Commander Shepard's temporary residence, outside Vancouver
For most of the citizens sheltered outside Vancouver today was a good night. The reconstruction efforts have gotten to the point that there was no loud machine noises to be hard after the evening. Slowly civilisation was rebuilding itself atfer the horrendous damage the Reapers' invasion did to Earth's infractructure.
Commander Shepard was no such citizen. The sounds of heavy machinery were the least of her worries when she layed down into her bed for the night. Sleep brought horrors far worse and even months after the final battle, she still found herself waking covered in sweat in the middle of the night.
She got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. The holographic interface of her mirror confirmed that it was 3 am, and she cursed invardly. She hoped to make it to at least 5 am before waking. Jane sighed and stared forward at her own reflection. A beautiful woman in her early thirties looked back, weeks of medigel treatment having removed the facial scarring that the terrors of the war have gouged into her face to reveal the Cerberus implants that brought her back to life.
Glowing, red eyes stared back at her, a testament of past losses she wished to keep, despite the arguments Doctor Chakwas had about it with her. She sweeped a few locks of her bob cut crimson hair from her forehead and splashed water on her face to clean the sweat from her pale skin. She set about brushing her teeth, but despite all her efforts her mind wandered back to the war.
It has been a horrible affair from the start, and only through her sheer determination to do what was needed to do did the forces of the Citadel eventually defeat the Reapers, but at a cost so terrible that it haunted her every waking moment. Countless billions dead, civilisations cast down and friends lost.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she thought about Kaidan, Thane, Legion and Anderson. London and Thessia was a smoking ruin that would take decades to restore and Palaven was only slightly better off. They have given their lives to save others, and the guilt of all survivors gnawed at her soul. Just like at Torfan, she lived and others died.
At least the Alliance specialists have managed to alter the Crucible's energy capacitators enough to make sure EDI and the Geth did not perish in the final, fateful choice that sent the Reapers to their fiery graves. She was not sure she could have lived with that genocide weighting on her shoulders.
She tried to think about all those who she managed to save. The genophage was cured and the Krogan people had a chance to finally rebuild their devastated homeworld. The Geth and the Quarians were figuring out a way to coexist and the Citadel races were slowly rebuilding all that was lost. Humanity and the Turians finally managed to get the past of the First Contact war behind them and even the Batarians were becoming more sensible with the Hegemony's end.
James Vega was working on getting his final N7 spec-ops certification, and Liara was writing a book with Javik. She felt a pang of sorrow for the ancient avenger as she imagined what utter black pits of loneliness the Prothean man must face every day.
Ashley was sending her as much updates as she could over the official channels about her work at the Spectres and Garrus was serving as the Turian military liason on Earth as Primarch Corinthus coordinated the Hierarchy's decimated military to maintain security around Palaven and the core Turian territories.
Zaeed has joined Samara in an effort to keep the outlying Asari colonies pirate free in a vain attempt to gain her affection. Wrex was doing his best to keep the clans in line with Eve's help and Grunt was out somewhere on his grand quest to sample every human alcoholic drink still made on Earth before returning to the sorry remains of Aralakh company. Samantha has began seeing Kelly Chambers and for a moment Shepard smiled. Perhaps Specialist Traynor could not realise her dreams with EDI, not that Joker would have objected, but she was on the way to find happiness for herself. Doctor Chakwas was helping with the refugee centers to patch up the wounded and Jack was back to teaching the young biotics in the military camps. Responsibility has done wonders to the tattooed woman's attitude and outlook on life, and Jane felt the faintest echo of hope that even the most wrecked life could be turned around for the better.
Kasumi had dissapeared into the shadows no doubt to liberate credits from their rightful owners, and Jacob was about to get married. After going through that ordeal with his father, he deserved closure and a chance to show that he could do much better. Jane had no doubt that he would. He will make a great father someday, she thought. Her smile ended as she thought of Miranda. The resourceful ex-Cerberus officer was still being investigated about her past ties with Cerberus, no matter how much she tried to vouch for her character.
The thought of Cerberus sent another pang of sorrow through her. The road to hell was truly paved with good intentions. How could the organisation founded to safeguard Humanity have fallen so far? The Illusive Man was, for all his faults, one who always cared about their people even when the Councillors have shown nothing but derision. Every time she ended the life of a Cerberus soldier, she thought that she could have just killed one of the men who served with her on the Normandy.
Could she have done something different? Perhaps if she blew up that damned Collector base, this would have never happened. Or perhaps the Reapers would have found a way to indoctrinate the Illiusive Man despite all her efforts to the contrary, and she was a fool for thinking she could have turned them back from the abyss, only if she tried harder. Still, she felt a pang of pity in her heart. For whatever atrocities they comminted, they were once good men. Could a life lived for a worthy cause be so utterly damned by the horrors they inflicted upon the innocent? She had no answer for that.
