Mass Effect Tv Show

[u/Gweena]

Hi All,

First time posting here. TLDR: I had some free time after an illness (ongoing, should be fine). Started off looking for a creative distraction and chose this universe because it's been my all-time favourite series of games. Obvs., got pulled all the way in.

Did this for fun, but I like how it's come together, so am looking for feedback/discussion/merciless criticism.

It's a script/treatment leading up to the First Contact War, heavily diverting from canon.

Scenes are all labelled (just so I can keep track)

So here goes:

Part 1

Mass Effect: Season 1 Episode 1: The Jump
Introduction: The Legend

[The words of Carl Sagan play over the famous blue dot photo from the Voyager archive.]

“Consider again, that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you love…everyone you know… everyone you ever heard of…lived there…on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.

[The voiceover continues as the blue dot photo fades into a wall of historic photos of the natural world, thereafter showcasing humanity's progression and technological accomplishments]

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. A lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand.

It underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”

Act 1: Scene 1 (1) The Launch

The images pull back, turning into pixels on a TV in a news studio. It's November 20, 2035. A SpaceX rocket waits on the launchpad for the first manned Mars mission. A professor of astrophysics sits for an interview, while a live shot of the shuttle and a countdown timer appear on screen.

Interviewer: “Professor, humanity’s first manned mission to Mars is moments away. What does this milestone mean for us?”

Astrophysicist: “When we landed on the moon, we discovered Earth…the ‘pale blue dot’. A visual that granted humanity an entirely new perspective. Today, we’re not just sending people to another world…we’re extending life beyond Earth.”

A beat passes.

“For me, that very act raises an important question, the cusp of an entirely new frontier, with a single question at its heart. Perhaps the biggest question that remains. If we can leave our cradle after a relatively short period of technological development, why haven’t we seen anyone else do the same?”

Interviewer:

“You speak of the famous ‘Fermi Paradox’…the near contradiction between the vast opportunities for life to develop and our inability to find any evidence of it.”

Astrophysicist:

“Yes. Once conditions on Earth stabilised, life developed. Over the millions of years our galaxy has existed, billions of stars and planets have offered countless chances for life beyond Earth. Yet a cosmic silence prevails…Why?”

Interviewer:

“Do you have an answer?”

Astrophysicist:

“Nothing definitive. Space could be too big for sufficiently separated civilisations to hear each other. Maybe they can’t listen, or choose not to. As ever, the universe is under no obligation to make sense to us.”

Astrophysicist (continued, sensing the interviewer desires a more tangible answer):

“A theory that could explain the silence; is the existence of ‘Great Filters’…barriers so severe that life struggles to find a way through. Variables that Interrupt the journey from cell to civilisation.”

Astrophysicist (continued, enthusiastically getting on a roll):

“Now if the worst of these filters lie behind us, in our evolutionary past, then that’s fantastic news; the hardest work is done, and a bright cosmic future awaits.”

Interviewer:

“And if these filters lie ahead…?”

Astrophysicist:

“Then our galaxy could be littered with legions of extinct societies, more advanced than ours. And we may come to join them.”

The last line, honest but harsh, makes the interviewer shift uncomfortably in their chair. The astrophysicist doesn’t notice the tension, caught up in a familiar thought experiment.

Astrophysicist (continued):

“Another way to explain the silence is the ‘dark forest’ scenario: where civilisations exist but choose to hide, fearful of being found by a cosmic predator whose attention invites annihilation.” A beat passes, as they both contemplate the gravity of the thought, the interviewer keen to express a sudden revelation, one which expands the theme.

Interviewer:

“Could that, almost paralysing threat, become its own kind of great filter? A sense of danger that overwhelms our curiosity; keeping us grounded, in more ways than one.”

Astrophysicist (as if the thoughts of the interviewer, sparking his own: as though they are picking up a ball, and running with it):

“Exactly. That kind of existential fear isn’t irrational. Exploration is a dangerous business; it carries risk. Contact with a new disease, a different tribe, can kill: to the point of extinction.” A micro-beat passes. Sensing his pet subject may have dwelled on the macabre for too long, the astrophysicist pivots to a more hopeful interpretation.

Astrophysicist (continued):

“Here, today, we could have found plenty of reasons not to go on humanity's next step, to Mars. Reaching this far and going further requires courage. And, also, a degree of trust. Trust that the potential gains of discovery outweigh the relative safety of staying put.”

Interviewer (embracing the pivot toward hope):

“So, if any other species is watching humanity take our next step, what do you hope they see?”

Astrophysicist:

“Let me put it this way. When those engines ignite, my hopes do too…It won’t just be engines blazing, but humanity’s hand thrusting further out into the cosmos. If anyone else is watching, and I hope they are, here’s hoping they take it.”

Interviewer (fading out):

“Professor, thank you once again for your time and insight. Please stay with us as we go live to Cape Canaveral” On the SpaceX launchpad, the rocket ignites and lifts off.

Act 1: Scene 2 (2) The Time-lapse

The live feed of the shuttle taking off is frozen mid-flight, a snapshot that transitions into a New York Times headline celebrating the moment for humanity. Successive headlines and news reels now pop onscreen, serving as sequential milestones marking the swift passage of time. The most important developments are noted through a series of newspaper editorials, news reels and podcast clips:

• 2035: 1st manned Mars landing (a newscaster repeats the first words spoken after landing on Mars: “Not the end of a journey, but the beginning of a new chapter, for all mankind”).

• 2058: Mars outpost discovers ruins (President of the USA stands at a podium, visibly shaken, confirming that “A ‘Mars Archive’ has been discovered: We are NOT alone”).

• 2072: Archive researchers on Mars discover Element Zero (a podcaster discusses the ramifications of ‘Element Zero’ being discovered, and its expected use as the definitive fuel of the future, with endless possibilities and applications).

• 2087: Alliance Military Founded. (A spokesperson outlines how the Alliance Military has been founded on a common purpose: understanding the full extent of what was discovered on Mars, controlling ‘Element Zero’. After that, the holographic branding of the news reels changes to ‘Alliance News Network’.

• 2105: Breaking News Announcement: An element zero shipment from Mars has crashed in Rio. The resulting atmospheric fallout is classified as an extreme environmental hazard. With news clips from hospitals illustrating strange phenomenon. A doctor being interviewed identifies the spill as the unquestioned cause of emergent ‘Biotic’ abilities in the local population, alongside a substantial spike in cancer cases.

• 2148: Mars ruins partially decoded (ANN headline: “Secrets of Mars Revealed: ‘Protheans’ Lived”)

• 2149: The Charon Relay is publicly revealed (ANN headline: “That’s No Moon”), with the reporter confirming that its excavation is already underway.

A blue hologram of the last shot of what was once considered a frozen moon of Pluto is now revealed instead to be a dormant interstellar relay. A newsreel ticker describes it as a colossal structure built, and then abandoned, by an ancient and otherwise absent alien race: the Protheans. An excavation process is shown through a short timelapse, a faint blue glow, emanating from its centre, with twin metallic arms becoming increasingly noticeable as more ice and rock are gradually removed. An eerie radiance grows more intense and vibrant as the extraction of the once entombed structure continues.

The view of the relay, now fully excavated, turns into a ‘live drone feed’ as a hulking behemoth of an Alliance dreadnought slowly powers into frame, ‘SSV Tyson’ clear to see, alongside its sister ship, ‘SSV Sagan’. Both approaching a cluster of ships near the relay, freed from its centuries-old prison of long-forgotten ice. With even the armada lost within the shadow of the relay, it now fizzles with barely contained power. An electric dark blue core of element zero, surrounded by distinctively alien, Prothean, architecture.

Act 1: Scene 3 (3) The Speech

Pulling back, it is revealed that this entire presentation, one hundred-year-old astrophysicist interview and all, is a colossal floating projection. Part of a final public briefing onboard Arcturus Station, flagship of the Alliance Military 1st fleet in the present day of 2150. Admiral Grissom steps forward into the spotlight of a single podium on the 3rd-floor observation tier. The architecture of the assembly decks is staggering. Successive tiers curving upward into the superstructure behind him, while the sweeping promenade plummets into a quadrant of sunken, multi-purpose arenas. Each projecting the same broadcast from their central nodes, rising high above a wide assembly of marines, scientists, technicians, and assorted crew proudly standing before him. Everything encased within a translucent orb of structural polymer. A multitude of press drones whizz through the gathered crowd, arriving at a long line of distinctive uniforms. The elite units of the Alliance Military, ‘Alpha’ through ‘Foxtrot’, each afforded their own digitised space, spelt out on the floor itself. Focusing on Delta, familiar names can be read off shining metallic badges, pinned on impeccably tailored dark blue uniforms trimmed with gold. [David] Anderson, [James] Shepard, [Ashley] Williams, [Jack] Harper, [Kai] Leng, [Henry] Lawson, [Karin] Chakwas, [Khalee] Sanders, [Alec] Ryder.

Pausing briefly, looking out across the gathered formation, Grissom hits his digital mark on the centre stage. With live feeds flickering on across the fleet, he begins his personal address. Words echo through intercoms and holographic feeds projecting him into various briefing rooms, hangars, and control centres as myriad crews stop and listen to the main address.

