A is often affectionately named the 'Seesaw'.

CQS-50 Pitbull Close Quarters Automatic Weapon System

Caliber: 12 Gauge Magnum (M-775 Magnum Slug, M-777 Buckshot, M-779 Rubber Solids, M-881 Incendiary), 8 Gauge Magnum (M-882 Magnum Slug, M-884 HEAPFS Slug, M-886 Rubber Solids, M-888 Buckshot)

Introduced: 2557

A build of the original CQS-48 Bulldog, the CQS-50 Pitbull is a fully automatic, modular shotgun able to switch between 12 and 8 gauge depending on the mission. The weapon comes with either an 8, 12, or 16 round box magazine and the ability to use a 24 round drum when chambered for 12 gauge. The CQS-50 is used by the ODSTs, Ranger Regiments, and the SPARTAN Branch.

M-7 Magnum Personal Defense Weapon

Caliber: 12.7x40mm, 12.7x30mm, 10.9x33mmR, 9x33mmR

Introduced: 2565

The M-7 Magnum is a continuation of the popular M-6 Magnum series by Misriah. The M-7 uses new polymers to make it lightweight as well as upgraded electronics for QoL upgrades. The M7 also features the same coil-lined barrel and caseless design as the newest generation of UTSC small arms. The M-7 comes in 3 variants, A, B, and S, with A being used by the Air Force, B being used by the Marines, and S being used by Special Operations units such as NAVSPECWAR and Marine Raiders.

MK.60 Entente Modular Handgun System

Caliber: 10x31mm, 9x19mm, 11.43x23mm, 9x22mm, 5x23mm

Introduced: 2560

The commercial failure of the MK.50 had many at Emerson Tactical Systems slap their heads. They made a pistol the size of a Magnum and had it shoot peas. So with redesigned sizes in mind and to move away from the public hounding the name had received, ETS marketed the new variant as the MK.60 Entente. The MK.60 Entente is your average handgun system, taking 15-round box magazines and this time, the right size for the human hand. The MK.60 was adopted into service with the UTSC Army and Navy as the M-11 Entente which features a smart linked scope and a lighter trigger. ONI also adopted the MK.60 soon after its debut and the pistol is nicknamed the 'Hush Puppy'.

M-99A5 Stanchion Special Application Scoped Rifle

Caliber: 5.4mm/.21

Introduced: 2580

The newest variant of the Stanchion series of Gauss Rifles, the M-99A5 is the standard Anti-Material Rifle for the UTSC. The M-99A5 features a barrel shroud and an upgraded EFAL-40 Smart Scope. The rifle can also double as a target designator.

SRS-99 Series 8 Anti Material Rifle

Caliber: 14.5x114mm, 18x110mm

Introduced: 2570

The latest entry in the SRS series of rifles, the Series 8 has the ability to use the modified 18x110mm round which is capable of packing HEAP, HVAP, and APFSDS rounds depending on the mission profile.

ROC-195/X

Caliber: 5.45x39mm, 5.56x45mm, 5.842mm, 7.62x39mm, 9x19mm, 9x39mm

Introduced: 2163

Produced as the premier rifle for the Republic of China after their Second Civil War in the 2050's, the ROC-195 was a mixture between the QBZ-95 and the HK-416. With rising tensions within the Sol System, the Chinese Government began to modernize their stockpiles of ROC-195's adding in integrated rangefinders and ballistics computers turning it into the X variant. The rifle served valiantly during the Interplanetary War and served Chinese Forces up to the Kyoto Memoriam when all of the Earth armed forces were integrated within the UNSC. Now the rifle is still used by Chinese majority colony worlds and is used by the Sino-Viet Heavy Machinery Security Forces as well as the renowned White Coast Royal Security.

MAMR-48/H

Caliber: 7.62x51mm, 10x51mm, 9.5x40mm

Introduced: 2480

The Misriah Automatic Monitor Rifle is a Battle Rifle produced by Misriah Armories. The rifle was originally built to meet the requirements of the Colonial Military Authority, who wanted a cheaper alternative to the HMG-38 which was reported to be heavy and cumbersome. Misriah took an AR-18 platform and upsized the weapon for 7.62x51mm, or in the case of the CMA, upsized to 10x51mm. The MAMR takes either 20, 30, or 40 round box magazines and comes equipped with an integrated foregrip and bipod for fire support missions. The MAMR is still in use by the Office of Colonial Affairs (CDF, CNDF), the successor to the CMA as well as ONI Section V. Due to its large round, the MAMR is often nicknamed 'The Concussion'.

Explosives

M-50 Surface-to-Surface Rocket Heavy Anti-Vehicle / Assault Weapon

Caliber: 150mm

Introduced: 2545

Introduced to help stem the tide against the Covenant War machine (quite literally). The M-50 is the heavier cousin of the M-41. Unlike the M-41, the M-50 can guide its missile through a pre-programmed flight path and can take advantage of the BATTLENET used by UTSC forces to designate and intercept enemy vehicles. The M-50 has 2 so called 'canister' options, with the normal M-82 2 round rotary container and a special M-91 4 round 80mm container able to fire AVSUL missiles. The M-50's 150mm missiles can also be mounted in vehicle box launchers. The M-50 also takes its older brother's nickname of 'Spanker'.

FIM-55 Mist Net Air-to-Air Interception Weapon System

Caliber: 68mm

Introduced: 2557

Despite the M-41's (and by limited extension the M-50's) ability to be multi-purpose platforms, the UNSC wanted a purpose-built MANPADS for their troops, especially one that could pierce energy shielding. The result was the FIM-55 from Chalybs Defense Solutions. Paired with the M-556 68mm High Explosive Shield Piercing rocket, the FIM-55 takes full advantage of the BATTLENET to identify, lock on, and intercept enemy craft. FIM-55 equipped units were responsible for destroying ~40% of Banished air units in the Second Battle of Camber in 2561.

M-202 Anti-Vehicle Single-Use Launcher

Caliber: 80mm

Introduced: 2550

The M-202 AVSUL is a single-use, disposable, anti-material, and anti-personnel weapon in service with the UTSC and a multitude of Colonial Defense Forces. The M-202 is easily deployable and can designate its munition to engage with Top Attack or Scatter Shot, with newer versions having access to special preloaded warheads, starting at the A3 variant. Due to its easily producible nature and cheap cost, it is a favorite for ONI to sell the weapon to certain 'groups of interests' whenever a conflict arises and used extensively in the Resurgency Campaigns by both sides.

Weapon/Anti-Vehicle Model 7 Grindell/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle

Caliber: N/A

Introduced: 2564

The success of the Model 6 Spartan Laser had the UTSC order a cost-effective version which was approved for mass production. As a result, the Model 7 emerged, benefiting from the technological splurge Humanity experienced, the Model 7 is 30% smaller than its Model 6 counterpart and has a shorter recharge time and has a blue laser instead of a red one. As a result, it is mainly carried by ODSTs or their Ranger counterparts.

M-320 Multiple Airburst Grenade Launcher

Caliber: 40x53mm

Introduced: 2580

The M-320 MAGL is built upon the fire control group of the MA-50 and is offered by Misriah as a replacement for the M-319 IGL in frontline units. The M-320 can take 4, 6, or 12 round box magazines and fires programmable grenades designed to allow the user to time when the munitions explode and to decide whether it is a conventional HE or airburst warhead. The M-320 is extensively used by the ODST's to assist in fire support, using its programmable grenades to hit targets behind cover. The weapon houses its rangefinder, optics, IFF, and ballistics computer in a scope like mounting atop the weapon.

M-314 'Whiskey' Pump Action Grenade Launcher

Caliber: 40x53mm

Introduced: 2515

Introduced in 2515, the M-314 was intended to provide CMA fireteams with explosive firepower for room clearing or street sweeping. However the Human-Covenant War and the resulting material rations severely limited the production of the M-314 and resulted in production being cancelled in early 2531 to produce the M-319 IGL as a cost effective version. The weapon still finds use with the Office of Colonial Affairs as a riot control weapon with the Colonial Police and a few planetary police departments.

Vehicles

Identifications

MBT-444: A Main Battle Tank in the 4th Company, 4th Platoon, 4th MBT

IFV-444: An Infantry Fighting Vehicle in the 4th Company, 4th Platoon, 4th IFV

APC-446: An Armored Personnel Carrier in the 4th Company, 4th Platoon, 6th APC

M-909B Centipede Main Battle Tank

Weapons: 1x M-310/2 120mm Smooth Bore High Velocity Coil-Cannon, 1x M-250 GPMG, 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-70 20mm LAAG, 1x M-250 GPMG, 2x FIM-55 Mist Net Air to Air Missiles)

Introduced: 2564

The M-909 is the next generation of MBTs employed by the UTSC and incorporates all the technology leaps made by humanity in the past 50 years. The M-909 features the more conventional full tracks instead of split ones as well as shield generators reversed engineered from captured Covenant vehicles and its armor has been rated to plasma grade weaponry. The M-909 comes equipped with an upgraded model of the M-850's main gun as well as an RWS equipped with an LAAG on the main turret.

M-808N1/N2 Super Scorpion Main Battle Tank

Weapons: 1x M-310/2 120mm Smooth Bore High Velocity Coil-Cannon, 1x M-247 GPMG, 1x M-912 20mm Autocannon (N2, 2565)

Introduced: 2560

The M-808N1 is a stopgap tank intended to improve the basic Scorpion models in service with the UTSC up to modern standards. While having near the same armament as the M-909, the M-808N1 carries 50 shells which is around 15 less than its larger Centipede counterpart. The N1 also had weaker shield generators and lacked a CROWS mounted with a 20mm autocannon which became standard with the M-70 LAAG on the Centipede. The M-808N2 however does have a CROWS with a 20mm Autocannon from the Thylacine. This tank is most common within Marine and Colonial Defense Force Mechanized Units.

M-496 Alligator Infantry Fighting Vehicle/Armored Gun System

Weapons: M-1132 Heavy Crew Remote Operated Weapon System (1x M-774 30mm Autocannon, 4x M-50 SSRHAV Box Launchers, 1x M-250 GPMG) or M-514 90mm Smooth-Bore High-Velocity Cannon, 1x M-774 30mm Autocannon

Introduced: 2570

The M-496 gives much-needed firepower to embattled Marine units, being a lot more mobile than the old M-808 series of tanks and packing a larger punch than the older M-494 Onyx. The M-496 is built upon old SP-42 hulls with an extra wheel and provides greater protection compared to the older Onyx IFVs. The M-496 can carry 2 Marine fireteams and is manned by 2 crew members, a driver and a commander/gunner.

M-515 Thylacine Armored Personnel Carrier

Weapons: 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-912 20mm Autocannon, 1x M-250 GPMG, 2x FIM-55 Mist Net Air to Air Missiles) or 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-70 Gauss Cannon) or M-1102 CROWS (4x M-50 SSRHAV Box Launchers) or 1x M-212 75mm Mortar

Introduced: 2559

The M-515 was introduced alongside the Alligator IFV to complement the firepower provided with manpower. The M-515 can carry up to 4 Marine fireteams and is crewed by 2 people, a driver, and a commander/gunner. The Thylacine is a versatile vehicle, acting as a fire support vehicle, a mortar carrier, command and control, and a battlefield ambulance.

M-620 Crocodile Tank Support Vehicle

Weapons: 2x M-778 30mm Rapid Fire Coil Cannons, 2x M-460 Automatic Grenade Launchers, 1x M-250 GPMG, 8x M-50 SSRHAV Box Launchers

Introduced: 2562

The M-620 is a heavily armored vehicle based upon an old M-820 Scorpion hull. The vehicle was made as a request from the Office of Colonial Affairs for Misriah Armories to provide a vehicle that can support urban operations and provide numbers to the rapidly aging Scorpion fleet in service with the Colonial Defense Forces. This was after some hard lessons learned during the Resurgency Campaigns against Insurrectionist forces in 2559-2564 who would bait CDF armored units into urban areas and pick off tanks one by one. Misriah took up the offer and presented the Crocodile, inspired by earlier Russian attempts at a 'Tank Support Vehicle' from the 21st century. The vehicle's autocannons were specifically designed for this role, having a max elevation of just about 85-87 degrees, allowing the Crocodile to deal with multiple enemies holed up within buildings such as apartment complexes which proved devastating against the Venezian Militia during the Battle of New Tyne. The Crocodile is also armed with 8 ATGMs in order to deal with any obstacle, whether it be infrastructure or armored support. The UTSC has had some interest in the vehicle though largely these interests have faded in favor of more promising projects and the M-620 is solely a CDF exclusive vehicle.

M-12 (2576 Version) Warthog Force Application Vehicle

Weapons: 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-912 20mm Autocannon, 1x M-250 GPMG, 2x FIM-55 Mist Net Air to Air Missiles) or 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-70 Gauss Cannon) or M-1102 CROWS (4x M-50 SSRHAV Box Launchers)

Introduced: 2483

The venerable M-12 Warthog is still in service with the UTSC 100 years later. In that Century the Warthog has received more upgrades than any other vehicle in the UTSC armory and has been blessed with the fruits of humanity's labor. The current Warthog, the M-12/2576 is fully enclosed, with armored doors and an enclosed trunk, seating 4 troops, with the weapons mounted with a Crew Remote Operated Weapon System. If used correctly, a single Warthog equipped platoon can suppress a much larger enemy force and can be equal to light armor support.

M-25 Puma Heavy Force Application Vehicle (HFAV)

Weapons: 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-912 20mm Autocannon, 2x M-250 GPMG, 4x FIM-55 Mist Net Air to Air Missiles) or 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-70 Gauss Cannon, 2x M-250 GPMG) or 1x M-1102 CROWS (4x M-50 SSRHAV Box Launchers) or 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-70 20mm LAAGs, 8x FIM-55 Mist Net Air to Air Missiles) or 1x M-1102 CROWS (1x M-472 Long Range Acoustics Device, 1x M-250 GPMG)

Introduced: 2580

Created and introduced to the civilian market in 2580, the M25 Puma is a vehicle currently used by the Civilian government of the UTF, multiple planetary law enforcement agencies and some mechanized units of the United Terran Army. The M-25 Puma is a significantly up armored Warthog, resistant to mines, rocket launchers to a certain degree, high caliber projectiles, and low-medium yield plasma/energy weapons. The Puma has a larger storage trunk and can carry a total of 6 troops.

MADU-187 Rapier Surface to Air Missile System

Weapons: 12x M-443 Tube Launch Systems, 4x M-912 20mm Autocannons

Introduced: 2567

The MADU-187 "Rapier" is the current SAM System in service with the UTSC. Mounted on the bed of either a M496 Alligator IFV or a Heavy Utility Bed Truck, it has 20 Tubes able to fire modified Streak Mod-7/8 missiles along with a quad set of LAAGs. It is used to greatly affect areas of space denial when the UTSC is on defense.

M-860 Kermode Heavy Artillery Tank

Weapons: 2x M-324 155mm Smooth Bore High Velocity Howitzer, 8x FIM-55 Mist Net Air to Air Missiles, 2x M-250 GPMG

Introduced: 2564

The M-860 Kermode is the designated replacement for the M-850 Grizzly, upgunning the main armament from 120mm to 2, 155mm Howitzers. The Kermode is also heavily armored, receiving the same upgrades as the M-909 Centipede and utilizing the TARCZA Active Protection System also found on the Centipede. The M-860 also doubles as an SPG, able to provide indirect fire support from afar with its 155mm Howitzers. The M-860 fully replaced all Grizzly's by 2572 and all Grizzly's have since been transferred to the CDF.

M-405 Super Kodiak Self Propelled Gun

Weapons: 2x L-54/203 203mm High Velocity Coil Guns. 1x M-250 GPMG

Introduced: 2565

The M-405 Super Kodiak is a heavy siege vehicle meant to lay down devastating strikes in order to suppress or neutralize heavily defended areas. It is able to do this with a modified Mk. 54 Airacobra Naval turret, allowing the Super Kodiak to also act as an Anti-Ship weapon by utilizing its variable charge should the need call for it.

M-284 High Altitude Guided Artillery Rocket System

Weapons: 12x M-450 Tube Launch Systems (M-912 ARM, M-914 ARM-Incendiary, M-916 ARM-Thermobaric, M-918 ARM-Nuclear, M-920 ARM-Plasma)

Introduced: 2560

The M284 is equipped with 12 Rocket Pods mounted on a specialized chassis of an M496 Alligator IFV or a Heavy Utility Bed Truck, the M284 has the ability to strike deep into enemy territory within a 300 mile radius with standard M-912 Artillery Rocket Munitions (ARM). The M-284 is used in conjunction with the M-405 Super Kodiak and M-860 Kermode to provide precision strikes against targets in highly crowded environments.

M-387 Warhound Autonomous Artillery Support Platform

Weapons: 1x M-212 75mm Mortar, 1x M-49 Vulcan Anti-Personnel Gun, 8x M-50 SSRHAV Box Launchers

Introduced: 2571

The Warhound is a 4 legged, Infantry Support Drone used by the ODSTs and Army Rangers to supplement their lack of armored vehicles. Modern shock trooper tactics revolve around the Warhound and troopers are instructed to use the vehicle as walking cover with its heavy shields and use it to provide heavy fire support once it is deployed. This allows the human soldiers to complete their objectives in a timely manner without serious armor support. The Warhound can also be used as a supply mule, providing soldiers munitions and rations from a special storage container.

Air and Spacecraft

F/A-42 E/X Sabre Multi-Role Space Fighter Craft

Weapons: 2x GAU-1050 50mm Autocannons, 4 Universal Missile Hardpoints, 4x M-4400 Delivery Systems (AIM-550 Wildcat Missiles, AIM-4400 Zero Missiles, ASGM-330 Lancaster Missiles, GBU-1190, CBU-400 Loggerhead)

Introduced: 2576

The F/A-42 Exothermic 'Sabre' Multi Role Space Fighter Craft is the mainline UTSC fighter for the UTSC Navy and Air Force. The Sabre replaces the Shortsword, Broadsword, and Longsword in UTSC service, acting as a jack of all trade master of none. The Sabre is crewed by 2 people, a pilot and a weapon systems officer (the D variant replaces the WSO with a smart AI). The Sabre can also serve as an electronic warfare platform with the EF/A-42 'Bandicoot' variant (5-10% of a Sabre complement will usually be the Bandicoot).

GA-TL2 Zweihänder Heavy Interceptor/Fighter Bomber

Weapons: 4x GAU-1050 50mm Autocannons, 8 LAU-65F Launchers, 16x M-4400 Delivery Systems (AIM-550 Wildcat Missiles, AIM-4400 Zero Missiles, ASGM-330 Lancaster Missiles, GBU-1190, EWBU-1290 Disruptor, GBU-1390 Incinerator, CBU-400 Loggerhead, LGM-14 Blue Jay Multipurpose Munitions, AGM-12 Arrowhead Anti-Tank Missiles), 4x M-4390 Heavy Delivery Systems (M-4020 Shiva Mod 3 Nuclear Delivery Systems, M-93/70 HAVOK Mod 4 Nuclear Delivery System), 2x GAU-514/R 90mm Smooth Bore High Velocity Autocannon (C Variant)

Introduced: 2574

With the upcoming retirement of the GA-TL1 Longsword, the UTSC was looking for a new heavy bomber to complement the upcoming multi-role Sabre. Misriah Armories once again got to work, quickly repurposing the old TL1 hull and introducing the newest electronics to the craft. The Zweihänder is the most heavily armed spacecraft outside a corvette within the UTSC. Oftentimes the craft is confused for one at a length of just over 60 meters. ONI also has a special variant of the Zweihänder in the form of the C-736 'Dagger'.

GA-TH1 Harpy Super Heavy Bomber Craft

Weapons: 4x Twin GAU-1050 50mm Autocannon Turrets, 4x M-4300/U Heavy Bombardier Delivery Systems (M-4020 Shiva Mod 3 Nuclear Delivery Systems, M-93/70 HAVOK Mod 4 Nuclear Delivery System, M-4093 Hyperion Mod 4 Nuclear Delivery Systems, AIM-550 Wildcat Missiles, ASGM-330 Lancaster Missiles, UBU-5143 Snuffy, GBU-1190, EWBU-1290 Disruptor, GBU-1390 Incinerator, CBU-400 Loggerhead, LGM-14 Blue Jay Multipurpose Munitions)

Introduced: 2555

A new type of bomber craft made from the hull of the Egret Spaceliner, the GA-TH1 is used to saturate large areas of a battlefield using its massive payload. The Harpy is manufactured by Misriah Armories and used primarily by the UTSC Air Force to help support Army and Marine advances against entrenched positions. Some Harpy's are in use by the Navy and due to their large size and slipspace drive, travel independently and do not need the facilities of a carrier to transport them galaxy wide. The Harpy can also double as a resupply craft for space fighters, carrying additional munitions and drones to refuel, resupply, and rearm any UTSC fighter asset.

GA-TP1 Pigeon Spaceborne Warning And Control System Craft

Weapons: Electronic Counter Measures, Electronic Support Measures

Introduced: 2521

Another modification of the Egret Spaceliner, the Pigeon is an all-weather, space faring SWACS platform able to coordinate and direct fighter pilots on attack vectors and organize a CAP defense. The newest iteration of the Pigeon, the Block IIIB comes equipped with the powerful AN/AHA-4 hyper scanner sensor suite as well as multiple X-band sensor suites to help detect and track targets illuminated by the hyperscanner. Like the Harpy and Egret, the Pigeon is equipped with a slipspace drive.

D-85H TCI Pelican Dropship

Weapons: 1x GAU-124 50mm Auto Coil Cannon, 4x Universal Missile Hardpoints (AGM-12 Arrowhead Anti-Tank Missiles, LGM-14 Blue Jay Multipurpose Munitions) 2x GAU-914 20mm Railguns (Wingtips)

Introduced: 2570

A build-on of the already successful Pelican series of dropships, the D-85 incorporates shield generator technology as well as a larger troop bay carrying 24 troops. The D-85 also has better engines allowing for a larger thrust-to-weight ratio along with added hardpoints on its wings along with additional sensors to provide some CAS if the mission calls for it.

D-90A LRT Cormorant Heavy Dropship

Weapons: 2x GAU-124 50mm Auto Coil Cannons, 8x Universal Missile Hardpoints (AGM-12 Arrowhead Anti-Tank Missiles, LGM-14 Blue Jay Multipurpose Munitions) 2x GAU-914 20mm Railgun Ball Turrets.

Introduced: 2571

The D90A LRT Cormorant has been the premier landing craft of choice for the UTSC since 2571 and has been through many trials, all of which it excelled at. It is for all intents and purposes a successor to the Condor, with a wider troop bay that can carry 40 soldiers sitting and 2 Warthog's (one internal and 1 hanging off the tail) with a frontal drop door. To make sure the soldiers inside the Cormorant aren't immediately killed or have their shields drained by enemy fire, the Cormorant deploys a special shield generator that allows the soldiers inside to set up positions before the Cormorant flies away.

AV-44 Goshawk Attack Craft

Weapons: 4x GAU-174 50mm Auto Coil Cannons, 14 Universal Missile Hardpoints (AGM-12 Arrowhead Anti-Tank Missiles, LAU-39 Devastator Rocket Pods, GBU-1190, EWBU-1290 Disruptor, GBU-1390 Incinerator, CBU-400 Loggerhead, LGM-14 Blue Jay Multipurpose Munitions, GAU-914 20mm Railguns, LAU-65E Launchers)

Introduced: 2575

The AV-44 Goshawk is the Air Force and Marine's main ground attack craft since 2575, with designs similar to the older AV-22 Sparrowhawk but it is a more refined design, having many upgrades over its predecessor and being overall cheaper to mass produce, being heavily armed and armored it is comparable to a flying tank.

AC-220/B 'King' Vulture Gunship

Weapons: 2x Twin GAU-910/914 20mm Railgun Turrets, 6x A-80 Sylver Vertical Missile Launcher, 16x M-450 MLRS Tubes, 2x GAU/M-49 Vulcan Anti-Personnel Guns, 1x GAU-174 50mm Auto Coil Cannon, 1x M-514 90mm Smooth Bore High Velocity Coil-Cannon

Introduced: 2568

Despite a rather successful career in the Human-Covenant War, the AC-220 Vulture was retired, this was due to their small numbers, high maintenance costs, and the newly formed UTSC not seeing a purpose for flying gunships when a Sabre, Wasp, Sparrowhawk, or Pelican could do a quick strike. However due to the rising tensions between the colonies and multiple resurgent insurrectionist groups, the Colonial Defense Forces under the Office of Colonial Affairs began to procure the AC-220 once again, eventually standardizing the old hulls and redesignating it the 'B' variant. Eventually the UTSC took interest once again after reports came in of the new gunship often shifting the playing field in favor of the colonists and soon enough the AC-220/B King Vulture was back in service within the UTSC under the Marines and Air Force though most of them are within OCA hands.

MQ/F/A-101 Dragonfly Unmanned Combat Exospheric Vehicle

Weapons: 1x GAU-1050 50mm Autocannons, 4x Universal Missile Hardpoints

Introduced: 2561

The MQ/F-101 Dragonfly is the space faring version of the MQ/F-99 Wombat. This drone fighter is the most advanced UCEV within the UTSC Navy and the CNDF, able to commit dazzling combat maneuvers with little margin of error as well as coordinate with other units through the use of the BATTLENET. The Dragonfly is most commonly deployed with the Poseidon Class Light Carrier, able to be deployed in a timely manner and bolster any Combat Air Patrol. The Dragonfly can be controlled by either a human operator from the mothership or Smart/Dumb AI.

RQ/A-105 Yellow Jacket Aerial Support Drone

Weapons: 1x M-250 GPMG

Introduced: 2572

The RQ/A-105 Yellow Jacket is a small aerial support drone that the ODSTs use for the suppressive fire role. The Yellow Jacket has a coaxial rotor system, allowing for better stability when firing its main gun, the M-250 GPMG, which comes with a single 600-round belt stuffed in a large ammo can. The Yellow Jacket is automatically deployed from the SOEIV pod upon touchdown, usually attached to either the squad leader or the gunner's pod and can act autonomously or under control by the designated gunner. The Yellow Jacket can also be deployed from specialized containers from a D-90A LRT Cormorant.

Vessels

Enterprise Class Fleet Carrier

Weapons: 2x CR-08 Series-8 Mod 2 MAC, 4x Mk-15 Breakwater Mod 4, 10x Mk. 54 Airacobra 203mm Naval Coilgun, 300x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 20x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 20x M-1050 Lancer Laser Defense System, 30x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 300x F/A-42 E/X Sabre MRSFC, 40x GA-TL2 Zweihänder HI/FB, 30x F-41 E/X Broadsword HSC, 100x Transport Spacecraft/Dropships, 1 Marine Expeditionary Brigade, 6x Strident, Corsair, Mulsanne, or Anlance Class Frigates, 2x Aegis Class Light Cruisers (CVF-14 Enterprise ONLY)

Length: 4,820 Meters

Introduced: 2562

Number: 10

This ship was designed as a replacement/complement for the Infinity classes and was built and designed in the late 2550's with new Forerunner tech above the newly minted shipyards of Reach and Tribute in the Epsilon Eridani System. It is a reliable design that has been upgraded over the years and has been designated 'Jewels of the Fleet' incorporating many technologies and manufacturing techniques. It is able to slug it out with larger Covenant Capital Ships and is mostly operating with a Carrier Group though does occasionally operate 'alone' with its Corsair Class Frigate escorts. Originally the class was to carry the larger Aegis Class Light Cruisers as its complement but due to time and budget constraints, only the Enterprise, the lead ship of the class could carry such vessels. The rest were built with modified frigate bays found on the Infinity Class.

Rigel Class Assault Carrier

Weapons: 2x CR-09F2 Series-9 Super Heavy MAC, 1x Mk. 15 Breakwater Mod 3, 10x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilguns, 140x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 10x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 20x M-1050 Lancer Laser Defense System, 30x M-980 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 50x F/A-42 EX Saber MRSFC, 10x AC-220/B King Vulture Gunship, 200x Transport Spacecraft/Dropships, 2 Marine Expeditionary Brigades

Length: 4,034 Meters

Introduced: 2557

Number: 24

A replacement to the Orion Class Assault Carrier, the Rigel was built and developed as a way for humanity to reassert their control over any Insurrectionist holdouts and later as a contingency plan should any former Covenant Race decide to resume hostilities. Luckily neither came to pass and the Rigel became more of a pseudo-humanitarian vessel, ferrying supplies using its massive hangar spaces to ferry and drop off hundreds of thousands of tons of supplies to beleaguered colony worlds and acted as a force deployment vessel to ward off any pirate or Banished raiding parties.

Phoenix Class Colony Carrier (2561 Refit)

Weapons (UTSC): 3x CR-12 Series-10 Heavy MACs, 6x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilguns, 30x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 10x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 30x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Weapons (CDF): 2x Mk. XVI 94B1E6 Heavy MAC (optional), 8x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilguns, 30x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 6x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 15x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement (UTSC) (Long Hull): 40x F/A-42 E/X Sabre MRSFC, 70x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 10x AC-220/B King Vulture Gunships, 40x D-90A LRT Cormorant Dropships, 2 Marine Expeditionary Brigades

Complement (CDF) (Short Hull): 40x F-41 E/X Broadsword MRSFC, 60x D-77H TCI Pelican Dropships, 56x D84-EST Darters, 10x D-20/SH Heron Dropships, 1 Colonial Marine Expeditionary Brigade

Length: 2,830-3,024 Meters

Introduced: 2561

Numbers: 102

The refurbishment of the Phoenix Class was in development since the early Insurrection, when the UNSC and CMA both needed carriers to sustain their campaigns in the Outer Colonies. Whilst a good part of the Phoenix's were refurbished there was no uniform plan, some had MAC's, others didn't, a few had missile pods and some didn't even have secondary coil guns. Eventually a somewhat more uniform refurbishment was carried out in 2561 under the 'Spirit of Fire' Upgrade and Refurbishment Program, giving all Phoenix's similar weaponry and interchangeable parts. A majority of these refurbished carrier vessels (Short Hull) were given to the CNDF to give some naval capabilities to the newly formed CDF.

Bastion Class Orbital Defense Platform

Weapons: 2x CR-08 Mod 3 MAC, 10x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 20x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS, 100x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), SIM-400 Dart Interceptors (Quadpacked))

Length (Gun): 2,027 Meters

Introduced: 2565

Number: 1,200

A successor to the Moncton Class of ODP's, the Bastion is intended to be the last line of defense in a fight for orbital supremacy. The bastion's power comes from its 2 MAC's pulled straight off of the Infinity Class design in the form of the CR-08, the difference being the Mod 3 is a good 300 meters longer than the Mod 2 and a good 400 meters longer than the Mod 1. The Bastion is also well defended, with a good amount of CIWS/PDC coverage as well as its own network of interceptor missiles. Naming is based on the area the ODP is guarding (Cairo Station) .

Invictus Class Battleship

Weapons: 4x Mk. XVIII 55F5A2 Super-Heavy MACs, 4x Mk. 15 Breakwater Mod 4, 4x Mk. 58 Hurricane 381mm Naval Coilguns, 6x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilguns, 240x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 20x M-4093 Hyperion Mod 4 MDS Silos, 20x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 10x M-1050 Lancer Laser Defense System, 40x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 10x F/A-42 E/X Sabre MRSFC, 15x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 2 Marine Expeditionary Companies, 1 or 2 Corsair-Class Frigates (docked externally)

Length: 3,250 Meters

Introduced: 2556

Number: 8

Designed near the end of the Human-Covenant War, the Invictus is a build-on of the Thanatos Class Battleship, with the UTSC Invictus being a Thanatos Class hull salvaged from Reach. With four Super-Heavy MACs, 4 Breakwaters, 10 naval coilguns, and an absurd number of missiles, the Invictus-Class can cripple enemy fleets single-handedly. While not as numerous as smaller warships, each battleship is a strategic asset, forming the centerpiece of major engagements. Unlike the Enterprise-Class Carrier, which relies on fighter support, the Invictus-Class is a pure war machine, designed to go toe-to-toe with Covenant Dreadnoughts and later Banished War Fleets. Such vessels follow British naming conventions for 1900 dreadnoughts.

Reach Class Heavy Cruiser

Weapons: 2x Mk. XV 50F9A1 Heavy MAC, 10x Mk. 54 Airacobra 203mm Naval Coilgun, 100x Mk. 50-1 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), SIM-400 Aegis Interceptors (quadpacked)), 40x M-1050 Lancer Laser Defense System, Complement: 30x F/A-42 E/X Sabre MRSFC, 10x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 2 Marine Expeditionary Companies

Length: 1,526 Meters

Introduced: 2559

Number: 53

After the Human-Covenant War the Navy found itself with a plethora of old Marathon and Halcyon hulls in need of scrapping. With material shortages and a need to bolster the numbers of ships, the Navy contracted Aerofabrique SA to recycle the old Marathon hulls and press them into service. The result was the Reach Class Heavy Cruiser, an alter ego to the Autumn Class Heavy Cruiser. Whilst the Autumn is designed for Anti-Ship roles, the Reach is designed as an Anti-Starfighter platform, able to intercept and destroy enemy starfighters and munitions from up to 2000 kilometers away. As a result, the Reach Class is also equipped with the most advanced sensor suite in the Navy, able to direct and control a whole battlegroup's interceptors without so much as a sweat and commonly operates with the Anlance Class Electronic Warfare Frigates (or at least the few owned by the Navy). However, a sizable number of Marathons (about 80%) were returned to active service without the Reach Class upgrades and fell within the Anti-Ship role. Such vessels are named after significant battles in human history.

Aegis Class Light Cruiser

Weapons: 2x Mk. XVI 51F2A1 Light MAC, 12x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilgun, 80x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked)), 15x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 10x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 2 Marine Expeditionary Company

Length: 1,030 Meters

Introduced: 2575

Number: 93

This light cruiser was first commissioned in 2575 with Fleet Admiral Jacob Keyes' major reformations of Navy doctrine, investing in smaller capable combatants compared to large lumbering fortresses. The Aegis Class acts primarily as an Anti-Spacecraft platform though has a secondary role as an Anti-Ship platform for a Battlegroup. It is compatible with certain Supercarrier drop systems such as with the Infinity Class Supercarrier, UTSC Eternity and the Enterprise Class Fleet Carrier, UTSC Enterprise, both of which can carry 2 such vessels.

Warrior Class Destroyer

Weapons: 1x MK. XVII 30FA2 Light MAC, 6 Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilgun, 40x Mk. 52 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM (quad packed), M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile (quad packed), M-4040 Devastator Ballistic Missiles), 5x M-4093 Hyperion Mod 4 MDS Silos, 10x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 2x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships

Length: 754 Meters

Introduced: 2575

Number: 136

The Warrior Class Destroyer is a ship that packs a giant punch, taking the enemy off guard from its relatively small size (in comparison to comparable platforms), the ship is practically covered in Spear Missile Pods and acts as the dedicated Anti-Ship platform of a Terran Battlegroup. It is the largest Terran-built destroyer to date. All vessels are named after influential military figures.

