GALEN KAISER- STRIKE FORCE COMMANDER

Galen woke up sweating. Another dream of his dead wife Emala haunted him. He slowly sat up with a deep breath and reached toward a bottle of dextro liquor. Galen pulled the cap off the bottle and took a long swig, he had developed a drinking problem over the last year. Spectre work seemed to bring an all new level of stress to his life. Just last week he stopped terrorists from bombing the human Grissom Academy.

Galen set the bottle back down on the desk next to his bed and looked around his blue-lit 'modernist' apartment. It was in the center of Zakera Ward on the Citadel Galen had been offered a Presidium condo but refused. The wards seemed to appeal to him more. He threw the covers off of his body and walked to the large window on the opposite side of his bed room. It looked out over the rest of the ward, hundreds of floating cars zoomed past and thousands of life forms walked the streets below. It was almost like being on Palaven.

His Omni-too started to beep, an incoming call from Marxus Vakarian The Turian councilor. Galen looked down to his bare feet standing on the soft purple carpet. At least humans were good at making places homey. With a sigh Galen clicked a few buttons to answer the councilor.

"Galen, the council is in session and most of the other Spectres are already here. Where the hell are you?" Vakarian made no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"Damn, that was today?" Galen replied with a chuckle.

"Yes it was today." The councilor sighed. "I convinced the council to make you the Strike Force commander. You're making me look like an idiot."

"You do that well enough yourself sir."

"You're not funny Galen. Sometimes I wonder how you are the son of an admiral."

"Yeah, me too."

"Just get to the tower. I'll stall the council for as long as I can."

"On my way." Galen turned off his Omni tool and quickly began to get dressed. He put on a black Reaper era Turian suit with white accents and returned to his bottle of liquor. After a few swigs he decided to take it with him as he began his travel to the Citadel Tower.

When Galen finally arrived an hour later and half drunk, he was greeted by a very polite Hanar. As if there was any other kind. After the two exchanged a few words, he followed the jelly into the council chambers. Hundreds of civilians were lined up behind police barricades cheering in hundreds of languages as Galen was escorted to the center of the chambers. Galen caught himself hoping that his missions would be a little more secretive. Galen and the Hanar brushed through several reporters from multiple species before finally reaching their destination, the massive doors to the Council Chambers slammed behind them drowning out the noise from the crowd. No reporters or civilians were allowed in the session itself.

A crew of about 150 soldiers stood in ranks at the edge of the massive courtyard. Galen guessed they would be the non-Spectre crew of the Normandy. The crew was largely made up of Humans and Turians but had a fair number of Salarians, Asari, and Batarians. There were even a few Drell but they were so outnumbered that if Galen hadn't been studying the crew he probably would have missed them. The ranks formed a narrow aisle in the middle for Galen and the Hanar to pass through, a long red carpet lay on the path. As they passed, the soldiers saluted Galen. He gave many of them a nod in return.

About two meters in front of the non-Spectre crew stood a small line of about 10 or so. These people were more dangerous looking, and with the slightest glance on could see professionalism. Galen guessed he had found his Spectres. There were a few humans, another Turian, and even a Geth. The line parted as the Hanar led Galen to the center of the room. Standing tall above him was the four council members on their elevated platform, they sure liked to look important.

"You're late Agent Kaiser." It was the Asari councilor who spoke up. She seemed severely irritated.

"You live long enough to wait on me councilor." Galen said in reply.

"Councilor Marxus, are you quite sure you couldn't find someone more suited to command this little project of yours?" The Asari turned to Vakarian with an arrogant move of the hand at Galen's comment.

"His service record speaks for itself councilor. He's also the most Human Turian I've ever met. I approve of Councilor Marxus." This time Jarred Kyle the Human councilor spoke up. He was rewarded an approving nod by both Vakarian and the Salarian councilor.

"Very well councilors." The Asari replied with a hidden tone of defeat.

"Well, not to interrupt your arguments councilors, but I think we should get on with this." Galen said. There were a few murmurs from the crew. Whether they agreed with him or not however, he could not tell.

It was odd, being called on such a request. To be the first Geth Spectre was to be a honor, but Phalanx did not really care. It only meant more mobility to do what it wished, in exchange by doing what the Council wished. Now, Phalanx didn't exactly have anyone who would worry about it in case it was killed in action but it was still a unusual circumstance. After all, the synthetic platform had only been assigned solo missions and this would be a first actually working on a team with different species on this special Spectre mission. The Geth unit did not mind at all, in fact it gave it a chance to study organic life forms more thoroughly when it had time. Phalanx was a logical choice to be part of this interspecies mission, since it was quite calm and showed unusual kindness to others. Able to handle interactions a bit more efficiently compared to the rest of the synthetic race. Plus being a master with infiltration, hacking, and sniping.

In a slow stride through the crowded halls of the Citadel Tower, Phalanx carried its guns on its back while only holding a simple wooden box. The box was shaped into a small chest, a golden ribbon bow shaped wind up key resting on the front just below the opening while a simple gold design on top of the box. It made a spiral design on both the left side and right side while they connected in the middle to disappear in a large silver flower known as a rose in the human culture. It was in quite a surprisingly well kept condition, despite how old it probably was, but Phalanx had made sure to take extreme care.

Today was the day Phalanx had to report to the Council to meet its crewmates and be assigned the mission. The Geth didn't really have much personal belongings to bring on a trip other than weapons. Yet Phalanx was one of those few who actually did carry a few personal items. It surprised many who noticed it, mostly its own kind questioned how illogical it was to bring items in a military scenario. Phalanx ignored them however, and continued to do what it did.

Finally making its way to the tower the synthetic platform paused as a Hanar floated in front of it.

"Greetings Geth one. We shall be your guide through these glorious halls." It explained in its deep sounding words. The Hanar were a interesting race, a little mysterious as well as being very religious individuals. Unlike Geth who didn't really have a god. After all, they knew who created them, and also had wanted to destroy them. Now they lived together in harmony. Geth rarely leaving the veil so most of the other races hardly see one. Most likely why Phalanx earned a few glances.

As it walked the halls, it mostly ignored the people around and simply continued traveling to the Council Chambers. When it passed the large doors it found itself being one of the first here. The Councilors nervously greeted it. Most likely still nervous about having a Geth as a Specre. After all, it had only been fifty years, too young to wash away the dark tides.

"Are you sure it is wise for a Geth to be a Spectre? After they shut down, who knows they may have hot wired...." The human council said to the others.

"Its record speaks for itself, it is quite a feet to save hundreds of civilians as well as take down enemy crafts alone. As well as being quite docile to organic life forms. That should be enough to speak for itself." The Turian councilor spoke in a firm sure voice. Turians did tend to like results rather than anything else, and Phalanx did bring positive results.

Not too long after Phalanx, more people showed, crews of the ship and even possible fellow Spectre's.

The Salarian Councilor nodded in agreement while the Asari nodded before looking at the synthetic and crew mates. "Please, stand over there and await in a line." She instructed.

Phalanx paused for a moment before giving a slight bow. "Affirmative. The orders are acknowledged and gratitude is in order." It said calmly before doing as it was told.

As it waited, the synthetic lifeform ran a internal look through of all the squadmates files. It seemed quite a few were human, not that the Geth unit minded but it had hoped for a Krogan, they held strong skills in what they do. Still, Phalanx wouldn't judge the decision of the Council. In ways, Phalanx couldn't help but wonder if the races were trying to obtain another Shepard from the human race. Though their logic was quite flawed since Shepard-Commander was a very unique individual, including among the humans. Such aa person was but dream to find a clone. There was also a Creator, which would make things a little interesting, depending on this Creators perspective. After all, not all Creators accepted the Geth, too young of years to wash blood. Turian, a Asari, a Drell, and even a Salarian. Nice mixture of races indeed.

Silently, it continued to analyze the crew's files, making sure to study every bit of information its hard drive could contain.

