A/N: This is the latest in what's becoming a series of oneshots featuring the key players of Mass Effect in some of their unseen moments. I don't know why I chose Thane for the next entry, but it was something of a challenge. There's a fine line between the intimacy of Thane's soul searching, and 'angst for the sake of angst' emo rubbish, one that hopefully I haven't slipped below. But that's for you to decide.
I'm craving feedback for this one, because it's the deepest I've ever gone into a characters thoughts and feelings – and the peculiarities of drell psychology only make things harder – and I'd love to know if it's something I should try and develop, or a direction I should totally avoid. Title's rubbish as well, but I came up short – once I'd written it, I couldn't think of anything better. Suggestions welcome.
Body and Soul
Amid the smoking wreckage of ruined mechs, the sparking of drones whose power cores were slowly bleeding power, and the scattered armour of faceless corpses, the drell sat alone, panting. Eyes filmy in contemplation, he seemed almost entirely unaware of the body barely a foot away from him, clad in a once elegant suit that barely concealed a powerful frame. Power that was now spent. The drell rasped, and moaned softly, his reptilian vocal chords giving the expression of pain a dry, croaking timbre. He brought a webbed, four digit hand to his hairless chest, clutching at it as the wheezing gradually subsided. A single, hacking cough later and his breathing was finally regulated.
Slowly, the drell stood, his eyes opening to take in the scene of carnage around him. Nothing had gone to plan, and that was a concept that was as utterly alien to the drell as the body that lay motionless beside him. The drell had placed the figure on his back, with arms crossed over his chest in submission to Amonkira, the Lord of Hunters. Regarding him again, the drell took in the sight of his four closed eyes, the hair that coated his body, the curiously thin lips and the ridges that sculpted the alien's jaw.
He had meant to be such a simple target, a conduit to greater enemies, but as with so much of his work of late, the drell had not been able to keep his soul's rage apart from the actions of his body. He could have chosen to end this man's life with a single shot from afar, his amateurish security detail had been utterly ineffectual in keeping the drell out of the compound, not that this had surprised the assassin. He suspected that not even the designers of the building had recognised the twelve covert ingress points he had discovered with a simple inspection. But he could not bring himself to squeeze the trigger, even when the oversized, four-eyed head been centred in his crosshairs. He had crept up on the target instead, disabling the armoured guards with his bare hands.
It was then that his body had failed him.
The drell had been trained as a precision combat instrument since the age of six, his body was the finest of bleeding edge weaponry, and correspondingly was the peak of physical fitness. But as he had evaded the artificial gaze of one of the security mechs, the labours of his infiltration had caught up with him sooner than they ever had before. The drell had been forced to fight not just through the screen of mechanical guardians, but through the pain in his chest. His body had struggled for oxygen and victory in equal measure, and in the end he had barely been able to summon the biotic push that had snapped his targets neck mere inches from his own eyes. His rest afterwards had been unprecedented in its choice of dangerous location, but the drell had simply been unable to continue. He knew of many reasons why, of course, but none of them held much relief.
With his body finally recovered, he knew it was time to move. Whatever this affliction is, this weakness in my body, I will overcome it he vowed to himself, for until this work is completed, until I have my vengeance my body and soul demand, I am unstoppable. Nothing in this galaxy shall hold victory over me; I am Thane Krios.
The transport shuttle jolted roughly as it nestled into its moorings, but Thane barely registered the movement of his body. Slowly, he pulled his fingers apart, breaking the steeple he had positioned them in during the shuttle's descent. He allowed himself a glimpse outside the small window to his right, watching the rain pour down beyond. It always rained on Kahje.
He waited patiently while the passengers in front of him stood, collected their belongings and shuffled out. Tourists, mostly, Thane noted; asari and turians come to do business in the few land based hubs the ocean world offered. But there were other drell here too, returning home from whatever adventures had called them away from their adoptive homeworld. Most looked glad to be home, Thane observed, giving rise to faint strains of guilt that he did not feel likewise. Eventually, the assassin stood, thoughts the only thing he needed to collect – and that was easier said than done.
