Crossroads

Hello Commander Shepard.

In response to the Collector threat, this alliance of nations has chosen to activate the XCOM Project.

You have full command of this operation. You must learn more about the Collectors to expand our knowledge - as well as the abilities of our forces.

Remember, we will be watching.

This is Commander Shepard, may I have everybody's attention please?

Thank you. Now as you all may have heard, the X-Com Project has been activated. Some of you have already noticed many things have been changed as a result of the program, some minor, some major.

About a hour ago I was contacted by the director in charge of the X-Com Project, as were a majority of other human soldiers affiliated with the project. I was required to receive a more appropriate haircut for the situation at hand, and I accepted.



Now, some of you may think that this new hairstyle is an odd choice for a military scenario, but rest be assured, it has been proven that having this haircut will guarantee a more larger chance of success in our upcoming mission, as was proven back in 1993.

Now, some of you may have questions, and allow me to answer them. Yes, over 5 gallons of hairspray was applied for this.

...

Alright then, for all those who have also received the reminder, please head over to our hairstylist pronto. Now let's go interrogate the FUCK out of some aliens.

The year is 2598.

Humanity was nearly extinguished in the great war against the alien zealots of the Covenant decades ago. Relations with the Elites and their allies remain tenuous.

Rebuilding and return to normalcy was proceeding slow, when the explorer ship UNSC Zheng He discovered an alien construct around Arcturus. It was deemed older than the Forerunners, utilizing physics in a manner unknown to both Sangheili and Humanity.

The giant construct was revealed to be a means of transportation, generating a corridor of negative-mass space for instantaneous travel between it and constructs similar to it.

Beyond the Arcturus transporter, a vast network of the constructs was found, leading to a giant space station not unlike the Halos and the Ark suspended within a nebula.

Hundreds of worlds were found, filled with ruins of civilization choking underneath layers of ash. The explorers realized they stood on mass graves of a war far more terrible than Human-Covenant one, Humanity spared from its horrors by a hair's width.

The startling discovery shook leaders of mankind to the bone. There were monsters far more deadly than the Flood, Covenant and Forerunners waiting in the galaxy. Their wake of destruction across the galaxy was given a name, a warning to the people of future that they were treading on dangerous ground where death walked in cycles of 50 000 years.

It was named DEAD SPACE.

Imperial Fighters zipped overhead, painting a rainforest with napalm. In the horizon, mechanical monstrosities had been joining the sky-darkening swarms of the Leviathan fleet. A splinter group- Not even a tenth the size of the entire swarm. Still, the fighting had been going on for days and didn't look like it was letting up. Comissar White stood at the front lines, gazing through his binoculars at the firestorm.

He squinted, slowly raising his hands- His eyes scanning the waves of fire and destruction. Vicious native wildlife charged from the flames, immediately torn apart by the heavy manned guns of the trenches. "Keep firing! They are fleeing something far more terrifying, I fear! Stay strong, men, for the Emperor is with us!"

A terrifying beast the size of a tyrannosaurus charged through the flames, it's flesh hardened and charred by the intense heat.
It was covered with mechanical blue lines etched into it's flesh- The imperial guidebook from the Ordo Xenos claimed this subtype of the Tyranid swarm was a Carnifex- But this was the first time anyone had seen such modifications- Could they be related to the tech-abominations that had crept in from dark space? "WE ARE HARBINGER. WE COMMAND DEVOURING SWARMS AND WILL CLEAN THIS GALAXY OF LIFE." The beast spoke, the multiple eyes on it's bony carapace glowing vividly. "WE SHALL TAKE BACK THIS GALAXY AS OUR OWN." The Comissar frowned and chomped down on his cigar.

"Forward batteries, take this thing's head off!"

((Warning, I make no promises that this is particularly good.))

War. War never changes. We watched the Inner Sphere burn. Cried, grieved, fought back, stood tall... and left, when we saw nothing left to salvage but cruelty and hate.

Four years later, we discovered the material that lead to massive breakthroughs in technology: a substance scientists termed 'element zero'. Capable of generating positive or negative gravity fields through simple electric charge, it supercharged expansion into unknown space. Combined with the 'Mass Relay' system, a series of faster-than-light 'gateways' to the stars, what was originally a small group of exiled military rapidly grew.

Knowing now that we were likely not alone in the universe, however, meant that other life might not necessarily be peaceful. Improved armor, tougher construction, kinetic barriers, and more powerful weapons were created. We hoped we never would see a need.

We were wrong.

---

"Reactor: Online. Sensors: Online. Barriers: Online. Weapons: Online. All systems: Nominal." That line always gave her the chills. It meant she was now in control of a sixty-ton war machine: a FHWK-33a Firehawk.

It had all started a week ago; investigating the mass relay network had ended with one of their ships being blown apart by a hostile alien force, which then took to assaulting one of their colony worlds. They'd managed translation shockingly fast, primarily because of nonstop effort by linguistics experts and analysis of salvaged translation hardware, and had discovered that not only had these 'turians' declared war on them simply for exploring, but had promised to make them into a 'client race'. The SLDF-in-exile had run from one war only to be embroiled in another, this time for its very freedom. "This is Starbane squadron, prepared for insertion. Let's not give away our surprise until we're on top of them." Her fighter was lowered from its launching bay, her squadmates equipped much the same. The planet in front of them had been named Ymir, a cold world with little in the way of redeeming value besides high levels of titanium and aluminum ore.