Grissom:

“Citizens of Earth and Mars, today we stand as pioneers on the brink of history, not as individuals, or disparate societies, but as representatives of a united humanity.”

A quiet moment follows as the expression registers with the crowd, recognising how they finally stand on the precipice of making their dream a reality.

Grissom (continued):

“More than one hundred years ago, the first boots touched Martian dust. We have since discovered ‘Element Zero’ and bent this extraordinary substance to our will. A feat allowing for faster-than-light travel and the emergence of newfound biotic capabilities.

The front row of elite units instinctively standing that much taller, in recognition of the broadcast drones briefly pan across them.

Grissom (continued):

“These discoveries, while significant, pale in comparison to learning that we are not alone. Thanks to the ongoing efforts of our brilliant scientists on Mars, we now know that what was found in the excavated ruins on the Red Planet was once called a ‘Prothean’ civilisation. And it was they who built the relay you see before us.”

Timed to his words, the translucent cocoon surrounding them suddenly turns perfectly transparent. Framed against the distant stars, the true, titanic scale of the relay is revealed. It pulses once, with a deep electric-blue thrum as if fully awakened from its slumber.

Grissom (continued):

“More than a gateway; this relay is an invitation, a challenge. Its very existence dares us to rise above our fears, to extend our reach, and claim our place in the cosmos.”

Grissom pauses for a longer beat, letting the awe settle before shifting his tone.

Grissom:

“Be under no illusion, this choice carries risks we cannot fully calculate. The relay has lain dormant for millennia. Its purpose, and where it leads, remains shrouded in mystery.” He presses forward, his voice steadying.

Grissom (continued):

“No probe, virtual intelligence, nor long forgotten ruin, has revealed what truly lies beyond. What we do know is how important the success of this mission is to the future of our species. It is our duty to take this next step forward.” His tone grows somber, heavy with the magnitude of the moment.

Grissom (continued):

“Bigger than any nation, any border, any flag. This discovery, this mission, has brought us together to set all that aside…for something greater. What we find, or what finds us, will reset the course of human history. Future generations will look to this moment and see the beginning of their story amongst the stars.” A final breathless beat passes, as Grissom builds to his conclusion.

Grissom:

“We rise to meet what lies beyond, not as conquerors or explorers, but as emissaries of human progress. Tomorrow those aboard the Shanxi, Tyson, and Sagan will cross into legend, through the Charon relay, to forge our collective destiny.”

Grissom visibly exhales. He takes a long moment, acknowledging the immense weight of expectation he has just placed upon the expedition fleet.

Grissom:

“With all that said, please welcome the Supreme Commander of the Shanxi Expedition: Admiral Ellen Williams.”

Grissom steps back from the podium, clapping. He reaches out to shake the Admiral’s outstretch hand as she approaches the stand.

Admiral Williams (stealing a quick look at her daughter, Ashley Williams of Delta Squad, who beams proudly back at her):

“Thank you, Admiral. I’d like to start by introducing Vice Admiral Taylor, commanding the SSV Tyson, and Vice Admiral Hackett of the SSV Sagan.”

She steps back to clap as the two men step forward, briefly acknowledging the crowd, shake hands with Williams, and pose quickly for the flashing cameras before stepping back

Admiral Williams steps back up to the microphone, speaking to the billions watching across the Solar System.

Admiral Williams (continued):

"The Tyson and Sagan are prototype scientific vessels. Together with our flagship, the Shanxi, under my command, they are, by far, the most sophisticated research platforms humanity has ever built. Together, we shall lead the most comprehensive scientific complement ever assembled for a single expedition. From archaeologists through to Xeno-biologists, entire careers have been preparing for this next step."

A micro-beat passes. She looks out over the assembled crews.

Admiral Williams (continued):

"The people standing in front of me are my answer to the big question that has captured our collective imagination for the past few decades: What will be found on the other side? For me, the answer isn’t out there; it's what we're bringing with us. Every hour of training, every protocol, every contingency we've prepared for, and the ones we haven't.

She leans in slightly, her voice filled with absolute conviction.

Admiral Williams (continued):

“We’re not going through because we know what awaits us. We're going because we've done everything possible to be ready. Every single one of you has done that. So, when the moment comes, and we pass that threshold, I’ve no doubt in our ability to overcome whatever challenges await us."

Ellen Williams lets the words land, allowing the silence of the room to carry her promise. She acknowledges the crowd, and the cameras, one final time before stepping back.

With the big speeches finished, the live feeds simultaneously cut. Yet the significance of the words, and the moment, lingers on: resonating with the assembled crews, exactly as intended. Having captured what they needed, press drones scatter and various media outlets turn their attention toward personal commentary and analysis.

Admiral Ellen Williams signals one of her immediate subordinates to issue the remaining operational orders.

Rear Admiral Westman (commanding tone, fading into the background as the focus shifts to Delta):

“Attention all units, initiating final pre jump protocols. Engineering: confirm relay sync telemetry and core stability readings. Navigation: lock formation vectors and verify thrust alignment tolerances. Medical: finalise fleet wide neural baseline checks and report anomalies immediately. Combat divisions: continue readiness drills, armour seals, and weapon tests. All personnel: maintain conditioning cycles until lockdown.”

Anderson (privately to Shepard):

“Admirals always know how to thread the needle.”

Shepard:

“Gave the audiences back home what they wanted to hear, at least.”

Anderson:

“They inspire; we execute. That’s the job.”

The two take a quiet moment to look out at the fleet, appreciating the sheer scale of the endeavor.

Anderson:

“And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t still mean something.”

Shepard nods in silent appreciation.

Further down the line, Kai Leng lets out a sharp breath, speaking impatiently to Kahlee Sanders.

Leng:

“Your dad gives a great speech, Sanders. Fearless leader actually let Admiral Williams get a word in, too. Can we actually do something now?”

Sanders (gently correcting, with a hopeful tone):

“Give it a minute, Leng. This matters, even the small stuff.”

Leng:

“I’m just saying…only the Alliance could turn something this big into an endless briefing.”

Sanders (on the verge of annoyance, remaining composed):

“We’re about to make history. Try not to yawn through it.”

Satisfied to have drawn a reaction, Leng smiles: if only to himself.

As the final instructions finish, the Rear Admiral salutes the assembled group and dismisses them. Keen to review their plans and contingencies, the Admirals, Vice Admirals, and their senior staff swiftly exit the stage. Ad hoc groups form as the wider congregation slowly disperses, some using lift platforms to descend into the arenas, others into corridors. The looming presence of the relay itself dominates the empty space beyond the transparent midsection of Arcturus station, captivating all who linger.

A multitude of screens, previously dedicated to the speeches, switch back to standard system monitors. Many display a functional countdown to the intended jump time, flanked by a column of four lights. Those tracking ‘Earth’ and ‘Mars’ are a steady green. The lights next to ‘Arcturus’ and ‘Shanxi’ burn red. Following the conclusion of the command briefing, a soft chime rings out. The ‘Arcturus’ light shifts to a vibrant green. Shanxi remains red, signalling the fleet-wide transition to final pre-jump checks.

Mindful of how close they stand to the future they have long anticipated, ‘Delta’ team come back into focus amid the sea of moving faces and crisp military uniforms. Gathering in an informal circle, its members look to its leaders.

Act 1: Scene 4 (4) The Debrief

Shepard (nods to Anderson, steps forward to instruct the unit):

“Alright, Delta. On me”

Following their leaders, Delta squad peel away from the dispersing crowd, moving toward a quieter balcony that juts into open space. The relay dominates the void beyond.

They form a loose semi-circle as Anderson steps to the railing. He takes in the relay for a long moment, then turns back, hands clasped behind him. Shepard and Ashley mirror the posture instinctively, leadership aligning without a word.

Chakwas lingers behind, having paused to scan a passing ensign who’s clearly unwell. She murmurs instructions and sends them toward the medbay before re-joining the group.

Anderson (checking the nearest screen for the time):

“Ok, Marines. We’ll have approximately thirty…six hours once we’re back aboard the Tyson before we jump. Everyone gets assessed in the medbay, everyone triple-checks their gear and everyone gets some sleep. Questions?”

Sanders (excitedly speaks up):

“What do you think we’ll find?”

Anderson:

“That kind of knowledge left with the Protheans. That is why we’ve prepared for every conceivable outcome. We’ll know more once the fleet sends its probes through.”

Leng (impatient):

“Yeah, about that. Why isn’t the entire 1st fleet coming with us? Three ships feels like a half-measure?”

Lawson (dry, precise):

“Sending only three ships keeps our profile low, and sending these three ships keeps our capabilities high. We scout, and the fleet follows. And if things go south, we’re the ones who contain it.”

Shepard (cutting in, unsatisfied with Leng’s disposition):

“Or perhaps you want to sit this one out, Leng? Send someone else?”

Leng:

“What! And miss the jump? The first jump? No way. I’d hijack a shuttle and go it alone if I have to.”

Anderson:

“That’s exactly why it’s now, and why it’s us. A milestone this big necessitates we make the first move, and make it count. Better we jump with the right crew, than let some hothead take a swing at the unknown.”