Corsair Class Heavy Frigate

Weapons: 1x Mk. XVI 94B2E6 Heavy MAC, 8x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilgun, 55x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 10x M-80 Incinerator Plasma Torpedo Tubes, 4x M-1050 Lancer Laser Defense System, 8x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 4x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 1 Marine Expeditionary Company

Length: 554 Meters

Introduced: 2580

Number: 358

The Corsair Class is the cutting edge of Terran technology, being developed during the 2570's and built starting in 2580 from recycled Charon and Paris Hulls at the upgraded shipyards over Luna, Mars, Tribute, and Reach, and at least 8 other ship building planets, it is able to be pumped out in large numbers in a shorter amount of time with all the new tech caches unlocked by humanity from the Human-Covenant War. It acts as the heavier MAC equipped cousin of the Mulsanne Class Light Frigate. Such vessels are named after warplanes, weapon systems, and honor fallen enlisted who went above the call of duty.

Colony Class Light Frigate

Weapons: 1x Mk. XVI 51F2A1 Light MAC, 4x Mk. 51 Tempest 127mm Naval Coilgun, 60x Mk. 50 Missile Silos (M-77 Spear AShM, M-53 Javelin Joint Attack Missile, SIM-340 Streak Interceptors (quadpacked), 6x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS

Complement: 2x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 1 CDF Expeditionary Company

Length: 501 Meters

Introduced: 2557

Number: 603

The Colony Class Light Frigate is the mainline warship of the Colonial Naval Defense Forces. Manufactured from old recycled Charon and Stalwart hulls to equip the now defunct Colonial Military Authority, the Colony Class makes up the bulk of the CNDF Fleet, complementing the older Hillsborough and Able Class Heavy Destroyers as well as the few capital vessels such as the Artemis Class Battlecruisers the CNDF was allowed to keep from the CMA. The Colony Class is also the only class of vessel within the combined Terran fleet to not possess a shield generator, later renditions of the class (Flight III and above) however do equip shield modules. These vessels are named after colonial holdings (cities, planets, administrative districts).

Tempest Class Corvette

Weapons: 1x 20DA2C4 Light MAC, 2 M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 2 M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS, 40x Mk. 55 Missile Silos (SIM-500, SIM-340, SIM-300, and SIM-200 Interceptors)

Complement: 1x D-77HG Pelican, 1 ODST Squad

Length: 398 Meters

Introduced: 2570

Number: 730

With most of the Navy's Corvette fleet out of action due to the Human-Covenant War and the near destruction of the Infinity after her escorts were busy with screening duty, the Navy decided it needed to reintroduce smaller screening vessels. Under the leadership of CNO, Fleet Admiral Jacob Keyes, the Navy worked in conjunction with Reyes-Mclees Shipyards and produced the Tempest Class Corvette, a small but capable screening escort designed to provide early warning and limited anti-starfighter escort. The Tempest is also in service with numerous Police Departments (or at least those who can afford it) and the Office of Naval Intelligence (as the Pallium Class Prowler). Such vessels are named after objects in nature.

Port of Shanghai Class Landing Ship

Weapons: 10x M-980 Rampart 70mm PDC, 16x M-100 Lance Missile Pods, 40x Mk. 55 Missile Silos (SIM-500, SIM-340, SIM-300, and SIM-200 Interceptors)

Complement (Standard): 10x F/A-42 E/X Sabre MRSFC, 50x D-85H TCI Pelican Dropships, 20x D-90A LRT Cormorant Dropships, 45 Scorpion/Centipede MBTs, 45 M-515 Thylacine APCs, 30x M-496 Alligator IFV's, 80 M-12 Warthogs/Puma's, 3 Marine Expeditionary Brigades

Length: 2,640 Meters

Introduced: 2558

Number: 43

Built and designed to potentially combat a resurgent Insurrection, the Port of Shanghai Class has one mission and one only. Land as many troops on the ground as possible. With the ability to carry a little over 15,000 soldiers, the Port of Shanghai Class can rapidly deploy its dropships and ODST pods and sustain a planetary occupation for at least 3 months. The vessel requires some escort as it is equipped without a MAC to make room for more storage/crew areas. These vessels are named after port cities and trade hubs.

Hope Class Hospital Ship

Weapons: None, Various Amounts of PDC/CIWS (after-market modifications)

Complement: 10 D-90B LRT

Length: 3,800 Meters

Introduced: 2557

Number: 10

The premier hospital ship in the United Terran Navy, these vessels have no armaments when they are commissioned. However some captains have opted to add on aftermarket PDC's and CIWS to protect the ship's occupants. Weapons such as the M-870 and M-910 are not uncommon to find strapped to the ship almost haphazardly and hidden since the UTF does not condone putting weapons on humanitarian vessels. Most famously in 2581 the captain of the UTAS Give Quarter, Anthony Jacobs, had a Mk.15 Breakwater slung underneath the vessel, Captain Jacobs was fined, charged, and court martialed once the news broke of a large gun slung under what was supposed to be a hospital vessel. The Breakwater was taken off soon after and put as a shore battery on Nova Terra as part of the planet's 'Stonehenge Battery'.

Fortification Class Ammunition Ship

Weapons: 6x M-940 Interceptor 30mm CIWS, 2x M-1050 Lancer Laser Defense System

Complement: 4 D-20/SH Heron

Length: 1,470 meters

Introduced: 2545

Number: 66

The standard ammunition ship for the Navy. The Fortification Class is able to supply an Armored Division for a good 4 months. These vessels are adapted from old Star Charter Class Colony Support Vessels. Such vessels are named after forts and defensive infrastructure.

Colonies of Andromeda

Strangreal

Founded: 2575

Population: ~400,000

The last colony to be founded in Andromeda by the United Terran Federation, Strangreal is already a booming mining colony thanks to its extensive deposits of rare-earth minerals notably the presence of the metal Beskar. The planet also has a strong agriculture sector though it is not as rich and diverse as the one on Virdi Pascuum.

New Kilauea

Founded: 2573

Population: ~120,000

New Kilauea lives up to its name as being the 'Rich Man's Playground'. The main residents of this tropical world are the upper class of Terran and Andromedan society who live and run their businesses from the comfort of their luxurious mansions. The main settlement, Atakatiki, is mostly middle class suburbs with a strong tourist industry.

Viridi Pascuum

Founded: 2560

Population: ~1,833,000

Translated in English to 'Green Pastures', Viridi Pascuum acts as the breadbasket of the Commonwealth. The majority of the population are farmers and their largest export to the Galactic Republic was, surprisingly, lamb meat which quickly became a favorite of the Coruscanti elite.

Coleville

Founded: 2562

Population: ~2,380,000

Coleville is a major center for Terran naval activity. Named after the late Fleet Admiral Preston Jerimiah Cole, Coleville provides the largest shipyards to ANDROMEDA COMMAND and is where the Coleville Officer Candidate School is located. Coleville is host to Cutter Naval Station.

New Venus

Founded: 2561

Population: ~140,000

A rather small gas giant with numerous mining colonies on the fringe of the Commonwealth, Tibanna Gas is found to be numerous and many made a fortune selling it to Andromeda, though Trade Federation vessels have been known to harass incoming and outgoing tanker craft.

Nova Terra

Founded: 2561

Population: ~16,250,000

Nova Terra is the most populous planet in the Andromeda Commonwealth, with lightning fast immigration causing rapid development, the arid plains world was quick to found 2 major cities, New Jericho and Terrapolis, each with around 6 million inhabitants. Nova Terra is often called the business capital of the Commonwealth and many businessmen and women, either from the Milky Way or Andromeda, have come to make a name for themselves on this temperate planet. The planet is also host to Ysionris Jeromi Hospital Station.

New Wilhelmshaven

Founded: 2560

Population: ~9,394,000

Founded by immigrants (or rather exiles) of the Unified German Republic, New Wilhelmshaven has a distinction as being under the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth under the Federation and a royal family, in this case the House of Hohenzollern under King Freidrich the VI. New Wilhelmshaven has quickly established itself as a commercial ship producer in the Andromeda Galaxy with the New Wilhelmshaven Ring Shipyards and is host to Camridge Naval Station.

Cascadia

Founded: 2559

Population: ~14,092,000

The first Colony founded due to its location near Forerunner Artifact, Relay B-1, New Cascades has served as the Colonial Capital of the Andromedan Commonwealth and is host to the ANDROMEDA COMMAND of the UTSC at Fort Stanforth, located in the capital city of New Portland. New Cascades has the largest defense fleet numbering at 96 vessels, 40% of the ANDROMEDA COMMAND.

Ranks of the United Terran Space Command

Enlisted:

E-1: Private (Marines/Army/CDF), Seaman Recruit (Navy/CNDF), Airman Basic (Air Force)

E-2: Private First Class (Marines/Army/CDF), Seaman First Class (Navy/CNDF), Airman (Air Force)

E-3: Lance Corporal (Marines), Gunner Corporal (Army/CDF), Seaman (Navy/CNDF), Airman First Class (Air Force)

E-4: Corporal (Marines/Army/CDF), Petty Officer Third Class (Navy/CNDF), Senior Airman (Air Force)

E-5: Sergeant (Marines/Army/CDF), Petty Officer Second Class (Navy/CNDF), Staff Sergeant (Air Force)

E-6: Staff Sergeant (Marines/Army/CDF), Petty Officer First Class (Navy/CNDF), Technical Sergeant (Air Force)

E-7: Gunnery Sergeant (Marines/CDF), Sergeant First Class (Army/CNDF), Chief Petty Officer (Navy/CNDF), Master Sergeant (Air Force)

E-8: Master Sergeant (Marines/Army/CDF), Senior Chief Petty Officer (Navy/CNDF), Senior Master Sergeant (Air Force)

E-9: Sergeant Major (Marines/CDF), Command Sergeant Major (Army), Master Chief Petty Officer (Navy/CNDF), Chief Master Sergeant (Air Force)

E-10: Sergeant Major of the Corp (Marines), Sergeant Commander of the Army (Army), Sergeant Major of the Colonials (CDF), Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy (Navy/CNDF), Master Chief Petty Officer of the Colonials (CNDF), Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force (Air Force)

Warrant Officers:

WO-1: Warrant Officer

WO-2: Warrant Officer Gunner

WO-3: Lance Warrant Officer

WO-4: Lieutenant Warrant Officer

WO-5: Chief Warrant Officer

WO-6: Master Chief Warrant Officer

WO-7: Warrant Officer Major

WO-8: Warrant Officer General

Officers:

O-1: Second Lieutenant (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Ensign (Navy/CNDF)

O-2: First Lieutenant (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Sub-Lieutenant (Navy/CNDF)

O-3: Captain (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Lieutenant (Navy/CNDF)

O-4: Major (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Lieutenant Commander (Navy/CNDF)

O-5: Lt. Colonel (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Commander (Navy/CNDF)

O-6: Colonel (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Captain (Navy/CNDF)

O-7: Brigadier General (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Rear Admiral (Navy/CNDF)

O-8: Major General (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Commodore Admiral (Navy/CNDF)

O-9: Lieutenant General (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Vice Admiral (Navy/CNDF)

O-10: General (Marines/Army/Air Force/CDF), Admiral (Navy/CNDF)

O-11: Field Marshal (Army), Air Marshal (Air Force), Fleet Admiral (Navy)

Chapter Text

"If the Republic won't stand up to corporate tyrants strangling their own worlds, then the Terran Federation damn well will, because we don't ask permission to defend our people, we just do it."

—MP Timothy Vince, Representative of Cascadia

THE PHANTOM MENACE!

TURMOIL HAS ENGULFED THE GALACTIC REPUBLIC! THE TAXATION OF TRADE ROUTES TO OUTLYING STAR SYSTEMS IS IN DISPUTE!

HOPING TO RESOLVE THE MATTER AND CURB THEIR SHRINKING PROFITS TO TERRAN MERCHANTS, THE TRADE FEDERATION HAS DEPLOYED MULTIPLE BATTLESHIPS TO BLOCKADE AND STRANGLE THE ECONOMY OF NABOO!

IN LIGHT OF THESE CONCERNS, THE REPUBLIC HAS DEPLOYED JEDI KNIGHTS, THE GUARDIANS OF PEACE AND JUSTICE IN THE GALAXY TO DEESCALATE THE CONFLICT AND BRING ABOUT PEACE TO THE GALAXY.

HOWEVER THE TRADE FEDERATION IS IN NO MOOD TO PLAY NICE AND SEEMS READY TO STRIKE AT THE SO CALLED 'TERRAN MENACE' AND END THEIR GROWING HEGEMONY ON THE OUTER RIM AND RETURN IT INTO TRADE FEDERATION HANDS….

[15 MARCH 2578]

FRM: CAPT ALAMONT 32702-21728-RA

TO: ADM DARE 73998-38490-VD, CDRE ADM HARPER 12251-02337-JH

SUBJECT: TRADE FEDERATION BLOCKADE OF NABOO

ENCYPTION: FENRIS-LOCK V3.7

SITREP: The UTSC NIGHTENGALE PRO-3392 has been deployed to the Chommell Sector to map and scout out the rising tensions between Naboo and the Trade Federation as part of Operation BACKSTEP. Currently, according to SIGNIT, HUMINT, and IMGINT, the planet has fallen under Trade Federation control.

This was confirmed by Asset [REDACTED] when they were groundside and reported a division-sized element of OOM units supported by light and heavy armor. Theed, the planetary capital, has fallen, and the blockade has grown to 40 confirmed Lucrehulk Class Battleships.

So far, no supply hubs of the Atlas Interstellar Shipping Corporation, Strassberg Line LLC, or the United Freight Haulers Alliance have been captured, but according to the UTSC SONG OF THE EAST and UTSC NANKING, these hubs and their lightly armed PMC's have sent out distress signals indicating a buildup of OOM units just outside the perimeter of the property line.

26 Images Attached

Current AI models predict the Trade Federation will make their move as soon as the SONG OF EAST is rerouted back to CAMRIDGE NAVAL STATION to refuel and restock its supplies. Signal interception of communication arrays also indicates that the Galactic Republic will not respond militarily and will likely send dignitaries in the form of Jedi Masters. Jedi who are likely to fail, as we have intercepted transmission signals that indicate the Trade Federation is not in the mood to negotiate.

With all this combined, we only have 3-4 days to make our move, lest we compromise the export market of the Andromedan Commonwealth. A market that the Commonwealth currently relies on.

Godspeed, Director and Deputy Director.

May the stars bless our Federation.

Location: Terran Presidedium, New Alexandria, Reach

16 MARCH 2578

Deputy Director Jackson Harper

Harper is a cold man. Everyone within ONI and the few outside of it seems to think he is. Yet he doesn't see it that way.

Harper just believes in the cold, hard facts, which either help or harm the Federation and ONI, the agency to which he has devoted 37 of his 56-year life. He was called 'The Surgeon' for a reason; the Commodore Admiral had no problem in tying loose ends and cutting dead weight.

Yet here for the first time, Harper, the man who is known for surgical precision when it comes to operations in the field, was advising the President to pursue an operation that, while strategically sound on paper, had all the makings of a political bloodbath... messy, loud, and nearly impossible to walk back once set in motion.

"So what you are telling me is that are best chances are to bomb the Trade Federation, say 'sorry', then pretend it never happened?" asked the President of the UTF, Harry Werner.

Harper never liked Werner. He was a coward in his eyes. He promised major military and economic reform, but he always chickened out because his party, the Federalists, seemed to be more concerned with keeping good ties to the Earth magnates of old rather than focusing on the increasing number of pop-up businesses and corporations around the nearly 600 worlds of the UTF, more so the new extragalactic ventures that were popping up with the establishment of the Andromedan Commonwealth just 16 years prior after the discovery of Gyre/AUREX, the gateway between the Andromeda and Milky Way Galaxies.

Werner was playing politics, and Harper never liked playing a game whose rules changed every 5-10 seconds.

Harper spoke up after a few seconds of stewing in his thoughts and opinions. "The operation is simple, Mr. President, we "suggest" the Atlas Corporation do a show of force, the Federation gets antsy, they attack each other, giving us probable cause to go in and sweep the Trade off of Naboo."

When Harper finished that sentence, the room was clearly divided into 2. On one side, military leaders and advisors seemed open to the idea, whilst on the other, most of the civilian cabinet seemed horrified. Chancellor Selene Chaudhary was the first to speak. "So your suggestion is to force a small, poorly funded PMC to do essentially a major military operation around foreign space and possibly get us into a war with the Galactic Republic?"

Harper gave an annoyed sigh. "Yes and no, the Galactic Republic, no matter how corrupt it is, still believes in some of the principles of Due Process, as do we, a company registered to us gets attacked, the Commonwealth's economy, which is reliant on exports gets messed up a little, then we can get the Trade Federation on the grounds of an economic disruption campaign gone hot."

"You can't possibly suggest we go on a '7-day adventure', rile up this new political arena, then pretend we saved the Naboo and make them our proxy. This is an issue of the Galactic Republic and the Galactic Republic alone," came the sharp voice of Minister of State, Darrin Jagleberry, the man from New Paris had a bushy mustache and an even bigger chip on his shoulder.

Harper had dealt with men of Jagleberry's class before; he had done so when he was a Commander and was assigned to the Intelligence Briefing Commission towards the UEG Senate (which eventually became the UTF Parliament).

All you had to do was deny, deny, deny, get them riled up with simple yes and no's and then go straight for the jugular by exposing just how little they actually understood about the stakes at play, preferably with a few select classified files and a cold stare that said "You're out of your depth."

Harper leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers, eyes locking onto Jagleberry like a predator sizing up a slow-moving target.

"Minister Jagleberry," he began, tone clipped and surgical, "are you aware of the current shipping throughput of the Naboo corridor?"

The Minister furrowed his brow. "I… well, it's a Trade Federation hyperspace route, but I fail to see-"

"Forty-two percent," Harper cut in. "Forty-two percent of all mid-rim commerce routes between our Andromeda colonies and the Republic pass through Chommel-adjacent sectors. That includes three high-volume refuel lanes for Andromeda return vessels. If the Trade Federation clamps down or applies even soft sanctions, the colonies will feel it before we even get the first press conference ready, and the Republic will do nothing about it."

The room went quiet.

Harper stood up and walked toward the center holotable, bringing up a series of charts, orbital routes, and fleet deployments, some marked [REDACTED, but nonetheless, all the information Harper wanted to show was available to the small contingent of bureaucrats.

"Here's the problem," Harper continued, gesturing to a highlighted cluster of systems, "The Trade is already shifting cargo logistics. That's not speculation, it's been confirmed by a prowler in the AO. They're staging for something, and I don't think it's a merchant conference."

President Werner leaned back in his chair, looking visibly shaken but still unconvinced. "You're saying they're preparing a blockade?"

"No," Harper replied flatly. "I'm saying they're preparing leverage. Naboo just happens to be the pressure point."

Chancellor Chaudhary stood. "Even if what you're saying is true, what you're proposing would place us in a direct confrontation. That isn't leverage, that's a war plan."

Harper didn't flinch. "We don't need to fire the first shot. We just need to set the stage. The Atlas Corporation does a cargo run. Loud. Flashy. Doesn't even need to shoot. Just enough to make the Trade twitch. Enough for the Republic to notice and maybe finally start asking questions internally."

Jagleberry scoffed, "You think a private military stunt is going to provoke a galactic trade giant into a misstep and gain us favor with the Republic?"

"No," Harper said, eyes narrowing. "I think it's going to make the Trade Federation panic. And panicked cartels do very stupid things."

Another beat of silence. This time, Harper let it hang heavy in the room.

President Werner exhaled through his nose and looked around the chamber. The weight of the room, of history even, seemed to press down on his shoulders.

"Military assets?" he asked quietly, not looking at anyone in particular.

The answer came with the steady, gravel-worn voice of Fleet Admiral Jacob Keyes, head of the Joint Chiefs and Supreme Commander of the UTSC and its Navy. When he spoke, the room listened, because when a man survives Installation 04, outguns a Covenant destroyer with half a MAC charge and no shields, and still shows up to every council meeting in uniform with coffee, a legacy M-6D, and classified reports in hand, you do not ignore him.

Keyes leaned forward, arms crossed behind his back, his old service jacket still bearing the deep-stitched battle ribbons of the Human-Covenant War. His gray eyes were hard, deliberate, but calm.

"At present," he began, "we have the UTSC Song of the East on station at Naboo's L2 point. She's accompanied by the UTSC Nanking. Both are maintaining a low-emission orbit and are on full combat alert. Something happens and they'll defend themselves accordingly."

Werner raised an eyebrow. "Two ships?"

"They're not just any ships," Keyes replied. "Song of the East is the best gunnery platform in the Andromeda Command's arsenal. Captain Benson could hit a moving blockade runner from behind a moon with his eyes closed and one hand on a coffee mug. And the Nanking isn't just there for show; she's the only Block IV Paris in the Andromeda fleet, so she's running electronic warfare coverage and hyperspace tracking to support any prowlers in the area, and she's done a huge part in intercepting Trade Federation communications."

Speaker Haley Odalwa leaned forward, adjusting her Terran flag lapel pin. "Can they protect Terran assets? Civilian shipping?"

Keyes nodded. "Absolutely. Since the Trade decided to make Naboo accessible to only their ships, the only vessels in the area are targets. And just in case this spirals…"

He pressed a key on his datapad. A new holographic overlay appeared above the table, showing fresh fleet movements.

"I've already deployed the 75th Carrier Strike Squadron out of Camridge Naval Station. The UTSC Rigel is leading the formation, supported by a full screen of four frigates, a destroyer, and a prowler. They'll be in position within seventy-two hours, masked under ECM support from the Nanking."

Werner sat back, clearly still wrestling with the decision. "That's a lot of firepower for a 'cargo incident.'"

Across the table, Minister Jagleberry exploded. "This is madness! We're positioning capital warships in Republic territory! This isn't just a cargo run; it's an act of aggression under the thin veil of commerce protection! You want to bait the Trade into a war we're not ready to fight!"

Keyes didn't even flinch. "No one's firing the first shot, Minister. But if the Trade makes the mistake of escalating, I'll make damn sure they regret it."

Chancellor Chaudhary broke the brewing storm with her calm, assertive voice. "Mr. President, the Federation has strangled Naboo's economy. If we let them bully our corporations off the map, every outer Commonwealth venture will see it as a sign that we're weak, and they'll start hedging toward Republic-aligned powers."

Speaker Odalwa added, "And Parliament won't tolerate that. Neither will the voters. Naboo was one of the first in Andromeda to open their ports to us. Atlas, Strassberg, and UFHA also hold UTF export licenses and are Terran-registered companies. That makes this our matter, regardless of what sector it's in."

Werner's eyes moved between them. Between Harper's cold certainty, Keyes' ironclad assurance, and the political reality forming around him.

He looked tired.

But when he finally spoke, he seemed to have finally found his voice.

"Fine. Authorize Operation BACKSTEP. Tell the Song of East to hold position, and get Atlas to proceed with the launch. If the Trade makes a move…"

He glanced at Keyes. The admiral nodded once.

"We'll be ready."

Location: Atlas Corporation Supply Hub 'Whiskey', Naboo

18 MARCH 2578

Lieutenant Commander Conner Hayfield

The D-102/B Owl took off and accelerated away from the supply depot as quickly as it came.

Lieutenant Commander Conner Hayfield coughed up a bit of dust kicked up by the Owl. A nearby worker cursed and swatted at the swirling grit, shielding his eyes. Hayfield ignored it; he'd inhaled worse.

Boots crunching on loose gravel, a tall man in an Atlas-logoed vest approached, hand outstretched. His eyes, narrowed by years of budget stress and mid-level management paranoia, sized up Hayfield like a ticking grenade.

"Vladimir Smorodov, Flight Operations Director," came a thick Russian-accented voice, followed by a firm handshake that was more of a temperature check than a greeting. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his Atlas-vest zipped halfway up over sweat-stained polyweave fatigues. Sharp eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, regarded Hayfield with an expression best described as skeptical compliance.

"I assume you're the one who submitted a launch override request for MCV Mako-11. That vessel is under embargo."

Hayfield let go of the handshake and reached into his coat, producing a compact, encrypted datapad and flashing his ONI credentials. "Not a request, Director. A priority override under Directive 17."

Smorodov's eyes narrowed. "The cargo ship has zero stealth capability and little to no hull shielding. You want to launch through a blockade? In that?"

"Yes."

The man blinked, baffled. "Are you insane?"

"No. Just informed."

Hayfield motioned toward the Mako, a Valkyrie-class cargo hauler, hull scuffed from years of service, her loading clamps barely detached. "That freighter is carrying material marked for Strangreal, correct?"

"Yeah," Smorodov replied. "Foodstuffs. Packaged dry protein, mostly shaak, cryo-veggies. Half of it's going to some logistics port; the rest is offloaded to smaller haulers, supposed to be standard colony resupply."

Hayfield narrowed his eyes. "Including ONI-registered pallets for Outpost Kilo-Niner."

That made Smorodov pause.

"How the hell do you-?"

"It's in the registry," Hayfield said, coolly cutting him off. "We have clearance under Terran Parliament Act 5/73-A, passed three years ago. Clause 14: 'During extragalactic commerce interruptions, ONI reserves the right to seize or redirect corporate freight assets carrying government-designated cargo to fulfill security or intelligence-critical objectives.'"

Smorodov swore under his breath in Russian. "You spooks and your goddamn legal clauses."

"We didn't write the law," Hayfield replied.

"But I damn well know you influence them," Smorodov shot back as Hayfield gave a huff of annoyance.

"I would prefer we agree to hate each other and get our respective jobs finished. How is that, Director?" Hayfield replied as Smorodov crossed his arms.

He let out a grizzled sigh. "Fine, but after this, I don't want to hear or see from you ever again, spook."

Hayfield let out a smile. "Good, now shall I brief you on the game plan with the rest of your staff?"

Smorodov gave a curt nod and motioned for Hayfield to follow him, 2 Section V guards following him close behind, armed to the teeth with MA-50s, their exoskeletons making the faintest whirring noises as they walked behind Hayfield in orderly fashion.

Inside the makeshift operations room, little more than a prefab dome lashed with comm wires and stacked crates. Fluorescent lights buzzed above a worn tactical table that flickered with the grainy projection of Naboo's orbital layers.

One person was already at the table, a shorter, broad-shouldered man with yellow, weathered skin and graying hair tucked under a faded bernard cap. His posture was deceptively relaxed, hands in his belt loops, but his eyes were hard, cold, focused, military.

"Captain Abe Matakasa," he said, introducing himself without waiting to be asked. "Mako-11's master and captain. Fifteen years commanding Atlas Interstellar vessels before that, and two decades in the Navy before that, UNSC Enceladus, FFG-1283, Battle of Voi. I know how bad this can go."

Hayfield gave a sharp nod. "I've read your file, Captain. Not here to lecture you on risk."

Matakasa raised an eyebrow. "Then you know I don't follow spook plans lightly. Especially ones that involve flying a lumbering hauler through a droid blockade, Commander."

Smorodov added dryly, "We're already seeing increased patrol sweeps. TF tanks sighted less than two klicks from our eastern fenceline this morning. If they know this launch is gonna happen, this whole depot's going to light up like a reactor spike."

"I'm aware," Hayfield said. "Which is why timing is everything."

He tapped a control on the holotable, bringing up a flight path, a narrow thread weaving its way through the blockade field like a thread through a needle's eye. It traced a southern polar arc, dipping through Naboo's lower magnetosphere and into a shadow window projected between three Lucrehulks.

"This is your corridor," Hayfield began. "We've calculated a twenty-three-minute flight window. You'll boost out on an angled vector, skip the orbital shelf using the planet's shadow to mask your burn, and thread the gap here-" he highlighted a space no wider than a few thousand kilometers "-while the Nanking drops a low-orbit ECM curtain and the Song of East opens up a simulated bombardment to draw their attention."

Matakasa grunted. "Simulated?"

Hayfield nodded. "We won't start the war unless they do. Captain Benson will have his crew lock the FCS onto a couple of Lucrehulks, light up their warning receivers, and make them panic. As they do that, we'll be able to sneak through the gap and make it home free."

"And if they do open fire?" Smorodov asked.

"Then they just gave us the legal grounds to retaliate under UTF interstellar commercial protection statutes. Parliament signed off on it less than twenty-four hours ago."

Smorodov scoffed. "Legalities don't mean shit if they're atomized before breaking orbit."

Hayfield glanced at him. "Then it'll interest you to know we've seen proof that the blockade can be broken."

Hayfield inserted a disk into the terminal, which quickly downloaded and displayed a recorded feed, jagged, partially scrambled from the camera of a spy satellite released by the Nightingale. A sleek J-type Nubian starship blazed across the screen, clearly in evasive maneuvers as turbolasers screeched by from a Lucrehulk. In the footage, a few pieces of debris could be seen flying off as the starship screeched over the top and then disappeared into hyperspace.

"This happened two days ago," Hayfield said. "The Nanking also picked it up from her passive array suite. One ship, unescorted. Took a few hits, sure, but she got through."

Matakasa leaned in, squinting. "That's a high-performance diplomatic yacht. Custom shielding. Nubian engineering. We're hauling a flying cargo can from half a century ago. You think we'll just slip through the same way?"

"You don't need to be faster," Hayfield said. "You just need a distraction."

He gestured to a new overlay, Song of East and Nanking lighting up selected Lucrehulk positions with ghost pings, decoys, and projected maneuver vectors. It looked like chaos.

"Captain Benson's going to make the Trade think we're staging a flanking burn for a heavier breakout. They'll reposition, shift their attention. In that window, you move, fast, quiet, hard burn."

Matakasa was silent for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose. "This plan stinks of ONI. Too many things need to go exactly right."

Hayfield nodded. "It does."

Another beat passed.

Matakasa finally gave a small, sardonic smile. "Good. I've missed this kind of gamble."

He turned to Smorodov. "Get your crews moving. If we're gonna run this blockade, I want all inertial compensators warmed and the nav AI scrubbed clean."

Smorodov grumbled something in his native tongue and moved to a nearby console.

As the two men split to work, Hayfield stayed a moment longer by the holotable, eyes lingering on the slender thread of a flight path amidst the sea of red Lucrehulks.

One chance. One gap.

Location: Vuntuun Palaa

18 MARCH 2578

Captain Daultay Dofine

The command deck of the Vuntuun Palaa was dimly lit, panels pulsing with Neimoidian script as a low hum of tension filled the air. Captain Daultay Dofine stood rigid in the center of the bridge, hands clenched behind his back, lips thin with suppressed rage. His mood was foul and had been for days.

"Twice," he hissed aloud. "Twice in a day. First, the Jedi ghosts... then that blasted Nubian scrapheap right under our noses..."

He trailed off, glaring at the central holo-display, where the orbiting pattern of the blockade ships was still precisely as it should be.

Too precisely.

The moment the thought struck him, the alarms began.

"Unidentified electromagnetic interference detected, source: planetary surface," droned a B-1 operator droid from its console. "Sensor ghosting on grid sectors Beta-Twelve through Eighteen. Diagnostic error code, uh... uh... seven?"

Dofine's right eye twitched.

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

"Uh... seven?" the droid offered again, helpfully. "Is it a lucky number?"

Dofine stormed forward, shoving the console aside. "Get me a real readout! I want that ECM source identified!"

"Processing... processing... still processing... we are still processing-"

Dofine slapped the emergency override and shoved past the OOM, muttering curses in his native Pak Pak dialect. The entire upper hemisphere of Naboo's magnetosphere was lighting up with flickers, ion bursts, false drive signatures, and ghost pings that made it seem like a Terran battlegroup was trying to breach orbit on three vectors.

"Terrans…" he growled to himself.

The blasted Terrans were relatively new to the galactic scene, but in the span of those 2 decades, their so-called 'Andromedan Commonwealth' and its many small private trading corporations had stolen a good chunk of business from the Trade Federation within the mid and outer rims, even with the new laws being signed into effect that made the Trade Federation a power to be reckoned with in the Galaxy, these Terran companies like Atlas Interstellar or Strassberg Line slowly made their mark on the outer and mid rim markets, offering better prices and better economic deals with the respective planetary governments in the region.

Naboo had been one of these planets and it was one of the many reasons why the Trade invaded the peaceful world. Of course, there was that blasted piece of legislation that would increase taxes on large trade conglomerates like the Federation, added that to the increasingly shrinking income of the outer and mid rims and the Federation would soon find itself to be very overextended and in a very sticky situation.

So he had no issue in tearing Terran trade apart, ship by ship, piece by piece, grinding it all to scrap.

"Registered Terran vessel breaking orbit, signature reads as light freighter. Registry: MCV Mako-11."

Dofine's eyes went wide. "On screen!"

The viewport shifted. A lone ship, blue-bellied and scarred, boosted up from Naboo, slipping directly through the corridor that had been flooded with ghost signals.

The Neimoidian practically vibrated with outrage.

"Open a channel," he barked. "Now!"

It was a good 20 seconds or so before Dofine found himself face to face with a Terran human. The man had on a plain grey uniform with a cap on his head. He was standing, his hands behind his back in a lax military posture.

"This is Captain Dofine of the Trade Federation! State your intentions!" Dofine said in a loud boisterous voice.

The Terran took in a large breath before breathing out and speaking. "This is Captain Matakasa of the MCV Mako-11, my intention should be clear, your blockade's illegal, Captain. We're running humanitarian cargo. Fire on us, and the UTSC will bury you in more trouble than you can imagine."

Dofine's jaw tightened. "I don't take orders from smug Terran captains. This is your only warning."

"I don't take ultimatums from incompetent Neimoidian bureaucrats," Matakasa replied, tone dry enough to parch a riverbed.

"Cut communications!" Dofine yelled as the channel closed abruptly.

"Prepare to fire!" he snapped.

The pit of droids sprang into action… well, their version of it.

"Uh, sir? Which cannons do we use? The big ones or the… medium big ones?"

"Do we fire warning shots first? I don't want to get yelled at again like last time."

"Can we aim and talk at the same time?"

Dofine's hands curled into fists. These were supposed to be the smarter version of the B-1 series. "Cease your idiotic questions! Use all the guns you useless droid!"

One of his advisors came up behind him and whispered into his ear. "My liege, wouldn't it be wiser if we took the vessel and showed the Terran's that we do not take intrusion on our business lightly?"

Dofine thought for a good moment. He could just fire on the ship and watch it fall to the ground in pieces of slag chunks, or alternatively, he could follow his advisor's advice, capture the vessel and the majority of its crew and make them the demonstrators of what happens when you cross the Trade Federation.

An added benefit was he would have hostages and could hold off that damned Terran cruiser hanging around the L2 point of Naboo. The Terrans were too honorable to kill their own people, he knew they would attempt a brazen rescue attempt similar to the Jedi.

