The heat of Tuchanka pressed down like a living thing.
Dust rolled across the courtyard of Urdnot Clan Base in slow, restless waves. The sky burned orange through a haze of ash, and somewhere in the distance a thresher maw roared — a low, guttural reminder that this world did not forgive weakness.
Max Lee stood at the edge of the training grounds, fists clenched at his sides.
Seventeen years old. Human. Born under a krogan sky.
Behind him, heavy footsteps crunched against stone.
“You’re thinking too loud,” rumbled Urdnot Wrex.
Lee didn’t turn around. “Didn’t know that was possible.”
“For you?” Wrex snorted. “Very.”
The krogan legend moved beside him, towering, scarred plates catching the dull sunlight. Wrex folded his arms and looked out over the wasteland.
“Earth wants you,” Wrex said plainly. “N7 program.”
Lee swallowed. “I know.”
The words felt heavier than the gravity of Tuchanka itself.
N7.
Human special forces. The best of the best.
“I’m not ready,” Lee said quietly.
Wrex’s deep voice rolled like distant thunder. “Wrong.”
Lee turned now, frustration flickering across his face. “You don’t know that.”
Wrex’s eyes narrowed — not in anger, but in something older. Something measuring.
“I served with an N7 once,” Wrex said. “Two hundred years ago.”
Lee knew the name before Wrex said it.
“Commander Shepard.”
The wind shifted, lifting dust between them.
“You walk like Shepard did,” Wrex continued. “Head up. Watching everything. You don’t just see threats — you see people.”
Lee looked down.
“Shepard didn’t rush into fights to prove something,” Wrex said. “Fought because it mattered. Because someone needed protecting. You’re the same.”
“That’s different,” Lee muttered. “Shepard saved the galaxy.”
“And you think Shepard knew that at seventeen?” Wrex barked a harsh laugh. “Shepard was just a stubborn human with more heart than sense.”
Wrex stepped closer.
“You hesitate before you strike,” he said. “Not out of fear. Out of thought. You ask what the cost is. That’s what made Shepard dangerous.”
Lee’s voice dropped. “I’m not Shepard.”
“No,” Wrex agreed. “You’re not.”
Silence stretched between them.
“You’re Max Lee. Born on this rock.” Wrex’s tone softened — as much as a krogan’s could. “I was there when you were born.”
Lee’s breath caught.
“Your parents,” Wrex continued, “they were like family to me. Helped rebuild Clan Urdnot when we were clawing our way back from nothing. Your father could out-drink half my warriors. Your mother could out-think the rest.”
A faint, rare smile crossed the krogan’s scarred face.
“They helped make this clan strong.”
The smile faded.
“When the thresher maw hit…” Wrex’s voice lowered. “They didn’t run. They saved many of my clan before it took them.”
Lee closed his eyes. He had heard the story before. But not like this.
“I took you in,” Wrex said. “Not because I owed them. Because I wanted to.”
The wind howled across the cliffs.
“You grew up with my children,” Wrex continued. “You bled in our training pits. You learned our ways. You mirror their strength. Their stubbornness too.”
Lee huffed softly.
“You survived Tuchanka,” Wrex said. “Do you know what that means?”
Lee didn’t answer.
“If you can make it here,” Wrex growled, gesturing to the broken horizon, “you can make it anywhere. The rest of the galaxy is a cakewalk.”
The words hung heavy.
Lee’s chest tightened. “I’ve never left.”
“That’s the point.”
The admission finally slipped out. “I’m afraid.”
Wrex studied him for a long moment.
“Good.”
Lee blinked.
“Only fools aren’t afraid,” Wrex said. “Shepard was afraid too. Every time. But Shepard moved anyway.”
The courtyard felt suddenly smaller. The world beyond Tuchanka suddenly larger.
“You think I’m ready?” Lee asked quietly.
Wrex’s gaze burned steady.
“I think,” the krogan said, “that you’re wasting time pretending you’re not.”
Another long silence.
The distant roar of a maw echoed across the desert. The same sound that had taken his parents.
Lee looked at the horizon — the only one he had ever known.
Then he looked up at Wrex.
“…If I go,” Lee said slowly, “I will come back.”
Wrex’s eyes softened, just a fraction.
“Clan Urdnot is your blood,” he said. “Doesn’t matter where you fight.”
Lee inhaled deeply. The air tasted like dust and iron.
“…Okay,” he said at last.
Reluctant. Quiet. Real.
“I’ll do it.”
Wrex nodded once — firm, proud.
“Good,” he said. “N7 won’t know what hit it.”
The wind rose again, but it no longer felt like something holding Lee in place.
For the first time in his life, the horizon didn’t look like a wall.
It looked like a path.
The liner came out of FTL like a scalpel slicing silk—clean, precise, without drama.
That was the difference between salarian engineering and everyone else’s. No shudder. No theatrical groan of stressed hull plates. Just a subtle shift in inertia and the faint tightening of artificial gravity compensators as the ship transitioned from relay corridor to conventional space.