After a period of time, a Turian finally made their way into the chambers. Galen Kaiser, the new Strike Force Commander. A Turian referred to be what one would call 'a sarcastic prick' by many. Other times referred as a hero. The Geth unit however, respected in its own way that he did what he thought was morally right. After all, Phalanx itself did things that seemed illogical to its own kind out of wanting to be a bit more like Shepard. Being morally right rather than logically. Such a interesting aspect yet a organic thing.

Silently though, it listened to the conversation before awaiting the mission details, even if it already made a good hypothesis of what they were.

Mads took a deep breath and blew into the trumpet in his hands, the speakers through out his citadel apartment blaring 20th century earth music he had grown to love called jazz. The music grew into a great crescendo that was interrupted by the chiming of the door. He set down the instrument and used his omni tool to shut off the sound system and went to the door. The door slid open and his former commanding officer Captain Solen.

"Ah Captain I wasn't expecting you this early, good to see you." Mads smiled, and invited his friend into the apartment.

"Mads Tao, it's good to see you my friend. Your looking well. Your meeting with the council today have you thought about the offer?"

"Spectre status or a relocation to some backwater colony under an assumed identy and live out my days as space traffic controller. Not much of a choice Captain--"

The captains voice was stern "Wrill was black ops. You knew the risks. Upon capture STG disavows knowledge of the agents involved. I pulled every string I could for a rescue mission. STG refused--"

"But all that work with the Krogan, Udveks Ling is still at large--"

"Tao! I submitted you for the Spectres to save your life. Lira Vies agreed to save you after I pleaded, showed her your STG service record, gunning for you to lead your own command at STG before the mission was lost. Spectre status prestigious. Shame for a for an expert field agent to rot in a Krogan torture cell.... or in an air traffic control office "

"Solan my friend, don't worry I know. My life was STG, Company man, I was ready to die in that cell for the cause. These past few weeks have been, difficult I've needed time."

"Time is up Mads Tao. I'm glad you accepted the offer was worried the Krogan might have dampened your spirits. Before we meet with the Council STG has a send off for you." Captain Solan waved his hand through the air, a drone came in the he room with an equipment crate in tow. "Tech armor STG prototype, biased on 'acquired' Alliance tech. An Independent battery system from kinetic barriers generator allows for increased protection and detonation wut only has enough charge for three detonations and the lower the batteries the weaker the armor. Batteries must be charged again from external power source unfortunately."

"Would have been useful on Wrill,"

"Will be useful as a Spectre, must procure your own gear I understand. My friend I also thought you could use this." The captain pulled a small side arm of his belt and it it in Taos hand "current model Paladin- those alliance techs produce a good pistol."

"Thank you sir." Mads Tao shook his friends hand, a reminder binged on his omni tool, " the council awaits, we should go."

The two Salarians headed out of the apartment complex and to the local transportation hub, several moments later a sky cab arrived and they made there way to the citadel tower. Captain Solan shook his hand wished him wished him luck and headed off to the observation area.

Mads made his way up the stairs to the councils chamber. He was being assigned to a task force of new Spectres but a Geth unit was the last thing he expecting. "Ah Mads Tao, I take it you have considered our offer," the Asari representative said welcoming him to the the chambers.

" I have and would graciously accept."

"Your records with STG show your a fine solider, who sacrificed yourself to complete the mission. It would be an honor to assign you to our new Spectre task force. Once the crew arrives well brief you on your assignment, this Geth unit is Phalanx and will be part of the task force."

There was no time for Mads to greet the AI, another Spectre or Spectre candidate had arrived....

....

Galen Kaiser defiantly had a reputation. Mads was a shocked by the Turian, not at all what he was expecting: over an hour late to the council chambers and smelling of Turian brandy. Mads wasn't sure if this wildcard of a Superior and he would get along

Min had to admit, she was pretty peeved to have been fired so abruptly. She had finished working on Elysium for three weeks to see if a group of farmers looking to unionize were actually eco-terrorists. To her great pleasure, after carefully combing through every hidden record and the ExtraNet search history of the leaders (Who were apparently more interested in Asari-Hanar tentacle porn than unionizing), in addition to gaining the trust of the leader, Min found that they were in fact ordinary farmers, and the Shadow Broker was probably getting senile. After returning to the Broker's Base, she had been doing paperwork on the incident for the past day. And her thanks for all the fruitless work? "Your services are no longer needed. You have twenty minutes to leave the ship or you will be killed".

Min gathered her things and took the shuttle that the Shadow Broker had supplied for her, half expecting for there to be an 'accident' with the shuttle that would leave her dead in space. But the shuttle took her to the Citadel, of all places. She was told as she was being whisked to the Council Chambers that she was being considered for a spectre position, and that her service with C-Sec and honorable service as a detective with Discovery Co. made her an ideal candidate for handling more subtle matters that didn't require someone shooting up the place.

Min wasn't in the Chambers much longer than Galen. "Who invited Big Ben?" She asked nobody in particular. "My feet hurt," she whispered to the candidate standing next to her. "Do you think it's almost over? Is that ship ours? Do your feet hurt?"

"Where am I?" A quarian asked, standing in the middle of endless darkness as he looked around in confusion, the only source of light being the soft glow from inside his opaque mask. Instinctively, he reached for his omnitool- But it wasn't there. In fact, he was just realizing he had no weapons and no equipment.

Drip.

"I guess I have to move now." He said softly, slowly lifting his head to be surprised. Instead of darkness, he now saw a panoramic view of the Homeworld, a small town on the horizon, far away, with a few lonely houses dotting the landscape. Insects flew around, and the sunlight shone upon a lake in the distance.

Drip.

"Ken, let's keep moving." A voice called for Ken, as synthesized and masculine as Ken's while also being slightly higher pitched. Ken turned to look at the owner of the voice, and smiled to himself as he saw one of his fellow soldiers, carrying an average and outdated M-8 Avenger rifle and carrying a small bag of medical supplies. Ken followed him as he walked, off into the nearby plains. After minutes of walking, his friend perked up and stopped, gripping his rifle tightly. Ken did the same thing, looking around for sign of danger.

Then a gunshot was heard, followed by the cracking of glass and a limp body hitting the ground in a softened thump. Somehow, Ken knew... But as soon as he turned, he confirmed it. His friends, on the ground. Shot cleanly through the head.

Drip.

Then he heard more cracking glass.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP

_______

The loud and rather annoying alarm blared off right next to Ken's head, waking the sleepy and confused quarian up in an instant. He noted the need to change the alarm's tone before he blew an artery at the surprise, and quickly got up and out of his bed, turning off the aforementioned alarm and retrieving his face mask from the sterilizing machine, donning it on after taking in a last breath of the clean, sterilized bedroom air.

"That was a nice deal." He mentioned, his voice changing from dull to synthesized and clear as the face mask's functions activated fully.

"Sure, it's not big or luxurious, but it was made with quarians in mind! You were lucky to find this, Ken." He told himself, chuckling as he stretched out and entered the personal sterilization room and getting his own body and suit fully cleaned in an instant.

"So..." He began, "Council Meeting today. Thanks for the reminder, Omni-Tool."

And with that, Ken'Koris made his bed, made sure to leave everything organized, and grabbed his personal M-5 Predator handgun, holstering it before pressing a button besides the small studio apartment's airlock and nodding to himself as the process started. In no time he'd be at the Council meeting, ready for his next assignment.

_____

By the time Ken had arrived at the Meeting, some others were there already. He had read some of the documents, and some he knew who they were, like the Geth, but most were strangers to him. He did have a certain feeling of hesitation towards working with a Geth, but he could do nothing about it yet. So after getting through the initial greetings, he joined the line in the front, which was where he was instructed to stay.

Eventually, rather late, a... Rather unprofessional looking Turian came into the meeting room, with signs of slight alcoholic intoxication. Though he couldn't particularly smell the air around him to feel the Turian brandy scent, he knew that he had been drinking. His feelings towards this Turian were mixed, but he knew better than to judge too harshly, so he stayed Silent and at attention.

