Garrus
Scratch one.
Garrus's rifle shot back into his shoulder once more, and he grimaced at the recoil. The grimace disappeared when he witnessed the blossom of red blood spray from the back of the batarian's head. He gave himself a small nod of satisfaction before resighting again. The movement at the other end of the bridge had ceased; they had given up on sending any more fools to their doom for the time being.
Garrus shook his head and lay his rifle down against the nearby wall.
"I need to find a new hobby." Garrus couldn't help but feel sad as he said this. Talking to myself. That's what it's come to. He hadn't seen a single friendly face since he had left C-Sec three months ago. His best exchanges with the residents of Omega had been neutral – usually just the exchange of credits for the bare essentials.
Like more guns. More explosives. Just a few more days' worth of dextro food…
The population of Omega had not risen up as he had expected. There had been no outcry as, at last, someone stood up to the batarians and KM, to Aria and her ilk. Instead, there had just been the silence, the wide-eyed and vacant stares of those who had long ago given up hunt.
Well, there's also been bullets. That was also true. After the shock had worn off, all too many residents were quite willing to try and take down the rogue vigilante, the one that had been sarcastically named "Archangel" by Aria T'loak.
"He fancies himself as something that does not exist," she had said on a rare broadcast. "He has deluded himself into thinking of himself as an archangel, here to smite down the wicked. Hunt him down, and bring him to me. Preferably alive and screaming."
In past times, Aria might not have cared if mercenary operations had gone awry, if Blue Suns and Eclipse suffered heavy losses at the hand of some lone vigilante. But… that changed pretty quickly. Should've known better. If Garrus had been successful in knocking out a Waygate, he would have died a happy turian. As it stood, it looked like he would simply die, instead.
There's no reinforcements coming. Not for me, anyway. Just the unending stream of mercs…
At the other end of the bridge, Garrus caught flashes of movement. Again? Already? Humanoid figures darted to and fro, heads down, weapons clasped at their sides. Some of them looked disconcertingly large. They're bringing in the suits. Here's hoping they don't have barriers…
Garrus gingerly grabbed the handle of his sniper rifle and pulled it back into position, trying to ignore the stabs of pain and sense of exhaustion. Guess my dad was right. Getting things done by the book might be slow and sometimes ineffective, but it sure as hell beats this. Muffled shouts echoed over the distance, and Garrus felt himself instinctively beginning to squeeze the trigger.
At first, there was nothing. He could see the telltale flashes of blue and yellow that indicated Blue Suns and Eclipse, and the occasional spiky figure that was likely a vorcha, but no one made the plunge on to the bridge. They swarmed on the other side of the battlements, so many shadows milling about, but they did not advance. Stand by. Come on, Garrus. Why is your heart beating so fast? Are you afraid of dying? What kind of turian are you?
Well, if the Blood Pack have finally decided to join in, then a damn scared one. Feeling fear – turians know how to feel fear. It's about controlling it. Garrus breathed deep, closing his eyes and opening them once more. Move it, you idiots. One last dance for the both of us. You want my head, and I want to use your corpses as fresh carpet for that bridge.
Behind him, there was a sharp laugh. Without thinking, Garrus dropped the rifle and cleared his sidearm from its holster, wheeling about as he did so. A hand blurred and his gun was knocked aside, twisting out of his grip. Still acting on instinct, Garrus had ripped his knife from its sheath with his other hand and brought it across-
The figure moved like liquid, fluid and powerful. Garrus's knife clanged against the figure's and snagged, causing him to grit his teeth as he brought his weight down on the blade and staggered forward, trying to get as close as possible to his assailant. His enemy, previously a white and faintly glowing blue, now appeared as a slight terran wearing a mask and clad in skintight armor. Garrus registered this for only a moment before the figure shimmered and vanished, her knife with it.
Garrus staggered forward as the weight was released and brought himself upright again as fast as possible. Staring about the room, eyes narrowed, breath coming in sharp and shallow, he turned slowly, scanning for the intruder.
