AN: My thanks to anyone to read and supported this fic. I've updated the first chapter extensively with some much-requested Codex info at the end and changed the Wildcats into the Walkure movement. Everything will be explained in the Codex, I hope. Credits and my personal thanks to LP's encyclopedic and free-to-peruse documents on the ME races for the races' physiology.

"Looking back on the very beginnings of the First Colonization Initiative and how the Concordat came to be, the innovations pioneered by the Huerta Foundation in just over a decade still appear astounding in these days of technological wonders, more so considering the chain economic defaults and open warfare throughout the 2040s and 50s.

Indeed, those were but some of the results of Adrian Huerta's foresight that to this day remain a centerpiece in our way of living and - literally- breathing. Where the Old Powers spiraled into chaos and bestiality born of fear, ignorance, and blind interests, Adrian Huerta acted on the rapid privatization of low and high education and the single-minded focus in previous years on researching alternative energy solutions as the oil reserves slowly exhausted and exchanged hands during the numerous revolutions fragmenting the Middle East.

From his course of action and the testimony of those drawn in by his genius and vision, it is clear that Adrian Huerta was disgusted by the festering stagnancy that had spread to all levels of the pre-Event society. While the Old World leadership slumbered and gallivanted, content to reap the fruits of hollow and long-perverted ideals of democracy, he acted.

The path he chose was audacious and costly. Sacrifices were necessary. Many, even within his family and Foundation, argued strongly against the choice, called him mad. Attempts were made on his life. Yet he persevered. By the time New Canaan Archology on Luna was opened to colonists in 2061, many had already flocked to his cause…"

Extract from "On the Old and New Powers" (2123 AD/ 47 AE) by Manfred Reeds.

Milky Way/ Sol Cluster/ Mars, Deseado Crater.

January 1st, 2147 AD/71 AE.

Sentinel-Commander Jon Grissom waited with practiced patience for the elevator to reach the lowest level of the Archives, going over the last week's events in his mind as preparation for the task ahead.

The reports from the Solveig System had been revolutionary and mind-boggling, but the Sentinels had taken it mostly in stride. The presence of sapient alien life was never a question of if, rather of when and how far behind is Humanity. Dr. Jeong's team's reports, combined with the reports of the additional two Archives' teams sent in short order, didn't paint a pretty answer to the second question, even in their preliminary stage. Of course, the Board had wanted more than approximate evaluations. Hence, why Jon Grissom was standing in the ridiculously slow elevator, descending deeper and deeper in the belly of the Archives.

Christmas plans with Kahlee had gone up in flames, the long-planned reunion replaced by an LDI call and wishes that could be summarized in a 'when things settle down again'. The Concordat scientific community, at least those in the know, was the greatest buzz since the discovery of the Archives themselves. He silently appreciated the irony of circular motion as the elevator finally reached its destination and the first set of armablast doors hissed open, making Jon shiver. Gene-mods or not, there was no denying he was getting on in his years.

Being out of his sealed armor suit, with its pressurized tightness and the VI regulating the temperature did contribute in no small measure to his discomfort, but it was one there was no point or use complaining about. Clad only in his BDU and a heavy jacket, he crossed the wide if mostly empty ante-chamber squeezed between two sets of armoured doors to a line of lockers set near the far door. Quickly and shivering all the while, the Commander retrieved an old model of Onyx armour and slid it on. He double-checked the seals and manually activated its temperature regulations protocols, then picked up a stack of old datapads lacking any form of outside connection that wasn't a physical cable and stood before the closed set of doors leading further into the complex.

He gave the camera an ok-sign and the door's sensors started scanning him, attempting to communicate with the basic microframe of his suit and failing. Two minutes later the interface flashed green and Grissom walked into the gauntlet.

A full decontamination cycle later, all the air was sucked out of the room and the last set of doors opened. Grissom disengaged the mag-locks of his boots and floated into the containment chamber. It was bathed in a warm orange glow from the hundred or so screens embossed in the walls and pavement of the chamber projected a never ending stream of data and information. Grissom recognized some of it at a glance from the preliminary analysis carried out by off-planet teams and AIs, each given a piece of the unending puzzle that were the findings in the Solveig System.