Syral walked aimlessly into the Presidium, about an hour before he was scheduled to meet the heads of all Galactic policy. The idea still seemed sort of strange to him; whilst being a good soldier and a notable N7 operative, being a Spectre? The idea just sounded completely ridiculous to him; plus, it opened the line of comparison between him and the legendary Commander Shepard, which anybody's bound to come out of not looking that favourable. He could feel the Galaxy's eyes on him and the weight of a thousand star-systems on his shoulders. "Good morning, Syral Kiera" an Avina terminal intoned in her traditionally placid way.

"Um. Hello. I really don't need anything" Syral said, confused. Usually these things weren't meant to start the conversation, were they? "You have a message from Sila Kiera, London, Earth. Play message?" Syral sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes closed. "Download it to my Omni-Tool, condescending blue lady" It took only five seconds to download, his mother had never had much of a way with words. He clicked play and listened to the message through his ear-piece as he walked across the Presidium Gardens, heading vaguely towards the Council Chambers at a minimum level of determination. "Syral, I.. I just wanted to say good luck. Your father would be very proud. I.. Good luck. I know you can do it" The message ended as anticlimactically as it had began. Too little, too late Syral couldn't help but think.

He turned a corner and down a set of stairs with a confident stride, knowing full well he had lost his way, but relishing the opportunity to wander without a task at hand for the foreseeable future. He watched the Presidium Gardens fall away, the small crowds of dignitaries and white-collar workers blending into the colossal sterile mass of metal. His first time on the Citadel and he didn't even get time to be a tourist, what a life. He'd started the day arriving on his shuttle and since then had been going through the tedious screening process customary to first time visitors. The low and soothing elevator muzak settled his nerves as he thought about everyone's expectations for him. Drell, customarily, didn't occupy significant roles in Galactic Society, instead choosing to serve Kahje. Other Drell would think of him as ungrateful, that his life should be spent in service to the Compact.

The elevator doors slide open, and instantly he recognised a familiar face. "And here I was, thinking I'd never see the merciless Drill Instructor Renley for the rest of my days" The corners of Syral's mouth raised slightly, forming a tired but heartfelt smile in acknowledgement of his former Alliance trainer. "Cut the crap you iguana, your terrible sarcasm won't impress the Council" Renley replied in typical Renley fashion; gruffly and with a hilarious lack of humour.

"The years have softened you, sir"

"Hardy har fuck you. C'mon, you're earlier than expected but later than they wanted, there's a lot of unwritten political hoo-hah with the Council"

The two began walking, climbing the first of three staircases that preceded the biggest moment of Syral's life. "So, why are you here, Renley? Did the Alliance think I need reminding of my roots? They know I'm an Alliance soldier through and through" Syral's eyes became more distant, he could feel the familiar pinching sensation in his vertebrae that usually came before a flashback. The downside of eidetic memory, the traumatic stuff is even harder to forget. "I think I've proved where my allegiances lie"

"This is what I wanted to talk about. Look, everyone in the Alliance appreciates your choice on Titan, it helped us keep a valuable commodity and kept the flow of credits running, we'd be out of millions if not for you"

"Look, Renley, I did what my unquestionable commanders told me, I don't need you to try and tell me it was ultimately the right decision" Syral sped up, walking passed Renley and up the second flight of stairs.

"Hey, Kiera!" Syral turns, he could feel his fists becoming clenched and his mental grip loosening, a memory trying to pull him in. "Being a Spectre means making tough calls with no authority figure you can pass the blame to; you've gotta be ready to make the smart call rather than the moral one"

"Shepard would be proud" Syral muttered, turning and continuing. To continue the build-up of frustration, his greeter floated towards him, Syral's teeth started grinding against each other as the Hanar moved at its glacial pace in his direction. "Greetings, honoured one, welcome to the council chambers; I hope your journey was uneventful?"

"Salutations, gelatinous one" Syral said with a mocking aura of mirth, "My journey was as long-lasting and ultimately futile as the Enkindlers as a species, let's get going"

It was always difficult to tell if you'd riled a Hanar or not, but Syral had picked up a few visual cues. A slight twitching of the tentacles, a protracted silence, they even seemed to shift uncomfortably. "This one doesn't wish to become involved in an argument, this one was only being polite"

"Oh, well 'this one' isn't trying to be polite. Take me to the Council, squid" As a Drell, Hanar never expected this level of aggression from Syral. This only made it funnier to him.

"It's been a severe displeasure to make your acquaintance" The Hanar said as they reached the top of the stairs, managing to convey moodiness whilst still speaking in monotone.

"I've heard your people make good appetizers" Syral said over his shoulder as he continued to walk to the final set of stairs. He paused halfway up, steadying himself on the bannister, the memory finally taking him.

The smell of smoke and plastic explosives. I run faster than I ever have before, every step reigniting the embers of pain in my shoulder blade. Pistol bullet, anti-phasic round. I hear crying. I hear them over the PA system. Running down a long, overwhelmingly grey corridor. Away from them, the people who trusted me. They explain they're going to kill a hostage every minute I don't turn myself in; I could find a way out of this, I could save them. But, I need to diffuse that bomb. As I get to the half-way point I hear the first bullet over the PA. There are five more before I get to the bomb.

The Presidium Council Chambers blurrily come back into view; Syral is hyper-ventilating, he practises some breathing techniques he'd learned whilst in Biotic training; lowers the heart-rate. He composes himself, then makes his way up the rest of the stairs, his limbs feeling slightly heavier. "Syral Kiera" The Asari councillor says, her soft, measured voice somehow carrying the length of the chamber. "You have an odd history"

Syral stands in front of them, his hands behind his back, his chin held high. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Not everyone gladly sacrifices innocent lives to get results. A Spectre doesn't just have to be ethical, they also have to be logical" The Salarian councillor says somewhat proudly. It sickens Syral, but he holds his tongue.

"I made a choice. It was either save the crew, or save a million hours of labour and keep our economy afloat. I took the logical option that helped the largest amount of people" He breaks his gaze for a second, looking down and to the left, as if addressing his own conscience. "And yet still I feel like a war-criminal"

"Regardless of feelings, you showed decisiveness and efficiency. This is why we believe you would make a good addition to the Spectre ranks. Do you accept our offer?"

Syral felt a sense of shame as he took a pause to decide. The decision he regretted most was the basis for his recruitment. He neglected to mention this, but he made a pact with himself that day to never put the innocent at risk again. This would probably interfere with his duties somewhat. He opened his eyes after a long pause and gave a slight smile. "If you will take me, I accept" And without fanfare, they entered his name into their Omni-tools. Wasn't quite the grand ceremony the Alliance made it out to be. "I'm not going to say I won't let you down, because I don't believe in certainties. I do promise that I'll try extra-hard not to, though" With that Syral joined his future comrades; a Quarian, a Geth and a Salarian. There he thought about the impression he'd made; the council painting him to be a ruthless baby-killer. He would have to prove his morality at the first opportunity. He watched the next recruit enter, and sighed in relief that everyone seemed as lost as he was.

---

A human woman had stood next to him, she looked as out of place as he felt. These were some of the most dangerous people in the Galaxy, was Syral really fit to stand amongst them? She whispered him some questions whilst the Council spoke. "Do you think it's almost over? Is that ship ours? Do your feet hurt?" He paused, but stifled a laugh, happy someone else wasn't that taken in by the excessive nature of the meeting. "In order? Possibly, I think so, and yes but I'm ignoring it"

Syral barely managed to restrain a few chuckles during Galen's entrance; Syral fundamentally respected disrespect to authority, a trait he'd picked up as his responsibilities became more numerous. He murmured in agreement when Galen suggested pressing on, not being sold by all of the emphasis on ceremony he'd seen. He looked forward to being led by this sly Turian, he seemed like a commander concerned with civilian safety rather than politics.

“We don’t like being kept in the dark Ms Gagarin. If you are going to be recommended to the Spectres, we must know your history. Please tell us. We assure you that however dark it is, it will only be known throughout these men and women in this room.

