A shot rang out, clipping the ground and sending up a puff of dust and debris.
Just like old times.
Garrus Vakarian threw himself behind a parked skycar and unclipped his sidearm, cursing the fact that criminals never came quietly and that he had banged his fringe on the side of the vehicle.
It's like no one remembers that the geth attacked. Granted, I've tried to block out a couple recent memories myself; the cryotubes full of dead protheans on Ilos. Saren turning into…whatever the hell that was, accidentally finding Joker's ahem, personal holo-vid collection to name a few. But come on, we're still pulling bodies out of the wreckage. Don't criminals ever take a vacation? Is nearly being destroyed by a nigh-immortal sentient spaceship and it's army of synthetics not reason enough to, I don't know, go to a beach somewhere?
The thought of beaches reminded him of Vimire and he concluded that beaches weren't all they were cracked up to be.
Not like I can swim, anyway.
Barely more than a few weeks had passed since the battle for the citadel and crime rates in the lower wards seemed to have skyrocketed. And it wasn't all the same players either. Fist was dead. So was Dela T'panga. The Bachjret Bombers gang was no more, though he'd heard that most of them had gone down fighting geth side by side with C-sec.
But somehow, I'd find that information a lot more comforting if the idiots of the week weren't shooting at me.
He fired a few warning shots and ducked back into cover, wishing he'd brought his rifle along. Tayseri Ward had taken the most damage from the fighting and everybody knew it. Wreckage from citadel ships, systems alliance vessels, and the geth armada had rained down like the fist of an angry god, not to mention huge chunks of Sovereign itself.
The mechanical tentacle of a god then? He mused as he waited for his pistol to cool down.
Most of the ward was in shambles; even with construction crews working around the clock to clear debris, it was estimated that it would several years to repair all the damage. On top of that a few thousand C-sec officers had perished in the fighting, with another hundred or two still missing in action.
And yet Harkin survived the attack and is stinking up the dark star lounge these days. Is there no justice in this galaxy?
Considering that the citadel still had a population of over thirteen million, C-sec was stretched pretty thin; which was why he found himself working with a special response unit. The SR had been the first on the scene when the geth attacked, and had taken the heaviest losses.
"Nothing like the smell of a freshly ejected thermal clip in the morning, eh Vakarian?"
Garrus turned to the human that was talking and offered a wry smile.
"You know me, Lamont. I prefer the classics."
Officer Lamont chortled , and slotted a new clip into his gun as he took cover next to Garrus. "You're going to become a relic if you don't keep up. This is becoming the new standard. Waiting for your weapon to cool down is so last month. "
"As I recall, having to load your gun with bullets is so last century." Garrus returned drily.
"A thermal clip is not a bul—" Lamont began before shaking his head. "Never mind, I'm not getting sucked into this debate again." Garrus shrugged.
But it's such a fun debate. Usability versus technological steps backward. Everyone's got an opinion about it.
"Suit yourself Lamont." He peeked around the skycar and saw three of the gangbangers they were shooting at make a break for it. The display on the targeting visor he wore over his right eye zoomed in with a simple eye flick for a command. It was a kuwashii model, specifically fitted for a turian's head, one that he'd added a few modifications to over the years. Chief among them was the ability to detect and measure biotic fields from up to thirty meters away and a biofeedback reader that could monitor heart rate fluctuations and changes in breath patterns. Of course, that feature required him to be a lot closer than he was, so he settled for the x50 magnification and focused on what the humans were carrying.
"So many groups trying to scavenge tech from the battle for the black market, I can't keep track of them all. What're these idiots calling themselves again?" Garrus wondered aloud.
"The tenth street reds will rise again!" one of the humans shouted, moments before Garrus tagged him in the shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground with a cry of pain.
"Ah." Garrus sighed.
"Think they're close to surrendering?" Lamont wondered hopefully.
"I don't know, let's ask them. Hey, reds? Any chance you want to give up now? I've got more important things to do."
The answer was a level of profanity that was surprising, even with everything Garrus had seen before.
"Guess that's a no." he sighed. "And I was looking forward to watching the clawball game this afternoon too."
Lamont barked out a laugh. "I don't know why. You know the Raescir Rockets are going to lose right?"