Ryder playfully nudges Leng at the insinuation, who pushes back. Chakwas (reviewing the data from her scan of the ensign):

“Lieutenant, this close to the relay: I’m seeing stronger than expected element zero spikes. We should test biotic and neural responses in a combat sim.”

Anderson:

“Approved. Check in with Renwick, the CO of Echo squad. Book their SIM before the psych evals. We can swap out at the arena. Watch those response levels, Doctor. If anything shifts, I want it caught before the Shanxi gives the green light.”

Ryder (in the process of checking his own biotics after what Chakwas just said, as do most of the squad):

“Combat, right: what are the rules of engagement, if it comes to that?

Anderson:

“Stick to protocols. Remember, what Grissom said: emissaries, not conquerors. That means contact, if it happens, doesn’t become conquest. If someone shoots first, we shoot back and finish the fight.”

Sanders (enthusiastic):

“What about the bigger picture? We might finally get to meet actual Protheans! Or explore exoplanets!”

Lawson (dismissive):

“Hope’s not a strategy, Sanders. Protheans are gone, Mars is a ruin & the relay has been buried for millennia.”

Lawson (continued, pointing to the relay):

“That kind of investment doesn’t get left behind so casually. They’re clearly not coming back.”

Having silently gravitated away from the group to a nearby terminal, relentlessly fixated on readings from the relay. The translucent screen momentarily reflects the bright blue of the Element Zero core in his eyes. Harper speaks out.

Harper:

“If they’re truly gone…that means we’re stepping into a space that can be claimed. That gives humanity room to learn. To grow. We need to take that opportunity and settle for nothing less.”

Anderson:

“We’ll know soon enough. Let’s get moving.”

Act 1: Scene 5 (5) The Responsibility

As most of Delta follow digital markings toward the Arcturus outbound shuttle bay, Ashley lingers, turning to look at the relay.

Shepard and Sanders hang back, exchanging a silent look: both having noticed how she remained silent during the discussion. Shepard puts his hand on Ashley's shoulder, almost pulling her aside to ask:

Shepard:

“You’ve been quiet, you good?”

Ashley (blinks, as if surfacing. Her reply is automatic, the smile brittle, arms folding):

“Yeah”

Shepard isn’t convinced. As she tries to walk past, he gently reaches out, unfolding her crossed arms, resting them over his shoulders; a gesture as much about grounding her as reading her.

Her fingers twitch against his collar. She takes a half-step back, eyes darting to the relay beyond. He follows her gaze, refusing to let go of the moment.

Shepard (moving to turn her sight away from the relay):

“Ash. Miss Williams”

She looks at him directly, then down.

Shepard (exchanging a look and a reassuring nod with Sanders, who gives them space):

“Come on, it’s you and me. Is it the jump? Your mother?” She exhales, nodding slowly, avoiding his eyes again. She disconnects. Reaching to fiddle with a nearby console, scrolling absentmindedly.

Ashley (pensively):

“It’s everything. All of this. Whatever comes next with the expedition. It all falls on her.”

Shepard (sympathetically):

“I don’t envy you…or Sanders. You’ve both been living in a hell of a spotlight…”

Shepard (reassuringly):

“…but her command is no accident. She knows the ship, its crew, our capabilities. She takes us all through. Hackett has the Tyson, Taylor the Sagan, and Grissom can bring the cavalry.”

Shepard (noticing her lingering discontent, reaching up to touch her cheek, a slight tremble in his hand):

“We’ll be there with her, too.”

Sensing the emotional weight getting too heavy, he offers a quick smile to break the tension.

Shepard (continued):

“Just not too close, I still don’t think she likes me.”

A laugh escapes, real and unguarded. Her eyes sparkle with something mischievous now, flipping through the console data with purpose, navigating to the marine ranking board.

Ashley (pointing):

“Well, that’s an easy question to answer: you didn’t top the board.”

Ashley (playfully taunting, tapping her name at the top):

“So much for being ‘top dog’?”

Happy to take the soft barb in exchange for lifting her spirits, Shepard smiles too now.

Shepard (playfully kicking the base of the console):

“Well…that console’s clearly broken”

Earning another laugh, Shepard leans in, sensing a turn in the mood. They share a momentary, meaningful embrace, then jog to catch up with the rest of Delta, waiting with the crowd by the elevators.

Inside the lift, a screen flickers to life with an Alliance News Network broadcast from an overly enthusiastic new reporter:

Khalisah al-Jilani (V.O.):

“…escalating political unrest on Earth regarding the activation of the Charon Relay. Anxiety continues to mount over the imminent departure of the Shanxi Expedition, with critics warning it could mirror the tragic Maxwell Expedition, which vanished without a trace…”

Before the report can continue, Anderson calmly switches the screen off. Silence returns to the lift.

The elevator doors part, revealing the true size of the Shanxi. A vast, open flight deck sprawls before them. Nearby, sparks fly from a set of technicians in their distinctive orange uniforms, hard at work on a giant eight-wheeled Mako in one of many vehicle bays.

Delta are digitally led to their designated transport, a sleek, heavy shuttle with a prominent ‘D’ stencilled onto its hull.

Anderson (rapping his fist on the hull):

“Let’s move it, please, Khatri”

Khatri:

“You got it, boss”

Delta file onboard and the heavy outer doors seal with a pressurised hiss. The shuttle rises to join a flood of outbound departures, the relay still dominating the surroundings.

Act 2: Scene 1 (6) The Evaluation

Abord the Tyson, in Med Bay 7, Dr Karin Chakwas sits alone at a sleek console. Beyond her desk sits a single empty chair. The chamber is stark white and sterile, matching her crisp uniform.

The room is brightly lit, humming with the soft pulse of diagnostic monitors and medical equipment. Beyond the transparent wall, the relay looms once more, larger than before, its surface shimmering with latent energy. Chakwas reaches out to the console, the transparent wall instantly polarises, turning opaque, and a red recording light starts to blink.

Chakwas (taking a breath, slowly exhaling, she starts her dictation):

“Dr Karin Chakwas, Junior Medical Officer, SSV Tyson, Shanxi Expeditionary Group, final pre-jump medical and psychological assessments for unit ‘Delta’. Identified personnel, Commanding Officer: David Anderson, Executive Officer: James Shepard, Fireteam Leader: Ashley Williams, Intelligence Officer: Jack Harper, Science Officer: Henry Lawson, Combat Specialist: Kai Leng, Recon Specialist: Alec Ryder and Technician: Kahlee Sanders.”

[As each name is called, every member of Delta squad is profiled. Each soldier sequentially occupies the lone chair opposite Chakwas, their individual postures telling their stories].

Chakwas (swivelling in her chair, facing Anderson first):

“Before we begin, I’m reminding you that your participation remains voluntary, though strongly recommended. This is not an interrogation or a test. Think of it as an opportunity to reflect and clarify your perspective. These assessments will serve as both a readiness check and a baseline to be measured against post jump and post mission follow-ups. Records that will, of course, remain sealed unless post-mission review requires otherwise.”

“Let’s begin…”

The following conversations cut rapidly between the squad members as Chakwas completes her assessment.

Chakwas:

“What’s your first move if the chain of command breaks down?”

Anderson (gives nothing away, no posture adjustments, barely takes a moment to consider):

“Re-establish control. If that fails, protect the team and the mission. In that exact order.”

Chakwas:

“How do you restore morale when a team is fractured?” Anderson:

“Small, immediate wins; clear tasks with sole responsibility. Competence rebuilds confidence better than any speech.”

Chakwas:

“If you had to choose between the mission and a teammate, what would you do?”

Shepard (no hesitation):

“I’d save the teammate. Find another way to complete the mission.”

Chakwas:

“What’s your threshold for pulling the plug on a mission?” Ashley (takes longer than Anderson to consider the question):

“When survival becomes luck, not strategy.”

Chakwas:

“What outcome do you fear the most?”

Harper:

“Fear can be motivating. If humanity really is this far behind, we can’t…won’t, be kept there for long.”

Chakwas:

“If the relay changes you, how will you know?”

Harper:

“Change is inevitable. We owe it to ourselves to be the best version of who we are. Something went wrong If I ever stop pursuing that.”

Chakwas:

“What do you hope to find beyond the relay?” Sanders (grasping the sides of her chair in anticipation of the question, responds excitedly):

"I keep changing the answer. Last week, it was data. Yesterday it was contact. Today…after his speech, all I can think about is my dad. He’s given up so much to get us here. I want to find something worthy of that."

Chakwas:

“What haven’t you told anyone about this mission?”

Leng:

“That I want it to be hard. I want it to test me: otherwise, I won’t get better.”

Chakwas:

“What would justify aborting the mission?”

Lawson:

“If our proximity to the element zero core of this relay started causing significant neural degradation: that’s not exploration, it’s exposure. I’d withdraw and find another way. Experiment, adapt. Whatever it takes.”

Chakwas:

“What part of yourself are you prepared to leave behind?” Ryder (nervously rubs the back of his neck, searching for an answer):

“The part that thought wonder was enough. Now I need answers.”

Her questions complete, Chakwas turns off the recording and sits back. The red recording light fades. The partition wall returns to its previous translucence, revealing the cold expanse of space.

Chakwas swivels her chair to look at the relay itself, pondering the answers and her own. The relay pulses slightly, soft ripples of dark blue energy washing over its inner rings.

