Author's note: A take on Archangel's final hours on Omega. Written from Garrus' point of view.
The beginning of this fic was brewing in my head for quite some time before finally crystallizing itself into this story. Rated M for a bit of violence and graphicness.
I'd like to say thanks a million to anyone and everyone who might read this, and hopefully you'll like it and find it worthwhile.
Mass Effect and its characters belong to BioWare.
ANGEL
The Palavian midday sun beats down on my back where I walk and as I approach my destination, the murmour of a crowd hundreds strong intensifies. I can see them now; people of all ages that move in and out of merchants' stalls and tents.
My sandals kick up tiny whirls of red dust and as I enter the marketplace, I'm surrounded by familiar sights and smells. The smell of spices and food linger in the air, there's a fleeting scent of flowers as I pass by an old woman showing off prized orchids and kakra bulbs in her stand and as I move further into the crowds, I pick up the enticing smell of muawa honey and the irresistable perfume of tangu meat.
But I'm here looking for a different kind of meat altogether. Someone I spoke to was sure they'd spotted a turian fitting his description here an hour ago, mingling with the crowds.
Hiding in plain sight. I wouldn't have expected that of him but what do you know. It might have worked if not for my many contacts.
As I round a corner and pass by a stall where two young girls are selling pearls and rare shells, my eyes catch a glimpse of a dark blue tunic. I'm not sure why it raises my interest in the first place but it does, and my gaze holds. Perhaps it's the way he moves, those careless little eccentricities that spark a recognition in me … or perhaps it's the way he looks over his shoulder as if keeping an eye out for potential threats. In any case, I know without a doubt that I've found my target.
I lengthen my stride until I'm no more than ten metres behind him, and then I call out to him.
"Lantar Sidonis!"
The turian in question freezes abruptly at the sound of my voice. Then he spins around, a look of dawning horror manifesting itself in his features as he realizes who's calling his name.
"Garrus."
It is more a hiss than a spoken word and for a second uncertainty plays across his face, as if he's trying to decide what to do. Then he comes to his senses, turns and runs, quickly pushing his way through the crowd and disappearing behind a merchant's stall.
I give chase and as my heart starts hammering in my chest, it's only partly due to the physical exertion.
I've waited for so long. At last I have my target in my sights. At last he will pay for what he did! Finally my men will know justice.
As I push customers out of the way, tackling some to the ground in the process and crash through tents and stalls, I take the time to utter a series of apologies.
I'm getting closer. I can see him now. Years of ruthless physical C-SEC exercising are paying off at last - I'm gaining quickly on him.
He tries desperately to get away and makes for a shortcut through a set of vegetable stands. Bad choice. One sandaled foot catches on a wooden spar and he tumbles headlong into a basket of bulbous ruova roots. Even from several metres away, I can hear the satisfying crunch of a leg bone breaking under his weight as he lands and I know it's over.
I have him now.
As he struggles to regain his footing I curl into a ball and jump through a stand, ducking under the roof weave and landing smartly, poised to strike.
He screams, a terrified, shrill shriek and I catch the panicked look on Sidonis' face the moment before I slam into him, sending us both rolling in the dirt.
What ensues is a short and furious scramble for purchase and leverage.
I'm taller and heavier than he is and I'm stronger, but panic lends extra strength to his struggling limbs and I find myself poked in the eye, battered and bruised before I can pin him under me, head down. I take a few moments to catch my breath and settle on top of him, adjusting my chest to his hump and wrapping my legs around his, and then I wrap my left arm under him and around his throat and apply pressure.
"Now you will pay for what you did," I growl into his ear as I begin to crush his windpipe under my arm. Immediately, his talons dig into my arms but I pay little attention to the pain. A few scars is a small price to pay for bringing a traitor to justice.
I maintain the pressure and let my own hot breath surge in and out of his right ear, reminding him of what he's lost.
His body is saturated with lactic acid after the sprint and it doesn't take long before his squirming and clawing becomes frantic and desperate. I lean in closer still, whispering directly into his ear.
"Melanis. Mierin. Erash. Weaver. Sensat. Grundan Krul. Butler. Monteague. Vortash. Ripper."
I pause, taking the time to breathe in and out once for each member of our team. And then I continue.
"Those are the men whose lives you wasted. Think of them as you die by my hand, Lantar. Remember their faces in the final moments of your pathetic life. And then spend the rest of eternity thinking about what you did and why."
At that, at the mere thought of an afterlife and what I just suggested, Sidonis' efforts become violent. A final struggle to free himself, fueled by despair and agony. It gets him nowhere.
