The message proves to have no actual text, only two video links and a return message address. Frowning slightly as she realizes the message is marked as having originated on Omega, Shepard shrugs, settling back as she opens the first file.
The woman looks to be in her mid thirties, and Shepard thought she must have been pretty once. Now eyes and cheeks are hollow, the coffee colored skin dull, lank hair scraped roughly back into a tight bun that only accentuates the tired planes of her face. She reaches out to adjust whatever she is filming this with, and Shepard can see that her hands are trembling, the nails chewed to the quick. Its obvious she's having trouble composing herself as she sits back, bleak, red rimmed eyes meeting Shepard's through the camera as she speaks.
"Hello Commander Shepard, my name is Nalah Butler. You don't know me...but I wanted to contact you in the hopes that you could help a mutual friend. You know him as Garrus Vakarian, here on Omega we called him Archangel. I don't know how much you know about what happened here, about what happened to Garrus... what happened to his squad, and..and to my husband.
Months ago, my husband joined Garrus; they were hitting back at the gangs that rule Omega. They were killing the worst of them, interrupting their weapons and drug shipments; for the first time it wasn't just the regular citizens who had to fear living here."
Nalah pauses for a moment, tears glinting in well worn tracks on her cheeks, her hands are almost unconsciously curled around her belly. Noticing the swell previously hidden behind the woman's loose clothing, Shepard realizes that Nalah is pregnant. It takes a few seconds for Nalah to compose herself enough to continue, scrubbing the tears from her tired face with a tattered sleeve.
"Seven weeks ago the mercenary gangs united to bring them down. The gangs tracked them to an old, abandoned apartment complex they often stayed at. Garrus and his squad held that damned place for six full days, until the mercs got smart enough to coordinate a simultaneous attack.
The video feed seems to freeze, but it's just Nahlah staring uncomfortably to the side. She opens her mouth silently a few times, as if trying to force words out past her obvious grief. Shepard can catch a flash of some unidentified emotion on her face, but it's quickly smoothed away as she continues in a small, thin voice.
"They overran the complex, m..must have cut through some blast doors on the lower levels, hit the front with mechs and a gunship...seven of Garrus' squad were killed outright; they were the lucky ones."
Shepard can see the tension on Nahlah's face, the way she twists her hands in her lap, and has that cold, dawning feeling that this is going to turn into something she doesn't really want to hear.
"They said, they said they had to make an example...to make sure that the citizens understood who was in charge. That we had no chance...no way of fighting back. This was the price for defying them...for daring. I...I cannot...what they did, I simply cannot explain Commander, I hope you can forgive my cowardice. The second file I sent you will explain what I cannot.
It may sound horrible, but I had hoped Garrus had not survived the injuries he sustained during the initial attack; but a few months ago there were rumors the merc groups had moved him off Omega. I didn't hear anything for weeks...then a few days ago, there was news that you had removed a turian prisoner from the purgatory facility...and I hoped. He will think everything is his fault Commander, but he couldn't have stopped this, no..nobody could.
You need to help him commander. Please, make him understand. His squad was to work with him, proud of everything they did. He always spoke so highly of you, if anyone can help him, its you."
With a sad smile, Nalah leans forward, hand fumbling for the recorder, and the screen flashes to dark. Shepard runs a hand over her face, her mind keeps cycling back to the decision to not dock at Omega immediately, wondering if she could have made a difference.
The attached file loads as video format. Its untitled, displaying only a flashing run-time in the bottom corner: 17:21. Reluctant, filled with a dread she can't understand, Shepard taps play.
The video file opens to a chaotic blur of movement and muted sound. Shepard can hear people laughing and cheering, the video feed swings wildly, presumably recorded via omni-cam. A face appears in the screen, a flushed young man in a skull fitting took, probably no older than seventeen. Waving an antiquated pistol he looks half drunk on excitement. "We fucking did it! Yeaahh!" he howls into the camera before gyrating away.
Shepard blinks in confusion, "what is this?" she mutters, as the camera jags wildly, finally centering shakily on a motley collection of armored forms clustered in front of the agitated crowd. Movement on the left hand side of the screen draws her attention, and as the picture quality clears slightly, Shepard feels a sick realization starting to build.
