DISCLAIMER- Bioware owns Mass Effect. I don't. If I did, the cure to the genophage would've made it off of Virmire. Man, that pissed me off.
RATING - M for MATURE (MATURE = violence, unnecessarily harsh language, adult themes, adult content, adult friend finder, partial male nudity, full frontal clothing, strong pervasive super-Tokyo pinky violence funtime, Bea Arthur, Duke College girl ***** a *** in her dorm room, the Smurfs© and an Everlasting Gobstopper [barely described, I certainly don't want to offend anyone])
REMINDER: FemShep, Earthborn street urchin, Akuze survivor, Paragon
A/N- Time for a little suspension of disbelief, folks. I've built this shit up and put it off for as long as I could. Now my teeth are grinding on the bullet I've bitten. These last chapters are gonna be a doozy.
Asterisks are references to my notes at the end, as for some reason I was feeling particularly chatty during the writing of this chapter. If you'd like to read them, please keep in mind that they pertain to events in this chapter, and would therefore act as spoilers for what's entailed within were anyone to go awanderin' ahead of time. You know how this works.
Finally, DO NOT feel obligated to read the author's note at the end, it's completely unnecessary.
THE STORY SO FAR: (a brief reminder of the storylines, as a lot of things have been brought up in this episode and most of everything gets touched upon and merged in the next chapters [Kaidan's storyline, taking place separately from the events on the Citadel, will pick up again soon while Tali, who has not been forgotten, won't reappear until Episode 3])
Between two and three weeks after the death of Saren, the Volus Ambassador Din Korlak has been kidnapped by a group of krogans. The council is ready to send Shepard and her crew out on a rescue mission, but the Alliance is not. They have sent Rickard West, a contracted civilian working for a branch that doesn't officially exist to ensure that Shepard plays by their rules. She is to choose a replacement for Kaidan Alenko immediately, while the Alliance will supply a substitution for Ashley Williams. Shepard thinks the substitute is West himself, though he has assured her he is not. In West's and Shepard's first meeting, Rickard also managed to relate a story to Liara about an old flame of Shepard's and their falling out, along with Shepard's documented racist remarks during a heated argument in a mess hall. This caused a rift between Alice and Liara, but the spectre found the asari in the embassy bar and made amends.
Wrex was paid by Tyson, a salarian criminal now running Chora's Den, to keep Derby, an elcor scientist, drunk until his home was rigged with explosives. Wrex was given a washrag from the bartender with the elcor's address on it once it was safe to take Derby home, but Wrex dropped the rag outside of Derby's house before the explosion, and the remainder was discovered by the authorities. Tyson, along with his goons, has threatened to kill Wrex if he does not reacquire the rag from the C-Sec evidence vault.
For reasons unknown, Garrus beat much-reviled C-Sec officer Harkin half-to-death in his apartment and stole a lighter Harkin had used to frame a man named Sodermeyer for arson years ago. Possibly plagued by his actions, Garrus has been thinking back to the past (six years prior) when he had a human partner named McCroy, his father Arliss was a chief investigator and Garrus had just uncovered a drug and murder conspiracy at Alora industries, lead by a criminal named Thorne. Instead of taking the time to build a solid case against them, he and McCroy had gathered enough evidence to cover their asses and assaulted the factory, destroying it and killing everyone inside, including Thorne. Presently Garrus has witnessed a newsvid reporting that Harkin is still alive and has resolved to kill the human while he lies in critical condition at a Citadel hospital. Unfortunately, or perhaps not, this plan is hampered by the floor in the Wards exploding beneath his feet.
The crime rate in the Citadel has risen drastically in the last two weeks, with gangs becoming bolder and more vicious as C-Sec has its forces spread thin working to repair the damages done by Sovereign's attack.
The birds are singing, but not everyone's listening yet…
Merl and Sami, two salarians working for the Citadel, are serving out a community service sentence down in the Keepers' archives for their involvement in Chorban's illegal scanning scheme, trying to decode the language the Keepers' used to communicate with the Citadel. .com/wiki/Citadel:_Scan_the_Keepers
In the midst of a light-hearted argument, Sami discovers that a string of information that had already been translated (Legend Has Awoken) has begun appearing on one of the ancient terminals over and over.
Shortly thereafter, deep rumblings begin from deep within the depths of the Citadel, growing more and more violent as time progresses.
Now, back to the show…
*~~*~~*
[]
*~~*~~*
Oh, that was a summer fix for sure, baby
And what a bummer tricks are yours, baby
You bought it, caught it, getting it good
Should of saw it, stopped it, what if you could? (C'mon, Steve)
Such woe is for the runner who thought love was free,
But oh, the summers in Thessia are for me
Here in the sweet valley breeze,
It's easy to remember,
I'm the strongest sorta' tease,
Baby, I'm gonna live forever
Yeah, yeah, yeah, the summers in Thessia are for me
'The Embracers' - Sounds of the Matriarch Prod. © 2183
CITADEL
PRESIDIUM
HOTEL VARISOTA
FLOOR 37 / SUITE 12
The radio* was blaring as Rickard stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, steam escaping the confines of the large marble stone-slab shower behind him. He padded softly across the room, rubbing his freshly shaved cheeks as the pop beat and sensual vocals faded away.
"-and that was Summers in Thessia, a taste off The Embracers new album, 'Pretty Little Miss Conception'; remember space cadets, you heard it here first. You're sittin' in with 'Varren Aaron' Jax on the F-T-L flight to nowhere and I'm taking your requests from our little station in the heavens-"
Rickard pulled a clean suit from the closet and inspected it for a moment, running his fingers along the soft brown fabric and tugging gently on the silver buttons. The closet hissed shut as he stepped away. He grabbed a pale yellow apple from a fruit bowl off of the end table next to his bed and sniffed it, smiling to himself.
Rickard bit the apple, relishing in the sharp crunch of his teeth biting through the skin and into the flesh of the fruit.