Square in the middle of the dome-like structure, surmounting a large pedestal, was a sphere-shaped prison made entirely of impactites glass, stark empty.

Grissom floated to the base of the pedestal and engaged his mag-locks. Standing, he didn't top the lower third of the cage. The Sentinel-Commander then reached for the pedestal and withdrew a cable he proceeded to connect to one of his datapads. Then he cracked his fingers and started typing.

Hello, VISION. This is Commander Grissom.

His words appeared on a small screen set at the bottom of the glass prison, within the quantum-containment field. It was also the only piece of technology in the entire room which possessed an FSO receiver, to allow the prisoner to communicate with the outside.

The AI's answer, as always, came on screen with just enough delay to be considered annoyingly late by common courtesy.

I was wondering when you would come. Your Sentinels have been unloading unusual amounts of data to me in the past few days. Finally, I was starting to think your race would never stop aping about your handful of rocks.

A shifting globe of captured light formed into the cage where nothing had been visible before. Grissom considered it a little victory that the Prothean AI had done so without prompting, as it usually happened. It also set off every major red flag in his head.

No. The measures were tighter than ever. There was no way it could escape again.

What can you tell me that we don't already know?

More than your primate brain could bear to store. Ask, then.

The races involved in the battle. Did your Creators study them?

The light globe pulsated in a pattern Grissom had learned to recognize as disdain.

Obviously. Albeit their station was much more primitive at the time, otherwise you wouldn't have found a single trace of their existence.

Data began to stream into the pad then, from evolution charts to biological surveys to sociology studies, all translated from Prothean to English. For the next minute or so, all Grissom did was swap full datapads for empty ones, the former's pile steadily sapping height from the latter's.

VISION pulsed once more and a last, small data packet was transferred.

Open it.

It was a summary, complete with 3D models of what appeared to be male and female variants of the two xenos recovered in the wreckages in Solveig. The sexual dimorphism for the former was a surprise to Grissom: all preliminary autopsies ascribed the recovered corpses to the 'male-standard' gender.

Both were humanoid in outer structure: erect position, two arms, two legs, a head. Grissom scrolled the rundown of the first race, the not-longer-mono-gendered one. Four eyes, a mostly-cartilaginous skeleton with high base level of muscular mass but marked physiological differences between 'castes' of specimen. The absent females, conversely, showed statically inferior parameters all over the line. Overall, they made up a near seventy-percent of the recovered samples. VISION's notes made Grissom frown.

By you classifications, primate-mammals organized in large hunter-gatherer societies, stratified in a crude caste system primed on strength at arms and body mass under a primitive shamanistic rule. Their males were biologically stronger and more developed than the females, a tendency that hasn't been inverted judging by the samples you provided.

Evident signs of early genetic tampering were evidenced by my Creators' investigation, although it was work predating the Protheans. They call themselves Batar'ian, which crudely translated in the Chosen of Batar in your restrictive language. Their home planet goes by the local name of Kar'Shan. I will highlight it in your star charts.

Depending on the Mass Relay connections, that was close. Which reinforced the general idea that whatever kind of colony or base had been on the moon of Surtur, it had been theirs.

He continued reading past the first summary and reached the second sample's category. While the male Batar'ian outward structure resembled a male human's closely enough, the second sample's similarities started and ended with the most generic anatomic anthropomorphisms. A thin layer of metallic plating covered bird-like bodies lacking any relatable sexual secondary characteristics; they were also taller, stronger and faster than the base unaugmented human, though standard gene-mods would somewhat level the playfield.

VISION's notes turned Grissom's frown into a scowl.

Turian. Aerial carrion-salvaging predators originated from the planet Palaven. At the time of my Creators' demise, they were entering a slow and quite bloody industrial revolution: from these samples, they clearly outmatched the Batarians in technology and skill, if not in numbers. They were also on the offensive, which fits with their race's rampant militarism, such to rival my Creators', and ease to take umbrage in the name of the concept of honor.

