Chapter 1: An Introduction To Darkness

"There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and nobly proportioned. On it was but one word, 'Dracula.'" - Bram Stoker, Dracula


"Lieutenant Shepard, I've looked at your evaluations sent over by Doctors Slavik and Jain. I agree with their recommendation for discharging you."

"Come on, Captain." A sigh. "Can't you put in a good word? Say I'm still fit to serve under you? You requested me before the damn doctor reports."

"Shepard … I'm going to be blunt with you. I can try to talk to anyone I can to keep you in service, but you have to look me in the eye and tell me you can sleep at night without nightmares."

"…."

"Shepard …."

"I can, just give me a chance."

"Is this with or without the medications? The therapy?" A pause. "You can't, can you? … I'm sorry, Shepard. I can't put my neck out for you if I can't trust that you're at the top of your game. Not with a clear conscience, not with men relying on you."

"But sir-"

"I'm sorry …."

Jai stares up at the ceiling of her minuscule apartment, body slick with sweat from the nightmares that never go away, never let her rest. The Captain's words ring in her ears with each of her silent questions of 'why?'

Why did she suffer the same nightmares every night, hear the screams and pleas of an enemy she shouldn't feel any guilt over? Why did the faces of Mindor merge with the images of Torfan, turning into a festering wound on her soul? Why did the Alliance leave her to suffer the pain of the disaster that came from their orders and the inner turmoil it left in her?

She should, by all rights, feel vindicated over taking down so many batarians after what slavers did to Mindor, for slaughtering her family, but couldn't. Her heart was heavy from the cries of mercy she ignored, of fellow soldiers that fell at her persistence. All under the claim of merely following orders, of achieving the Alliance's goal with any means necessary. Her regret weighed on her shoulders and came in the form of countless faces wearing accusing stares within her nightmares.

A sob wracks through her body as she hears whispers from the dead and she clenches her eyes, letting the tears trail down from the corners of her eyes. A form shifts on her small bed beside her, pushing the blankets off as it moves closer to her at the sound of her distress. She hiccups and open her eyes when the light weight settles on her, looking down to the face of her companion. Her lips tremble at the look of awareness in the eyes staring back up at her, at the knowing in the inhuman eyes.

Swallowing thickly, Jai lifts a hand to pet her one true companion, the one who always seems to know when she's falling into an episode and is there to pull her out. "Did I wake you?" she asks her faithful companion, Jimmu.

She chuckles weakly when the shiba inu makes not a sound, merely laying his head on her chest. She runs her hand down his back, feeling and just focusing on his soft, copper fur against her shaking hand. A therapist suggested him for Jai, claiming she could find a well trained dog meant to be able to handle cases of post traumatic stress disorder like hers. She hated to admit to having the issue, but she loved Jimmu's company, his never ending devotion. Even if he was trained for the position, his calming presence made her feel like he actually cared.

It's nice to be wanted and loved even after all the horrible things she had done.

Jai takes a few minutes to stroke her hand over Jimmu's back, letting the strands tickle her sweaty palm. He must feel the growing ease in her as he seems to perk up, his ears a little higher on his head and tail giving a few small wiggles. Her smiles comes easier as she watches him and turns her pets into a scratch at that spot on his neck that always seems out of his reach. She huffs a laugh when his serious expression shifts as he sits up, tilting into her touch as he kicks a foot. When she releases him and shifts her weight, he stands over her thighs as she sits up, waiting as if to make sure she's okay to get up and start her day.

Chuckling, she cups his face and kisses the top of his head as she strokes his cheeks with her thumbs. She closes her eyes and keeps her head lowered as she whispers. "Thank you."

Without him, she'd be lost.

Seemingly satisfied with her condition, Jimmu wags his tail and lets her swivel on the bed to drop her feet onto the floor. He stays when she stands and stretches her arms up, arching her back and groaning. She crosses the distance between her bed and bathroom, stepping onto the cold tile of the tiny bathroom. There's just enough room to walk between the shower stall and sink and toilet across from it, and she reaches in to turn on the water.