The broadcast continued. "-still no word from Citadel representatives as to whether they'll accept any of the ransom demands from the krogan terrorists who kidnapped Din Korlak- I mean, what's the word, good people, are we- excuse me, are you gonna just let the volus ambassador get tortured and killed- I mean, this is insane, are the citizens going to have to watch this cat die over the extranet next time, a lot of us have children that saw those transmissions, babes in life losing their innocence too early cause you won't take an initiative against these devils-"
His shirt and suit felt good, comforting against his skin and body as he pushed the buttons into place at his chest and waist. He walked around the bed and delicately picked up his glasses from their resting place on a silk handkerchief, which had been folded twice over and set on a dresser. He slid the frames onto the bridge of his nose and retrieved the kerchief, folding it once more before putting it into the breast pocket of his suit.
Then he turned, sat down on the bed with his hands on his knees and waited.
"-and of course the biggest question on the lips of the people today, 'where, for the love of Flux, is Commander Shepard?' To which I respond for the umpteenth time, 'give it a rest!' Don't expect one person, or, in this case, one group of people, dedicated as they may be, to save us from every-ev-, hey, Greg, do you mind? I'm doin' a show here man, yeah-yes, I don't care what-YES, I SEE IT, now get out of the studio, you moron-…oh, oh-oh no. Um, okay, I've just received this from one of my producers-"
Rickard smiled, breathing deeply, his eyes closed. "And here we go."
"-some kind of eruption from within the Citadel structure, a few quakes and rumbles at first, now apparently there's major damage to residential sector thirteen, as well as the Wards. Looks as though most of it right now is centered in the area surrounding the Council Tower; people, if you're headed to the embassies or to work at the presidium, whatever's in that area, it's not for you today, okay? Stay home, check the house over, grab the-"
There was a sharp beep to his left. An extranet holoscreen popped to life from the projector at the foot of his bed.
"Radio off," he said quickly, turning his attention to the transparent blue image hovering over the plush mauve bedspread.
The image quality of the outdated holographic display was only just clear enough for Rickard to make out a grim-faced male in his early thirties with short-cropped hair and a goatee.
"West," the voice emitter was shoddy as well; the sound was filled with static and popped at the end of his name, "it's Lloyd."
"Pasqer? I can barely make you out."
"West," Lloyd continued, a vague note of panic in his voice, "it's highly recommended that you leave the Citadel at this time-"
"I'm not going anywhere," Rickard stated firmly.
"But the tremors- the council has already been lifted from the Citadel, I strongly suggest you reconsider. At least until this is resolved."
"There are other matters I have to attend to. I've been trained adequately to take care of myself, Pasqualino; besides, if this continues, our friends from the Normandy will be far more likely to act in a manner that suits me."
"You're putting yourself in a bad spot. There's little we can do for you beyond this point."
"Don't worry about me," Rickard chuckled, then in a lower, rhythmic voice, "baby, I'm gonna live forever."
"…what?"
"Forget it, Pasqer. What of the lovely doctor T'Soni," Rickard asked, inspecting the undersides of his fingernails.
"Nothing. The asari is clean."
"One hundred and six years of personal history and you've come up with nothing," Rickard stated lightly.
"Oh, the time is accounted for, West. I could regale you with years of schooling transcripts, archeological digs and the resulting findings, the rare and woefully inept attempt at a date-"
"We've got nothing, then."
Lloyd sighed and the image jumped and rolled. "A veritable angel from cradle to Therum. She didn't involve herself in anything that could be construed as criminal activity until she joined the crew of the Normandy."
Rickard was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head and pushed himself off the bed. "No, there's something we're missing. She's the last…there's a weakness there, I can see it in her eyes when she looks at Shepard."
"It's not in the rec-"
"I'll find it myself," Rickard responded sharply, cutting Lloyd off. "Nobody said this was going to be simple. I mean, they can't all be cops and robbers, can they?"
The face in the holoscreen looked nonplussed. "You're taking a lot of risks here, West."
"Glory never comes to those who fear the fall," Rickard said. "Have you found a suitable replacement for Lieutenant Alenko?"
"Yes," Lloyd responded, flowing with the sudden change in topic once more, "he's already onsite. An accidental meeting between him and Shepard was being arranged, but with the current situation he's had to adjust the plan."
"What's his cover?"
"Jordan Falks. Ex-military, mid-thirties, seen a lot of action and is slightly wounded by it all, mentally. At first he'll just be looking for a ride off the planet."
Rickard nodded, smiling. "Yes, Shepard will like that. She-"
Suddenly, with a spark of electricity and a loud, obnoxious snap, the image was gone.
Rickard's smile slipped.
A thin trail of smoke began to waft from the tiny projector built into the edge of the bed.
At first he only felt it in the soles of his shoes. Then his knees began to shake.
From far, far away, Rickard heard the sound of hundreds of screaming voices.
The bowl of fruit on the table was shaking now, the apples lying in it vibrating, bouncing off of one another. Something crashed in the bathroom, followed by the tinkling of broken glass.
"This is poor timing," he said to the quaking room.
It responded with a violent jolt that threw him off his feet. He landed on his stomach, arms underneath him protectively. The fruit bowl flew from the end table, pelting him with several apples.
The bed thump-thump-WHUMPHED on the floor, inching away from the wall and towards him, its frame like a metal jaw that wanted to chomp down on him.
Rickard stumbled to his feet and tripped across the room, dodging rolling apples to return to the end table which was bolted to the floor. He jerked open the second drawer from the top roughly, reached in and pulled out a dull silver automatic pistol.
The quake wasn't subsiding.
Grabbing the table for support, he shoved the pistol into a deep pocket in the lining of his suit with his other hand, pulled two ammo clips from the drawer and pocketed those as well, then let go of the table and lurched to the door of his suite, slipping on an apple and falling against the metal, which mercifully slid open against his presence.
Falling to his hands and knees in the brightly lit hallway, Rickard saw immediately that he was alone, but the screams seemed a little louder.
The entirety of the Hotel Verisota groaned and shifted abruptly as though tired of standing upright in all of this. It began to tilt to the left.
Rickard came to his feet once more.
The elevator would be a no-go, he knew that. The stairs were a possibility but judging by the amount of people screaming down below, he'd soon reach a serious, bloody, flesh-riddled traffic jam.
There were picture windows at either end of the hallway overlooking the Citadel. From where he was standing, all Rickard could see was the cloudy coverage from the automated weather system stretching along the artificial soft blue sky of the Citadel dome.