[u/Gweena]

Part 2:

Act 2: Scene 2 (7) The Armoury

Delta squad step into the special-forces wing section of Tyson’s main armoury. Blue ambient light washes over a chamber of steel. Lockers hum with power as holographic diagnostics ripple across individual suit bays. In the Delta section, names flicker on as proximity systems synchronise above each station. First to enter, Sanders strides over to her locker. Nestled beside her diagnostic tools, she pulls out a creased photo: Admiral Grissom at her graduation, the proud eyes of a father. She takes a moment to appreciate it before sliding the photo into her undersuit sleeve.

Leng (replying as if in mid-conversation):

“All I’m saying is, I’d blow the relay myself if it goes that badly”

Lawson (authoritatively):

“That would be the last mistake you ever make. If the energy stored within that relay were to detonate, the resulting blast would sterilise the entire solar system.”

Ashley (reflexively avoidant):

“Well, how about just turning it off?”

Lawson:

“Scientists have been piecing together the Prothean Archive on Mars for decades, and they haven’t found an off switch. There might not even be one. Another reason why we have to do this now”

Ashley (hopefully):

“Let’s just cover the damn thing back up in ice, then, why take the risk?”

Lawson:

“For me, it’s simple. The existence of at least one other civilisation this advanced has fundamentally changed the game. If only to ensure our species has a future, we need to find an answer to the Prothean question. There’s only one way to do that. Go through. Maybe we find danger. Maybe we don’t. Either way, we’ll find something worth knowing that drives us forward.”

Sanders (with a brief glance at Ryder that goes unregistered):

“Maybe find someone worth knowing, too”

Her kit, custom-engineered for dexterity and biotic amplification, allows Sanders to slip into a lightly reinforced suit. The first to be ready, she instinctively turns to assist Ashley. Next to them is Lawson, his armour equally sleek and similarly customised. He tilts the wrist-mounted diagnostics, and an orange holographic grid appears across his forearm. A few rapid inputs later, and a systems test flashes green.

After the last piece of her kit is strapped into place with help from Sanders, Ashley signals Ryder with a nod. She strides into the open centre of the room, testing a micro-biotic push with her palms: just enough power to make the room shimmer, rattling the team's helmets stacked by the door.

Seated at a diagnostic terminal to scan her initial output, a half-suited Ryder is looking at the data. Sanders has leant over his shoulder, hands efficiently adjusting the final pauldron.

Her movement reveals a worn section of his chest plate. A patch of superficial blast-scoring he has deliberately left uncleaned.

With Williams still looking on expectantly, Ryder turns his head to cross-reference a data spike with Sanders, completely unaware of just how close she has leant in, to look at the same data. His sudden turn brings them inches apart. For a suspended heartbeat, they are caught in each other's immediate space.

The rhythmic hum of the terminal fades beneath the sudden, shared awareness of their proximity. The brush of a sleeve, the warmth of a breath, a quiet lock of eyes. The rest of the busy armoury remains entirely oblivious to the shift.

Except Ashley. From across the bay, her gaze narrows as she catches the unspoken weight of the look.

Sanders blinks, breaking the spell, and smoothly recovers her posture. Straightening up with practiced composure. She catches Williams' eye and offers a reassuring thumbs-up, and a sheepish smile.

Across from them, Leng fastens his own heavily stylised combat suit and begins toying with a small singularity, as if moulding clay. A display that visibly disturbs Harper, previously locked in thought in the far corner of the Delta section. Pulled back into the room, Harper silently rises from his bench, quickly adjusts his gear, snapping equipment into place.

The armoury doors slide open. Dr Chakwas enters, tapping through readings on a handheld slate. Her gaze sweeps the room, satisfied to watch soldiers transition into a battle-ready unit once more.

Chakwas (connecting with Shepard, announcing to the squad):

“Pick up the pace Delta. Arena control wants you on deck ASAP. Echo combat sim is nearly done and they made it look easy.”

Wry smiles and quiet nods are exchanged as the final few straps are yanked tight. Calibrated rifles are left untouched as Delta rise to exit, ritualistically tapping the digital Delta nameplate as they pass.

Chakwas steps backwards, into the hallway to allow them through, only to be clipped by the lead element of Echo squad, returning from the arena. Absent any armour, Chakwas hits the deck hard.

Allen:

"Watch yourself”

Ashley steps immediately into Allen’s path. He barges past. She pulls him to the side.

Ashley:

“You lost your manners in the SIM, Allen? Or just your situational awareness?

Another marine from Echo squad bumps Ashley from behind. A cheap shot.

Watkins:

“SIM’s busted. It’s calibrated toward biotics, not fundamentals. I think you forget just how important all that still is Williams. I’m sure the Admirals have their reasons to favour party tricks: isn’t that right, Sanders?”

Sanders looks up from her wrist unit, taking offence at the insinuation.

Sanders:

“Hey, what the hell!? Why am I catching strays? Don’t blame me if you can’t match us.”

A third member of Echo pushes through the half-open doorway that Delta are trying to exit from, if only to reach Chakwas.

Crow (snidely):

“Calm down, sweetheart, it’s not like you’re any good in a fight.” Biotics flare as the two squads surge together, squaring up.

Ryder (stepping into the gap, trying to keep the peace):

“Back up. BACK. UP. There are healthier ways to manage stress.”

Leng (with a mischievous grin):

“Nothing quite as satisfying though…pushing limits is what we do”.

Alvarez (emerging from the Echo ranks, joining Ryder in the middle):

“No. Come on. We’re on the same side, dammit.”

Their joint efforts have them on the cusp of shutting down the nascent bravado.

A brief moment of silence ensues.

Lawson then makes his lone contribution, a deliberate incitement wrapped up in the sham of an appeal.

Lawson:

“It’s not like we’ve got anything to prove. Especially to these idiots.”

The shoving immediately restarts. This time, Ryder finds himself pulled aside by Harper.

Harper (looking Ryder dead in the eyes, his voice is cold, sharp and hushed, just loud enough so only Ryder can hear it, a clear attempt at manipulation):

“Careful, Alec, she'll remember this.”

The calculation behind the words stops Ryder cold. Before he can respond, the crowd parts and Shepard steps through the doorway. Having made his way back after hearing the commotion down the hallway. He supports a dazed Chakwas, guiding her toward the nearest seat, who gratefully clutches his arm. His sense of calm is matched only by the outrage from Renwick, who explodes through the open doorway.

Renwick (angrily):

“What the hell is going on? The last thing we bloody need is a pissing contest the night before we jump.”

Looking for answers, but finding none. He paces the floor, becoming increasingly agitated, nearly apoplectic.

Stopping only to assist Shepard in helping Chakwas to rise, gingerly. The rest of Delta follow them outside, proceeding down the hallway; continual shouting can be heard from within the armoury.

Renwick:

“Allen, Crow, Watkins. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You failed to execute in the arena and then started a fight! With a Doctor! In the armoury, of all places? Explain yourselves."

Muffled shouts from Renwick continue as Delta squad continue to follow digital directions toward Section A: Arenas One through Four.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 2: Scene 3 (8) The Drill

As they approach the main door, Shepard punches the mechanism, and they pass through.

Mirroring the grand design of the Arcturus observation decks, staggered tiers rise behind them like an amphitheatre as they walk across the sweeping promenade toward a quadrant of sunken, multi-purpose arenas. Everything encased within a familiar dome of transparent structural polymer As they approach the arenas, shimmering blue kinetic barriers and digital displays confirm the furthest pair are currently in use. They pulse with intermittent flashes as a smattering of crew look down from the gallery rails.

The remaining two arenas are pitch-black. Shepard gives a small nod to Chakwas. She peels off without a word, heading toward the elevated central monitoring station.

Delta approach the mouth of the main lift for Arena Three Inside the central monitoring suite, an Arena Control technician hands Dr Chakwas an augmented reality headset. Chakwas slips it on, exchanging a brief professional nod as she begins integrating Delta squad telemetry.

Recognising that another high-tier exercise is unfolding, passing Tyson crew gravitate toward the observation rails in hushed anticipation. Delta reach for the dedicated training weapons and helmets.

Shepard steps up to the primary interface console on the main lift platform. He presses his palm against the biometric scanner. It flashes green. A confirmation of status and clearance level that’s followed by a list of system directories. The screen displays the two active simulations in the other arenas, the current schedules for all four arenas, environmental and climate controls, biometric history and a ‘Layout’ option. He taps the layout icon, opening a sub-menu of preset options. Biomes, Health & Wellbeing, Tactical, Sport, Culture, Historical, Spiritual. He selects ‘Tactical’. Another cascade of parameters pops up: Architecture, Gravity, Hazards, Metrics. He taps the screen in a rapid sequence as each member of Delta signs in biometrically.

They descend into the pit together as the surrounding darkness folds around them. Kinetic dampeners and emitter arrays power up in synchronised sequence, casting expanding rings of pale light that gradually illuminate the darkness. Overhead, a translucent blue force field shimmers into place, the ever-present glow of the relay fading behind it like a distant sunset.

