This is an OC centered story, evolving around the core characters of the original Mass Effect Trilogy. It's Femshep and Garrus ship. Other ships possible. Everyone is welcome.

Alert to fav readers, thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

M for mature themes, language, fluff and etc.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns ME and all ME franchise.


"The created will always rebel against their creators.", the insidious figure stated, turning to a small group of system refugees. Facing the deck of the bridge in a massive dreadnought of size and terror, she observed the humans. Their huddled fear shown in quiet tears while she stepped forward, passing them slowly.

"I must restore order.", her tone remained stern, a resolute demand. Piercing green eyes stared at their malnourished faces. She stood still, studying one of them. A human male that hesitantly approached her. The grime on his face made an impression, as an eager plea in his voice barely could be heard.

He restrained himself from shaking with terror. Wincing from the pain of strained muscles as he lowered his gaze in a submissive manner. "We only took safe passage through the system. The hybrid left us, we don't know where she went." The man took a hard gulp. "Please, don't hurt my family."

There was no emotion to her face, no way of knowing if she was angry or humored. She reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his tattered clothes. He swallowed, sweat beading down his forehead. Brown eyes stared in fear.

She leaned her head forward, face to face with him. "I don't need your petty negotiations." A sharp smile curved into a devious grin. "But I'll take your sacrifice all the same."

His family whimpered as he was dragged away by a solider clad in black. The villain, Reaper, returned to the bridge windows. Her right eye twitched, a single moment of response while the rest of the humans were removed from her sight.


Attacin Traverse

Looking out the cockpit window, Satima sighed in thought. She's sat at this console for five years, before spending three of them flying on her own.

A small blip showed up on her ships radar catching her attention. Getting up to check the engines for another emissions leak, she wondered what happened with the last delivery. Did they make it?

Having the occupation of a smuggler, Satima dodged the threatening terror of the Directive in every system. They were reaper remnants, a fragment of the controlled machines that lingered after the stalemate decades ago. A pause that began near earth.

At least that's how Borlask recalls it. Sitting in the hanger of the base they lived in, she'd sigh in annoyance as he retold the harrowing tale of the Reapers. An event she was not yet born to know of.

People poured in at times, causing her curiousity to strangle any sense her new gaurdian hoped to instill upon her. He had to keep her in the shadows, locked away sometimes. If people saw her, knew just what was hounding her every step... they'd cash in on the tip.

And the Directive would have its prey.

Satima came to appreciate the old guy as he taught her how to fly older models of space crafts. The time came soon enough for her to branch out on her own. If the boogie man (as some human children called them), really was out there waiting for her. She'd face him or they, really, and finally put to rest her childhood fears.

But time can come to a crawl when you're waiting for the bad guys to show. You forget to live, to explore. And being so young, Satima tended to social awkwardness. Opting out of getting too close to others. After a short while, she buried herself in loneliness, always ferrying people or things to places filled with danger and excitement.

Then one delivery, she docked at a seedy station all the way out in the terminus. Omega.

Afterlife had plenty of perils, with gangs fighting for territory for their own races. The queen of all the chaos, never managed to put a stop to it. Omega was being overrun by criminals now.

Satima had fought her way out of plenty of scraps, one step ahead of anyone who tried to take her ship and leave her for dead in the alleys. She never cared to stop any atrocity, ignored screams and kept to herself. Until the night on that station, she bumped into one too many victims.

It took two shots of a pistol and one shotgun clip to the face. That's when she met…

"JORMUN!"

Ship alarms blared loudly throughout Haven.

Satima slid across the grated floor to hit the back of her pilot chair. She jumped around landing firmly in the seat. Holo controls appeared giving her range and weapons lock on the fighter. A unique vessel that can FTL in deep space faster than Haven.

It had locked onto her ships trajectory path. She knew it would be a risk to visit the refugee facility. The hybrid hasn't been home in years.

"I'm getting a signal from the mountain range. It's Borlask!", Jormun, a young quarian, yelled on comms from the engine room.

Satima smirked, her ridged brow raising in amusement, "Good! About damn time! Jormun, eliminate this piece of scrap!" She ordered with satisfaction.

Jormun ran from the engine room to the cannon panel. It was behind the cockpit in view of Satima. He brought up the grid and locked on to the enemy vessel, gliding his suited fingers to tap commands over the console. Immediately, emp blows hit the fighter, losing navigational input and flying blind right into a communication satellite dish.

