The Citadel.
A massive station meant for peace and prosperity, a home to millions of sentients, full of laughter and life despite the criminal underworld, it was a place where you could dream big and sometimes get that dream.
At least it used to be.
Now? Now it's a massive graveyard, thousands upon thousands of lives snuffed out like someone blowing out the flame of a candle. Survivors of the Reaper attack did a multitude of things, from just walking around the damaged and bloody halls in shock, never truly seeing what their eyes show them. Others broke down crying, cradling loved ones, screaming to the sky for someone to do something, anything.
Do you know what causes survivors guilt more than anything, particularly in densely populated urban sectors?
It's not the damage nor the blood that drips from the wall but the faces. Faces, young and old, frozen in terror or pain, their unseeing eyes pleading, begging for help, help that would never come.
This is what Shepard, Anderson, the Normandy's ground crew and their new found friend walked out to. Admist the surviving population and the dead, figures tall and short glided forwards and back amongst them, glowing energy particles leaving their armoured bodies and landing on the many races of the citadel.
Each time one did, skin knotted together faster than a korgan, plate would weld themselves back together and bleeding stopped.
Other figures, these more imposing with thickly muscled arms and legs moved rubble away from buildings, sometimes the rubble would then shift and change in rock golems that then proceeded to help out with the heavy lifting.
A scream ran out in the air as one of the new species sunk to his knees, holding something in his arms.
Shepard's new friend ran over to help, quickly followed by the stunned crew.
"Messanger!!" He cried out to the approaching group, "Please, you most do something! Anything!?"
As the Normandy crew saw what was in the mans arms, the female crew members gasped as did their hands shot to their mouths, the males stared with anger and fury burning in their eyes.
The so called Messenger crouched down to his ally and looked down sadly at the two asari children in his arms, their breaths laboured and short, legs crushed into paste, voices hoarse from screaming. He wished he could do something, Atlas users were always protective of the younger generations due to their earthly nature, making them perfect heavy hitters and guardians.
Waves of energy particles fell from the Messenger as he began to wave his hands through the air. The Normandy crew and Anderson watched in horrified awe as it slowly sunk into the two children.
After a short while, red spectres rose out of each Asari, each one looking fully healed. The cries from the Atlas changed from one of hope and possibility to one of denial.
Soft muttering soft 'no, no, no' could be heard as he sobbed. The twins smiled sadly before walking up to the crying warrior and hugged him tightly.
The Messenger turned and begun to walk away as the two spectral children faded away in to particles, which floated away in a non existent breeze.
The Atlas fell silent for a time.
A short wait after one more voice joined the terrible symphony of screams through out the station.
Hey guys sorry I haven't been able to upload recently but a load of things have been going on in my life at the moment so I hope you enjoy this brief filler that I don't think is really emphasised until the third game of Mass Effect.
Any way don't forget to comment and follow.
Pheron out!