Something immense fell with a shuddering boom several stories below him. The voices of the damned that he was now certain were emanating from the stairwell grew louder.
Then a second boom, a second shudder and- silence.
"Yeah," Rickard said, nodding, "stairs are out."
The hotel groaned and shook and tilted further; it was now nearly impossible for the agent to stay on his feet. Several short retorts sounded from below, like gunshots.
The floor-to-ceiling window to the left, facing south, was about thirty seconds away from becoming just the floor. Rickard guessed that, were the building to tilt much further, he'd slide down the carpet/wall and go crashing through it, falling to his death below. If he somehow survived the fall, pieces of the building, if not it in its entirety, were sure to crush him moments later.
He turned to the north window.
The lights in the ceiling flickered, died and returned to life. Another shuddering crash from far below, followed by a noise that sounded like several jets soaring around outside.
Rickard ran through the quaking hallway, bumping against the walls, shoes scraping for purchase against the carpet that was forcefully reminding him it would soon cease to be underneath him, and he would soon be as good as dead.
He yanked the pistol out from his jacket (it took several generous tugs), stumbling against the wall, his eyes never leaving the northern window that was now about fifteen feet away from him.
The building rumbled deeply at its base.
Behind him, the roaring sound of a jet plane returned for a moment, then faded just as quickly.
He'd escape through the north window, slide or climb down as much of it as he could, look for a body of water, jump when he had to and hope for the best.
He slid the safety off on the side of the pistol and pulled the slide assembly back, loading a round into the chamber.
The hotel tilted sharply once more. He was now just barely able to stay on his feet.
"Sorry," Rickard said smoothly, a smug smile on his face, "looks like I'll be checking out early."
He pointed the pistol at the window and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. Two sharp retorts.
No shattered glass.
The first round ricocheted and disappeared into the floor a foot from his right shoe.
The second round came back straight through his right thigh with a soft thwick. Blood spattered on his pant leg and covered the carpet behind him.
"OOH!" Rickard screamed, falling to his left knee. "Oh!…oh, holy enkindling…fuck! …OW! …I-I SHOT MYSELF?!"
He stared horrorstruck at the unbroken window and the sharp blue view beyond it, which was all the while continuing to slant upwards.
"What?!" He cried. "WHY?"
The Verisota finally groaned like a beast from the depths of the ocean and tilted too far.
Rickard felt himself half-sliding, half-falling backwards for several seconds, suite doors and ceiling lights and an elevator door and the stairwell exit all passing him by until-
WHAM. He smashed into south window with a squeal of pain. He'd landed against his wounded right leg. Spittle flew from his lips as he pressed his face against the bulletproof glass. I can't die, he thought, I'm gonna live forever.
"I'm supposed to live," he said, not with sadness but confusion.
A shrill, shrieking alarm stuttered to life.
"NOTICE…NOTICE," an overbearing, feminine, electronic voice called out from the walls, "SHOTS HAVE BEEN FIRED ON THIS FLOOR. CALMLY ESCAPE THROUGH PROPERLY MARKED EMERGENCY EXITS. IF YOU HAVE BEEN SHOT, CALMLY CRAWL IN THE DIRECTION OF THE NEAREST NON-HOSTILE FOR AID IN ESCAPING---"
The lights flickered and dimmed again, the squawking voice dying with it.
Rickard let out a breath of pain and exasperation between gritted teeth.
The lights and the voice shakily returned.
"--GUNMAN, PLACE YOUR FIREARM ON THE GROUND-scswhhh-CITADEL SECURITY UNAVALAIBLE-sccsssshhh-ESCAPE ROUTES UNAVAILABLE-NOTICE…NOTICE-THE GUNMAN HAS DISABLED ALL INTERNAL ESCAPE ROUTES-"
"I did not." Rickard whispered against the glass. Then, "Internal?"
"ANY WOUNDED OR THREATENED CIVILIANS, PREPARE TO ESCAPE EXTERNALLY."
"What?"
The wall beside him sizzled, popped and sparked, followed by a plume of smoke. Something inside of it had broken. Far above him at the other end of the hall, the wall hissed in that familiar, unmistakably electronic form. Apparently, that side had not been busted in the quake. By the north window, a hole appeared.
Several small, black objects came tumbling out of it. They traveled the same path he had when the building had taken it's last tumultuous tilt; they twisted and fell and bounced along the carpet and walls, speeding towards him and looking exceptionally heavy.
Rickard whimpered, "Oh, you've got to be kidding m-OOF!"
It was rectangular, about the size of a suitcase and at least thirty pounds in weight, and it had dealt a serious blow to his abdomen.
The second object, the same as the first, struck him in the shoulder, the third his legs and the last bounced off of his chest, flipped and slammed straight into his face.
His nose snapped audibly as more of the heavy black objects bounced against the window on either side of him.
"GUK!" Rickard cried against the one on his face, feeling warm liquid gushing down his upper lip, into his mouth with its odd copper taste and down and over his chin, wetting his neck.
The building gave another lurch then, and Rickard found himself almost entirely against the window.
"10 SECONDS TO EXTERNAL EVACUATION. DO NOT HAND THE GUNMAN YOUR P.A.D."
"Whu-" Rickard shook the blinding colors from his head, blinking against the stars of pain in his eyes. He winced down at one of the objects in his hands.
"5 SECONDS TO EXTERNAL EVACUATION. DO NOT HAND THE GUNMAN YOUR P.A.D."
It had two long nylon straps running along its length like a backpack and a thick black wire coiled against one side, with a control bar attached at the end. Between red smatterings of his blood, he read the inscription on the back.
P.A.D.- PERSONAL AERIAL DEVICE
Something nearby clicked. The picture window shook violently against him.
"CALMLY EVACUATE EXTERNALLY…NOW."
"Oh," he said dreamily.
The window lifted before Rickard could get one arm completely through a nylon strap. His body shifted with the opening window, his bottom and lower back hanging out into thin air, his wounded right leg dangling out precariously.
A strong, whistling breeze shot into the hallway, blowing against him, ruffling his soft brown suit. The silver buttons trembled. It was at this moment that he noticed through the waves of pain crashing against the sides of his skull that he'd lost one; the wind had caught the hole where the button had been and a single brown thread, unraveled from its home, was dancing, whipping crazily in circles against his jacket.
