.8.
-Schism-
.x.
We're now up here alone, terror on the intercom.
Can someone save us?
Systems malfunction—blast it, this damn machine!
Over and out, Captain.
[Delirium Trigger – Coheed & Cambria]
.x.
The next day ushered in the grim reality that we had all come to share.
To search out and recruit the asari Justicar Samara, I chose Grunt and Mordin for my team. We moved quickly, departing from the Normandy before the sun had risen on Ilium, using the intel Liara had provided me with to track Samara down in an area of Nos Astra dominated by the presence of a branch of the Eclipse known as the Sisters. Much like every other task I'd undertaken since becoming a Spectre, recruiting Samara was more difficult than initially expected. Long hours later, after having infiltrated the Eclipse base and battling our way through to find the information Samara needed, I found myself in the surprising position of witnessing a Justicar swear to follow me wherever my mission may take me.
I'd read the dossier on Samara supplied to me by the Illusive Man, but found that the compilation of bland, unimaginative statements had done little to actually capture the essence of who and what she was. She was beautiful, of course, as most all the asari were, but further distinguished herself by exuding the easy authority of someone who lived beyond the laws of most civilizations. Some would call this simple arrogance; I suspected it was more complex than that. Despite that fact, Samara also carried about her a kind of serenity, a sense of absolute peace with herself and the rest of the universe and I found myself drawn to it, as I had little of either. Added to this potent, somewhat disarming mix was the considerable power of her biotics; after having witnessed the full extent of said powers I found myself regarding her with new respect. Even Grunt, ever fearless and belligerent, gave way before the Justicar as she approached to kneel before us and take the oath to bind herself to my service.
With Samara secured, our next objective was to recruit a drell assassin known as Thane Krios. I made the decision to hammer out this mission immediately following the resolution of the other, and after a very brief rendezvous at the Normandy, Grunt, Mordin and I returned to the streets of Nos Astra.
The assassin proved to be nearly as difficult to recruit as the Justicar. In the end it was a race—either we reached him first, or he'd fall prey to the formidable security team of the woman he'd come to assassinate. In the end, he accomplished his goal, gunning down the powerful asari businesswoman with fluidic ease in front of me, my team, and an escort of the asari's hired mercenary guards. When all was said and done, Thane Krios agreed to join our cause. It was only as I'd turned around to exit the room, relieved that this particular obstacle was over, that he dropped the bombshell the Illusive Man had seen fit to omit from the relevant dossier.
"I'm dying." The drell told me calmly.
Pivoting to face him, I replied with my first thought, "Is it contagious?"
A brief shake of his head. "No. If you wish to know more, we can discuss it on board your ship."
Grunt and Mordin were waiting for me at the double doors leading to this killing ground, an expansive high-rise office overlooking the spectacular, twinkling night-scape that was Nos Astra after dark. I remained where I was, considering the newest member of my crew. He stood comfortably beneath my scrutiny, his bearing one of inherent self-assurance. He wasn't as tall as Garrus, even in height with me or perhaps a bit taller, clad in skin-hugging synthetic leather weave that revealed a build that was both lean and muscular. Not having been this close to any drell before, I was intrigued by his features, curious about a species that was still relatively new to me. The reptilian texture and mottled colors of his skin were unlike that of most any other alien race I'd come across, but I found my attention focusing on the large eyes that dominated his face: they were an inky black that seemed impenetrable but the faint outline of iris and pupil, managing to be both reticent and expressive at the same time.
He was, in a word, interesting, and I'd seen first hand the proof of his prowess. But if he was terminally ill as he'd indicated, could he still be a valuable asset to my team? He appeared in the peak of health, but I was neither a doctor nor familiar with drell. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that there were better ways to spend his last days than taking on foes as indomitable as the Collectors and Reapers, but he spoke first as though able to predict my thoughts.
"My condition has not yet progressed to the point where it is debilitating. I am still physically capable. I believe you've seen what I can do."
His voice was arresting, sounding as though a normal voice, low and rich, had been poured over sand and assailed by dry winds. I narrowed my eyes as I thought quickly. In a battle such as the one we would inevitably face, we would need every able bodied individual we could get. But still I hesitated; there were numerous dire and gruesome fates awaiting us should we fail and it didn't sit well with me to be the one to send a dying man to such an end. And despite how petty it made me seem, a large part of me wanted to leave him behind simply because the Illusive Man had once again withheld crucial information from me.
