The beam, the bursts of red flame, the separating chunks of metal that, together, made the Normandy, all occur in total silence.
In the blackness of space, their is no air and no sound to carry it.
The only sound is the hiss in the back of his helmet as the ruptured oxygen line bleeds into space, the sound of his own labored breath as the mask fills with CO2 and the chattering of his suit as he begins to fall toward ice-blue Alchera.
Shepard prays the air runs out as he spirals downward into thin atmosphere of the planet.
The coughs are growing more frequent, and more painful.
The mattress of the hospital bed feels like it is sinking slowly, one foot at a time, below the waves of Kahje. The ward is quiet, except for the occasional barking that rattles out of his chest.
He has not seen Shepard since their encounter.
She is solving the galaxy's problems. He is one problem that cannot be fixed.
Thane holds his chest, the stabbing of tired muscles as another cough bellows from his failing lungs.
When the fit subsides, he wheezes, quietly.
That which he needs most, hurts most deeply.
The egg twitches.
At first, it barely moves enough for Eve to notice. There are hundreds of eggs, too many to watch them all with a close eye.
Then it rocks from side to side. It swivels on its bottoms. It wobbles. It spins. It tips enough to fall resting on the egg next to it.
And then another moves. And another. And another.
Before long, they are a brown, grey, green, black speckled sea, rough from a powerful current jostling it.
Then the first piece of shell cracks.
And a tiny head emerges.
A newborn Krogan cries for mother.
It is not the voice in the radio, but the sudden gasp that jolts Shepard away.
He is met by the immediate remembrance of pain, like fiery claws raked along the side of his face, like being pummeled in a back alley barfight in the slums of Montreal back home, like being pulled apart and smashed flat at the same time.
"Shepard. Your scars aren't healed, but I need you to get moving. This facility is under attack."
His body feels empty and foreign. A wisp of smoke floating within a bottle.
Until he feels the pistol in his palm.
Burning metal shears the amber sky.
The comm is over-jammed with panicked cries for help.
Does this unit have a soul?
The whimper in Tali's throat vibrates like a liveship ventilation shaft with a broken blower fan.
It whistles and wheezes and shakes unevenly.
Does this unit have a soul?
Rannoch smells so foreign, of things she has never smelled in her short life.
Of things she will never smell again.
Does this unit have a soul?
If it does, it is cold and wicked.
If it doesn't, Shepard's is cold and wicked.
Either way, hers is ready to fly.