Lee felt it in his bones anyway.
The passenger compartment was compact—efficient to the point of austerity. Narrow aisles. Compact seating arrays. Surfaces smooth and matte, designed to reduce glare and hide wear. The hull interior bore the clean geometric lines typical of salarian design: function first, aesthetics as a byproduct of optimization.
It was a good ship. State of the art. But small.
Too small for its current clientele.
Nearly every seat was occupied by krogan.
They overflowed the restraints, massive shoulders crowding into aisles, armored plates scraping lightly against composite bulkheads. The seats had clearly been reinforced—extra bracing along the frame, thicker anchor bolts—but they were still designed with salarian proportions in mind. The result was a constant, low-level tension in the compartment. Not aggression. Just compressed mass.
Lee sat quietly in his own seat, boots planted, hands resting loosely on his thighs. He was the only human aboard.
A few krogan wore full combat armor—scuffed plating, clan markings etched deep into the pauldrons. Hired muscle, most likely. Bodyguards. Maybe mercenaries escorting cargo or protecting high-value passengers. Their eyes moved constantly, slow and deliberate.
Others wore something far rarer.
Engineering suits.
Heavy, utilitarian, fitted with tool harnesses and modular interface pads. The kind of suits you wore when you were going to build something—not tear it down.
Lee studied them discreetly.
Two hundred years ago, that sight would have been almost unthinkable.
Krogan were known across the galaxy for brute strength. Shock troops. Siege breakers. The species you unleashed when you wanted something reduced to rubble. Construction had never been part of the stereotype. Creation had never been their assigned role.
The genophage had seen to that.
But the genophage was history now—cured at the end of the Reaper War. Two centuries of slow demographic recovery had changed the calculus of krogan civilization. When survival stopped being a statistical impossibility, culture had room to evolve.
If you don’t have to fight every day to avoid extinction, you can afford to ask a different question.
What do we build?
Lee’s gaze drifted to the forward display panel as the ship decelerated further. Stars elongated, then stabilized. Sub-light drives took over with a faint hum beneath the deck plates.
And there it was.
The relay.
It dominated the viewport—vast, metallic, intricate beyond casual comprehension. Larger than the ancient relays had ever been. Thicker ring segments. Reinforced spines. Power conduits visible even at this distance, glowing faintly along its structure.
The original mass relays—Reaper-built, incomprehensibly old—had all been destroyed during the war. Their loss had fractured the galaxy overnight. For years, every system had been an island.
Then the scientists went to work.
Alliance researchers, along with asari, turian, and salarian teams, had done what no one before the war had dared attempt. They reverse engineered Reaper technology. Piece by piece. Painfully. Carefully.
They built their own.
The first activation had changed history. Now there were dozens—new relays linking rebuilt civilizations. Trade routes restored. Diplomatic corridors reopened. The galaxy had reconnected itself through willpower and engineering.
Lee watched the relay drift past, its scale dwarfing the liner.
Humanity had built that.
Not alone—but prominently.
A flicker of red caught his eye beyond the relay’s arc.
Mars.
The rust-colored sphere hung against the black, serene and indifferent. Craters and canyons etched into its surface like scars. Somewhere down there, long ago, Prothean archives had changed the course of history. Somewhere down there, the Crucible plans had begun their final assembly.
Now it was simply a colony again. Research hubs. Shipyards. Quiet progress.
He felt something tighten in his chest.
The Sol System.
Home of humanity.
He searched himself for a sense of return. For nostalgia. For belonging.
There was none.
He had been born on Tuchanka. Raised under a harsher sky. His earliest memories were of dust storms and stone, of krogan voices echoing across clan compounds. He knew the smell of irradiated soil after rain. Knew the sound of thresher maws moving beneath the earth.
Earth was ancestral.
Tuchanka was home.
Among the krogan surrounding him, he felt… not comfortable, exactly—but familiar. The weight of them. The blunt cadence of their speech. The unapologetic presence. It was a language of mass and survival he understood instinctively.
Here, in humanity’s cradle, he felt like a visitor.
An outsider wearing the correct skin.
The ship’s intercom chimed—precise, economical.
A salarian voice followed, rapid but controlled.
“Attention, passengers. We have successfully completed relay transit into the Sol System. Current vector places us on approach to Earth. Estimated time to arrival: two hours.”
No flourish. No sentiment.
Just information.
Lee leaned back slightly in his seat as the liner adjusted course toward the blue world still hidden beyond the inner orbital arc.
Two hours until Earth.
Two hours until he set foot on a planet he was supposed to call home.
Around him, krogan engineers discussed cargo manifests. Armored mercenaries checked weapon safeties out of habit rather than necessity. The salarian crew moved through the aisles with quiet efficiency, unconcerned by the sheer tonnage of muscle occupying their passenger deck.
The galaxy had changed.
Krogan building.
Humans forging relays.
Salarian ships ferrying them all through rebuilt corridors of space.
Lee watched Mars shrink behind them and waited to see what Earth would feel like up close.