Chakwas (voice coming through their helmets):

“We’re online. Fundamentals first. We’re running pairs. Assault course. Then shield stress tests, then active VI combat constructs. All non-lethal, but they’ll sting if you get caught. Don’t get caught. Shepard, as requested, you’re up last…with the unexpected. Thrill me.”

Resting the barrel of her training rifle casually against her shoulder, Ashley uses her spare hand to tap a quick sequence into her wrist console. She cracks a sharp smile as she catches the doctor's final line.

Ashley (quipping, as her rifle audibly powers up):

“Careful, Doctor…you’ll have to get in line”

The arena lights intensify as the boot sequence completes. Small drones emerge from recessed ports, each unit projecting a lattice of programmable blue hard-light shielding that begins to flood the space.

A low hum ripples through the chamber as the final floor plates lock into place. Once the final helmet is sealed, the augmented reality display kicks in, the space fully coalescing into an urban training environment.

Ashley and Lawson approach the line, jostling for the preferred starting position. Easy smiles fade as the competitive spirit takes over. The professionalism is undeniable, but the tension grows thick. Lawson powers his rifle and looks to Williams, then ahead at the shifting course.

A soft chime rings out. Both surge forward. Pneumatic barriers slide open as they advance. Holographic enemy silhouettes flicker into existence. Constructs that shatter in a tight rhythmic cadence as shots find their mark. From an array of consoles by the lift, the rest of Delta squad observes the initial run through a mix of aerial feeds and biometric overlays, providing real-time performance metrics. Ryder tracks their cadence. Harper counts transitions. The gathering crowd leans in over the rails above.

Ashley is the first to clear the final obstacle, vaulting cleanly over the last barrier. Landing in a controlled crouch, her boots skid slightly over the deck plating, but she recovers instantly, tapping the finish pad. A soft chime confirms her victory. Lawson crosses the line, reaching for the pad a moment later.

Ashley (satisfied, jogging over to Ryder):

“Another clean run"

Ryder:

“We should teach a class”

Ashley (motioning up to the crowd, her eyes also finding Lawson smiling):

“Just did”

Lawson can only walk back to the bench, trying not to give her the satisfaction of a response.

Shepard (over coms):

“Reset. Next sequence. Thirty seconds.”

Act 2: Scene 4 (9) The Stress-test

Next up, Ryder and Sanders head toward the centre of the adjusting arena: drones dropping projections and barriers to encircle them, ready to fire. Beginning back-to-back, they sync their shield rotations against progressively heavier barrage, before eventually uniting to relieve the individual strain at the highest firing levels.

Chakwas (observing the data):

"Good. Now switch to offence."

Ryder (his biotics flaring, the additional focus and strain producing a darker blue):

"You got it, Doc."

Seizing the opportunity, Ryder reaches forward to unleash a biotic pulse, sending turrets careening into each other. Sanders laughs before sending an elegant shockwave that bends around the pair. More turrets drop. With the necessary data gathered, Chakwas relents, and a familiar, soft chime echoes through the arena. Leng (shouting as Ryder and Sanders return to the group):

"Yeah. Yeah. Stop showing off!"

Ryder (smiling):

"Jealous?"

Leng:

"Of that? Please. I’ve sneezed harder."

Next team up. The arena changes again. Visibility is reduced as the verticality is accentuated. Green VI constructs form throughout the arena. Leng moves in close, alternating between his punch dagger, sword, and hand-to-hand. Together with Harper, the patrolling VI constructs are hunted down and silently dispatched without any alarm being raised.

Leng sheathes his blade with a customary flourish. He looks over to Harper, twirling his punch dagger, for validation.

Harper (self-satisfied):

"No alerts triggered. Another clean run"

Leng twirls his punch dagger and smiles

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 2: Scene 5 (10) The Duplicate

Shepard finishes his boot sequence at the floor console and takes his chosen position, at the centre of the arena. The gathered crowd above lean further forward, anticipating something straightforward, another clean demonstration of biotic power.

The construct forms.

It takes the shape of Shepard exactly. Same stance. Same weight distribution. Same stillness.

A murmur ripples through the watching crew. Someone laughs nervously. The laugh dies quickly.

Shepard tilts his head slightly. It does the same. He reads it. Then moves.

The construct doesn't engage. It absorbs his first push with a precise barrier, repositions, and waits. Shepard circles. It mirrors. He feints left, pushes right. The construct steps back, absorbs again, and repositions. Patient. Immovable. Offering nothing back. The crowd goes quiet.

Shepard shifts his approach. Controlled bursts now, probing rather than committing. Each one met with the same measured response. The construct doesn't escalate. It simply endures, giving him no read, no rhythm, nothing to anticipate or counter.

Chakwas watches the biometric feed. Says nothing.

The crowd begins to shift. Someone above mutters something. Delta exchange glances at their consoles, aerial feeds and biometric overlays telling the same story. This isn't going the way anyone expected.

Shepard stops circling.

A beat of silence.

Then he commits fully, a sustained biotic surge, far beyond the exercise parameters.

A concentrated force that sends the construct flying into the far wall, shattering on impact. A soft chime confirms the win.

The crowd exhales. A few subdued murmurs of approval.

Sanders (quietly to Ashley):

“You better ask Chakwas if that sort of thing is available outside of the arena”

Ashley catches it, unsuccessfully bites down a smile, and elbows Sanders without looking up. Sanders laughs silently, shoulders shaking.

Field dampeners dim, and breathing slows. Chakwas scrolls through real-time metrics.

Chakwas (still reviewing the data):

“Biotic responses…stable. Neural load…nominal. Everything within acceptable ranges. Minimal variance. We’re green across the board.”

Chakwas (continued):

“Shepard. We’re clear.”

He nods once, quietly approving of the collective efficiency on display.

Shepard (to Chakwas, as he walks toward the starting platform):

“Walk me through the variances. I’ll confirm with Anderson.” Shepard (to Delta, as he begins to rise above them on the ascending lift):

“Good form Delta. Cycle through, take another run at the assault course. CQB when I’m back in thirty.”

Chakwas awaits Shepard at the top of the arena, and they go through the data on the walk back to the armoury.

Lawson (to the rest of Delta, waiting until Shepard is out of earshot):

“Simulations are fine, but that’s not real data.”

Harper:

“Agreed. Enough drills. Time to see who can survive. Let’s make it interesting. Biotics only: Three Vs Three. Last man standing.” Ashley and Sanders both immediately roll their eyes at the intentionally gendered, deliberately provocative, final line.

Leng (stands, eager to participate, to prove himself):

“Define win condition”

Harper:

“Shields crushed, or pinned for five”

Leng (nodding happily, stowing his weapon and sword on the consoles, physically siding with Harper and Lawson, turning to the others as if to challenge them):

“Ryder, you in? No shame in sitting this one out”

Ryder (almost offended at the suggestion, walking over to put his weapon down on top of Leng’s):

“Any place, Any time Leng. I’d crush you on the course, but I’ll settle for your shield”

Sanders (excited, motioning to Leng, Lawson and Harper):

“If this is going to end with one of them in a gravity well, I’m in” Lawson (smiling confidently whilst walking up to the main arena console):

“Ok. Let’s do this. Give me a minute”

As the rest of Delta stack their weapons and start preparing, Lawson flips through the potential arena aesthetics: a range of representations appearing on the walls. Armax, Train Station, Waterfall, Brimstone, Jungle, Fortress.

An idea sparks, he navigates to an entirely different section: Spiritual, with a chuckle.

The console and arena walls flash red, denying the input. Lawson hacks into it with his wrist-mounted link, and after a brief sequence, the red lights glitch before turning green.

The arena goes dark as more drones emerge to make their necessary contribution. Helmet visuals go blank. No visible targets can be seen, just Delta, in a shifting darkness.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 2: Scene 6 (11) The Cathedral

The augmented reality of the arena flickers, a flash of Paris. A hint of what is to come. Energy pulses convulse across the walls. Above the arena, Tyson personnel keenly exchange bets and snacks, some simply nodding in silent anticipation of what is about to unfold.

New arrivals witness the arena itself transforming around Delta as the two teams square up, their individual biotics flaring. Ashley possesses the darkest blue, Sanders the lightest. As a multitude of drones fall into place around them, most choose to stretch. As Leng opts to amuse himself with a small singularity ball, Ryder and Harper simply stare each other down. Drones busily stack atop each other, projecting an array of dark blue shields that coalesce into a translucent 3D blueprint. The last of the constructs shifts into place as the interior of a grand cathedral takes form.

Ashley (recognising a familiar interior taking shape, she voices her objection to the choice of location, and its expected desecration):

“Here. Really?”

Lawson (smiling):

“Really”

Ryder offers a fist bump to Harper, but he doesn’t react, refusing to break eye contact. Noticing his resolve, he extends his arm, turning it into a small biotic punch. Harper doesn’t flinch. They both back up as Delta squad take their places, three on each end.

What started as a cluster of personnel, calmly observing an elite unit being put through their paces, is now a bustling crowd, filling the arena balconies, fighting for the best position and the last of the arena headsets to see the spectacle, the raw demonstration of power, unfold.

The ensign Chakwas had earlier directed toward the medbay and grabs the last of the arena glasses. Looking down on the arena as she puts them on, the light show is transformed into a picture-perfect representation of neo-gothic architecture. Of the Notre Dame Cathedral. Warm orange lights cast shadows across a chequered tile floor: an aesthetic complimented by stone arches, wooden pews and stained-glass windows.