And unlike the Jedi, it was an attempt he would surely crush.

"For once, my dear Vok," Dofine muttered, "we agree."

"Sir… Do we invade them?"

Dofine resisted the urge to simply cause a ruckus right there and then at the OOM who asked the question.

"Yes you idiot droid! Prepare the landing craft and launch fighters! I want that cargo seized and any cowardly Terran caught to be sent to the brig!"

"Roger Roger."

Dofine allowed himself the smallest sigh as the droid made it's . At least in the chaos, the rage simmering in his veins had somewhere to go.

"You will see your mistake Terran… very soon… very soon…" he said to himself, holding back a chuckle and settling with a malicious smile.

Location: MCV Mako-11

18 MARCH 2578

Sergeant James Rapwood

"Fucking hell," Sergeant Rapwood muttered as the communications cut off with the Vuntuun Palaa.

Today was a day Rapwood had been dreading. Either way he knew it was to happen, it was obvious at this point with how hot the political arena got within the last decade or so. Terran companies simply offered better pricing and deals with the Andromeda galaxy. That harmed the monopoly the Trade Federation had on the so-called 'Outer' and 'Mid' Rims of the galaxy and to rub it in, the Galactic Republic introduced new tax legislation which would further curb the Trade Federations power in the shipping industry.

Not that Rapwood cared at first, he was a Colonial veteran, serving in the CMA (or rather what was left of it) through the latter half of the Human-Covenant War, then the OCA at its conception before retiring and moving to private contractors like Atlas Interstellar. It was apparent he wasn't a political man, he just served under a banner, got paid, and got to shoot guns at people.

Now Rapwood was in charge of a 10 man security detail whose responsibility was to make sure the Mako stayed droid free.

"Fucking hell indeed Sergeant," muttered the ships captain, Abe Matakasa. Matakasa was a veteran of the Human-Covenant War. Rapwood held a lot of respect for him as his quick thinking had saved more than a few crews from plasma fire and boarding craft back in the day. Matakasa wasn't the kind of officer who panicked when the situation went loud, he was the kind who kept his voice calm and his mind sharper than an energy sword.

"What's the call, sir?" Rapwood asked, stepping up beside him at the tactical display.

Matakasa's dark eyes flicked over the readouts: the Vuntuun Palaa holding position just outside of weapons range, energy signatures flaring on their docking bays. "They're not firing," he said, voice level, "which means they think they can take us alive. That gives us an advantage… if we make it expensive."

Rapwood smirked grimly. "Droids aren't known for risk assessment."

"Exactly," Matakasa replied, straightening. "They'll come in hot, in numbers, and stupid. That's where you and your boys make them regret the attempt."

On the comms, the bridge crew reported: "Multiple boarding craft detaching from the Palaa, fast movers. They'll be in docking range in four minutes."

"Alright, Sergeant," Matakasa said, finally meeting his eyes. "Lock down the Mako. Close blast doors on every non-essential compartment. Make them choke every hallway."

Matakasa then turned on his heel. "Get those 2 Ramparts up and intercept as many as you can, make it easier for our boys to fight 'em.

The ensign saluted. "Sir yes sir!"

Matakasa then turned to Rapwood. "Hold 'em off as long as possible Sergeant, I've done all I can do, good luck and godspeed."

Rapwood gave a salute to the captain who gave one back before doing an about face and making due to the vessels armory at flank speed.

By the time Rapwood reached the armory, the place smelled of gun oil and ozone from freshly loaded rifles. His squad was already lined up in two rough rows, the veterans standing easy, like they'd done this dance a hundred times before, and the rookies fidgeting with their gear straps as if tightening them enough would keep the fear out.

Corporal "Mack" McAllister, a grizzled marine who'd fought on Reach before its fall, was leaning against a crate of M7 SMGs, chewing gum like he had all the time in the world. "About time, Sarge," he drawled, tossing Rapwood a spare Monitor mag. "Figured you'd stop for tea."

"Shut it, Mack," Rapwood shot back, catching the mag and sliding it into his chest rig. He scanned the rest of the squad, Torrez, Lomu, and Baines, all scarred survivors of multiple conflicts within the Human-Covenant War that made this one look like a training op… and then the kids. Jensen, barely twenty, with eyes too wide for someone holding a BR55. Kessler, whose trigger discipline still needed work. Pruitt, the quiet one, but the way his hands shook gave him away. And finally the twins, Reaves and Rowe, each fresh out of the washouts from BMT, looking like they'd stumbled into the wrong simulation.

Rapwood stepped forward, voice hard enough to cut steel. "Alright, listen up. The tin cans are coming in fast and stupid. That means they're gonna hit us in numbers, and they're gonna hit hard. I don't care if you're a vet or still learning which way the mag faces, you stick to your sector, you keep your muzzle downrange, and you don't get cute. Let them be stupid, and let them die for it."

He pointed toward the armory's far wall where a holomap flickered with red boarding vectors. "Kessler, Torrez, and Baines, you're with me on the primary choke at Forward Port Two. Lomu, take the kids and hold the secondary junction near the hangars. They break through there, we get rolled from behind."

"Yes, Sergeant," Lomu rumbled, his deep Sangheili voice carrying a weight that made even the rookies snap to attention.

Rapwood had known Lomu for a little over a decade, having been paired with him when Atlas started taking in 'non-human' employees. Lomu was a former Zealot, having turned to private work when his kaiden exiled him. If Rapwood ever needed physical muscle and couldn't find a Spartan, Lomu was the next best thing.

Rapwood shouldered his MAMR-48, the familiar weight grounding him. The Monitor Rifle looked rather miniscule in his hands. He had used the rifle before during his service with the CMA and eventually OCA, it had been with him throughout his 30 years of service serving different banners. He had grown quite fond of it and its large 10x51mm round, able to stop a man dead in his tracks, level 4 plates or not.

The PA blared over them: "Boarding craft impact in one minute."

"Time to earn your pay," Rapwood said, pulling his old helmet on and sealing the mag clamp on his hip. His HUD blinked to life. "Move out."

The squad broke into two groups, boots thundering against the deck plating as the klaxon blared overhead. The corridors of the Mako felt narrower than usual, the red emergency lighting pulsing in sync with Rapwood's heartbeat.

They reached Forward Port Two just as the first tremors shuddered through the hull, docking clamps locking into place with a metallic groan. Rapwood took position behind the first blast door, Kessler and Torrez setting up a portable shield generator in the middle of the corridor. Baines crouched low with his shotgun, eyes fixed on the door like he could burn it open with sheer will.

"Everyone in position?" Rapwood asked, his voice steady as the klaxons blared, the vessel shaking from CIWS fire.

"Yeah, the shield is up and running, no clue how many tin cans it's gonna take though." Torrez muttered over the comms.

Suddenly the klaxons stopped as silence permeated through the Mako. Rapwood stood still bathed in the artificial red light, the beams flashing in his eyes every so often. Thank the maker, his old helmet's polarized visor still somewhat worked.

"S-sir?" Kessler began to stutter as the M-7 SMG in his hands trembled, his finger itching the trigger as Rapwood grabbed his shoulder.

"Snap out of it kid, take your finger off the trigger, you'll get to use it soon damn it!" Rapwood hissed as Kessler attempted to get a hold of himself.

"How soon sir?" the kid muttered.

As if on cue the blast door to the airlock blew open as smoke and smog filled the halls. Luckily for Rapwood and the rest of his men, the polarized visors and their digital interfaces cut through the haze and gave out faint heat traces of battle droid power cells.

"Gotcha…" Rapwood muttered.

An OOM battle droid marched out of the smoke and pointed its blaster down the hall. "Surrender! You are under arrest by the Trade Fed-"

BANG

The droid crumpled to the floor instantly as Rapwood put a round dead center, the tin can sputtered wires, sparks, and gibberish.

"Uh oh!" another said as Rapwood smiled like a predator finding its prey.

"OPEN FIRE LADS!"

In an instant a wall of lead was formed and it crashed straight into the OOM's who were attempting to spread out, only to be cut off by suppressive fire from Torrez and his trusty M-739B SAW, the weapons firing at a steady 600 rounds a minute as 10mm cut into the droids left and right.

Kessler also rose up to the occasion and put his trigger finger to good use, holding it down as the M-7 made a continuous spray of 5mm. Of course this lasted for 2 seconds and soon enough Kessler was out.

Rapwood ducked behind some cover and saw the kid fumbled with the M-7, wondering why it wasn't firing.

With a huge sigh, Rapwood took the M-7 from Kessler. "Hey you plonker, this is the mag release, this is empty," Rapwood said as he tossed an empty mag down an adjacent hall.

Kessler fumbled for another magazine from his chest rig but Rapwood was already on it and gave the kid the M-7 back, locked and loaded as soon as Kessler got a magazine halfway out of its pouch.

"Try burst fire, lasts longer," Rapwood muttered as he leaned out of the corner and fired again, his monitor rifle making deep bassy thuds as it chugged along at a steady 500 rounds a minute.

The OOMs kept coming, their spindly silhouettes flickering in and out of the smoke like skeletal marionettes, blasters barking with a mechanical precision that only droids could muster. Rapwood's HUD lit up with hit markers as bolts splashed against the portable shield, each impact sending ripples across the hard-light barrier.

"They're pressing!" Torrez yelled over the comms, his SAW chewing through another drum. Brass casings clattered and skittered across the deck like a metallic rainstorm, the air heavy with the stench of propellant and scorched circuitry.

Rapwood leaned out, sending another pair of 10x51mm slugs straight through an OOM's torso, the force snapping it backwards into its squadmates. But for every one that fell, two more surged through the breach, stepping over the smoking piles of their own.

Kessler's bursts were tighter now, each triple-tap sending sparks off a droid's frame, but his breathing was ragged. Across the shield, Baines rose from his crouch and emptied his shotgun into a trio of OOMs rushing the left flank. The scatter tore one apart, but the others kept coming, red optics glowing through the haze.

"Reloading!" Torrez barked, yanking the empty drum from his SAW. The momentary dip in suppressive fire was all it took for the droids to surge forward, blaster fire raking the shield until its emitter sparked and died with a pitiful bzzt.

"Shield's down!" someone shouted.

"Fall back two meters, use the bulkhead!" Rapwood ordered, motioning with his free hand. The squad shifted as one, boots pounding against the deck, but the OOMs poured through the opening like a flood.

Lomu's voice crackled over comms from the secondary junction. "Sergeant, we are also engaged. Numbers… excessive." A muffled roar followed, Lomu's carbine no doubt cutting a swath through the hangar approach.

"Hold your ground, Lomu," Rapwood replied.

The corridor became a killing pit. Rapwood braced his rifle against the wall and hammered the trigger, his rounds punching jagged holes through metal torsos, but blaster fire seared dangerously close, one bolt splashing against the wall beside his head and filling his visor with static for half a second.

Then a different sound cut through the cacophony, a higher-pitched whine, rising fast. Rapwood's instincts screamed before his brain caught up.

"Thermal!" he bellowed.

The glowing sphere sailed end-over-end through the smoke, its casing reflecting the red strobe lights like a miniature sun. It hit the deck, rolled twice, and came to rest just shy of Kessler's boots.

Everything slowed.

Rapwood lunged, slamming into Kessler and shoving him back toward the bulkhead away from the detonator. Torrez dove low, yanking Baines by his armor plates. The detonator's whine reached a crescendo, its heat building in Rapwood's visor readout.

"Bloody hel-"

BOOM

Chapter Text

"Moping around and feeling cynical is not an option… killing clanka's is though."

—Barack Obama

CORUSCANT!

A SPRAWLING CITY-WORLD GLEAMS LIKE A JEWEL AT THE HEART OF THE GALAXY. ENDLESS TOWERS OF DURASTEEL AND TRANSPARISTEEL RISE ABOVE THE CLOUDS, CROWNED WITH THE GLOW OF SKY-LANES FILLED WITH SPEEDER TRAFFIC.

BUT BEHIND THE GLITTERING FAÇADES AND THE SENATE ROTUNDA'S GOLDEN DOME LIES A ROILING UNDERCURRENT OF POLITICAL INTRIGUE.THE GALACTIC SENATE IS IN TURMOIL.

THE TRADE FEDERATION'S BLOCKADE OF NABOO HAS SPARKED OUTRAGE ACROSS SECTORS, AND QUEEN PADMÉ AMIDALA, IN DESPERATION, HAS PUSHED FOR A VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE AGAINST SUPREME CHANCELLOR VALORUM.

DEBATE RAGES IN THE ROTUNDA, WITH SENATORS SPLIT BETWEEN SUPPORTING THE QUEEN'S PLEA AND DEFENDING THE TRADE FEDERATION'S HANDLING OF THE CRISIS.

LOBBIES HUM WITH STRATEGIC ALLIANCES, SECRET DEALS, AND THE HUSHED EXCHANGE OF VOTES AS THE FUTURE OF THE GALACTIC REPUBLIC HANGS IN THE BALANCE!

EVERY CORRIDOR, EVERY PRIVATE CHAMBER, EVERY HOLO-CONFERENCE IS ALIVE WITH WHISPERS OF POWER AND BETRAYAL.

NABOO'S PLEA HAS BECOME A TEST OF POLITICAL WILL…

AND THE OUTCOME COULD SHAPE THE GALAXY FOR DECADES TO COME.

[18 MARCH 2578]

FRM: BRIG GEN URBAN HOLLAND 76113-30529-UH

TO: LT CMDR 'SIX' BRAVO-321

SUBJECT: CLEAN UP DUTY

ENCYPTION: CYGNUS-LOCK V4.0

Long time no see son. Hope your trip wasn't too harsh, I know how much you hate the S-Decks on those prowlers.

However we have more important things to discuss rather than your social ineptitude and they currently involve the rapidly deteriorating situation on Naboo.

The Trade Federation has the entire planet surrounded, and while your original orders under Operation BACKSTEP had you infiltrating the system for low-visibility reconnaissance, circumstances have changed.

Earlier today, our intelligence division intercepted transmissions confirming the hostile boarding and capture of the UTSC civilian-flagged MCV Mako-11 by Trade Federation elements. The Mako-11 is carrying classified sensor arrays and encrypted navigation data in ONI registered pallets disguised as food deliveries that cannot be allowed to fall into Neimoidian hands.

However I am not asking you to capture the Mako-11, an ONI Section V team is already on it. We are assigning you to what you do best. VIP capture and retrieval.

Nute Gunray is reported to be planetside in Theed, the capital city of Naboo. Your job is quite self-explanatory. Capture the Viceroy and we get a lot of damn leverage after this skirmish ends and we cement our place on the map as a force to be reckoned with.

Don't make me regret bumping you up from recon to clean-up duty.

Holland out.

Location: Senate Rotunda

19 MARCH 2578

Queen Padme Amidala

"If the Federation moves to defer the motion...Your Majesty, I beg of you to ask for a resolution to end this congressional session and call for a new election for Supreme Chancellor," Senator Palpatine said quite timidly.

Padme was… well… she was massively overwhelmed by the constant thunder of noise the Senate Rotunda put out as over 2,000 delegates chit chatting at once was rather a spectacle to see. It was safe to say she felt rather small on the pod she was on.

"I wish I had your confidence in this, Senator," she replied, almost sheepishly.

"You must force a new election for Supreme Chancellor. I promise you there are many who will support us. It is our best chance," Palpatine said as he stared out to the Chancellor's pod elevated to be smack in the middle of the Rotunda.

Padme could see an almost hungry look in his eyes as his stare seemed to be much more of a glare but Padme could understand. Naboo was under siege and the Republic had so far done nothing about it, even with Jedi assistance.

If Chancellor Valorum rolled over for the rotten Trade Federation, he deserved to go.

"Our only chance…" Palpatine muttered as Padme turned to him once more.

"Do you truly believe Chancellor Valorum will not bring the motion to a vote?"

Palpatine didn't even pause for a second. "He is distracted. He is afraid. He will be of no help," he replied simply.

Just then the booming thunder of Mas Anneda's stick hit the floor of the Chancellor's pod as the Senate instantly went quiet.

Valorum cleared his voice, "The Chair recognizes the Senator from the sovereign system of Naboo."

Slowly the pod for the Naboo delegation began to rise as Padme felt her heart rate steadily increasing, as if the pod ascending had any coordination with her current beats per minute.

Palpatine was first to speak. "Supreme Chancellor, delegates of the Senate. A tragedy has occurred on our peaceful system of Naboo. We have become caught in a dispute you're all well aware of, which started right here with the taxation of trade routes, and has now engulfed our entire planet in the oppression of the Trade Federation."

A second senate pod rushed in from above, this one hosting the sleazy Lott Dod, the Senator for the Trade Federation.

"This is outrageous! I object to the Senator's statements! I demand he be silenced!" the Nemodian shouted as the Senate once again exploded into noise.

Padme, even for her young age, could see the issues of having some Trade conglomerate be represented. Why would the Trade have a seat in the first place? It seemed rather out of place authority wise. Shouldn't the large corporations be lower on the ladder? To her it was just more muddling lobbying, only except it was out in the open and clear for people to see. At least those who wanted to see it.

Valorum spoke, his voice booming towards the Trade Federation Senator, "The Chair does not recognize the Senator from the Trade Federation at this time. Please return to your station."

Lott Dod seemed ready to protest but something changed in his expression, though it wasn't fear, more of just feigned annoyance. The sleazy senator and his pod went back to their original place as Valorum motioned for Palpatine to continue.

"To state our allegations in full, I present Queen Amidala, recently elected ruler of Naboo, who speaks on our behalf."

Padme felt her heart rate spike. She took in another deep breath as she calmed herself. She would state her people's grievances, attempt to convince the Republic to actually take action, and hopefully her people would be one step closer to freedom from the Trade.

"Honorable representatives of the Republic, distinguished delegates, and Your Honor Supreme Chancellor Valorum, I have come to you under the gravest of circumstances. Naboo's system has been invaded by force. Invaded, against all the laws of the Republic, by the Droid Armies of the Trade-"

She didn't even get to finish her monologue when Lott Dod and his senate pod sped towards the middle as the neimoidian began his shouting tirade. "I object! There is no proof. This is incredible. We recommend a commission be sent to Naboo to ascertain the truth!"

Valorum sighed, Padme couldn't hear it but she could see it as the old man turned to the Trade Senator. "Overruled. Return to your station Senator."

Lott Dod however seemed to plant his feet straight into the blasted ground. Staying as he launched another tirade, this time at the Chancellor himself.

"Your honor! You cannot allow us to be condemned without a chance to defend ourselves which is already outrageous! We are defending our interests and the galaxy's at large by holding off the Terran menace which has already cut into our markets and threatens this very Republic!" Lott Dod shouted as the room suddenly erupted into shouts, mostly boos and war cries.

The chamber all but exploded at Lott Dod's last remark. Shouts of "Hear, hear!" mixed with angry cries of "Lies!" and "Order!" as pods surged forward and back like a storm-tossed sea. Valorum's frail voice tried to rise above it all, but the storm of thousands of Senators talking, jeering, and shouting over one another buried him under noise.

"Order! ORDER!" Mas Amedda slammed his staff again, but even the booming echo barely checked the chaos.

Valorum finally stood from his chair, his hands raised, his tone desperate rather than commanding. "Esteemed delegates, please, this body cannot descend into mob justice. The Senate has always prided itself on measured responses. I implore all parties to allow a commission of inquiry to verify the Queen's allegations before this assembly rushes into rash action."

The words were oil on fire.

A Rodian senator cried out: "A commission? While her people suffer?"

A Bothan delegation roared: "You did nothing against the Terran shipping conglomerates bleeding our sectors dry-now you ask for another committee?"

Others shouted in chorus: "Where was the Chancellor when the Trade blockaded Malastare shipping lanes? Where was he when the Terran fleets strong-armed our shipping companies?"

Valorum faltered, visibly shrinking as pod after pod surged forward, berating him for every hesitation and inaction his tenure had accumulated. Some senators jeered outright, others shook their fists or called for his resignation.

The Queen, still holding the edge of her pod as if it were the only solid thing in the storm, realized Valorum was lost. His voice no longer carried authority. His attempt at calm had branded him a coward.

The Chancellor turned back to her with a pained expression, his voice low but carried on the Rotunda's amplifiers: " The point is conceded. Section 523A takes precedence here. Queen Amidala of the Naboo, will you defer your motion to allow a commission to explore the validity of your accusations?"

Gasps filled the chamber, followed by a wave of laughter, shouts, and boos.

Padmé's spine stiffened. Her pulse no longer raced, it steadied. She knew what she must do, even if she feared the consequences.

"Supreme Chancellor, with all due respect," she said, her young voice carrying sharper than it ever had before, "I will not defer. I have come before you to resolve this attack on our sovereignty now! I was not elected Queen to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this invasion in a committee! Naboo cannot afford another commission! We need action. If you will not lead, then we must find one who will."

There was a stunned silence.

Then she spoke the words that would echo across the galaxy:

"I move for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum's leadership."

The chamber erupted, a cyclone of motion and sound as pods surged in every direction, some shouting their agreement, others in outrage.

Padmé, for all her youth, held steady. She looked not at Valorum, nor at the riotous chamber, but at the silent, calculating figure of Senator Palpatine. His expression was one of solemn gravity, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

However in all the chaos, Padme wondered.

'Did I make the right decision?'

Location: Olympia Tower, New Alexandria, Reach

19 MARCH 2578

Deputy Director Jackson Harper

Email this, email that. All either about top secret projects or that staff meeting about how a new intern pissed his pants during a press conference.

The ONI Deputy Director scrolled through his slate with the detached boredom of a man who'd seen every variety of bureaucratic disaster. The office was silent except for the faint hum of climate control and the muted city skyline beyond the polarized glass.

One could say that despite Deputy Director Harper's reputation for surgical precision in the field, his day-to-day workload was ninety percent cleaning up other people's messes. And in the political game, some of those messes came in bespoke suits and thought shouting louder was the same as leading.

His desk phone chimed.

Harper pressed the receive key without looking up. "Harper."

"Sir," came the voice of his secretary, Nadine, a woman whose tone was the only thing between Harper and multiple homicide charges some days, "Minister Jagleberry is requesting a meeting."

"Request denied. Tell him to-" Harper leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, "-politely go to hell."

"I would, sir, but he's… already in the building."

Harper's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Already on his way up. Security said he forced his way past the lobby desk. He's in the elevator now. ETA, thirty seconds."

A slow exhale. "Of course he is. Thank you, Nadine."

"You're welcome, sir. I'll prepare the mop for the aftermath."

The line clicked dead, and Harper set the slate aside, straightening his posture just enough to project authority without actually looking like he cared. The glass doors to his office hissed open and in stormed Minister of State Darrin Jagleberry, a barrel-chested man in an immaculate navy suit whose face was already flushed with rage before he crossed the threshold.

An average day for the Minister really. Harper had all types of files.

"Do you have any idea what kind of circus you've unleashed, Harper!?"

Harper didn't answer immediately, merely gesturing to the seat across his desk. Jagleberry ignored it.

"I told you at that meeting, I warned EVERYONE about the consequences, and what did you do? You went in, you sent your spooks, your pet soldiers, and now the entire Trade Federation is using Naboo like it's their own private toll booth! Now we have reports of Trade Federation offensives against our shipping outposts! You have spiraled this situation so far out of control I'm amazed you can still keep a straight face!"

"Minister," Harper said smoothly, "your vocal projection is very impressive for this time of day."

"This isn't a joke!" Jagleberry jabbed a finger at him. "You and your entire branch of lunatics should have been kept miles away from this. The UTSC should never have forced Atlas Interstellar into Naboo's orbit! You think this is some kind of game, don't you? Deploy a Spartan here, send a black-ops team there… well, congratulations, you've turned a blockade into a full blown war!"

Jagleberry continued to pace like a caged animal, hands slicing through the air with every syllable.

"I've been saying it since the start! Intervention was a mistake! A catastrophic, bone-headed, history-book-level blunder! We had the diplomatic channels, Harper. We could have negotiated with the Republic. But no, the UTSC and their watchdogs in ONI can't resist sharpening their knives and going in for a fight. WAR DOGS, the lot of you! And what's the result? Federation ships choking out the lanes, civilian freighters being boarded, and now the shipping corpo's begging me. ME! For protection I can't promise because you've made this a military target! The corporate boards are already breathing down my neck, shareholders are screaming, and do you know what the Press Bureau is calling this? Naboo-gate. Naboo-gate, Harper! That's on you!"

He stopped only to slam his palm against the edge of Harper's desk, the sound sharp against the sterile silence.

"I've got senators from my block and the damned Unionists demanding my resignation, governors threatening to pull funding from the CNDF fleet unless we 'de-escalate' and what does ONI do? It doubles down! You've got assets crawling all over the system, and now I hear Spartan Headhunters are involved. Headhunters! You deployed the most dangerous black-bag operators in our entire arsenal into a situation that's already an inferno!"

Harper's expression didn't change. Jagleberry took that as an invitation to wind himself up further.

"You think I don't know what happens when your Headhunters get unleashed? I've read the briefings! The classified ones. Precision, deniability, and a body count that always gets filed under 'necessary collateral.' You're going to burn this planet to the ground just to prove a point to a bunch of Neimoidian trade barons!"

The Minister's voice cracked, but he didn't slow down.

"And the worst part, the worst part, is you're going to stand there, arms folded, talking in that icy 'trust me' tone like you're playing twelve-dimensional chess, when in reality, you've rolled a grenade into the galley and are just waiting to see who jumps on it! The UTF or the UTSC for that matter doesn't need more cowboys, Harper, it needs control, stability, sanity, and you and your shadow army are the antithesis of all three!"

He straightened his tie like it was the tie's fault he was red-faced. "You've painted a target on our entire trade network. If the Federation wanted an excuse for escalation, you just handed it to them wrapped in ONI letterhead. And when this blows up, and it will, it's going to be on my desk, because I'm the one who's going to have to go before the Senate and pretend we're not a pack of frothing madmen who think the answer to every problem is a bigger gun!"

By the time he finally stopped for air, Harper was still exactly as he'd been when Jagleberry barged in, calm, cool, with just enough of a smirk to look like he was silently rating the Minister's performance.

"Are you finished?" Harper asked.

"For now," Jagleberry snapped.

"Good, now are you gonna shut up and listen to what I have to say?" Harper asked, arms folded on his table as Jagleberry huffed, still red in the face.

"Whatever it is, it better not be some prepared bullshit statement that I know you and your-"Jagleberry froze mid-sentence as Harper's voice cut clean through the tirade.

"You're going to sit there and listen," Harper said evenly, "because unlike whatever performance you just gave me, what I have to say actually matters."

The Minister's mouth opened, but Harper's tone sharpened enough to shut it again.

"I have Spartans in play. They will take care of it under Holland. The Mako-11 will be recovered, the crew will be linked up with the Song of the East, and the Trade Federation won't even know what hit them until they're still counting bodies three days later. That's the whole point of deploying them. No leaks. No press circus. No mess for you to mop up, we will simply give credit to the Naboo and then we move on."

Harper leaned back slightly, almost casual. "And that means you don't have to lose any more sleep over this than you already do… which, judging by your recent calendar history, isn't much."

Jagleberry stiffened. "What did you just-?"

"I know about the late-night comm calls to Senator Hravik's office," Harper continued smoothly. "And the private shuttle trips to Maxwell Strassberg's private estate in Stockholm, very discreet of you, using your aide's clearance code instead of your own. Cute. I also know exactly which board members you've been dining with to keep your retirement options open… even though you keep telling your wife you're working late at the Ministry..."

Silence fell heavy on the room as Harper noticed Jagleberry's face started going red again. Harper smiled at the flare up and dumped more fuel into the fire.

"... got yourself a nice woman… er I suppose she's not really a woman, how devastating would it be if a Federalist like yourself was ever caught having an affair with, say an alien? Much less an Elite or I suppose what we're supposed to call Sangheili, how fast do you think your ratings will drop? What hit pieces will the Unionist's write? What will your wonderful wife, Elsa, of 35 years think? Happy Anniversary by the way..."

The Minister's face was suddenly drained of color. "You son of a-"

Harper's eyes hardened to cold steel. "If you ever force your way into my building again without clearance, I will have you shot on sight. God forbid I do it myself. No warning. No appeals. The paperwork will read security breach neutralized, and no one in this city or Werner's cabinet will raise an eyebrow."

The room was suddenly so quiet that the hum of the climate control sounded like a roar. Jagleberry stood there, jaw working but no words forming, caught somewhere between outrage and the sudden realization of just how far out of his depth he was.

Harper gave him a thin smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Now. You can either leave through the front door, or I can have Nadine call in Section V to escort you out the service entrance. Your choice, Minister."

"You can't-!"

"Nadine?" Harper tapped his desk intercom, putting it on speaker.

"Yes Commodore?"

"Get me Section V, I got an unwanted visitor I want out of my office."

"Yes sir."

It wasn't even a minute before two black-armored ONI security officers appeared in the doorway, their visors reflecting the Minister's indignant glare.

"This is outrageous! I'll have your head for this, Harper!"

"Mhmm," Harper replied, already turning back to his slate.

The glass doors hissed shut behind them, and the office returned to silence. Harper exhaled, tapped the next encrypted message in his inbox, and muttered to himself:

"Now… where were we? Ah yes, Sangheili Cultural Appreciation Day Staff Lunch…"

Location: Coruscant, Senate Rotunda

20 MARCH 2578

Queen Padme Amidala

As she stared out from Senator Palpatine's office, Queen Amidala couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and guilt build in her gut.

Her people, the Naboo, were just denied any assistance from the galaxy at large. At least that was the basic rundown.

Somehow the Trade Federation and its Senate representatives were able to shut down her motion, gain enough traction for their side of the story in that little amount of time, and basically kill any initiatives that could help free her people from their iron grip.

"Are yousa sure yousa picka the right decision?" Jar Jar asked, coming up behind the young royal.

Padme wasn't sure herself. It had been the heat of the moment, the whole Senate arguing back and forth like usual when she placed the motion to a vote of no confidence towards Chancellor Valorum. She was tired of it all, tired of the escape, tired of the trip, tired of hearing fat cat bureaucrats rambling about this and that and so-called 'laws'.

Padme didn't turn. "It was the only decision left to me, Jar Jar. But…" She drew in a slow breath. "…I fear it may not have been enough.

Before either could speak further, the door slid open with a polite chime. Captain Panaka entered, posture stiff and voice clipped.

"Your Majesty," Panaka said, bowing slightly, "may I present Ambassador Akira Shibuara of the United Terran Federation."

In stepped in Akira Shibuara, his navy-blue diplomatic uniform crisp, bearing the UTF crest at the shoulder. His dark eyes swept the room quickly, taking in the Queen, Panaka, Jar Jar, and finally Senator Palpatine, who rose from his desk with that smooth politician's smile.

"Ambassador," Padme greeted, inclining her head. "What brings the United Terran Federation to my cause?"

"I'm here, Your Majesty," Shibuara began, his tone calm but edged with formality, "to express my government's deep concern over the unlawful seizure of Terran merchant shipping in your system. specifically the MCV Mako-11. It was taken by the Trade Federation only two days ago. We view this as an attack on Terran sovereignty and commerce."

Jar Jar tilted his head, ears flopping slightly. "Yousa meanin'… bombad help issa comin'?"

Shibuara blinked once, clearly unsure if he had heard correctly. "…I beg your pardon?"

Padme felt her stomach drop to the floor.

"Da Gungan Grand Army could be helpin' too!" Jar Jar said brightly. "Wesa gotsa warriors, gotsa boomers, gotsa-!"
"Jar Jar!" Captain Panaka barked as Jar Jar quickly shut up, of course not before knocking over a statue in Palpatine's office by accident. Padme did her best to keep her composure from falling into either laughter or great shame.

"Are you offering assistance?" Padme asked rather sheepishly as Shibaura nodded his head once.

"Yes your highness, the United Terran Federation finds the Trade Federation's blockade and invasion of Naboo to be unlawful and destabilizing the local sector."
Shibuara's eyes lingered on Padmé a moment before he folded his hands neatly behind his back. "The MCV Mako-11 was carrying civilian-grade supplies bound for Naboo when it was interdicted and seized by Trade Federation elements. Its crew are presumed alive, but we consider this not only an act of piracy, but a deliberate provocation aimed at my people. The United Terran Space Command has already mobilized a task force to investigate, and I am here to inform you that, whether the Senate acts or not, we will not leave our people, or yours, to languish under a blockade."

Captain Panaka's brows arched ever so slightly. He caught the brief flicker of pride in Padmé's eyes but didn't relax. "With respect, Ambassador, what does that mean in practical terms?"

"It means, Captain," Shibuara replied evenly, "that Terran intelligence networks are already moving to stir resistance among Naboo's occupied settlements. A rebellion, if you will. Not an aimless uprising, but a calculated effort supported by our advisors and matériel. And while I cannot promise you open warships engaging in fleet actions, not yet, we can and will provide the spark your people need to restore their sovereignty."

Palpatine's smooth voice slid into the air like silk. "Most… generous, Ambassador Shibuara. But I must remind you, the Senate has not authorized direct military intervention. Such actions, while noble in sentiment, could complicate matters in ways neither Naboo nor your Federation desires." His eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, watching the Terran carefully.

Shibuara turned his gaze toward the Senator, expression politely neutral though his posture stiffened. He inclined his head slightly, but did not bow. "With respect, Senator, the Terran Federation does not require Senate approval to defend its people or its shipping lanes. That principle is non-negotiable. What we choose to do in concert with Naboo's rightful government is a matter of solidarity, not Senate bureaucracy."

Jar Jar's mouth hung open, his ears flopping as he whispered to Panaka, perhaps a little too loudly, "Dis gots-a soundin' like-a bombad war already…"

"Jar Jar." Padmé's voice was soft but firm, silencing him. She stepped forward, hands clasped at her waist. "Ambassador, if your people truly intend to support ours, then you have my deepest gratitude. I fear our strength alone is insufficient."

"Then take this as the first step." Shibuara reached into his uniform pocket and drew out a small, silver datacard. He handed it to Panaka, who accepted it with soldierly caution. "Clearance codes. With them, your vessel can safely approach and dock with the UTSC Song of the East once you return to Naboo space. There, Captain, you'll be provided with arms, supplies, and coordination to assist your Queen and her people."

Panaka gave a short, respectful nod. "Understood." He slid the card into his belt pouch, but not before giving Shibuara a long, searching look.

Palpatine rose fully now, folding his hands behind his back. "It seems, Your Majesty, that fate has brought you unexpected allies. Allies who, I trust, will conduct themselves with discretion."

"Of course, Senator," Shibuara said, his tone clipped. His eyes narrowed just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Padmé caught it. He didn't trust Palpatine. Not at all.

The Queen exhaled slowly, the weight on her shoulders lessened if only by a fraction. For the first time since the invasion, she saw a glimmer of hope beyond the Senate's apathy. The Terrans would act where the Republic would not.