He suspected it wouldn’t feel like home.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t important.
The transport shuttle shuddered as it descended toward the docking bay of the N7 Training Facilities. The city sprawled beneath them, a mix of gleaming towers, wide boulevards, and patches of greenery that somehow survived centuries of human expansion. Rio de Janeiro had never looked more alive, or more alien, to someone raised on Tuchanka.
Lee took a deep breath as the shuttle came to a smooth stop. The bay doors opened with a hiss, letting in the scent of ozone, machinery, and faintly recycled air.
He stepped down, boots clanging against the metal floor, and straightened his pack. Standing before him was an Alliance soldier in crisp black-and-red uniform, arms folded, surveying the new arrival.
“I’m here for the N7 program,” Lee said, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest.
The soldier’s eyes flickered with interest. “N7, huh?” He tapped his omni-tool, pulling up the roster. “For those who don’t know, N7 isn’t just basic military training. It’s the pinnacle of human combat readiness. Candidates are pushed through elite physical, tactical, and psychological trials designed to produce soldiers capable of operating anywhere — from the tight corridors of a starship to the front lines of alien worlds. N7 graduates are expected to think independently, lead effectively, and survive situations most others wouldn’t even comprehend.”
Lee listened quietly, absorbing the weight of the soldier’s words.
The soldier scrolled through the roster and his eyebrows shot up. “Lee… Max Lee,” he said, voice tinged with surprise. “Coming from Tuchanka… Urdnot Wrex’s personal affiliation?”
Lee gave a small nod.
The soldier shook his head in astonishment, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Exceptional. The N7 program sees a lot of remarkable candidates, but a human from Tuchanka, trained under a krogan warlord? That’s… unprecedented.”
He snapped his attention back to Lee. “Alright. Follow me. Admissions is just up ahead. They’ll take it from here.”
Lee followed, the sound of his boots echoing in the hangar, each step carrying him further from the red dust of Tuchanka and closer to a future he had only glimpsed through stories.
Lee stepped through the wide doors of the Admissions Hall. The space was vast, sterile, and eerily quiet, metallic panels reflecting the pale overhead lights. For a facility designed to process the galaxy’s top recruits, it was surprisingly empty.
Only one figure was present: an Asari woman, standing near a side console. She straightened as he entered, hands on her hips, head tilted with the faint air of someone already accustomed to being noticed. Her blue skin shimmered under the lights, faint luminous markings tracing delicate patterns across her face and neck.
Lee cleared his throat. “Uh… hello?”
The Asari turned, a small, confident smile tugging at her lips. “So, you’re here for the N7 entrance?” Her tone was casual, almost teasing, like she was already assessing him.
Lee nodded. “Yes. I’m Max Lee.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Max Lee,” she repeated, as if weighing the name against some invisible standard. “I’m Liana T’Soni. Thessia.”
She didn’t wait for more. Her gaze flicked around the hall, as if noting the officer, the consoles, the empty space — and then back to Lee. “Mother’s Liara T’Soni, if that matters to you. She’s… well, a legend. I’m not exactly starting from scratch.”
Before Lee could respond, a door at the far end hissed open. A man in an Alliance uniform entered — middle-aged, broad-shouldered, streaks of gray in his hair. He moved with the calm authority of someone who had seen more recruits than he cared to count.
He stepped onto a slightly raised platform and settled at a sleek desk, hands folded. His voice cut through the quiet.
“I need names and places of origin. Let’s start with you,” he said, gesturing toward Liana.
Liana gave a faint shrug, leaning slightly against the console. “Liana T’Soni. Thessia. I assume you’ve heard of my mother.” Her tone was light, but the edge of arrogance was unmistakable.
The officer’s eyebrow lifted. “T’Soni, eh?”
“Yes,” she said, with the air of someone confirming what was obvious. “Liara T’Soni is my mother. I… I’m not exactly a rookie.”
The officer leaned back, expression neutral. “N7 doesn’t grant privileges for background or status. Talent, skill, and determination are what matter here.”
Liana let out a soft, amused hum. “Of course,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “But it’s good to know the rules anyway.”
Lee shifted on his feet, absorbing the exchange. No privileges. Only merit. On Earth, his upbringing on Tuchanka — his training under Wrex, the scars of survival — would count for nothing unless he could prove it himself.
The officer’s gaze snapped to him. “Your turn. Name and place of origin.”
Lee’s chest tightened. He let the storm of thoughts settle, grounding himself. “I’m Max Lee. Tuchanka. Clan Urdnot affiliation.”
The officer’s eyes widened slightly. He nodded once, making a note on his omni-tool.
Liana let a slow, amused smile cross her face, tilting her head slightly. “Tuchanka, huh? That’s… exotic.” Her tone was playful, almost challenging. “I hope you can keep up, Max.”
Lee exhaled quietly, feeling the reality sink in. Here, the galaxy would not measure him by where he came from — only by what he could do. And now, more than ever, he was ready to prove it.