She strips off her large sleeping shirt and panties as the water runs long enough to flush out the worst of the dirt from the pipes and heat up as high as it'll go. It's still a bit on the cold side and Jai shivers when she steps under the spray, exhaling heavily. If there's one good thing about the temperature, it's that it forces her to hurry and clean so she can get out, dry off, and warm herself up. That and she can save some extra credits on her rent by using less than her allotted water amount.

As she steps out and grabs her towel, she glances out to see Jimmu hop off the bed and come to the doorway as if to check up on her. She chuckles at just how much of a worrywort he seems to be and walks over to him, wrapping the towel around herself.

"Yes, yes. I'm okay," she says to him, smiling as she passes him. "I can shower on my own."

She knows that's not completely true, and is aware that he knows it too, but she tries to act normal whenever she can. It's good practice for when she has to go out and try to help people at the clinic.

Humming to herself and trying to use the mindless sound to clear the last of the fog left by her fitful sleep from her mind, Jai rubs the towel across her skin before bending down and scrubbing her white hair dry. She tosses the towel over the back of her single chair to dry and goes to her closet in search of something she can wear that won't be missed when it gets blood - or worse - all over it. She goes with her doctor scrubs. She can always get more from the clinic's supply, and it saved her few real clothes. Tossing the chosen clothes on her bed, she digs out some clean panties and a bra and pulls them on.

Grabbing her slate grey pants first, she tugs them up her legs and latches them closed. She pulls on a thin tank top because the fabric of her top is decidedly not waterproof. Neither is the thin undershirt, but she feels a bit better knowing there is one extra layers for any fluids to have to soak through before getting to her skin.

She'll take any naive sense of comfort where she can get it these days.

Jai slides her arms through the long sleeves of the doctor's jacket and zips up the closure that runs along the side of stomach and chest. Sitting on the bed, she pulls on her socks and shoes, thankful that at least they are somewhat waterproof. Last thing she'd really want is to have to walk around with something not water in her shoes, soaking into her socks. She learned quickly that it's never just water that can soak into her shoes at the clinic.

Once dressed, Jai goes into her bathroom and opens the mirror cabinet, pulling out her hairbrush and elastic ties. She brushes her hair back and up, snapping the tie around it, taking a look over her work to make sure it's all pulled back and out of her way. An unfortunate thing about having such light hair is how easy it is to see when gunk gets on it, and she'd much rather limit just how many questionable substances get into it.

Without any time to make something to eat, she heads into the corner of her apartment closest to a kitchen and pulls out a box of protein granola bars from the single overhead cabinet. Jimmu hears the crinkle of the wrapper when she opens it and rushes over, but she snorts with a shake of her head.

"Oh no," she says as she reaches into the cabinet beneath the sink and grabs the plastic container of his dog food pellets. "This is your breakfast." Sticking the granola bar in her mouth to free her hand, she pulls Jimmu's bowl out of the sink, sets it down, and pours some of the dried food into it. She mumbles a 'eat up' around her food, chuckling at the dejected look she can swear she sees in his eyes as he comes closer and starts to eat.

Chewing a piece of her own breakfast, Jai leans against the counter and watches Jimmu eat. She's not late, per se, but she'd much rather get out of the house and on her way before she can manage to run into the real asshole of a neighbor she has. She doesn't know why, but she can swear the man looks at Jimmu like he's an easy meal and the thought chills her to the bone. She can't control the few times her companion has to be taken out of the apartment to be able to relieve himself - she tried litter training like the extranet swears is possible, but the feat isn't a complete success yet - so she does her best to avoid the man.

She finishes her breakfast and manages to drink a glass of water by the time Jimmu cleans his bowl, lapping up some of his water. He steps back and looks up at her expectantly, but she knows she can't fall for that sweet face. She's fed him too much before and he seemed sluggish all day, if even a bit uncomfortable. No matter how much he liked the extra food, she can't stand the thought of seeing him in that condition.

She's selfish in her need for him to be in top shape.

Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and takes a few steady breaths. Jimmu is her everything just as she hopes she is for him. They only have each other to get through the mess in their lives, in the situation she got them into. She knows he'd have easily found another who needed his help, who he could help with his calming presence, but she'd be nothing without him. Too many times had she tried to end it all before her therapy finally led to him coming into her life. The least she could do was make sure he was healthy and comfortable despite his puppy eyes convincing her otherwise.