He filed out through the narrow ailse, trained eyes perpetually scanning his surroundings, a practice that was more instinct than habit. His mind processed every detail almost unconsciously, forever committing the sights, sounds and even smells into the vast depths of his eidetic memory. They were such insignificant details, the things his conscious mind drew focus to, and yet they seemed to pierce him like cold blades, drawing out feelings he had contained within a shell of rage for so long; an asari talking in loving tones into an omni-tool communicator, a drell couple holding hands, a turian unable to hide his sense of loneliness, even behind that hard, impassive carapace common to his species. As he crossed into the terminal, he remembered vividly why he had left Kahje. The memories burst irrepressibly into his consciousness, vivid detail dredging up long buried emotions. Outwardly, his body fought to maintain control, a hand raised lightly to the head the only concession to the turmoil within.
Patience! He commanded himself. There would time to slip into thought later. First, he needed answers.
The walls of the office were pristine white, austere and calm as the lake the wide windows overlooked. Thane sat with his head bowed and his hands resting lightly on his legs, fingers intertwined. The chair he was sat in was comfortable, but not relaxing; just like every other furnishing in this room, it was meant to accommodate both good and bad news.
It was the latter Thane sensed.
The man across from him was as collected as his immediate surroundings, his vivid blue skin compounding the rather cool aura exuded by folded arms and rigid stance. His white coat was crisp, almost wintry. The cold air of the dehumidifier exaggerated the feel; it made Thane uncomfortable. He knew his species needed respite from the moisture of Kahje's water saturated surface, but he hated the cold. His fellow drell turned from the window to regard Thane in full, his eyes full of concern.
"And?" Thane muttered, already sure he knew the answer.
"You've contracted Kepral's Syndrome." The doctor said, his voice level. Thane was glad of the man's bluntness. He hated unnecessary words. Still, it did little to lessen the weight of the doctor's words, nothing to ease the burden they had instantly imparted.
"How long?" The only words Thane could find. He was numb.
"Impossible to say," the doctor sighed, "Kepral's Syndrome is not a precise killer." Inwardly, Thane jolted, some detached awareness finding the words oddly pointed. Could he know? Thane's soul panicked as his body remained glacial in its stillness. Of course not. Impossible. Coincidental verbiage. "With someone as physically fit as you, I would imagine the damage will be slow." Thane heard the man's continued speech without listening. "I can supply medication to lessen the symptoms – and I recommend you take it, as the disease progresses it can be... uncomfortable."
"I noticed." Thane replied, emptily.
"With the medication and your fitness, I should expect you have a few years left. It could be so much worse." The doctor kept trying to fill the silence. It was almost a drone, despite the attempted reassurance in his voice.
"I understand. Thank you." Thane said, doing all he could to keep his voice from cracking. He still had so much to do. He had work that needed finishing, debts that needed repaying. And then there was...
Kolyat.
Should I tell him? No. Futile; sympathy cannot repair this rift. Kolyat is safe, physically... and emotionally. I cannot compromise that, not when things are so delicate. Not before my penance is complete.
Thane drifted through the doctor's attempted words of comfort, barely hearing his instructions for how and when to take the medication. His practised sense took note of everything, inscribing it on his brain as they formed what was rapidly becoming a hateful memory, though his conscious mind was adrift on a storm wracked sea. Despair, the most terrible curse of drell memory.He mumbled another word of thanks and shuffled out, aimlessly. He was detached, his entire being screamed that fact to him over and over. His soul and his body disconnected, and he saw no hope for healing in his immediate future.
Drink. Isn't that how normal people bury despair? Thane shook his head as he wandered into the evening air, he already felt numb; drinking would provide no solace. He needed to be alone. His mind and body were in conflict, warring emotions surged through his consciousness. He could not let someone be caught in the crossfire. He had an apartment in the city, a safehouse, maybe there he could collect himself. Thane hurried through the still air, head swimming. Why was this tearing him up? Death had always been just around the corner. His life's work had been to bring it to others, constantly placing himself in mortal danger just so that his body could carry out the orders of another, far away in safety. He had never feared it before, why now?
Inevitability.
Deep down, Thane knew. His body was a finely crafted tool, designed for one purpose: to fight. Thane had always been a fighter, had always struggled against death in the knowledge that his skills, intellect and training would see him prevail. Now there was nothing to fight against. This disease would consume no matter what he did, he could no more fight it than he could hide from it.