The officer tapped a few commands into his omni-tool, confirming the entries. “Names and affiliations verified. Welcome to the N7 program.”
Liana exhaled, a small sigh that loosened the tension in her shoulders. Lee nodded, absorbing the weight of the moment like a physical presence pressing against his chest.
The officer rose, tall, disciplined, exuding authority. He gestured toward the far end of the hall. “Follow me.”
Boots clicked against polished floors as they fell in step, the echoes mingling with the low hum of life support systems and the faint mechanical heartbeat of distant machinery. Every sound felt amplified, every movement precise.
At the far end, the officer pressed a panel. The bay door hissed, grinding upward with deliberate slowness. Beyond it sprawled a vast, open space — the N7 facility.
Lee froze, breath catching. It was enormous. Towers of training rigs rose like steel sentinels, holographic targets flickered and shifted, and recruits moved through drills with sharp, mechanical efficiency. Tactical instructors in black-and-red uniforms patrolled, shouting precise corrections that cut through the background noise like scalpel strikes.
The scale hit him in full force: ceilings arched impossibly high, observation decks lined the walls, and every inch of space thrummed with coordinated motion, orders, and the controlled chaos of combat simulation.
Liana stepped beside him, eyes wide, lips parted. “It… it’s enormous,” she whispered.
The officer’s voice cut through their awe. “This is your new world. Here, you will be tested — physically, mentally, morally. Every skill you bring from home will be challenged. Every weakness exposed. But if you endure, you will join the ranks of the galaxy’s finest. Welcome to N7.”
Lee let the words sink in. This was more than courage or loyalty. This was a crucible. A human from Tuchanka, forged under krogan hands, would now be measured against the galaxy’s best — tested in ways he could not yet imagine.
He inhaled, filling his lungs with the hum of machinery, the shouts of recruits, the scent of metal and ozone. The world he had known — red dust, scorched earth, endless horizons — was behind him. Ahead was steel, discipline, and fire.
The officer nodded. “Let’s begin.”
The officer led them out of the bay and onto a wide open training field. The air smelled faintly of ozone and worn metal, and the low hum of exercise machinery blended with the sounds of recruits shouting and moving in formation.
Rows of recruits in gray combat armor marked with the N1 patch ran drills across the field, lifting weights, practicing combat maneuvers, and firing on holographic targets. Every movement was precise, disciplined, and measured — the baseline of the N7 program’s expectations.
The officer waved toward the far side of the field. “Commander Lira,” he called. “These are your new candidates — arrival from Tuchanka and Thessia.”
A few moments later, a figure approached, walking with a confident, purposeful stride that made the noise of the field seem to fade around her. She wore black Onyx X armor, polished to a matte sheen, with a single red stripe running down one arm. The N7 insignia gleamed on her chestplate. Her presence radiated authority and experience, tempered by the calm assessment of a leader who had seen countless recruits pass through her training.
Commander Lira looked them over carefully. The two of them — a human from Tuchanka and an Asari from Thessia — stood before her, eyes forward, posture alert. She studied their stances, the way they held themselves, the tension in their muscles, the subtle cues that betrayed fear, confidence, or discipline.
“Max Lee, Tuchanka,” the officer said. “And Liana T’Soni, Thessia. They’ve just been cleared for N7 admission.”
Commander Lira’s gaze landed on Lee first, taking in the lean lines of his frame and the squared set of his shoulders, a posture that hinted at discipline beyond his years. Then her eyes shifted to Liana, noting the controlled, precise movements, calm yet alert, every gesture measured.
She inclined her head slightly, voice firm but even. “I’ll be observing you both closely. N7 isn’t about where you come from — it’s about what you can do, and how you adapt under pressure. Strength, skill, and judgment will be tested at every step. Fail, and the consequences are… permanent in terms of your career.”
Lee felt the words settle over him like the weight of the Tuchankan sky. He clenched his fists subtly, feeling the familiar thrill of challenge and fear intertwining.
Liana’s eyes met his briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between them: they were both stepping into a world where nothing — not lineage, not training at home, not even reputation — could shield them.
Commander Lira took a half-step closer, scanning the field behind them. “You will begin with baseline assessment drills. Follow my instructions exactly. Any hesitation, any misstep, and I will notice. That is all for now. Move.”
The two recruits saluted briefly, then turned toward the field, the N7 program officially underway.
Lee inhaled, the smells and sounds of the facility filling his senses. Every fiber of him was ready to be tested — and every instinct from Tuchanka whispered that he could endure what came next.
Commander Lira watched them go, expression unreadable, already calculating how these new candidates might fare in the trials to come.
Lee and Liana stepped into the armory bay adjacent to the training field. Rows of combat suits lined the walls, polished and precise, the air heavy with the scent of treated armor and synthetic fabric.
They pulled on the standard-issue N1 armor — gray, utilitarian, designed for mobility and basic protection. The insignia on their chestplates caught the overhead lights. Lee adjusted the straps across his shoulders, feeling the weight settle evenly.