A weight settling on her legs draws her mind back to the present and she looks down, seeing Jimmu, his front paws on her shins and ever-knowing eyes glued to her. She smiles weakly and he steps off when she leans down to run her hand over his head. He saves her every second of every day and it's frightening to imagine a life without him.

"Hey. What do you say we head to work early? I'm sure Mordin and Daniel won't complain."


Garrus hears the commotion behind him, the distressed shouts that would normally fall on deaf ears drawing his attention as he walks through the throng of Omega's crowds. Head down, he turns to slide between the flow of people in opposing directions and glances back to the voices and watches a small group of vorcha surrounding a younger asari and human couple. In one quick moment, he easily finds the gang of screeching and hissing vorcha have already drawn blood from the asari and taken a blade to her partner's throat.

Just one more mugging in an ocean of faceless corruption born in complacency.

Taking an alley that wraps around one of the stalls - a batarian merchant screaming his native tongue, rough and guttural, and not giving Garrus enough mind to stop in his near harassment of passersby. Even the simple act of buying goods comes with its dangers, merchants out to rob anyone unaware with a smile and sweetened word. Garrus could create a ripple in the economy of Omega, turn it to better benefit the simple inhabitants just trying to make a living when the universe has otherwise abandoned them. He doesn't, however, because he knows regulation of the sort would take the full effort he's using to take down the more obvious evil of the station.

It's disgusting, like an oozing wound on the galaxy, and every person he takes down, that deserves death, only feed on the infection. It doesn't matter the species, but vorcha make it their goal to feast on the injured, scavenge from the dead left in Omega's wake.

The alley takes him around and back towards his targets, coming out a short distance behind the ongoing assault. The asari has devolved into wordless pleas as she holds out her hands, palms up in the obvious gesture of having nothing to save her mate, to assuage their attackers and end the vicious encounter. Garrus knows this station well enough that these women's fates were sealed the second the vorcha narrowed their sights on them.

No matter of collateral will save their lives.

Closing the gap between himself and the scene, he knows there's too many people around to use a gun to take care of his targets. That won't prove to be a problem, however, because he's had plenty of past experiences on the station to come up with other methods of killing. With his hand to hand training, taking them down with a blade will be easy.

Let them die with fear at the end of his blade, never knowing that they've had the worse luck of being caught in Archangel's sights.

Drawing a blade into each hand from his hips, Garrus moves like water as he pushes past the last of the crowd before him. The blades slide cleaning into the backs of two vorcha's heads, one at the end of each hand, and they fall before he's even noticed. Another turns to him in surprise when a body collapses against him and Garrus relishes in the fact that vorcha are too stupid to understand the ultimate use for taking a hostage. When the vorcha draws his blade away from the woman's throat, Garrus closes the distance and kicks the two before the damn thing can grow a brain.

He knows that the move sends the woman down with her assailant, but she'll live from Garrus' kick. A bruised side is better than a slit throat and she doesn't have to like the way he saves their lives, he'll get the job done no matter what her and her mate's opinion.

Spinning, he slices the throat of the charging vorcha as it shoves the asari aside to come to its partner's aid. Blood spurts from the thing's neck before it can realize what's happened and it hisses, the sound gurgling as the injury only slows it. It's all the time Garrus needs to close the gap between them, knee it to cripple it further and flip the knife in his hand to slam down into the vorcha's head.

The last has crawled up to its feet and charges, but Garrus' armor takes the blow across his arm guard. He growls and punches it in the face with one fist before slashing the opposite blade through its face. It screeches and jumps back, brandishing its own blade most likely stolen from the body of someone who clearly knows their blades. At the end of this, Garrus might consider even taking it for himself.

It's not like the vorcha will be using it.

He side steps the incoming stab and watches as it needs a second to recover, preparing his blade. It spins quickly and screams, charging in its fury. It's all Garrus needs as he moves into the charge and angles himself aside while he swings his arms under the vorcha's raised blade. His blade sinks into the vorcha's unguarded stomach and it drops the blade in surprise, snarling as Garrus twists it.