"ALL NON-HOSTILES ARE WISHED A PLEASANT DAY."
The other, unused P.A.D.s fell through around him. Then the support of the window gave way entirely and Rickard fell out into the sky after them, thirty-eight floors above the ground. **
*~~*~~*
[]
*~~*~~*
CITADEL
EMBASSIES
Shepard's lungs heaved, her legs pumping, one arm swinging rhythmically back and forth, the other stuck behind her, her hand wrapped in a vice grip around Liara's.
They ran through the embassy corridors, past small fires and grisly scenes of destruction.
"Goddess, Shepard," Liara cried breathlessly, "It's as if the reconstruction never took place. As if…"
They turned into another pale blue hallway leading to a set of stairs, skipping down several steps at once. A door at the end of hall was stuck open on a piece of debris, repeatedly attempting to shut itself against the waist-high chunk of twisted metal.
"As if we're chasing Saren again, I know," Alice said.
They reached the door and Shepard stopped, turning to face Liara. "You first," she stated matter-of-factly, then placed her hands firmly on Liara's waist and lifted her off her feet.
Liara stared down at her, confused. Then comprehension flashed in her eyes and she grinned nervously at the grim-faced spectre.
Alice kept her in the air. "Liara-"
"You are trying to lift me over the metal; help me through the door?" It wasn't really a question. The asari sounded amused despite her voice shaking from the adrenaline.
Alice frowned and began to shift Liara through the air towards the opening. "Yes…now go!"
Liara smiled at her with adoration and gingerly stepped down on the metal, bent low and waddled through the opening. On the outside she hopped down and looked back through the opening at Alice, who was about to mount the jagged metal block.
"One moment," Liara said.
Before Shepard could locate the best spot on the debris to place her hands on and lift herself up, the metal shifted abruptly.
Shepard to a quick step back, surprised.
The twisted metal groaned, shook and beat against the sides of the door. Then it shot out from between the frame like a bullet. Alice heard a distant, heavy thud just before the door shut, issuing a whispered whoosh like a sigh of relief.
Shepard realized what had happened only a second before the door reopened and Liara peered in at her, still smiling.
"You lifted it out biotically," Alice said, stepping out of the opening and closing the distance between them.
"Yes, but don't let that stop you next time, Shepard." Liara's eyes flickered between the spectre's lips and her piercing gaze. "I can handle myself, but I won't turn down any offers of chivalry."
Alice smirked.
Her Omni-tool beeped. They both looked down at it. "Oh, thank you," Alice said under her breath, connecting the call. "It's about damn time, sir! Are you safe?"
"I'm fine, Shepard," Anderson said, sounding as relieved to hear her voice as she was his, "We're being flown to one of the council bases. What's the status?"
"The status, sir? Speaking frankly, the status is FUBAR. The last quake peaked for at least ten minutes. The Tower sector is back to rubble, another hit like that and there won't be a home for the council to fix."
"Yes, they're already considering setting up permanent residence on a ship that will orbit the Citadel. Thankfully the damage doesn't appear to be spreading," Anderson said, "from all the reports we've been receiving, whatever's causing this is located directly beneath that district. Do you have the crew with you?"
Alice shook her head instinctively. "No, Wrex went for a drink and last I heard from Garrus he was headed to the Wards-"
"Shepard," her former commander's voice was grave, "last reports showed that at least twenty percent of the Wards are gone, destroyed."
"Garrus' Omni is still operational and transmitting," Alice assured him, "I just haven't been able to reach him on it. I was planning on taking Liara down to the academy C-Sec offices and searching for them over the security system."
"Going beneath the ground level is dangerous right now, Shepard."
"I'm not leaving without my crew, comman-," Shepard cleared her throat, "-Councilor. Did you manage to leave Udina behind?"
An irritated, gravel-shot voice in the background shouted something unintelligible.
"I guess not," Alice said.
"Udina suffered some minor injuries in the exodus," Anderson stated lightly, more than a hint of humor in his tone. "He's having them looked at now, as a matter of fact. Look, Shepard, if you insist on descending into the lower levels I won't try to stop you, but as you're headed in that direction anyway, I might have some information that could help you get to the bottom of this."
"I'm listening," Alice said, motioning for Liara to put her hand in Alice's.
Liara clasped their fingers together and Shepard began to walk them through the wreckage towards the elevator that lead down to the academy.
"Not long after our unfortunate meeting with Rickard, we received a distress call from deep within the Citadel, somewhere near the data stream archives. Given the current situation, we should have sent down a unit to investigate."
"Why didn't anyone respond, sir?"
"For a number of reasons; the majority of the message is garbled and inaudible. You can't expect to be surrounded by several thousand tons of steel and metal and rock and still have anyone topside receive your transmission, it's a wonder we were able to understand any of it. Also, this is the first time in the history of the Citadel that anything's gone wrong in the archives. It used to be completely run by the Keepers."
Alice and Liara stepped diligently and quickly across the debris-littered walkway of what had been the embassy park, which had only been a third of the way through reconstruction as it was. This second disaster hadn't helped its appearance. Small electrical fires had broken out in several areas, the wall around them scorched black. Entire chunks of the walls and floor were jutting out or missing entirely, exposing pipes within that sent water and filthy dark sludge flooding out in several directions. Thankfully, this area appeared devoid of any human or alien casualties. Shepard and Liara appeared to be the only two left, alive or otherwise.
Just beyond the C-Sec elevator they were approaching, the rest of the path was blocked by an enormous tree that had fallen during the quake.
Anderson continued, "After Saren and Sovereign were dealt with, a number of sentient parties replaced the Keepers in an effort to monitor and eventually decode the Keepers' language and understand how they kept the Citadel running. The message we received appears to have been from one such person."
"Got a name for me, sir?"
They approached the C-Sec lift apprehensively.
"Merl Orthanc, a salarian civilian."
Shepard frowned as she inspected the elevator. The overhang was intact and seemed stable for the moment, but the protective glass had been obliterated. The ground around them sparkled and shined with several thousand tiny remnants of safety.
"We're trusting civie's with the secrets of the Citadel, sir?"