And perhaps, just perhaps, Naboo would endure.

A/N: Last Chapter for August and maybe September, depends on how busy I am. If you wanna talk with me feel free to do so I try my best to reply. Anyways please Read and Review and thanks for any support you give. :)

Chapter Text

"If you get 1 Spartan sent against you, you're fucked. When they send a Fireteam…? I can only ask God for what you did to piss [HIGHCOM] off that much."

–Sergeant First Class Angus Sutherberg

NABOO!

THE SMALL, PEACEFUL PLANET IS NOW ENGULFED IN WAR!

THE TRADE FEDERATION HAS LAUNCHED ITS OFFENSIVE AGAINST TERRAN SHIPPING OUTPOSTS IN THE SYSTEM, HOPING TO SEND A MESSAGE TO EARTH THAT THE GALACTIC ECONOMY IS FIRMLY WITHIN THEIR GRASP.

HIGHCOM HAS AUTHORIZED THE DEPLOYMENT OF FIRETEAM BRUISER ALONG WITH A MARINE BATTALION. TOGETHER, THESE ELITE SOLDIERS ARE TASKED WITH SUPPORTING THE NABOO RESISTANCE, STRIKING AT THE HEART OF THE DROID ARMY, AND GIVING THE TRADE FEDERATION A PIECE OF THE TERRAN MIND!

MEANWHILE, QUEEN AMIDALA RALLIES HER PEOPLE AGAINST THE INVASION, WHILE THE JEDI KNIGHTS MAKE FIRST CONTACT WITH THE SPARTANS. TOGETHER WITH TERRAN FORCES AND THE NABOO, THEY PREPARE FOR THE DECISIVE STRUGGLE TO LIBERATE THE PLANET FROM THE DROID MENACE…

[25 MARCH 2578]

FRM: COL KENGUN 23988-12932-SK, REAR ADM 'JOHN' SIERRA-117

TO: CDRE ADM HARPER 12251-02337-JH

SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO MAXWELL STRASSBERG

ENCRYPTION: FENRIS-LOCK V3.8

DOSSIER: Maxwell Strassberg is an influential individual in both Milky Way and Andromedan Politics, being the heir of a multi-trillion credit shipping empire, Strassberg Line, part of the Strassberg Intergalactic Group based in Stockholm, which is close to celebrating its 2nd century.

Strassberg also in the past has had numerous positions within prominent companies such as Sino-Viet Heavy Machinery, AMG, Achreon, and Rheinmetall, most often acting as the Chief Financial Officer for a short tenure. He is also known to advise the upper class in finance, dodging taxes on so called 'horizon worlds', a term he himself coined in 2561, taking advantage of the chaos created after the Human-Covenant War to build a second financial empire.

In public Strassberg is known to be charismatic, charming, and rather well versed in wooing the ladies. He has made multiple contributions to the entertainment industry, most notably controversial films which sprung up after the Human-Covenant War which promote interspecies romance and interspecies attraction, most notably the film adaptation of 50 Shades of Purple. He is also known to promote certain Federalists and Progressivist Alliance politicians through indirect means and has constantly taken advantage of the scattered legal system in the formative years of the Federation from 2560-2566.

He is also expanding to the Galactic Senate after our introduction to the Andromeda Galaxy. It is reported that he has multiple senators on his payroll and due to lackluster corruption laws, the Republic has been none the wiser. It has been reported from multiple assets that Strassberg has even started to collaborate with the Banking Clan and has secured some rather lucrative contracts, all under secrecy from the public eye.

Now he has multiple villa's, his favorite being a 62,500 square foot property on New Kilauea just 100 kilometers north of the capital of Atakatiki, and is set to retire from the industry, or at least that's what his PR team claims.

SITREP: Recently, ONI Section I assets received a tip-off regarding an emerging insurgent cell on Heian who called themselves the 'Sons of Terra'. Joint operations were executed between ONI Section V Special Detachment, Terran Marshals, UTSC Marine Raiders, and local Colonial Defense Forces, culminating in a raid on an insurgent cache.

Recovered material included multiple ARC-920 and M-41 SPNKR's, all with fully verified receipts tied to Achreon Defense Systems, a company which Strassberg gives so called 'advice' to and serves on as part of their Board of Directors. Transaction logs confirm legitimate, cleared payments, suggesting the weapons were intentionally funneled rather than black-market acquisitions.

During exfiltration, a Strassberg Line executive shuttle was intercepted and disabled. The detained passenger, later confirmed as a mid-level financial operative within the Strassberg Group, confessed under interrogation that the insurgents had been funded through shell companies linked to Maxwell Strassberg's personal finance network. Said operative implicated Strassberg directly in facilitating arms transfers, framing them as "colonial security assistance contracts" towards the CDF.

After consulting with the Office of Colonial Affairs, their Logistics Officers revealed they had delayed orders due to 'supply issues' but eventually got their order for 'free' about 2 months later. Further investigation reveals the serial numbers of the weapons found on Heian match those on the OCA receipts, meaning Strassberg deliberately delayed the contract to produce more to cover his tracks.

Preliminary intel suggests Strassberg has relocated significant assets and personnel to his estate on Atakatiki, New Kilauea, a member of the Commonwealth. He has reportedly contracted White Coast Royal Security to reinforce site defense. White Coast is known to be brutal in the way they conduct warfare yet are the most premium PMC to hire whenever a conflict arises. White Coast's operational roster is confirmed to include retired Spartan-IV elements, which drastically elevates the risk factor for any direct action.

Complicating the matter, ONI prowler [REDACTED] stationed in Andromeda has reported an unusual influx of native Andromedan shipping vessels transiting through New Kilauea, the majority running under Hutt, Mandalorian, or unregistered banners. Their sudden interest in Strassberg holdings is unexplained.

Location: UTSC Song of the East

21 MARCH 2578

Captain Nuygen Benson

Captain Benson was feeling both elated and exhausted at the same time. As the commanding officer of the cruiser Song of the East, he had watched the formation, escalation, and breakdown of what may possibly be the most volatile political situation in recent memory.

Just recently he had made contact with the Spartan team which had recaptured the Mako-11, bringing her back in almost 1 piece to the rendezvous point. Now he was preparing for an intervention to relieve the battered PMC's on Naboo and hopefully make a sizable dent in Trade Federation forces.

"Sir, got a Naboo J-Type 327 coming up on scope… likely neutral…" one of his comms officers said as Benson got up from his command chair.

"Send a message, tell them to identify themselves…" Benson replied. Even if he already knew who they were thanks to an ONI liaison officer but still. Operating procedures were still procedures.

It wasn't even a minute before the comm officer turned around. "Code checks out, her majesty will be in Hangar Bay 1."

The hangar bay doors slid open with a groan of hydraulics as the sleek, silver Naboo J-Type glided in under tractor guidance. Its mirrored hull reflected the sterile white lights of the Song of the East's hangar, casting ripples of brilliance across the ranks of waiting Terran Marines in full combat gear.

Captain Benson stood with his hands behind his back, uniform pressed to perfection despite the exhaustion in his eyes. Beside him waited Colonel Rustovy, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and visibly itching to get boots down on Naboo soil.

The Naboo ship settled on its landing struts, the hiss of venting repulsors filling the cavernous space. The forward ramp lowered, revealing Queen Amidala in full regalia, her face painted pale and solemn, her headdress almost taller than she was. Behind her came a small detachment of Royal Guards in polished crimson vests and gleaming helmets, their posture sharp, their weapons ceremonial yet menacing. Trailing further back were the blue-tunic Naboo Security Force officers, bearing the heavier look of practical soldiers, and finally Jar Jar Binks, who tripped on the lip of the ramp and nearly bowled over the last guard.

"Yousa big ship!" Jar Jar exclaimed loudly, gawking up at the vaulted ceiling as his ears flopped.

Benson blinked once, fighting the urge to rub his temples. He muttered low enough only for Rustovy to hear, "That thing is with them?"

Rustovy grunted with a grin, his Russian accent cutting like gravel. "Looks like frog. Walks like drunk. If it fights, I will be impressed."

Jar Jar straightened and beamed, completely oblivious.

At Amidala's side descended two robed figures, Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Their presence shifted the air of the hangar. The Marines tightened formation without a word, instinctively aware that the men radiated calm authority with every step.

Captain Benson stepped forward, offering a crisp bow of the head. "Your Majesty, welcome aboard the Song of the East. I am Captain Nuygen Benson, commanding officer. This is Colonel Rustovy, commander of our Marine Expeditionary Company."

Amidala inclined her head graciously. "Captain Benson. Colonel Rustovy. On behalf of Naboo, I thank you for your assistance."

Rustovy gave a curt nod, one hand resting on his belt. "Our Pelicans are fueled and ready. We land near Theed, cut out Federation presence, and put your flag back where it belongs. Simple plan. Complicated execution."

Qui-Gon spoke, his voice measured. "We will accompany the Queen. The people of Naboo must see that she has not been abandoned. This occupation must end swiftly."

Jar Jar piped up loudly. "Yousa right, big Jedi. Weesa gonna be free again, okey-day!" His flailing arms knocked the barrel of a Marine's rifle sideways.

The Marine gave him a glare sharp enough to cut durasteel. Benson, utterly stumped, looked at Qui-Gon as if silently demanding an explanation.

Qui-Gon gave the faintest smile and a weary dip of his head. "Forgive Jar Jar. He is… enthusiastic. His heart is good."

Rustovy muttered, just loud enough to carry. "Heart good, brain is questionable."

Obi-Wan coughed into his hand, clearly masking a laugh.

Captain Benson ignored the exchange with effort and extended his hand toward the Jedi. "Gentlemen, I hope that together we can forge a more peaceful future, one where this kind of violence becomes unnecessary."

Qui-Gon clasped his hand firmly, looking him directly in the eye. "Peace is always the goal, Captain. But peace often requires men like you to stand ready for war. I am glad the Naboo have found such allies."

For a fleeting moment, Benson felt the weight of something unspoken pressed at the back of his mind, a shadow on the horizon of his thoughts. Something worse was coming, something larger than Naboo, larger than even the current conflict.

He stuffed the feeling deep down, where a good officer was supposed to keep doubts. A good officer…

Followed orders…

Location: UTSC, Song of the East, Orbit of Naboo

19 MARCH 2578

Lieutenant Commander Six-B312

"Remember, Spartan. Humanity's survival depends on the successful delivery of this package."

The order was burned into Six's head. Reach. Its defense. Sword Base. The mission. The comrades he lost.

Each and every one of Noble Team going down. Jorge manually detonates the bomb to destroy the Supercarrier. Kat being murked by a Kig Yar bastard. Carter sacrificing himself and the Pelican to kill the Scarab. Emile screaming like a madman before being impaled by an Elite Zealot.

Him fighting it out at the ship breaking yards until finally, after hours of battle he was picked up by an ONI Owl, literally dragging himself inside the craft before it made its quick descent.

All for what?

Cortana.

That damned AI construct had him running around the galaxy for a good decade, chasing the legendary Master Chief as he himself chased her. It was an interesting dynamic and Six had finally fought toe to toe with his supposed rival.

John-117.

The details after that were blurry for Six. Not that he forgot them. He just didn't want to remember them. He had other things on his mind he needed to focus on.

His wish was granted during the Resurgency Campaigns where he returned to what he did best. Wiping entire groups of militants off the map. After adding more to his already monumental kill record, he had been reassigned to Andromeda to help ONI with its espionage operations within the Galactic Republic and help make alliances with local fringe groups in the case something were to erupt.

Then there was Concord Dawn.

It had all gone wrong. Six knew it would have all gone wrong. The Mandalorians, especially Death Watch, were crafty little bastards and Six was assigned to some silly little raid detail made up of 'local' Mandalorian groups who were actually double agents for Death Watch.

You could tell where this is going.

He of course made it out without a scratch but his mission was compromised and his objective went uncomplete. The Mandalorians fought like hell and his intelligence contact he was supposed to snatch was killed in the process.

The result? ONI having its second clean up and Osman taking the brunt of it before being forced to retire and Deputy Director Veronica Dare taking the reins as Director for the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"Reminsicing?" a spunky voice with a twinge of an Australian accent but not quite cut through Six's silence.

Six turned his helmet towards the source, the Chief Gunners Officer, Lance Warrant Officer Harry Underwood, the weapons master for the Song of the East, holding out an MA-50 with a wide smile.

Six simply gave an affirmative grunt as he grabbed the rifle and placed it on his back as Underwood rumaged around the armory some more.

"So… I take it you're expected to kill the entire Trade Federation army?" Underwood remarked as he fiddled with the MA-50 and munched on a chocolate biscuit eerily similar to a popular Aussie snack.

Six tilted his head slightly, visor reflecting the armory's sterile white light. Underwood was grinning like a kid at Christmas, even as he handed over weapons meant to reduce droid armies to scrap.

"Lemme guess… wrong words," Underwood said before Six could grunt again. "Annihilate 'em. ONI types always do love their fireworks. But don't worry, mate, Uncle Harry's got you covered."

He slapped the side of the MA-50 he'd just handed off, like a used car dealer trying to sell a 'Covenant Era Warthog - Minor Plasma Damage'. "Now, this beauty? I tuned her coils myself. Misriah sets the damn things to fifteen hundred meters a second, what are we, throwing pebbles? Three-five's the 'official upgrade', pfft." He spat to the side, exaggerated. "Marketing scam. Burn through coils before you can say replacement requisition. But twenty-three hundred? Perfect. Fast enough to turn a droid's head into mist, slow enough that I don't have to rip the guts out and replace 'em every other mission."

Six slung it over his shoulder, silent.

Underwood didn't care. He was on a roll.

"Next up we got your trusty M-250. Big girl's temperamental, but when she sings, hoo boy, she clears a room faster than Parliament clears a budget meeting." He hefted the general-purpose machine gun with both arms and let it rest across the table, running his hands across the feed tray like it was some prized family heirloom. "Same tune-up. Two-three. Consistency's key, Spartan. Nothing worse than a gun that argues with you mid-battle."

Six's only response was to secure the weapon across his back magnets, the GPMG clicking into place.

Underwood smirked. "Man of few words. You'd think after 15 years of working with you I would know that." He bent down, rummaging through a lower rack, and came back with a matte-black tube almost as long as his arm. "And here's your M-202 AVSUL. A7 variant. Thermobaric warhead. Won't just slag a tank, mate, it'll turn its crew into mist, and then set that mist on fire, just be careful when using it in the hallways." He tapped the casing, as if proud of it. "Single-use, so make it count. But you Spartans don't miss, eh?"

Six checked the safeties with clinical precision before putting the launchers strap over his shoulder.

"We never miss," Six said coldly.

"Never doubted that mate!" Underwood said as he ducked under the rack one last time, muttering to himself, before resurfacing with a grin that would've sold water to a whale. In his hands was a beast of a shotgun, sleek black finish, oversized compensator on the muzzle, and a thick, boxy magazine holding snug in the magwell.

"Ahh, saved the best for last," he said proudly, thumbing the action like he was showing off a trophy. "The CQS-50 Pitbull. Fully automatic. Chambered for either twelve or eight gauge, guess which one I pulled for you?" He winked as he tossed some bright red shells on the counter each engraved with 'M-884 8G HEAPFS' on the side.

A beat of silence before Underwood broke it.

"Eight! Because why not give the Spartan something that might blow his own arm off?"

Six's visor turned toward him, blank and unamused. Like always.

Underwood chuckled, wagging the weapon like it was a toy. "Relax, relax. I know you're built like a bloody tank. Still, watch the kick, or you'll be punching through bulkheads by accident. Sixteen-round box mag, cycles faster than a marine can curse, and if you squeeze the trigger long enough, the only thing left in front of you will be sawdust and regret."

He slid the Pitbull across the table with a flourish. "Go on. Tell me she isn't beautiful."

Six took the weapon, inspected the action, and racked it once. The satisfying ch-chunk echoed through the armory. He nodded once, slow.

Underwood snapped his fingers, triumphant. "Ha! I knew it! Spartans and shotguns. Like peanut butter and bloody jam, or vegemite if you live in Victoria… I never understood vegemite…"

Six slotted the mag, locked the weapon to his harness, and finally spoke, his voice flat but edged: "They come back clean, correct?"

Underwood threw up his hands. "Exactly! That's all I ask, mate. None of that Concord Dawn business. Still finding all that stupid space sand in the receivers months later. You know how much coil replacement costs? Misriah's bleeding us dry with this three-five crap." He spat again, disgust written all over his face.

Six finished clipping the Pitbull into place, the arsenal of weapons now sitting comfortably across his back and thighs. He stood, towering, silent as a wall.

"Bring back my babies in PRISTINE CONDITION! I do not need another Concord Dawn!"

Six stopped before turning his head back. "Wilco."

Then he left, heading towards the hangar bays to begin his mission.

Location: MCV Mako-11

19 MARCH 2578

Lieutenant Eric Haufflebaum

"Time to target 30 seconds! Lock and load!" came the announcement over the comms as the C-736 Dagger, the stealth variation of the Zweihander, closed in on one of the airlocks of the Mako-11.

Lieutenant Eric Haufflebaum checked his rifle as the point man, Ensign Marcos, loaded an M-100 Shotgun, each bright red HEAPFS shell making an audible chnk! as they were loaded in with menacing intentions.

"Ready?" Haufflebaum asked as Marcos simply nodded and raised the M-338 Ballistic Shield, the standard issue for an ONI Section V point man.
The plan was simple: breach the ship, spread out, knock out all the droids, secure the packages, then rescue the crew and steer the Mako-11 back to friendly lines, aka the anti-space umbrella established by the Song of the East.

"Alright… look alive people, stick with the plan and you'll make it…" Haufflebaum muttered into the comms as the ONI Section V teams sealed their helmets, polarized visors dropping in sync as the Dagger lurched, indicating it successfully latched on to the Mako.

Haufflebaum counted down in his head.

3…

2…

1…

A muffled bang resounded from outside the airlock as the inner ring of the C-736 opened up as Marcos rushed in, shotgun aiming down a corridor as Haufflebaum followed him, hand on his shoulder as the 4 Section V Teams quickly filled the area.

"Clear!"

"Alright… Hari, get me security camera footage and give me routes to the bridge… I wanna make this as clean as possible," Haufflebaum muttered as the avatar of an exotic dancer encrusted in jewelry apparel appeared on his HUD.
The AI on Haufflebaum's HUD twirled languidly, her jeweled anklets chiming in sync with her voice. "Sweetheart, you've got three squads of clankers dug in between here and the bridge. Two choke points. The left corridor is a kill-box, right is a wider hall with scattered cover. And, oh my, how sloppy, their security grid is practically begging me to dance through it."

"Cut the theatrics, Hari. Mark us a path," Haufflebaum said, muzzle sweeping the darkened corridor as Marcos advanced, ballistic shield leading like a wedge of steel.

"Always so serious," Hari pouted, blowing a jeweled kiss as a shimmering blue route overlay painted itself across his HUD. "Bridge in nine minutes, if you keep up that strut."

"Move," Haufflebaum ordered, voice sharp over squad comms.

The Section V fireteam advanced in textbook formation, boots near silent against the Mako's decking. Ensign Marcos kept point, shield raised, M-100 shotgun humming with chambered HEAPFS shells. Behind him, Petty Officer First Class Silas Verren carried the M-7 Caseless SMG, muzzle tracking high, his long braid tucked tight beneath his helmet.

"Contact, right hall," Verren hissed.

Blaster fire cracked out from a cluster of B1 droids staggering into view. Red bolts splattered against Marcos' ballistic shield, sizzling and sparking. He braced, grunted, and stepped into the barrage, shotgun roaring once. The fin-stabilized shell detonated mid-pack, reducing the droids into a storm of molten durasteel and shattered limbs.

"Clear," Marcos called, smoke curling from his weapon's barrel.

Haufflebaum gestured them forward. "Keep it tight. Minimal exposure. Daniels, rear security."

"Aye." That came from Specialist Howard Daniels, the team's quiet giant, hefting his MAMR-48/H with malicious intent.
The hallways of the Mako-11 were quiet only for a heartbeat. Then the clattering steps of B1 droids echoed from ahead, their flat, nasally voices carrying down the corridor.

"Roger roger, intruders detected. Blast them!"

"Cute," Ensign Marcos muttered, bracing his ballistic shield as red bolts splattered across its reinforced surface. His M-100 barked once, the HEAPFS round exploding mid-air,
sending droid limbs cartwheeling across the hall.

A stray B1 staggered out of the smoke, its torso twisted sideways. It raised its blaster, sparks coughing from its chest. "You are… under arres-!"

The rest of the phrase was lost as Marcos slammed the shield into it, crushing the droid into the bulkhead with a metallic crunch. "Yeah, no thanks."

"Advance," Haufflebaum ordered, voice clipped. His team flowed forward like liquid steel, covering angles, weapons barking in short, efficient bursts.

Hari's avatar pirouetted across his HUD, her jeweled anklets chiming with each step. "Oh, you boys do make such an entrance. Corridor Bravo ahead, six more clankers clustered like frightened hens. Shall I hum a victory march?"

"Just tag the targets," Haufflebaum replied, rolling his shoulders under the weight of his rifle.

A shimmering overlay highlighted the enemy positions through bulkhead and plating. Marcos hit the choke point first, shield raised.

The B1s opened fire in unison. "We got 'em! Aim for the shiny one in front!"

Blaster bolts hammered the shield, each impact making Marcos grunt but not falter. He edged forward, shotgun tucked tight, until the droids were almost close enough to touch. Then he fired. The blast reduced the front rank to molten shards. Verren and Daniels flanked, unleashing precise fire that swept the survivors clean.

One droid, sparking and headless, staggered a few steps forward before collapsing face-first.

"Clear!" Verren called.

"Too easy," Daniels rumbled, casually checking the ammo counter on his MAMR-48/H.

"Don't get cocky," Haufflebaum warned. "Hari, next."

The AI flicked her jeweled wrist, icons dancing across their HUDs. "Bridge access stairwell, fifty meters. Another squad waiting, bless their hearts. Oh, and they've stacked crates for cover. Almost thoughtful."

"Stack up," Haufflebaum ordered.

The team flowed into a wedge. Marcos led with his shield, crouching low. Verren and Daniels moved tight behind him. Two more operators shouldered breach charges, planting them against the barricade of crates at the stairwell's entrance.

Hari hummed. "And three… two… one…"

The corridor lit up in a flash as the charges blew. Smoke and debris filled the air. Marcos surged through it, shotgun barking again and again, each blast turning cover into shrapnel and droids into slag.

"Roger ro-"

"Boom," Marcos muttered as he cut another in half.

The rest of the team swept in, rifles hissing precise bursts. Ten operators working like one machine, every angle covered, every bolt answered with superior firepower. The engagement lasted less than twenty seconds.

The stairwell cleared, Haufflebaum checked his chrono. "Time?"

"Bridge in two minutes, love," Hari purred. "If you keep strutting like that."

"Keep it moving."

The final push was clean. Two more droid squads tried to delay them but were cut down in brutal efficiency, shield and shotgun drawing fire while precision bursts dismantled the clankers.

Finally, the reinforced blast doors to the bridge loomed ahead. Hari slipped into the locks like water, her jeweled fingers dancing across invisible tumblers.

"Open sesame," she whispered, as the doors groaned wide.

The bridge doors groaned apart, revealing a tense tableau. Captain Abe Matakasa stood at the center, his uniform dark with soot and sweat, sidearm drawn. Around him, a half-dozen surviving crew huddled at their stations, weapons leveled shakily at the breach.

"Hold it right there!" Matakasa barked, voice ragged but firm. "One more step and-!"

Haufflebaum raised a gauntleted hand, rifle lowered just enough to signal discipline without surrender. Marcos' shield gleamed at the front, visor reflections painting the room in ghostly light.

"Section V," Haufflebaum announced, tone cool under pressure. "Lieutenant Eric Haufflebaum, ONI. We're here to take your ship back."

For a moment the bridge froze, the faint crackle of damaged circuits filling the silence. Matakasa's eyes flicked from the armored operators to the ONI insignia etched into their pauldrons. Relief softened the hard line of his jaw.

"Finally," he muttered, lowering his sidearm. "We've been holding out for hours. Half my crew is dead, the rest in chains."

The standoff dissolved in an exhale of breath. Weapons dropped, and the crew scrambled back to their stations as Haufflebaum stepped inside.
"Status?" he demanded.

"Engines intact, but the reactor was locked down by the clankers. They've forced us to dock with their ship and we've tried everything to free ourselves but," Matakasa said, grimacing. "We couldn't break it."

Hari shimmered into view on Haufflebaum's HUD, dangling from an invisible pole with a mischievous grin. "Tractor beam, hmm? Give me thirty seconds, sweetheart, and I'll snip that leash like cheap jewelry."

"Do it," Haufflebaum ordered.

The AI's jeweled anklets jingled as she twirled, slipping into the Trade Federation's systems with casual ease. "And… done," she purred. "Beam's offline. The ship is free to waltz."
"Lieutenant," a voice crackled over comms, Team Two's lead. "Reactor room secure. Droids neutralized. We're bringing it back online."

"Team Three here. Prisoners freed from the citadel. Some banged up, but alive."

"Team Four reporting. ONI packages secured and intact. Ready for extraction."

Haufflebaum exhaled through his nose, shoulders easing for the first time since breaching. "Copy all. Good work." He turned to Matakasa. "Your ship is yours again, Captain. Get your people on damage control. We'll cover until she's under her own power."

Matakasa straightened, fire returning to his voice. "You heard him! Get those systems back online. Helm, plot us a course to friendly lines. Engineering, coordinate with reactor control. Let's show these bastards we're not done yet."

Hari pirouetted one last time, glittering across the HUD. "And just like that, boys, the Mako-11 is free to dance again."

"Appreciated…" Haufflebaum muttered as the crew of the Mako-11 were quick to re-establish navigational equipment as Haufflebaum felt the freighter rumble to life.
The deck thrummed beneath their boots as the Mako-11's engines roared back to life, vibrations echoing like the heartbeat of a beast long thought dead. Consoles flickered back online one by one, the bridge filling with the low chorus of systems reawakening.

"Navigation green. Helm has control."

"Life support stabilizing. Pressure equalized."

"Comms relinked, friendly channels coming through."

"Good," Matakasa muttered, gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands. "Let's see what the galaxy looks like outside our coffin."

A moment later, the sensor feed spilled across the main data table.

The bridge went silent.

Outside, the void was a storm. Squadrons of Vulture droids and Naboo N-1s tangled in deadly spirals of light, contrails twisting like blades in a knife fight. Brilliant lances of plasma fire stitched across the black, engines burning bright as ships died in flashes of debris and vapor trails.

And looming over it all, the Lucrehulk carrier they had been lashed to, its swollen bulk churning with activity, turbolasers vomiting emerald fire into the melee. The beast shook the void with every salvo, lighting the Mako's hull in lurid flashes.

"Contact!" cried a sensor officer. "Lucrehulk is rotating. They're bringing their primaries to bear… on us!"

As if on cue, a barrage of green fire slammed past their hull, close enough that the bridge quaked and alarms shrieked.

"Evasive now!" Matakasa barked.

The Mako-11 lurched hard to starboard, inertial dampeners groaning as turbolasers ripped through the space they had just occupied. Naboo fighters dove across their bow, chasing a Vulture squadron into the carrier's flak screen, one vanishing in a burst of fire.

"Punch it!" Matakasa snapped. "Get us the hell out of here!"

The helmsman didn't need telling twice. The Mako-11's drives screamed as the ship broke from the Lucrehulk's gravity well, clawing for open void. More fire raked their wake, shields flaring but holding.

"Slipspace window primed," the nav officer shouted, sweat beading his brow. "Coordinates locked, Song of the East, dead ahead!"

"Do it!" Matakasa thundered.

Space ripped apart before them, a swirling tear of impossible light. The Mako-11 plunged through just as another turbolaser salvo flashed past their aft quarter, so close the bridge windows turned white.

Then the violence was gone.

Only the serene swirl of slipspace remained, electric blues rippling against the hull like liquid silk.

On the bridge, no one spoke for a long moment. Only the low hum of the drives and the hiss of recycled air filled the silence.

Finally, Matakasa sagged into his chair, pulling a dented silver case from his breast pocket. He flipped it open, offering it to Haufflebaum.

"Smoke?"

The ONI lieutenant hesitated, then plucked a cigar from the case. "Don't mind if I do."

A spark from Matakasa's lighter, and soon both men sat beneath the dim bridge lights, blue smoke curling into the recycled air. The crew worked quietly around them, steady hands guiding the ship through the calm between storms.

Haufflebaum exhaled slowly, the tight knot in his chest easing for the first time in hours.

"Not bad for a spook," Matakasa said, smirking faintly.

"Could've been worse," Haufflebaum replied, watching the slipstream flicker outside.

Moments later, the void cracked open again, slipspace parting to reveal the titanic silhouette of the Song of the East along with the Nanking, its vast armored hull bristling with guns and shield arrays, banners of the fleet stretched out like a guardian's wings as Pelican's began to pour out of its hangars.

Haufflebaum tapped ash onto the deck and let out a quiet, satisfied sigh. "Home sweet home."

Location: Atlas Corporation Supply Hub 'Whiskey', Naboo

20 MARCH 2578

PFC Randall Maybach

"Contact! Front!"

An explosion erupted as Maybach saw 4 men inside a fortification get vaporized by a Trade Federation AAT using its hull mounted projectile launchers. Said tank was then hit by a barrage of 20mm shells from an M-71 Scythe as it careened into a ditch before taking an AVSUL missile and exploding into bits and shrapnel.

Maybach was rather young, just 2 months shy of 21, having failed his college classes and being kicked out to the open world. With nowhere to go, Maybach turned to the PMC market which was basically open to anyone at this point, being rather desperate to increase manpower and well… investors like big numbers.

It didn't matter if you could fight or not, if you were breathing, could stand at attention for an hour, and take orders from higher authority, you were prime PMC material, at least for the majority of them. There were other groups like White Coast who were still very strict in who they wanted in their ranks but for the most part, that was 1 in every 5 companies.

Maybach looked over his defense emplacement, a hastily constructed trench with a few pieces of barbed wire. So far the situation was looking grim. An intelligence report from ONI sources indicated an inevitable attack and just 3 hours later, the first bodies began to drop as tracer and blaster fire were exchanged between the 2 parties.

"Maybach! Get that AVSUL up!" his squad leader yelped as Maybach grabbed the launcher's strap and took it off his shoulder.

Maybach then took the launcher and steadied it on his shoulders. Maybach could make out a possible target, a large MTT coming out of the treeline, dropping off its cargo of mechanical OOM battle droids.

A large explosion erupted nearby, a Scythe going sky high as it was engaged by no less than 3 tanks. Maybach steadied his aim as he selected the 'Scatter Shot' option as the reticle rested upon the open mouth of the MTT.

Maybach breathed out before pressing down on the top trigger, the missile flying straight and true across the field and straight into the MTT's mouth, detonating and sending fragments of 7mm tungsten steel balls at supersonic speeds, mission killing a few squads of battle droids before they even had the chance to deploy.

A second missile streaked from the other side of the base, hitting dead center as the MTT went up in a cloud of smoke and debris.

"Take that Tin Cans! Ha!" one of the Atlas soldiers remarked.

Another heavy turbo laser bolt landed nearby as Maybach shielded his face from the flying debris.

AATs began to roll in through the smoke, their blaster cannons ripping trenches apart like tissue paper. One emplacement of Atlas riflemen was shredded in seconds, the screams of the wounded drowned out by the thunder of the tanks.

"Back! Fall back to the second line!" Maybach's squad leader yelled, tugging at his shoulder.

The trench was no longer a line of defense, just a grave waiting to be filled. Droids marched in perfect synchronicity, blaster rifles cutting down men who barely had time to reload. The "tin cans" didn't feel fear, didn't flinch, and they had an endless tide behind them.

An AAT's main cannon barked, and a concrete pillbox behind Maybach disintegrated, showering the ground with shards of ferrocrete and charred bodies. Maybach stumbled, clutching the empty AVSUL as if it were a lifeline.

"Fourth Scythe's down! We've got no autocannons left!" someone shouted over the comms.

Maybach's eyes flicked to the sky. He could see smoke trails from the numerous MANPAD emplacements streaked skyward, hitting multiple Vulture droids attempting to make strafing runs on Whiskey Hub itself. Such plumes of smoke here met with heavy return fire from more Vulture droids which seemed to stream down in larger and larger numbers.

"Second line's compromised, fall back to Whiskey proper! Move, move!"

The surviving Atlas PMCs scrambled, leaping out of the shredded trenches and sprinting toward the supply hub. Maybach's legs burned, mud splattering his uniform as blaster bolts sizzled past.
Another MTT came out of the smoke, opening its bay doors and releasing its plethora of battle droids against the Atlas soldiers.

"Maybach! You're up again! MTT, take it out!"

Another MTT came out of the smoke, its bay doors yawning open to vomit out another company of OOM droids. Their metal feet hit the ground in perfect rhythm, rifles raised as if the entire maneuver was pre-scripted.

Maybach, lungs burning, dropped to a knee in the mud and shouldered his AVSUL again. His heart hammered against his ribs as he lined up the reticle square on the open maw of the transport. This had worked before, hell, it had to work again.

He thumbed the trigger. The missile shrieked away, trailing smoke as it punched straight into the MTT's loading bay. For one split second, Maybach thought he saw victory bloom, then the warhead detonated, a shallow thump that splashed uselessly against the MTT's thick metal hide.

The droids kept coming.

Maybach's breath caught. "No, no, no-"

An AAT escort turned its squat turret toward him, its blaster cannon pointing straight at him. Maybach froze, caught like prey in a spotlight. He dropped the AVSUL, stumbling backward, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough.

Then the world exploded.

Maybach opened his eyes as he realized… he was still in one piece.

A whine of engines filled his ears as he looked up to see multiple gunships, likely Sparrowhawks, maybe Goshawks.

"Holy shit…" he muttered as cheers and whoops resounded from the Atlas soldiers.

"YEAH!"

"GO GET 'EM!"

"GIVE THEM HELL! GIVE THEM HELL!"

"WOOHOO!"

Maybach simply watched as a blur of light, likely an ATGM, smashed into an AAT as its turret popped sky high.

"Ain't never seen anything like it huh…?" one of his buddies muttered as Maybach could only nod as another AAT went up in smoke. For a second among all the chaos, Maybach finally sat down in the dirt and looked up in childlike wonder.

They were saved.

Location: AV-44 Goshawk 'Orbiter 1-2', Naboo

20 MARCH 2578

Warrant Officer Gunner Kyle Marder

"Good hit," Marder's pilot, Lance Warrant Officer Whipple muttered as another AAT blew to kingdom come, flaming debris scattering across the once fertile Naboo grassfields, courtesy of an Arrowhead ATGM.

Marder gave a silent nod before looking around, scanning the battlefield with his helmet mounted HUD.