"I liked that line, about the carpet," said an unseen voice, female and confident. "I've read the minds of many turians, and you're… well, you're the anomaly I was hoping for."
Garrus did not say anything back, instead trying to trace the source of the sound, knife ready. He crept carefully to his pistol and leaned over to grab it with his free hand. Without warning, it leapt into the air and floated out of Garrus's reach. Ah. Crap. Feeling ridiculous for doing so, Garrus tensed and pounced, trying to snag the floating weapon. It danced higher, clattering against the ceiling. Garrus slumped and gave up, resuming the search with knife alone. Terran. Psionic I think. They're called ghosts. Seems fitting right now.
"You are entirely correct," said the voice. Definitely terran. "Now, Garrus, if I told you I was here to dig you out of this mess you made, would you believe me?"
"I'll be honest, that sounds far too good to be true," said Garrus, straightening. No point shuffling around. She's invisible, she knows where I am, and I have a feeling she'd just yank the knife out of my hand if she was really worried. "You are reading my mind?"
In the corner of the room, framed against the rightmost window, something shimmered and coalesced. Standing before him was the ghost, entirely at ease, rifle slung over her shoulder. The eyes of her mask met with Garrus's helmet.
"I am reading your mind," said the ghost, giving Garrus a small nod. "I am reading the minds of the gentlemen across the bridge. I am reading the minds of the vorcha digging below you. I have to say… you really know how to piss people off, Vakarian."
"It's one of my talents," said Garrus, pointedly not sheathing his blade. "It's up there alongside calibrating and disrespecting the chain of command. I suppose that's what makes me an anomaly. What do you want? You do realize those mercs are going to be swarming this place soon?"
"Not while Vasir is on her little rampage," said the ghost, sounding smug. "And the vorcha below have some ways to dig, yet. We have some time to discuss your future."
"My future?" Garrus could not help but give a choked laugh at this. He pointed a finger out the window, towards the enemy lines. "If they're to be the bridge's carpet, I'm soon to be this place's wallpaper. I'm far from home, haven't slept in about twenty-six hours, and it looks like they're sending in the heavy infantry. Not much future for this turian."
"No confidence in my abilities?" The ghost sounded amused. "What if I told you that I have every confidence in being able to dig you out of this intact? If I told you that I have been looking for someone like you for a very long time?"
Garrus grunted, sheathed his knife, and grabbed his rifle by the window. He took up his position once more while the ghost watched, silent.
"Not even a little bit interested?" she asked. "What if I told you this was about taking you on as my initiate… for Spectre candidacy?"
Garrus froze. No. This absolutely cannot be happening.
"It can, and it is," said the ghost, and Garrus suddenly realized who she was.
Spirits. Sarah Kerrigan. All his doubts suddenly vanished. This entire space station is about to go up in flames, isn't it?
"You're not too far off," said Kerrigan, unslinging her rifle and joining Garrus at the window. "Parts of it, anyway. Your little exploits on Omega haven't gone unnoticed, Vakarian. You're all that's on anybody's mind on this station… and I've read your dossier."
"I have a dossier?" Garrus could not help but feel a stab of pride at that. So… someone did notice? The Council?
"Not the Council," said Kerrigan. "It was mostly me, plus a few of my associates. You were considered for candidacy a little while back. A pity you declined."
"My father has even less respect for Spectres than he does for vigilantes," said Garrus. "So, in order to avoid dishonoring him, I elected to be unceremoniously shot and have my corpse fed to the vorcha. An honorable, turian death."
Kerrigan snorted and shook her head. Garrus watched her as best he could from the corner of his eye. Not a hint of fear. And I know terran fear. Had to nail my fair share of Koprulu perps on the Citadel. You're a violent bunch. Right now… I'm thankful for that.
"You're not going to hear me disagree with that," said Kerrigan. "So – here's the plan. We hold this bridge until the vorcha dig their way in. Then, we escape using the tunnels they made for us, vanishing into the Warrens."