Naomi sighed. She didn’t want to admit her past. A past of her rise to power, downfall, and moving to the side of the devil. “Should I tell them?” As she whispered to herself. She saw recognizable faces from the Academy who grew up. Possible faces of loved one she killed. In her mind, it was hard for her to admit to these people that she killed their comrades or loved ones. In Her mind she was telling herself to hold it in and to resolve it to herself. But her soul felt like it was screaming. To tell the truth! To which, Naomi can start moving to the path of true peace, instead of holding it in.

“My real name is Naomi Gagarin. It’s Lena…” as she felt herself holding back. But she pushed through. “Lena Volkova.”

The entire panel of Alliance judges was shocked. Many were murmuring. Their eyes wide open that the person they see was one of the most prestigious human Biotic after the Reaper War. One of them an old friend back at the academy looked straight at her with shock.

“I am here to atone for my sins.”

---

Naomi found it ironic that the Alliance was the one that recommended her for Spectre position. Her own race which sent N7 operatives, members of the Ascendancy to assassinate her after the political fallout of the Horizon Massacre years ago. She felt as if lucky to be alive now, to be in an Apartment in the Citadel. And to be alive to finally becoming a Spectre, with the Alliance’s backing. Her decisions also to become a Spectre made her feel like that she was going to become another Commander Sheperd. Such a thought was out of this world. That man was a Hero to Humans. And during her life in the academy, a hero which she admired…

Naomi wore her signature armor which was renowned throughout the Galaxy. Made from the Human arms corporation Bikova-Irani Arms Conglomerate, the armor sported a dark color, with red stripes throughout the armor. She wore a full covering helmet which had an attached a mnemonic visor which showed off her purple eyes. Though in tougher conditions, she could switch off the visor and switch an integrated optical display much like the old Recon Hood before A.B.E. Her mouth was covered by the breathing module similarly found in N7 Breathing helmet.

After suiting herself up, Naomi grabbed her three weapons of choice she always used. An M-29 Cypress Submachine Gun, M-11 Neos Heavy Pistol and most notably Terpet. A ninjato that was shouldered on the side like a Samurai that was normally used by Cerberus but she stole one form their armory after her escape from their base. She removed any resemblance it was from Cerberus and named it Terpet. The Russian word to mean “to endure.”

Naomi arrived at the Citadel were a polite Hanar escorted her. The two exchanged small talk as a crowd yelled cheers at her. When she arrived to the Chambers, several council members greeted her.

“Glad to see you Ms. Gagarin” said the Asari Councilor.”

“Please, just call me Naomi" as she wore her Mnemonic Visor.

The two both nodded in approval.

Naomi stood in front of the judges. A human councilor moved his chair and spoke.

“Naomi Gagarin. Your history is…mysterious despite the fact the Alliance judges gave their entire faith into you for being a Spectre. Instead of picking others who have more…open history. One thing though is that you are a descendant of the Gagarin’s, an esteemed family to your part of your people. Another is that you will know for saving hostages from Pirates in the Terminus, or you’re other neutral work serving as a Mercenary. There are some decisions that we question.” Here is one for example said the Salarian, “Were you destroyed a Separatist ship carrying alliance civilian’s hostages. How do feel about that?”

“It was either A, board the ship and rescue the hostages which would result into the star base exploding, killing even more, or be destroying the ship to spare much less casualties. In some cases, even when you try to hold up ethic and morals, you must follow logic. Even though you know you feel blamed for killing a family member or a loved one” said Naomi.

“Despite that and your mysterious history Ms. Gagarin you are highly reputable” said the Salarian.

“Do accept the off to become a Spectre” said the Asari?

“Yes.”

The councilors nodded in and inputted her decisions. Naomi joined the several other Specter’s who were accepted. Naomi looked around to notice a tall Asian, and was surprised by her height. Asians were known to be shorter, than other Human sub races. Ironic for Naomi as she was pretty short for a Russian female since most were taller.

---

“This man should be interesting” Naomi whispering to herself. Galen, the Commander had signs of being intoxicated. She didn’t know much about the man. Though it would be quite interesting to be working with him.

When the message had arrived a few days ago, Claire had, above all else, been surprised. Being chosen to join the Spectres was a high honour, even though her gut knew it was going to mean killing more humans, but to be the XO for the Normandy - that was frankly ludicrous. Everyone and their dog had heard of the Normandy and their crew's vital role in the Reaper War, but the thought of being tasked with having to match the XO aboard the Normandy - Presley? - was a daunting prospect. When the fateful morning came, Claire had been grateful for a night of uninterrupted sleep; when she stirred, Claire was pleased to find herself rested and warm for a change. Tossing back a thin grey blanket, she pressed her right hand against the side of the metal cot and swung her weight around until she was sitting with her leg reaching down to the floor. Beside a dark blue-grey bedside table, her leg sat, folded up against itself, with the curved foot-plate slotted into a recess in the back of the thigh, the inner workings shining from the light of the glow-tubes embedded in the ceiling, while her hand sat on top of the desk next to a dog-eared notebook about two palms' width apart.That notebook. For a moment, Claire thought she might read through it, but as she reached out she changed her mind and instead went for the metal skeletal hand, alloy bones surrounded by myomer fibres, with a circular section almost like a bracelet at the base of the hand, matching a similar plate on Claire's left wrist. Grabbing the cool prosthesis, Claire held it by the middle of the palm and held it near the wrist-plate, before several metal fibres shot out from the hand and linked in to the interface ports on her wrist. snapping down hard onto her wrist with a series of electrical whirring noises before she flexed her digits, servos whirring as the fingers rolled back and forth. It was a bizarre sensation - the Major couldn't feel the fingers, but they moved exactly as those on her right hand; seeing the two clench into fists side-by-side without having any sort of sensory feedback from the mechanical one was almost otherworldly, and she still doubted she was ever going to get used to it.

Sticking on the leg was a less dignified procedure; she had left it just out of her reach, and so was forced to balance on one leg and hop over in a seriously undignified set of moves until the same wire-inject system fired in control cables into the interface, which connected the limb to her nervous system, clamped shut, and the workings behind the clear plastic began to work their mechanical magic. After a minute or so, she stood up, feeling the balance of weight on each leg, testing the feel and reaction from the limb. "Still works," she muttered, before turning around the room looking for her fatigues. It was silly, really - they were always in the same place, in the footlocker at the base of her bed, but that early in the morning, even Shepard would have had a hard time getting dressed. It occurred to Claire, as she was straightening the beret with her rank pin in the mirror, that she probably should have been in her dress uniform, before an acerbic "Bugger that" passed her lips and she turned to face the door. "Not getting tarted oop fer some bloody interview panel." The door hissed open, and Claire looked over her shoulder - she'd probably never be back here. The Citadel's barracks for Alliance soldiers weren't exactly salubrious, but they were the last Alliance digs she would be staying in for some time. Maybe ever. Engine could go during the first run and I could get spaced. With that cheerful thought in mind, she grabbed the bag she had prepared the night before, with just the bare essentials, scooped up the notebook and turned her back on twenty years of service. In half an hour you're going to be a Spectre. Looking forward to being the Council's bitch yet?

The journey was pretty uneventful - one last chance to shoot a dread gaze at a pair of corporals who seemed to be doing rather less than they should have been - before the Galactic Museum of Stairs loomed into view, stretching over the Presidium like some over-polished monolith. Hopping out of the transport, she gave her thanks to the salarian pilot and started the long march up towards the Council chamber, starting to question the wisdom of bringing her crap in a bag slung over her shoulder to an official assembly, as well as turning up out of dress uniform. I told you, Claire, but you'll never learn, moaned a sort of internal matronly voice in her head, as she took a few tentative steps towards the long arm extending over a chasm before the Councillors; as yet, very few of the prospective Spectres had arrived, but that didn't stop the 'esteemed' Councillors from beginning their little show. As soon as the Salarian started talking, Claire was immediately reminded of why she had such a deep-seated dislike for political authority; the exact mechanics of how the Council was chosen was a mystery to the Major, but she was certain that none of these people - with the possible exception of the Turian - had ever seen military service, except perhaps to brown-nose the right defence officials.

