<i>His C/O's office was always a place of interest to the younger officer. He'd had other superiors, of course, men and women of distinction whom the ICT had chosen specifically to train N7 hopefuls during the live combat phase of training, but none of them had ever had an office quite as interesting as the Captain. Engels, Gregory T., Captain, N7 graduate, N7 course commander. He had souvenirs from a dozen different missions, and always liked to joke that he had more but he was waiting for the top secret clearance to lift before he could display them. Cole never doubted it, either. Captain Engels was a tried-and-true badass, a man of a thousand campaigns and just as many victories. Still, that day, as he marched in, the captain was not wearing his usual smile. His warm brown eyes were hard and cold, and he sat behind his desk with a rigidity that belied the frustration he felt.<br/>
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Cole stood sharply to attention, hand lifting swiftly to his temple in a proper salute. "Lieutenant Cole Vanes, reporting as ordered, sir," he announced, clear and loud, and Engels sighed. <br/>
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"At ease, LT." Cole dropped his hand and crossed it loosely behind his back, his feet sliding a few inches further apart to stand at rest. The captain stood and looked down at open folder on his desk, then lifted it and closed it. He pointed at his younger officer with it as he stepped around the authentic wooden desk to lean against the front. "You've done good work, Vanes. The N7 program is lucky to have an officer as talented as you are. It's almost like you're trying to show the rest of us that Sheperd isn't the only human worth a damn."<br/>
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"Sir, I--"<br/>
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"No, I know. My own private joke. No worries, son, I know you aren't the sort to overreach." He smiled briefly, but it faded as he looked down at the folder he held. "That's part of why this is so hard. You're a good soldier, Cole, one of the best I've trained. And if I had it my way, this meeting would be to commend you as a graduate from N6 to full N7. If I had it my way, you'd walk out of here with honors. First the Battle of the Citadel, then on through another half-dozen engagements with the Geth, not to mention that nasty shit with the Batarian pirate gang." He shook his head and reached up to stroke his grey mustache, as if to hide the frown on his face better. "If I had it my way you'd be honored for your efforts. Not washed out of the program without any good reason."<br/>
</i><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><br/>Cole jerked awake as the shuttle bumped into the dry dock, the mild vibration through the hull jarring him from the last encounter he'd have with the Captain. The last gasp of a dying dream. He sat upright in his chair and adjusted the straps that held him in, preparing to release them. There was a nasty kink in his neck but he did his best to ignore it as the pilot finished docking procedure and flashed him a thumbs up. It was a mystery to Cole why he had been shuttled from the Wards when he could have just taken a few taxis to make it to the Presidium, then walked the rest of the way to the tower, but he supposed it had to do with his discharge papers.<br/><br/>Another surge of bitterness welled up in him like bile and he forced it down. Post-traumatic stress disorder, indeed. He had seen terrible things, yes--whatever the Geth had done to the humans on the Presidium haunted him, but he wasn't about to experience a full-blown emotional breakdown over it. He retrieved his pack and stepped out of the shuttle, which had landed as close to the Tower as regulations would allow. He paused to review the instructions he'd been given, delivered in a discreet envelope, written with actual ink on actual paper, a rarity in this digital age of virtual intelligence and wireless transfers.<br/><i><br/>
Report to CDR Amari, Reese, at Tower at 0900. Once contact is established destroy document.<br/>
</i><br/>Yeah, fine. Destroy document. Wouldn't it have been easier to just send a note to his omni-tool? And why hadn't they included a picture of this Commander Amari? He sighed and folded the paper back into his jacket, a fairly standard civilian number colored black and grey with plenty of hidden pockets. Beneath that he wore his military fatigues, since he hadn't been forced to relinquish those in the fuss of his dismissal. Calf-high boots, padded combat fatigues with magnetic plates to hold his armor in place, and a light shirt beneath it. His eyes were naturally narrow and almond-shaped, and colored a bright electric blue. His hair was kept short at the sides, almost bare, with a spare half-inch on top. Over it he wore his ICT beret, black with a single red stripe offset along the top. He may not be an N7, but damn it, he would not let himself forget how close he had come.<br/><br/>The walk into the Tower was uneventful, and the C-Sec guards let him through with only a cursory glance through his pack. He went another hundred meters in before his eyes were drawn to a woman standing alertly next to a drell. A small surge of fascination peeked through the resentment boiling just beneath the surface. The woman wore civilian clothing, but her stance was rigid, her arms clasped together in a pose of readiness despite her apparent ease. Alliance military, or he really<i>was</i>Cat-6. He adjusted to approach the two and resisted the urge to salute once he was near them. He glanced only briefly at the drell before he turned his full attention to the human, subconsciously standing to, saluting in every form except the raised hand. "Lieu--ah. No. Cole Vanes, ma'am. I assume you're Reese Amari?"