Yanking his blade from its target's abdomen, Garrus elbows the vorcha right where its neck connects to its back. He sees its body tenses for a fraction of second before it yells and falls to the ground. For what's next, Garrus doesn't need his blades as he circles the vorcha. Growling, he lifts his boot and slams it down on the vorcha's head, hearing the skull collapse with a loud crack. It doesn't move when he lifts his foot, even less chance than its companions to be able to heal this kind of wound as bone and soft brain matter slough off the sole of his boot.

He knows he'll have to clean his blades later, but a quick drag of them across the patch of material at the crook of his elbows will have to do. Slipping them into their sheaths, he turns to the sobbing women and looks them over. He hums when the asari looks up into his eyes, a strange sort of fear and gratefulness within the deep green of them.

He doesn't expect a 'thank you' on this station, let alone after kicking one of them to down his target. His goal on Omega is to work in the shadows, to rid it of the corruption one kill at a time, and make it better for those living here whether they know it or not. Being well known will only get him into danger and frighten those so used to there being no other way. People aren't easily swayed towards what's different, too afraid of change to get out of their comfort zones and do anything to make it better.


Nihlus nursed his second beer, its slightly too cold bottle making his palm numb as he takes his time to enjoy the taste of the expensive drink. He had no intent to get drunk, but enjoy his first night back on the Citadel from a mission. He just had no time to act like a juvenile, learning long ago that life as a Spectre came with plenty of unexpected calls from the Council. He was lucky to manage even a single night to himself.

Maybe not completely by myself …. The Taetrian beauty definitely looks like she could be up for a night together.

Catching her amber eyes, he lifts his bottle in greeting and she smiles, tilting her head to give him a glimpse of her tantalizing neck. He rumbles in approval and waves down the bartender as he passes. When the human man stops and looks to him in question, Nihlus jerks his chin towards her.

"Another of whatever she's drinking. On me," he says, slipping a chit on the bar before standing and making his way around to her. As he slips into the space she makes for him, he matches her smile with a smirk of his own. "My name's Nihlus."

"Heria," she responds, purring as she makes no effort to hide her examination of him.

When her eyes return to his, he growls under his breath. "See something you like?"

"Yeah. A lot." She ignores her fresh glass of whatever she was having and leans closer to him.

Nihlus thanks the Spirits that she doesn't smell or look too inebriated to truly be aware enough to consent completely. Last thing he wants is to take a female that's too drunk to truly enjoy the night, turian beliefs on stress relief aside. He's nothing if not considerate of his partner's own pleasure.

He closes the gap and sets his beer on the counter. "I can say much the same," he says with a low thrum to his subvocals and smirks when her pupils dilate for a split second. "Do you want to finish your drink or hurry up and get out of here?"

Heria growls and stands up. "Spirits forsake the damn drink. I want to be well aware of this." She grins and steps into his personal space, chirping and tilting her head to show off her throat again.

The sight sends heat straight down his spine and he growls, hand wrapping around her waist. He doesn't often find many females who skip the game of teasing and making him mad with lust. He doesn't hate it by any means, but he just doesn't have the time. Not when he could be pulled into another mission where he's working alone, too deep in danger to get any relief.

Nihlus hums as he dips he head to her cowl and runs his tongue up her pulse. She tastes salty, her hide soft against his rough tongue and vocals pure desire as she lifts onto the tips of her toes to keep contact with his mouth. He chuckles roughly, but the sound grinds to a halt with the sensation of vibration and flash of light against his wrist. Cursing under his breath, he steps away from her and glances to his omni-tool.

He silences his tool from everything but emergencies everytime he manages to steal time to himself, and the only reason for it to activate involves yet another trek out into space to clean up the mess no one else wants to touch. His companion rumbles in question, but he sighs and shakes his head, giving her a feigned smile and trill in apology. While he really was looking forward to the stress relief, he knows he doesn't owe her any kind of explanation.

Not that he'd give her any, like he could.

Turning away from her, he starts to push his way through the faceless mass of dancers and drunken patrons grinding to the pounding beat of the club's music. The sound and presence of so many makes his plates itch as he switches into Spectre Kryik, the alert and call to arms more important that relief. If he still sought pleasure over duty, he'd be no better than the mercs who birthed him. He has his moments of privacy, but he'd be nothing but filth if not for the struggle he endured to gain the position he's in.