"The Warrens?" Garrus's heart began to beat faster again. "Not to sound… uncertain… but that's heavy vorcha territory. I've heard they've even begun spreading creep in the deeper reaches."
"Which is why most of the mercs won't follow," said Kerrigan, entirely unworried. "I know, you're a sniper first and foremost, but try to have confidence. I've got a knack for zerg, and that's all the vorcha are these days."
"A knack," said Garrus dully, watching the figures dance to and fro. "Right."
"You're coming with me, then?" asked Kerrigan. Yes. I'm not convinced that this is not some fever dream after being shot by an Eclipse sniper, but I'll take my chances. Get me the hell out of here. "Alright. I'll tell my associate to cease her little distraction. Get ready."
"It doesn't seem that little…" Flashes of blue light could be seen in the distance, accompanied by faint booms. Probably another Spectre. Seems like being a one man… or woman… army is a prerequisite. Not sure I meet that requirement.
"You've been up here for over a day, Vakarian," said Kerrigan lightly. "You'll be fine. Now – believe me as I say this – you came in here as a vigilante. When you leave, it will be as a legend. Mark my words."
Not sure my father would approve of my being a legend either. Garrus grunted, refocusing on his scope. Why the hell should that matter? What is my father's disappointment compared to what these mercs will do if they catch me?
Well, to be fair, my father's disappointment tends to last a lot longer than the ire of mercenaries. And mercs can at least be paid off.
The shouts had faded, and there was no further sign of disturbance from the barricade. Garrus breathed deeply, waiting. A heavy silence settled over the bridge. Not much longer. Garrus counted down from three, but nothing happened. He did it again, and still nothing. The third time, the mercs leapt down from the balcony on "two," irritating Garrus. He made his displeasure known.
"Scoped and dropped!" he said as the terran on the left collapsed bonelessly, blood pooling underneath his head. Kerrigan made no reply, having already nailed two other targets. Cursing, Garrus brought his reticule to bear on a sprinting asari, shooting her once in the leg to shatter her barriers and slow her run, and then once neatly in the head.
"They're sending in cannon fodder," said Kerrigan dispassionately. "Try not to get worn down. They'll be sending in heavy infantry soon enough, and Vasir reported that they had a Banshee in the back."
"Wonderful," said Garrus, gritting his teeth. "Do you think it has a cloaking device?"
"You don't seem like a lucky person," said Kerrigan, firing twice at the figures below. "I'm thinking it does."
The cannon fodder continued to charge. Those with promise sprinted for cover, and died in the attempt. Those with courage pelted down the bridge, and died in the attempt. Those with neither tried to shoot back, and were effortlessly picked off. Kerrigan reloaded to his left, making Garrus smirk at the terran fixation on limited (if enormous) ammunition. His own weapon was perfectly calibrated, could disperse heat without difficulty, and was fully capable of punching through CMC armor if aimed properly. And you damn well better bet that I can aim it properly.
"Here they come," said Kerrigan as she finished reloading, apropos of nothing that Garrus could see. Telepath. Better take her word for it. Garrus downed the last charging salarian and felt nothing but satisfaction as his target fell with a scream and a gurgle. At the other end of the bridge, larger figures descended the barricade with a thud. By the time Garrus had resighted his weapon, they were already charging.
Joints and visors. If they had barriers, it would probably take three or four rounds. If not, a double tap would do it. Garrus aimed at the foremost figure and fired twice at the torso and immediately retargeted.
"Ah!" Garrus dived from the window at the same time Kerrigan did. The steel around the frame shattered and deformed as the hail of slugs pelted it, the sheer size and force of them utterly destroying the cover Garrus had been making use of for the last day. They finally got serious. Let's try to make them pay for it; suits are expensive outside the Koprulu Sector.
