A/N: So I'm in amazingly good mood with my Irish Blend coffee Monster (that I can't find anywhere except Publix is seems) and the fact that its only 11:30 and I have the rest of the night to read/write fan fiction you would be expecting something fluffy like my usual entries. But tonight (with my good mood and all) I feel like writing something that will make you want to join an emo cult and commit suicide. Without further ado I present some depressing shit. Enjoy! Actually don't enjoy because if you do then you are a sick bastard and I kinda don't wanna read any of your stories and stuffs (so if you do enjoy at least act like you're super depressed). R & R! Be warned: CHARACTER DEATH
Rilynn Molly-Ann Shepard was dead.
The words just didn't add up in his head. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He wished someone would. He wished someone would punch him in the back of the head so that he could fucking wipe the floor with their mandibles.
This is not possible. Shepard can not be dead.
He ran a hand over his face and back along his fringe. His eyes were reading the words but his brain wasn't accepting them. His heart wasn't accepting them. He felt empty. Of all the things they had survived fighting Saren and the Geth and Sovereign and she gets killed doing a fucking recon mission? Were they fucking kidding? He felt his heart turn cold and suddenly all the gray in the world disappeared. There was black and there was white, but everything else was fucking gone.
He erased the message from his terminal and brought up a new page.
I sincerely apologize for the abruptness of this decision, but I feel that I am no longer in a position to be qualified for the position as a Citadel Spectre. I resign from my current training and wish you all luck on your endeavors. It has been an honor being here.
-Garrus Vakarian
He sent the message and closed down the terminal. He gathered his sniper rifle and his other sparse belongings and left his room. No one tried to stop him as he walked out no one even spoke to him. Perhaps it was the murderous glint in his eyes or the way he was stalking down the corridors, but he met no resistance as he left the Spectre Training Corps forever.
Two years later he's crouching behind cover as an onslaught of mercenaries try to rid the shit hole of the galaxy, Omega, of his existence. He'd tried to start over. Tried to become her. Tried to do what she would have wanted him to do. And he had failed. He had failed worse than anyone had ever failed in the history of ever. And that's when he stopped seeing the white in the world too. Everything was black. This shitty asteroid was black. The mercs were black. Even his reflection was fucking black. After his team had been ruthlessly murdered he'd stopped really giving a fuck who lived or died anymore. If he felt like shooting someone he shot them. No matter who the fuck they were or how good they may have been. He never thought of their families and friends. He never cared.
A rocket blew over his head and a cold resignation came over him. He removed his helmet and popped another clip into his sniper rifle. He would die today. He would die in probably less than thirty seconds. He stood, ignoring the cover and welcoming the darkness he was soon to be engulfed in. For the first time in two years Garrus really smiles. He screams profanities that he doesn't really hear himself saying and shoots at everything he sees. A familiar set of armor moves into his scope and suddenly Shepard's there. His smile is bitter. He knows it's almost over. Her eyes are wide in fear as she watches him. Totally careless if he lives or dies.
He drops his rifle, now empty of ammo and watches the rocket as it soars towards him. Shepard screams his name and he keeps smiling. The rocket collides with his face and he barely feels the burn as it does. He was dead long before his heart stopped beating and his lungs stopped drawing air. He had died two years ago when she had. Now he just had a physical corpse to go with it.