"Just Merl and a few others. All of them are serving sentences for technological crimes. They're smart enough to do the job and they owe C-Sec time. The rest of the project personnel are, or were, contracted military and C-Sec. About two-thirds of the project party have already been identified as safe and out of harm's way. As for the remainder, well; Orthanc might be the only one left. We don't know."
Shepard peeked over the edge of the abyss. Far below, in the great hollow of the C-Sec foyer, Shepard could just make out the elevator sitting in its metal cradle, the occasional spark of electricity shooting from its sides.
She couldn't see the floor.
"I'll keep an eye out for your salarian, sir," she said, "I've got to go."
"Shepard?"
"I'll be careful."
"…Good enough. Anderson out."
Shepard turned to Liara. "Think you could get us down there?"
* * *
It was easy, at first. Liara had biotically lifted a piece of cement from the wreckage that was large enough to carry both of them and just light enough that it didn't exhaust her to lift it.
Slowly they descended into the open shaft, Liara standing in the middle of the uneven cement block, Shepard by the edge, her eyes searching the darkness for fires, bodies and a place to set down safely, but neither of them could even see the floor.
As they grew farther away from the opening of the shaft, the daylight outside began to fade, and the only form of light that remained was the soft blue glow of Liara's biotic power surrounding them.
"Shepard?" Liara asked softly, her eyes shut in mild concentration.
Alice glanced at her. She didn't respond right away, her eyes falling on Liara for the first time since she'd stepped on the debris.
The asari appeared to be meditating, and in the blue light Shepard flashed back to the first time she'd seen her, trapped in a prothean force field on Therum. She looked so vulnerable like this, so young; precious. Shepard wondered how different her life would be if, on their escape through the ruins, one large rock had fallen differently, if Liara hadn't run fast enough, if that krogan mercenary had reached her before Shepard-
The Citadel rumbled absently around them, and Liara yelped and opened her eyes.
The spectre had, in the few seconds of low noise the Citadel had made, lunged at her, wrapped one arm tightly around her waist and pulled their bodies together. Presently she was glaring at the large expanse of nothing around them, as though daring any inanimate object to try and touch the asari.
"Shepard," Liara whispered. "I'm alright."
Alice turned to her with green eyes blazing. "And you're going to stay that way."
Alice didn't let go of her and Liara didn't ask her to. They stayed that way for a while, long enough for that fierce sense of protection the spectre felt to fade ever-so-slightly back into the recesses of her mind. Soon the touch of their bodies against each other changed their breathing to the slow, shaky rise and fall of a heated embrace, and despite their lips not touching it was growing quite obvious that the need to shield Liara from a chance encounter with a falling piece of debris was quickly becoming pretense.
"It's very nice for me…I mean, I feel very good when you touch me like this. But you don't have to worry so much about me," Liara said softly, "I'm not going to break."
"I just want to feel you breathe," Shepard mumbled, her voice low and absent. Her eyes were dim, focusing on Liara's neck. "I want to feel you alive against me."
"I…I think it is alive." Liara responded.
"I know you are, doctor," Shepard growled, "I can feel your heart beating…wait, what?"
They're eyes met.
"The quakes, the destruction." Liara said, "they're localized, but scattered across the presidium and the wards, coming in waves of varying ferocity. At first they were small, only enough to break glass and make you stumble. Then they built, like something, whatever this is, is frustrated, trying to shake its way out."
Shepard frowned, lust receding. "I don't know. No explosion could have done that particular kind of damage for over ten straight minutes, but no living thing could survive inside the citadel for thousands of-"
"Sovereign could have," Liara stated simply.
That gave Shepard pause, but a moment later she shook her head. "There would've been other signs. Mind control, unexplained murders, at the very least a change in the environment before it woke up… Besides, the reapers wouldn't have had anyone build this station with another reaper at its core. Maybe it's a defense mechanism set up by the keepers in case control was ever taken from them…"
Liara was quiet after this. They were still holding each other, still descending.
The asari sighed, "Goddess, this is taking forever."
Shepard shrugged against her. "I don't know, it feels about as long as taking the lift to me."
"-did you l-love Samantha?" Liara blurted suddenly, stumbling on the words as though they had retched themselves from her unwilling mouth.
Alice leaned back, her eyes widening. "Wha-? Where the hell did that come from?"
Liara cast her face down. "I-I am ashamed to have even asked. It's not my business, not really. I was just curious…strongly curious, after what that fool Rickard said, and what you told me in the bar. I didn't think it was going to come out like that…so abruptly."
Shepard gave her a strange, calculating look, though Liara would still not meet her gaze. Then- "…no. No, I didn't love her. I felt something like it, I think. She was the second girl I'd ever…been intimate with. She was a very good teacher, and a close friend, but..."
Shepard paused and scratched the back of her neck, looking uncomfortable. "This is awkward, talking about this now."
"It would be awkward talking about it at anytime, Shepard," Liara responded coolly, her eyes frozen on a spot near her feet, "you are the most willing of ears for the pasts of others, but your lips are like a river run dry when it comes to your own life."
Alice smirked. "You may not have the words for romance, but your analytical metaphors are surprisingly sharp."
Liara let out a deep breath and finally looked up at her. "I just want to know you, Commander Shepard. You keep a great deal of yourself to yourself. It is…intensely frustrating."
Alice nodded. "Okay, so I didn't love Sam. I was, um, fond of her; she was wily and vivacious, she had grown up a lot like me, learning to live on her own while very young, calling the streets of an urban sprawl 'home'. She was as rough deep down as she was around the edges."
"She sounds nothing like me," Liara said, her voice a mixture of humor and misery.
"You are nothing like her, Liara. And the good of that, all the good of that, far outweighs anything I saw in Sam."
Liara's eyes searched deeply in Alice's, trying to find something in them so she wouldn't have to voice the next words. But she couldn't see the answer there.
"And do you-…do you love me, Shepard?"
Shepard's fingers clenched on Liara's back, then released her. Her brow furrowed deeply, the scar beneath her right eye curving and twitching with a nervous tic beneath the skin. But it was now her eyes that said everything. They looked wounded and wet.
Her lips moved, and told Liara what her eyes had already said.
Liara thought the roaring pound of her pulse in her ears had drowned out the sound of Shepard's response.
