Mass Effect: Monsters

Prologue

"Are you…seeing what I'm seeing?"

"I must be. But I still don't believe it."

The two human attendants stood in the ship's hallway, eyes unblinking, jaws hanging. Despite their disbelief, the image before them remained: a krogan acting as a living jungle gym. He was a massive and mountainous figure—even by krogan standards—with two human children hanging from each arm, a small asari hugging his bulky metal coated leg, and a smaller turian mounted on his hump like a rider on a rocky chariot.

The attendants exchanged glances again and again, as if somehow checking and double checking might change what they saw. "Well… they kinda look like dinosaurs," the first one said as he continued to study the display, "kids like dinosaurs."

"I heard he saved a whole school bus of kids from those batarian things one of the colony worlds we did a sweep of," said the second.

"What would a krogan be doing on a human colony? Shouldn't he be on Palaven, helping the turians push back?"

"Look. He's got a prosthetic leg. Maybe he can't do much real fighting."

"Still a wonder how he found out about Sanctuary."

"Wait," the first attendant paused, as if the string of words struck him as being odder than the idea of a jovial krogan. "Where did WE find out about Sanctuary?"

"Huh? I don't… I don't know. Around?"

As the attendants exchanged puzzled glances, the first attendant was knocked over against the violent shove of an alien woman, causing him to crash into the second. Before he could even fully process the pain, she was already halfway across the hall.

"This is ridiculous!" the alien woman, a turian, barked at the back of her commanding officer. He continued to march across the hall with steadfast composure, his hands clutched together behind him, just under the hump of his back. His refusal to turn caused her mandibles to flare. "I need to be transferred!"

"It is not up for debate, First Lieutenant," the turian man replied. His cool words crawled under the small turian woman's plates.

"Not up for…? I didn't train half my life to babysit people on the ship to safety! Certainly not a bunch of huma— "

"It is due to the efforts of a human, First Lieutenant, that Palaven has the support of the krogan. This is a multilateral mission, and one of goodwill."

"And you don't think I'd be doing more good out there, fighting what these refugees are fleeing from?" The turian woman's captain continued to march, clearly finished with answering pointless questions, but the silence rattled her bones all the more. "Captain Corellan, my brothers and sisters are throwing themselves at the Reapers while I just—!"

"While you ensure the safety of the refugees," the captain made a swift rotation and faced her. The intensity of his glare caused her to step back. It dwarfed her indignation and crushed her rebellion. "It is your duty to oversee the ship and all within and, should the worst come to pass, to pilot one of the shuttles and get as many of them as possible to Sanctuary. This is the assignment you have been given. You can do it, or you can disgrace us all."

The lady turian shrunk in his shadow. Swallowing her reluctance, she saluted and uttered a tamed, "Yes, Captain Corellan. Sir."

"As you were, First Lieutenant Caelus."

The lieutenant kept her salute until the captain's form melded in the crowd of refugees. Her mandibles fluttered as she released a sigh. She took a few shamed steps in the other direction before her pointed chest collided with another body like an oncoming car.

"Damn it!" she snapped instinctively. "Watch where you're go—"

"Oh, sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry!" a squeaking little voice echoed through a filter. The turian pilot bounced back and saw a lanky quarian boy in front of her, hunched and recoiled, in a black and blue suit laced with pouches and pockets.

"It's fine," she grunted. "Are you… by yourself? I didn't think there'd be any quarians here. You DO know where we're headed, right?"

"Oh, yes, I know, I'm sorry," the boy's voice rang with an aching tone, shriveling at the sight of the angry turian. "I can't get back to the flotilla and I can't really fight. I hope I didn't bother you, I promise I won't do it again. Please, please don't kick me off! I have nowhere to go! I don't eat much! I don't even take up a lot of space!"

"I'm not kicking you off!" the turian shouted before putting a lid of willpower over her temper. "It's fine, okay? Just… mind yourself."

"Yes, ma'am! Sorry ma'am!" the quarian watched the lieutenant's talon-like feet stomp away until he let out a smooth, "Keelah, what a bitch. At least now I don't have to feel sorry for her." As he straightened his posture, he unfurled his three long fingers to reveal the small holographic card in his palm. His eyes glinted from the dark shell of his helmet, like white bulbs blinking in shadows. "Oooh, nice," he said as his eyes followed the numbers on the card.

"What are you doing?" a voice popped from behind, so sudden it caused the quarian to shriek.

The suit-clad thief hopped and turned to see a human girl, with a round dusky face framed by a pink headdress and glaring at him. "What, me? I'm not doing anything, just… you know, quarian stuff… what are YOU doing?"

"I'm watching you steal!" snapped the girl as she lunged for the masked boy and gave him a shove. "And that is not 'quarian stuff'. You're perpetuating stereotypes about your own people!"