"Major Moore?" probed the human, sitting to the far left, with a dark beard and less hair on top of his head than a 20th-century chemo patient. Her first instinct was to salute, but there was no way in hell that she was going to give a salute to a pencil-pushing bureaucrat.
"Aye," she replied, with her hands held together behind her back, holding herself as high as she could.
"You are aware of your appointment as executive officer, should we choose to endorse your nomination?"
"Aye," came the same flat response.
"Would you care to explain why we should allow someone with a physical impairment to serve as a Spectre, Major?" growled the Turian, those damn silly-looking flaps at the side of his mouth waving like the wings of a distressed gull. Gritting her teeth, Claire did her best to remain diplomatic for all of half a millisecond, before her plain-speaking bluntness came to the fore. "I am not bloody impaired, you cu-" A pause. A breath. "Councillor. I have spent nearly ten year in field operations with prosthetics and at no point ha' any of my superiors, or more importantly, t'men and women under my command complained that they lack confidence in my ability t'command or fight. If this Council was of the opinion that I could not perform my duties adequately I wouldn't be 'ere, so can we please stop larkin' aboot an' stop wasting time?" Moore didn't have enough experience with Turians and their flappy faces to tell when she'd pissed one off, but she felt that she had struck a nerve there - and too bloody right. Cheeky bugger.

"Ahem, Major, your record doesn't indicate any experience working with non-humans," interrupted an Asari. "How do you think this will affect your performance as part of a diverse team?"
"I don' think it will t'all," replied Claire, but the silence left after she was finished suggested they wanted more from her than a statement of fact. "Any soldier who performs their duties in a professional manner will get all t'respect they deserve. Don' see why it makes any difference what they 'appen a be, so long as they work as I'd expect from any other soldier." That seemed to placate them a little - or perhaps they were just eager to be rid of her. Secretly, Claire hoped it was the latter; the thought that she'd got under that Turian's skin brought a barely concealed smirk to the good side of her face, and a sort of twitch to the roasted half. "Very well. Major Claire Moore," began the Asari, before rattling off a lot of propaganda about the privilege of the position and protecting the Council - all that hung in Claire's mind, as the other Spectres arrived, was the grim question of just how many more people she was going to have to kill - and how many of those she was responsible for wouldn't be going home at the end of whatever mission this little soiree had been prepped for. There's always more room in the book, and there's always more names, Claire.

Always more names.

"All in, and calling. Three Asari matriarchs and a pair of rachni." The cards hit the table in a clatter, in the low smoky light of the Ward back room. Games like this, where a lot was on the line, most people favored analogue over digital. No-one could hack into slips of thick card.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, made all the more thick by the low red light and the choking cigar smoke. The two turians, a batarian and three humans eyed each other over the pot. Harken Calibos sat back after playing his hand and checked the time. Who would be first?

As if on cue, the house of cards began to topple. "I fold." said the first human, a middle-eastern man with a shaved head and thick, dark stubble across his lantern jaw. He put them face down, casting his eyes down in a gesture of low shame. When he looked up to catch Harken picking up on the gesture, he tried to cover his tell - but of course, it had already been too late. Then one of the turians followed suit, casting aside a pair of vorcha. Brave, to have gone so long with a hand that weak. But then surrender wasn't quite the turian way.

One by one, they fell away and made excuses to leave the table, cut their losses. This had been a high stakes game, but everyone was adults here. But Harken's source of concern, that was the one remaining human and the batarian. Both were angry. He honestly wasn't sure which was uglier. The human, an American male, Caucasian, he knew to be connected to Cerberus. The batarian was just a batarian, from the dossier he'd gotten on the major players in this game. "Well, gentlemen? Time to show your hands." he crooned smugly.

The batarian broke first and said something truly foul in their grumbling language, storming out after tossing his chair to the side and making disparaging remarks about the parentage of half the Turian species. That just left Harken and the human, alone in the room. "You think you're hot shit, birdface?" The human snarled.

"Not particularly. But I know something you don't, Mr. Garrick." That got Garrick's attention. He'd not been going under that name for the game. Garrick reached for his gun, but Harken was faster, knocking the table up and into the human's legs, blocking Harken from view. Garrick cursed, falling back and spraying into the metal of the table, unloading round after round in blind fury. But with all the light and noise, he'd lost track of his target. Harken decloaked to kick the gun from Garricks hand, then backhanded him hard across the face with his pistol. He felt teeth loosen in the human's jaw and he spat blood. "Citadel Security. You just got stung."

The Commissioner wasn't happy when the word came down about the Spectre job. Undercover operatives were valuable and Harken was one of his best. But the orders were coming from the Council, the same Council that had managed to avoid getting bombed thanks to Harken's undercover operations. And with an active case on his desk, there were no pretenses to keep him away. And so the paperwork went through quickly.

On the day, Harken wore the union jack proudly across his face as he paced up the steps towards the Council chamber. He'd not been able to wear it during the undercover work, which had left him feeling naked, but now everything was going according to plan again. The councilors were lined up with the other potential Specters, going down the line by name. When it came to Harken, he saw Vakarian's mandibles twitch uncomfortably. To a Turian, facial markings were a like a declaration of nationality, a wearable history, and he clearly was a bit nonplussed by Harken Calibos'... unorthodox choice.

"Detective Harken Calibos, of Citadel Security's Special Crimes Division." He read, trying to keep his voice passive and even. "During your time in the Turian special forces, you were a valuable special operative. Your work behind enemy lines against the Blood Pack was of extreme strategic value - what little has been de-classified, at least. That is, until you left the military to spend several years as an unemployed drifter, as far as our records show. Care to comment?"

"I drifted to Earth, sir. It's where I was born, my home. Hence the facepaint."

"Palaven not good enough for you?" Another mandible twitch. Apparently Turian pride was getting a bit sore, so the Asari councilor stepped in.

"Your... cosmopolitan past is part of the reason you were selected for this diverse team. Your C-Sec record also speaks highly of you, detective. You have our gratitude for bringing the Cerberus cell to justice. Not many officers have the skills needed for undercover work." She cast a look at Vakarian, the kind of look that says 'stop being so stupidly proud'. "Let's not waste any more time. As dangerous as the Blood Pack or Cerberus' sympathizers were, if you accept this offer you will find yourself in more danger than you ever imagined. Do you accept?"

Harken puffed out his chest and clicked his mandibles. "I do."

"Then by the authority of the Citadel Council, I welcome you to the Specters." She waved a hand and Harken's omni-tool pinged him to confirm the new statuses that had just been unlocked. Interesting, he thought, as he stepped back to take a look at some dossiers that had just been sent to him - the rest of the team, it seemed.

The council went on for at least twenty minutes about what an honor it was to be chosen as Spectres and the importance of keeping galactic peace. Their voices boomed throughout the room as they carried on with their show. Galen himself thought it was all bullshit. He twitched hi mandibles and rubbed the back of his neck. He was beginning to get bored and it showed on his face, Vakarian noticed this and tried to no avail to get the other councilors to quicken their speeches. The Asari was especially long winded, she stood there speaking arrogantly and talked down to the crowd of soldiers.

Galen let out a long exaggerated sigh which stopped the Asari mid-sentence. "Yes yes, it is an honor to be here and we are most grateful for the offer. Now can I please see my damn ship, I've been waiting for this for months."

The Asari didn't like that. "You arrogant bastard!" She proclaimed in a shocked voice. Galen thought he heard a few chuckles behind him. "Do you have no respect for tradition?"

"The tradition of the Spectres ma'am is secretive. Special Tactics and Reconnaissance agents are supposed to operate behind the scenes." Galen retorted in the cockiest and most intelligent voice he could muster while half drunk. "You instead have used this as a political ploy, hoping to make the galaxy feel safer under council authority." This brought out hurt looks from all the councilors, including Vakarian. "You may be able to manipulate the civilians but you cannot manipulate me. Now please allow us to do our jobs before you turn Matriarch."

A cold silence fell over the council. Galen worried that he may have overstayed his welcome but he stood his ground. The worst they could do was fire him, in that case he would have become a mercenary. A cough was heard from on of the non-Spectre crew. Galen wondered if it was real or just a desperate attempt to break the silence. Finally Vakarian spoke up.