Along the armor’s shoulders and hips, magnetic holsters waited, ready to secure pistols, SMGs, shotguns, assault rifles, and sniper rifles. Each weapon slot gleamed faintly under the lights. Every piece of equipment was calibrated, measured, engineered — a far cry from the crude training gear of Tuchanka. Here, every detail was a reminder: this was no longer the red dust of home. This was N7.
Commander Lira stepped beside them, arms folded. “You’ll be assessed in your initial skills today. Combat, tactics, and — where applicable — biotics.”
Liana froze, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. “Wait… right now?”
Lira’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “The battlefield waits for no one.”
Lee felt the familiar tension coil in his chest — anticipation and fear blended into a single, focused knot. He tightened his grip on the edges of his armor, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
From across the field, two soldiers in black-and-gray N4 armor jogged over, their stride precise, alert, and trained. They stopped a few meters in front of the new recruits, standing at ease but clearly ready to enforce Lira’s instructions.
Lira turned to Liana. “Can you use biotics?”
“Yes,” Liana replied, her voice firm despite the rapid beat of her heart.
“Which ones?” Lira pressed.
“All of them,” Liana said confidently.
Lira smirked, a subtle tilt of the head. “Good. Confidence in your abilities is half the battle. The rest… is how well you can apply them under pressure.”
She nodded toward Lee. “And you… you’ve got combat experience, but Tuchanka is not this. Today, we see how you adapt to our standards. Stay sharp. Follow instructions. Move fast.”
Lee inhaled, feeling the pulse of adrenaline kick in. This wasn’t a test of strength alone. It was precision, skill, and instinct — measured and recorded.
Lira stepped back, eyes scanning both recruits and the field beyond. “Then let’s begin. N1 candidates, show me what you’ve got.”
The two recruits glanced at each other. Lee’s heart raced, but the lessons of Tuchanka whispered in his mind: stay steady, observe, survive.
Lira led them across the facility to a wide, empty training area. The floor was polished metal, faintly scuffed from constant drills, and the walls were lined with observation ports and monitors, silently recording every movement.
“Liana T’Soni,” Commander Lira said, her voice cutting through the ambient hum. “You’re up first.”
Liana straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the center of the field. The N4 soldier assigned to her moved without hesitation, his black-and-gray armor gleaming under the overhead lights. There was no readable emotion on his face — only the precision and efficiency of a fully trained operative.
He lowered himself into a ready stance, feet planted firmly, hands poised near weaponry that wasn’t yet drawn.
Liana mirrored him, instinctively lowering into a balanced combat stance, eyes focused, every muscle ready. She could feel the hum of biotic energy coursing through her, subtle and controlled, waiting to respond at a moment’s notice.
Commander Lira watched silently, her expression unreadable, as the two faced off in perfect symmetry. The tension in the air was tangible — not a word spoken, yet the field was alive with the anticipation of controlled violence, precision, and skill.
Liana’s gaze flicked to the N4, reading his posture, his balance, the subtle shift of weight that betrayed intention. She adjusted hers accordingly, coiling herself like a spring, prepared to test every ability she possessed under observation.
The empty training area felt vast, but the space was charged, each movement measured, each second a test of readiness, focus, and control.
Commander Lira’s smirk returned, just barely. “Begin,” she said.
And with that single word, the assessment started — a silent, tense dance of strategy, reflexes, and biotic power.
For a moment, the empty training field seemed calm — then, without warning, the N4 soldier’s chest plate glowed faintly, and a ripple of biotic energy radiated outward
Liana froze, eyes widening. Another biotic? she thought. She had trained under her mother’s guidance, but never had she faced someone whose mastery rivaled her own.
The N4 soldier released a focused mass effect push, the invisible force roaring toward her like a tidal wave. The energy wasn’t subtle — it carried the weight to throw her off her feet, to shatter her balance, to test every fiber of her strength.
Liana reacted instantly. Her hands shot forward, and she layered a mass effect barrier with a kinetic push of her own. The two fields collided in midair.
A blinding explosion of violet and blue biotic energy erupted, shaking the metal floor beneath them. Sparks danced along the walls, and the entire training area vibrated with the sheer force of the collision.
Lee staggered back instinctively, gripping the edges of his N1 armor. His jaw hung open. He had studied biotics in theory and seen Krogans use it, but this — the raw power, the precision, the control — it was unlike anything he had imagined.
From the observation decks, other N7 officers took notice. A few leaned forward, eyebrows raised, recording every detail. The explosion of energy was not just impressive — it was a statement. This was the level of mastery the N7 program demanded.
When the force dissipated, Liana was still standing, breathing hard but steady, her barrier flickering faintly before stabilizing. The N4 had not faltered either, his stance unwavering, as if the clash had been nothing more than a sparring exercise.
Commander Lira’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Good. That’s control under pressure,” she said quietly, almost to herself. Then, louder, she addressed the observation deck officers, “Take note. T’Soni is capable — and she’s going to surprise some of you before this is over.”