Garrus didn't respond, watching as some of the other officers in the area moved in a pincer, cutting off the gang members' last route of escape from behind and ordering them to put their hands up. There was more swearing, but what was left of the Red's complied. The danger having passed, Garrus stood slowly and holstered his pistol.
All in a day's work, I suppose.
"Now why do I get the feeling that we were being used as a distraction?" Lamont muttered.
"We were, because we're the most attractive officers on the force." Garrus quipped, slapping Lamont on the shoulder. The human snickered.
"Much obliged for the help detective. "
Garrus chuckled dryly and nodded to the sergeant. With this nonsense over, maybe he'd actually get the time to work on his current case, that of a drug dealer named Kishpaugh.
After I submit a report about the Tenth Street Reds in triplicate, of course.
Some hours later, after he'd clocked out, Garrus found his way to the Dark Star lounge in Zakera Ward and settled onto a stool by the bar. The clawball game was long since over, but they were still playing highlights. Garrus sipped at a quarian brandy and watched as Neno Raxirian scored a second goal in overtime. A grin stole over his face. Lamont owed him forty credits. The commentators were just starting to talk about the play of the game when the citadel news network symbol filled the screen, much to the dismay of some of the other patrons in the lounge.
"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special news bulletin." The asari news anchor was saying. It's been one month since rogue spectre saren areterius led the synthetic race known as the geth in a terrible attack on the Citadel. Garrus grimaced and shook his head. No mention of Sovereign being a reaper, just a geth dreadnought. But dreadnoughts bloody well didn't talk to people and make personal threats. If the council had only seen what they'd seen on Virmire...
Not to mention that there was no way in hell that Saren had turned into that cybernetic husk all by himself after he'd shot himself in the head.
I'm sure the council has dismissed those claims. Garrus thought in disgust.
"-shot down in the Amada system." Garrus's drink paused halfway to his mouth. What did she just…? "Information is scarce at the moment, but we have reason to believe that most of the crew died with the ship. The question on everyone's lips; Did Commander Shepard, savior of the citadel go down with the Normandy?
Garrus stared slack-jawed at the screen in disbelief.
Admiral Hackett was at a press conference, denying that they had had any confirmation about anything, other than a transmission from the Normandy's pilot that the ship was taking heavy fire. Murmurs arose in the bar. Garrus drained the rest of his rum in one swig and slammed the glass down on the counter before unsteadily getting to his feet and leaving the lounge. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had he left? Maybe he could have…no. It was no use thinking about that. He tried to wrap his head around what he's just heard, but he couldn't. That ship had been his home for months. The crew…
Garrus wanted to put his head in his hands. After Saren's death and the ceremony the council had thrown, he'd gone back to C-Sec. He'd known that he couldn't be deputized by a Spectre indefinitely, and he'd been the only one with pressing responsibilities to get back to. Wrex had left the ship a few days before him, declaring that he had unfinished business on Tuchanka to deal with. But the rest? Tali? Liara? Williams? He found himself worrying for the alliance crew as well. Joker, Chakwas, Pressly and the rest. Sure, some of them had eyeballed him at first, but they'd become a team. All of them. Right down to that requisitions officer that had bunked behind him.
And Shepard? Garrus brooded as he walked back to his office, trying to ignore the voice in the recesses of his mind that was starting to panic, feeling a deep sense of loss for his mentor. His friend. If Shepard had ordered him to storm the gates of hell, he'd have done it with no question. One look at those emerald eyes was all it took. That was just the kind of effect she had had on people.
Past tense. His mind whispered in betrayal.
Heroes weren't supposed to die like that. Shepard was smarter than that. The geth wouldn't have been able to take her down, not like that.
Not the Normandy.
Never Shepard.
Right?
Hello, and thank you for giving this a shot. If you've read my stuff before, you know that in Mass Effect, I've stuck to one-shots. This is my attempt at writing an ongoing fic, something with structure. I've planned out this whole thing and written several chapters in advance. I'm thinking weekly updates. As you can no doubt tell, this is a Garrus-centric fic, one that intends to explore the two year gap between Mass Effect 1 and 2. It's a story I've wanted to tell for a long time, as my canon for it has been banging around in my head since the first time I played Mass effect 2. I'll be fleshing out bits from the homeworlds comic for a few chapters before heading off into uncharted waters. Reviews, comments, criticisms, questions etc, are welcome. Feedback is the best way to improve one's story-telling.