"Very well Galen, as you all know the galaxy finds itself in the middle of dozens of petty wars. You will end them." The Turian hid his annoyance pretty well. Galen had known him for five years now however and could tell he pinched a nerve by the slight way Vakarian twitched his mandibles. Galen doubted anyone else in the room had noticed.

"Two months ago a rumor that the Salarian Union was recreating the Krogan Genophage reached Urdnot Wrex." The Salarian began to speak. "We have been attempting to stop the spread of these rumors and ensure the Krogan population that they are groundless. Krogan response... problematic."

"Yes, a small KRUC fleet now blockades the Salarian colony of Skal'kus where the Genophage is supposedly being manufactured." The Human spoke this time.

"Are the rumors true councilors?" Galen asked. Now he was being serious.

"We don not know. That would be highly classified. Even above my clearance. Either way Krogan cannot be allowed to start another war." The Salarian responded. "Peaceful outcome unlikely. Krogan not know for being reasonable."

"I wouldn't be very 'reasonable' if someone was trying to spread a sterility virus among my people." Galen spoke up with an accusatory tone.

"Not a sterility virus." The Salarian added plainly.

"Anyway, you and your crew are being sent to Skal'kus to resolve the situation. How you do it is up to you." Vakarian said.

"That concludes this session, I would wish you good luck but I'm afraid you would take it offensively." The Asari said. With that the council turned their backs to the crowd and walked down from their platform.

Galen turned around on his heel to look at his crew, then he motioned to the Hanar to bring him a drink. The pink blob floated out of the room stopping to bump into the Drell Spectre on purpose. Galen chuckled and gave the Drell a quizzical glance. Normally Hanar and Drell got along, he'd have to get an explantion out of the Drell later. Galen's Omni-tool beeped as he received dossiers on all eight of the Spectres standing before him. He quickly glanced over the names and mentally repeated them as he looked over their faces, or flashlight and helmet for the Geth and Quarian.

"All non-Spectre crew report to the Normandy, Major Claire Moore I want you to go with them and get them situated." Galen said to the oldest human woman. She sure looked like she had been through hell. "And try not to eat any of them." He said with a smile. "Mads Tao and Pai Min I want a report on everything you can find about Skal'kus and the STG garrison ther. We need to find out if they are capable of defending themselves.

The Hanar returned with a full bottle of Turian whiskey as the Non--Spectre crew began heading toward the ship. Galen popped the top off the botlle and took a long swig. The warm liquid rushed down his throat and gave him almost instant satisfaction. He mumbled to himself that he would have a massive hangover the next day if he wasn't careful, then he took another swig. He returned the bottle to the Hanar and gestured it away.

"The rest of you go get any gear you need and head to the ship." He said as he began walking down the red carpet leading out of the Council Chambers. He stopped to look over the other Turian Spectre Harken. "That's some ugly ass face paint." He said with a laugh before continuing on his way.

As each new comrade came to stand among the line of Spectre's, Phalanx gave silent but friendly customary greeting motions depending on the race. Human's a salute over the forehead in a horizontal manner, Turian a fist over the chest and so on. Though the Geth unit didn't say anything, not wishing to interrupt the Council as they greeted each newly made Spectre. Indeed, there was one may call tension in the air, especially when the new Commander stepped forth and spoke with the Council Members. At times, Phalanx wished to interrupt, finding that starting such tension would not get anyone anywhere but allowed the organics to talk it through.

It found it slightly interesting that Galen did not wish to at least sit through the Asari Councilor's speech. It may be only for political reasons and not have any actual impact, but it was most likely the only time one would get to hear it. A great honor for organics, especially Turians. But the Geth knew each individual was different, which was most likely why it was neutral about any race. Holding no ill will against any.

Once the Councilor's dismissed them and Galen gave out the orders, Phalanx nodded slowly and gave a slight bow, right hand over the chest area. Similar to what a polite gentleman or butler would do while the other hand held the box. "Affirmative, command acknowledge. Suggestion processing. Turian Drakel Spring is preferred to take before departure. Lowers percentage risk of organic self inflicted mental pain tomorrow. Salutations, Galen-Commander." The mobile AI spoke to the Turian before he walked away. It never understood why organics enjoyed inflicting such side effects on themself, but it still had the knowledge of what may help them. For Turians, it was special medical drink. It helped about as well as water was to humans in this sort of manner.

Taking a glance at the fellow Spectre's, it politely bowed to them before holding the box with both hands and making its along the red carpet as well. Phalanx had no gear needed other then the equipment it carried, so it would head directly to the docked ship. Although slightly eager to question its teammates and find out more about organics, its fellow sentient beings pretty much ordered for Phalanx to restrain itself. Some of its questions were considered illogical or out of place in a military environment. So despite the perfect chance, it would try not to question the organics about such matters....

Key word try but it won't hesitate to if it has a clear opening for it. Still, it was probably for the best to just head to the ship and claim itself a room... And to explore the Normandy SR3 intensely. After all, such a ship was a honor to calculate.

Syral had barely managed to keep his eyes open, but it was finally over. Fifteen hours of travel in an Alliance bunk tended to dull a person's awareness somewhat. He let the Hanar glide into him; it was rare that Syral managed to evoke such a passive-aggressive reaction from a jelly, it seemed only appropriate to savour the moment. As the proceedings wrapped themselves up Syral stretched his arms, standing to attention was also not the best thing for his zen. He saw Galen shoot him a quizzical look regarding the Hanar; he shrugged his shoulders as non-chalantly as his aching muscles allowed, smiling absently. The Geth gave him and the rest of his new peers a respectful bow, Syral racked his brain for a traditional Geth sign of respect, but all he could think of was a digital transfer of data and intel. This being beyond his physical capabilities, he nodded in acknowledgement, the same absent smile from before finding its way back across his lips.

"Well, isn't this exciting" He said to nobody in particular, walking forward and languidly gesturing to their grand surroundings with his right hand. "The future of Galactic Peace, a potential Krogan uprising and a call for tactful diplomacy" He stroked his chin with his index finger and thumb, turning his head slightly over his shoulder "I'm going to pack a colossal amount of weaponry". With that he turned, gave a far too casual salute to his fellow crew and walked back down the red carpet, ready to face the rest of his now substantially shorter lifespan. He walked slowly down the stairs, fiddling with his Omni-Tool, a recording window opened; "Recipient: Sila Kiera, Subject: Thanks. Sila, the meeting went well" He paused for several seconds, staring into the amber interface, "I probably won't die. With love, Syral".

Renley was ready to meet him, a stony, mystifying expression on his scarred mug. "Caught a peak of the other candidates, Kiera. Now, I know you're probably thinking you're out of your league" Syral sighed, once again pinching his nose, "But I just want to tell you.. you were within my top ten choices for this position" With that he saluted, his eyes staring at a spot slightly above Syral's head.
"Oh Captain, my captain. If I was able to, I'd be blushing"
"Cut the crap, smart-ass. Get your gun and don't screw this up" Renley turned on his heels and marched stiffly towards a group of nervous looking Alliance pencil-pushers.

Syral sighed, walking to the elevator doors with his head hung, sleep a welcome prospect. No time. "Get armour and weaponry" He said, trusting his eidetic memory to pick up on this moment of solitude. "Then, make way to docking bay"
He walked into the elevator as the doors slid open, pressing the button for the hangar section of the Wards. The only other personal effects he had were hanging around his neck. He thumbed the vial of Kahje water with a blank look on his face. Things were going to get interesting.

Mads couldn't believe how Turian spoke to the Council. This was supposed to be his commanding officer. Hard to respect a man who doesn't respect the chain of command. But once the councilors started discussing the Genophage, they had his full attention. Mads had heard rumors in STG about the genophage, nothing concrete, but that was STGs job, protecting the dirty secrets. But Skal'kus that was interesting thought....

"Mads Tao and Pai Min I want a report on everything you can find about Skal'kus and the STG garrison there. We need to find out if they are capable of defending themselves."

STG not capable I highly doubt it the salarian thought, but "Yes sir," was response he gave.