Krios was silent, awaiting my final judgement. Finally I nodded my assent. "But," I warned, holding up one hand, "I want you to report to the medical lab once you're on board the Normandy for a full diagnostic scan. Nothing personal, but I need to know what shape you're in."
"Understood."
And so it was that where three had left the Normandy, four returned. Despite the desperate odds, my team was growing.
.x.
The Normandy departed Ilium soon after our return, once I'd introduced Thane to Jacob and left him to find the drell suitable accommodations. From there I headed to the CIC, writing my report to the Illusive Man, mulishly transmitting it over the extranet rather than through the holographic correspondence we usually used. By the time I'd finished summarizing the recruitment of Justicar and assassin we had long since left Ilium behind and had embarked on a mining run, scanning remote planets throughout the Terminus systems for resources and dispatching probes to collect whatever we could find. We'd accumulated several upgrades for the Normandy in Nos Astra, but lacked the materials to implement them. After a visit to Joker on the bridge to ascertain all was in order, I made my way to my cabin in order to catch up on much needed sleep.
I could have gone to Garrus, instead; I very much wanted to. I knew that what we both wanted—a release to our combined sexual tensions that promised to be at the very least wildly spectacular—would have to wait. It was a diversion neither of us could afford at this point—hell, just thinking of what had already transpired between he and I had been causing my mind to wander at inopportune moments. The Reapers and their Collector puppets where an unavoidable conclusion to the road I'd been reborn to walk. I didn't like it. I didn't want it to be that way. But I couldn't change it, either. Lives depended on my ability to lead, on my team's ability to maintain their clarity and resolution throughout all conflicts we would find ourselves in. For those reasons, I had to deny myself that which I suspected I needed more than I desired. For those reasons, I couldn't partake of that intensely powerful intimacy between us that waited and begged to be discovered.
I knew that Garrus would agree with me despite the way he felt. He'd been an officer long enough to know that the mission came first, especially when the stakes were as high as these. Still I wanted nothing more than to pay another late night visit to the main battery, to witness my effect on him and experience his on me, to see what more might happen in close proximity to each other. It was temptation greater than almost any I'd ever known and so it was with grim resolve I laid myself down in the empty confines of my cabin, determined to lock away all thoughts of the turian and find sleep.
Surprisingly, it only took me an hour or two to do just that.
It was Joker's voice that woke me. A glimpse at the bedside hologram clock informed me that I'd slept longer than I had in a very long time. As I replied to Joker's hail in a hoarse, lethargic voice, I realized that, once again, I'd had no dream. It was a good omen, I decided, rolling over and sitting up as the Normandy's pilot relayed his message.
"It's the Illusive Man, Commander. He says it's urgent and wants to speak to you right away."
At the mention of my dangerously secretive benefactor, I scowled. I was still pissed at the steadily accumulating pile of omissions that he had kept from me in every mission I'd undertaken since agreeing to work with Cerberus. Slipping on my uniform, I then made my way to the CIC, skirting through the armoury to enter the debriefing room.
Upon stepping down into the holographic matrix that would relay my image to the Illusive Man, I inwardly resolved to get the answers I needed from him, as well as to take a hardline approach when I confronted him with all he'd kept from me. I was never given the chance, however, for immediately upon establishing a connection, he delivered news so important that it trumped the grudge I'd been nursing. A Collector vessel had encountered by a turian patrol which had somehow managed to subdue it; the Illusive Man had intercepted the turian transmissions from said battle.
"A Collector ship, Shepard," said the Cerberus leader, taking a long drag from his cigarette, his artificial eyes piercing even across the light-years that separated us. "We can't waste this opportunity."
As much as I hated to, I agreed with him. But I still wasn't sold; having witnessed first hand what the a Collector warship could do—and having died in the process—I was more than sceptical that the turians had come out on top in the supposed altercation. I said as much to the Illusive Man.
"I can't explain it and our window of opportunity is too small to try and learn more right now. Whatever is on that ship could be of great use to us."
"What about the turians?"
"According to their transmissions, they've pulled back. They sustained heavy damages and didn't want to linger in case the Collectors come by to salvage. Which," he added, "is why I recommend you and your crew get there, fast."
It didn't feel right. But then again, most of the assignments and suggestions he'd given me hadn't felt right, either. And as much as I hated it, he had a point. There may be something we could really use onboard that ship. After a short hesitation, I nodded my assent. He proceeded to transmit the relevant coordinates to the Normandy and bid me good luck. I didn't bother to reply.