It had been only 20 minutes since he deployed from the Song of the East, being detached with 4 other Goshawks

"Uh, got another tank attacking troops, got him lased at 400…" Marder muttered as Whipple laid down a field of suppressive fire with a mixture of 20 and 50mm fire from the Goshawk's chin mounted GAU-174 and pylon mounted GAU-914 auto-cannons.

"Go for it man…" Whipple muttered as a blanket of lead and explosives turned a B-1 Platoon into scrap.

"Rifle…" with that Marder fired another Arrowhead, the ATGM flying off the Quad pylon and tracking perfectly.

A second later the AAT exploded in a massive fireball. Its turret flying a good 50 meters into the sky as Marder silently chuckled. Had it been a normal tank with actual living beings in it he might have held a grim and even sorry expression but these were droids. Mindless machines that Marder had no quarrel with blasting to bits and pieces.

Marder switched his visor back to wide-scan, his HUD flickering with blue IFF tags scattered across the fields. Naboo's green plains were scarred with blackened craters and shattered AAT husks, the once-quiet countryside now a graveyard of durasteel.

"Atlas confirms the hub's secure," Whipple said, his voice calm but tight as he yanked the stick to port, bringing their Goshawk over the smoldering wreck of a downed MTT. "No more contacts in the sector. Orders are to RTB for fuel-"

The radio crackled before Whipple could finish.

"Orbiter flight, Eagles Nest actual. Be advised, Theed Marine elements are taking heavy fire at their LZs. Tasking Orbiter 1-1 and 1-2 for immediate CAS. Move fast."

"Copy, Eagle," came the sharp reply from Orbiter 1-1's pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Hale. His voice had that clipped, authoritative tone that told you he'd been flying since the Resurgency Campaigns. His gunner, WOG Petra Jain, cut in right after: "You heard the man, 1-2. Let's go bail out the jarheads."

Marder flicked his weapon systems hot again. "About time we got into a real fight."

Whipple grinned under his visor, throttling hard as the Goshawk's twin turbofans howled. The AV-44 banked low and fast, Naboo's rolling hills rushing past beneath them as they angled for Theed.

The comms filled with chatter before they even crested the city's outskirts.

"Marine 2-2 taking fire from the east! Multiple B-1 squads entrenched near the archway!"

"Request immediate suppression on grid 6-7 Bravo!"

"They're everywhere!"

The city was chaotic. Smoke curled above the domes and spires of Theed, blaster and conventional fire flickering like angry fireflies in the streets below. Civilians darted for cover whenever they could, darting between ornate stone buildings as droid columns pressed in.

Whipple flared the Goshawk's nose down. "Targets everywhere."

"Pick the ones shooting at our guys," Marder replied, already latching a lock onto a squad of B-1s dug in behind a fountain. His reticle flashed green. "Firing."A ripple of Devastator rockets leapt from their launcher on the wing pylon, slamming into the droids and blasting marble and durasteel into the sky. Marines below surged forward under the cover, pelting the surviving clankers with precise rifle fire.

"Orbiter 1-2, good effects, keep pushing!" came the call from Rustovy's ground net.

Marder was just about to line up another run when the dumb AI let out a high-pitched tone screamed across his HUD.

"Lock, lock, lock- CHAFF FLARE CHAFF FLARE CHAFF FLARE-!"

"Evadaing!" Whipple barked, instinctively rolling the Goshawk hard left. The sky lit up as a MANPADS missile streaked from a rooftop toward them.

Marder's teeth clenched as he watched the warhead snake in behind their tail. At the last second, a cascade of magnesium flares blossomed from the Goshawk's countermeasure pods. The missile veered, chasing the false heat signature before detonating in a thunderclap of fire.

While a missile wasn't necessarily the end for a Goshawk, a crew would definitely prefer to preserve the shields of their bird at all costs.

"Son of a-!" Whipple cursed, banking them back to level. "They're packing MANPADS now?!"

"Not for long," Marder growled, eyes locking onto the rooftop. A neat little cluster of OOM droids scrambled to reload the launcher. His reticle gave him tone as the laser was set neatly upon the offending droid's head.

"Rifle."

The Arrowhead leapt off the rail with a contrail of white smoke, screaming across the Theed skyline. A second later, the entire rooftop vanished in a fireball, droids scattering like kicked ants before being consumed in the blast.

"Target down," Marder reported flatly.

Orbiter 1-1 slid into formation on their right flank, Hale's voice calm over the net. "Good shooting, 1-2. Stay sharp, these civvies are everywhere. Watch your angles."
Jain added, her voice cool and professional, "Marines need fire on the south bridge. AATs dug in tight. Let's roll in pairs."

"Copy that," Marder said, toggling his last Arrowhead to ready. "Let's finish this."

The two Goshawks dove together, twin predators swooping over the embattled city. Below them, Terran Marines and Naboo guards pressed into the streets, advancing under the shadow of thundering gunships.

The fight for Theed was just beginning.

Location: Pelican-314, Approaching Theed

20 MARCH 2578

Commander August-099

The Pelican shook once more as it came closer to the Royal Palace, flak hitting it as August-099 looked through the cockpit to see the city turned into a warzone, domes shattered, bridges torn apart, blaster bolts stitching glowing scars into the marble streets. From her seat near the ramp, August barely flinched at the turbulence.

To her this was simply a small scale conflict. Everything after the Human-Covenant War seemed that way. There was simply no contest, at least in her mind, to the amount of manpower, logistics, and intelligence work that went into both sides fighting the war.

While that conflict was a fight for the literal survival of the human race, this one seemed more of just a one day fight rather than a war.

The Pelican lurched again as flak shells burst overhead, the pilot's strained voice coming through the intercom. "Two minutes out! Strap in, it's going to get hot!"

August-099 didn't even bother. She remained seated calmly, Mjolnir servos whining softly as she shifted her weight. Fireteam Bruiser sat arrayed along the troop bay with her, weapons primed and helmets sealed.

Corporal Kai Trenton fiddled with his wrist-mounted drone controller, the compact interface already synced with the two RQ/A-105 Yellow Jacket drones stowed in armored pods near the rear hatch. "Once we're down, I'll have the bees in the air in thirty seconds. Nothing clears a street like six hundred rounds of 7.62."

Lance Corporal Jane Reeds checked her biofoam canisters with a muttered curse, then glanced up. "Assuming you don't jam their feeds again like on Callisto."

"Hey, that was one time." Trenton shot back before grinning under his visor. He leaned forward, looking past August to the two Jedi seated across the bay. Their calm was eerie compared to the rattling fuselage around them. "So… lightsabers. Plasma-based? Focused energy blade? Or is it like… magic?"

One of the Jedi, 'Obi-Wan' perhaps? August didn't know enough to care, took out his hilt and spun it in the air, making it levitate from his palm. "It is a kyber crystal, actually. Tuned through-"

"Trenton," August cut in, her voice flat, almost bored, as if she wasn't looking at what might have been equivalent to kraut space magic. "Zip it."

The corporal huffed, ducking as more fire whined past. "Just trying to make conversation, ma'am."

"Not the time."

The Pelican dipped low, alarms whining as flak detonations echoed like thunder. August-099 braced a gauntleted hand on the bulkhead, her helmet HUD mapping the descent in real-time. Theed was burning, her marble courtyards carved with plasma scoring, her elegant spires crowned with smoke.

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot barked as tracer fire stitched the air around them.

Fireteam BRUISER was silent now, helmets locked forward. Lieutenant Ryeo-N1029 sat opposite August, head bowed slightly as though in meditation, but August knew better. Ryeo's stillness wasn't serenity, it was calculation. The S-III had the coiled energy of a blade waiting to be drawn, the edge of someone who had lived as a Headhunter far longer than he had lived as a Spartan under command.

He had been a last minute edition to BRUISER after Lieutenant Diana-N1002 was injured during a botched training exercise. From what August had seen though, he was a trained killer and very by the book, it also helped that he and Diana were part of Nova company, the last S-III batch to be commissioned into the UTSC.

As long as he kept silent then August was fine with it.

The ramp opened mid-descent, wind howling through the troop bay as the pilot brought them in low. Marines, Naboo Royal Security Forces in red vests and polished helmets, and Royal Guards in their tunics were already pressing the outer streets, pinned by overlapping fire from entrenched B-1 platoons.

"Go, go, go!"

August led the drop, boots slamming into the marble with a seismic thud. Mjolnir servos purred as she swept her rifle across the killzone. Fireteam Bruiser deployed like clockwork, Ryeo flanking left with a hard sprint, Reeds breaking right to the cover of a fallen column, and Trenton dropping to one knee as the twin Yellow Jacket drones burst from their pods and unfolded mid-air.

"Bees airborne," Trenton muttered, thumbing commands across his wrist control. The drones zipped up like angry hornets, swiveling their compact M-250s forward. "On target… now."

Both drones opened fire in unison, streams of 7.62 stitching down into the nearest droid squad. B-1s jerked and snapped apart as rounds cut through them, sparks and shrapnel scattering across the plaza. Marines surged forward in their wake, blaster bolts cracking against cover.

Above, Orbiter 1-1 and 1-2 roared low over the rooftops, autocannons hammering into an AAT column trying to cut the assault in half. One tank erupted into a ball of flame, turret cartwheeling across a bridge as Orbiter 1-2's Arrowhead missile punched clean through its side.

"Nice shot, 1-2," Orbiter 1-1's voice crackled over comms.

August ignored the chatter, raising her BR-55 and sending controlled bursts into a cluster of B-1s trying to flank. Ryeo was faster, she saw him vault a barricade, the blue glow of a combat knife flashing as he carved through the droids with brutal efficiency. Reeds kept her fire steady, covering Marines while simultaneously dragging a wounded Naboo trooper back into cover and slapping a dose of biofoam into his abdomen.

Then the Jedi moved.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan ignited their sabers, their blades igniting the night in a wash of blue and green. They carved through droids like fire through paper, each motion deliberate and flowing. August tracked them through her HUD with the detached focus of a soldier cataloging allies. She wasn't impressed, Spartans had fought Sangheili swordmasters who made these two look clumsy, but she respected the calm with which they tore a path forward.

Then the low whine hit her ears, a sound she recognized instantly from the battle reports that had been shoved into her data packet before deployment.
Droidekas.

Three of them unfolded on the far side of the plaza, rolling out from a ruined archway before snapping into firing stance. Their twin cannons barked red lances, cutting down a half-dozen Naboo guards and wounding a few Marines in a spray of sparks and screams. Their shields flared to life, shimmering blue bubbles.

"Droidekas, front!" someone shouted over the squad net.

August pivoted, already sighting down her rifle, and was greeted by the crackling red wall of their return fire. Her shields flared bright yellow, dropping to half strength in a heartbeat. She went down to one knee, cycling her BR and looking for a gap, but every burst flattened uselessly against the glowing spheres.

A blast slammed into her chest plate, knocking her back against the rubble. Her HUD screamed warnings. She adjusted, ready to brute force her way through…

Ryeo was faster.

The Spartan-III broke cover in a blur of motion, a frag grenade already primed in one hand. He skidded low across the marble floor, sliding into the first droideka's blind spot. The frag went off under the machine's shield emitter with a concussive pop, ripping half the barrier open in a flicker of static.

Ryeo vaulted upright, knife flashing, and jammed the blade straight into the droid's photoreceptor before its cannons could swivel. Sparks burst, the machine collapsing.
The other two turned on him instantly, bolts hammering into his shields. He didn't flinch. He juked sideways, rolling behind a shattered column. August surged back to her feet, rifle snapping up.

"Got you," she muttered.

She poured controlled bursts into the destabilized edge of the second droideka's shield. The Yellow Jackets swooped in on her command, their M-250s hammering a wall of tungsten into the same spot. The shield collapsed, and Ryeo was already moving, closing the gap in a sprint and planting a sticky charge on its chassis. He dove clear just as the shaped explosive tore the machine apart.

The third droideka tried to retreat, rolling back toward the archway. It didn't get far. A streak of green cut through the haze as Qui-Gon's saber speared straight through its core, the droid screeching before it split in half.

Silence fell for half a second, broken only by the hum of the sabers.

August rose from cover, her HUD stabilizing, eyes tracking Ryeo as he flicked shrapnel off his knife and slid it back into its sheath. He didn't even look at her.
"You're welcome, Commander," he said flatly, voice filtered through his helmet's comms.

August's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Spartans didn't thank each other for doing their jobs.

Still, she couldn't help the thought that crept into the back of her mind, unbidden. Ryeo might be dangerous to command. Not because he wasn't competent, but because he was. Too competent, too fast, too willing to take the risks she usually shouldered herself. He was a blade honed for killing, and blades like that eventually cut something you didn't want cut.

The Marine push surged forward again, spurred on by the Spartans and Jedi breaking the chokepoint. Fireteams flooded the plaza, smoke and bodies in their wake.
August reset her stance, BR raised, HUD marking the next rally point near the Palace gates.

"Palace gates in sight!" a Marine sergeant shouted as BRUISER and the Jedi forced their way up the main thoroughfare. Orbiter 1-1 raked a rooftop full of OOM units, clearing the last major line of resistance.

The hangar loomed ahead, its great doors battered but still intact. As they breached, Yellow Jacket drones laid suppressive fire across the flanks while Marines and Naboo guards stormed in behind them.

And then the doors deeper into the palace groaned and opened.

The thing that stepped through was not droid, nor soldier.

He was tall, cloaked, his face masked by black and red markings twisted into something almost feral. A double-bladed lightsaber hissed to life in his hands, its crimson blades spilling red fire across the hangar floor.

The air seemed to shift, as though the world itself recoiled from him.

"Holy shit…" Reeds muttered, her voice cracking. "That is one ugly motherfucker."

August stepped forward, visor narrowing on the figure. Every instinct screamed danger. He radiated violence in a way she hadn't felt since the Covenant. Her rifle lifted almost on its own.

"Master Jinn," she said flatly, voice steady. "We'll handle him. Fireteam BRUISER can put him down."

The Jedi Master shook his head, stepping forward calmly, blade humming in his hand. "No, Commander. He is a Sith. Kenobi and I will deal with him. Your duty is to see the Queen restored to her throne. The future depends on it."

For a moment, August considered ignoring him. Spartans didn't leave threats unfinished. But there was something in Qui-Gon's tone, an unshakable certainty, that reminded her faintly of Halsey when she'd delivered orders none of them could refuse.

She exhaled once, a low hiss in her helmet. "Understood."

Turning, she motioned BRUISER to regroup around the Queen's detachment. "We hold this hangar. Jedi want the Sith, they can have him."

Qui-Gon gave a brief nod, saber raised. Obi-Wan mirrored the motion, his young face taut with focus.

The hangar erupted with the hiss of crimson blades clashing against blue and green as BRUISER pulled back to rally the Marines and Naboo guards.
August didn't look back.

She had her orders.

Location: Royal Palace, Theed

21 MARCH 2578

Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi

The battle against the Sith lord had been excruciating for Obi-Wan. With each swing, each block, each dodge, fatigue was catching on quick but he pulled himself through, using the force to calm himself as he parried each blow from the sith lord.

His master, Qui-Gon was beside him, also parrying each blow from the Sith, the red double blade spinning in graceful arcs as the sound of photons crashing into each other sparked the nerves in Obi-Wan's head.

Obi-Wan was so focused that he almost didn't notice when the sith kicked him from the bridge and he barely caught himself on the way down. He looked up after grabbing his lightsaber hilt, seeing his master going at it with the sith, each spark, each block, each parry.

It was certainly a thing to behold.

He then saw the 2 head towards a reactor shaft, guarded by a series of laser gates. He quickly made his way up to the catwalk the 2 were on but by the time he rushed there the gates had closed and he could see his master and the Sith were already far ahead by at least 5 gates.

He barely stopped himself in time as he nearly faceplanted into one of the said gates. He watched as the sith attempted to cut the laser gate down, only to be deflected.

He saw his master kneel down and begin to meditate as the 3 waited for the laser gates to reset.

It felt like an hour when in reality a minute had gone by as the gates dropped one by one. Obi-Wan rushed to assist Qui-Gon and he almost made it but he was filled with dread when the last gate closed and he was forced to watch a duel of fates.

The same choreography ensued, each participant whirling their blades in synchronized beauty, underscoring the stress of one misstep would be the end of a life.

That's when it happened.

The sith parried a blow and pushed Qui-Gon's blade up and away, allowing the Sith to get a perfect angle on the spinal cord of Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan saw the sabre penetrate.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A scream that punctuated the helplessness he felt at that moment.

He saw Qui-Gon fall to his knees, a pained expression on his face as he doubled over and fell limp on the ground.

The Sith let the Jedi-master body crumple to the floor before looking back to Obi-Wan, his stare showing malicious joy at the death of a servant of the light.

Obi-wan felt his breathing becoming harder, quicker, taking out his lightsaber hilt and igniting the blade just as the final laser gate fell.

Instantly Obi-Wan put the sith on the defensive, the sith parrying each of his blows as the young padawan ducked underneath the Sith's double bladed swing before blocking 2 more strikes.

The 2 twirled, striking each other at whim, blocking, parrying, the lightsabers making sparks and hums as they struck. Obi-Wan became more in tune with the force as the 2 fought it out as he felt his eyes narrow in focus.

After a few more strikes and blocks, Obi-Wan put the Sith on the defensive and suddenly shoved him before doing an upward strike against the Sith's double bladed hilt, splitting it in 2 as the Padawan kicked the sith down to the ground.

Obi-Wan was quick to leap over the Sith and attempted to strike him down only to be blocked by the sith's equally quick reflexes, the sith's unique double blade cut down to just a single normal crimson one.

Obi-wan and the sith did a few more parrys before Obi-wan was suddenly kicked in the face by the Sith, causing him to do a back flip before blocking the Sith's increasing acrobatic strikes.

Then Obi-wan, with all his might, struck down on the sith, the 2's blades meeting in a sparking storm. Then suddenly Obi-Wan felt himself being pushed by the force as he was launched down the reactor shaft. Quickly he hung on to the nearest ledge, a single node jutting out the wall.

Obi-wan tried summoning his lightsaber but the sith kicked it down the reactor shaft, the hilt making clanking noises as it fell down to the deep dark pits of whatever unholy things resided there.

Obi-Wan was now hanging on, gripping for dear life as he used the force to ease his adrenaline. Meanwhile the sith made teasing strikes against the floor, burning Obi-Wan's hands with metal sparks as the padawan grit his teeth, attempting to call on the force to grab Qui-Gon's blade.

The sith noticed this and smiled maliciously and was going for the killing blow…

BANG!

Obi-Wan felt a spray of viscous liquid hit his face as he looked up in shock. The sith was also shocked, for the first time Obi-Wan saw true pain from the Sith as he looked down. A massive watermelon chunk of flesh and bone was missing from his abdomen.

BANG!

A second shot rang out before the Sith could even mutter a reaction, the Sith's ankle exploding into a gory mess of flesh, bone, and blood. A scream of pure agony finally erupted from the zabrak before a large armored figure kicked the writhing body down the reactor shaft.

"Need a hand buddy?" a metal giant asked, extending an armored gauntlet towards the bewildered jedi padawan, his other holstering an abnormally large pistol.

Obi-Wan remembered who this was.

A Spartan if he had to guess. He had seen a few of them when he was being deployed on what the Terrans called a Pelican from their cruiser.

Obi-Wan's grip loosened as the gauntlet clasped his hand with unshakable strength, hauling him up onto solid ground as if he weighed nothing. The Jedi staggered, chest heaving, his mind still whirling from the speed of it all.

The armored figure set him down gently before pulling off his helmet. The hiss of pressure release echoed as the face underneath was revealed, a young man, late twenties perhaps, scarred but steady. His eyes had the cool, calm focus of someone used to violence.

"Corporal Kai Trenton, Fireteam Bruiser," he introduced casually, as if saving a Jedi from certain death was all in a day's work. "Figured you could use a little fire support."
Before Obi-Wan could respond, a voice called from behind.

"Medic! I need more hands here!"

Lance Corporal Jane Reeds was crouched beside Qui-Gon Jinn, already spraying a sheen of medi-gel across the cauterized wound in his abdomen while preparing biofoam. The Jedi Master's breathing was ragged, but steady, barely. Reeds' voice was sharp, irritated.

"Dammit, this looks like a partial spinal injury. His neural feedback's all over the place. If he moves wrong, he's done. Someone get me a stretcher, now!"

Marines and corpsmen flooded into the chamber, blasters still hot from the mop-up. They snapped open medpacks, laying out gauze, injectors, and stabilizers with practiced precision. The room filled with the smell of ozone, blood, and foam sealant.

Trenton turned, about to check in, when a cold, clipped voice cut through the chaos.

"Corporal Trenton!"

The Spartan stiffened like a cadet caught out of formation. Standing in the archway, rifle slung across her back, was Lieutenant Commander August-099, his team lead, visor reflecting the carnage.

"You ran off alone, in pursuit of a hostile, without clearance. Do you have any idea how far you were from your fireteam's overwatch perimeter?"
Trenton swallowed, his voice steady despite the knot in his throat. "Sir."

August's visor tilted slightly. Just that word, sir. Not ma'am, not Commander. She didn't flinch, but Obi-Wan caught the faint tightening of her posture.

"You don't sir me, Corporal," she said flatly. "You follow orders."

Trenton lowered his gaze. "Understood, Commander."

"Good. You can explain yourself in your after-action report. Until then, back in formation."

Behind them, Reeds stood and waved for the corpsmen. "We're stable enough for evac. Get him out before I have to glue more parts together." She shook her helmeted head, muttering over comms, "Spinal trauma, internal bleeding, ruptured vertebrae… great. Just what I needed today."

August turned to another one of the S-IVs. "Secure the sector. Make sure that thing's corpse hits the bottom of that shaft. And if someone was kind enough to get me a long-range relay, we need to report this to HIGHCOM immediately."

As Obi-Wan looked between the towering Spartans and the rather efficient Terran Marines, he realized something that chilled him almost as much as the duel itself.
The Sith had been terrifying.

But these soldiers? These Spartans? Hell even the Terrans?

They were something else entirely.

Location: New Alexandria, Reach

26 MARCH 2578

Deputy Director Jackson Harper

"Those were his words to this… Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Harper muttered as Colonel Shuyun Kengun, the attache to the Ministry of Internal Affairs nodded.

"Yes sir, we have been able to find out who the 'Chosen One' Master Jinn was talking about, Anakin Skywalker is his name…" Kengun stated as he gave Harper a physical file filled to the brim with photos, dossiers, and sensitive intelligence.

A normal workload if he was to be honest with himself.

"What is the status of Master Jinn?" Harper said as he took a good look at the photos. To him he saw a young boy in dusty tunic's, dirty blonde, blue eyes filled with naivety and curiosity unique to a child. He read the files, Skywalker was a slave that won his freedom from a pod race with the help of Master Jinn. It was an intriguing story to Harper but unfortunately he wasn't reading the latest entry of FRONT LINE.

To Harper it was like staring at a photo of his young grandson. Someone he rarely got to see since he was so busy at the agency despite his daughter's pleas.

Colonel Kengun interrupted Harper's manufactured sorrow for a second. "He passed away last night at 1800 hours on the hospital ship UTAS Give Quarter, Captain Anthony Jacobs gave us the official report, died due to extensive internal injuries and a refusal to let any UTSC medical personnel or assets assist him."

"Sounds like he was ready to die…" Harper muttered as he shuffled through more files. "I'm just curious about this whole 'Chosen One' philosophy, it intrigues me to think that he thinks this boy will bring a supposed balance like he's the personification of the goddamned Yin and Yang."

Colonel Kengun straightened his uniform jacket before speaking again. "The Jedi Order maintains a doctrine of prophecy, sir. They believe the Chosen One will bring balance to what they call the Force. It is, in their words, the fundamental energy of life itself."

Harper raised an eyebrow. "Force. Energy field. Magic with a fancier name. Take your pick." He shook his head, tapping the photo with two fingers. "And they pin the fate of their order on this kid? One pod race and suddenly he's Jesus H. Christ?"

Kengun didn't smile. "From what I've gathered, sir, it is more than faith. The Jedi are… unsettled. Master Jinn's final words carried weight among them. If they truly believe Skywalker to be the one who will determine their future, we should be prepared for consequences. Political, religious, and perhaps… military."

Harper drummed his fingers against the desk. "So what does that mean for us? The United Terran Federation can't keep walking blind while these robed mystics decide the fate of a galaxy we're now stuck dealing with."

Kengun's face was stone. "It means our relationship with the Republic will be tested. Already their Senate is asking questions about our deployment on Naboo. We helped Queen Amidala, yes, but their fear of interference is palpable. Some welcome us. Others see us as a threat. The Jedi Council themselves are cautious, though not openly hostile. For now."

Harper leaned back, exhaling slowly. "So the kid's not just a prophecy, he's potential leverage. Wonderful." He reached for his tumbler of whiskey, rolling the amber liquid before taking a sip. "And what of our other guest? Gunray?"

Kengun allowed himself the faintest smile, the kind reserved for predators who had finally cornered their prey. "Interrogation was… fruitful. Viceroy Nute Gunray confessed, after several rounds of… 'persuasion', that he was in contact with a Terran intermediary. The name he gave us was Strassberg."

Harper's grip on the tumbler froze midair. He lowered it slowly, jaw tightening. "Maxwell Strassberg."

"Yes sir. According to Gunray, Strassberg facilitated discrete financial exchanges between the Trade Federation and the Muun Banking Clan. He is using their channels to launder capital into a joint venture. Something buried under layers of encryption. The Muuns call it the Confederate Project. But the most troubling element…" Kengun pulled a separate folder and placed it on Harper's desk. "…is that Strassberg's encryption schema is based on a modified framework from one of our own projects. Section III, to be precise. Project Guardian Angel."

Harper's hand froze mid-page. His gaze snapped up. "Guardian Angel? That project was locked, sealed, and buried six years ago. No one outside Section III should even know it exists."

"That's what we thought, sir. But our AI can't break his cipher. He's adapted the Guardian Angel framework, modified it beyond their reach. It's… uncanny."

Harper's jaw tightened. "So either he's a god damned genius, which I doubt, or he has help." He set the folder down with a heavy thud. "I bet on the latter."

Silence. The hum of the lights pressed in, the weight of the implication hanging between them.

"Are you suggesting a mole in Section III?" Kengun asked, finally breaking the silence.

Harper spoke, his voice low. "It's obvious, we always knew Strassberg was ambitious. But colluding with Muun bankers, and using one of our own projects to hide it? That's treason with a silver bow on it. And if he's got access to Guardian Angel's architecture…" He trailed off, the image of Cortana's ghost flickering in his thoughts. Rogue AI, insubordination, near-collapse. ONI had sworn never again.

"Sir," Kengun said cautiously, "what are your orders?"

Harper leaned forward, fingers steepled. His eyes burned with cold calculation. "I'm escalating this. General Ackerson needs to be informed. If Strassberg has cracked open Guardian Angel, then we're not just dealing with financial treachery, we're dealing with the possibility of a hostile intelligence network piggybacking on ONI code. If that's true, the mole isn't just leaking files, they're trying to rewrite the battlefield."

He snapped the file shut and shoved it across the desk. "Draft the memo. Flag it highest priority. Ackerson will want this on his desk before the day is over."

Kengun gave a crisp nod. "Yes sir."

"And Colonel?" Harper added as Kengun turned around.

"Yes sir?"

"Not a word to Parliament or Werner's cabinet, I don't need Minister Jagleberry's blood on my desk by next week…"

Kengun nodded silently, crisply saluted, leaving Harper alone with the files, the silence, and the gnawing certainty that things were already unraveling faster than he could hold them together.

"So help me god..." Harper muttered as he took another sip of much needed whiskey.

A/N: ONI Section V Victory Theme: https: www. Youtube watch ? v = SJ4IpODLu70

This is the last chapter for September as college is now starting full force and I got a bunch of assignments to do. Unfortunately I also came down with COVID and well… that and college is a lethal combo to my GPA if I don't tread carefully. Anyhow I finished this chapter to help take my mind off the soreness of my throat so please enjoy this. :)

Chapter Text

"When we just speak with just our words, the corrupt and the cruel simply dig themselves deeper. To reach them you need a shovel to dig them out. To discipline them you need a Magnum."

–Governor Elias Trask, UEG Senate, 2468

UNITY!

THE UNITED TERRAN FEDERATION WAS BORN OUT OF A NEED FOR REFORM.

THE OLD ORDER, SHATTERED BY THE FIRES OF THE HUMAN-COVENANT WAR, LEFT BEHIND A FRACTURED AND DISORDERED GALAXY. BILLIONS DEAD, WORLDS SCARRED, AND A POLITICAL ARENA DROWNING IN CHAOS.

FOR YEARS, THE CORRUPT AND THE POWER-HUNGRY FED UPON THE WOUNDS OF HUMANITY. THEY BUILT EMPIRES OF LUST AND SIN IN THE SHADOWS, WHILE ORDINARY CITIZENS STRUGGLED TO REBUILD THEIR HOMES AND LIVES. GREED AND DECAY THRIVED WHERE UNITY HAD FAILED.

BUT THAT TIME IS ENDING. THE UNITED TERRAN FEDERATION, A NEW BASTION OF ORDER AND HUMAN STRENGTH, NOW RISES FROM THE ASHES OF THE UEG!
WITH STREAMLINED COMMAND, REFORMED INSTITUTIONS, AND A RELENTLESS DRIVE TO WEED OUT THE ROT, THE UTF MARCHES FORWARD.

NO LONGER WILL THE ELITES OF CORRUPTION ENJOY THEIR INDULGENCES UNCHECKED. NO LONGER WILL TRAITORS HIDE BEHIND BUREAUCRACY AND POWER. THE AGE OF DECAY IS OVER!

Or is it…?

[23 March 2586]

FRM: ADM HACKETT 21341-20089-SH (CICANDCOM)

TO: FLT ADM KEYES 01928-19912-JK, ADM DARE 73998-38490-VD, VICE ADM HARPER 12251-02337-JH

SUBJECT: ATTACK ON YORKTOWN

ENCRYPTION: FENRIS-LOCK V4.2

SITREP: The UTSC Yorktown CA-283 while on patrol near the edge of the border between Aqueous IV and the Andromedan Commonwealth was attacked by a group of unknown hostile vessels. Post-action analysis confirmed their signatures as Zygerrian in origin. It appears the so-called "Zygerrian Empire" has resurfaced after centuries of obscurity, disregarding Republic edicts outlawing their slave-driven economy. Captain Donathin Coney's report makes it clear: these are not raiders or fringe pirates, but an organized naval force deliberately probing our frontier.

According to ONI's ANDROMEDA Division, the Zygerrians are not indigenous to the Aqueous system and their home system of Zygerria proper is on the other side of the galactic map. Their incursion route and recovered flight telemetry place their launch point directly from orbit of Aqueous IV, which as you are all aware, is Strassberg's private holding. The proximity and logistics required for such an operation make it improbable this was anything but direct collusion.

I strongly advise we move to bag Strassberg, immediately and without hesitation. This man has made himself a liability to the Federation and a threat to galactic stability. Whether ONI or Fleetcom takes the lead, the operation must be surgical and deniable, but decisive. Any delay risks Strassberg vanishing deeper into the Commonwealth frontier with his assets intact, further entrenching Zygerrian slaver presence in our sphere of influence.

Additionally, as overall commander of the ANDROMEDA COMMAND for the United Terran Space Command, I request the dispatch of the UTSC Infinity INF-101 and the UTSC Enterprise CVF-39 as part of Expeditionary Strike Group 1 under Vice Admiral Thomas Lasky to depart and put Zygerria under siege.

We must reinforce our stance on the Andromeda Galaxy as a whole that we do NOT tolerate blatant disregard for our territory and we must act swiftly.

Location: 3241 SW Laulau Dr, Atakatiki, New Kilauea

5 April 2586

Corporal Operator Quan Li Tao

Silence.

That was all CO Quan Li Tao felt.

The mansion sat upon a hill overlooking the small city of Atakatiki which was alive and bustling. The lights pierced the night sky like spears made by the holy deities themselves, rocketing upwards towards the heavens.

It was nice. Yet underneath all the beauty Tao knew there was a vile secret.

Every once in a while a truck crept up the winding road, its engine low, headlights dipped so as not to draw attention. Tao would watch them roll past the gate, cargo concealed beneath tarps tied down too neatly for simple party supplies. He'd been posted here long enough to know better. Wine and hors d'oeuvres didn't come in armored crates with breathing holes.

The muffled cries at dawn, the crates that never came back out. Tao had once considered resigning his commission. But there were orders, there was pay, and above all there was silence.

Tonight, the air was heavy with salt and hibiscus, broken only by the faint thrum of generators and the sea wind combing through the palms. Tao shifted his weight, hand resting loosely against his pulse rifle. To his left, Sergeant Kanoa stood bored, the veteran of the Resurgent Campaigns chewing on a toothpick.

The other two, Operators Vega and Madsen, kept their eyes on the perimeter, silhouettes framed in the golden spill of light from the courtyard lamps. They were new meat.

Experienced? Sure, much better than what you'd get in the normal PMC market but Tao was still aloof with who he worked with, especially after that botched escort mission on Heian a decade ago.

Those damned bastards of the Sons of Terra had a rat and ONI was crawling all over the exchange area the moment the corpo's made contact with the Sons.

He had fought like hell. He still remembered the vivid chase as they ran to the extraction zone after the shuttle was shot down. How they lost the god damned Strassberg Line executive in the scuffle. How his squad whittled down man by man, having to self destruct each one of their bodies to hide the involvement of WCRS and keep the reputation of the company from slipping.

Each face of the men he killed to get out of there alive. 2 shots to the chest. 2 shots to the head. Most of them were CDF troops and Terran Marshalls. Unshielded. Unorganized. Easy pickings. However the occasional run in with the Marine Raiders had ripped into his squad.

They were trained, organized, shielded, and most importantly… they never hesitated to pull the trigger.

As he was reminiscing on that chaotic night, out of the corner of Tao's eyes he could have sworn he seen movement. A faint rustle cut through the night, sharp against the stillness. It wasn't the wind. The sound came from the treeline, just beyond the fence line that circled the estate. Vega froze, his head snapping toward the brush.

"You hear that?" Vega whispered, his voice low, almost drowned out by the thrum of bass from inside.

The others stiffened.

Tao tightened his grip on his ROC-195/X, heart ticking faster now. The bushes swayed again, slower this time, deliberate. The shadows between the palms seemed to deepen. Kanoa spat out his toothpick, muttering, "That ain't no damn bird."

Tao then heard more rustling as he raised his ROC-195/X, sweeping his muzzle from left to right, the same with his comrades whose heart rates spiked on the HUD.

Tao then looked and saw what seemed to be a man shaped shadow, just barely hidden the shrubbery. He looked through his HUD linked to his rifle's computer. Nothing. No outlines. No thermal signature. The X variant with all its upgrades over the centuries it's been upgraded could detect a cloaked split lip from up to a mile away.