"Follow me!" Kerrigan was already on her feet, and Garrus could do little but follow behind her as best he could. As they left the room, she vanished in another shimmer of light. A soft thud from below made Garrus suspect she had vaulted over the balcony. He decided not to follow suit, instead planting his rifle barrel on the edge and waiting for the inevitable chaos.
The mercs burst in, shouting through their visors. Garrus planted a round through the visor of the first marine and dove to the side. A hail of slugs punched through the part of the balcony where he had been previously standing, and the bullets quickly began adjusting to where he was. Garrus skid his rifle further across the floor and crawled frantically to where it had ended up.
The shouts from below turned into screams. Garrus grabbed his rifle with a grunt and brought the weapon to bear on the new part of the balcony. He was greeted by the sight of a pile of CMC suits laying together with fresh holes in their visors, and a final merc being held in place by an unimpressed Kerrigan. With a quick gesture, she sent the merc flying through the nearest window, his scream quickly fading as he fell the length of Omega. Huh. Impressive.
Garrus descended the stairs with his scope still pressed to his eye, wary of further intrusions. Kerrigan, for her part, had fallen against a pillar, taking advantage of the lull by deftly reloading her weapon.
"We need to head to the sublevel," she said with a casualness that both scared and impressed Garrus. "Eclipse got their Banshee running, and they know the bridge is clear. The firebats are coming in."
"Doesn't sound too fun," said Garrus, gesturing for the sublevel door. Kerrigan took point without a word. "Tell me again, how are we going to survive the waves of vorcha who are, if anything, twice as deadly as those firebats?"
"We'll play it by ear," said Kerrigan dismissively, before realizing Garrus had no idea what that expression meant. "I've got some ideas, but I'm not sure how bad it will be when we get down there. Your little attempt at that Waygate has shaken up Omega quite a bit; there's vorcha all over the place right now. What in the hell inspired you to try that?"
"My aim was better than I thought," said Garrus, as he followed Kerrigan down the steps, trying not to insist that she hurry up. "I built up a cache of explosives – was reserving them for krogan, but I was getting quite good at nailing their hearts and quads. So, the explosives built up. And… I was getting frustrated, at the lack of a difference I was making." Garrus's mandibles twitched. "Sad. I killed rapists and murderers, gang leaders and pimps, but no one cared. The minute I touched the that little artificial relay-"
"Speaking as someone with a Waygate already under their belt, I can tell you that touching them will always get a reaction," said Kerrigan, standing at the bottom of the steps and giving Garrus an all-clear. "They're what ties the Terminus Systems to the KMC and Hegemony. Destroying even one neuters their trade routes and source of income. That also gives the Dominion more ground on the border. If you live within ten star systems of a Waygate, you're not going to thank someone for tampering with them." Kerrigan paused. "Unless you're a slave, I suppose."
"You've destroyed a Waygate?" asked Garrus. "Huh. I don't suppose you could give me some advice?"
"We'll cover it in training," said Kerrigan, pressing herself against the side of a thick, heavy shutter. "They're on the other side. I'm going to open the shutter and cloak. I can scatter the vorcha, but then you need to haul ass down the…" she paused, apparently doing something psionic. "…right tunnel. Ready?"
"No one can be ready for the Warrens," said Garrus, halfway to resigning himself to ending up in some vorcha's belly. He pressed himself against the other side of the shutter. "Do it."
Kerrigan pounded a button behind her with a fist. The shutter cranked open to the unholy shrieking of vorcha on the other side, and Kerrigan vanished with a shimmer. As soon as the shutter was halfway up, the vorcha poured in, but ignored Garrus, instead seeming to sniff the air and glare about the room with red eyes. Garrus leveled his weapon –
The vorcha were ripped away from Garrus by some unseen, sucking force. MOVE IT, VAKARIAN. Garrus spared no time for the screaming, whirling vorcha, instead listening to the familiar voice in his head. Sprinting with his rifle clutched to his chest, Garrus saw the two tunnels and darted into the right one. The air instantly became much colder, and as he descended, the constant if dingy light of Omega began to fade, replaced instead by… something else.
