From the air the wards looked more like a graveyard than the once thriving center of galactic society. The buildings, shadows of their former technological glory, looked like centuries old tombstones reaching up from a dismal scene in the streets below. The once vibrant towers of the Wards were crumbling shambles; evidence of the Reapers destruction and the serious damage that resulted on the Citadel and Mass Relays. Whatever Shepard had done once he initiated the Catalyst it had been enough to devastate every inch of the Citadel.

"It looks as bad as Earth," Lieutenant James Vega, hulking Alliance Marine, observed dryly. He stood rigidly in the entry hatch of a Systems Alliance UT-47A Kodiak as it skimmed by the dozens of ruinous, battered buildings that once housed asari and volus investment banking firms. The door to the Kodiak was wide open and James balanced himself by hanging onto a crew handle overhead. His eyes studied the destruction. Was this the price for victory? He wondered. How many lay dead in the streets below? How many had they failed to save?

"I imagine Palaven is the same," Garrus Vakarian, former C-Sec officer and turian marksman commented. He stood in the hatch beside James, surveying the damage left in the wake of the galaxy's greatest battle—the fight to beat the Reapers.

"Speaking of Palaven," James began, raising his voice so it could be heard over the roar of the mass effect fields that kept the Kodiak aloft. "Why aren't you there helping rebuild?"

Garrus' scarred face turned to address his compatriot. "I owe Shepard this much, at least. Besides, I was never very good at fixing things."

"Well, it's good to have you here, Scars," Vega remarked with a toothy grin. Scars had been a nickname the well-muscled Marine had bestowed upon his turian crewmate thanks to the ample facial scarring Garrus had suffered at the hands of some relentless mercenaries on Omega. It fit Garrus well, or so Vega thought.

"Don't get too excited. Opinions might change when I make you look bad in action," Garrus announced wryly. But both of them doubted there would be any action here on the Citadel. The place was a miserable graveyard.

"This is the last spot the transponder on his armor gave as a location," Lieutenant Haley Collins explained as she glanced back at the two stalwart veterans of the Normandy.

"You sure about that?" Vega questioned as he gazed down into the rubble below. Buildings had been leveled by the explosions that rocked the Citadel once the Catalyst had been activated by Commander Shepard. Vega could see steel beams and heavy girders used to support the skyscrapers that once occupied the mighty station's skyline strewn about the cramped thoroughfares below.

"Your friend Liara was adamant when I asked her the same question," Lieutenant Collins replied without hesitation, as if she was expecting the doubt. It wasn't easy being a new face among battle-hardened heroes that had been through hell together. It wasn't as if Haley was a stranger to the battle on Earth, after all she had flown two sorties to get troops on the deck as a part of Hammer, the ground force sent to reach the beam leading to the Citadel. There were a lot of faces from the pre-flight briefing she didn't see on the ground after the battle had been won. Some might have considered reassignment to the Normandy a great honor, but Collins wasn't sure she felt that way.

"Okay, you can set us down here," Vega ordered. Collins was competent enough, but Vega still reserved his judgment. After all, she was replacing Lieutenant Steve Cortez—Esteban—and that was hard for Vega to accept. Cortez had been an old friend and sadly another in a long line of men and women that had laid down their lives in service to something bigger than themselves.

The Kodiak's engines roared with the familiar grumble that Vega and Garrus both knew so well after countless forays into danger side by side with Commander Shepard. They felt the mass effect field stabilizing the shuttle's descent as it touched down, kicking up a hail of dirt and rock. The duo deftly hopped out of the open entry hatch and shielded themselves from the debris sprayed their direction as the Kodiak's engines flared and it once again took to the dreary skies overhead.

Vega felt his fingertips dance lightly over the pistol grip of his N7 Typhoon Assault Rifle. The urge to yank it free from its position on his back felt overwhelming, but it was unnecessary. There were no threats now. Shepard had seen to that. His hand dropped languidly to his side and he wondered if he'd ever draw and fire his weapon in anger again.