"Oh please," he groaned, "like not stealing would change anything. Not that I was, because I wasn't. Totally wasn't."

"Uh huh," the girl huffed as she held up her hand, a card between her fingers, "so this totally isn't your credit chit, right?"

"Hey! How did you… that's mine!"

"Oh, so if I show it to that pilot lady, she won't have any reason to be mad?"

"She's mad either way, so…" the quarian shuddered under the pressure of the girl's dark, judgmental stare. "Fine, fine! I'll give the chit back."

The girl in the headdress maintained a firm grimace as she folded her arms. She was not impressed. "You have more, don't you?"

"You can't prove anything! That's profiling and that's wrong!"

"Look, if you need money, I'll give you some."

The thief stood back, the scoff echoed through his helmet. "Maybe I don't want your pity."

"I want you to have it, okay? And maybe if you do, there won't be a cry for missing possessions, to which I'd be compelled to point you out."

"Fine, you win," he admitted as he shuffled through the intricate array of pockets, "but I want you to know I'm letting you win."

"Uh huh. What do you have there…" the girl held her hand out for the quarian to drop a small band of gold. Her brown eyes nearly popped from her skull when it touched her palm. "This is a wedding ring! How could you steal something like this?"

"What? What about it? It's just a ring."

"No, it's not," she sighed. "Lots of humans will exchange rings when they want to spend their lives together."

"Humans express fidelity… with little metal thingies?"

"It's tradition. Surely you can appreciate that. Aren't you on your Pilgrimage?"

"Uh… no, not really."

"Well… anyway… this REALLY needs to be returned. Anything else?"

"There is one other thing, but… aww, come on! Do I have to?"

"I can scream and this transaction will be over."

"Okay, okay!" with a grunt, he liberated another item from one of the larger pockets sewn on his the leg of his suit. In the girl's free hand he placed a figure of painted plastic; shaped like a turian, fine detail imprinted onto the mold of black and blue armor, marble eyes glinted beneath a black visor, but the helmet did not come off.

"It's… a doll?"

"Action figure!" snapped the quarian thief. "It's Archangel."

"I see. And you were planning on pawning this for how many millions of credits?"

"I couldn't just let that greasy kid thrash it around! Anything of Archangel's likeness should be treated with respect and dignity!"

"Which I'm sure you know all about."

"You know, it's a big ship," he said as he folded his arms, clinging to his pride, "with lots and lots of people. Might never be able to find the people these things belonged to."

"Then we'd better get started," she said as she yanked his skinny wrist and stormed through the crowds.

As she tugged the thief onward, hoping to catch up to the turian pilot, she overheard a shrill, "Ouch! Not so rough!" from behind her. "Easy with that thing!" the voice cried, fainter as she walked further away.

"If you just sat still for two seconds," grumbled a white-clad batarian as he readjusted the tiny laser from his omni-tool to align it with the crease of a salarian's opened wound.

"Aha!" the salarian cried. "That's painful. Pain is bad!"

"Well, this opening HAS to be sealed now or the infection will spread." The batarian squinted his four eyes, watching green fluids rush under thinning barriers of tissue. It was not the first injury he'd seen this week, which felt to him as one long day. It would not be the last, of that he was certain. As reattached skin fizzled, the faint stench of burning meat made his nostrils flare, and he sighed. "Just look away and think of something else. We're almost done."

The salarian's black eyes darted in every dimension, as though trying to pop out of their sockets to get away from the sight of the slightest gore. His gaze bounced on the heads of people, so quickly their faces blurred. Even with all the differences, all the species, all the variations between those species, everyone started to blend together with so many crammed into the ship. Every corner and corridor had families, friends, and strangers packed to their brims. They must all have stories, too, all blending together, but it would not take away the sting.

As the salarian twitched under the searing tingle of tiny green tissues being stitched back together, he reeled his eyes back and found someone had taken a seat next to him: a tall, slender woman with teal scales encasing her skin and bone white ridges crowing her skull.

"Oh! A drell!" he exclaimed, as though on an expedition for rare specimens. "You're the first one I've seen ever!" the drell did not so much as nudge her head in his direction. "Off to Sanctuary like the rest of these poor souls, eh? You must have a story." The drell's whitish upper lip twitched, holding back an annoyed scoff. "Oh, oh, I get it. Touchy subject. I'll respect your privacy." The nosy salarian looked away, tried to divert his attention elsewhere, but with the background blending into one sorrowful mesh, they rotated back. "I'm a Spectre!" he cried, as if to stir the entire ship with the news. But his cry was unnoticed by all, except a hanar that floated towards the drell woman.

"This one is increasingly uncomfortable," the hanar uttered with a soft echo, absent of hostility. "It wishes for the salarian to be calmer."