Garrus kept on for about a minute, breathing hard in a mixture of panic and exertion. When he stopped, it was to his eternal relief that Kerrigan reappeared seconds afterward in front of him, mask slightly askew.
"Blue Suns are waiting at the entrance," said Kerrigan, pausing to take a breath. "The vorcha are telling them, as best they can, what will happen if they head down here. Vorcha are territorial. Zerg are territorial. So…"
"I get it," said Garrus, looking back at the darkness he had rushed through. He sniffed, once, twice, and then tried not to gag. "Agh. It stinks in here. Smells like bad meat and mildew."
"You should try a real zerg hive sometime," said Kerrigan before motioning for Garrus to follow. "Keep it quiet and stay close. I think I can keep the vorcha at a distance, but you can't stray."
"Is this a ghost thing?" asked Garrus, curious. "I didn't know there was much of anything that could calm down vorcha these days."
"It's a ghost thing," hissed Kerrigan back. "Now, quiet!"
Garrus followed close behind, trying not to trip in the dim lighting. He was tempted to turn on the flashlight mounted on his gun, but saw that Kerrigan had not done so, and elected to follow her example. The smell began to grow more and more oppressive, and the steel of Omega had given way to something… squishy.
Ugh… Garrus had heard stories about the Warrens. The vorcha that went topside only referred to them as "home," and made clear that non-vorcha, barring the occasional krogan battlemaster, were not welcome. Garrus had spoken to one Preitor Gavorn, a turian vorcha exterminator, about the Warrens, and what he heard was… not encouraging.
"They're more zerg than vorcha on the inside now, I think," Gavorn had said, sipping the brandy Garrus had bribed him with. "They're still spiky on the outside and stupid as shit in general, but the things I've seen them do… heh. It'd make you cough up your wine, Vakarian."
Still, Garrus had pressed on.
"They cough up this kind of webbing and string people up," Gavorn had said swirling his glass carelessly. "Not sure where the people are from, but I imaging they're from the poorer areas – people go missing every day on Omega, and there are many that will not be missed. Some people get stuck to walls, others hide from the ceiling. The ones that aren't moving anymore, they have these huge slits where they tore them open. It's to feed the younger ones, let them eat the guts as they spill to the ground. I've seen it happen. I imagine the adult vorcha hunt their own food. You can guess where."
"Are they breeding a lot down there?" Garrus had asked, privately thankful that his own business kept him topside, even as he vowed to investigate disappearances in the poorer parts of Omega.
"I'm never going out of business," was Gavorn's only reply.
Naturally, recalling this did not reassure Garrus in the slightest. He followed Kerrigan close behind, trying to ignore how his feet seemed to sink and stick to the floor he was now treading on. The air had grown thick with the stink of bad meat, and the steel walls were now covered in some kind of strange brown residue. Try not to think about what it's made of.
"It's a kind of watered down zerg creep," said Kerrigan quietly, leaving Garrus to wonder what it was like to listen to everyone else's thoughts. "I'm surprised the vorcha haven't gone insa- more insane than they already are. I suppose it ties into their adaptability. They manage to handle both their zerg instincts and their own. It's impressive, really."
"I'll be sure to compliment them on their viciousness," said Garrus, sounding calmer than he felt. "How are our friends at the entrance?"
"They're following," said Kerrigan, sounding… nauseous? "I've… taken care of it."
Garrus did not ask Kerrigan to elaborate. From far behind him, terrified screams echoed from higher in the tunnels, interspersed with the sharp staccato of gunfire. It went silent all too quickly. Seems like Kerrigan is doing some behind the scenes work, here. Dirty business, but I suppose there was no alternative. Kerrigan looked behind her at that thought, and Garrus thought she shook her head in slight disbelief. It was over so fast, however, that Garrus could not be certain.
The tunnel gave way into what might have once been an atrium. Below, Garrus could catch snatches of movement and scuttling shadows. He huddled close to Kerrigan and tried not to feel ashamed.