Of course he would. That was a silly thought. He was an Alliance Marine and trouble had already started brewing in the galaxy just months after the Reaper's defeat.

Vega shook off the thoughts and turned his attention to the scene around him. There were more pressing concerns—namely finding Shepard's body and laying him to rest. Vega shuddered at the thought of his friend and mentor lying amidst the rubble of the Citadel slowly decomposing after valiantly giving his life to save the Milky Way. He deserved more than that. It had taken the Normandy months to return to the Sol system thanks to the damaged mass effect relays and that journey had started after weeks of repairs to get the trusty ship flying again.

"It's like something out of a horror movie," Garrus murmured. He was ten paces ahead of Vega and gaging the avenues and storefronts around them. It was nigh unrecognizable from what it had once been. Shop windows were shattered and jagged shards of glass lay strewn everywhere. A myriad of different goods from the various vendors lay about the area among rubble and debris from stories high above.

But more horrible than all of that were the bodies… the heaps and heaps of bodies in various degrees of decomposition.

"Dios mio," James Vega said quietly as he began to absorb the charnel house around him. There were hundreds of bodies strewn about around them. Having noticed it for the first time the smell suddenly became apparent to him and he nearly retched. Dried blood was evident upon the walls and in the streets and gutters where it had probably pooled in great quantities before drying after weeks of exposure. Bodies were bloated, corrupted by their own internal processes post-mortem and Vega found it hard to breathe.

There were asari, turians, salarians, krogan and humans. All of them looked dismal and wretched. Their eyes had rotted out, replaced by pearls of darkness that leant each twisted face a frightening, ghoulish appearance. This was the true nature of the Reaper's grisly harvesting process. Vega knew the Reapers had been sending people up to the Citadel via the beam that originated in London, but it did not prepare him for this ghastly vision.

"C'mon, Vega… Shepard's waited long enough," Garrus stated calmly, seemingly undisturbed by the horror surrounding them. But the sight was enough to force Garrus to avert his gaze. He knew what the Reapers were capable of; he knew this was likely what the inside of a detainment camp looked like. Knowing didn't trouble him any less. But Garrus was here to find Shepard. And he resolved himself to do just that.

The pair of them ascended up the gentle slope of a ramp created by a fallen wall from a nearby restaurant. Vega picked his way through the debris hoping not to see any more bodies, but it was impossible to avoid them. They were all over the area like carelessly discarded trash. In the avenues below they had been piled into mounds as high as Vega's chest. He wondered how many extinguished lives lay scattered around them. How many hopeful families wondered if their kin on the Citadel survived when the truth of their fate was far more grisly? The corpses were less obvious in the rubble around them. Most of the poor souls had been crushed by the debris when it collapsed and occasionally Vega spotted a hand extending from beneath the refuse. There were limbs as well. Arms, legs and sometimes a head, but the bodies they had been connected to were gone. It was wretched, but Vega buried the feelings and veiled his anger. He needed to focus on finding Shepard.

Garrus scanned the area looking for anything remotely familiar that would indicate where Shepard's body was, but he could see nothing that resembled the N7 soldier. There was an internal doubt that mingled with a hope that had existed deep within him. The turian had been through the unimaginable with Shepard on multiple occasions and the man had an uncanny ability to survive the most desperate circumstances. Of course he was dead now. But Garrus wanted to see that he was paid the respect he deserved as a warrior and a friend. He wanted to lay Commander Shepard to rest, but the idea of finding him amid the shambles around them seemed almost hopeless. He glanced down at the readings on his omni-tool. "He should be somewhere up ahead. Maybe twenty meters," he reported hopefully.

The two of them climbed down the opposite slope of the rubble they'd clambered earlier and stepped into yet another river of gore and carcasses. Vega shook his head contritely. He felt lousy. He wondered how many scenes just like this were present across the galaxy. It had taken them too long to beat the Reapers. The price, as he looked upon it now, was far too high. But he forced his eyes to continue to survey the bloody mess as he searched for Shepard's remains.