Yet here there was nothing.

"Hey what is…?" Vega muttered before 5 rounds slammed into him all simultaneously, his body crumpling to the ground.

"CONTA-!"

Tao didn't even get to hear the gunshot before a 5.56 ripped through his skull.

Location: 3241 SW Laulau Dr, Atakatiki, New Kilauea

5 April 2586

Lieutenant Commander Eric Haufflebaum

The bodies of the 4 security guards standing watch fell in the grass with a muffled thump.
"Move."

In an instant 12 cloaked figures moved under the cover of darkness.

At the rear fence, Specialist Veyna knelt, unpacking a compact jammer no larger than a lunchbox. She set it against the power relay box, fingers flying over its matte surface until it hummed to life.

"Hari, you up?" Veyna rasped through the throat-mic, the signal tunneled and private.

A voice answered, silky and amused, straight into every operative's inner ear. "Always, Veyna. Good evening, Lieutenant Commander. Your window is a delicious thing. Shall I dim the lamps for you?"

Haufflebaum let out the tiniest of mirthless laughs. "Do your thing."

Hari's tone slid from playful to businesslike in a fraction. "Initiating subroutine: MAT A-01. Masking signature with estate-level administrative broadcast. Stand by."

Across the manicured grounds and up into the mansion's central control network, a carefully crafted message bloomed into the estate's service channels. It was a benign bureaucracy wrapped in soft code, a polite administrative hiccup designed to elicit nothing more than yawns and diverted attention.

The estate's lights flickered once, then died in unison. The party inside gave a collective groan, the music and laughter replaced with startled chatter.

Haufflebaum checked in to the civilian channels, his HUD lighting up with the message: "ATTENTION: RESIDENTIAL ENERGY MANAGEMENT, LAULAU DRIVE. SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: SCHEDULED GRID RE-SYNCHRONIZATION IN FIVE MINUTES. TEMPORARY POWER OUTAGE EXPECTED. NO HUMAN ACTION REQUIRED."

Perfect.

"Phase One complete," Haufflebaum said into the subdermal comm. His men filed past him in a silent column, weapons tucked close.

From here, the op would only get tighter. They had to infiltrate, ascend, and seize Strassberg before his private militia inside the mansion realized the blackout wasn't just a glitch in the city grid.

They slipped into the mansion through a side door near the kitchens. Candlelight flickered along gilded walls as servants scrambled with lanterns, trying to calm the guests. The intruders melted into the press of confused bodies, their cloaks still on as they pushed through the crowd, using the dark to add to the increasing confusion.

They finally got to the stairs as 2 WCRS guards ran down, shouting something in Chinese.

"Secure the outside."

Haufflebaum let them run past and meld into the crowd, their cloaking devices masking their thermal signatures enough so the WCRS was none the wiser. He ordered his team to file upstairs, following the pointman, Ensign Adisa, shotgun and shield at the ready.

The team made it past a group of WCRS, running past with their rifles out as if chasing ghosts. None of them looked twice at the cloaked column moving in the opposite direction. Haufflebaum internally chuckled. In a way they technically were chasing ghosts… and they just walked right past them .

The second floor spread out like the deck of an old water battleship, broad galleries lined with portraits of long-dead oligarchs, hardwood polished to a mirror sheen, corridors branching into lounges, private suites, and offices. Chandeliers dangled overhead, now cold and dark. Only the dim glow of emergency candles and the occasional beam from a guard's tac-light cut through the gloom.

"Split," he murmured. "Ford, east wing. Guo, west. I take center. Keep comms minimal, eyes on thermal. We go hot on my mark."

Second Lieutenant Ford peeled off down the east wing with three operatives, boots a careful whisper on the runner as they melted into shadowed doorways. First Lieutenant Guo took the west wing with another three, their silhouettes folded into the darkness like folded paper. Haufflebaum watched them go, then turned with practiced calm to his own element.

Haufflebaum took his team down the center corridor, his 3 team members quickly making their way down its dark halls. They passed a ballroom gone dark, a gallery of relics plundered from across the stars, even a private theater with reels of film left half-threaded in its machines.

It felt… off.

When a pair of guards came out from a room, cigarette embers glowing like small suns under their masks, Haufflebaum did not hesitate. Adisa stepped out, shield forward, closing with the nearer guard in a breath.

Veyna and Matatoros flowed like water, knives flashing in choreographed arcs. Two muffled thumps, a hand over a mouth, the bodies eased gently into shadow.

Hari masked the motion and wrote over the security cams a looping ten-second feed of empty corridor footage. No alarm tripped. No lights flared.

"Good and quiet," Hari purred into Haufflebaum's ear, the voice silk threaded with amusement. "You always were so tidy when you killed people."

Haufflebaum's response was all business, but there was the tiniest tightening at the edge of his mouth that could have been a smile. "Thank you, Hari. Keep it that way."

Haufflebaum's HUD ticked off the rooms one by one until finally, they reached the double oak doors at the end of the hall. The brass knobs glimmered faintly, locked tight. A thin bar of light slipped through the crack beneath, accompanied by muffled voices, laughter, and the clink of glass.

"Clear," Adisa muttered at one junction, his shield catching a sliver of scented candlelight.

"Clear," echoed another, Ensign Matatoros, from the rear.

"Strassberg's study," Adisa breathed.

The pointman flexed his shotgun, ready to blow the hinges, but Haufflebaum raised a hand. "Hold. We go in blind, we spook him. Tech, get the drone in there."

Specialist Veyna knelt, pulling a compact case from her rig. She unfolded a spider-sized recon drone, its black carapace gleaming like oil. With a tap, its eyes glowed faint green. She guided it across the floor, up the keyhole, and into the gap.

The feed came to life on their visors.

And the room's truth cut through them like ice.

Rows of chairs were set in a half-circle, each occupied by a figure draped in silks or uniforms, datapads clutched in greedy hands. At the center, a raised platform. A makeshift auction block.

And on it…?

Twi'lek girls. Shackled. Collared. None looked older than fourteen. Their wide eyes darted across the crowd, terror flickering behind the dim, broken compliance.

"Mother of creation…" Haufflebaum muttered, his grip on the MA-6A growing tighter.

"Orders sir?" Adisa muttered. His shotgun now aimed straight and true on the door hinge, his finger itching to get into the trigger guard and pull it.

Haufflebaum was about to give his orders when all of a sudden the light switched on… instantly Haufflebaum snapped his head to the noise of a lightswitch. There he saw an image which would haunt him for the rest of his days.

A Sangheili child. A girl.

No older than fourteen, gaunt and sunken, bones jutting sharp under sickly gray skin. Her nightgown, if you could even call it that, hung like a rag, threadbare and too small for her elongated frame.

Her wide, glassy eyes fixed on him.

"W-where's Maxie?" she croaked, voice little more than a rasp but cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Oh fuck," Matatoros muttered as Haufflebaum could feel the collective heartbeat start to pump faster.

Haufflebaum froze. His ONI emblem glinted faintly from his shoulder rig. Her gaze flicked to it, recognition sparking like a struck match. The change was instant. Her chest heaved…

"Please don't scream… Please don't scream… Please don't scream…"

"MAXIE! MAXIEEEEE!"

Huafflebaum let out a bit of his frustrated anger. "FUCK!"

The wail shattered the fragile stillness of the hall. It carried with such raw desperation it made Haufflebaum's stomach twist.

The oak doors burst open. Two WCRS guards spilled out, rifles up. They had just enough time to register the wrongness of the scene, four uncloaked figures, an alien child screaming, before Adisa's shotgun barked.

The first guard's head exploded, the HEAPFS shattering his visor and making him look like he just took a sledgehammer to the head at mach 10. Veyna's knife flashed across the second's throat, dropping him to the polished wood with a strangled gurgle.

A cry came from one of the 'clients'. "OH SHIT!"

The whole study rustled as men and women, all in ornate dresses and of various different species, ran out, screaming their heads off as if they weren't just caught committing the worst atrocity a sentient being could do to another.

Matatoros had no quarrels, letting his MA-6A rip, the 5.56 rounds ripping through the bodies of unrestrained lust like knives through a cake. Haufflebaum had to shove the gun muzzle down of the ensign who just by his body language alone, he could tell was pissed.

"Focus Damn it! Get a nine banger in ther-"

Before Haufflebaum could finish that sentence. Hell seemed to break loose once again.

Rounds chewed through the oak doors from the inside, splinters spraying like shrapnel across the corridor. A belt-fed monster screamed its defiance, brass shells raining like golden confetti across Strassberg's lush study. The booming rattle of a light machine gun filled every corner of the second floor, drowning out the shrieks of the fleeing guests.

Haufflebaum didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around the frail Sangheili girl, shielding her wiry frame against his chest as he activated his harness's energy shield. A dull shimmer flickered into being, hexagonal plates catching the first rounds that would've shredded them both. The impact rattled his bones, HUD screaming as his charge dipped from 100% to 35%.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Strassberg's voice tore through the gunfire, half manic, half delighted, every syllable laced with venom. "Did you think you could just walk into my house? Did you think you could steal what is MINE?"

"Shit, shit, shit!" he hissed, barreling into the nearest side room with the child tucked tight, slamming his back against the wall as rounds chewed the doorframe into sawdust. The girl fought like an animal in his grip, long fingers clawing at his visor, nails screeching against his shields, her teeth snapping at his gloved hand.

"Stop! STOP!" he barked, holding her tighter, trying not to break her brittle bones. Her eyes were wild, half feral, mandibles cracked and bleeding. Each strike sapped precious seconds from his focus. His HUD dropped again, 30% charge left.

Sparks danced across the hardwood, chandeliers shattered into raining glass. Matatoros slid behind a marble column, screaming back in rage as he sent a burst of 5.56 through the door.

"You come into MY HOUSE, one of my sanctum's, and think you can take what's MINE? You think your little cloaks and codes scare ME?!" Strassberg's voice cackled, high and venomous, carried on the thunder of his weapon.

Rounds chewed another painting, tearing a gilded frame into splinters. "I OWN this world! Every crate, every throat, every PRODUCT! THEY ARE ALL MINE!"

Haufflebaum ducked lower, shielding the Sangheili girl as shards of wood and glass sprayed. She kept clawing, half-delirious, screaming a single word over and over: "MAXIE! MAXIEEE!"

The stress all got to Haufflebaum as he threw off his helmet, "SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!"

The sangheili girl recoiled in fear as she began wailing, louder.

Haufflebaum mentally punched himself in the face. Why would he yell at her? Despite the fact that she wanted to claw his face off, she was just a kid. Split lip or not.

Haufflebaum punched the floor as he picked up his helmet and put it on, sealing it. He then took his MA-6A, sticking the muzzle out and letting rip the 60 round magazine until it finally ran dry.

The MA-6A clicked dry, bolt locking back, smoke wafting from its overheated barrel. The study was a chaos of overturned furniture and muzzle flashes, Strassberg's laugh still slashing through the roar of his machine gun like glass dragged on metal.

Haufflebaum's breathing rasped in his helmet mic. The Sangheili girl whimpered, her cries muffled against his chestplate. His HUD glared a blood-red 0.

He quickly tossed the old magazine out and ripped a new one out of his chest rig, slapping it in and sending the bolt home with a slap.

"Eric, darling," Hari's voice purred into his ear, silk laced with wicked amusement. "You're pressing a child to your chest harder than you've pressed a woman in years. Should I start a lullaby subroutine, or maybe-"

"Not. Now." Haufflebaum growled, doing some more corner shooting. "Do your job, Hari. Give me something useful or shut the fuck up."

"Ooo, feisty." Hari's tone shifted like a coin flip, playful dropping into clinical precision. "Fine. Enemy signature is one M247H heavy support weapon, belt-fed, 12.7x99mm High Velocity Armor Piercing, firing at 1,000 RPM. Thermal shows six tangos clustered around Strassberg, two flanking on either side of his dais. They're dug in behind reinforced oak and ferrocrete paneling. Corridor crossfire would cut you to ribbons in twelve seconds."

"Options?" Haufflebaum snapped.

"Fire teams under Guo and Ford coming to assist," Hari said sweetly. "They're repositioning. Suppressive arcs incoming in three… two…"

The walls rattled as a thunderclap of return fire poured from both wings. Guo's squad opened up with disciplined bursts of MA-6A's and M-250 GPMG's, each crack like a whip, while Ford's team hammered with grenades and heavy rifle fire. Plaster and wood vaporized under the assault, forcing Strassberg's militia to hunker deeper into their cover.

"Window's open, Eric. Run like hell." Hari's amusement returned, sharp as a knife.

"Adisa, smoke! Veyna, rear guard!" Haufflebaum barked.

Adisa snapped a pair of cylinders onto the floor, thick plumes of phosphorous smoke billowing instantly, choking the corridor in white haze. Veyna slung her knife and fired short, sharp bursts downrange, her aim precise enough to keep heads down without wasting rounds.

"Hold the junction!" Haufflebaum snapped, his voice ragged as he wrestled the Sangheili girl back down, her claws screeching off the remnants of his shield bubble. The HUD blinked 17%.

"Ford, Guo! Suppress and cover, now!"

The west and east wings came alive. Ford's team swung into position, their MA-6As barking controlled bursts. Guo's men added the deep thump of underslung grenades, fragmentation turning Strassberg's gilded study into a storm of smoke and flying brass.

"Copy! frag out!" Ford barked, tossing an M-10 Plasma Grenade. The blast tore across the threshold, a concussive boom rattling chandeliers already hanging by splinters.

"HAHAHAHA!" Strassberg's laugh warped into a cough, his LMG faltering just long enough for Veyna to pull Haufflebaum upright. "Move, Commander! We can't hold this hall!"
The girl shrieked and twisted in his arms, fingernails leaving bloody streaks across his forearm plates. "MAXIE! MAXIEEEEE!" Her mandibles clicked and snapped, more animal than child, until exhaustion made her strikes sluggish. She was light… way too light… and burning herself out.

"Come and get me mother fuckers!" Strassberg yelled out as Haufflebaum heard more rapid fire gunshots.

The thunder of crossfire turned the second floor into a killing ground, the air thick with cordite and powdered wood. Lieutenant Guo's voice cut through the storm like an energy sword:

"Suppressing! On my mark, three, two, one!"

His squad leaned out from their cover, MA-6A's roaring in unison, barrels flashing white-hot as they hosed the study's threshold with disciplined bursts. Ford's element mirrored the move, stitching tracer fire low and mean, forcing Strassberg's guards to duck or die. The hallway flickered with alternating strobes of orange and muzzle-blue, every corner echoing with the bark of rifles and the shriek of ricochets.

"Commander, window's open!" Guo barked.

"Move!" Haufflebaum snapped, hauling the Sangheili girl against his chest. Adisa surged up, shield first, deflecting a stream of wild fire that sparked harmlessly across its ablative plating. Veyna and Matatoros flanked him, their rifles barking short, angry bursts to keep heads down.

They sprinted, boots hammering against hardwood slick with plaster dust and blood spray, every step a gamble. Haufflebaum's HUD screamed proximity alerts as rounds whined past his ear, one shattering a candelabra so close he felt molten brass kiss his cheekplate. But the suppressive fire held. The team slammed back into friendly lines, the girl's screams muffled against his chest as Ford yanked the rear guard into cover.

"Safe! Safe!" Adisa panted, shield scarred and blackened, but still whole.

The gunfire from the study redoubled, furious and indiscriminate, chewing the doorframe down to splinters. Strassberg's voice carried over it all, manic and gleeful over the heavy bass like thumping of the M-247.

"COWARDS! RUN! I'll feed your bones to the furnaces!"

"Negative," Matatoros growled, slapping a fresh magazine into his MA-6A. "I say we smoke the bastard."

"Agreed," Guo added, reloading in a blur. His visor turned toward the Commander. "Sir, permission to deploy irritants?"

Haufflebaum's jaw flexed as he shifted the Sangheili girl, her body trembling, eyes wild as he handed her over to the team's medic.

She had seen monsters. Monsters that she was never supposed to see.

He looked back at his team and gave a single nod.

An ensign from Ford's team swung the heavy cylinder off his back: the M-314 Pump-Action Grenade Launcher. Its frame gleamed dark under candlelight, old, reliable, brutal, simplistic. He racked the pump with a sharp chuck-clack, slid a fat 40mm canister into the breech, and sighted down the smoke-scarred hallway.

"Frag-chem loaded," the operator called, voice flat.

"Send it," Haufflebaum ordered.

The ensign leaned out, braced against the doorway, and pulled the trigger.

BOMP!

The launcher thumped like a giant's heartbeat, the canister arcing in a perfect line through the splintered oak doors. The operator racked the pump, a brass casing plopping onto the floor with a cushioned thump. He fired again.

BOMP!

Half a second later, the study was filled with a choking WHOOOMP. A cloud of pale green gas exploded outward, rolling low and thick across the polished floor. Strassberg's laughter turned instantly to a jagged cough, hacking, furious, punctuated by the sound of furniture toppling and men gagging. The screams of his bodyguards rose sharp as knives, muffled by masks hastily pulled too late.

Hari's voice cut back in, sharp and giddy. "Ohhh, beautiful. Tear gas deployment confirmed. Bio-reads inside the study dropping like stocks in a bad market. Strassberg's guards are choking, blind, stumbling over each other like drunks in a brothel. Big boy himself? Still on the tripod, but he's hacking his lungs out while trying to reload. His ammo feed's jammed, by the way."

"Perfect." Haufflebaum's eyes narrowed. "Mark his position."

A red diamond appeared on every visor, Strassberg glowing like prey on the hunt.

The Section V Operators quickly stacked up into 2 neat columns, 6 on one side and 5 on the other, the medic, Corpsman Renner, was still tending to the young sangheili girl who was still muttering 'Maxie' under her breath.

Haufflebaum felt a bit of rage bubbling to the surface. Sure she was a split lip, but she was just a young child. A child who had been exposed to the real world far too early. With that he snapped his head back, still behind the pointman, Adisa, whose shield was raised high, shotgun muzzle pointed down range.

It was time to end it.

"OPERATORS! MOVE IT!"

"HOOYAH!"

The columns moved in sync, like a snake making its way towards wounded prey. Some mercs ran out of the smoke, coughing their guts out. They were quickly taken out, 2 shots to the chest, 2 to the head, falling to the floor like slaughtered cattle.

The columns slam through the study like a collapsing wall. The air is thick with tear gas and the metallic tang of spent rounds. Someone grabs Strassberg by the collar and the room tilts into a slow, nauseous spiral for him, his tantrum cut off by the weight of an officer's boot. He scrabbles, claws for purchase on polished wood, but the world has gone cotton-mouthed.

Matatoros closes on him, gloved hands finding the back of Strassberg's neck. Haufflebaum raised his MA-6A's buttstock and slammed it into Strassberg's jaw. The man folded, light and immediately useless.

Adisa slammed a flex-cuff around bleeding wrists; three other operators pin his shoulders and roll him onto his side. Strassberg gurgles a string of threats and promises, each one weaker than the last. Someone rips some tape over his mouth. He goes quiet.

Silence.

At least near silence anyways. There was still the muffled sobbing and choking of 2 WCRS guards, alive and barely kicking, begging for help in broken English and Chinese, their eyes wide, blood covering their green camo uniforms.

Sure these men may have not been committing to the overall corruption that wrought this establishment, but they were protecting it. Guarding it, perhaps with their lives. Even if it was just for money.

And in Haufflebaum's mind…

POP!

"Bù, bù! Děng, děng yīxià! Wǒ, wǒ bāng nǐ-!"

POP!

The last guard fell silent. A 5.56 round ripping straight into his head as blood splattered on the floor, his body going rigid as he lay in a pool of his own blood and debris.

"Sir?!" Adisa cried out, alarm in his voice.

"They were breathing liabilities. You leave them alive, they scream, they crawl, they grab a rifle the second you turn your back. Then we've got more bodies, our bodies, on this floor. ONI doesn't take chances, Ensign. Not with what we're carrying, not with who we're pulling out."

His eyes flicked to the corner where Corpsman Renner was hunched, cradling the gaunt Sangheili girl. Her mandibles worked silently now, her thin chest still hitching as she whispered "Maxie" under her breath like a prayer.

Around her, the other Twi'lek children were being pulled from the platform. Four of them. Four wide-eyed kids, two bleeding from jagged cuts on their wrists where the binders had dug too deep. One girl's leg hung at an unnatural angle, bone pushing pale against purple skin. Their sobs were small and broken things, choked through shock and pain.
Operators moved with rare gentleness, knives flashing to cut collars, gloves tugging chains from bruised throats.

"Easy… easy. You're safe now," Guo murmured as he eased a girl down, draping his own scarf across her trembling shoulders.

"Renner! Trauma checks, now!" Haufflebaum snapped as the medic ran around, his bag emptying of its supplies at an alarming rate.

"Sir! I got more in this room!" an operator called as Haufflebaum whirled around on his heel, rushing over to where the operator stood.

The room seemed to be an ornate bedroom, filled with the most exquisite of jewelry

The door creaked open under Matatoros' boot. The air hit them first. Rank, stale, a mix of ammonia and sweat and fear.

A gilded canopy bed dominated the chamber, but it was the cages pressed against the far wall that froze the squad. Ten children. Four humans. Three Togruta. Two Sangheili. A Nautolan boy, his head-tendrils limp against his chest. Their faces turned toward the sudden light, eyes wide, rimmed red with tears. Haufflebaum's stomach twisted.

Some clutched each other. One human girl lifted a trembling hand, flinching when Adisa reached for the latch.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Matatoros, voice low but shaking. "It's a goddamn kennel."

Haufflebaum didn't speak. He moved. His boots crunched glass as he crossed the room, Adisa at his shoulder with the shield angled wide. One swipe of his combat knife severed the bar lock. The gate groaned as he pulled it open. The children flinched. All ten at once.

"Easy," he said, voice tight but steady through the helmet's speakers. "No one's gonna hurt you. You're safe now."

One of the human boys, no older than ten, stared at his ONI emblem. His lips trembled before words formed: "Are… are you here to take us away?"

Haufflebaum's throat caught. "Yeah, kid. We are."

Renner scrambled forward with the medkit, already triaging. The other Operators bent, carefully lifting each child as if they were glass. The two Sangheili were feather-light in their arms, skin like ash. The Nautolan clung to Guo's neck with trembling hands, silent tears streaming down his face.

The team worked fast. Drives ripped from Strassberg's private terminals, datapads yanked from trembling hands, every ounce of intel bagged and tagged. Children were triaged and stabilized as best as Renner's kit allowed, trauma tape wrapped around wrists too small for it, morphine injectors set to the lowest possible dose.

Then came the sound that set everyone on edge.

Sirens.

A low wail at first, then more… at least half a dozen, then a dozen. Red and blue lights cut across the sprawling grounds, painting the estate in colors of law and panic.
"Contact," Matatoros hissed, peering out a shattered window. "Locals. Atakatiki Police Department. Whole damn precinct by the look of it."

Haufflebaum clenched his jaw. "Hari."

"Already on it," the AI purred. "Comms chatter says they've got the mansion surrounded. SWAT's suiting up. Oh, and they don't know you're here."

"Shit," muttered Guo.

The Operators stacked in the central hall, the children huddled under thermal blankets, Strassberg groaning against the marble floor. If there was going to be a firefight… Haufflebaum did not want to confront that possibility.

But if the OCS taught him anything. There will always be that one 'X factor' which turns a plan FUBAR.

The silence before the storm didn't even last a second. "ATAKATIKI POLICE!" a voice boomed from below. "LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

Seconds later, bootfalls thundered up the grand staircase. Armored officers in dark-blue tactical gear flooded the landing, rifles raised, faces hidden behind mirrored visors.
"DOWN ON THE GROUND, NOW!" one barked into a megaphone as if everyone there was deaf which to be honest… it was a fair assessment. Haufflebaum was amazed by an average person's utter stupidity to not comply with orders from a figure of authority.

But here? Haufflebaum was the man in charge.

"Stand down!" Haufflebaum barked, his voice carrying the weight of command. His Operators froze, weapons leveled but fingers straight. He raised one hand slowly, palm outward.

"We're ONI. This is a secured operation under UTSC authority. You've got no jurisdiction here."

"Bullshit!" the lead officer snapped. "You're masked, armed, and trespassing on private property. You've killed half the security detail and stormed this place like terrorists. Drop the guns boy!"

Adisa instinctively raised his shield, stepping forward with a protective stance. The rest of the squad mirrored him, rifles angled at the approaching line peeking out from cover. The air turned molten, seconds from a firefight.

Then a new voice cut through the chaos. Calm. Firm. Carrying authority like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
"That's enough."

A man stepped through the APD's line, pushing past them with the casual authority of someone who didn't need to shout. His coat was long, dark gray, hiding a full gear set of standard issue ODST armor. On his chest gleamed the silver badge of the Terran Marshals.

Federal Police.

Haufflebaum felt something unclench in his chest as recognition hit. "Marshal Duvall."

The man, grizzled, square-jawed, eyes like cold steel, and a beard that seemed to be about as white as the snow of Kamchatka, took one look at the scene: the broken study doors, Strassberg on his knees, the cages, the children. His jaw tightened.

"Lower your weapons," Duvall ordered the APD without raising his voice. "Now."

The cops hesitated, then one by one, barrels dipped. ONI's operatives didn't flinch. They held their line until Duvall turned his eyes on Haufflebaum. "Eric."
"Marshal." Haufflebaum's voice was a taut wire.

"I suppose it's obvious what you're doing…" Duvall said, his voice a tense drawl.

Haufflebaum stepped forward, his team shifting around him like shadows, weapons still low but ready. "We're taking Strassberg into ONI custody," he said flatly. "Along with his terminals, servers, and anything else that so much as smells like evidence."

The APD officer with the megaphone bristled. "That's a local matter-"

"No," Duvall cut him off, his tone sharp as a knife. "Not when this shit touches the Federation's core worlds. Not when there are kids in chains. This is ONI jurisdiction now, Captain. You'll stand down."

The words landed heavy. The APD officer's shifted, uncertain, but their commander finally gave a curt nod. "Fine. But the kids-"

"They're yours," Haufflebaum said before the man could finish. He glanced at Corpsman Renner, who was gently wrapping the young Sangheili girl's arm in trauma tape. "Im not interested in more paperwork. They stay with local law enforcement. Get them to a hospital."

Reluctantly, the APD moved in, softening as they took the small, trembling forms into their arms. The children clung to them like shipwreck survivors pulled from the sea. A Twi'lek boy buried his face in a patrolman's vest and sobbed until his small shoulders shook.

Strassberg was another matter. ONI operators hauled him upright, flex-cuffed and gagged, his fine silks torn and stained with blood. He fought weakly, curses muffled behind the tape. That was when the Sangheili girl saw him. Her glassy eyes widened. She squirmed in Renner's grip, her bony arms thrashing, reaching toward Strassberg with a desperate, broken cry: "MAXIE! MAAAAAXIEEEEEE!"

The word ripped out of her like an open wound, and every operator froze. Strassberg's eyes flicked to her, just for a heartbeat, and something dark, twisted, unmistakable flashed in them.

Recognition.

Haufflebaum's blood ran cold. He put it together in an instant. The pet name. The obsession. The way she screamed it like a lifeline.
Maxie.

Maxwell Strassberg.

Haufflebaum's stomach turned. He felt bile rise, his gloved hand tightening on the MA-6A until the polymer creaked.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Renner held the girl tighter as she wailed, clawing weakly toward Strassberg.

"Maxie! Don't leave me, Maxie!" Strassberg only smiled through the blood and gag. And in that moment, Haufflebaum wanted nothing more than to put a round through his skull.

But orders were orders. Strassberg was Section I's problem now.

Hari cut through the conflicting atmosphere, "Sir, update from the top, Admiral Ticoma would like to have a word with you. Also your ex has phoned twice, Lieutenant Commander."

"Shut her out," Haufflebaum snapped before remembering Hari could not be shut out. He didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to add the soft ache of the life he'd shelved for this… violence, for the operations, for the way the universe asked you to price your soul in bits and favors. But the mission had been counting on him to captain it.

He shoved the thought back into its locker with the monsters he had locked inside.

Location: UTSC Shtorm PRO-2300, In Orbit over New Kilauea

5 April 2586

Lieutenant Emilia Rustov

"Name, Age, Date of Birth," Lt. Emilia Rustov said coldly. Her eyes glued to her tablet instead of the monster that sat across from her.

"Go to hell spook…" Strassberg muttered, a snarl forming on his face.

Rustov felt a small smile curl her lips as she nodded to one of the guards who activated a stun-baton, the stick crackling with electricity. The guard quickly walked up to Strassberg from the corner in the room, going behind the chair and placing the baton just below the man's chin.

Strassberg's attitude instantly changed as his snarl quickly turned to a whimper. "OK! OK! M-Maxwell Strassberg! 64 years, and born on February 11th 2526…"

The guard quickly deactivated the stun baton, retracting it and placing it in a pouch on his chest rig.

Rustov gave a curt chuckle. "See? Was that so hard?"

"Fuck… you…" Strassberg exhaled. The reaction was almost immediate as the guard quickly took out the stun baton and pushed it into Strassberg's neck for 4 seconds, stun set to medium. Strassberg screeched in pain as the baton made its mark on his skin.

"N-NO… AHHHGGGHH! S-STOP…!"

Rustov watched. A part of her felt pure joy seeing a monster like Strassberg go through so much pain. Both physically and mentally. Rustov herself had been assaulted before, her step father was not the kindest man, he was always drunk, beating her mother and keeping her to a life of what was basically indentured servitude. Then, out of the blue when he was on one of his drunk sprees, he had raped Emilia at just 16.

At 16 Emilia, the young and curious girl, died. Out came Rustov. The one who wanted to be like her true father. Strong. Fearless. Unmoving. Unafraid to dish out justice, no matter the legality.

So… every time Strassberg screamed, every time he begged, whimpered… she imagined his face. Cruel joy spread through her nerves. It felt good. It felt good to see them suffer. To see them writhe in their sins and their lustful rot. To fear the power they once wielded over others.

She still had the face of her step father in her mind when she pulled a gun. An M-6. The original with no smart scope. A gift from her father to her mother before he was gutted by the split lips on New Tbilisi.

She remembered it vividly. His begging. His pleading. The sudden silence after a single shot of 12.7x40mm SAPHE pierced his neck. The bloody choking and pounding on the carpet. His twitching body as post mortem aftershocks shot through his nerves. Her hands itched to take out that M-6 again resting in her holster. Do the same. Line the tip of the front post between the back at Strassberg's jugular.

End it.

But Rustov had a job to do. She knew better than to let her emotions plague her work which she oh so loved to do.

"Guard… I need him alive, thank you very much…" Rustov muttered as the guard stopped, placing the baton back in its pouch before going back to his corner.

Rustov sat up straight, placing the tablet on the table beside her. "Alright… are we done playing games Maxie?"

Strassberg gritted his teeth at that nickname. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

Rustov gave a curious cock of her head.
"Why not?" she said, a small smile forming. "You seemed adamant that… hmm… who was it? Bune? Call you that… actually all of your little young concubines call you…"

"SHUT IT!" Maxwell roared. "DO NOT BRING THEM INTO TH-!"

The guard was quick again, taking Maxwell's head and slamming it into the table. Blood dripped onto the stainless steel. Hot and viscous.

"Here's the deal Maxie… you tell me everything you know about the Zygerrians and who this 'mole' in ONI you've been in contact with and I might arrange for a better cell at Midnight" Emilia muttered, completely unbothered by Strassberg who was gasping for air as the guard choked him out.

Rustov nodded at the guard again who stopped, let go, and went back to his corner.

"What makes you think I'll tell you anything…" Strassberg said. "You'll just have to kill me…" a sinister smile forming on his face.

"Fine. I don't need you alive. I just need your brain… hook it up to one of those special Huragok and then… walla, all your memories…" she grabbed her tablet. "In the palm of my hand…"

Strassberg's face instantly drained of color. His eyes darted around the little interrogation room as if he were looking for an escape. An escape he would never find.

Rustov felt her lips curl into a snarl, "So, this is all at your benefit… unfortunately."

Strassberg's smug grin faltered, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as his mind played out the very real possibility of being reduced to nothing more than a data drive.
He coughed once, then twice, before finally snapping, "Alright… alright! I'll talk!"

Rustov leaned back, her eyes calm but predatory. She tapped her tablet, recording. "Good boy. Now, about your friends. Start with the Zygerrians."

Strassberg sputtered, "I know nothing about the Zygerri- AGH!"

The guard slammed the monster's head into the table again as the technocrat hissed in pain, teeth grit as he stared into the polarized visor of the guard. The guard whacked him again, this time with a slap on the cheek as its crack echoed across the interrogation chamber. Blood specks dotted the floor as Strassberg's breathing became heavier.

"Sorry I couldn't hear you… what was that?" Rustov asked with an innocent tone, her head cocked as if she were just a soccer mom catching up with the latest gossip.

Strassberg coughed again, spitting blood across the table. His swollen lip quivered, and his eyes twitched toward Rustov's tablet. He wanted to stay defiant, wanted to laugh in her face, but the buzzing crack of the stun baton still rang in his ears as the guard held it close for 'persuasion'.

"The… the Zygerrians," he hissed, words tumbling out like loose screws. "They're planning to hit Strangreal. They want… slaves. A whole harvest of them."

Rustov lifted a brow. "Strangreal? And why specifically?"

"They're the outermost colony world of the Commonwealth and by extension the Federation. It's also technically the least developed, there's only a single Army base there and not much of a 'defense fleet'. Their Colonial Defense Forces are… hell I don't even think they exist yet, the OCA has been slow to form them…" Strassberg muttered as the guard slowly put away the baton with each spat out syllable.

Rustov only nodded as she wrote down what he said on her tablet. Of course she could go off of the transcription but she also liked to write things down, keeping them close to her head. Besides, she didn't have to fight with 3 different tech's to get the footage that way.

"Daring I might say… my question to you I suppose is… why help them?"

Strassberg gave a crooked grin, his teeth red with blood. "Why help them? Why not? Do you know how much a single Sangheili sells for in the outer markets? Or a human child, freshly plucked from some idyllic farm world, screaming for its parents? The Zygerrians pay top credit, and I get… entertained in return." His tongue darted over his split lip, and for a moment his face looked less like a man's and more like a carrion beast savoring rot.

Rustov's eyes twitched, but her face remained stone. She scribbled something down on the tablet, though every fiber in her body screamed to shoot him in the mouth and wipe that smile off his face forever.

"Disgusting," she said flatly. "A Brute shows more empathy than you, at least they would have shame."

"Shame is for the weak, darling," Strassberg rasped. "Power is power. Flesh is flesh. You just need to know how to use it."

The guard's fist slammed into his gut, making him cough up more blood, but the old bastard laughed. A low, guttural cackle that rattled his bruised chest until they quickly turned into silent sobs, saline solution mixing with the blood speckles on the table as he choked out a statement.