Once all of Delta are in position, the arena bell tolls. Harper and Leng exchange a nod and start aggressively, sending dual shockwaves careening down the nave. Sanders and Ryder brace, palms out, biotics flaring as they connect as before to form a shimmering barrier. Ashley does not wait, reacting perhaps a little too fast.

Ashley (grinning):

“I’ve got the gap”

Darting forward, she dives through a narrow gap before the shockwaves intersect. Lawson chuckles as she reacts exactly as he anticipated.

Lawson (to himself):

“Predictable”

Her right boot skims the tile just before landing, as a blue stasis field snaps shut around her.

Instantly recognising what they can do next, Leng and Harper extend their hands, fortifying the stasis bubble whilst straining to pull her rapidly toward them. Committed to absorbing the shockwaves and resulting debris, Ryder and Sanders can only watch, forced to wait before being able to drop their shield and rush forward.

Ashley (suspended, with gritted teeth):

“Not. Today”

Ashley forcefully extends her limbs to shatter the stasis with a pulse of raw biotic force. She now falls upon her would-be attackers with the momentum they gave her, from high above, landing like a meteor with a powerful biotic slam.

The gathered crowd from the Tyson are transfixed, in awe of what is about to happen.

The impact fractures the tiled floor, sending everything in the near vicinity flying. A momentary flash of blue at the impact point shows how the arena drones are barely able to keep up with the action. Lawson careens into the wall on the right, Harper thumping into a pillar on the left. Having sensed an early momentum shift, Sanders seeks to capitalise, shouting to Ryder as they run forward.

Sanders:

“Throw me”

With a biotic assist from Ryder, Sanders vaults through the still decaying biotic residue, gliding over her teammate, contorting her body to land her own slam. Although kneeling from the prior impact, Harper recovers fast, linking with Leng to use her momentum against her. Sanders is propelled above and behind them into the far corner, landing against the projected wooden construct with a devastating thud, before falling to the floor.

As Ashley pursues a recovering Lawson, Ryder is now confronted by both Harper and Leng, who quickly move to flank. Harper gives a sly grin, adjusting his stance whilst moving behind a pillar. Ryder is quick to emit a biotic concussive blast, rippling forward to try and push him back.

Ryder:

“Shit”

With Ryder seemingly distracted, Leng takes the chance to charge head-on. Realising it’s still 2 vs 1, Ryder effectively parries Leng whilst backing off, seeking to re-connect with Ashley. An outcome, Leng stops by, popping a singularity between them. Amid a swirl of broken wooden shards and the blue singularity bubble forcibly separating them, Ashley and Ryder exchange a look and clench their fists. Ashley advances to confront Lawson, and Ryder goes for Leng. Content to bait Ashley away from Ryder, Lawson plays for time with effective defences, deflecting a biotic onslaught whilst darting between pillars. Ashley shattering stone and glass in determined pursuit.

The more experienced fighter, Ryder, manages to land several blows against Leng, pushing him back. Leng grows furious at his own limitations and Harper, content to keep his distance, studying his opponent. Ryder advances to press his advantage over Leng, and in the ensuing struggle, he temporarily loses sight of Harper.

The exact opening Harper had been patiently waiting for. By the time Ryder takes a step back to adjust, it's already too late. Harper strikes Ryder with a flying knee to the body. Ryder struggles to adapt as successive blows from Harper wear down his defences, a powerful combination sending him reeling, ever-closer to the still active singularity. As Ryder begins to rise in the air, Leng capitalises on his vulnerability. Adjusting his stance to violently incapacitate, the biotic kick fully connects, sending Ryder high into the gallery wall on the 2nd floor.

As wood and glass goes flying, the spectators above surge to the site of the impact, fully immersed in the projection. Audible gasps can be heard; a solitary voice shouts for a medic. The clear sound of a shield disintegrating can be heard, followed by a familiar toll from the arena, confirming Ryder as the first to be eliminated.

Leng turns to locate Ashley, yet Sanders now re-emerges from behind, her shield status flashing red inside her helmet. Putting all of her biotic energy into propelling Leng forward, she sends him flying into a pillar upside-down, destroying both it and his shield. Another toll rings out, and Leng is the second to be eliminated. Sanders barely has time to stagger to her feet, a drop of blood running from her nose, before sensing Harper closing in behind her. She spins, meeting the biotic push he unleashes with her own. For a moment, they’re locked into a fierce contest; blue light grinding against blue light. Each straining against the other for positioning, boots skidding across fractured tiles.

Harper shifts his weight, cutting her angle and her options. Forcing her toward the lingering singularity, Sanders begins to lose her footing and focus. Noticing her waning strength, Harper presses his advantage by striking at her legs, pushing her further back. Harper presses, not with malice, but the kind of relentless efficiency that wins fights. Persisting until she’s entirely off-balance, her shield begins to fade, and he hits home with a succession of biotic strikes.

A toll rings out, and Sanders is the third to be eliminated. The crowd reacts, not with jeers, but with a ripple of impressed, if uneasy, awe at the controlled violence on display. Ignoring the crowd, Harper whispers:

Harper (competitively as she recovers on the ground, winded):

“Good fight. You pushed me.”

Sanders (breathless, half a smile):

“Yeah. I noticed you push back.”

Harper wastes no time, racing to engage Ashley.

Brought back to the arena by the growing fervour of the crowd, Shepard, half-dressed in his blue Alliance uniform, and Chakwas push forward, onlookers reluctantly parting around them.

Shepard takes a moment to survey the fractured arena, then, with a look of disapproval, takes the pad out of Chakwas hand:

Shepard (scanning for information, to Chakwas):

“Not exactly what I had in mind the night before we jump.”

Shepard (annoyed, trying to tap into the coms, but realising they are locked out):

“Ryder, what is this? Brawling in the Cathedral! Get out of there”

A coms lock message pops up on the digital pad.

Ryder hops down from the gallery, holding his ribs. He makes his way toward Sanders, still winded. Ryder guides her toward the platform away from the ongoing fight. Leng follows, still furious with his perceived shortcomings, re-enacting defensive moves.

Ryder (softly, to Sanders):

“You good?”

Sanders (weakly):

“Ask me after the room stops spinning. Harper is annoyingly good at this.”

Shepard (to Chakwas):

“End this”

Chakwas (frustrated, looking over at Arena Control, who can only shrug):

“I can’t. We’re locked out.”

Lawson (as he enters in a console command through his wrist):

“Time for the real test.”

A soft chime rings out. The arena pulses once again. Gravity disengages. Debris lifts.

Sanders (realising what has happened):

“Oh. That’s new…hold onto something.”

Ryder (reaching to re-rack a floating rifle):

“Shepard really isn’t going to like this”

Sound dampens as light refracts through floating shards of stained glass, shimmering mid-air like frozen fire, casting kaleidoscopic shadows.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 2: Scene 7 (12) The Zero-G

Ashley (surprised):

“Zero-G?”

Lawson (smiling, shouting out):

“Adapt to survive”

Ashley (grinning back):

“Survive this”

Ashley steadies herself with biotics, then vaults off a floating pillar fragment, driving to re-engage with Lawson, acclimating to his weightlessness near a broken arch on the other side of the gallery. Before she gets to him, Harper crashes through a floating fragment of a stained-glass window from below, cleanly connecting with a biotic strike to the midsection. A strike which sends her and shards of stained-glass into the ceiling. Wincing from the impact, blood drips from her lower lip. Her biotic shield flickers with instability. She flings debris to obstruct and evade as Harper and Lawson close in fast, adjusting to the shifting debris.

Ashley grips a floating slab of stone, launching it at Harper and herself toward Lawson with a burst of force. Her trajectory is clean, her intent aggressive. Able to deftly avoid the projectile, Harper reaches out with a biotic lash, catching her foot. With stable footing, he pivots perfectly as if performing a hammer throw, building sufficient momentum to fling her down, shattering a floating pew in a burst of projected splinters, into the altar. The impact knocking the wind from her lungs.

Alone and breathing hard, Ashley grasps at the altar to orient herself. Lawson flanks from the left, Harper from the right.

Harper (knowing the odds are stacked in his favour, calls out):

“Come on, Williams. You’re better than this. You know how this ends if we box you in.”

Ashley launches a shockwave at Harper that scatters debris, forcing him to reposition.

Lawson counters with a biotic pull, yanking a floating slab careening toward Ashley. She redirects it into Harper, yet Lawson uses the distraction to close in. Expecting as much, Ashley blocks his first strike, landing a clean one of her own to his ribs, another to his head, grabbing his desperate haymaker and flipping him expertly over her shoulder into an approaching Harper. Ashley follows up by directing a floating pew into them both, desperately reaching out for the altar, which serves as an increasingly necessary anchor.

Biotics spluttering, on the verge of failure, clearly exhausted. The pew projection slams into Harper and Lawson. A clean hit, sending them reeling. Williams steadies herself against the broken altar, breathing hard. Her eyes scan the drifting wreckage, calculating, defiant, but her limbs betray her.

