A/N: *Bawls* Why Mordin, why! For those of you who have not played ME 3 yet, do not read this! I bawled my eyes out when it happened! He's dead! Dead! I had to write something, just a swift little oneshot for those of you who have yet to reach this part, in memory of our favorite scientist salarian. May you rest in peace, Mordin! I OWN NOTHING! This is purely speculation on my part! Speculation!

"Lots of ways to help people. Sometimes heal patients; sometimes execute dangerous people. Either way helps."

~Mordin Solus

Epilogue?

Tuchanka.

A world in ruins. Suffering from radiation, civil wars, and all manner of desctruction, this planet has been razed to the ground countless times, only to be rebuilt so that it may one day be burned anew and again. It is a harsh worled, one that does not suffer weakness lightly. Nor does it tolerate fools. This world, this planet, and the Krogen themself, have been reborn. Their world is about to be forever changed. It is now a planet on the precipice of destiny; at the very cusp of reality.

At the cost of a certain scientist salarian.

He'd gone to his doom with no reservations, ignoring the protests of the human commander. It had to be him. Someone else, might have gotten it wrong. There was no other way. Had to be him. Had to be him. He'd taken the elevator up, knowing that he would not be able to return. Knowing that it was necessary. Running, through the explosions, leaping over debris, he'd reached the console with only minor burns and immediately set to work...

...while singing.

He'd met his death with honor, singing to himself, even as he corrected the temperature anomaly within the Shroud. The tower came apart around him as he worked, and still he'd stayed true to his task, humming a tunning beneath his breath. He'd countteracted the STG sabotage, and sucessfully dispersed the cure; disseminating it mere moments before the console blew up in his face and sent him to his demise. Or had it?

Because now, on this word devoid of life, on this chunk of rock that the Krogan called their home, something had begun to stir. But there stirring within the rubble. Movement. Signs of life. Where one to listen, they might have heard the voice. They might have heard someone, mumbling to themselves as they struggled to extricate themself from the ruined remains of the Shroud. If one had listened closely, if one had pressed their ear against the concrete and granite

"Chafing." A pitched voice murmurred to itself. "Implications unpleasant."

A rock was overturned.

"Problematic." A sigh of platonic amusement. "Too much pressure. Crushing internal organs. Lack of oxygen. Need to remove external blockage."

A gloved hand jutted through the rubble.

"Hope Shepard escaped," The creature within murmurred to itself. "Death would be...problematic. Not an option, not an option." Another rustling of dust in the wind-scorched land that was Tuchanka, then: "Arms free. Can breathe again. No signs of life detected. Reapers defeated? Possible. Unlikely. Need to see for self."

With one final heave, the creature pushed itself free from the debris. A soot soaked head poked out of the debris and peered up into the harsh sunlight. A three-fingered hand was raised, shielding black, inquisitive eyes against the unrelenting glare of that great star. Squinting at that great wrathful eye in the sky, the creature began to hum a small, wordless tune to itself as it headed out into the desert, and as it walked, that tune eventually evolved into a song. It sounded a great deal like...

...a scientist salarian."

A/N: Flamers will be BURNED! This is a oneshot dedicated to a fictional character and any nastiness will be ignored. YES I have played the game, and I know that this doesn't happen...but I can dream, can't I? So there's no need to start a bloody riot. For those of you who care, and those of you who HAVE played the game and TRULY enjoyed it, (excluding the odd-ball ending) feel free to leave a review...preferably a nice one.

R&R! =D