Lee shook his head, still staring. He felt a mixture of awe and intimidation. This was the level he would have to rise to… and he would need every lesson from Tuchanka just to survive the training ahead.
This time, Liana didn’t wait — she took the initiative. Energy hummed around her, faintly lighting the floor beneath her feet as she focused. A singularity formed above the N4’s head, a swirling sphere of compressed mass effect energy.
Objects from around the training ground — loose crates, debris, even empty training targets — were drawn toward the singularity, coalescing as if the field itself commanded them. The N4 soldier was lifted off his feet, struggling against the invisible pull, his armor straining under the force.
With a swift motion, Liana drew a training rifle from her back and began firing. Each shot arced toward the airborne N4, controlled and precise. But the soldier reacted instantly, surrounding himself with a shimmering biotic barrier. The training rounds collided with it, bouncing harmlessly away.
The singularity collapsed with a sudden implosion, sending a shockwave across the floor. The N4 landed lightly, as if he had planned the fall, and immediately drew his Avenger 1 rifle, firing in return.
Liana reacted with perfect timing, dodging to the right, feeling the rifle blasts kick up sparks where they struck the metal floor. Each movement was measured and efficient, the kind of reflexes honed over countless drills and instinctive biotic control.
Commander Lira watched silently from the edge of the field, expression unreadable. She made no comment, allowed no hint of approval — merely observing, noting every movement, every reaction, every decision. The quiet intensity of her gaze only heightened the pressure, reminding both Liana and the N4 that N7 assessments measured not just skill, but composure under scrutiny.
Lee stood at the edge of the field, gripping his N1 armor nervously. His eyes followed every motion, his mind racing. He had trained with weapons on Tuchanka, had survived harsh combat drills with krogan, but this — this combination of biotics, firearms, and rapid tactical thinking — was beyond anything he had encountered.
He realized, with a mix of awe and trepidation, that this was the standard here. The N7 program didn’t wait for anyone to catch up — it demanded mastery from the very first moment.
The N4 jolted forward, weapon firing with mechanical precision. Sparks skittered across the floor as training rounds ricocheted harmlessly off nearby walls.
Liana planted her feet and focused. With a surge of energy, she released a pull mass effect. The force hit the N4 with surprising intensity, yanking him toward her mid-stride. His armor creaked under the sudden motion, and he struggled to maintain balance.
Liana followed through instinctively, delivering a swift kick aimed at the N4’s face. The blow was blocked, metal clanging against metal, but she was already moving. Her hand shot to her sidearm, drawing it in one fluid motion, fingers on the trigger, ready to fire point-blank.
The N4 anticipated the move, rolling to the side to avoid the shot. Lee’s jaw dropped; he had never seen someone move that fast, that precise, in complete harmony with biotic power.
The N4 surged toward her, hand shooting up as if to grab her by the neck. In a split second, Liana released a stasis mass effect. The field caught the N4, freezing him in time. His outstretched hand hung in midair, rifle motionless, expression locked in surprise.
For a heartbeat, Liana exhaled, chest heaving, energy crackling around her. Then the stasis broke — the N4 wrenched free, landing lightly, already ready to strike again.
Liana staggered slightly, the strain evident in her posture. Her breathing was heavy, sweat matting her forehead. Her biotic energy flickered, unstable from overuse. She had pushed herself far beyond her usual limits.
Commander Lira observed without expression, arms crossed, taking note of every detail. The field was alive with tension, the air charged with residual biotic energy.
Lee remained frozen near the edge of the field, awe and concern battling in equal measure. He had trained under harsh conditions on Tuchanka, but this — this level of skill, control, and raw exertion — was something entirely beyond him.
Liana’s chest heaved, sweat dripping down her brow, her muscles trembling. Every ounce of biotic energy she had left was straining against the limits of her body.
The N4 soldier remained relentless — expressionless, unstoppable, a fusion of human precision and biotic power. He advanced steadily, each motion deliberate, devoid of hesitation.
With a final surge of determination, Liana summoned all her remaining strength and unleashed her most devastating biotic attack: Biotic Reave.
Energy rippled outward, a dark, concentrated force aimed directly at the N4. The soldier’s body was immediately enveloped in a distorted mass effect field, molecular structure visibly shifting and twisting under the overwhelming pressure.
Lee’s eyes widened in shock. She… she actually tried to… His mind struggled to comprehend that a move capable of tearing apart a fully armored combatant at the molecular level had just been attempted in training.
Commander Lira watched impassively, expression unreadable, arms folded. There was no hint of alarm, no approval, only the cold observation of a seasoned N7 instructor.
The Reave forced the N4 to stagger, his form flickering under the attack, but he did not falter. In moments, the soldier recovered, breaking free of the Reave’s grip. His next action was instantaneous — a Biotic Charge, devastating in speed and precision.
The force slammed into Liana, and she was thrown off her feet, rolling across the floor before coming to a trembling halt. Her armor scraped against the metal surface, sparks flying where she landed. Her biotic energy was fully depleted; her body trembled from the exertion.
Lira’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “End exercise!”