While on assignment in Krogan space there team would occasionally return to council space for shore leave. However instead of returning to salarian space, the citadel, or one resort worlds, there crew founds themselves visiting smaller out of the way worlds, or places with less watchful eyes like Illium or Omega. The crew knew it was a way for the commanding officer to pass data or evidence under the radar.

Skal'kus was one of these stops 4 years ago, 2 week shore leave, uneventful. Small garden planet with only one small city serving as space port and refueling center for for the iridium mining on two of the moons. A majority of the planets surface is covered by water but the capital sits on the largest continent on the coast and only small farming settlements dot the landscape.

"I thought we would get to see the ship before we'd have to work. Where do you think we should start," the woman asked as the Crew began to disperse.

"Well I have contacts in STG, more likely to be loose liped without, mixed company."

"If you say so, maybe there will be time to see the ship after all," she turned and walked away with a Smirk on her face.

Solan was waiting outside the chamber, just the man Mads wanted to see. "Interesting crew," the captain said as he shook his hand, "I'm sure your assignment must be an interesting one. They cut vid stream before the interesting part."

"Actually I have something to ask you. Let's go back to my apartment."

---

"Skal'kus?" The captain repeated, "Unremarkable. Only been there when we stopped for shore leave."

"Me too, when Pammon Yun was command. Our first two days I didn't see him at all. "

"Intel drop."

"At an STG facility," Mads smiled.

"Never heard of one on Skal'kus--"

Mads interrupted "-The KRUC has, they believe that's where we're developing the genophage."

"Our last mission before shore leave Yun and I collected Krogan tissue samples we left for salarian space and arrived at Skal'kus only 36 hours after, could have easily been the drop and tissues would have remained intact."

"Well my friend it looks like I'll be placing a call to Pammon Yun, but have little time, Normandy departs soon and and Galen wants a report on Skal'kus. Thank you again." The two embraced then the captain left. Mads placed a call at his communications terminal to Pammon Yun...

---

"Skal'kus eh, it was only mistake we went there. Discovered a strange anomaly in Krogan blood, contacted STG command. Required further examination. Drop arraigned on Skal'kus"

"Where was the drop?"

"Took shuttle to STG compound. Small island chain, small research center, small staff lead by Biology specialist Dr. Egan Larus was my drop contact" Yun said.

"And what was the facility working on?" Tao asked

"STG Black ops. Need to know only, couldn't tell you more even if I knew"

"What about a location, not listed in STG files"

"For the newest Salarian Spectre, uploading coordinates. Small isolated archipelago in the southern continent just a couple small buildings and shuttle landing pad. Good luck with your mission Spectre what ever it may be."

"Thank you sir"

Mads ended the call and began to gather the personal effects new gun and armor. And with a travel case in one hand and a briefing for Galen in the other Mads headed to the Normandy's dock. He arrived at the elevator that lead to the docking pad and he saw Pai Min was walking from the other direction and greeted him when they met at the elevator.

"Turn up anything on Skal'kus?" He asked the human woman interested to see who he was going to be working with.

"Retrieve personal effects and gear. Understood." Ken muttered as Captain Galen gave out his orders, but quickly looked around, unsure of what to retrieve. The Normandy...

"A fine ship... Descendant of Shepard's ships..." He whispered, looking at his own holstered pistol. 'I only need my collection of buttons and relics. The Normandy's bound to have a huge arsenal, and I know how to use most weapons in the field.' He thought, outwardly just standing still for a minute until he relaxed and walked away.

____

It had been a while since he felt as he did right now. He was happy to have taken up such a job... But he also couldn't help but feel a little... Nervous. How did the SR3 look on the inside and outside? Was the layout the same as the SR2? Would they have an AI? Would they all survive..?

He couldn't shake these questions off his head, even with all of his training and experience. He had admired the feats of Shepard for years now, and to have the opportunity to serve in the Normandy was far more than he would have ever expected. Heck, he had never expected to become a Spectre in the first place, and there he was. But as he stood up from one of his apartment's chairs, he heard the place's airlock activate, and eased up on his nerves, knowing who it was. Moments later, a male Quarian with a green and brown suit stepped into the apartment with his head high.

The quarian chuckled in a deep and rough voice as soon as he saw Ken and hurried over to him, patting his shoulder with an affection he rarely showed. "Ken'Koris! I got the news. I'm sorry it took me so many days to get back to you, but you know how clearance works these days. It's hard to get off the Homeworld." he said, voice slightly shaking with excitement, "But anyway, you're working on the Normandy! Hell, I almost had a heart attack from the pride I felt when you told me you had become a Spectre, Ken'Koris. And now you come to me with this?"

Ken smiled and returned the shoulder pat, "I sure am. You were a really good instructor back at Boot Camp, Lieutenant Han'Reegar. It's thanks to your constant yelling and torturing that I outdid my fellow friends..." He began, trailing off at the end and looking down and to the left. The LT seemed to catch on and sighed.

"Ken'Koris, you're one of the best Operatives we have ever had, you deserve this. I can't stay here too long, as I've got some business to attend to, but I have something for you," The LT said, slowly pulling out a small box out of one of his suit's pockets and showing it to Ken, who quickly took it in his hands and opened it.

Inside of the box were two things. One was a small button picturing the Homeworld, and the other was a picture depicting a female quarian with a yellow suit with brown and red highlights. "... A picture of Eri'Seya?" He asked, looking quizzically at the LT, who was beginning to laugh, before he walked over to the airlock.

"Don't you think I never saw how you kept showing up to her group's training just to look at her."

"What?!" Cried Ken, waving his arms and shrugging his shoulders at the LT's affirmation, but before he could say more, the airlock's door closed, and all he could heard were the LT's laughing giving way to a small phrase.

"She actually made me give you that photograph, you should talk to her." And with that, the LT's voice disappeared, along with his laughs, leaving Ken to sigh and maskpalm(?)

"... Still best instructor ever." He eventually said with a chuckle.

_____

Now carrying a small bag on his left hand, Ken excitedly made his way over to the dock's elevators. He couldn't wait to lay his eyes on the beauty of the Normandy! He couldn't wait to check it all out, and he knew he would feel like a child eating his first solid food.

When he arrived at the docks, he noticed the Geth Spectre. A small smile crept up onto his face as he jogged over to it, slowing down to match its current pace and waving a hand in front of the Geth's eye, or more like camera. "Hey, my name's Ken'Koris vas Yaska. I assume you're something along the lines of 'Geth'?"

Of course Ken didn't know his fellow Spectre's names, even after receiving dossiers on them. He didn't like to read people's lives, and preferred for them to actually tell him.

Min slipped ahead of the others to get to the Normandy. As soon as Min got on the ship she began exploring it. I'm on the Normandy right now. Shepard was on the Normandy. I am Shepard. She didn't see any faulty logic in that line of thinking. We're basically the same person. She found her quarters and began unpacking. She had suited up in her best dress for the meeting with the council, a dress that the Shadow Broker provided her. She changed into some of the only clothes that she brought with her: An extra large t-shirt with a cartoon Krogan on it, that read Urdnot for Life under it, and sweatpants. As Mads Tao was researching Skal'kus, Min took a quick nap. She woke up with a package at the foot of the bed, with the holonote attached to it.

I thought that you would want to dress in style as a Spectre. Good luck, Min. You've always wanted an opportunity at greatness. Now you have it, because I gave it to you. Please remember that in case I ever am in need of a favor.

"Yup, there it is," Min sighed. The real reason that the Shadow Broker handed her over. He wanted an insider with the Council's most powerful private army. She tossed the note aside and checked the box. It contained light blue and white armor. Min liked the pattern, so she supposed she'd keep it. although the thing probably had at least 50 hidden cameras and bugs on it, courtesy of the Broker. Come to think of it, everything she brought with her did. She'd have to but a few mini-EMPs to destroy any interference. The Shadow Broker may be expecting favors from her, but she was not working for him anymore, she was no longer his spy. She was a hero. And she was hungry.

