Garrus
Humans often debate when one becomes a man. Some say it's taking a life, others will say creating life, falling in love, or countless other milestones. Turian culture is free of these ambiguities. Turn fifteen, grab a gun, and make your father proud. After your tenure, contribute to the Hierarchy, and make your father proud. As trite as it sounds, I didn't understand the human sentiment until I departed the Normandy, ready to start a life I could call my own.
At the time I felt amazing. I'd worked with a Spectre, fought battles across the galaxy, and received a hero's welcome back on the Citadel. Seeing a different style of operation, one where we could do and judge as we saw fit inspired me. It was completely different from life in C-SEC, and I loved every minute of it. After little deliberation, I applied for Spectre candidacy in my own right, determined to forge my own path.
The required recommendation came from a person I never expected to be friends with. If I were sentimental about it, I'd liken the bond to that of the Normandy itself; a seamless integration of turian form with human innovation. Another big picture person, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. To do what was right. Had I been human I would say that meeting her, not the turian military, was when I became an adult.
Silly words now. The hero's welcome became clogged with politics. People proved quick to forget tragedy when a celebrity scandal is easier to digest. Nothing was more frustrating than Council indifference even as Tayseri Ward burned. Or as she put it "white-washing of history, as per fucking usual." I never bothered to ask what that meant, since I figured she'd explain in person once she returned from the useless Council assignment.
She never did.
I remember seeing Kaidan in the vids, refusing to answer news reporter al-Jilani's frantic attacks. Liara, a downright mess, crying in the same way humans cried. And Joker, broken and devastated, muttering that it was his fault.
The entire ground squad attended the service, a spectacle about as diplomatic and sterile as every other military across the galaxy can be. Funny how that was another thing all species had in common. Gone were the stories of her being an acerbic wit, an amazing Skyllian Five player, or even a harsh combatant. Instead it was just Spectre. Torfan. Human. A mere template of the person behind the commander.
After that, the Council could say anything they wanted with no one to stop them. When I protested, they made it clear that I'd be trading my rants for Spectre status, and forced me to choose. And what choice did I really have? After I saw and fought the evidence head on, when I saw for myself Ilos, Vigil, Sovereign, and well...her.
And in truth, a part of me wanted to fight in my own way. So when an old C-SEC buddy said they had to let go of another bastard, my mind went straight to Saleon, the butcher she helped me hunt down. To her, for letting me take matters into my own hands. To all the cases lost where a criminal got away and came back to cause more havoc. I followed the trail doggedly until I showed up here.
Deep down I didn't want to let go.
At first it was a perfect fit. No overhead to deal with, and I could exact my own justice in this filthy dump. I pretended that making a difference was the reason why I was here. I truly believed it once, thinking I could clean up this place until they didn't need me anymore. As the notion became more of a fool's errand, my feelings got the better of me. Every drug lord became Saleon. Every merc became Saren. Every kingpin became the Council. And for every one of them I became a living hell.
Oddly enough, it's to her my thoughts go now. Her I guess because I never really got the overwhelming loss the rest of the old crew felt. And I felt worse that I couldn't feel anything. But maybe feeling nothing was a something all along. Much as I'd hate to admit it, it took me losing my whole squad to feel so shattered. I look across the base, each station now lifeless and abandoned, and wonder which is objectively better. To be the last one standing as I am now, or be like her, sacrificing self to save the rest. If it wasn't for the void she left behind, I'd say she did the right thing.