His eyes registered a familiar door, pulling his soul briefly from its torment. His mind instantly sought for a memory.
Keypad to the right. Alphanumeric code, thumbprint scanner. Fingers slowly tap the buttons. First use, test of effectiveness, hesitant. A, 1, 5, 7, D, 2, 9, R, 4. Sequence complete. Door slides open, smell of cleaning products within. Fresh, new...
Thane pulled himself out of the memory and hurriedly entered the sequence his mind had just witnessed. He tumbled inside and began restlessly pacing the lounge area within. Fingers yearning for something to keep them occupied, he stumbled towards a wooden cupboard squatting in the corner. Working the key between webbed middle digits and thumb, he opened the door and withdrew a thin bottle of blue liquid. He scrambled for a glass tumbler and poured himself a measure, tossing it back instantly before pouring another.
Her body slides into the water. Rain stinging on cheeks, Kolyat's face is lowered, sadness and anger clouding his eyes. Her feet vanish below the waves. One last look at her perfect face, sunset eyes forever closed.
The memory brought all the anger back to the surface, and Thane tried to choke it back down. His body had failed her, and now it was failing him too.
Kolyat takes my hand in farewell. His face is defiant, the pretence of strength, but his eyes are fearful. He wants you to stay. Stay!
Sunset eyes forever closed.
An image, an avatar, but his face nonetheless. The trigger man. Four proud eyes, sneering mouth. Such powerful rage, and only one outlet. This man must die.
Thane downed the second drink, shaking his head once as its warmth touched his throat. Still he paced, his empty hand clenching and unclenching as the train of painful memories threatened to overcome him.
Kolyat must never know.
Thane thought of his son with anguish. He had hated leaving the boy to mourn his mother, but Thane could no longer protect him on Kahje. He had to find those who threatened his family and he had to end that threat. But it had been more than that. For the first time, Thane had made the decision to kill of his own volition, and he had relished the sight of the first man suffering for his crimes. And he had been the one to make him suffer. His vengeance had to be extracted piece by piece. His soul demanded it, and his body obeyed.
Eyes defiant in the scope. What would Irikah say?
Irikah. He had failed to protect her, and now he was failing his son.
Who will protect Kolyat when I'm gone?
In his mind's eye, Thane stared at the image of his son, alone and helpless. He howled, the rage finally escaping him. He hurled the empty glass against the wall, a guttural moan passing his lips as it shattered. He drew his hands up to his face as his body doubled over, fingers clenched in fists and eyes screwed shut. It hurt. It physically hurt that he knew how long he had left. He could feel the detachment between soul and body, and it hurt him. He stormed about the room, a whirlwind of destruction as he grabbed any loose object and hurled it asunder, as though trying to cast of the disease that was slowly taking his life. The exertion took its toll, and he began panting. Thane sunk into a chair, and was suddenly calm.
There is still breath in me.
Thane had been bettered by no man, and he refused to yield to this affliction. No futile cause had stopped him fighting before, and this would be no exception. He was resolved now, the clarity found amid the violence astonishing in its simplicity. He would continue to fight. Not for himself, this time, nor for vengeance, but for his son. For redemption. His own light may be flickering, but while it still shone he would do what he could to keep his son safe. No more would he soullessly kill at the behest of others, or sit idly by in false comfort. He would use his abilities to try and bring some good to galaxy. He would use the time he had left to find redemption for all his failings. For all the evils he had wrought, he would do his utmost to forge a counterbalance. Fate had sounded his death knell, but there was still time. And he would not waste it.
He recalled the promise he had made to himself as the first symptoms of the disease had sprouted, and renewed the vow. He would complete his work: Irikah would be avenged, she would find peace. But this time, it was for not for the sake of Thane's own anger. It was for Kolyat.
As Thane finally left the apartment, into the warmth of another morning, he was once again resolute. Calm and determined, his body was his own again, not lost to the anguish of despair. Though he knew he may never settle the discordance between body and soul, he would not lose himself in the rift. Before the end, he swore, his soul would find harmony.