"I wish for that as well," sneered the drell, "for his own sake."

"Huh, I usually get a different response when I shout that," the salarian said with a shrug, as though he had merely conducted an experiment gone wrong.

"Listen, you," she snarled, "in case you haven't noticed, we're trying to flee a war with giant monsters, so why don't you, just…!"

"Please," interrupted the hanar, "this one feels neither of you have considered the gravity of this situation. All around you are torn families, people who have lost friends, loved ones, and entire worlds. The galaxy suffers. All must be respectful."

"You are right, Nymer, as always," the drell replied with a heavy sigh, and then turned to the salarian, "I am sorry for my outburst. I am simply frustrated I cannot do much for this war."

"It's no trouble, I—ah! Ohoho, that hurts! The hurting!"

"We're done here," inserted the batarian medic as he shoved the salarian off the bench. "Come on, who's next?"

"I am," the drell woman said with composure as she slid in front of him. "Do you think that salarian is really a Spectre?"

"Not a chance. Then again, most people don't believe what I do for a living, either. What's the problem?"

"I think I may have injured my arm."

"Don't know much about drell physiology," he said as he waved his omni-tool over her body, "but I'll do what I can… hmm…just looks like a sprain. A little medi-gel should do it."

"But it hurts a lot…can't you just use extramedi-gel?"

A deep chuckle came from the medic's throat. "Heh, I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Besides, my supply's running low as is."

"Of course, it's just… it hurts to raise a gun or use my biotics with this hand. Will I be able to soon?"

"It should feel better right away, but there might be a lingering pain for a day or so. I wouldn't put much pressure on it."

"Naja," echoed the hanar, "there is no need of you to use firearms or biotics any longer. You are safe now."

"I… just like to be prepared for anything."

"This one wishes for you to be at peace. Be good, Naja."

The drell tilted her head and opened her mouth to answer the hanar, when the medic waved his holographic armlet onto her wrist. "Hold on, this might sting."

The resulting shriek whirled across the floor and seeped down to the lower level, so sharp its echo reached the quarian boy.

"Whoa," he said to himself with a shudder. "That sounded bad."

"Thank you so much!" said a hapless looking man as he opened his palm for the girl in the headdress to drop into. "My wife never would have forgiven me for losing this."

"It's no trouble," the girl replied with a winsome smile, "happy to help."

The quarian walked up to the girl once the transaction was complete, and the man and his ring were lost in the crowd. "You didn't have to cover for me."

"No, I didn't. But I choose to believe you're a decent person who doesn't really want to take things from people."

"Then I chose to believe that, too!" the quarian boy jested, which only made the girl sigh and shake her head in disapproval.

"We still need to find that kid you stole the dol—oh, excuse me—'action figure' from. What did he look like again?"

"It was a human child. About half your height, wore a lot of green. Kind of chubby. It was definitely on this floor."

"That's something at least… do you mind my asking why you had to have that thing?"

"Hmm… only if I get to ask you an equally invasive question."

The girl pouted. "It's about my hijab, isn't it?"

The thief's eyes darted around in his helmet. "…Maybe," he squeaked.

"It's… no, it's fine. Aliens probably don't see many people dressed like me. I have a cousin on the Citadel, she used to send vids and everyone there is so… urbanized. Like all their clothes come from the same store. Can't tell where they came from or what they do. Who they are. It's their choice, obviously, just not one I would make."

"It's just… you're so pretty. I don't see why you cover yourself. Human girls and asari I see always show more skin and hair and stuff."

Blood rushed to the girl's tan cheeks, but it quickly receded when it occurred to her she had no idea what an ever-veiled quarian would consider attractive. "You... think I need to show skin and hair to be pretty?"

"No, no! It's just… I'm trapped in this suit. I don't have a choice. You obviously do."

"I do have a choice. But I am not trapped. If you could live without your suit tomorrow, wouldn't it still be part of you? It helped shape you. I know it's not exactly the same, but… this is me. My beliefs shaped me, and I like me. I think I am pretty with it. And you're pretty with your suit, if it means anything."

"Wow, I've been called a lot of things, but 'pretty'… I should make a list." The quarian watched as the girl stop in her tracks and held her flushed cheeks.

She shook her head and giggled softly before continuing. "So, let me ask again, what's with the Archangel figure?"

"Nothing, really," he said as he cradled the little turian with his three fingered hands, eyes pouring on every detail. The golden bird-like insignia on the right arm was his favorite, and it was painted on without smear or smudge, "I admire him. Helping the helpless, fighting all odds, doing good for the sake of good. That whole thing."

"It IS a bit more romantic than Blasto," the girl said with a smirk, "I heard they were starting a vid series based on him, too, before… all this. But you realize stealing is very opposite of Archangel, don't you?"