Min decided to walk off the chef's lunch by exploring the area outside the ship. She walked barefoot outside the ship. It might be a bit dirty, but Min could never get tired of the metal construct under her feet. She came to loath the dirt on the colony where she grew up. "Oh. Hey." She managed through a mouth of the food on the elevator. "Were we supposed to be doing that now? Like right now? Sorry. I'm used to working on my own schedule. Well, ok," Min brushed off her shit and began walking in stride with Mads. "I had a friend who was stationed in Skal'kus around a year back. Well, he wasn't legally there, so much as an agent of Discovery. My replacement, actually. He was undercover as a lab tech there. He didn't understand anything that was going on, which I think is unusual for a Salarian. Anyway, they were doing experiments on living creatures from what I recall. No humans or salarians or anything, but oxen and apes. Big creatures. Maybe they had Krogan in mind?"

Now carrying a small bag on his left hand, Ken excitedly made his way over to the dock's elevators. He couldn't wait to lay his eyes on the beauty of the Normandy! He couldn't wait to check it all out, and he knew he would feel like a child eating his first solid food. When he arrived at the docks, he noticed the Geth Spectre. A small smile crept up onto his face as he jogged over to it, slowing down to match its current pace and waving a hand in front of the Geth's eye, or more like camera. "Hey, my name's Ken'Koris vas Yaska. I assume you're something along the lines of 'Geth'?"Of course Ken didn't know his fellow Spectre's names, even after receiving dossiers on them. He didn't like to read people's lives, and preferred for them to actually tell him.

Phalanx had silently made its way to the docks, continuing to examine the crew's files while also ignoring the curious gazes it received along the way. The Citadel did not often have Geth after all. In fact, Phalanx was one of the few to really visit. Taking care of any necessary messages it's own kind and even some Quarians had. At times, it wondered if because it stood out that caused others to fear it? Possible. It seemed a common knowledge that organics tended to fear those different. Despite that though, the Geth unit still found them interesting, unlike quite a bit of others.

Its eye shined a little, the metal around the flashlight bulb moving apart ever so slightly as a hand waved in front of it, slowly, it looked over to a smaller stature. The Creator known as Ken'Koris vas Yaska. Already, Phalanx knew the details of this organic. Pretty young and born on the Homeworld like many of his generation.

This one did not seem to be one of the Creator's to somewhat hold caution. That wasn't too surprising, the younger generation grew up around the Geth usually back on Rannoch.

At the remark of being named around something Geth, Phalanx found it mildly intriguing. It was true, most mobile platforms just gave a reply of 'We are Geth' since the shutdown but there were few who still managed to contain Legion's gift. The Reaper Code. Of course, those Geth didn't speak up too often since many people feared them the most. Phalanx happened to be one of the few. One of the ones to retain memory and solo sentiance. Even recorded archives of Geth and Quarian history.

Phalanx was about to say its computerized name, but remembered the fact that organics usually couldn't retain such a long numbered name.

"Greetings, Ken'Koris vas Yaska Alias Arrowhead-Creator. I am one those call, Phalanx. Programmed for infiltration and sniping." Phalanx spoke in its computerized, monotoned yet slightly lighter voice. Referring itself as 'I' unlike many regular Geth platforms. "It is with great ideal to have a Creator aboard this approximately 98.77% dangerous mission. A good nature is also a pleasant welcome." The mobile AI continued, trying to be friendly as much as a synthetic could be. It knew it wasn't quite succeeding in making proper dialogue that was comfortable to organics, but it also did not wish to shock the Creator. After all, organics tended to freak out when AI's act too organic. Fear there would be new Reapers. Silly yes, but not illogical.

Naomi was in the docks carrying 3 large boxes. These were her personal belongings, ever since she was born. When she arrived at the docks she noticed the Quarian and Geth Spectre talking but moved into the Normandy SR3. She moved into her room and opened up one box, which contained her casual clothing. She changed into them. A hoodie, with the Russian Flag on the back and blue jeans. She then proceeded to fall onto her bed. Her Omni-Tool lighted up showing news on Earth in a feed.

Siberia, Earth’s last true Wilderness

Earth’s New Society. Pro-Alien Humans versus Pro-Humans

There were more news topic but Earth New Society was one she was going to read later. After Naomi was a Pro-Human. Thought not a hardliners. With that, Naomi was bored. And she wanted to talk to some of the new Spectre’s and walked around the ship to try initiate conversation. She noticed the tall Asian spectre with the Salarian Spectre as she walked by and didn’t bother to initate conversation since the two were already talking. Instead Naomi looked around some more and found the loung of the SR3. Very nice and even had a bar. Naomi sat down on one of the couches hoping that someone would talk to her.

"Anyway, they were doing experiments on living creatures from what I recall. No humans or salarians or anything, but oxen and apes. Big creatures. Maybe they had Krogan in mind?" The oddly dressed human woman suggested. The elevator door opened and they stepped in. Without looking she reached and pressed the button marked Normandy without looking.

"Preliminary tests possible. Testing on Krogan unlikely, would be dirty. STG tested genophage on varren, non-sentient life native to Tuchanka, similar DNA and redundant organ systems--"

"Could have been Varren too, I wasn't there" she said very matter of fact-ly.

"Your well connected Min, had to go up the chain of command for my info. Will add to my briefing for Kaiser if you'd like."

"Sure go ahead." Mads set down his supply crate and and pulled up his data pad and imputed Pai Mins information into the report. As he finished the elevator opened and the Normandy SR 3 stood before them. "Quite impressive isn't she"

"You've been here already" Mads asked.

"I'll give ya the tour"

"I better get this report to Kaiser." Mads said looking to see if he was on the loading dock anywhere.

Syral passed through the airlock relatively quickly, humming a tune he only half-remembered, wearing his N7 leather jacket, 'military casual' look that he'd sort of naturally slipped into as his life had passed by. She was an impressive boat; larger than the previous Normandy, which was larger than the original. He breathed in, idly thinking about how he hadn't breathed fresh air in roughly two weeks, his schedule having him hop from one space installation to the next without much R&R time in-between.

He found his modest quarters, situated on the the second floor down, a large glass panel the only thing separating him from the ominously huge engine core. Oh, I see, Krios liked this sorta place, so obviously it's my cup of tea too He'd been studying the history and layout of the previous Normandies in his off-hours; where the crew resided, where the useful rooms were, even the inter-crew dynamics in a disturbing amount of detail. He wondered if his social life would become a facet of history. He unpacked his clothes into his locker and started playing some 21st Century Earth music he'd found on the extranet a few years ago; he'd become quite a snob for pre-contact Earth culture, it was entertainingly small-picture, something which relaxed him.

After stashing an emergency pistol in a shoe-box in his locker, he decided it was time to go make history and have an idle conversation. It was this moment he realised he hadn't touched alcohol for what seemed like a year, Galen having reminded him that alcohol could actually play a part on his life to some degree. He walked from his quarters, ignoring the map and trying to get as lost as possible. He eventually managed to find the bar after forty-five minutes of wandering and a ten minute conversation with the ship's cook, who seemed amiable. He at one point mentioned cooking a big Dextro-Amino suitable meal for him that evening, and in the interest of not dying of internal combustion Syral politely mentioned that Drell were Levo-Amino based lifeforms. The cook looked embarrassed and promised to read over the personnel files again.

Syral walked to the bar, waiting for a bartender before he realised it was a free-to-take situation. He identified the colour of bottle usually reserved for Levo-Amino alcohol and poured himself a large drink, knocking it back in one swig. He turned and noticed one of his crewmates sat on a fairly luxurious looking sofa. History books, here I come.. Syral thought to himself, wandering over in her direction.
"Naomi, isn't it? I've been looking over the files" He said casually, sitting on the arm of the sofa furthest from her, appreciating approaching a female in a bar in any culture seemed like a come-on. He tried to maintain an air of professionalism, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. He looked wistfully in front of him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Spectre Naomi, I am Spectre Syral Kiera. As a Spectre it's nice to meet another Spectre on this Spectre ship on this Spectre operation" He turned, smiling wryly, "Sorry, can you tell I'm excited?"