The N4 disengaged immediately, standing at attention once more. Liana pushed herself up slowly, chest heaving, eyes focused yet glazed with exhaustion. Lee watched her, awe and apprehension mingling. She had pushed herself to the edge — and yet, even that wasn’t enough to completely overcome the N4.
Commander Lira stepped forward, finally breaking the silence. Her voice was low, controlled, but firm. “Assessment complete. Take note: raw power alone does not win battles. Control, strategy, and timing matter as much as ability. And remember — every operative in this field, every N7 soldier, is tested the same way. There are no exceptions.”
Lee swallowed, realizing what the N7 program demanded. This wasn’t just skill. This was endurance, composure, and the ability to survive against opponents who did not relent. Every instinct honed on Tuchanka would be challenged — and then some.
Liana pushed herself fully upright, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. She gave a small nod to Commander Lira, acknowledging the lesson even as her body screamed for rest.
Lee’s gaze remained fixed on her, knowing that his turn would come next.
Commander Lira’s voice rang out across the training field. “Recruit Lee, you are up!”
Lee inhaled sharply and walked to the center of the field. The polished metal floor reflected the harsh overhead lights, and the expanse of the empty space seemed to stretch endlessly around him.
Across from him, another N4 soldier stepped forward, armor gleaming. He assumed a battle stance, feet planted, body taut — expressionless, unreadable. Every line of him screamed precision and lethal intent.
A shiver of uneasiness ran through Lee, but he remembered Wrex’s words, echoing in his mind: “If you can make it in Tuchanka, the rest of the galaxy is a cakewalk.” That thought grounded him, steadying his pulse.
The N4 made the first move. In a blur, he drew his Avenger rifle, aimed with deadly accuracy, and fired at Lee’s head.
Lee’s reflexes kicked in. With a flick of his omni-tool, he activated tactical cloak, the familiar shimmer of invisibility enveloping him. Within an instant, he vanished from sight, leaving the N4 momentarily scanning for a target.
Commander Lira’s eyes narrowed, a hint of curiosity appearing for the first time. “Interesting,” she murmured, her arms still crossed.
Lee crouched low, heart hammering, aware that while he was invisible, every movement and decision mattered. One misstep here could mean failure. He could feel the weight of Tuchanka in his muscles — the training, the survival instincts, the need to think fast under pressure.
The N4 paused, then began a systematic search, moving carefully, every movement controlled, every footstep calculated. Lee’s mind raced. He would need to combine stealth, strategy, and precision — everything Wrex had drilled into him — to survive this trial.
Lee reappeared, suddenly materializing right under the N4’s nose. The soldier froze for a split second, caught off-guard by the sudden proximity.
Lee moved fast, fluid, almost instinctively. He executed a precise disarming maneuver, twisting his body and kicking sharply — the Avenger rifle clanged across the floor, sliding away from the N4’s reach.
The N4 reacted instantly, drawing a sidearm and firing point-blank. Lee ducked and pivoted, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He shifted seamlessly into the close-quarters combat techniques he had developed on Tuchanka — strikes, grapples, and sweeps designed to counter opponents far larger and stronger than himself.
The N4 met him blow for blow. Metal armor rang against metal armor as Lee’s fists and kicks collided with the soldier’s counters. Every punch was intercepted, every kick parried. Lee adapted constantly, reading the N4’s movements as if in a dance — a violent, precise dance honed over years of surviving krogan assaults and battlefield chaos.
Liana, standing on the sidelines, could only stare in astonishment. She had trained extensively with biotics and close combat, but she had never seen CQC executed with this level of raw instinct, adaptability, and speed. Each motion Lee made was unconventional, fluid, and terrifyingly effective — a reflection of a life lived among warriors who expected nothing less than survival.
Commander Lira remained at the edge of the field, arms folded, expression impassive. She did not react, did not blink. Her gaze swept over Lee with the cold, clinical assessment of an N7 instructor, taking in every punch, every counter, every microsecond of decision-making.
For Lee, the world narrowed to the rhythm of combat — strike, counter, evade, readjust. He could feel the weight of Tuchanka in his movements: the lessons of survival, the instinct to anticipate, the necessity to adapt on the fly.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Wrex’s words again: “If you can make it in Tuchanka, the rest of the galaxy is a cakewalk.”
Lee smiled faintly, letting that thought anchor him as he continued to push the N4, testing limits and proving that a human from Tuchanka could stand toe-to-toe with an elite N7 training operative.
The N4 created distance, his sidearm firing with deadly precision. Lee barely rolled aside, feeling the whine of the rounds as they tore past him. In one swift motion, he activated his tactical cloak again, vanishing from view.
The N4 paused, scanning the field, weapon raised, every movement deliberate and controlled. He had no emotion, no hesitation — just focus.
Lee reappeared on the far side of the training ground, crouched low. He drew a folder sniper rifle from his back and fired. The practice round struck the side of the N4’s helmet with a sharp clang, rattling the armor but harmless — the rules were strict, no lethal damage allowed in training.
