(Note for reference and my little rant: The Phantom Menace takes place in 32 BBY, Jango Fett was adopted by the Fett clan as a foundling 58 BBY when he was around 10 years old. 0 BBY is around the Events of A New Hope. The BBY time system in Star Wars is a timeline like BC in real history, which counts backward. BBY = Before the Battle of Yavin. Here is a chart to get an idea. This will be important if you see any time skips or a time frame of the year for any Star Wars fanfiction. I hope this clears any misunderstanding. I know that the BBY system can be confusing to anyone who is just a casual Star Wars Fan. Phantom Menace 32 BBY, Revenge of the Sith 19 BBY, New Hope around 0 BBY/ 1ABY, Return of the Jedi 4 ABY. Now back to the story.)
Reach was dying loudly as Covenant plasma speared down from the sky in towering blue-white columns, each impact hammering the planet's surface hard enough to shake the ONI black-site buried far below. Dust shook loose from the ceiling in choking clouds. Warning klaxons screamed without pause. The whole world felt like it was being torn apart by something vast, and everything was going to hell.
Noble Six ran anyway.
The hallway collapsed behind him as he sprinted forward, armor scorched and sparking, joints screaming in protest. His visor was cracked clean through, exposing one sharp blue eye to smoke and debris. Pain flared everywhere at once.
Pain was optional. Missions weren't.
He wasn't here to save Reach. He was here for Cassandra.
ONI Blacksite Epsilon-9
The blast door sealed behind him with a heavy, final clang as he descended deeper into the facility. Emergency lights strobed red across narrow walls, casting everything in jagged shadows. Each distant plasma strike sent vibrations through the rock, rattling teeth and nerves alike.
Cassandra's vault sat at the bottom of it all.
ONI had never intended her to exist.
She was a forbidden construct, a Superintelligence built to outperform every AI that came before her, Cortana included, without the limitation of rampancy. She wasn't just smarter.
She was complete.
Her data stores held the genetic records of every Spartan and ODST trooper stationed on Reach. Training models. Combat simulations. UNSC doctrines, battlefield algorithms, weapons engineering, everything ONI knew and everything it wanted buried forever.
Cassandra wasn't just an AI. She was the sum of the Spartans' lives.
If the Covenant captured her, they wouldn't just understand humanity. They'd would understand and find every secret that humanity has planned to fight them.
Six reached the final blast door. An eight-point biometric lock flared to life as his gauntlet hit the panel.
"ACCESS DENIED LEVEL 0 REQUIRED"
He stared at the screen.
"…Figures."
The knife came out without hesitation. He drove it into a maintenance seam, tore free the safety plate, and hardwired the bypass manually. Sparks jumped. Alarms escalated from angry to frantic.
The door groaned and cracked open.
Inside, a single pedestal illuminated the chamber, bathing it in soft blue light. A crystal housing rested at its center, glowing faintly, almost alive.
Cassandra spoke before he touched her.
"Spartan-B312. You're late."
Six blinked once. "Traffic."
"I can see the planetary bombardment," she replied dryly. "Please recover me so we can leave."
"And I see your humor file is almost nonexistent."
"Oh?" Cassandra said. "It appears you've found yours."
He slid the crystal into his armor port. His HUD rebooted instantly—cleaner, sharper, faster. "Oh dear," Cassandra muttered. "Your armor is a trainwreck."
"It'll live."
"Your optimism is adorable."
"Let's go," she said.
Six didn't argue.
Project X
As he turned to leave, Cassandra interrupted him.
"Spartan. There is an undetonated cryo-locker two rooms ahead. ONI hid something from even me."
That got his attention.
He followed her nav-ping into a ruined lab. Most of the chamber had melted into slag, but one cryo-vault still hummed softly, untouched. A single vial floated inside, glowing silver-blue.
PROJECT X TEMPORAL BIOLOGICAL ENHANCEMENT SERUM and Degage-ant UNAUTHORIZED USE WILL RESULT IN EXECUTION.
Six frowned. "Execution?"
"On the bright side," Cassandra said, "it's unlikely they'll enforce the penalty now."
He cracked the locker. Cold vapor spilled out. The vial was unnaturally cool in his hand.
"Side effects?"
"Slowed aging. Enhanced cellular stability. Possible instability on skin contact, injection or by inhaling."
"This could be Useful or dangerous."
Six slipped it into a storage slot. "I'll risk it."
They broke back onto the surface just as the sky split, not some Covenant weapon or slip-space.
But the air itself twisted into a spiraling wound of light and gravity.
Cassandra's voice sharpened. "Spartan, this is a dimensional shear. Not Covenant. Something is tearing through local reality."
The pull intensified instantly. Six braced, boots digging into broken rock, but his damaged armor couldn't hold. The vial at his side pulsed, reacting violently to the distortion.
Elites screamed as they were dragged upward. Buildings peeled apart and spiraled into the widening vortex.
Six held his ground as the ridge behind him detonated.
But a shockwave hurled him forward, right into the rift.
Light tore across his vision. Sound vanished into a screaming void. His body felt wrong bones stretching, compressing, resetting. Cassandra shouted through the distortion.
"Spartan, your biology is destabilizing! The serum has made sink contact as you enter anomaly!"
"How bad?!" Six gasped.
"You're de-aging!"
"How far?!"
"I don't know!"
Muscles burned. Nerves screamed.
Then darkness overtook him.
In Mandalore Year 56 BBY
He hit the ground hard enough to cause a crater.
Red soil exploded outward as he slammed into the surface, dust boiling up around him. Pain flared really this time.
Cassandra rebooted with a soft chime.
"Spartan… vitals nominal. Temporal stabilization complete. Biological age approximately… eighteen."
Six groaned. "Perfect. Back to being a teenager. Every soldier's dream."
Shadows moved around the crater.
Warriors.
Mandalorians in polished beskar formed a wide circle, T-shaped visors reflecting the sun. Jetpacks hummed quietly. Weapons were held ready but steady.
Six knew warriors when he saw them.
One stepped forward, armor painted blue and silver, scarred by decades of use. He carried himself like command made flesh.
Verd Fett. Patriarch of Clan Fett.
"You," Verd said, voice low and steady. "You fell from the sky like fire. Explain yourself."
Six stood, brushing dust from his battered chest plate.
"Rough landing."
A ripple of amusement passed through the circle.
"You are not wounded?" Verd asked.
"Not enough to matter."
"You wear strange armor."
"Long story."
"We have time."
Six glanced at the ring of armed Mandalorians. "I don't."
That earned a few quiet snorts.
From behind Verd, a boy stepped forward—twelve, maybe. Sharp eyes. No fear.
Jango Fett.
"Your armor is damaged," the boy said. "But you stand like a warrior."
Six met his gaze. "You should see the other guys."
Jango grinned. Several Mandalorians nodded approvingly.
Verd folded his arms.
"You fall from the heavens. You survive. You joke in the face of armed warriors."
A pause.
"That sounds like a Fett."
Six blinked. "…A what now?"
Verd stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on Six's shoulder.
"You are no Mandalorian by blood," he said. "But that can be changed."
Jango stepped up beside him, eyes bright.
"If you choose it," Verd continued, voice carrying ancient weight, "Clan Fett will take you in."
Cassandra whispered privately, almost amused: "Spartan… I believe you are being adopted."
Six exhaled slowly.
New world, new life, and maybe just maybe a new family
"…Yeah," he said. "Why not. I've had worse first days."
Verd clapped his shoulder once, firm and approving.
"Welcome, then," he said. "Brother."