"This isn't anywhere normal people should be, Vakarian," said Kerrigan softly. "Keep close, and do not make eye contact. Let's go."
Never claimed to be normal… Garrus followed Kerrigan, giving her less than a foot of space. They rounded the upper level of the atrium, Garrus feeling (probably correctly) that they were being watched.
From the ceiling, a formless shape descended, hitting the ground before them with a horrible sticking noise. It uncoiled, standing to reveal the spiky shape of a large vorcha, about six and a half feet tall. Garrus did not meet its gaze, instead fixating on the size of its claws. Huh. Maybe I should compliment it. They appeared very sharp and oddly well-maintained.
"You know what I am," said Kerrigan firmly to the vorcha. "I can kill you with my mind in ways you cannot imagine. Let us pass."
"You bring food to nest?" asked the vorcha, sounding as if it was salivating as it talked. Garrus continued to keep his eyes downcast. "Blue Suns. Eclipse. Akh. Their armor is thick, but the flesh is so soft. What is behind you?"
Not who. What. Garrus's heart beat a little faster.
"Someone who is not to be underestimated… yet you are underestimating me now. This is your last chance." Kerrigan's hands had clenched. The vorcha snarled, bringing itself closer to her face – and then it backed away and to the side, clearing the path. Huh.
Garrus followed close behind. Soft snarls drifted through the stagnant air of the… hive… as Kerrigan and Garrus walked single file to the other side of the atrium, now walking uphill. Blessed uphill. Garrus sighed in relief.
"Can just anyone do that?" he asked Kerrigan quietly. "Threaten the vorcha into submission?"
"There has to be a… understanding," said Kerrigan, sounding uncomfortable. "I'm familiar with the zerg, have been familiar with them for years. Vorcha… aren't quite zerg, not quite as mindless, but both halves of them respect strength, psionic strength especially." She paused. "I had to threaten their children. That's what I told him, in his head. They knew I could do it, as well. Sometimes that's what it takes."
"All part of a hard day's work for a Spectre?" asked Garrus. Kerrigan did not respond this time.
They walked in silence for about five minutes, Kerrigan never stopping, even as the horrible tunnels weaved and intersected. She knows where she's going. Garrus was duly thankful, but could not shake the impression that they were still being watched. It's probably the correct impression, too. This is not a good place for a sniper.
Kerrigan stopped suddenly, and Garrus was quick to grasp why. Before them, moaning and making papery noises, was a terran woman, stuck to the wall. Alive. But… not for long. Gavorn wasn't lying.
The woman seemed to sense that someone was nearby. She began to make muffled wails, half coherent pleas for someone to help her. Without hesitation, Garrus removed his knife from its sheath, only to have his wrist caught by Kerrigan's iron fingers.
"Don't," said Kerrigan, shaking her head. "Vakarian… don't. If we mess with their food, all bets are off. They will kill us."
"And if we don't they will kill her," replied Garrus, shaking his hand free and approaching the woman. "I'm not leaving her down here."
"You're starting to remind me of someone," said Kerrigan, sounding annoyed. "He was a good man, too. Capable, tough… but unbending. It never leads to a good end."
"Is he dead?" asked Garrus, sliding his knife into the vile cocoon and beginning to saw. The substance gave way without too much difficulty. "You make it sound like he's dead."
"Not yet," said Kerrigan. "He's an outlaw and a bit of an idiot, but he's still alive."
"Then I should be fine, right?" asked Garrus, halfway through the cocoon. "Are you going to stop me?"
"No," said Kerrigan from behind him. "But I'm not going to help you carry her. You better get ready to haul ass."
The woman fell with a soft thud, and Garrus wasted no time lifting her up, placing her form over her shoulders. Kerrigan violently gestured for him to follow, and then began sprinting. Garrus groaned and fell in behind, weighed down by the barely conscious terran. From below, a cacophony of shrieks followed in their wake. Damn it, Garrus. Why did you have to be not only the most handsome turian on this station, but also the most valorous? He couldn't help but snort at that, even as his heart hammered ever faster. The things I come up with… even as I'm about to die.
