"... It has to be something on your end."
Hackett's voice riled Shepard from his stupor. He stumbled away from Anderson's body, staggering toward the console on legs that, by all rights, should have disintegrated already.
"Commander Shepard?"
The console was a flickering array of red warning lights. They pulsed and throbbed like the pain in his head as he slumped forward and propped himself up by a bloodied elbow, shaking on the spot.
"I don't see... I'm not sure how to..."
The holographics came in and out of focus. He couldn't be sure whether that was his sight or a fluctuating console; what he did see was circuit-like streams of light weaving amidst the blazing red haze of the error messages, congregating in the corner of the console to form a hexagonal, many-layered three dimensional protrusion. It didn't belong – that much he knew. It reminded him considerably more of the Collectors' controls; perhaps this was part of the Crucible. Perhaps this is part of what the Protheans added to the design?
He thumped the console with a fist, squashing the immaterial geometric outcropping of holograms as if it were palpable substance. The entire console erupted with green shapes and from the streams of light and intermittent warning signs Shepard could gauge that the Citadel was being overridden or perhaps reprogrammed somehow. The platform juddered and the stream of energy connecting the Crucible to the Citadel visibly grew more unstable, sending sparks and arcs of lightning fruitlessly into space, striking pieces of metallic debris. The glow that followed was blinding, soon forcing an already disorientated Shepard to his knees with a mangled arm slung across his eyes; followed by a series of incrementally violent lurches that threw him around the platform.
The glow, it seemed, was more than benign luminescence. It was a wave that was growing in magnitude and increasing in velocity at an alarming rate. A dread however briefly rattled his mind, fearing that he may have unleashed the indiscriminate destruction they had assumed the Catalyst would fix. His vision blurred and dimmed into bleak greyscale as all semblance of adrenaline finally washed out of his system and he toppled to the floor.
"Admiral, something's happening... The Crucible..."
"I can see that."
Hackett stormed over to the intercom with some urgency, assuming the worst as any sensible officer must.
"All hands, I repeat, all hands – brace for impact! All available power to shore up kinetic barriers!"
The wave of cerulean light seemed almost tranquil at first as it glided through the air. For the great separating distance and the shimmering ripples it could have been water-like were it not for the voraciousness with which it expanded and hurtled outward; any semblance of calm sea was replaced with a terrifying tempestuous miasma as it became visible in more detail. The storm of energy crashed into the side of the vessel. Other than a ringing in the ears and some sounds of fuses going, the result seemed anticlimactic to say the least.
"Status report!"
Upon the bridge, most of the crew were militarily unfazed and still working their consoles diligently.
"Kinetic barriers holding steady."
"Core is stable, engines are functional."
"No hull breaches."
"Three casualties. They're being transferred to the medbay."
"Reaper forces have ceased fire."
The admiral turned toward the fore of the dreadnaught and stared dead ahead through the gigantic debris field. Sure enough, the armada of enormous shellfish-like reapers had stopped firing.
"Get our sensors back online. All fleets, continue firing!"
The cannonade of thousands of guns thundered toward the motionless reapers and thumped into their shells. The result was unprecedented destruction; their kinetic barriers were non-existent and with every dreadnaught hit or Thanix cannon barrage a terrific rift was torn into the armour plating of the motionless vessels. In amongst the fleet of reapers a few seemed to squirm and squirt streams of accelerated molten metal, screeching out in flailing red beams to no productive avail.
The squirming now possessed most of the Reaper fleet, almost like a plague of involuntary twitches and spasms. The piercing crimson lights that formed their eye-like orifices and weapon platforms flickered and dimmed. Some of the smaller vessels without warning started to splinter and tear themselves apart. Hackett thought briefly about gloating over victory or cracking a grin to his crew; but there was one more, infinitely important thing to attend to.
"SSV Normandy, do you copy?"
Joker's fingers flew across the flight controls, weaving the battered frigate through the debris. EDI's voice was something of a background noise, but one he'd grown attached to and learned to listen to.
"Admiral Hackett is addressing us, Jeff."
"Repeat, SSV Normandy, do you copy?"
For a moment he again sank his attention into dodging a massive detached Reaper tentacle which scraped away the last few percentage points of the kinetic barriers.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Think he can tell us what the hell just happened?"
"My external sensors are now functional. I can assess the nature of the event, but I highly recommend answering the Admiral first."
An afterthought of Joker's reflexive hand movements engaged the communications as he swerved around a cluster of malfunctioning reaper probes, taking a moment to grin as a human fighter picked them off as he passed.
"This is the Normandy, Admiral. What the hell just happened?"
Hackett's voice still had that almost perturbing, unshakable and croaky calm. Must have been something that comes with age or experience; or both.
"We don't know. Shepard's still on the Citadel. Status unknown."
Determination flooded Joker's system in another bout of adrenaline and purpose; the frigate nimbly darted through what was left of the battle debris and blitzed toward the Citadel.
"Copy that, on our way."
"Jeff, I am detecting a power fluctuation coming from the central tower; it is possible that Shepard activated the catalyst from there."
Almost entirely without warning, the Citadel rotated a tiny amount – barely perceptible – and the central tower lit up. Energy rocked across the colossal arms of the Citadel and a blinding beam of the same cerulean energy screamed past the Normandy's port side.
"EDI?"
"Calculating the beam's trajectory... Jeff, it appears to be aimed at the Sol Relay."