And then, slowly, his movements become more erratic, until finally he's still.
I maintain the pressure long after the throbbing pulse in his neck veins has stopped, oblivious of the crowd of onlookers that have gathered around.
When I finally do let go of the lifeless body and roll off him to stand up, I notice that my trousers are soaking wet.
I wake with a start to my own snoring inhalation.
Damn! I've done it again.
The stench of days' worth of urine collected in a waste paper basket over by a toppled desk hits my nostrils. My own. Not Sidonis'.
Quickly panning my bleary eyes across my surroundings I'm assured that I am safe, for now.
The substantial heap of litter strewn across the floor to my right is a telltale sign of just how long I've been stuck here.
Reaching up to rub my eyes I'm startled to find my fingers meeting with my helmet rather than my face and I curse. I'm losing it. Really losing it.
How long has it been since I slept?
Days? Definitely. A week? Maybe. I've long since lost track of time. It's starting to happen, my sleep deprived brain is taking advantage of every quiet moment to try and fool me into succumbing to my exhaustion.
But I'm not ready to go there just yet, not quite ready to surrender. How can I while he's still out there? While he still breathes?
My next breath carries with it the unmistakable smell of decay from the level below. Ten good men rest there in anonymous body bags. My men. The team of soldiers, my partners … the very people I've come to know as friends over the past several months. All dead because of him.
It wasn't supposed to end like this! I was supposed to protect them, damn it! How could I fail so miserably? Why couldn't I see it coming?
My eyes burn. The breath I didn't realize I've been holding comes out as a whimper in the quiet.
No. Not like this. Strong. I must be strong.
Shepard wouldn't have cried and whimpered in defeat. No, she would have kept a level head and would have stood her ground no matter how impossible the odds stacked against her. Shepard would have found a way out of here …
I review my surroundings.
All things considered it could've been worse I suppose. As things stand, I hold the high ground, presiding from a vantage point overlooking a single bridge spanning opposites sides of a boulevard. All other entrances to my hideout have been carefully sealed one way or another, leaving the bridge the only way in. It's the perfect setup, a killing ground. Every sniper's dream come true.
Too easy.
After a while, taking down the mercs as they charged at me in waves has given me the feeling I'm partaking in a real-life arcade game. Pop the coin and take the shot … the only difference being that my ever growing tally awards me not with imaginary money but rather adds more blood to my hands.
Another wave of dizziness hits me and I slump listlessly against the wall.
Tired doesn't even come close to how I'm feeling.
Running my fingers over my helmet's visor, I can only imagine how bad I look underneath. Like shit, probably.
I feel my mandibles drop in an instinctive grin as I remember Shepard's favourite expression after finding me still working on the Mako during the early hours of dawn.
"Garrus, give it a rest already. You look like shit!"
"Well Shepard," I mutter. "I guess all those hours of practising to stay awake long after my body insisted I'd sleep is proving quite useful now."
After all, I was still alive.
I sigh. It isn't the first time I've taken to talking to her as though she were still here, by my side. The longer this battle drags on, the more prone I seem to become at reanimating the dead.
I've talked to various members of my team too … but they're all gone now. And so is she.
As my gaze shifts from the dwindling boxes of ammo and heat sinks, over the stack of foil-encapsulated food packs and the pile of hermetically sealed water bottles by my side, down to the vista below me, I am once again reminded of the corpses stacked on the first floor.
Ten good men rotting under plastic shrouds.
They'd all known the risks of signing up with me of course. And knowing that doesn't make their deaths a single bit easier to bear.
Because it isn't that they died .. we'd all known the risks involved in undertaking this mission and death was never far away. It was how they died. And why.
My guts clench at the thought of the eleventh, the one that got away.
Where are you, Sidonis? What are you doing right now? Are you laughing it all off, patting yourself on the shoulder and congratulating yourself to a stash of well earned credits?
Somewhere out there, I imagine the cowardly turian strutting about with a smug grin on his face, sipping pukar and flirting with the ladies in some exclusive bar on a turian colony … and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. I will die here, with the rest of my team. I will rot in this godforsaken pit just like those other men he sold out.
Just the thought of it all makes my blood boil and I curse under my breath.
Pretending that every Blue Suns turian whose brains I splatter all over the place is Sidonis, seeing that fuck die again and again by my hands helps somewhat. The only problem is, by the twenty-seventh hour or so, I'd forgotten just how many Sidonises I'd killed … whether it is 235 .. or 532.