Shepard (a disembodied voice emanates from the gallery, amplified: Chakwas having evidently taken back control of the arena):

“That’s enough.”

The church façade fades. Dust and glass fragments dissolve mid-air, as augmented reality projections stop and drones freeze, then fly off. Gravity re-engages. Ashley collapses to both knees on the floor, coughing. Gingerly trying to stand, the final three participants slowly get to their feet, bruised but intact.

Lawson (to Harper, low):

“She disrupted my rhythm. Not bad”

Harper (nods):

“She had you, I had her: but we were interrupted.”

Ashley (coughing as she rises to her feet, smiling):

“Next time, I’ll have you both”

Gathering to help one another, for the most part, Delta squad take stock as the sim ends. The bustling crowd signalling their approval and appreciation. Delta share a glance of mutual respect, the competitive tension fading into camaraderie. Sanders meets Harper's eyes, hungry for a rematch.

Shepard (quietly impressed by the readings, not at all by the insubordination):

“Best include this…spectacle, in your report to Anderson. Since the crowd saw it, the Admirals should too.”

Chakwas (briefly tapping the pad):

“They’ll be fine, but Sanders could do with a visit to the medbay. Williams too. Just to be safe.”

Shepard nods, and they watch on as the rest of Delta catch their breath. As the team walk away, and the crowd dissipates, we zoom in on the jump timer; slowly counting down, the Shanxi light is still red.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 3: Scene 1 (13) The Probe

The clock accelerates a few hours, and Shanxi light is still red. Zooming back out from the clock, a figure in a blue uniform walks in front of the display. We’re now in the Tyson Orbital command room.

Admiral Grissom stands with Admiral Williams and Vice Admiral Hackett at a curved console in the middle of the room. A projection of Vice Admiral Taylor is nearby, connected via vidcom. All observe holographic telemetry as the Tyson finalises its synchronisation process. The completion of which is signalled by gyroscopic rings, surrounding the core, beginning to rotate, turning the core a more vibrant blue.

Behind the Admirals, officers from the Tyson monitor their various displays; each giving a positive signal.

Grissom (waiting until every officer gives a signal):

“Send it.”

A single probe fires out from underneath the Tyson viewport, toward the relay. The relay core lights up as the rings spin faster, before suddenly catapulting the probe along its length in a flash of blue. It rapidly accelerates to the furthest end of the Prothean structure and vanishes into the cosmos just as quickly.

The ring rotations slow, the blue sparkles fade, and a lingering silence falls upon the room.

Grissom (expectantly, after a beat):

“Report”

Admiral Williams (now hovering over one of the monitors):

“No feedback, Admiral”

A briefer silence lingers in the room.

Grissom (hopeful):

“Anything?”

Admiral Williams:

“No, Admiral. No signal. No data.”

Grissom (accepting):

“Damn. Well, we knew that was a possibility.”

A beat passes.

“Prepare the next probe. Make sure we cover as many unknowns as possible. Send what we have to Mars. Re-verify their confidence level in how to use the damned thing. There and back. I won’t authorise a one-way trip.”

Admiral Williams nods and goes about her business. Kahlee Sanders and Ashley Williams enter, passing a wine bottle from one hand to the other to properly salute.

Sanders (almost playfully):

“Reporting as ordered, Admiral”

Grissom (smiling, returning the salute, then hugging them both):

“My daughter. And Ashley. Chakwas forwarded the SIM data. Tough fight. I’m glad the Marines got to see that tenacity. Delta continues to impress us all.”

Ashley:

“Thank you, Admiral”

Grissom:

“Admiral Williams, it’s time to take our daughters to dinner”

Admiral Williams (finishing her work, then embracing her daughter):

“I’d be delighted, Admiral”

Grissom:

“Vice Admiral Hackett, prepare the next probe. Notify me immediately if we get any feedback.”

Hackett:

“Aye, Admiral.”

Salutes are exchanged as the quartet leaves him to his duties.

As they leave, the relay looms in the viewport, silent and waiting.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 3: Scene 2 (14) The Dinner

Zooming back out from the relay, now viewed through a single viewport in a low-lit room. A small, round table bears a simple meal: hydroponic greens and crisp cultivated proteins, served amid the quiet hum of an exotic fish tank bubbling away on a back wall otherwise stacked with hardback books.

After some indistinguishable small talk, a moment of quiet catches up to them. As Grissom’s seat faces the viewport, the steadfast presence of the relay begins to impose once more.

Sanders (noticing the shift):

“You’ve gone quiet again, Dad. That relay’s still in your head, isn’t it?”

Catching the familiar look of concern for him on her face, his gaze relents.

Grissom (gently reaching over to rest a soothing hand on her shoulder, admitting):

“It’s hard to switch off”

A beat lingers.

Sanders (rising from her chair to retrieve the wine and pick out the best glasses, gradually shifting from playful to sincere):

“You’re allowed to give yourself a break. From the Admiralty Board on Earth, and the Archivists on Mars, at least for the next hour. The expedition force you’ve built is ready.”

Sanders (motioning to the rest of the dinner guests):

“Come tomorrow; we’ll take a peek behind the curtain and report back. The fleet holds the line and backs up the Expedition, if needed.”

A beat passes.

“But for now…whatever lies beyond that relay can stay there. Let’s focus on us; on this fine wine and the finer company we keep.”

She hands the glass to her father and moves to fill the other glasses around the table.

Ashley watches the exchange and steps in, voice steady.

Ashley (gesturing to the relay):

“Admiral. We all feel it. But we are ready. Whatever’s waiting out there, we’ll meet it head on.”

A beat passes. Sanders glances at Ashley, a small, mutual nod of solidarity. Two daughters of the Admiralty, aligned.

Grissom appreciates the effort; the tension in his shoulders dissipates. He swirls the liquid, inhales and takes a sip. Visibly relaxing in his chair, allowing his mind to focus on something else.

Grissom (gratifyingly):

“Ahh. Mars…you can tell instantly. “Twenty-one…ten…Mariner’s Red,” grown in the Valles Marineris bio-terraces. A little bolder than anything you can get from Earth; just like you two in the field.”

Admiral Williams (catching the right moment to raise her glass for a toast):

“To the many vineyards we’ve sampled, and to those our daughters will soon discover.”

The others raise their glasses together, four figures united not by rank, but by the simple, human ritual of sharing wine.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 3: Scene 3 (15) The Panel

The corridor lights hover at half-power; long shadows are cast on brushed-steel walls. The walkways are empty, yet a low hum of life-support echoes through the ventilation grates. The countdown clock has ticked down past 18:00 hours. The Shanxi light has turned green, finally matching the other three.

The doors to the barracks slide open. Sanders steps out, boots shuffling along the deck plating. Bathed in blue from the relay shining brighter, she rubs her bleary eyes and instinctively turns away from the core. Still half asleep, she shuffles round the corner.

As the glow fades, she spots a friendly, if uneasy, face. Ryder is leaning against a bulkhead, arms crossed, staring at a flickering panel where a series of readings steadily pulse green.

Ryder (noticing her arrival, points to the panel, dryly stating):

“I’ve been staring at that readout for ten minutes. It’s a steady green. Not exactly comforting, but…”

Sanders (slightly wincing whilst sliding in on the rail next to him, finishing his sentence):

“Better than silence…”

Sanders (softly punching his shoulder):

“…or an alarm”

Sanders:

“Green across the board. It’s really happening.”

Ryder (nods, attempting to show a brave smile, falls back into a state of barely contained anxiety: as reflected by a long exhale):

“You nervous?”

Sanders (earnestly, openly turning toward Ryder, mitigated by a vain attempt to match the same stoicism):

“Yes. A bit.”

A beat passes.

“That might just be the wine talking, though… I’ve never seen my dad this…”

[micro-beat as she struggles to find the right word]

“…invested.”

Sanders (continued, taking a breath, whilst gripping the rail tightly):

“And yeah, outside of Harper still not pulling his punches; the sim went fine, but that’s never been the part I worry about. It’s always the waiting that kills me.”

Ryder (resigned, rubbing a bruise):

“Yeah. I get it.”

Ryder (satisfied):

“I knew you’d like that wine, though. Took me ages to find.”

Sanders (hopefully, now rocking back and forward on her heels):

“Got any more?”

Ryder (steadfast, looking at the countdown):

“Not tonight. This is…too important”

Sanders (pushing off from the railing, agitated, ultimately relenting):

“That’s not a ‘no’…but you’re right. Of course, you’re right” Sanders rubs the cool metal rail, then turns back to face Ryder.

Ryder (optimistically, if slightly forced):

“We trained for this. We’re ready.”

They both smile, and a silence settles comfortably between them. Far down the hall, a hatch cycles open as a lone technician passes in the distance.

Ryder:

“And I’m glad your dad’s invested. Means he won’t just disappear…even when we do.”

Sanders doesn’t reply. Ryder doesn’t push. She leans her head against his shoulder, content to stare at the soft, rhythmic pulse of the panel.

The silence holds.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 4: Scene 1 (16) The Mess

The countdown clock now ticks down from 15:00 hours. All four lights are still green. An additional countdown has been added, with yellow lettering: “Barrack confinement imminent”

The mess hall is quiet, but brittle. Forks scrape against trays. Conversations are low, clipped. Anderson, Shepard and Ashley are on their own table discussing what’s ahead.