The N4 hit the ground, rolling to absorb the impact, and swiftly recovered. He grabbed the assault rifle he had dropped, immediately opening fire again. Lee dodged and weaved, every movement precise, relying on the combination of tactical cloak and instinct honed on Tuchanka.
The N4’s eyes narrowed under the helmet, and he started charging toward Lee, rifle raised. The sheer speed and determination in the assault told Lee everything he needed to know: this was a relentless opponent, a war machine perfectly trained to exploit any mistake.
Lee’s heartbeat raced. He drew on every lesson from Tuchanka — agility, unpredictability, reading the opponent — and prepared for the closing engagement. The open field now felt like a chessboard, every step, every maneuver, a move in a lethal game of strategy and reflex.
Commander Lira observed silently from the sidelines, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Every shift, every dodge, every tactical choice by Lee was being recorded, cataloged, and analyzed.
Lee crouched slightly, readying himself. The N4’s charge would test everything: speed, strength, and instinct — a final crucible to see if a human from Tuchanka could survive, and even prevail, in the elite standards of N7.
The N4 surged forward, charging with relentless precision. Lee’s pulse raced, every instinct honed from Tuchanka screaming at him to act.
With a calm born of both instinct and training, he raised his omni-tool and pressed a button.
Beneath the N4’s advancing feet, a disruptor mine ignited — a compact device Lee had planted moments earlier while cloaked, carefully calculating distance and timing to maximize its effect without breaking the training rules.
The mine detonated with a sharp pulse of concussive energy, throwing the N4 backward. Sparks flew from the armor, and the soldier crashed onto the metal floor, momentarily stunned and off-balance.
Liana’s eyes widened. She had seen his tactical thinking in action before, but this… this was on another level. Lee had combined stealth, deception, and battlefield control in a single, flawless move.
Commander Lira’s voice cut across the field, sharp and commanding. “Stop exercise!”
The N4 disengaged immediately, backing away and resetting to neutral. Lee deactivated his tactical cloak, letting the shimmer fade. His chest heaved as he lowered the omni-tool, muscles tense, adrenaline coursing through him.
Lira’s gaze swept over him, analyzing, weighing, calculating. She said nothing, but the intensity of her look conveyed recognition. He had just demonstrated not only skill and reflexes, but strategy, adaptability, and the ability to anticipate an opponent — qualities that defined an N7 operative.
Lee glanced toward Liana, who gave him a small, impressed nod. Even with all her biotic power, she could see the brilliance in his approach: survival, tactics, and ingenuity combined.
The silence lingered for a heartbeat, broken only by the distant hum of training machinery. The lesson was clear: in the N7 program, raw power alone was not enough. Strategy, adaptability, and the ability to read the battlefield could win even against a perfect soldier.
Lee exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him. He had survived his first trial — and he had done so on his own terms.
The other N7 officers, all clad in black-on-black armor with the signature red stripe on their right arms, gathered near Commander Lira. The red gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, a mark of rank and experience that made Lee feel the weight of the moment.
They conversed quietly among themselves, voices low but sharp, exchanging observations about the assessment trial. The N4 soldiers remained on the far side of the field, motionless, their stances taut and disciplined, as if frozen in time.
After a moment, Commander Lira’s gaze swept across the assembled officers, then returned to the two recruits. She finally spoke, her voice precise and measured.
“Assessment complete,” she said. “I observed both recruits closely. Liana T’Soni displayed exceptional biotic power, speed, and control, but there were moments of overextension. Her energy management and situational awareness need refinement. She will be trained primarily as a Biotic Vanguard — a role that emphasizes aggression, mobility, and coordinated biotic assaults.”
Liana straightened, absorbing the evaluation. She nodded slightly, committing the feedback to memory, ready to adapt.
Lira’s eyes shifted to Lee. “Max Lee… your combat style is unconventional, but highly effective. Your tactical thinking, adaptability, and ability to read and control the battlefield are remarkable. You excel at strategy, stealth, and precision under pressure. However, raw biotic power is minimal — and that limits certain combat roles. Therefore, you will train as an Infiltrator — specializing in cloaking, marksmanship, and adaptive combat tactics.”
Lee felt the weight of the assignment, a mix of pride and determination welling within him. He had survived the N7 trial not through brute strength, but through ingenuity, timing, and instinct.
Lira’s gaze lingered on the two of them. “I intend to pair you as a team. Liana, your biotic abilities complement Lee’s tactical and stealth skills. Together, your strengths will cover each other’s weaknesses. You will learn to operate as a unit, combining biotic power and infiltration tactics. Do not fail each other — failure is not an option at this level.”
Lee and Liana exchanged a brief glance. Liana’s exhaustion from the trial was still evident, but there was a spark of recognition: Lee’s style was different, yes, but effective — and together, they could become something greater than either alone.
Lira stepped back slightly, letting the N7 officers disperse to record their evaluations. Her face remained impassive, but her sharp eyes followed the two recruits like a predator tracking the emergence of new potential.