Satima watched through her cockpit's window, viewing the scout craft explode into orange fire. "Looks like I owe Borlask a new one!", she laughed out loud.

Jormun thanked his ancestors it worked. Secretly stealing a glance of his young captain leaning over her console.

They passed safely into the atmosphere of the planet Lorek, landing on a flat icy surface of the permafrost covered mountain. She dreaded leaving her ship, hating the cold of this planet since she was a teenager.

It affected her more than other humans she had known. Considering she resembled them, mostly, thinking maybe she's at least half of their species. Warmer climates suited her better, anyhow.

The dangerous weather provided cover from surface and range scans for them. A constant blizzard blew across the mountain tops, delivering blankets of white snow over the landing zone.

After the Haven had landed, Satima and Jormun stepped down the ramp of the cargo bay away from their previous warm environment. Her gear worn tightly due to the freezing temperature. Haven's exterior lighting provided a visible path to the old facility's entrance.

A door cut perfectly in the side of the glacier rock had slid open. Harsh light poured out on the ground. From the doorframe, a suited man walked out, grumbling to himself loudly against the snow. Borlask is a batarian. One of few left in the galaxy. He wore yellow and black armor with his helmets visor glazed in an iridescent silver. Satima had known him since she was sixteen.

"Satima!", he yelled, irritated. "You blew up more of my communicators! I don't put them out there for you to use as weapons!", Borlask struggled against the snow shouting in his deep voice.

Satima could tell he had all eyes on her with a nasty glare through his visor. She smirked as he struggled further to reach her. With hands to hips, she shook her helmeted head. "How else was I supposed to get away?" Satima replied sarcastically, pushing past him.

Jormun followed behind her. Borlask grunted with disapproval. He hated the Quarians since they quarantined their systems and planets off the galactic grid, causing an influx of refugees fleeing to him.

Batarians were not known before for their humane treatment and sympathetic views, but Borlask has seen enough suffering on all sides. Quarians were cowards in his eyes and the fact Satima was with one, boiled his blood. They hurried inside the hidden compound. Borlask did his usual growl at Jormun.

"Remember to keep your filthy hands off my stuff.", he leaned in close to Jormun's helmeted face. "And off Satima.", snarling with his threat.

Jormun ignored him and sat down at a table in the compounds mess hall, warming himself under one of the various heating vents. He took Ish, his favorite shotgun out and sat the weapon on his lap clicking a mod in skillfully. Jormun wished Borlask could see his one-sided smile.

The old batarian left Jormun alone, he had more important matters to deal with. Watching Satima chat quickly with a few human refugees, offering transport services for creds. She never involved herself in their troubles, afraid of tipping off the Directive, and worse. Borlask had known her for a long time. He gave her advice, weapons and an old ship.

She took them all with as much gratitude as a greedy vorcha. But, he couldn't help to admire the woman she was growing to be. He knows calling himself a father figure would be too much of an attachment.

After all, he wanted her to be greedy of life. Taking what she needs and never meddling in the sinister affairs of the galaxy. They both know what that looks like. Her more than anyone. That quarian male still stared at her. Borlask shook his head. What a foolish boy.

The great mess hall had a high vaulted metal ceiling with four large heating vents dividing the room. Great square windows for the little bit of light that did peer through the storm clouds. Rows of mess tables and chairs filled the area. Many different species ate and congregated together.

Borlask used this jewel in the system to house those that are fleeing The Directive. Leaving destruction in their wake, it became too hard for the poorer factions to rebuild after the Reapers.

Looking over to Satima, he suddenly had a memory of when he first met her. Frail and malnourished. A pale face with alien eyes staring back at him.

She had to of been human, at least partly. Years before the reapers, he would've allowed his old animosities to cloud his judgement. But, now... he's seen too much death and agony on all sides, to practice that kind of prejudice anymore.

Her young voice echoed to him across the hall, snapping himself out of the memory and thoughts. "Hey Borlask, you ever worry about the buildup of ice caps changing positions on you?", she stared folding her arms.

It looked concerned, at least to him, but at times her gaze caused confusion. So, he figured she was being snarky, and a tad worried. "My people proved it was a false environmental reading.", Borlask laughed dismissively. His jest died down, letting out a low snarl. "Damn asari. Always in other people's business." He mumbled taking off his helmet. All his black eyes staring around him.