Garrus shambled after Kerrigan with all the speed he could muster, trying to fight that damnable impulse all too many perps had given in to while he was chasing them – the urge to look behind him. Even if I weren't carrying this terran, it would slow me down. Spirits!
The air was steadily growing less fetid, but Garrus could not help but notice that the incline was getting ever steeper, and the cries from behind were getting closer and closer. Kerrigan swore and moved to the side, motioning for Garrus to continue onward while bringing her rifle to bear. He did not pause, barreling past her, ears ringing as she began to fire into the horde of foes behind them. Spirits watch over you, Kerrigan.
Legs burning, lungs heaving, Garrus clambered up the tunnel, trying to ignore the sounds of gunfire and screams from behind. The smells faded, the light took on that familiar bright if dingy hue, and Garrus emerged, panting, from the tunnel, tumbling over and causing the terrified terran to spill across the floor.
"Sorry," breathed Garrus, wobbling as he stood once more. The terran woman backed into the corner of the room they were in – some kind of warehouse storage it looked like – and stared at him. Garrus paid her no mind, instead examining the hole in the wall he had emerged from. He stared into the depths – and was immediately greeted with a Kerrigan who was almost blurring from the speed she was running at.
"Not done – grab girl and go go go!" She didn't wait for him, instead running to the right and flinging open the door. Garrus grabbed the girl who, to his dismay, began to scream, and followed Kerrigan through the door. To his relief, the girl stopped screaming quickly, and refrained from doing the things Garrus hated the most from rescued victims – chiefly, biting, hitting, or kicking the people carrying them. Good. She knows I'm trying to save her.
They had entered some kind of long abandoned factory floor. Dust and old machine parts coated the ground, making it infuriatingly difficult to avoid tripping, and judging from the sprayed gang signs, it was clear this was still vorcha territory. Kerrigan beckoned Garrus onward, and he half ran, half danced his way through the rubbish. He still slipped twice, though he did not fall.
Almost there, Vakarian. Move! At this stage, he wasn't even certain that was Kerrigan or himself thinking that. He followed Kerrigan with labored breath, leaving the factory behind only to enter the dank back allies of Omega. A krogan in red armor, surprised at the commotion, propelled himself from the wall he was leaning against and reached for his shotgun. Kerrigan knocked him aside with a gesture, and Garrus paid the krogan no mind as he ran past his cursing form.
From there, it was a blur. The air was clearer, there was light, and the rank animal hostility of the vorcha gave way to the simple unpleasantness of Omega. After ten minutes, they were even somewhere Garrus recognized – close to Afterlife. Not safe, obviously, but… preferable, definitely preferable to the vorcha tunnels.
Kerrigan gave him a knowing nod, and Garrus slid against a wall to his knees, letting the terran woman fall away to the floor. She stood up before Garrus did.
"I… thank you," she said, hand shaking, looking between the two of them. "How… how did you? Why?"
"You were there, and so were we," said Garrus, panting. "Sometimes… sometimes you get lucky. Get out of here. You're safe now."
"Thank… thank you," she said, trying to shake Garrus's hand and eventually succeeding. She looked to Kerrigan, and thought better of approaching. "I… I won't forget this. Someday I'll pay you back, when I make it big. Look for me. Nef. I'm a sculptor."
Well, if I can be a Spectre, there's no reason you can't get famous. The girl left, trying to suppress desperate sobs of anxiety. If Omega were civilized, Garrus could have sent her to any number of grief counselors. But it isn't civilized. Here, I can only point you toward slavers.
"That feel good?" asked Kerrigan, slightly mockingly, crouching before Garrus and staring at him with her lifeless mask. "How do you feel? Is the world a better place yet?"