In any case … boy, that sucker's had a world of hurt dumped right on top of him. And it isn't over yet.
As I ready myself for another round of merc-sniping, I feel a painful surge in my guts. I realize that I am desperately hungry. And thirsty. Problem is, as much as I'd like to, I can't down anything at present.
Last night, while enjoying a brief lull in the merc activities down on the bridge, I'd taken the opportunity to stuff some food into my gizzard. Tired and sloppy as I was, I hadn't noticed that I'd accidently gulped half the foil pack down with the snack and now, to my utter annoyance, a piece of said foil is sticking in my throat, making swallowing a torture beyond words, tickling the nerves in my gullet and occasionally throwing my body into spasms of retching and coughing at the most inconvenient of moments.
Like when trying to take aim at Sidonis' ugly face once more …
Pretty soon, I'd stopped swallowing. Instead, I am forced to duck down and take cover behind the railing every few minutes to remove my helmet and spit out the saliva that can't go down and wipe the snot from my nose.
Not a very romantic hero's end, is it?
All right, here they come. Four on the right. Three on the left. I line up another perfect shot.
Click.
Damn! I'm getting to the point of weariness where I'm not registering when my rifle is running low.
As I instinctively reach out to grab another ammo box I'm startled by the empty rattle at the bottom of it. As I look to my left I'm even more startled to realize that there are no more boxes left - I'm down to my last few shots.
I pop the heat sink and slam a fresh one into place.
So this is it then. This is the end.
Okay, tough guy, I snort. One last effort and then you can sleep. Forever.
I pop my head over the railing and sweep the bridge through my scope.
I catch a glimpse of a lone turian wearing Blue Suns armour just as he hurriedly ducks behind some packing crates at the far end of the bridge. Great. Sidonis is about to die. Again.
Suddenly all hell breaks loose. A deafening boom rocks the bridge and thick smoke starts billowing in all directions, hiding the advancing mercs from view.
What's this? The mercs have finally grown brains, have they?
Not that this will help them of course, I smile to myself as I set my visor to infra-red detection mode.
There. The smoke lights up with heat signatures. Eight of them now. The lone turian is advancing in quick strides, bent low to minimize his target profile.
Just as I'm about to take the shot, something unexpected takes place. The turian stumbles into one of the other mercs and pumps his shotgun twice into the man's back. The merc tumbles lifelessly to the ground and the turian is already moving towards the next set of mercs up ahead.
I watch, incredulous, as he takes them down as well. Two well-aimed shots to the back of the head. Two dead mercs to add to the pile.
My finger hovers over the trigger, then eases off. Who the hell is this guy?
I shrug. Probably just another selfish merc, wanting the reward for himself. Yeah, that's probably it. Still, the unexpected help is welcome.
In the excitement I suddenly forget myself and allow myself to swallow. Without fail, there's the sense of something sharp and metallic cutting my throat and the retching reflex is instant. I taste bitter bile and stomach acid, it stings in my mouth for a second and I gasp, then cough. The burning travels down my throat, down my windpipe and I choke on my own fluids.
And then I can't get air, can't breathe.
I freeze. Is this how it's going to end! Suffocated by a piece of metal? Defeated not by a merc's bullet .. but a piece of foil? The irony is certainly not lost on me as I try again and again to draw breath.
Panicking, I stagger away from the railing. I tear off my helmet, my body tries to vomit. But I can't.
Desperately I claw at my throat .. my face .. my mandibles. I feel dizzy. The world's going dark around me.
I need air … I need to breathe. It burns …
I stumble into solid concrete, scraping my face in the process. My chest heaves, but there is no relief, no lifegiving air rushing into my lungs.
Help me! Someone, please help me!
I don't want to go like this!
"Garrus." Shepard's voice embraces me as the final darkness clouds my senses.
She turns around and smiles as she enters the elevator toward the docking bays, leaving me alone in the C-SEC lobby. A tiny hand waves good bye just as the doors close. My three-taloned hand mimics the gesture and then she's gone. It is the last time I ever see her.
I'm sorry Shepard, I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I should have been …
Please be there, waiting for me when this is over. Please … be there for me.
As I fall to my knees with a heavy thud, something cold and metallic shoots over my tongue and tinkles against the floor. And then … I am able to breathe again.
Gasping for air, with tears streaking down my cheeks, I realize that I'm still alive. Death hasn't claimed me after all. Not yet.
Clutching my throat I experimentally swallow and shake my head. My throat is raw and swollen, but I can swallow again. Thank the heavens!