"Believe me, this is not what I thought I'd be doing when I left the flotilla. When I was a kid, there was a marine living on my ship. Kal'Reegar. One of the most decorated marines in the whole fleet. He was the most amazing guy I ever met, and I wanted to be just like him. But my parents wouldn't have me throw myself at geth. Though apparently throwing myself into the unknown universe is just fine."

The girl's smile spoiled as he spoke. "Oh, I… I know that name from the news. I'm… so sorry. That must have felt horrible."

"What are you talking about?"

"That quarian marine… he was killed a few days ago on Palaven."

The thief's shoulders slumped, reluctant to process the human girl's words. "What? … Oh, that? Please. Next you'll tell me you think Archangel's really dead."

"Actually…"

"Aww, come on! You're going to believe everything they tell you in the news? Dare you question the infallible wisdom of an email?"

The girl gave an uncomfortable shrug and distanced herself from the quarian boy. "Wow, we… really need to find that kid. I told my dad I was looking for the bathroom over an hour ago. He's probably worried himself to death…"

"Hey," the thief said softly as he noticed the girl shuffling away from him, his hand outreached for her. "I'm sorry. Don't go, I don't even know your na…"

Before he could finish the sentence, he watched the girl fall, her face bashed against the floor. He swooped in and made a swing for her wrist, his three pronged hand a life preserver as the sea of blurred faces became a violent torrent of screaming and crying.

"Emergency! Emergency!" a synthesized voiced resounded with cold efficiency throughout the ship. "Hostile presence detected. Collision imminent. This is not a drill. Please find the nearest shuttle to evacuate in an orderly fashion. This is not a drill."

"Go, go, go!" the turian pilot's flanged voice boomed across the hall as she pushed every passing refugee with controlled force. Her shouts became clearer as the human girl and quarian boy squirmed through the mesh of panic.

"Hey!" the human girl cried, a hand outreached in the opposite direction. "Stop! I have to find my dad!"

"It's too late!" replied the quarian boy as he continued to yank her through the flooded hallway like a ship tugging an anchor. "We can't look for him now! We have to go!"

He swung and swerved with every muscle in his lithe body, the human wagging behind him. But people were everywhere, the heat from all their compressed bodies seeping into his helmet, making him choke. With coughs and wheezes, he ran through forests of flailing limbs and shuddering shoulders.

The human girl never stopped running, but she kept her arm out, hoping it would somehow act as a beacon for her family to find. The ship corridor stretched out further behind her as the quarian pulled her through the upwards stairway, both of them squeezing through jammed bodies. She retracted her arm in defeat as more bodies encircled her. She felt the quarian's fingers rub against her wrist as they struggled to stay latched onto her, and she heard his grunting and panting as he wormed through waves of people. Her cheeks tingled with heat, vision blurred as veils of water ran over her eyes. The quarian's arm reeled her off of the flight of stairs and onto the flight deck, an opened space underneath a transparent kinetic shell. It was the only thing separating them from the blackened creatures that encircled the ship. Scavengers floating in space, waiting for their prey to bleed out.

The boy and girl bumped against another wave of bodies until a burly blue tinted krogan swept them both up. "We're getting out of here!" he declared with robust determination as he carried each of them under one arm. His metal foot clacked against the floor as he stomped to the end up the deck and up to one of the shuttle's bridge, young refugees funneling around him.

"Wait, no! Dad! Daaaad!" the human girl shouted, arms and legs thrashing about in a feeble attempt to escape the krogan's grip. He looked down on her and sighed.

"He's on another shuttle," he stated with as much care as he could muster, "but right now we gotta get out of that Reaper's sight!"

"No…" the girl's plea shriveled into a whimper as the shuttle door closed in front of her. She made one last quick scan of the fading crowds in the shrinking slit of open space. A faint but frantic Aisha! Aisha, where are you? bounced in her head, but as the doors closed, she could not determine whether it came from the crowd or her own mind. When the shadows of closed metal doors fell upon her face, she let her head fall in defeat.

As the mass effect fields rumbled and threw the shuttle off its platform on the deck and into space, panicked screams lulled into helpless whimpers and sobs. The human girl and quarian boy pressed their hands against the window, watching dozens of other tiny ships pop from the massive starship, just as it was ripped through the middle by the hull of a slick ship-like creature. Metal tentacles carried it through space, and it passed through the breaches of the refugee carrier as if it were a cobweb. It fired a single crimson laser through the sheets of stars, catching two shuttles in its burning gaze. The human squinted her eyes and could just make out tiny bodies lost in the abyss, floating along the stars with chunks of the ship.

She was silent, the gasps and sobs stifled from her lungs. The quarian nudged his hand over hers and cradled it, and they both watched as the little scraps and bodies were absorbed into the darkness.