"RRRRRAAAHHHH!"
The krogan's bulky shoulder collided with the cannibal and sent it crashing into a nearby phone box. It twitched and writhed on the ground, unable to act any further. He snorted derisively. The salarian following him darted over to the incapacitated reaper specimen and examined it, casting a scanner from his omni-tool over the still-breathing creature's body.
"Flesh is responding to – no, attacking – cybernetic implants. Rejection. Core cognitive function compromised. Synthetic elements inoperable, no longer interfacing with organic elements."
Wrex laughed and thumped his bloodied gauntlets together.
"And here I was thinking they'd actually put up a fight."
The salarian seemed to ignore him.
"Muscle fibres not functioning with augmentations. Blood clotting in synthetic arteries. Nerve activity is off the charts."
"Rngh! We need to push forward!"
He roared once more, bellowing his war-cry to rally the few embattled krogan staggering around to his heel. The bewildered – and fascinated – salarian technician followed reluctantly in the dust of the charging krogan.
The three hulking figures barrelled through a veritable legion of defenceless cannibals, husks and marauders although for all of the blood rage they likely did not notice the ineptitude and lack of fight from their enemy. At the far end of their stampede route there were three hunched figures with a perceptible orange glow between them that illuminated another crested silhouette in the ground. They didn't stop to see the sights as they came to a halt to see three salarians attending to a fallen turian with grotesque scars smeared along his right cheek and a malfunctioning visor over his left eye. There was blood everywhere; but for all of the blood Wrex could tell it was him. Garrus Vakarian.
"Why are there so many frogs here? What's wrong with him?"
One of the figures, the one bearing an omni-tool readout, rose to answer.
"Major Kirrahe, STG. Checking for survivors. Only found five bodies. Four human marines and this turian."
The body shifted and groaned in the foxhole it lay in.
"Major! We're losing him!"
Wrex swerved to jab an accusatory finger at the salarian technician who had only just finished catching up, having tripped over immobile husks and been unable to shove any who were standing upright aside half as easily. He panted for breath, barely able to hear the snorting krogan.
"Call in a shuttle! If he dies, I tie your horns together!"
With some fearful reluctance he did so, quickly bringing up a radio program.
"Is there anyone out there? Any shuttles? Anyone?"
Crackled feedback streamed through the device. Garrus shifted and turned over in the foxhole, spitting blood onto the cracked pavement, with his fingers clawing fruitlessly at the dirt.
"kkrkvac 7 alpha reporting in, what krrkrkur position?"
The technician looked up at the krogan and his STG comrades. Kirrahe shook his head.
"No precise location. No emergency flares left."
For a moment, Wrex looked about to make good on his promise; but another familiar voice interrupted him.
"I think... I can help... With that."
A piercing and unmistakable stream of blue light shone up into the air and exploded into a radiant shower of biotic energy. Its source – a beaten and bruised asari – stumbled over a precipice of uprooted road and dragged herself down to the group. The technician's communicator spat garbled voices out again.
"kkrare sighted, approaching ykrkk cation now, stand by."
Wrex shoved aside a lump of masonry and clapped a hand on the shoulder of the visibly distraught asari, yanking her upright and into the cover of a smouldering tank.
"Nice to see you too, Liara."
Her eyes swerved to meet Wrex's immovable grin.
"Shepard... He went into... Into the beam..."
Liara nodded toward where the transporting beam had sat, now little more than an air of static and a smell of seared flesh remained to tell the tale. The krogan followed her implied gaze and grunted.
"Pah! Shepard won't be dead!"
He wasn't entirely convinced of his words, but headed down toward the extinguished beam regardless; he hauled aside enormous pieces of displaced tarmac, bollards and the occasional reaper-minion corpse as he ransacked the rubble for any sign. Half a dozen bodies and a few husks, but no Shepard. He grunted, snarling with some mounting frustration as he put his foot down in a small pool of blood. In it sat a small ablative plate, and scraps of scorched armour followed the blood trail to another high-impact spatter. The body of a marauder was laid not more than a metre or two away, riddled with high-calibre holes.
The shuttle swerved overhead and landed uneasily on the inevitably uneven ground. A team of medics lunged forth from the med-evac shuttle, quickly scuttling to Garrus and carrying his barely alive body on board. Liara shuddered and looked up to the sky as she followed her friend on board the shuttle.
"Goddess... Don't let him be dead... Please..."
" Got anything?"
Joker held the ship fairly steady, hovering above one of the Citadel arms and looking around at the devastating damage as well as the slaughter of the Reaper fleet still ongoing.
"No, but we should deploy a team in a shuttle to make sure."
He nodded an agreement and scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"We'll have to ask to borrow someone else's. Ours got a bit exploded."
"I have already requisitioned a shuttle."
The first thing was a stab of pain. Then a pulsing, aching pain. Then there was both and worse. Movement was almost impossible and the pounding in his head drowned out his already incoherent thoughts. He could smell virtually nothing but blood; largely his own, he suspected. Anderson still sat motionless beside the likewise immobile body of the Illusive Man. Two smoking pistols provided a much needed alternative smell, even if it was only of oxidised metal. He was still alive, or at least he assumed he was. It caught up to him that he could hear literally almost nothing; most likely deafened and probably blinded by being in such close proximity to the Crucible's discharge. He grunted and tried to turn onto his side. Shepard grimaced. No. That was a bad idea. He might just be making it worse.
To be Continued