As I reach for a water bottle to still my thirst, something explodes behind my back. I instinctively hurl myself back against the wall.
The .. mercenary. The turian! He's breached my final defense!
As the door panel fizzles and sparks and the two halves of the door slowly begin to part, I realize my predicament; my rifle, dropped during my death struggle a while ago is out of reach, resting on the floor over by the railing. My shotgun however … is still clipped to the small of my back. I unclip it in one fluid motion, it unfolds in my hands and I aim at the door.
Adrenaline spiking and just as the merc makes it through the door, I pump my gun twice into his gut.
He goes down slowly, legs giving out under him and only then, as his body slides listlessly down the door frame does my brain register the fact that his weapon's been holstered.
I get up, hastily yet cautiously making my way over to the fallen turian. He's still breathing, a laboured, wheezing noise from within his helmet. Rivulets of blood snake down his abdomen. It's just a matter of moments …
"Who are you?" I growl as I step closer, gun squarely pointed at his torso.
One hand clutching the smoking holes in his armour's midsection makes a slight gesture .. rises trembling and bloodied towards his helmet and fumbles with the clasps.
I understand.
I reach out a hand and lift his helmet off. The face beneath is so bruised and swollen it takes me several seconds to recognize the man behind it.
No!
My eyes stare in disbelief at the devastation in front of me. At the cuts and bruises … the missing eye … the exposed bones. Images of torture … suffering and agony fill my mind. Everything I had imagined comes crashing down as I look down on the man I once called my friend. His remaining eye is starting to glaze over, staring helplessly up at me.
"Sidonis," I mumble, placing a hand on his chest piece. "What did those bastards do to you?"
He blinks and tries to speak, his lips move but only a strained hiss emerges. His hand slides down to his undersuit's neckline, pulling the fabric away from the skin. The wheezing gets louder and as I lean in closer, trying desperately to understand the soundless words, the horror of his condition becomes evident as I find myself staring at a section of exposed trachea.
His throat has been cut.
They must have left him for dead, I muse, not realizing that they'd done such a sloppy job of his execution.
I shake my head in disgust. With injuries as severe as these, his prognosis would probably have been guarded but at least he'd had a chance of survival. But I've made damn sure otherwise, haven't I? I toss my shotgun to the side, cursing to myself.
"Lantar," I whisper, finding his gaze and holding it. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were just another mercenary. If I'd known it was you … If I'd known you came back for me …"
His hand shoots up and grabs my wrist. His lips move slowly, he works desperately, but the words never leave his mouth.
I shake my head and take his hand in mine and squeeze it. He looks up at me, urgently, and tiny beads of sweat have formed on his skin. There's blood everywhere. His breathing has grown more laboured and I know it's just a matter of seconds now.
I know what I have to do. For him, and for me. I bend over him, until our faces are mere centimetres apart. Our eyes fix the other's. And then I speak the words the dying man most of all needs to hear.
"It's all right, Lantar. I forgive you."
I can feel the life leaving his body right at that moment. A final puff of warm, moist breath caresses my cheek and then nothing. He doesn't breathe again.
As I close his eye for the last time, granting him the peace of eternal sleep, it hits me. I am truly alone now. There is no-one left but me, no ties that bind me to this existence.
While Sidonis still lived, while I believed that he had betrayed us all and run, there was still a reason to go on, a reason to hope even though getting out of here alive and hunt him down was hardly more than a hypothetical possibility.
But now …
The decision is made in a heartbeat. This. Ends. Now.
I stand up and walk over to the railing closest to the panorama below. There's movement on the bridge again. Good. It's time for this Archangel to meet his maker.
"Well, here I am," I roar as I spread my arms wide in a mocking semblance of an angel's wings and bare my chest. "What are you waiting for? Take the damn shot!"
Heeding my words, the mercs take aim and a shot sizzles past my right ear, slamming into the far wall with a crack. Another hits me in the left shoulder, deforming the pauldron. And a third …
The right side of my face explodes.
Oddly, I feel no pain as bones shatter and soft tissue is vapourized. I just know it's over. And then I'm falling.
Shepard walks away from me, a celestial radiance encompassing her human shape.
She turns her head, looking over her shoulder and then she smiles and waves at me.
I taste my own blood. I can hear it pumping out of my body, pooling on the floor beside me.
She stops when she sees I'm not following. And then she turns around and spreads her arms as if encouraging me to rush forward and embrace her.
"Archangel?"
Someone's by my side. I feel a presence.
"Garrus! No ..!"
And I reach out and put my arms around her.