Garm is easy to recognize, his hulking, crimson armored body towering over his allies; Shepard sickly wishes the turian he is manhandling wasn't so recognizable. Garrus looks dazed and shocky, the terrible wounds on his face and shoulder rawly new, still oozing dark blood down his arm; Garm has an iron grip on his jaw, turning his head to show the crowd of mercenaries, bestial face splitting into a grin as they roar their approval. Shepard suspects that hold is the only thing keeping Garrus on his feet, but as three more prisoners are pushed forward he tries to lunge toward them, crying out when Garm forces him to his knees with a sharp jerk on his broken shoulder.
A blood spattered asari spits at her jeering batarian captors, Shepard can barely make out her cry of 'leave him alone, you fucking cowards!' before the noise from the crowd overwhelms her protests. Beside her, a bearded human man looks simply resigned, face grim and streaked with gore; the turian he's supporting simply looks scared, pale purple marked mandibles pressed tight to his jaw. As the asari turns to snarl at one of the guards beside her, another drives a combat knife into her side, and Shepard watches sickly as shocked pain blooms across her pretty face. They throw her to the cheering crowd, and the camera swings wildly again, punctuated by the howls and cheers of the onlookers. There is a brief flash of the asari in the grip of her tormentors, armour shredded, half naked body slicked with blood. Her eyes are all whites, pupils rolled back as her mouth gapes open in a scream that's obscured by the obscene howls of her tormentors. The crowd seems half mad, high on the adrenaline rush of their cruelty.
The camera stabilizes again when the mercs toss the limp, stripped body of the asari at Garm's feet, her head lolling limply on a broken neck, body mottled with blood and bruises. The stab wound in her stomach gapes grossly like a toothless hungry mouth. Garrus has gone still, hanging in the krogan's grasp like a ragdoll, his eyes fixed and frozen on the body of the friend at his feet. Shepard watches numbly as the other two prisoners are forced forward, a grinning batarian kicks the human roughly to his knees, the turian, devoid of his support crumples with him.
Then Garm is dragging Garrus forward, a mad grin fixed on his craggy face as he leans down to whisper something to him. Garrus starts to fight in earnest then, screaming and trying to twist away, shaking his head and slashing feebly up at his captor with shaking talons. Garm barks a grating laugh and simply hauls him up like he's disciplining a varren pup, pressing something into Garrus' hand, massive hand forcing the turian's arm up level with his shoulder. Shepard recognizes the object Garm is clenching Garrus' hand around a brief second before the first echoing shot echoes out. Garrus screams a guttural protest as the human topples backward, blood arching from a shattered throat, hands clawing feebly at the ruins of his carotid artery. The turian prisoner stares in silent shock as the human twitches into stillness, dazedly touching his fingers to the spatters of crimson arterial spray on his face. He's still looking at the blood on his fingers when a second forced shot tears through his chest, sending him down to scrabble out his last seconds to the roars of the crowd.
There's nothing sane in Garrus' eyes now, as he stares slackly down at the still twitching bodies, gaze so empty and dead Shepard thinks the corpses almost look more alive. Another roaring cheer runs through the crowd as Garm retrieves the gun from Garrus' limp grasp. A rough hand forcing him to kneel next to the bodies of his crew, pushing his head down until his face is pressed into the slick of gore, forehead pressed against the limp form of the dying turian in a terrible parody of intimacy. Garrus tries weakly to push away, talons skidding through the slick of red and navy blood as Garm holds him down with one powerful hand between his shoulders, other hand moving to pull aside the codpiece of his own armor.
Shepard slams a hand down on the com-station so hard a crack zigzags across the screen, warping the terrible scene into a blessed mosaic of static feedback. Staring at the now silent unit, Shepard almost wants to hide, to run until she can't see that dead, haunted look in Garrus' eyes. Run unitl she can't see the leer on Garm's face, or hear the laughter of the watching batarians as Garm roughly tore at Garrus' underarmor. She thinks sickly that Nalah Butler may have been wrong, how can she expect Shepard to help Garrus through this, when she can hardly comprehend it herself?
She cant even remember rising, but her knees shake as she walks slowly to the bed, aware of the saline slick of cold sweat on her skin. She curls up, knees tucked up against her roiling stomach. In the back of her pitiless mind a bright eyed turian cop smiles as he thanks her for the opportunity of serving with her, and Shepard presses her hands to her face and weeps.