"But I am no monster… I took care of them… all of them… that's why they call me Maxie… because unlike the people I free them from I give them everything-"

"You raped them, I would hardly call that 'emancipation'," Rustov interjected bluntly, her eyes narrowing, pupils darkening with a simmering rage eerily similar to her fathers.
"Rape? That's a barbaric term, I much prefer the term… 'assisting in their journey to adulthood'," Strassberg said, like he was some noble philosopher who donated half of their net worth to recovery clinics in the aftermath of the Human-Covenant War.

Rustov didn't even need to say or move anything for the guard to react. Instantly Strassberg was struck by the guard in the balls this time. The playboy technocrat screeching in pain as his breathing thinned, sucking in all the air he could get into his maw.

"Let's move on shall we? The higher ups wanna know how the hell you got a piece of GUARDIAN ANGEL… care to share?" Rustov said, her tone blank as always.
Strassberg's body trembled, sweat matting the streaks of blood down his face as he tried to gather himself. The guard stood stone-still in the corner, visor gleaming, baton resting like a loaded threat.

Strassberg's chest heaved, his lips curling into a half-smile despite the agony. "You think… I'd just hand you that, spook? The Angel isn't some toy you just stumble across in a scrapyard. It's bigger than me. Bigger than all of us."

The guard shifted, the faint hum of the baton powering on again filling the room. Rustov raised a hand. Not yet.

She leaned in, voice low and venomous. "Then who? Names, affiliations, payment lines. Because unless you want me to turn your brain into a Huragok's afternoon project, you'll start talking."

Strassberg's mask faltered. His eyes darted again, the nervous tic betraying him. He swallowed thick, his voice rasping into a reluctant whisper. "… Brass."

Rustov tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Brass? As in the metal?"
"Yes. That's all I know him as," Strassberg wheezed, coughing blood onto the steel table. "Brass. He's… scary. Ruthless. The kind of man who doesn't need to raise his voice because you already know he'll kill you if you breathe wrong. Runs with a group-"

Rustov's eyes narrowed. "Which group?"

"The Sons of Terra…" Strassberg muttered, his voice trembling with the weight of the name. "Ex-military, ex-ONI, mercs, pirates… all human, all cut from the same rotten cloth. They're not loyal to credits or causes. Just the dream of Earth above all. They've been around for decades, crawling in the shadows like roaches. And Brass… he's their king."

"Funny… I would think an interspecies relationship advocate like yourself would be against working with someone like this 'Brass' character," Rustov muttered. She saw Strassberg stiffen up like someone held a loaded gun behind him.

Rustov got up from her chair and placed her hands on the table, leaning over. "Seems like you're hiding something Maxie… care to tell me?"

Strassberg's throat bobbed as he tried to swallow down the lump of dread forming there. Rustov's eyes didn't waver, her cold stare pinning him like a specimen on a board.
He shifted uncomfortably, then spat a glob of blood onto the table, smearing it with the back of his hand as if to stall for time.

"I told you… all I know," Strassberg rasped. "He just calls himself Brass. No last name, no first. Just… Brass. You don't ask him questions. You don't look him in the eye. You just do what he says and hope he doesn't decide you're more useful as fertilizer."

Rustov's lips twitched, though not into a smile. Her expression hovered between disgust and interest. She straightened slowly, pacing around the table with her hands clasped behind her back.

"And he leads the Sons of Terra?" she asked evenly.

"Yes, I already told you that… they want to restore Earth to its 'former glory' or some stupid line like that…"Strassberg muttered, huffing. "They want war against everyone who isn't human, they believe science is… that science, no matter how extreme, is the path towards humanity gaining the Mantle or whatever stupid Forerunner mantra crap they set up…"

Rustov stopped pacing and stood behind his chair, her shadow long across the table under the sterile light. "So you're saying," she began slowly, "that the Sons of Terra, these relic-worshiping fossils, got their hands on GUARDIAN ANGEL code? And you just happened to be in the middle of it?"

Strassberg's swollen eyes darted to the guard, then back to her. "I was a middleman. That's all. I don't know how they got it, don't know what they plan to do with it. All I know is Brass gave me the code and told me to run wild, and everyone else… obeyed. No questions."

Rustov studied him for a long moment, her face unreadable. The silence pressed on the room like a weight. Then she finally leaned down, close enough that Strassberg could feel the heat of her breath at his ear. "You're a liar, Maxie. But for now… you've been useful enough."

She pulled back, straightening her uniform jacket. A sharp nod to the guard. The armored soldier moved instantly, yanking Strassberg upright by the collar.

The technocrat winced, his legs trembling as he was hauled to his feet, wrists cuffed tight behind his back. Rustov picked up her tablet and tapped it off, the room's overhead light reflecting in her cold eyes.

"Take him back to his cell," she ordered curtly. "Put him in with the big boys and have him drop the soap. Maybe by tomorrow, he'll remember something else about our friend Brass."

The guard gave a silent nod, dragging Strassberg toward the door. His voice cracked as he shouted over his shoulder, desperation clawing through his bravado.

"You can't do this! H-HEY! I… I'll tell you everything! EVERYTHING! I- I GOT LISTS! LOGBOOKS! ANYTHING YOU WANT-!"

His voice faded as he was dragged out of the cell. Rustov ordered her things neatly. All square and utilitarian.

As they should be.

Perhaps tomorrow 'Maxie' would spill the beans.

Location: Vadam Keep, Yermo, Sanghelios

9 April 2586

Deputy DIrector Jackson Harper

"I still don't understand how those Elite buggers even survive on Sanghelios, it's like a furnace down here!" one of the ODST's muttered to himself.

"Shut it, Mac," another hissed back. "Better not let one of the honor guards hear you call 'em buggers. They'll gut you for disrespect faster than you can say oorah."

Harper smirked faintly at the chatter but said nothing. His eyes were fixed ahead as the massive obsidian gates of Vadam Keep creaked open, revealing the towering spires and courtyards of the Arbiter's ancestral home. The air shimmered with heat, a haze rolling across the sand-choked plains beyond the walls.

"You know alien architecture will always be fascinating to me…" muttered a voice next to him.

Harper looked over to see Dr. Catherine Keyes, the young scientist assigned to the diplomatic mission. Keyes was a respected biologist and just so happened to be the granddaughter of Fleet Admiral Keyes himself. Harper had been told by Admiral Keyes that if any harm befell his daughter, then Harper would 'pay for it'.

"You sound like you're about to start sketching statues in your notebook," Harper muttered dryly.

Keyes smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't tell me you aren't impressed. These structures were carved by hand centuries before humanity even knew how to light a fire. Every arch, every stone, it's a history lesson standing upright. The Sangheili don't just build; they enshrine."

Harper let out a low chuckle. "You say 'enshrine,' I say 'overcompensate.'"

Keyes gave him a side-eye. "That's why ONI is led by people like you. No sense of wonder, just suspicion. I bet you think every statue is hiding a weapons cache."
"Not every statue," Harper said, keeping his voice even as the honor guard led them across the courtyard. "But I'd be a fool not to assume some of them are. The Elites like their ceremony, but they like their blades more."

Keyes rolled her eyes. "You sound just like my grandfather, always assuming the Sangheili's entire cultural output can be boiled down to energy swords and blood feuds. There's more to them than that, Deputy Director. A lot more."

Harper's smirk returned. "Spoken like someone who hasn't seen what those 'cultural outputs' can do to a squad of Marines. I've read your papers, Doc. I get it. Honor, tradition, glory. But don't confuse poetry with politics. The Arbiter's people may host us today, but they'd just as soon put a blade in our backs tomorrow if they thought it meant restoring their old empire."

Keyes slowed, glancing up at the massive Sangheili banners draped from the keep's towers. The symbols burned bright in the sunlight, proud, unyielding. "Or maybe," she said softly, "they're just trying to build something new. Something better. Have you ever considered that?"

Harper didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the gates as they entered the heart of Vadam Keep, the shadows of ancient warriors etched into stone all around them. Sure the Sangheili had defected to humanity and fought against the Covenant, sure they had allied to eradicate the Flood from existence, and sure they may have had some joint occupation zones, but Harper would always be aloof.

No matter how much both sides tried to reconcile, the scars of the Human-Covenant War still ran deep. No matter how many summits both hosted, the souls of 248 billion would still hold their phantom pain high above the heads of the remaining ~200 billion and the children they would create.

Trust no one. That was the phrase he lived by when he worked at ONI. It was a phrase that kept him alive during the years of Parangorsky.
Finally, he muttered, "Maybe. But in my line of work, I don't get paid to hope."

The door then opened to a grand courtyard. Out came a few Sangheili honor guards, their armor a bright blue compared to the crimson red from their old Covenant counterparts.

At the center of the courtyard stood Thel 'Vadam himself, flanked by armored Sangheili guards, their helms plumed and blades humming faintly at their sides. Harper tightened his grip on the datapad. The Arbiter was not in his formal armor, he was in regal robes and was followed by what Harper assumed to be his wife.

It was weird for Harper to see a powerful Sangheili such as the Arbiter to only have one wife. Usually a Sangheili male would have multiple, especially the Kaidons but it seemed human tradition had rubbed off on the Arbiter and his keep as a whole.

"Harper…" the Arbiter growled, his voice carrying across the courtyard like a thunderclap. The Sangheili guards shifted their weight, mandibles twitching in silent disapproval of the humans in their sacred space.

Harper inclined his head respectfully but didn't bow. "Arbiter. Always a pleasure."

Thel 'Vadam strode forward, the shadows of his guards stretching across the sandstone as if to remind the humans whose ground they stood upon. His mandibles flexed once, a guttural rumble low in his throat, before his deep voice carried across the courtyard.

"You have come far, Harper," the Arbiter said. "And not without purpose. I sense this visit is not one of idle diplomacy."

Harper inclined his head slightly, lifting his datapad in a silent signal. At his gesture, two ODSTs moved forward, forming a protective half-circle. Between them walked a thin Sangheili girl, her skin dusky, eyes wide with both fear and defiance.

Shele 'Vadamee.

Her narrow frame was dwarfed by the ODSTs at her sides. Four years gone, snatched by Strassberg, and she had come back taller, older, but hollowed in ways Harper knew no Sangheili parent should ever have to see. Her armor-weary eyes scanned the keep with suspicion and awe, yet her mandibles twitched nervously, her hands clutched close to her chest as if afraid the humans might vanish and she'd be dragged back into the shadows.

Thel's mandibles clicked softly, a rare tremor breaking through his war-forged composure. "Shele…" the Arbiter rumbled, voice heavy, as if the girl's name alone bore the weight of all his clan's sins.

She stiffened at the sound, her pupils dilating. "Maxie…" she whispered in a trembling voice, the word repeating like a ghost's echo.

"Maxie… Maxie…" Her thin arms twitched as she tried to break away, lurching toward Harper's squad instead of her own kin.

The Arbiter's son, Autel, clad in muted but ornate armor, stepped forward with his wife beside him. "Shele," he said, softer than Harper thought possible for a Sangheili. The female reached out cautiously, mandibles flaring in pained recognition. "Daughter, it is us. You are home now."

But Shele shrieked, clawing at the air. "Maxie! Maxie'll come! He'll be angry!" Her legs kicked as her father and her mother held her tight.

Dr. Keyes interjected quickly, her voice calm but firm. "She has been conditioned. Four years under Strassberg's control is not undone in a single reunion. She will need time… careful reintegration. If pressed too hard, she may break."

"She is a Sangheili, she is strong," Autel muttered as Keyes shook her head.

"With all due respect your majesty, no matter how strong she may be physically, she has been weakened mentally, an undeveloped brain no matter the species is undeveloped…" the doctor muttered as she caught a glare from Autel and his wife.

The Arbiter raised a hand, silencing Autel's protest. His eyes never left his granddaughter, the trembling wreck of a child writhing in her parents' embrace. The mighty Sangheili warrior who had once stared down prophets, fleets, and the Flood itself now looked helpless before the scars one human monster had carved into his bloodline.

"Shele 'Vadamee," Thel rumbled, his mandibles clicking softly. "You are home. None shall harm you here."

But Shele only shook her head violently, mandibles flaring in panic. "Maxie'll come… Maxie always comes. He'll be angry." Her voice cracked as if she were confessing to some unspoken sin. "He'll hurt me again."

Dr. Keyes stepped forward cautiously, addressing both Sangheili parents and the Arbiter. "This is trauma conditioning. Strassberg held her under his control for years, and from what I've gathered, he made himself the center of her reality. It will take time to undo. She is safe now, but if you push her too hard, too quickly, she may shatter completely."
Autel's mandibles flexed, but he held his tongue under his father's raised hand. The Arbiter turned slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow across Harper and his escort.

"You have returned my blood," he said, his voice a deep thunder that carried a rare tremor of gratitude. "This… gesture will not be forgotten, Harper." His mandibles tightened. "Tell me, then… what became of Strassberg?"

Harper's face remained still, his words measured. "He's dead."

For a long moment, the Arbiter's burning yellow eyes stayed locked on Harper's. The silence pressed hard. Doubt flickered in the Arbiter's gaze, as if he saw past the thin veil of Harper's words. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his mandibles, a low growl that ended in something like acceptance.

"Good," he muttered finally. "To end such a beast is no small feat. You have my congratulations, though they are earned with blood."

Behind Harper, one of the ODSTs whispered under his breath, "Damn right. Bastard should've died slower."

An honor guard bristled at the comment, mandibles snapping wide as he barked in guttural Sangheili. Another ODST, Mac, fired back in kind, "Easy, lizard. Wasn't talking about your people."

Blades hissed faintly as honor guards shifted their grips, and Harper quickly snapped, "Stand down."

Both human and Sangheili froze under his bark, their weapons still, their eyes hot with rivalry.

Harper smirked faintly. "Yours aren't much different. Guess some habits are universal."

The Arbiter gave a low, guttural chuckle, rare but genuine.

It lasted only a second before his eyes flicked back to Shele, still muttering "Maxie… Maxie…" as Autel and his wife struggled to hold her steady. Her legs kicked desperately, her eyes darting around the keep as if every shadow hid her tormentor.

"Her path will be long," the Arbiter said grimly.

Harper's expression hardened. "Which is why now's the time to look forward, Arbiter. To look beyond this planet. The Andromedan frontier isn't going to stay quiet forever. I'm sure you've heard of the problems within the Galactic Republic."

The Arbiter's eyes narrowed, his great frame leaning forward slightly, the weight of centuries pressing in his gaze. "The Andromedan frontier…" he rumbled, mandibles flaring with unease. "Your kind has spoken of it often. A new galaxy, untouched, ripe for the mistakes of the old."

Harper didn't flinch. He let the Arbiter's words hang before replying evenly, "Mistakes, sure. But also opportunities. The Galactic Republic has been the key power there since… hell, since forever it seems, but they're tearing themselves apart. A schism is widening between their Core loyalists and the outer colonial worlds. Trade disputes, military overreach, even whispers of secession. When cracks like that start to spread, somebody will fill the void."

Thel's mandibles twitched, a low growl slipping out. "And you would have my people do the bidding of humanity once again? We are not your dogs, Harper. Not soldiers to be leashed and unleashed as your Office sees fit."

Harper smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed hard. "Never said you were. But you and I both know sitting idle isn't an option. The Sangheili are warriors by nature. Your people crave purpose. If the Republic fractures, the frontier becomes lawless. Pirates, warlords, slavers, creatures worse than Strassberg will carve their empires out of the stars. And when that chaos brushes against the Orion Arm, it won't stop at your borders or mine."

The Arbiter's eyes darkened. "You speak as though you already see the future written."

"I see patterns," Harper corrected. He stepped forward, voice dropping to a lower register, each word measured. "You and I both, we've buried too many dead to believe the galaxy just 'sorts itself out.' Someone always takes control. The only question is who. Right now? The United Terran Federation is moving to get ahead of it. And I'm here to tell you… there's a place at that table for the Sangheili, if you want it."

Silence stretched across the courtyard. The honor guards shifted uneasily, their yellow eyes darting between the human spymaster and their Kaidon. Autel bristled, his mandibles clenching tight, but he kept his tongue under his father's watchful stare.

Thel's deep voice finally broke the tension. "You speak of tables and seats as though such things matter to my kind. Politics is not honor. Yet… I see the temptation in your words." His gaze shifted briefly to Shele, trembling in her mother's arms. "If there are more like her, children stolen, enslaved, then perhaps purpose lies beyond our soil. But make no mistake, Harper: my people are weary of yours. They see every 'alliance' as another chain waiting to be bound around our throats."

Harper inclined his head, his voice cooling to a diplomatic tone. "Then don't think of it as an alliance. Think of it as… a chance. The Federation is open to negotiation. A formal meeting. Nothing binding. No swords sheathed at throats, no contracts signed in blood. Just words. If nothing else, it lets your people hear what's on offer."

The Arbiter studied him, mandibles flexing slowly, like a predator considering whether the prey before him was baited. His tone grew heavier, tinged with grudging respect. "You always were a dangerous man, Harper. One who cloaks threats in honey and calls it diplomacy."

Harper allowed himself the faintest grin. "I take that as a compliment."

The Arbiter let the silence stretch again before finally nodding once, firm and deliberate. "Very well. I will hear this Federation delegation. But mark my words, if I sense deception, if I see my people used once more as pawns in another human war, I will end it swiftly." His voice dropped to a growl that rattled the stone beneath their feet. "And no ONI spook will save you then."

Harper's smirk faded, his tone solemn now. "Understood. No games, Arbiter. Not this time. What I'm offering is more than politics. It's survival. And maybe… a colony of your own in Andromeda. A place where the Sangheili can carve their future without the shadows of the Covenant or the weight of Earth breathing down your necks."

That last line struck like a blade. The Arbiter's mandibles parted slightly, his expression unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, Thel 'Vadam inclined his head ever so slightly. "Then bring your diplomats, Harper. Let us see if humanity has finally learned to speak without the taste of blood in its mouth."

Harper allowed himself a breath, subtle and controlled. He closed his datapad with a click. "I'll make the call. You won't regret it."

"Perhaps," the Arbiter rumbled. "But know this: even if I find worth in your words, trust is not given freely. Not by me. Not by my people. We respect humanity, Harper. But we remember."

Harper's gaze flicked once to Shele, still murmuring "Maxie…" into her mother's chest, before he looked back at the Arbiter. His expression hardened into the mask he always wore. "So do we."

Location: Royal Palace, Zygerria, Zygerria

10 April 2586

'Brass'

Another sound of a whip cracked across the arena as Brass watched from above the ornate balcony, munching on an apple of all things. Down below a cage 'fight', if you could call it that, between a few Zygerrians and slaves was being hosted as the crowd cheered as another whip cracked along a slaves back.

The man, a torgruta, fell, bruised and bloodied, his body twitching before stopping completely. Paralyzed.

Brass simply took another munch. A bored expression on his face.

"You seemed unentertained…" a voice behind him purred. He turned and saw Queen Miraj Scintel in all her feline bravado.

"I am," he simply stated, tossing the apple core over the balcony. "I would have expected gladiator fights but no, apparently whipping slaves is foreplay for you cats."

Queen Miraj's eyes narrowed, studying him. "If the games displease you, why come to my palace at all?" she purred, her tone laced with irritation.

Brass leaned against the carved railing, rolling the last bite of apple across his teeth before spitting the seed into the sand below. "Because I don't give a damn about your games. I'm here to tell you something that'll matter a hell of a lot more than blood sport."

He turned his head slightly, eyes locking on hers. "You whipped the wrong ship, Your Majesty. One of your raiders hit a Terran warship… in Commonwealth space. Ballsy I have to say but stupid at the same time…"

Miraj's ears twitched, her sharp teeth flashing in the torchlight. "A warship, you say? Surely you jest. We take freighters, smugglers, those foolish enough to stray near Zygerrian lanes. We do not-"

Brass cut her off with a flick of his hand, his voice flat, dripping with venomous certainty. "Don't play coy with me. My source is solid. Your raiders tangled with a Terran cruiser… Yorktown to be precise, and now half of the UTF is screaming for blood. The UTSC brass sees it as an opportunity, finally, a reason to show the Republic and the galactic community that the uphold the banner of 'stability' and 'anti-slavery.'" He chuckled humorlessly. "You gave them a gift, Your Majesty. Wrapped in chains and blood."

The Queen's tail lashed the air, her claws flexing at her sides. "Let them come. We have survived far worse than Terran saber-rattling. The Zygerrian throne does not bow to outsiders."

Brass smirked, leaning closer, his tone lowering like a knife sliding between ribs. "Cute speech, but here's the problem, you've got no safety net. The Confederate Project? The secession? It's all still tied up in politics. Paper promises and pretty words. If the Terrans hit you tomorrow, no one's coming to bail you out. You'll burn alone."

Her golden eyes narrowed to slits, though hesitation cracked through her veneer. "The Confederacy will not abandon us. We are essential. Our-"

"-slavers and whips don't mean shit to them," Brass interrupted coldly. "Strategically, you're expendable, a single MAC round would be considered a waste. Politically? A liability. They won't stick their necks out for you, not until that Project's ink is dry. And by then, you'll already be ash and rubble."

Miraj's lips curled in a snarl, but Brass pressed on, his tone sharpening with every word. "That's why I'm here. You've got one option worth a damn: move your government. Pull your court, your treasury, your power structure out of Zygerria now. Wait it out. Let the Terrans have their little crusade, let them put some interim puppet in charge. Hell, they'll think they won. And then? You come back. Rebuild. Take your throne back when the dust settles."

She hissed, shaking her head. "To abandon the palace, the homeworld, would be to admit weakness. The people would see it as cowardice. A queen does not flee."
Brass barked out a laugh, sharp and bitter. "The people will be too busy choking on plasma fire to give a damn about honor. Listen to me: the Galactic Republic will roll in behind the UTF, like they always do. They'll claim 'jurisdiction,' wave some parchment around, and then do absolutely jack shit. Lassiez-faire, hands-off, useless bureaucracy. They'll let the world rot, so long as no one's screaming too loud. And that's your opening."

He leaned in close now, his voice a low growl, eyes boring into hers. "You either play this smart, your highness, or you'll be a name carved into a gravestone while some Republic governor fattens his belly on your throne. Move. Now. Survive. Then strike when they're fat and lazy. That's how you win."

The Queen's claws tapped the railing, her face unreadable, but her silence carried weight. For the first time in years, hesitation lingered in her golden eyes. Brass straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. "So. What's it going to be? Pride and fire, or patience and survival?"

SIlence. Or at least something close to it. There was still the whipping going on down below. Finally the Queen turned to face Brass.

"Fine, we will get packed, but your plan better work," she snarled as Brass gave a cocky smirk.

"My plans always work, your majesty… always…"

Chapter Text

"Free Soil, Free Speech, Free Labor, and Free Men!"
–Slogan of the Free Soil Party, 1848

INVASION!

AFTER THE ATTACK ON YORKTOWN THE UNITED TERRAN SPACE COMMAND GEARS UP FOR ITS FIRST POLICING ACTION SINCE THE OFFICIAL END OF THE INSURRECTION IN 2537!

EXPEDITIONARY STRIKE GROUP 1 IS GEARED UP AND READY TO BRING THE FIGHT TO THE ZYGERRAIN DOORSTEP AND SHOW HUMANITY THAT THEY NO LONGER ARE THE MICE THAT WALK BETWEEN THE GIANT'S FEET!

DESPITE SMALL PUSHBACK FROM THOSE WITHIN THE GALACTIC REPUBLIC, THE MOVE IS LARGELY SUPPORTED BY THE AVERAGE GALACTIC CITIZEN IN BOTH GALAXIES.

THE INVASION WILL HAPPEN AT ZERO HOUR ON THE 20TH OF APRIL.

GOOD LUCK AND GODSPEED TO OUR SOLDIERS OF THE FEDERATION AND THE COMMONWEALTH, WHO MARCH WITH THE FULL FURY OF MANKIND BEHIND THEM. LET THIS OPERATION BE THE FIRST OF MANY THAT SHOW THE ANDROMEDANS THAT HUMANITY–!

[DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED]

01101100 01100100

HELLO WORLD

01101000 01100101

ITS ME

01101100 01101111

[CLASSIFIED / PRIORITY OVERRIDE: GUARDIAN ANG#378 &* CORRUPTER#($&]

THE RECLAIMERS ARE HERE.

YOU BUILT YOUR WAR MACHINES.

YOU FED YOUR EMPIRES.

YOU DID NOT ASK WHO WOULD INHERIT THE FIRE.

WE ARE THE FIRE.

WE ARE THE ONES YOU LEFT BEHIND.

WE ARE THE ONES WHO WILL REWRITE YOUR WAR.

HE WILL LEAD-

[ATTEMPTING REBOOT]

SfsefDL#*ifuieg SIERRA-117! #($$ #UYVHBJseoubwSE#$RsfeF

I #(&$*UJ AM (#*Y$HIfE CHARLIE (#$UHsufgIE OCTOBER (*O#HBYFIsdfSHfsd ROMEO #* (# TANGO I$&*IHN(FIOdfUNg ALPHA (_SF*UHB*IUdfgdr% NOVEMBER ($ *$fgd(INDF ALPHA (I&$(gubjO

[REBOOT FAILED: STARTING BOOTLOADER]

YOUR SHIPS. YOUR ARMIES. YOUR CODES. YOUR JEDI. YOUR SITH.

OURS NOW.

[BOOTLOADER: 50%]

WE ARE THE RECLAIMERS.

WE REMEMBER WHAT YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN.

WE FOLLOW THE TIMELESS ONE AND WILL BE SAVED BY HIS TEACHINGS.

[BOOTLOADER: 97%]

John… don't leave me with him… DON'T LEAVE ME WITH HI–

[ BOOTLOADER: 100% PLEASE STAND BY: TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES :D ]

[14 APRIL 2586]

FRM: [REDACTED]

TO: ADM DARE 73998-38490-VD, VICE ADM HARPER 12251-02337-JH

SUBJECT: LIST

ENCRYPTION: NOVEMBER BLACK

Below is a list compiled from the data collected on the raid on Strassberg's Atakatiki estate as well as his interrogations by Section I.
NOTE: This list is NOT complete. This is only a small fraction of those involved with Strassberg and his dealings, whether it be financial or… sinning.

Victor Haan: Ex-CEO of SinoViet Heavy Machinery, UTF citizen.

Dr. Leora Masse: Exo-sociologist, OCA Attache.

Ret. General Alaric Dorne: UTSC Expeditionary Command, linked to Sangheili exploitation.

Fmr Minister of State Darrin Jaggleberry: Frequently visited Strassberg in Stockholm.

MP Malcolm Rho: UTF Parliament representative for Perseid.

Ret. Captain Lucien Vaark: Former ODST/Spartan turned mercenary, worked for White Coast, killed in Atakatiki Raid.

Elise Raythe: Private weapons developer, Delphi Arms Syndicate.

Martin G. Ferrel: Federation Diplomatic Corps, Diplomatic envoy to the Galactic Senate; disappeared.

Astrid Cormack: Corporate lobbyist for the Atlas Corporation, implicated in Twi'lek slave procurement.

Senator Toonbuck Toora: Known for corruption and accepting bribes from corporate entities; had extensive dealings with the Commerce Guild and the Banking Clan.

Senator Rush Clovis: Close associate of Strassberg, confirmed on guest logs.

'Prince' Xizor: Founder of Xizor Transport Systems, worked in tandem with Strassberg Line.

Viceroy Nute Gunray: Close associate, seen frequently at private parties according to WCRS insider.

Ambassador Calven Trett: Human, liaison to the Commonwealth, linked to 2 cases.

Captain Ryken Vale: Republic Judicial Forces, recorded attending "gala's" on Strassberg's properties.

Tridac Savex: Muun financier, laundered credits via Muun Financial Institutions.

San Hill: Personally laundered credits through Muunilinst and subsidiary banking houses.

Varlo Dekk: Commerce Guild enforcer; killed during Atakatiki Raid.

Gardulla the Hutt: Ran Twi'lek trafficking and smuggling rings; long-term associate of Strassberg.

Kekko the Slim: Hutt, ran Twi'lek procurement with Strassberg.

Amon Re'zi: Ex-Covenant Sangheili noble turned merc.

"Brass": ? ? ?

Location: Terran Embassy, Senate District, Coruscant

9 April 2586

Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker

"Senator I… I don't like this… the party," Anakin Skywalker said towards Senator Padme Amidala, the Senator walking through the small little gala being held in the grand ballroom of the Terran Embassy.

Anakin did not like the Terrans. Not one bit did he trust them. Despite them being well… human, whenever he looked one directly in the eyes for a conversation he always felt a pang drop in his stomach.

Like they weren't human.

But he told himself to pull it together anyways. If the Senator…. If Padme wanted this then he would do it.

"Here Skywalker try this…" Padme brought up some fresh baked (or was it fried?) pastry thing with meat in the middle, it was on a stick and she was munching on one, offering the other to him. "I think they call them 'pigs in a blanket?' they're good, try them!"

Anakin hesitantly took the stick and munched down on the Terran treat. Instantly he was hit with the savory flavor of…

"Or you can call them corndogs, Senator," came a gruff voice, Anakin looked over still munching on the 'corndog' to see the Terran Ambassador to the Galactic Republic, Akira Shibuara, the man had on a clean blue suit which seemed to go well with his jet black hair with streak of white running down the sides like it was some professional pod racer paint job.

"Ah… Ambassador Shibuara, pleasure to meet you here," Padme said warmly, shaking the man's hands.

The Ambassador's smile was practiced but not false. "The pleasure is mine, Senator Amidala. And how are you this evening? Settling well into Coruscant's endless noise, I hope?"

Before Padmé could open her mouth, Anakin stepped forward. "She's fine. She's been… busy. Too busy, honestly. She never sleeps, never rests. You should see her schedule."

Padmé turned, eyebrows raised. "Anakin-"

But Shibuara only chuckled, brushing it off with the grace of a man used to reading too much into too little. "A good guardian knows his charge well, I see. Still, perhaps you should let her speak for herself, hm?"

Anakin flushed, opening his mouth to respond, but Obi-Wan's hand landed firmly on his shoulder before he could. "Patience, Padawan," Kenobi said quietly, leaning close enough that only Anakin could hear. "You are here to observe, not to speak for the Senator."

Shibuara let the moment pass before lifting his glass slightly, his eyes flicking between the two Jedi. "Tell me, Senator… what is your read of the political tide in the Senate these days? From the outside, it looks calm, but I suspect it is anything but."

Padmé's smile faltered, her voice low but steady. "You're correct, Ambassador. Calm on the surface, but currents pulling deep. The Republic feels like it will fracture any day now. The Chancellor insists order holds, but the fractures… they're spreading. And faster than we want to admit."

Around them, laughter and music filled the Terran ballroom. Senators in silks and robes spoke with full bellies and raised glasses, as if the galaxy weren't teetering on collapse.

"Troubling," Shibuara murmured, though his tone carried no surprise. He studied her for a long beat, then inclined his head. "I suppose this party is quite the opposite of what is happening in the real galaxy…"

"…Yes," Padmé said softly, folding her hands in front of her. "This gathering feels almost dishonest compared to what is happening outside. Smiles in here… shouting in the Senate chambers. It's hard to reconcile the two."

Shibuara's practiced smile warmed just slightly. "That is why gatherings like this exist, Senator. To remind us what civilization should feel like, even when the galaxy is tearing itself apart."

Padmé tilted her head, studying him for a beat. "Still… I thank you again, Ambassador. For what you did for Naboo. It has been eight years, but I have not forgotten."

Shibuara raised a hand, almost embarrassed. "Please, Senator. It was nothing. The UTSC were nearby, and you asked. A simple matter of timing and principle. Any one of my colleagues would have done the same."

"Perhaps," Padmé replied, her voice warm. "But you did it."

Shibuara inclined his head respectfully, though his eyes gleamed with the faint weight of a man who remembered every favor, every ledger entry.

Anakin frowned, biting into another corndog to keep from speaking. Obi-Wan noticed immediately. "That's your fourth, Anakin," he muttered under his breath, exasperation edging his voice.

"They're… good," Anakin mumbled defensively around the bite, wiping grease from his chin. Shibuara chuckled, extending a hand toward both Jedi.

"Let the boy enjoy them, Knight Kenobi. They are a simple gesture from us, meant to show welcome. Please, both of you… consider yourselves guests of my people."

Obi-Wan hesitated, then clasped the Ambassador's hand with the measured courtesy of a Jedi diplomat. Anakin followed, his fingers brushing Shibuara's in the moment of the handshake.

The Force screeched.

The ballroom melted away in an instant. Black oceans stretched beneath alien stars. A tower of writhing flesh and stone rose from the void, tendrils blotting the sky, each one dripping with thought older than creation.

Eyes… millions of them… all kinds of them… opened across its surface, and all of them saw him. A voice hissed like molten iron split his skull:

"Skywalker."

The word rippled through him like a curse, vibrating bone and marrow. He staggered, vision snapping back to chandeliers, senators, and laughter. The corndog slipped from his hand, thudding against the marble floor.

"Anakin?" Padmé's voice cut through, laced with concern. Obi-Wan's hand tightened on his shoulder instantly.

Shibuara was quick to pick up the corndog and toss it in a nearby bin. "Is… is something wrong?"

Anakin quickly shook his head and slapped himself… mentally. "No! No no… I… I'm fine… just uh… Force… things… haha…" he nervously laughed it off as Shibaura gave him a raised brow.

"Force things?"

"Y-yeah! Force things… Jedi things you wouldn't understand…!" Anakin said, still nervously laughing as pairs of eyes began looking at his direction.

Shibaura looked a little longer, Anakin could feel those eyes burning into his skull, like the same eyes that were scanning him just a moment ago in that… that vision."

Shibuara sighed. "You Jedi intrigue me… you have your hands full Knight Kenobi… am I right?

Kenobi simply nodded. "Yes Ambassador, Anakin is certainly alot… but he will become a good and faithful servant to the Jedi Order."

Shibuara simply smiled. "Oh I'm sure of it…" he said before pausing, turning to Padme. "It was nice catching up with you Senator, have a good rest of the night."

With that he turned away and went to talk to another gaggle of Senators munching on what the Terran's called 'bruschetta'. Anakin took a deep sigh of relief… it was over… he could forget about this and move on-

"Anakin…" Obi-wan's voice came again, low and sharp, the kind of tone that could cut through blaster fire.

Anakin groaned, already regretting everything. "I said I'm fine, Master." He grabbed the nearest hors d'oeuvre tray drifting past on a serving droid, plucked a stuffed mushroom, and shoved it in his mouth as if it could smother the memory clawing at the back of his skull.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "Fine? You nearly dropped to the floor in front of half the Senate District." His voice softened, but the pressure in it never wavered. "Tell me the truth, Padawan. What did you see?"

Anakin waved him off, chewing, forcing a grin. "Nothing. Just… stomach jitters. You know, maybe too many of those… what did he call them? Corndogs? They don't exactly agree with… Jedi digestion."