"Affirmative. Starbane squadron released." The docking clamps opened and her fighter rocketed toward Ymir, quickly firing engines to align for aerobreaking. "Be advised, heavy movement on the ground, heading toward New Kroy. Their ride home was blasted by the Syceden, but they are still moving to secure the cities. Heavy gunship deployment detected as well. We'll keep you advised." The Scyeden was a McKenna Block 3 Retrofit, a powerful 1.93 million ton vessel that outweighed and outgunned turian dreadnoughts of the time by an order of magnitude. The turians would have no chance to deploy orbital bombardment; the ship's battery of Heavy NPPCs would see to that.

"Rodger that. Burning in for a strafing run." The anti-aircraft weapons deployed by the Hierarchy were woefully under-powered against her shields, pinging off them uselessly as she fired her ER PPC. Each shot briefly flared the barrier of the offending vehicle before tearing through the armor - while the containment bottle was blocked, the particles were not, making kinetic barriers useless. Several tanks and anti-aircraft batteries were turned into molten wrecks as her squadron wreaked havoc, never taking enough damage to drop their own barriers. The troops were disoriented and disturbed, their armor support melting around them. More anti-aircraft weapons moved in.

Now was the time to surprise them. "Squadron, transition to mech mode." Their fighters went into VSTOL mode... and then legs began to deploy under them, arms folding out of the wings, parts shifting and compacting in ways that would have made the older Phoenix Hawk models green with envy, forming into sixty-ton walking weapons platforms. The radio chatter on the ground went wild. Cries of utter disbelief, terror, and prayers to 'spirits' to let them prevail... a few soldiers attempted to swarm her legs, only to get flash-fried as she pulsed her jump jets. Pulse lasers cut down swaths of light vehicles and infantry, while her PPC vaporized anti-aircraft guns and tanks alike. Four modern, heavy land-air mechs against a battalion of tanks and AA vehicles... it was hardly a fair fight. She had to admire them, fighting almost to the last man before breaking. But it was hopeless. The only equal of a battlemech was another battlemech, and with such surprisingly-backward technology - the 'turians' didn't even have solid-state lasers! - they didn't stand a chance.

"This is Starbane leader, ground forces heading for New Kroy routed."

---

There were whispers running rampant in the ranks of the Council races. Some new race had been uncovered by the turians, they'd tried to activate a mass relay. The turians responded as required. The rumors were saying the impossible happened next: the other race tore their force to pieces.

What none of them knew was that, the night before the official Council meeting, a lone quarian - in the employ of the recently formed Star League-Flotilla alliance - had planted a series of holographic projectors in the room. All he needed to do was say the trigger phrase. Considering he was being called as a 'witness' - it was hardly a trial, more like a political tirade against the Star League - that would be fairly easy. "Shentor vas Nessari, do you have anything to say?"

"Showtime."

Projectors flared to life, translators clicked on, and a larger-than-life image of a man was projected in the center of the Presidium. "My name is Andery Kerensky, commander-in-chief of the Star League Defense Force. Your forces attacked our own without provocation, without sending a warning message. I have learned of your laws against opening mass relays, and while the justification is sound the method is more than lacking. Additionally, there is significant evidence that the Hierarchy was planning on making us into a ‘client race’, which is barely a step up from slavery. The very fact that you tolerate such an abhorrent practice is disturbingly backward. I give you one last chance, but if we have to burn you from the stars we will." The image winked out.

And the council chamber (proverbially) exploded. By that time, Shentor was long gone.

---

It is the twenty-eighth century, and mankind has found that it is not alone.
The First Contact War led to a tentative peace treaty between the Citadel Council and the Star League in Exile.
But the future of the known universe still rests on the balance of war...

The battlefields of the future are dominated by huge robotic war machines known as Battlemechs.
Piloting these weapons of war are men and women, the elite of the elite, knowing that each battle could be their last.
They are Mechwarriors.

A twinge of fear and regret panged through Thomas as he entered the once derelect ship. Why had he volunteered to do this? Leave his world, his life behind? No matter. What is done is done, and soon a whole new life in a whole new land awaited him. New sights, new sounds, new adventures.

Thomas sat down. A large helmet lowered atop his head, screens covering his eyes. In his ears, a mechanical voice rung, "Welcome, ambassador. Your counterpart has been prepared. Are you ready to begin the transfer proper?"

The moment of truth. Did he dare make one final utterance, or was it better to let fear, the instinct of survival, guide him? No. Fear saves the body, but erodes the mind. His being here was proof that he had made his decision long ago. Thomas braced himself and forced himself to say, "Proceed."

"Confirmed. Aurbis Industries welcomes you to the Neural Universe. Commencing ANU transfer sequence..."

The screens in front of him came to life, text in an unknown language scrolling faster than he could process. Soon he lost feeling. First n his extremities, then slowly creeping throughout his body until he was completely numb. Then went his olfactory senses, then auditory. His vision began to narrow, leaving only the screens the images of whom became more real by the second. Suddenly, all went calm.

Floating. No up, no down. Was it a dream, or something stranger? Words appeared before him. Or had the been there the whole time? Thomas was no longer able to discern such things.


ERROR. UNREGISTERED SUBJECT. SCANNING DREAMSLEAVE CYCLIC DATABASE FOR OPENING...

SCANNING...

SCANNING...

OPENING FOUND.

REGISTERING NEURAL AVATAR INTO DATABASE...

REGISTRATION COMPLETE.

WELCOME, SOUL 00001-15-02-5E-847. YOUR BLOODLINE HAS BEEN REGISTERED BY C0DA.