When he manages to get out of the club and into the quieter expanse of the bustling Zakera Ward, he opens his tool's interface to check the caller before he opens an actual line of communication. Usually, he sends a message to the Council's communication specialist to alert them of his position in a non-secure location. It gives him time to get somewhere to hear their most definitely sensitive mission parameters.

This hail, however, comes from Saren, his former mentor.

Nihlus hums at the interesting contact, wondering what's gotten so important that his mentor has need to break radio silence to contact him. The two have a civil work relationship, but their alternative form of work keeps them apart and in positions where outgoing hails often put them at more risk than benefit. With how focused Saren is on this self-imposed mission, the radio silence has been at his behest than Nihlus'.

Nihlus knows better that to imagine this instance has come about out of anything close to friendly curiosity. Saren wouldn't be contacting him directly unless whatever he's found in important.

Opening the call, he finds that the older Spectre's call will be audio only, another reason for Nihlus to believe this hail contains some important information. He doesn't get a chance to acknowledge Saren before the older turian speaks.

"Follow the coordinates. Be there in ten minutes."

That's all Saren gives before closing the call just as abruptly. It tells Nihlus exactly what this call is about and he feels his blood chill at the idea. A greater mission than any laid down by the Council calls to him, one that must happen within the darkness lest the universe fall to discord. It's one he, too, would have been blind to had he been trained by any other Spectre, and he doesn't know if he should thank or damn Saren for it.

Swiping his tool over a skycar terminal, he overrides it with his Spectre codes. What he's doing needs to remain cast in shadows, and he'd rather wipe the data from his trip. Anyone searching will not find his credit chit's information in the purchasing data, and his Spectre status would instantly block out any further search.

He gets into the skycar before the doors swing open completely, ducking into its darkened cab before pulling the door back down. He doesn't have time to wait for it to close on its slow hydraulics, too focused on crossing the distance between himself and his destination. From his position, it'll take him to the final second of his time limit to arrive, and he'd much rather see what Saren finds so important than anger his mentor, be left behind, and lose any chance of being part of something that's deemed necessary of his inclusion.

Arriving at the back alley just as the last minute of his allotted time ticks over, Nihlus steps out into the darkened path between warehouses and walks to the exact location of his coordinates. Saren is nothing if not exacting in his instructions, but Nihlus has to wonder if his own time keeping is off and his mentor has already moved on. It's not a thought that he likes.

"You're late." Saren steps out of a darkened alcove ten paces ahead of Nihlus' position.

"I'm on time," Nihlus counters, watching as his mentor approaches. The fact that Saren is still in his light armor speaks of the urgency of this meeting. "What is it?"

"I found the one you let out of your sights."

Nihlus stiffens. This conversation is as he thought, one of import and soaked in the venom of their secret lives, their secret aim to protect the galaxy from behind closed doors. 'The one he let out of his sights' can only be one person, Cydian Nemodius. The woman made of more than the blue blood of any natural turian, one that had poison in her veins and an insatiable hunger.

A Umbrus Nocturni, an impossible thing that ancient turians once worshiped, blinded to the fact that they are nothing but monstrous parasites. Many species had something hidden within their kind, beings that seemed otherworldly and the stuff of legends and nightmares, and turians were no different. To many, Nocturni were nothing but superstition, ghosts of a time when science fell short of belief. Nihlus didn't need to know the exacts of science behind their existence to know the dangers, to find the need to hunt down those only see as madness.

How blissfully ignorant the universe was when evil walked in the darkness so abundant in space. In expanding outward and connecting to other species, the evil found no limit to its food supply.

Cydian had slipped from Nihlus' talons long ago when he found himself in the unlikely sights of a justicar. While hunting down the Nocturni, he was being hunted himself. He knew no matter of explanation could be heard or taken for reason by the justicar and her blindly strict Code, so he had chosen to run than try to keep on Nemodius' tracks and lose his own life.

Seeing the chance to right his mistakes, Nihlus nods. "Where is she?"

"Omega." When Saren turns to leave, he glances back over his shoulder. "Make sure you kill her this time."