At least she managed to find a few of her old crew. Cortez was now working in his free time to bring supplies to the most devasted areas of London, and old Gardner has been all too happy to volunteer his services to cook for those in need. Donnely and Daniels were working with Adams to restore the Normandy to her full glory after the crash landing and she heard word that Goldstein has survived the war. Still too many good women and men sacrificed their lives.
"Keelah Shepard, the nightmares again?" The voice of Tali sounded from the bedroom as the commander stared at the mirror. "I'm all right Tali... just the usual nightmares."
The slim figure of the Quarian appeared behind her as Tali hugged Jane and shook her visored head. "You can not beat yourself over it for the rest of your life. You will have to accept what happened and move on." Tali pulled her away from the mirror and lead her to the living room. Shepard collapsed on the brown, homely couch and Tali sat beside her. "I know, but I still feel I could have done better."
The alien girl shook her head again and put a three fingered hand on her shoulder. "You did the best you could. You even managed to drag Mordin out of that tower! We all thought you both died in that explosion." Jane nodded, trying to believe it herself. "You have saved billions and none of us would be alive if it was not for you."
Jane rested her chin on her fist and sighed. Whatever she lost, she still had Tali and her friends. That ought to count for enough, but still her victory tasted like the ashes of the dead. Seeing that there was nothing else to do, Tali took off her visor and boldly kissed her. "Keelah! If I need to cheer you up like this all the time, I'll get an infection!" That made Shepard smile as she found refuge from the past in the present.
Strike Cruiser Retribution, Segmentum Ultima
The echoing corridors of the Strike Cruiser Retribution were lit as dimly as it was possible with the human serfs aboard, but shadows still clung to the gothic masonry of the warship's interior. Captain Aramus of the Fourth Company walked down towards his cell in his deep red robes and lit a thick rod of incense before closing the steel door behind him.
The faint light of the burning substance would have made the room pitch black for a mortal, but his enhanced eyes pierced every shadow. His artificier warplate and holy arms were displayed on the arming rack, lovingly maintained by the Techmarines and dusted every day by his own hands. He sat down onto a basic, sturdy chair before his desk and took out an autoquill from a drawer. He began writing his report to Chapter Master Angelos on a long vellum scroll, the chemical scent of the ink filling his sensitive nostrils.
As he wrote the report, his mind drifted to the chain of events that lead to this. The fateful war against the splinter fleet and their valiant last stand. The rapid, bloody war against the Aragast and his vile Black Legionaries and the ten year long secret crusade against the agents of the fallen Kyras.
He thought of all the brothers lost, centuries of honourable service cut short by treachery and deceit. The Chapter's honour tarnished forever and the decades of rebuilding that were needed before they would become more than a shadow of their past glory again.
Though his altered mind needed no sleep nor could feel despair, he was still beholden to the harrowing future that lay before all of them. As he wrote his latest account, he meditated upon the past. At least the Inquisition was assured of their loyalty and the Chapter would live on. He would have rather fallen on his own blade than suffer the horror of excommunication. He was Astartes. There was the Emperor, and there was duty. Nothing more. He swore a silent oath to carry out that duty to the best of his abilities as long as he drew breath.
All of his brothers would need to do their very best. Young and idealistic Thaddeus, embodying the hope for Humanity that his kind represented at the dawn of the Imperium. Wise and dependable Tarkus, who was the model Space Marines that even amongst the Ultramarines would be looked upon as an examplar. Avitus who was the very angel of death they were all supposed to be, knowing no mercy and no respite in bringing death to the Emperor's enemies. Cunning and independent Cyrus, who always found a way to outsmart an enemy they could not defeat in a conventional battle. Stalwart Jonah, always pragmatic Martellus, noble Gabriel and his predecessor, Captain Thule, who served even after death. If only Apothecary Gordian was here to help them, but he has heroically given his life in the final battle against the Tyranids. May all of them do their duty with such honour.
A few minutes after he finished the report, he heard the footfalls of his kind on the corridors and a knock soon sounded on his door. "Enter." he said and looked up as his eyes instantly adjusted to the light coming from the corridor as the door opened.
Jonah Orion stood before his cell, the ancient librarian wearing his blue robes and leaning on his psychic staff, a habit he picked up after his body was shattered twice. First against the vile demon that temporarily possessed him during the second Aurelian crusade, and than in the final battle against Kyras.
"Brother Captain, I could sense your turmoil from a Segmentum away. Come, pray with me in the chapel." The wise librarian stepped back, and the captain nodded solemnly. Their souls needed the Emperor's guidence now more than ever, and he took the incense burner from his desk as he joined the Librarian.