"It's on its way," said Garrus after taking a deep breath. "Better than it would have been, had I left her down there. Is that what it takes to be a Spectre? Because if that's all it takes, if that's all the Council is interested in, then you'll need to find another turian."
Kerrigan opened her mouth to respond, but instead stiffened. Two figures were approaching their back alley, and Garrus began to feel an odd sense of looking into a mirror – they too were a male turian and a terran in a skin tight outfit.
"You recovered the vigilante?" asked the turian, voice deep. Garrus looked at his unpainted face with suspicion. Politician or idealist? I've never had an experience with a bareface that I've liked.
"I'd keep that quiet, Vakarian," said the woman on the barefaced's left, face also obscured by a mask. Her voice was a little higher than Kerrigan's, but far more disdainful. The two Spectres ignored her.
"I've got him," said Kerrigan, folding her arms in a gesture Garrus recognized as defiant. "It's done, then?"
"Vasir was later than I would have liked, but yes," said the turian, voice steely. He looked Garrus up and down. "Nova. What happened here?"
"They stopped for a vorcha victim," said Nova dispassionately. "They saved her, and it almost killed them."
"This is what you think makes for a good Spectre?" asked the turian, making Garrus's temper flare. "A crazed vigilante with a bleeding heart? When he learns some of the Council's dirty secrets, like what caused our initiation for instance, what do you think he'll do? There is no place for rogue Spectres in this galaxy. We should put a bullet in his head and collect the bounty."
"Because he's not heartless enough for you?" asked Kerrigan, raising her voice.
"Because he will put the lives of others in front of the mission," said the turian, making Garrus nod. He's not wrong.
"The mission, in this case, was his recruitment," said Kerrigan. "In which case, he put his own life behind the lives of others. An admirable trait."
"In a soldier," said the other ghost, Nova. The two women locked eyes for a moment, and Garrus swore the air grew colder.
"In anyone," said Kerrigan, enunciating each syllable. "He held his own against most of Omega for a full day. He provided the opening we needed – that you needed. He has the skill, and that's the main qualifier. Not everyone needs to be like us, Saren."
Saren?! I should have suspected. Ah… now I am embarrassed.
Saren bent over Garrus, his eyes searching Garrus's helmet. He did not look impressed.
"It is no concern of mine if you have chosen a subpar recruit," said Saren, standing. "Time will tell. Now… we need to leave. Vasir is waiting."
"On that we are agreed," said Kerrigan, helping Garrus to his feet. The four of them left together, Saren and Nova in the front, Kerrigan and Garrus behind. At this point, Garrus felt more like a walking corpse than a Spectre candidate, and he barely registered as they walked through a docking tube and basically carried to a small seat with a view port.
"This will wake you up," said Kerrigan as the engines roared to life. She sat next to Garrus and shook him slightly. "You weren't the main reason we came here. Watch."
The ship detached from the tube and began to propel itself with speed from the station. Through heavy lids, Garrus watched the hell that was Omega grew slowly more distant, its Waygates surrounding it like some protecting fleet.
"That one," said Kerrigan, pointing to Waygate Bravo, the one Garrus had tried to blow up. "Watch."
A crack of orange appeared on the spinning device. Without warning, flames leapt form its hull, climbing quickly towards the enormous canisters of vespene that made it possible in the first place.
Garrus's heart thudded dully as the flames reached the canisters. There was a momentary calm, and then the Waygate exploded. Huge, boiling shafts of metal split and bubbled, torn from each other by the force of the blast. A nearby transport was ripped in half by the blast, its hull left scorched and lifeless by the detonation.
"You provided a great distraction, Garrus," said Kerrigan, patting him on the shoulder. "I look forward to doing this again with you sometime." She got up and left, whistling a little tune. Garrus simply watched the wreckage spin towards Omega and laughed until he began to choke.
A/N: Still trying to find my feet, but I am happy with this chapter.
Sudden Contact now has a tropes page. Thanks to Drgyen for doing it, and thanks to everyone who is reading.