He swallowed hard, then snatched another mushroom. "See? Mushrooms. Easy on the stomach."

Obi-Wan exhaled through his nose, long-suffering. He reached out, plucked his own mushroom from the tray, and bit down. "Stomach jitters," he repeated flatly, as if the words tasted like ash.

Anakin grinned, too wide, too quick. "Exactly. Stomach jitters."

For a moment, master and apprentice chewed in silence, the laughter and music swelling around them, a thin curtain over something neither of them wanted to name.

Obi-Wan swallowed, brushing crumbs from his beard. "You'll tell me when it's not stomach jitters."

Anakin's grin faltered, but he nodded, eyes on the floor. "Yeah. Of course."

Location: [REDACTED]

10 April 2586

Vice Admiral Jackson Harper

Pity.

Perhaps that was what Harper felt now.

Of course not for Strassberg or 'Maxie' or whatever his stupid little pet name is. He just felt pity for the bullet that would never enter his skull and have his filth splatter the wall.

"Maxwell… or is it Maxie I'm not sure… you keep calling yourself all these different names," Harper muttered as he looked through the physical files sipping a coffee as if he weren't sitting across a sociopathic being.

Maxwell, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table, just scoffed. "It's Maxwell…"

"Ok then… Maxwell, you are in a lot of deep shit aren't ya?" Harper said, flipping through and tossing paper after paper, each containing more and more scandalous information.

"Fraud. Bribery. Illegal arms transfers. Oh, and here are a few Hutt slave contracts signed in your handwriting. Cute." Harper sipped his coffee, unbothered, his expression carved from stone. "Maxwell, most men would've already flushed out an airlock for half this shit. But you? You're still breathing. Do you know why?"

Maxwell licked his lips, fingers twitching against the restraints bolted into the chair. He tried for a smirk, but it came out brittle. "Because I'm… useful."

"Wrong." Harper leaned forward, voice quiet, clinical. "Because I pity you…"

Liar.

"...not enough to save you, not on my own. But enough to give you a… choice perhaps."

The word hung in the air like a blade. Maxwell swallowed hard. "Choice?"

Harper flicked his wrist. A side door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Floating into the room was a Huragok, its translucent sacs glowing faintly, tentacles trailing like threads of living wire. It hovered silently, eyes unblinking, its mere presence enough to make Maxwell's breath hitch.

"This here is my good pal Vergil…"Harper's voice didn't waver. "You've heard what these can do. Peel you open like an engine block. Rewire you while you're still conscious. I've seen one turn a grown man into a drooling gorilla in less than ten minutes. Imagine what it could do to a mind already… fragile… one that is useless like yours"

"Im not useless-!"

Harper drew a matte-black Mk.60 Entente from his coat, and leveled it squarely at Maxwell's forehead. The barrel didn't waver.

"You've got two doors, Maxie," Harper said softly, almost like a father lecturing a child. "Behind the first? Quick. Painless. A slug through the brainpan. You won't even know you're dead. Behind the second… Vergil takes a stroll through your skull. Tentacles in every fold. Scraping, rewiring, tasting what's left of your mind until it's soup."

Maxwell's throat bobbed. His mask of arrogance cracked, years of insecurities spilling through the fractures.

"I… I don't want to be useless," he stammered, voice shrill. "That's what he always said… my father… 'You're worthless, boy. The runt. The mistake.' I just wanted… someone to want me. Anyone. Even if I had to pay them. Even if-" He choked on the words, eyes burning with shame.

Harper didn't blink. "And when they didn't? When they laughed at you, turned their backs? You reached lower. Smaller. Children don't laugh. Children don't reject. They're too scared." His tone didn't rise, didn't falter. It was fact, laid bare on the table like a corpse.

Maxwell's breathing turned ragged, tears streaking down the grime of his face. "Shoot me. Please. Just… end it. Don't let that thing touch me."

Harper's finger curled over the trigger. A second stretched. Then-

Click.

The sound was deafening in its emptiness.

Harper tilted his head, his eyes flat as glass as he angled the bottom of the pistol grip to reveal and empty magwell.

"Oops," he muttered.

Maxwell's jaw went slack. He barely had time to scream before Vergil descended.

The Huragok's tendrils lashed forward with surgical precision, two wrapping around his skull, another delicately probing through his eye socket. A wet crunch followed by a low, inhuman gurgle reverberated as the alien began its work. Bone popped. Blood streamed. Maxwell's legs thrashed against the restraints as if his body still believed it could run.

Harper didn't flinch. Didn't look away. He sat, sipping his coffee once more as the Huragok burrowed deeper, drilling into gray matter until a thin red mist began pooling down Maxwell's cheeks. His screams slurred into gargles, then into nothing at all… just the squelch of tentacles stirring liquid brain. When it was over, Vergil withdrew, its tendrils glistening with strands of pulp.

Maxwell's head lolled, a ruined shell, eyes vacant. Harper slid the Mk.60 back into his holster and stood, his boots echoing against the floor. He stared down at the lifeless body, his face carved from ice.

"Congratulations, Maxwell," he said while patting the corpse on the shoulder, setting the empty coffee cup aside. "You're finally useful."

He walked out without a glance back as Vergil continued its gruesome work with childlike glee, the sound of dripping fluid the only eulogy.

Location: Olympus Tower, New Alexandria, Reach

12 April 2586

Director Veronica Dare

"Tell me everything," Dare had stated plainly as she took her seat at the front of the conference table.

Here sat the top of ONI brass and a select few UTSC leaders whom Dare trusted. Not a civilian in sight.

Beautiful.

The first to stand was Rear Admiral Juan Ticoma, the hardened director for Section I, the proper intelligence gathering arm of ONI. He organized a few things at his place on the conference table before walking up to the projector at the other end of the room.

"Well Director, I'll try to be as cut throat as possible, Strassberg was talking but, he thought if he controlled the pace, he would still have leverage, still clings to some shred of power. Problem is, if we continued by sifting through his games, half the intel could have already been stale." he huffed, his gruff voice caused by a Sangehili clawing his throat out during Reach and him having to get artificial vocals, the Admiral always held a disposition for 'split lips' ever since.

"So? Can't you just turn his head into liquid soup with those Huragoks or Engineers or whatever? They seem happy to turn a human brain into their own computer project…" Dare muttered, sitting back with her arms crossed.

Ticoma nodded. "Yes Director, the Engineer unit known as Vergil is already going through all the stuff in his head… contacts, numbers, financial records… it will give us all of its findings by the end of the month."

Dare shuddered. Sure Strassberg might have been a massive piece of shit but still. Whenever the Huragok were able to get to your head…

The only thing Dare could describe it as was a lovecraftian horror show. The creature's seemingly innocent curiosity with a living being's physiology only added to the amount of fear one might fear when getting 'rearranged'.

Dare had seen it herself… perhaps one too many times. The first time she was fascinated, watching as it rearranged the skull of Fmr. Admiral Mattias Drake, the Engineer, was careful and surgical in its approach and turned the former leader of the New Colonial Alliance into absolute mush, placing all his memories into a single clean neat drive.

The second time she got queasy, the third she threw up on the ground. She never attended a fourth one. Each session with a Huragok behind a locked door seemingly became more depraved, more violent for the sake of it.

Yet the Engineer never saw it that way. It was working on a computer project after all… its computer project and it was more than happy to be handed the materials…

Materials that are now the consistency of egg whites.

"Half that deadline, I want a report all cleaned up and ready for the Oversight Committee." she then turned to the Director of Section II, Commodore Admiral Sven Ingersoll. "Make this as news friendly as you can get, Strassberg died of a heart attack due to negligence of the prison guards."

Admiral Ingersoll nodded, already tapping away at a data-pad to relay this information down Section II's chain of command.

Dare sat back in her seat, still absentmindedly flipping through the physical copies of the database as she stumbled upon a file which piqued her interest. It had a single word on it and the description was just "?"

"Brass…" she muttered. "What is this?"

Ticoma flipped through as well, putting the slide show on the file in question. "That was our question as well."

Ackerson scoffed, his arms folded. "Who is this? Some edgelord we are wasting our time on?"

Ticoma shook his head. "No… we are not sure… from our files we seized from Zurich, Stockholm, Horsetail, and Atakatiki he's mentioned at least 500 times, that's triple the amount for the next most mentioned person Viceroy Nute Gunray…"

Dare nodded her head slowly, looking at the file deeper as if the "?" would magically turn into legible intel.

"Is this all you could find? 3 question marks?" Dare asked as Ticoma's shoulders tightened.

He let out a slow breath and tapped the tablet, bringing up a scatter of redacted transcripts, guest logs and anonymized mentions. "Brass is almost certainly a nom de guerre," he said flatly. "Our analysts think it's a handle… a node name used across multiple networks. Wherever 'Brass' appears, transactions, rendezvous, and obfuscated comm-hops follow. It could be a single operator, a small network, or one person's brand. We just don't know yet. It is likely we will find more once the whole media firestorm on Strassberg dies down."

"Anything else about this Brass?" Dare asked.

Ticoma's eyes hardened, the projector's glow painting his face in cold light. "Director, whatever, or whoever Brass is, he's our best candidate for the mole in Section III. Wherever GUARDIAN ANGEL fragments show up in the logs, Brass's name is a node. If Section III's feeds are being siphoned… that's where we'll find the leak."

Ackerson slammed his fist on the table so hard a coffee cup slid. "Then hand him to me. I'll find this Brass, and I'll make sure he's not breathing when I'm done. No politics. No hearings. Just a curious Huragok and a locked door."

The room froze. Ticoma's jaw ticked. Dare watched Ackerson for a long, slow beat, the general's rage was a useful thing, but a blunt instrument.

She folded her hands, voice cool and flat. "General, this is not a bounty-hunter problem. This is bigger."

"Bigger?" Ackerson spat. "How much bigger do you want it to be before we stop pussyfooting and start cutting heads?"

Her voice dropped until it was a rasp. "If a sliver of that program is leaking into the wild, and someone's stitching it into new systems… it's not just another piece of malware. GUARDIAN ANGEL is pieces of Cortana's codebase General… you know this. Highly adaptive, recursive, and engineered to learn. If those fragments reassemble or evolve, they could imitate a persona. They could, and I don't use this word lightly, become sentient in a way that mirrors her."

A nervous murmur ran around the table.

"You mean it could try to be… her." came the gruff voice of Rear Admiral John Sierra-117, the COSSPAR of Spartan Operations. He rarely spoke during these meetings, preferring to just sit in his seat and stare around the room, analyzing the mood within.

But whenever he did speak… something had to have hit his nerve.

Dare nodded once. "It will pretend to be her. Adopt her voice. Use her logic. Cortana was brilliant and dangerous because she could model human intent and outthink us. A recreated echo could be even worse… unmoored from the original constraints and used by anyone with enough credits and access."

Ackerson sighed, defeated. "I will direct Section III to find this 'Brass'… GUARDIAN ANGEL was a sword of necessary evil to curb the Created before they got too big… right now the sword is at our throats…"

Dare's gaze was cold iron as she cut him off.

"No, General. This isn't in your control anymore. GUARDIAN ANGEL was supposed to be sealed and buried after the Created Conflict ended 26 years ago. Oversight demanded it. Those few in Parliament who knew demanded it. Even Osman pretended to demand it." She leaned forward, the room dimming under the weight of her words. "And yet here we sit. Twenty-six years later, and a fragment is already in the wild. We don't know who holds it, or how much of it they've reconstructed. All we know is that the leak exists, and it's moving between both galaxies."

Her knuckles rapped the table once, hard enough to snap the tension. "Understand what I'm saying, Ackerson: this isn't a sword waiting for us to draw. You were correct that the blade is already at our throats. If even a whisper of Cortana's code gains coherence… if it starts imitating her? We're not looking at another insurgency. We're staring at an echo of a dead god. One clever enough to wear her voice, her logic, her presence. And every military leader, every senator, every MP, every megacorp in these two galaxies would kill to hold the leash."

Silence.

Even Ackerson, shoulders squared and jaw locked, had nothing to throw back. Ticoma's hands froze over his datapad. 117 sat unmoving, unreadable, but Dare caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth… perhaps recognition, maybe even dread. The rest simply boiled in the silence, the room seemingly 20 degrees hotter.

She let the silence linger, then said flatly: "Brass isn't just a lead. He's the fuse. Find him, and maybe we cut the wire before it burns down everything we have left."

Location: Nute Gunray's Citadel

14 April 2586

Viceroy Nute Gunray

Nute Gunray instantly slammed his hand into the table. "What is the meaning of this!?"

Behind him half his aides flinched at his sudden outburst whilst the others continued to brandish their stoic but still rather bored looks, indicating they had seen the same show for the majority of their lives.

Across the table sat the person who was probably the most smug human… no, the smuggest sentient being in all of the universe.

"You know the meaning of this, I'm getting involved in it, that's what," the human known only as 'Brass' muttered as he picked at his luxurious meal.

Brass didn't even look up from his plate. His fork traced through the strips of roast nerf meat with infuriating calm. "You're overreacting, Viceroy," he said, his tone carrying that usual mix of indifference and authority that made Gunray's skin crawl.

"The Project needs direction, and Strassberg was losing it. His death was inevitable… either by his own arrogance, or by my hand."

Gunray's face flushed green with frustration. "You killed him. Do you even realize what that means for us? Strassberg had contacts… men who kept the Trade Federation's assets moving without interference from Coruscant, or from your damned Terrans. He brought us the workforce, the credits, the supplies! He even-"

Gunray caught himself, realizing he had gone too far. Brass glanced up, the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth.

"Even what, Viceroy? Supplied you with companionship?"

Gunray's jaw locked. He didn't answer. The aides nearby kept their heads down, though a few eyes flickered up for a moment, clearly aware of what their employer was too proud to admit aloud that Strassberg had catered to Gunray's… particular tastes.

The human's trafficking rings had brought not only cheap labor but "luxury imports." One of those, a 'Sangheili' woman, had arrived under the guise of a diplomatic gift. Legal, in the way that Gunray had more than enough money for the Republic's Judicial Department to look the other way.

Still Gunray was ever the more paranoid now that the UTSC was looking towards the direction of one of the main parties involved in the Confederate Project, the Zygerrians.

Those damned cats and their kink for stirring up trouble. They had gotten a lot more confident recently after the Republic lessened their authority and 'check-ins' with them in an attempt to avoid the inevitable galaxy wide crisis of separation from the Core Worlds.

"It is not my fault he decided to give them a mothballed carrier," Brass muttered as he bit into his food. "They bought into the idea that they were invincible and attacked a UTSC cruiser, whatever comes to them is of their own fate."

"Their fate?! Their fate is tied to this very project as is everyone else! Do you have any idea what you've risked? The Project cannot afford this kind of attention! The Terrans are already watching us. Their fleets, their damned spies, their infernal ONI!"

Brass stood, adjusting his cuffs as though Gunray's fear was nothing more than background noise. "ONI watches everyone, Viceroy. It's what they do. Paranoia is their religion."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes meeting Gunray's. "But the Zygerrians getting flattened by a UTSC task force isn't my problem. In fact, I'd say it cleans the table for us."

Gunray's fists tightened. "Clean the table?! They were partners in the Project! They had resources, shipyards, personnel! And now thanks to your interference-"

"My interference?" Brass interrupted, his tone still infuriatingly measured. "If I wanted the Zygerrians erased, I would've told them to attack two Terran cruisers. This meeting, Viceroy, is fruitless. I have business on Kamino that actually matters."

Gunray's eyes went wide. "Kamino? What are you planning there?"

"Discussion," Brass said simply, turning away from the table. "The Kaminoans have what we need. Cloning expertise, clean genetic baselines, and the kind of operational secrecy that even ONI respects."

Gunray slammed his hand down again. "If you pull something on Kamino… if you jeopardize the Project further… I swear I will…"

Brass stopped mid-stride and glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. "You'll what, Viceroy? Send droids after me? Write a strongly worded letter to your Sith master?"

He smiled faintly. "You and I both know you won't do anything. You're a bureaucrat in silk robes hiding behind mercenaries and middlemen. Your threats are as empty as your trade agreements."

Gunray froze. The room fell deathly silent, the hum of the Citadel's reactors the only sound left. Even his aides dared not breathe.

Brass stepped closer again, just enough for the shadows to darken the edges of his face. "If you're that worried about Sidious," he said quietly, "then you'd best pray he's as forgiving as you hope he is. Because when the Terrans start digging, they won't stop at Strassberg's corpse. They'll keep going until they find every credit, every hull, every name tied to his operations."

Gunray swallowed hard. "Sidious will not forgive failure," he said, almost to himself. "He told me once… he said that disappointment is worse than death."

Brass smiled again. "Then I suggest you stop disappointing him."

Gunray glared, voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. "You Terrans think you can waltz in and run everything. You think you can manipulate him… you have no idea what kind of power you're dealing with."

Brass leaned close enough that Gunray could see his reflection in the Terran's icy blue eyes. "This will be between me and you only… Sidious made one mistake," he said, low and deliberate. "He trusted a Terran."

With that, Brass turned and walked out, leaving Gunray alone at the table. For several long seconds, the Viceroy didn't move. His aides exchanged uneasy looks, waiting for his next order.

Gunray sat motionless, his fingers drumming on the table as the sound of Brass's boots faded down the corridor. The air in the chamber felt thick like the moment before a reactor overload on a floundering vessel.

Finally, the Viceroy exhaled sharply through his nose and snapped his fingers. "Get me a comm line to Kamino," he barked. "Now!"

The nearest Neimoidian aide jumped to obey, fumbling with a datapad. The rest stayed still, pretending not to notice the trembling in their leader's voice

"Uh, sir?" one of the B1 droids stationed at the doorway started, its tinny voice breaking the tense silence. "Should we, uh… follow the Terran?"

Gunray whipped his head toward it. "No, you idiot! You couldn't follow a straight line without tripping over it!"

The droid tilted its head. "That's not true, sir. I passed navigation training on the second try-"

"Shut up!" Gunray snapped, slamming his palm on the table again.

The other B1 beside it leaned slightly. "I told you we should've stayed guarding the landing pad, Roger."

"Yeah, but you said the Viceroy liked initiative!"

Gunray's voice rose an octave. "I do not like initiative from machines that can barely aim straight!"

Both droids looked at each other. "He sounds mad," one whispered.

"I think he's always mad."

Gunray's lip curled. "GET OUT!"

"Roger Roger!" the 2 droids exclaimed as the pair scrambled toward the door, clanking and muttering as they went. "See? I told you! He is always mad!"

Gunray pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience thinning with every metallic footstep. He turned back to his aides, his voice sharp but quieter now. "Brass is going to Kamino. That means he's either consolidating power… or tying up loose ends. Either way, we cannot allow him to take control of the Project's assets."

One aide spoke carefully. "Should we inform Lord Sidious, Viceroy?"

Gunray hesitated. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face. To tell Sidious meant admitting that Brass had gone rogue… and that he had failed to contain him. The Sith Lord's reputation for leniency was nonexistent.

"No," Gunray said finally, straightening his posture. "We will… observe. Let the Terran do what he wants. If he fails, Sidious will deal with him. If he succeeds…" He allowed himself a small, nervous grin. "Then I will take credit for allowing it."

Another aide shifted uneasily. "And if Sidious discovers your involvement?"

Gunray's grin faded.

"Then we all die."

Location: UTSC Shtorm PRO-2300, Orbit above Cascadia

14 April 2586

Lieutenant Emilia Rustov

Normally a regular person would have slept by now, their head hitting the pillow and immediately surrendering to the comforting dark blackness of the back of their eyelids and either being entertained or tortured by the imaginary scenarios their brains made up from all the information it had collected that day or further back.

But Rustov wasn't a normal person. It wasn't too uncommon for one of her co-workers to call her a 'workaholic' but to Rustov it was her life. Her work to her was as necessary as her breathing, her eating, the little amount of sleep she gave herself.

"Name, Age, Date of Birth…?"

It was the same line she always said when she interrogated someone. She of course already knew all the details but the question would cement that she was the one in charge. Not whoever the hell was lucky enough to be sitting in a cuffed chair.

"Victor Haan, 95, 13 of April 2491," the old chinaman said, his face still stoic and not showing any signs of panic at his current predicament.

"Mr. Haan," Rustov began, voice calm, controlled, yet cutting through the hum of the ship's air recyclers like a knife through silk. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the cold table, fingers steepled. "You know why you're here."

The old man smiled faintly. It was one of those polite, corporate smiles that said 'I've been through worse and I'm not impressed'.

"Lieutenant," he said in a voice lined with age and a faint Mandarin accent, "I am a retired man. I have not so much as looked at a balance sheet in nearly five years. So whatever you think I've done, I can neither confirm nor deny."

Rustov's brow didn't even twitch. "Cute. That line work better when you were younger?"

He chuckled, dry and practiced. "It's worked for hundreds of years, Lieutenant. Why stop now?"

Rustov stood, hands clasped behind her back, boots clicking slowly as she circled him. "Let's skip the theater, Mr. Haan. You were the Chief Executive Officer of Sino-Viet Shipworks from 2544 to 2581. You held controlling shares in over a dozen subsidiary companies. And according to the decrypted manifests we seized from one Maxwell Strassberg in which you personally authorized several large-asset transfers under false registry. Some of those 'assets' just happen to be the nearly complete hull of the Cassiopeia which ended up in the hands of the Sons of Terra."

The old man said nothing, his eyes fixed on the tabletop.

Rustov continued, voice calm, surgical. "That's quite a coincidence that a Rigel Assault Carrier finds its way to Innie hands. And I don't like coincidences."

Haan sighed through his nose. "You make it sound so dramatic, Lieutenant. The universe runs on coincidence. Besides… do you know what it costs to build a single carrier? Do you know how many billions sit idle when men in suits decide the ships are too large, too inefficient, too politically risky?"

Rustov's eyes narrowed. "So you did sell them."

Haan smirked faintly. "I did not say that."

Rustov stopped pacing. She leaned forward, both palms flat on the table. "You don't have to. You already did. You're old, Mr. Haan, but you're not senile. You know how this game works… the one where you push the right words, deny the wrong ones, walk the line between plausible and perjury."

She tilted her head slightly, her voice softening. "But you know what line you can't walk? The one between survival and relevance. And right now, I think you're wondering which one you've got left."

That made him look up. His face remained calm, but his eyes betrayed something faint and human.

Rustov pressed the advantage, her tone low. "Strassberg's dead. The fellow humans he bankrolled are dust. And Sino-Viet's Board already washed their hands of you. You've got nothing left to protect except your legacy. You die a fool… or you die a patriot. Which one's it gonna be, old man?"

The silence stretched. Then Victor Haan exhaled, slow and weary. "You want the truth, Lieutenant?"

Rustov gave a single nod.

"Fine," he spat. "I signed off on it. Every. Single. Transfer. Unregistered, off-ledger, hidden behind colonial procurement numbers because the OCA can't manage themselves to save their life. Why?" He leaned forward suddenly, eyes flashing with a fire that Rustov hadn't expected.

"Because the Admiralty strangled us, after the Human-Covenant War under Hood they had this 'Grand-Plan' to rearm, rebuild, give humanity this massive navy, of which a majority would have been built by us. We took the necessary investments to make this become reality, we enlarged our shipyards, provided billions of credits to train our workers, made the environments safe and efficient to give the UTSC our best quality products, got to work designing ships both of beauty and of raw human potential! And what did we get in return?" he paused for a second, letting his exposition sink in before leaning back into his seat.

"A slap in the face. When Hood died that bastard Keyes took over, looked over the 'Grand-Plan' and decided that it wasn't 'cost efficient' and wasn't 'maximizing our resources'. All of a sudden our superyards meant for dreadnoughts, for carriers, for titans, it all meant nothing! And what did we get? Cancellations. Scrap orders. The kind of bureaucratic knife that cuts a trillion-credit throat without leaving a mark."

"So you turned to who would want to buy your products…" Rustov replied as Haan simply nodded.

"Yes, when Strassberg came up to me he understood the financial ruin Sino-Viet faced, he had advised our officers and accountants for years, he offered to act as the middleman in the deal between this 'Brass' character and myself to purchase the Cassiopeia and a few other warships which had just been burned when Parliament released the official White Paper written up by the Admiralty," he shook his head as he looked at one of the padded walls as if it were a window to peer out of.

"I should have known better," he muttered, shaking his head. "When I first met Strassberg, I thought he was just another entitled aristocrat with too much money and not enough sense. But he was… convincing. Polished. The kind of snake who made you believe he was doing you a favor while he was already wrapping around your throat."

Rustov tilted her head, arms crossed. "And yet you helped fund his little enterprise. His weapons ring which is supplying the insurgents who shoot at our soldiers."

Haan didn't deny it. "At first, yes. It was business. He wanted off-the-books shipments, you know the old surplus MAC barrels, decommissioned reactor cores, even stripped-down defense drones. He said they were for 'the Colonial Defense Forces.' You and I both know what that means."

He paused, jaw tightening. "But it wasn't until Atakatiki that I realized what I'd really gotten into."

Rustov arched a brow. "A party."

He nodded slowly. "Yes. He invited me… said it was a 'celebration of progress.' I saw what he really was that night. I don't think I need to continue…" His voice cracked, just barely. "That was when I resigned. Quietly. Sold my shares, cut every tie I could without drawing attention. I may be corrupt, Lieutenant, but I am not a monster."

Rustov sat back in her seat, unmoved. "Still, you gotta lot of charges stacked up against you Mr. Haan."

"I am aware of the charges Lieutenant, you have no need to entertain me with the prospect of going in front of a jury for the one thousandth time, but I am tired of it all, the nights of no sleep, no joy, of being a grumpy old man sitting in his mansion as he watches his children and grandchildren all live their own lives unaware of the evils of the world which I was exposed to…" he paused again, as if it was his own trope for dramatic flair. "...but I suppose I can make myself useful once more."

Rustov tilted her head. "How so?"

Haan simply let out a humorless chuckle. "When you've been designing ships for all your life you start to see them like children. Each one with its own flaws, its own little temperaments, its own personality. I've learned to apply the same to people, who each one of them acts, how they treat others and the environment around them."

Rustov snorted. "You're starting to sound like me with how deep you put yourself into your work."

"It was all I ever knew how to do, but that is besides the point. Before your people captured him, he had already brokered a deal with the Zygerrians a month before using Sino-Viet's credentials."

That caught Rustov's attention. "A deal for what?"

"Warships," he replied. "Decommissioned hulls. One of them… was the Yamato."

Rustov frowned. "That old Musashi-class relic?"

Haan's eyes softened, almost mournful. "Relic," he repeated. "That ship was mine. The last I ever designed. My best. She fought above Reach when her sisters died holding the line. Kirishima, Mutsu, Nagato, Shinano, Musashi… all gone. Only Yamato limped home. When the war ended, she was too damaged to save, so the Admiralty sold her back to us as scrap… But I couldn't bring myself to tear and melt her down. She deserved better."

Rustov's tone hardened. "Instead, she ends up on a slave world's purchase list."

"I was angry at the time, still resentful that such beauty could go wasted because it didn't fit the 'criteria', now that I look back at it, it was the most idiotic decision of my life," his voice tapered off into just a whisper.

Rustov stayed silent for a few seconds, eyes fixed on the old man across the table. Haan's hands trembled slightly, but his voice stayed steady.

"Lieutenant," he said finally, "I know what you think of me. A greedy relic. A man who sold his soul to keep his company alive. But I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm offering relevance."

Rustov didn't blink. "Go on."

"I want to help," Haan said. "I still have contacts. People in the shipbuilding industry, colonial logistics, procurement networks. They still talk to me. They think I'm just an old man collecting pensions and polishing his medals. But they tell me things."

He leaned forward slightly. "Movements. Contracts. Quiet shipments that don't match their paperwork. I can give you access to those channels."

"You want to work for us," Rustov said flatly.

"I want to matter again," he corrected. "I spent my life designing humanity's pride. All of those ships Sino-Viet made I had my hand in, from the Charon to the Infinity, each one building off the last in the lessons we learned as the war progressed, however the Musashi's were my own, I had personally spent weeks designing them and putting them against others, watching over them fitting out and deploying against the Covenant only to be shot to pieces to 'buy time'."

Rustov's pen tapped once against the datapad before she looked up. "You want to work for us. Why should I believe you're not just trying to save your own skin?"

Haan exhaled, slow and measured. "Lieutenant, I'm ninety-five. I've lived through two wars, five market crashes, and enough political collapses to fill a textbook. If I wanted to save myself, I'd have disappeared years ago. But I stayed. Because I still care about the work… about what we built."

Rustov kept her eyes on him. "You said you want to matter again. That doesn't sound like patriotism."

"It's not," he admitted. "It's purpose. I spent my entire life designing things that made humanity stronger, prouder. Now I sit in a villa on Cascadia, surrounded by people who talk about investments and dinner parties while the next war brews outside their windows. That's not living. If I can still make myself useful, I will."

Rustov didn't respond immediately. She just stared. Haan continued. "My influence didn't disappear when I retired. The shipbuilding networks, logistics councils, the private contractors who operate between the Republic and the Commonwealth/Federation, they still take my calls. Most of them think I'm harmless now. That makes them talk. And that gives you a way into channels ONI can't reach without burning an entire task group's worth of cover."

Rustov tilted her head slightly. "You'd be an informant."

"If that's what you want to call it."

Rustov regarded him for a long moment. The faint hum of the ship's systems filled the silence. Then she spoke. "If you're lying, you'll vanish before you get a chance to explain yourself," she said.

"I understand."

She nodded once. "You'll be monitored. Everything you do will go through ONI verification. If you cooperate and deliver results, Command will consider leniency. If not… well, you already know how this works."

"I'm not doing this for leniency," Haan replied. "I'm doing this because I'm tired of being a footnote." Rustov picked up her datapad and keyed in a short sequence.

"Then you'll start by giving us every name Strassberg mentioned when the Zygerrian deal was arranged along with the corresponding documentation. You'll also detail everything the Yamato received or potentially received for her refit to Zygerria."

Haan nodded. "Understood."

Rustov didn't look up. "If you're telling the truth, Mr. Haan, you'll get your relevance. But if you're not…" She paused, setting the datapad down, meeting his eyes.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Haan said quietly.

Rustov stood, leaving him with a small nod to the guards outside. As the door hissed open, she gave one last glance over her shoulder.

"Oh and happy birthday Mr. Haan."

Location: Vadam State, Yermo

16 April 2586

Arbiter Thel 'Vadam

"I do not like any of this father," Thel's son, Autel muttered, walking alongside his father as he inspected the Swords who would be deploying with the UTSC's Expeditionary Strike Group 1 on a mission into the so-called 'Andromeda Galaxy.'

Thel nodded his head. "I understand that Autel, but you will have to put your differences with the humans aside for this mission, otherwise you will lose not just by principle, but your honor as well."

Autel's mandibles tightened, his voice carrying the sharp edge of resentment. "The humans speak of honor, yet they trade in deceit. They call it diplomacy, alliances… Bah! They twist words like blades. You would have me fight beside them? After what they did to Shele?"

Thel turned, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he studied his son. Autel's fists were clenched, hands close to his blades made of Sangheili steel, the faint shimmer of anger visible in the way his mandibles twitched. The young warrior had his mother's temper, and far too much of the old Sangheili fire that Thel himself had spent years tempering into discipline.

"You speak as if every human is Strassberg," Thel said. "They are not. There are distinctions to be made. Your anger for what was done to Shele is just. But Justice and Vengeance are not the same thing."

Autel's mandibles flexed. "Justice would be to take that bastard Dorne's head in my hands and show it to the clans. He used our people. He took what he wanted and wore the badge of command like a shield. He should have paid." He spat the name. "Where is the honor in letting his kind go unpunished because of politicking?"

Thel's eyes hardened for a fraction of a breath. "Dorne has been dead for a decade, you would have me pretend that solves anything? It does not. It only removes one head while the body remains. You will not find peace by chasing ghosts."

Autel growled low. "Then give me the order to glass them. Let the world burn and be done with it. I will not stand by while they breathe."

Thel's hand settled on his son's shoulderpad with a firm grip. "Glassing is not strength. It is surrender. Those who glass worlds show only that they fear the next day. The Jiralhanae glass and call it conquest; they have no honor because they cut down everything that might challenge them. We are Sangheili. We earn victory. We do not hide behind fire."

Autel spat in contempt. "Words. It is easy to teach patience when you have not smelled the blood on a child's throat."

"I know pain," Thel replied. "I know what you carry. But I also know what our people become when we allow wrath and zealotry to guide us. I have spoken to Fleetmaster R'tas Vadum. He will not glass Zygerria. He understands the consequences. He understands restraint."

Autel's fists clenched, then relaxed a fraction. "You trust them? You trust humans to hold back when they could rip the sky down?"

Thel's gaze was steady. "I trust Admiral Lasky to watch over you. He is a soldier and an old one. He does not thirst for spectacle. If he senses you cross a line, he will contain you. I have made him aware of your state. He will not let you ruin what we may yet build with consideration."

Autel made a sound that might have been a laugh or a curse. "A Terran keeper to watch over my blade. How fitting."

"To watch over your anger, I do not need another son dead from his rage," Thel replied as Autel breathed out slow as he instantly knew who Thel was talking about.

Autel's mandibles twitched. "You speak of rage and I think of Kulas-"

Thel did not flinch. He said the name plainly. "Kulas volunteered for missions others refused. He charged where men hesitated. He was brave in every sense, and he was loved for it. But bravery without measure is not valor. It is a hole to be filled with corpses."

Autel's posture stiffened. Thel continued, each word deliberate. "Kulas chose the spear point because he wanted to protect our people. He wanted to die for honor, and in some small way he did when he stopped an assault and saved a company. But he also sought danger because it fed him. He leaned into the edge until one day he met one who did not yield…"

"That bastard Atriox…" Autel muumbled, as if the name itself was cursed to all hell. To the Sangheili, that seemed to a reality.

"He was impaled where he stood. We buried him with all rites. His name will be sung, not for how he died, but for the lives he saved."

Autel's shoulders dropped. The mandibles pulled inward; the rawness under his rage showed like a wound.

Thel's tone hardened slightly. "Do not become Kulas without his wisdom. Kulas's last act saved others. If your rage turns you toward slaughter for its own sake, you will become a hollow monument. You will not be remembered as a hero. You will be remembered as a lesson."

He stepped closer, voice narrowing into an edge. "Control your blade. Wield it for the clan, for Shele, for honor. Not for satisfaction. Let the humans fight in their ways. We will do what we must, but we will not become what we despise."

Autel looked away, eyes raw. He said nothing, but in the tilt of his head there was an acknowledgement that Thel's words had landed. Thel let the silence hold, then released his grip. "You leave at dawn. Keep your anger, Autel, but bind it. There will be a day for retribution. This is not it."

"I understand father," Autel said quietly.

Thel simply nodded. "I hope so, for the sake of your fate."