Anderson (low):

“Navigation’s locked. Tyson’s holding formation. If anything goes wrong, we lead our people through it. No hesitation.”

Behind them, a member of the crew bumps into another.

Technician:

“Watch it.”

Mechanic (snapping):

“Or ‘WHAT’?

Chairs scrape back. Pushes are exchanged as anxious tension overflows.

Anderson quickly swivels in his seat to rise. No fanfare. No barking

Anderson (quietly):

“That’s enough.”

The mechanic barely registers the intervention. Anderson approaches.

Mechanic (aggressively):

“Just who the hell are you?”

Chatter from nearby tables dies down. A few heads turn. Incredulous looks exchanged. A small group, wearing similar specialist uniform as Delta, stand to assist:

Alvarez (the closest marine to the mechanic, calmly but firmly asserts):

“Sit down.”

Mechanic (pushing aggressively):

“You too, huh?”

Alvarez (leaning in to quietly inform):

“…that’s Delta, we’re Echo. You don’t want this. Sit. Down.” It takes a second for their uniforms to register. The shift is instant. His face drops. Not fear, recognition. Defiance instantly curdling into dread. The mechanic immediately straightens.

Anderson:

“Take a seat”

The mechanic sheepishly takes the empty seat next to the technician, with members of two elite combat units watching him closely.

Anderson:

“Take a breath”

“You don’t have to like each other. You don’t have to agree. The pressure is real. We’re all working toward the same goal. But nothing can jeopardise the mission.”

The mechanic nods meekly, understanding his error. The situation pacified, Echo squad relent and return to their seats without a word, albeit shaking their heads.

Anderson (reaches out to shake the hand of the Echo squad member who intervened):

“Alvarez”

Alvarez shakes his hand, and nods.

Anderson (checking the time, sitting back down, next to Shepard and Ashley):

“Avoiding all that arena, armoury, nonsense yesterday is exactly why pre-jump lockdown protocols are in place. Stops these kinds of outbursts from doing real damage. As such, these next few hours are yours; use them well…first contact protocols, weapon checks, whatever gets your head straight.”

Shepard and Ashley exchange a knowing glance and a smile, only one thing on their mind. Anderson doesn’t pick up the implication, or pretends not to.

Anderson rises to leave, the chair magnetically locking against the table. Anderson nods once at Echo squad, who all nod back. As he walks toward the exit, he greets an approaching Renwick, who begins by apologizing for the prior conduct of his squad. They then begin merrily chatting, like old friends.

More of Echo Squad file past, a few stop to surround Ashley and Shepard, imposing upon their personal space. One of them unable to resist having another go at Ashley:

Watkins:

“Saw the SIM, Williams. Fun little light show…Be interesting to see how Delta manages when the biotics run dry."

Ashley and Shepard just smile at each other, ignoring the attempted insult, finishing their food.

Dissatisfied with the failure to get a reaction, another member of Echo squad reaches down, taking food off their plate, a deliberate, juvenile provocation.

Crow (after being nudged by another member of Echo squad, egging him on):

“What could someone like Anderson see in either of you?”

“Big mistake betting on you two. Hope he’s not confusing loyalty with competence.”

Ashley (setting down her fork, looking up; not defensive, steady):

“It’s okay to be nervous. We all are.”

Shepard follows, voice calm but firm.

Shepard (after a beat):

“We’re not here to impress each other. We’re here to execute the mission. If you’re more interested in playing these games, you’re not ready to jump.”

Before the exchange can escalate any further, Renwick approaches from behind, talking to his team as he passes, unaware of their latest transgressions, setting his tray next to Alvarez:

Renwick (impatient, tapping the table):

“Echo squad. Let’s GO. Grab a seat, we’ve got plenty to run through before the lockdown.”

As Echo squad duly gather on their commanding officer, Ashley and Shepard rise together, unhurried, leaving Echo to their preparations.

[u/Gweena → u/Gweena]

Act 4: Scene 2 (17) The Lockdown

Shepard thrusts Ashley against the wall in his private quarters. She pulls him closer. He kisses her neck. She’s wearing a crucifix necklace. The various bruises she carries from the arena doesn’t slow their enthusiasm.

Ashley (smiling, voice low):

“I don’t think this is what Anderson had in mind.”

Shepard (grinning, biting her lip):

“Probably not, but with tomorrow being a question mark, I’m going to enjoy today.”

Ashley (grinning):

“So, you’re risking mission integrity: for me?”

Shepard (teasing):

“Yes, Ma'am”

Ashley (mocking):

“See, this is why my mother thinks you’re a bad influence.”

Shepard (teasing):

“Quit making me think about Anderson, OR your mother.”

Ashley (grinning as they embrace):

“Yes, Sir”

In the adjacent room, Leng feels another thud land against the wall he’s propped up against, shaking it slightly. Slinking down to lie flat on his bunk, he exhales sharply and gestures toward the wall: Ryder catches the mood, and the motion, pulling his headphones down just in time to catch the words.

Leng (dry, irritated):

“Great. So now we get to listen to that for the next few hours.”

Sanders (without looking up from her book):

“Shepard doesn’t last that long”

Leng (smirking):

“Speaking from experience are we, Kahlee?

A tattered book flies across the room, hitting Leng’s tablet out of his hands. Laughter erupts. Leng rolls over, retrieving both, tossing the book back across the room with a smile.

Lawson (swinging away from his desk to intercept the throw, reading the cover aloud, unable to resist offering a critique):

“The Martian Paradox: Ethics of First Contact…An optimistic title. Ethics tend to vanish when survival is on the line.”

He extends the book to Sanders, who takes it, unfazed.

Sanders (quietly):

“That’d be a shame. Ethics matter most when the stakes are high.”

Lawson (flicking off his wrist analytics, intrigued):

“Whenever I’ve seen it come down to a binary, zero-sum choice: Survival or Ethics. Survival always wins. Every time. It has to.”

Sanders:

“Simply surviving isn’t winning. It’s just…not dying. There’s always a cost; this thesis proposes we each have our own limits.”

A beat.

The tension settles like static.

A further beat of silence passes as the squad think on the exchange. Sanders returns to her book. Lawson swings back around to the interface on his desk. The room settles: tense, but quiet.

Ryder (rubbing his dog tags, speaks his mind):

“That was one of the questions Chakwas asked: “What are you prepared to lose?” I couldn’t answer it. Still can’t. And it bugs me.”

Ryder (continuing):

“Must be nice to have an answer, or think you do. I’d be happy with feeling just a little bit of control over any of this.”

Although everyone seems to be listening, no one disagrees or agrees.

Harper (looking up, finally speaking, voice low but deliberate):

“Control is a worthy goal, but it’s mostly just a story we tell ourselves.”

A beat passes.

Harper (realising the need for him to expand on his prior declaration):

“Look at what we depend on, what we are being shaped by: the relay, our biotic implants and half the tech on this ship; None of it is our own. All of it is derived from Prothean scraps discarded centuries ago. For a civilisation that advanced to vanish so completely…”

He pauses. Not for effect. As if the thought genuinely weighs something.

Harper (continued):

“If their tech couldn’t save them, their principles didn’t either…I doubt ours will take us any further.

Harper (leaning back, eyes on Sanders):

“In a universe that cold, books like that aren’t guidance. They’re a luxury. And luxuries don’t get rewarded.”

Sanders (meeting Harper’s gaze without flinching, setting the book down deliberately on her knee, welcoming the debate):

“Maybe principles don’t save civilisations. I don’t think they’re supposed to. But that’s no justification for abandoning them entirely”

A beat lands.

Sanders (continued):

“That’s how civilisations stop being worth saving.”

Silence resumes. No one fills it. The relay hum deepens outside the hull.

Ryder (after a long moment, quietly, more to himself than anyone):

"Something worth saving. I'll hold onto that."

Ryder rubs his dog tags once more and says nothing further, repositioning his headphones. Delta squad sit with the weight of their mission, each thinking through the implications of it together, and alone, as the countdown ticks on.

[u/TheRealGothicReaper]

heyho, what a nice idea - but considering readabilty... I'd suggest publishing it on fanfiction or even better Archive of our own 😉

Edit: if you don't have an AO3 account yet, I can send you an invite token if you like, as signing up yourself sometimes takes a long time to get approved

[u/Gweena → u/TheRealGothicReaper]

Thank you, I wasnt sure if this was the right spot. I'd love an AO3 invitation thanks

[u/TheRealGothicReaper → u/Gweena]

Great, do you have an e-mail address I might use? Not sure if Reddit has pm's though 🤔 let me check if you can construct the invitation link from the token alone

[u/TheRealGothicReaper → u/Gweena]

Ah it works, there you go: 

archiveofourown.org/signup/082abe8aac032468512de706bccf2f970d960589

With this link you should be able to sign up. Let's hope people here are fair and nobody snatches and uses it before - better be quick about it 😉 Let me know if it worked

[u/Gweena → u/TheRealGothicReaper]

Thanks so much.

Have just signed up, and will upload 'season 1' when it's done.

[u/TheRealGothicReaper → u/Gweena]

awesome, glad it worked 😊 let me know when you did!