At least until the inky black above them turned a sharp yellow, than a blazing orange, and Shepard's head jerked up and she bellowed. Liara felt Shepard's hands against her breasts, and with a mighty heave from the spectre, Liara's feet left the floating debris. She flew through the air as if in slow motion, arms cart-wheeling, legs pedaling for purchase of solid ground, her breath catching in her throat.
And a second later she landed, cracked her shoulder against the floor, twisted bodily, turning as though to pounce back onto the rock, eyes desperately seeking Shepard-
But the rock was gone. The flaming metal carcass that had come crashing down on top of them was also gone. Shepard was gone.
And Liara finally gathered her surroundings. She was balanced precariously on what was left of the floor of C-Sec. Beneath her and the miniscule sliver of metal ground she lay on, a steel support beam descended down into the bowels of the Citadel.
A few feet away, the Citadel elevator sat sparking in its cradle, hovering over absolutely nothing.
She and Shepard hadn't been able to see the floor from the opening of the elevator shaft because most of the floor was gone, having fallen in on itself, down, down, down into the metal belly countless meters below.
Where Shepard now was. ~
*~~*~~*
[]
*~~*~~*
CITADEL
C-SEC ACADEMY
HQ/EVIDENCE CHAMBERS
"It's not here," Serina Celoni said huskily, her voice deep and masculine for an asari. "We're wasting our time."
Anires glanced at her sister sharply. "That's what I said half an hour ago, when we almost had our heads caved in." She spoke in a much higher, almost melodic tone. "You're just getting bored now that everything's calm again."
They sat amongst the ruins of the C-Sec evidence vaults, sifting through the stacks of fallen plastic bags, each indiviually shrink-wrapped and stenciled with a case file number and categorization code.
The sisters were currently situated in one of the back rooms, the lights around them flickering on and off every few minutes. Two large metal shelves on either side of them had been shaken from their bolts in the floor and fallen against each other, dumping their contents all across the floor and acting as a kind of archway above the two asari.
"Ah," a third, ethereal voice cried excitedly from one of the adjoining rooms, "this one has been blessed with the holy jackpot!"
Anires slumped to her elbows in frustration. She sighed heavily.
"Marvin!" Serina shouted back gruffly, "did you find Tully's rifle or just more Hice?"
Thick silence answered her. Then, "this one has found more of the happy powder."
Before Serina could respond with the anger she felt burgeoning in her chest, he continued, "but this one will continue the quest for the other's apprehended ending device!"
Serina nodded. "Uh-huh…and you won't use the Hice to get high until one of us has found it, right?"
Another long pause. "…This one will not use any more of the happy powder until the device is found. That is correct."
Anires grabbed a bag filled with a blood-stained tuxedo and chucked it at the opening the hanar was calling from. It bounced off of a file cabinet and rebounded out of sight. "I'm going to throw your squirmy body and all of your precious happy powder in an acid-vat, you ven-rah!"
"Annie," Serina said, "just look for the rifle."
"This one ejects its waste fluids on that ones' mothers, pure-blood!" Marvin yelled back.
Anires squeezed her eyes shut tightly and lifted one blue hand in the air before her. Serina rolled her eyes and scooted away, continuing to rummage through the stacks of evidence. The air began to shimmer blue around them. A moment later, a loud 'pop' resounded from the adjoining room, followed by the sound of handfuls of grit spilling to the floor, and the hanar's sudden cries of distress.
"NO! This one's glorious collection of illegal substance!"
Anires laughed.
A shot rang out in the room. At the same time, a bag Serina had been reaching for flew away from her fingers and slapped against a wall, falling to the floor. A trail of smoke rose from the bullet hole in the wrinkled plastic.
Arines and Serina stopped moving, their eyes drawn to the source of the shot.
Marvin floated nervously around the corner, his pink, shimmering body flecked and smattered with gray powder that was slowly being absorbed into his flesh.
A turian stood grinning darkly at the other end of the room, illuminated by a bright shaft of light pouring from the room he'd just stepped out of. He held a rifle in his right hand, now pointed at the ceiling.
"Found my gun," Tully said amicably.
He lifted up a small plastic bag. "And something far, far more valuable."
Serina squinted. She could just make out what Tully was carrying. Inside the bag was what remained of a white washrag, burnt on the edges and scrawled upon in barely legible black ink.
"Creeps," Tully said, "we gotta go see a salarian about an elcor."
*~~*~~*
[]
*~~*~~*
CITADEL
UNDERGROUND MAINTENANCE TUNNELS
"Sami, c'mon!" Merl Orthanc said, more exasperated from his friend's slow pace than he was exhausted from running.
"What's the use?" Sami asked, huffing as he caught up, his feet slapping in pools of water lying in the tunnel floor. "We're gonna die down here, Merl! No one's coming for us."
"We are not going to die." Merl's tone was less reassuring than he'd wanted it to be. "And we don't need help. We're getting out of here on our own."
He turned and glanced down the barely lit tunnel, past the small piles of rock and metal strewn about the floor. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever before eventually, far in the distance, Merl could see that it started to curve around a bend with the light.
"We've got to be getting close to the evac tunnels by now," Merl said, "and from there it's just a straight shot up."
"Pfft," the taller salarian gave him an incredulous look, "it's going to lead to more rubble. Crashed metal and mangled corpses and no way out. That's all we're heading towards, you'll see."
Merl shook his head, turned and started walking. "There's like, twelve of us down here at any given time. There are dozens of exits to the topside in the evacuation tunnels. It would be a miracle if we found anyone at all, alive or dead."
"Yeah," his friend replied, "maybe you're right. I mean, they would've all left by now anyway, considering that when the tremors started, they probably just ran for it instead of trying to send a distress transmission for twenty minutes!"
"Greels! Would you stop complaining already and start saving your breath so we can get out of here! I want to start running again in a second."
Sami didn't respond to this directly, but Merl could hear him whisper something about it all being pointless under his breath.
They walked in silence after that and despite what he'd said, Merl didn't pick up the pace. He didn't like it when Sami was mad at him and after forcing the other salarian to stay behind while he tried repeatedly in vain to send messages warning C-Sec and the Council, Merl felt extremely guilty for their current predicament.
When they finally reached the bend in the tunnel, Sami stopped walking.
"Wait," he said, grabbing Merl by the shoulder, "did you hear that?"