"Until you wake up a frozen popsicle buried under miles of ice", she chuckled his way.

Borlask laughed loudly. After a moment, his merriment died down. He turned slowly, glancing to the ground, then back to her. It seemed like odd behavior.

"Satima.", he called. "Come over here, I want to speak about something important with you.", Borlask often gave no emotional hints, but this time his eye was twitching.

Satima clicked her comms to a private channel between her and Jormun while she spoke to him. She didn't understand it, but an eerie feeling crept up over her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, other than the scout fighter from earlier. As she walked closer to him, Borlask held down a nervous shake of his hand.

"What's so important?", she smiled warmly to him.

Ancestors, that look of trust sent a wave of guilt through him.

Borlask looked over his shoulder nervously, watching for someone. He turned to her, "Maybe you should leave earlier today. Take your new passengers, and go on another tour." He stared at her with an alarmed gaze.

Satima put her hand on his shoulder in concern, hoping close contact would help him ease up, and tell her what exactly is going on. "What's wrong Borlask? You can tell me, old friend. Is it money?", she spoke softly.

Not her usual impetuous tone and manner. Jormun scoffed at the word friend but choose not to impede. He uneasily leaned of his chair, watching the pair talk about past times together.

Borlask shook his head, scoffing. "Creds are easy to come by with them.", he pointed to a few refugees. "Besides, you like to travel. I figured you'd want to head out already on one of your tours.", Borlask started to sweat, but kept laughing nervously.

And implying the word tours?

Jormun sat on edge, his shotgun gripped tightly. He didn't like Borlask's tone of voice or edgy demeanor. Something was wrong here. Satima looked at him puzzled then glanced at Jormun quickly.

She backed away nervous and twitchy, reaching down her boot slowly for a small hand blade. Swallowing hard at the now silent and nearly vacated room.

Her gaze darted around the hall,"Borlask.", she started, now staring at him, "What's going on? What did you do?" An unbreakable fear in her voice, as he pulled a pistol from his belt. Wincing at her questions.

"I'm sorry, Satima. You must understand, this is for the safety of the refugees." His hand shook, the pistol aimed unsteadily at the young girl whom he betrayed. "Besides if I know you like I do, you can escape it. I believe you can." Borlask felt horrible for what he'd done.

She was like a daughter to him. He couldn't deny what he felt about her. But they came. They tortured him, made him watch others be killed. A sacrifice, as the villian repeated.

He was given no choice.

Satima heard loud footsteps behind them, her heart pounded against her chest. Jormun whispered to Satima over the comms, his voice breaking up in fear over the name of the one who stalked the girl's every move. It's been years. She was so careful. How did they find her?

An armored hand rested on her shoulder, its black metal surface had a polished shine as it griped her tightly. The mature tone of the female voice sent a wave of fear through the young smuggler, as she leaned closer to the girl's ear. A snarled lip rose in personal satisfaction of the find. "You will not make a fool of me again, Satima."

Her name spoken by that thing disgusted her. But it was she that gave it to her. Many years ago, alone in the metal cell that was her home.

Jormun targeted his shotgun, jumpy from the confrontation. "Don't move! Back away from her now!", he roared in his accented tone.

Satima held her blade seconds ago, ready to strike, but the villian knew her intentions too well. Quickly, Reaper grabbed Satima and turned them around holding the girl's blade firmly against her throat.

A small trickle of blood danced down her skin. Several of the Directive's soldiers surrounded him. Their menacing black armor sending dangerous shadows across the floor. Jormun put Ish to his side, defeated. He wouldn't risk Satima getting hurt.

The hybrid threateningly stared at Borlask as she was let loose and cuffed. A surge of anger overwhelmed the fear from earlier, while she searched him for an answer. Why? Why, do this to her? She could've helped move the refugees somewhere safe. Someplace where all of them could be safe.

"You're a damn coward.", she glared at him. Her alien eyes watery, but never let a single drop escape them.

Borlask sat back down heavily, and watched as Reaper dragged Satima out of his compound. Ancestors, he felt like scum leaving her alone to the HIVE, but what could he do?

"It was for the good of the refugees, Satima.", he muttered to himself in denial of his own actions. "You know that.", he sighed, disappointed. "You've always known that."