On a skyway on the tier over their heads the bright green leaves of several exotic plant species swayed in the artificial breeze, still tended to by the diligent keepers. The sight of the trimmed foliage was an odd contrast against the bloody gore that painted the Citadel's thoroughfares.

Of course the Keepers had continued to tend to the duties they existed solely for. Like the automatons they were, they had already begun to repair much of the damage the Citadel had sustained. But the task was monumental and even with the help of cleanup crews it would be a long time before the Citadel was a place anyone could live again. But then who would want to? It was the graveyard for hundreds of thousands now. Vega didn't much believe in ghosts, but it seemed hard to believe there would be a few lingering souls haunting the corridors of the Citadel once normalcy was restored. If it could be restored.

One of the green, multi-limbed creatures shuffled past the human Marine and turian sniper, oblivious of the carnage around it. It adeptly stepped over the limp limbs and dead bodies. Its spidery appendages daintily navigated through the tangle of bodies until it disappeared around a corner not far off, leaving the duo in silence as they watched it go.

"Those things creep me out, man," Vega stated as he watched it pass.

"Yeah, can't say I was ever a fan," Garrus agreed.

They continued to pick their way through the mess of debris and the dead until Garrus' omni-tool chirped repeatedly, indicating they had arrived at the designated location where Shepard's beacon had originally resonated. "This should be it."

Vega looked around, but there was no sign of Shepard. A hefty strut lay slanted against the cracked wall of a tall apartment complex. There was dried blood at the foot of the wall and streaks of it that mingled with the fractured surface itself. Fissures ran throughout what remained of the structure and yet more rubble lay in mounds at its base. But there was no Shepard. "Where is he?" Vega asked irritably.

"I'm… not certain. These are the coordinates Liara gave us. He should be here," the turian repeated.

"Well he's not," Vega seethed. He felt his hand curl into a fist as a surge of frustration ran through his body. He was almost shaking. Where the hell is he? Liara didn't get this sort of thing wrong.

All N7s were equipped with emergency transponders in case they needed to be retrieved from covert operations but were unable to call for extraction because of injury, death or a communications blackout. Shepard's had been activated two days after the explosion that had rocked the Citadel and ended the Reaper menace. And it emanated from this location for weeks before shutting down.

So where is he? Vega could suddenly feel every muscle in his body trembling with anger. He felt like he had failed. Once again he had not lived up to the so-called potential his superiors had always lauded him for possessing. Shepard had trusted him. He'd told him that the Alliance was right to select Vega for the N7 program, but the Alliance Marine had let down his last Commander.

"Wait a sec," Garrus announced abruptly. He knelt down and sifted through some rubbish near the dried blood and then held up his gloved hand. He was clutching a chain that swung ever-so-slightly to and fro; at the end of the chain the unmistakable sight of an Alliance ID tag dangled. Garrus rose to his feet and held the tag before his studious gaze. There was a smattering of dried blood and the aluminum face of the tag was scratched up severely, but Garrus could still read the name of its owner. "John Shepard. N7. O positive," his voice was hollow as he read it.

"So he was here," Vega said unnecessarily.

"He was," Garrus added. "But where did he go?"

"We're going to find out," Vega declared sincerely. They searched the surrounding area for what seemed like hours, but to no avail. There was no sign of Shepard's body or any of the equipment or armor he'd been using. Aside from the dog tag they'd found there were no clues. Shepard had indeed been there, but as far as where he had gone—they had no idea. They agreed they would return to the Normandy and brainstorm in order to find a solution to their current problem. Despite their confidence being shaken, they had no intention of giving up the search for Shepard's body.

Vega's hand reached up to touch the communications ear bud. "Collins, this is Vega, we need a pick up ASAP. We've got work to do."