"Yeah, I did," Merl said sarcastically, "it's the dreaded zombie warlords, they're coming for your secret stash of krogan plushies."
Sami ignored him, his eyes wild, searching the darkness around them.
Merl waited a moment, watching his friend. He's losing it, he thought sadly. Merl gently took Sami by the wrist.
"C'mon, let's get going."
Something high-pitched whistled in the dark. The sound was soft, but it echoed around the two salarians as though it were an invisible being between them, pursing its lips and blowing out the shrill sound into the air.
"There!" Sami almost screamed, jumping closer to him.
Merl began to search the tunnel himself. It was narrow and gray, the walls smooth and softly lit by a series of strip-lights, like flourescent bulbs, repeating every twenty feet or so. They were inlaid in the ceiling above them, which was low enough for Sami to be able to reach up and touch were he so inclined (Merl would've had to jump to meet his fingers to the cool metal), and it arced in a smooth semicircle, so that it appeared at times as if they were walking down endless corridors of rectangular half-moons. With the exception of the occasional break in the walls that branched into other identical paths, there was nothing remarkable at all about the tunnel.
They were alone.
The noise chirped again.
Slowly, Sami's eyes rolled to Merl, his expression accusatory. He reached for Merl's other hand, grasped it and held it up in the air before them.
Merl's Omni-tool was glowing green. It was receiving a transmission.
Merl breathed a sigh of relief and laughed quietly. "Oh, wow. Okay."
He brought up the display and began checking the electronic feed.
"What are you doing?" Sami asked. "If it's from the surface, we won't be able to understand it anyway."
Merl continued to focus on the display. "It's not a message to me, Sami. It's a broadcast."
Sami frowned. "What? What does that mean?"
"It means I never changed the settings after I tried sending the warning topside. I just hooked the Omni to the emergency data system in the archives and-OW!"
Sami had smacked him in the back of his head. "Stop narrating, egghead, I was there, remember? I meant what could that kind of broadcast mean? It's just noise."
Merl hesitated, then turned the volume up on the transmission.
Both of them leaned closer to his Omni, turning their heads to hear it clearer.
The noise returned once more. This time, Merl squinted and smirked, his large eyes disappearing into mere slits. "That's…it's-"
"It's noise, idiot. That's it." Sami sounded relieved. "You screwed up the wiring in your Omni when you yanked it out of the data port. It's just squealing at you now."
Merl stared up at his companion, cocking his head to the side. "You really never did pay attention when we were in Colonial Education, did you?"
Sami made a face. "Why would I, with you constantly telling me we'd never leave the Citadel anyway?"
"It's singing, Sami. It's a bird."
This revelation didn't improve the other salarian's disposition. "And that makes sense…how? Why would somebody be broadcasting that?"
Merl didn't have a chance to respond before something else did.
A low, monstrous, guttural moan rose from the tunnel floors, echoing off the walls, the puddles of water around them vibrating.
Sami grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged. "Okay, I'm ready to run now!"
Merl shrugged him off, taking a single step forward and stopping, thinking in the midst of the caterwauls, trying to connect the dots forming in his mind.
"Merl! Merl, please buddy, let's go!" Sami pleaded.
Merl moved, not sure at first where his feet were taking him. He sprinted in his tight-fitting uniform down the tunnel, not even glancing behind him to see if Sami was following.
The moaning persisted, rising even, growing louder and more intense, like a mighty behemoth howling from within a maelstrom.
His pace grew faster, his feet a blur beneath him, Sami's cries and eventual screams for him to stop and come back fading in the distance; the sound, that horrid sound like death itself becoming so much louder. It pressed against him, hugged him fiercely as if it wanted to crush him.
He knew now as he sprinted from corridor to corridor that Sami was long gone, lost somewhere back on the evacuation route. He knew that he was glad, happy about this. Because Sami, for all his whining and complaining, knew the way out. And Merl realized in a rising sense of dread that he, the smart one, the self-sufficient one, the caretaker of their friendship, was not headed towards the evac tunnels.
He was headed for the beast screaming beneath and in between the tunnel walls. And he was getting very, very close.
*~~*~~*
[]
*~~*~~*
A/N - Does anybody remember when this site used to host NC-17 fanfic? That was ages ago. Well, way back when (around 2001) I created this profile as a separate, NC-17-only one, where I would test the garish waters of erotic fiction writing. Now I'm going somewhere with this that pertains to the writing of this particular chapter, so hear me out.
Anyway, once I'd bullshitted the system into believing I was old enough to write that type of material, I started uploading stories for various fandoms; Smallville and Buffy and the like. You know, WB shows with attractive young casts pretending to be my age while weaving universes and stories that befitted the written porn world wonderfully when taken only slightly out of context, and before long, wouldn't you know it, I was having a blast. Now at the same time, I was still writing legitimate fanfic for the Lyle Brown profile and trying to enjoy the best of both worlds, have my cake and eat it too, all on one site.
Then Xing, purveyor of justice and head of the site at the time, bowed to the outraged cries of the masses and took the NC-17 rating and all stories under its banner off the site. I was crushed. He didn't ban the ero-fic writers or anything like that, but it still felt like a serious blow.
Now I could've started uploading those same rejected stories to the Greyarchive or TSSA if I'd wanted to, but neither of those sites have the same feeling of community that FFdotnet has always maintained. So I burned out shortly thereafter on writing altogether, left the site, went to college, joined the Air Force, yadda yadda yadda, and wound up right back here after falling as deeply for the ME universe as I did for Buffy over a decade ago.
So why bring this up now, in a chapter halfway through an episode that has nothing to do with sex? Well, I'll tell you. Description. Description of action is key in writing, and writing description for an NC-17 romp between Buffy and Dawn or Clark and Lana is exactly the same in tempo and practice as writing about a bunch of damned interstellar fools running around a gigantic space station that's falling apart around them.
Both require precise pacing, a good idea of where the characters are and where you need them to be three pages from now, a lot of perseverance to push through the parts you're not all that crazy about writing to get to the ones that you are and a handy dandy thesaurus in your head or hands cause in action as in porn, you can't keep using the same words to describe particular things.