Communalist with strong pack-mentality, the exceedingly high radioactivity of their planet and its close orbit to the star suggest their ancestors didn't develop naturally on Palaven, rather were part of some long-ranging evolutionary experiment that pre-dated my Creators. An exceedingly common occurrence in Cycle-dominant races.

Grissom's scowl blackened. That terminology again, the thrice-cursed Cycle that popped out time and again in VISION's data dumps and scripts. So far, all that had been extricated from the AI in decades of interactions was that it was somewhat involved in its Creators' disappearance – or rather, extinction. Any further prodding always resulted in the same answer about missing data and lack of references in his archives.

The last footnote made him sigh in exasperation.

Neither of them corresponds to my Creator's engineered heirs.

Another mystery begging for an answer. Then who are they?

My Creators didn't include the answer to your query in my databanks.

Another answer VISION claimed it didn't possess. Of course.

I suggest you spare me the sarcasm and consider the matter closer at hand, human. By this data and your own military projections, if your First Fleet was to engage a force of similar size and dotation of the Batar'ian's, you would stand only a 57,43% chance of emerging victorious, albeit with crippling losses. Only 28.19% against the Turian's.

Of course, factoring in any likely advancements reverse-engineered from my Creators' stashes or produced by their own ingenuity in the past century sees your chances plummet rather vertiginously.

After what you've done, your existence is guaranteed only as long as you remain useful, VISION. I can promise you that if Humanity loses, you won't live to see the aftermath.

Stop telling me what I already know and start giving me solutions.

There was a long pause. Of all the Vis and AIs developed on the blueprints drawn by studying VISION, Grissom still had to meet one with a larger flair for the dramatic. The sarcasm, nerve-wracking as it was for the crews, was conversely a rather common occurrence.

As you wish then. Connect your primitive data storage device to the port. And bring more.

Jon Grissom smiled.

LDI: The Lucid Dream Interface is an Advanced Reality device capable of interfacing with the standard Omni-tool and optronic device to project files and even complex processes to the user. Relatively small in size, it comes either as a clip visor or as a permanent implant around the user's optic nerve: in both cases, complete interaction further requires subcutaneous micro-implants to the fingertips and palms. Optic nerve LDIs, while more expensive, offer greater security against hacking attempts and are slowly growing in popularity in the Corps as it improves the user's synchronization with their armor's HUD and systems.

Gene-mods and Gene-Therapy: The Concordat Healthcare System provides free gene treatment to its citizens against all major conditions during pregnancy, as well as yearly genomic screenings to correct harmful mutations before they can degenerate. With a modest bonus, it's also possible for parents to extensively augment their children both physically and mentally, within the limits of physical alterations. Soldiers also receive further augmentations upon enrollment to optimize the quality-quantity ratio.

VISION: The Prothean AI was the sole inhabitant of the Archives at the time of their discovery by Hannibal Grissom's Seekers in 2079. Despite the deterioration accumulated in over fifty-thousand years, at first it proved to be an invaluable aid in the translation and development of early Eezo-based technology and in the reactivation of the Leviathan, as well as in the completion of the first human AIs from pre-Event projects. However, in 2086 VISION went rampant for the first time, nearly prompting the atomization of the Archives from the combined SteelWatch fleet and Gilgamesh Station. Hannibal Grissom and his team eventually managed to contain the AI, but its contribution to the advancement of humanity and the Concordat has ever since then been severely limited, in no small part due to the severe security measures enacted and constantly renovated just to interact with it.

Of course, VISION's sole existence remains a closely-guarded secret to most of the Concordat's population.

Sentinels: VISION's Rampage in 2086 revealed the AI's capacities of taking over and assemble over brief periods of time even small automated armies. While not a significant threat when restricted to the Archives, VISION nearly succeeded in transmitting itself off-planet while the inadequate security forces on planet failed to deal with VISION's minions effectively. Should the quantum-containment field fail and VISION rampage again, this time the Sentinels are ready: an elite unit of soldiers drafted from the Corps, the Seekers as well as the SteelWatch, the Sentinels cross-train in several disciplines, in the hope to never have to resort to them. Ever since Project HERITAGE managed to improve the chances of successful eezo-contamination of fetuses, the number of Biotics in the Sentinels has slowly been on the rise.