That's why I felt the need to say all this. I haven't experienced these emotions since '01. It's like déjà vu. I wanted this chapter to be over with so I can get to the good stuff after it and the really exciting stuff in the third episode. The biggest difference now is that I just don't enjoy writing lengthy action sequences as much as I used to. Instead, the little moments with each character find more interest with me. That's all. For those who read this ramble, I thank you. Hopefully you get where I'm coming from here.
FOOTNOTES:
* Driving home from work before beginning this chapter, I was rocking to some Def Leppard ('Armageddon It') and realized that rather than just starting off with Rickard over the extranet (erm…holonet?) acting all sinister and shit, I could begin with some ultra-cheese lyrics and world-build a little; I dig the whole asari girl-band thing*** and Mass Effect radio in general, you know? But after giggling like a wee lil' schoolgirl with the lyrics, I found myself in a right-side/left-side of the brain debate as to what to call the radio in this futuristic setting.
Calling it a radio would appear lazy, but referring to it as a Xaplethorp or a Peedleprong or some variation and then forcing myself to describe it as something that you and I both know damn well is a radio, would pretty much guarantee I'd never want to broach the subject again. Like old-school Battlestar Galactica. "Yeah, I know what that is, you ridiculous pricks. It's a banana. Call it a banana." Frak is okay, that's super-fragilistic. But a banana is a banana. Eventually it came down to 'radio' versus 'extradio', as in, the radio setting of the extranet, which seemed logical enough to me.
So I reasoned with myself. "Self", I said, "even today we are witnessing different mediums of entertainment as they meet and date and screw like rabbits amidst wads of consumer cash only to produce ill-conceived, modified web-TVs and cell phones that broadcast terrible streaming Hi-Def Asian horror films starring that pedophile principal from Ferris Bueller's Day Off with plots like 'cell phones can KILL YOU!'.
"Entertainment is rapidly being streamlined into a one-size-fits-all digital wi-fi Hi-Def widescreen Bluetooth wristwatch (w/Itunes!) that doesn't remember how to tell time but has downloaded several gigs of delightful German porn for you while you were taking a shit in the bathroom at Arby's, so that you won't even care what day it is, much less what time of day…um, self," I said.
So I decided I wanted a brighter future with varying forms of media, and went with a regular ole' radio. Sorry if that rubs anyone in a wrong, Jeffrey Jones kinda way; believe me, it took a while to decide. Longer than it probably should have…
** Give or take. I mean, the building was leaning pretty bad at that point, so it could've been more like twenty-eight floors, even with the ground level. I'm not sure. Anyway, in researching building structure and collapse, I have discovered, with great relief, that not only can buildings fall sideways, (though I cannot recall ever having seen this happen) in the particular situation I have devised it actually makes sense that the Hotel Verisota would fall on its side. Morbid that I had to run across this information on a 9/11 conspiracy-debunking site, though.
*** Yes, I'm aware that it's either redundant or wholly illogical to truly consider 'The Embracers' an asari 'girl band' since their species doesn't have a genital split; the Goddess didn't bless them with two different sexes to play a rousing game of 'you show me your Xaplethorp, I'll show you my Peedleprong' with. But excuse me, I think they're hot blue chicks, I think Kirk would have spent several shoe-string budget episodes banging them in between bouts of razzlin' with krogans and I think any single-sex species that has breasts, round bubble bottoms that fill out a space suit wonderfully and doesn't go to war against itself over ridiculous pissing contests is a single sex species of CHICKS, okay?
There is a simple and unusually unbreakable rule in writing, and I say unusual because most rules are, I believe, meant to be broken if you know first how to obey them. For instance, run-on sentences are bad news, bad practice and bad juju. And I love them. I am of the opinion that, if done with humility and care, they can flavor the colors of your written canvas wonderfully (I also enjoy mixed metaphors; I mean, how does one flavor a canvas? With cayenne?). The particular rule of which this footnote speaks, however, is considered sacred and cardinal if you choose to make writing a profession. It is the rule of character headspace.
Now please understand, I'm not saying that I think I'm good enough to sell my original writings professionally at this point and I'm not asking anyone else to tell me that either. What I am saying, what I'm actually embarrassed to admit to myself, is the exact opposite. I'm not ready. Because in writing, once you've progressed to the point of crafting a narrative worth telling and grabbing the attention of passersby, you must always keep certain glaring truths in mind; and this one is, I stress, important.
Head-switching between characters who are occupying the same physical space in a single chapter or scene with no line breaks to note such a change is, always and forever, bad news, bad practice and bad, bad juju. No excuses. It confuses the reader; it muddles the perception of the scene. This most recent scene with Liara and Alice on the big chunk of debris, floating down into the C-Sec abyss is the example I chose to illuminate my own faults as I writer. Alice at one point flashes back to meeting Liara on Therum and wonders to herself what life would be like for her if Liara had died there. This is the first real character insight of the scene, and it sets up that this is Alice's scene. Every internal emotion and thought in italics should come from her. All information we get from Liara should be external emotions and verbal cues to how she is feeling and what she is thinking. Anything more should be left to our imaginations until her perspective chapters or scenes later, whenever that occurs. All it really takes is three simple asterisks and a couple hits of the 'Enter' key to obey the rule.
And yet several paragraphs later we find ourselves ending with Liara, trying to read Shepard's thoughts which are somehow no longer available to us, as she asks the spectre if she loves her. It's a cheat. Not a gamble, not a loophole or a mistake on my part. It's a cheat. Shepard stays on the rubble and disappears into the abyss with the wreckage.
So basically, this whole long-winded footnote is an apology to you, reader, who have taken the time to read this story and hopefully enjoy it, because I'm breaking and will continue to break a sacrosanct rule of writing. My reason? I love scripted television. I love the way it progresses from scene to scene, episode to episode, season to season. I love the tricks it plays and the stories it can be used to tell. And in formulating this story, I decided to write it as though you were watching it more than reading it, where characters betray their emotions to the viewer only when the camera allows it, and all for the purpose of the ever-present dramatic effect. Aye, there's the rub.
With many heartfelt thanks to Blackrain7557, Wispr, R-I-C-A-R-D, maidros78 and paul16 for their Episode 2 reviews so far, I'll see you soon with Garrus and Wrex, the Creeps and more…
TheManInTheAlley