"Joker," I said into my communicator as I made my way back through the armory. "Head for the coordinates he gave us. I want the entire team gathered in the debriefing room in one hour."
"You've got it, Commander," he replied. On the CIC I stood before the galaxy map, staring into its colorful, swirling depths and watching as the icon that represented the Normandy inched ever closer to the location of the Collector vessel.
"I've got a bad feeling," I said softly. This was a good opportunity, yes, but it was an incredibly dangerous one, as well. Apprehension swirled within me. It was a feeling I was by now familiar with, but one I couldn't abide. Hoping this weighty dread I felt was not in fact a premonition, I turned, stepped down and made my way to the elevator. In my cabin I would prepare for the sojourn onboard the Collector ship, deciding which hardsuit armor would give me the best advantage and choosing my arsenal for the mission.
An hour later I stood where I had such a short time before. This time, however, I was not alone. My team, such as it was, had gathered there as I'd ordered. My eyes found Garrus first, leaning against the wall in one corner, clad in his standard blue and black hardsuit. Samara and Jack stood side by side and I took a moment to reflect on the fact that two of the most powerful biotics I'd ever seen now occupied the same room. Grunt had taken up position next to the door, thick, powerful arms folded across his broad chest. Mordin stood opposite Samara, eyes blinking rapidly as they darted to each of us; Thane was beside him, hands clasped behind his back, looking completely at ease in his new surroundings.
The moment I'd entered the room, the moment I'd felt the combined weight of all their gazes, I'd hesitated. I didn't know all of them well. I didn't know if I'd come to like them when I did. But I was about to take them on a mission that could very well be suicidal and the ramifications of that were for a moment nearly staggering. I managed to shrug it aside—I couldn't afford to think of it, and taking a deep breath I addressed my team.
"The Illusive Man," I said slowly, "has found us a Collector ship, adrift."
.x.
I should have trusted my initial instincts. I didn't, of course—there was just too much in the way of opportunity awaiting us on the gargantuan ship floating helplessly in space. I think I knew all along—think we all knew—that something was awry, for as the shuttle carrying my entire team entered the cavernous recesses of the vessel, we were all of us rendered silent by the daunting sight. After we'd disembarked, I quickly made two groups, one to venture further inside with me, the other to stay behind and guard the shuttle—our only way out—in case something nasty should appear. Jack, Miranda, Grunt and Jacob I chose to stay behind. It was risky, because of tensions that hovered ever-present between Jack and the two Cerberus agents, but I was fairly certain the powerful biotic was capable of stifling her hatred for the sake of the mission. Or at least I hoped she could.
Garrus, Mordin, Samara and Thane I chose to bring with me. Garrus' unerring sniper's eye I wanted with me, and to be honest I now trusted him more than any other to watch my back. Mordin I'd chosen because of his familiarity with the seeker swarms, and in case we came across some manner of new technology he might be able to adapt and use it to our advantage. Samara and Thane I had yet to see in any real action, or at least not the sort I was accustomed to, which was mostly comprised of overwhelming odds and enemies smarter and deadlier than your run-of-the-mill mercenaries. I wanted to know how they would measure up against their profiles the Illusive Man had provided me with and this was as good a time as any.
The interior of the ship was devoid of any kinds of life but we still moved through it with wary swiftness, our weapons ready to fire at any given moment. We kept conversation to a minimum; I'd ordered the guard team to maintain comm silence unless absolutely necessary. It was not long before we came across disturbing hints as to the reason behind the abductions of humans in the form of a pile of human body parts: arms, legs, pieces of torsos, heads. The stench was overwhelming, the sight horrifyingly gruesome. Mordin was the only one who was able to look at it for long and I suspected he was adept at compartmentalizing atrocities such as this—given the nature of his work with the krogan genophage, he'd have to be. As he ran his omni-tool over the heap of dismembered corpses, looking for any clue as to why such a thing had been done, the rest of us gravitated towards several of the strange pods we'd seen on Horizon.
"It's how they bring them onboard," Garrus said, gesturing with his rifle.
"They must have another purpose. It would be easier just to physically herd humans into the vessel, rather than parcelling every single individual into one of these." Thane, sliding his sub-machine gun into the holster at his back, knelt and ran one gloved hand over the side of the pod in a cursory examination.
"Perhaps," Samara offered, "they are some manner of stasis chamber?"
"Justicar is correct." Mordin said, having finished his analysis of the corpses As he approached us his fingers glided rapidly over the interface of his omni-tool. "Tissue remains show lingering effects of prolonged stasis. Propose most of abducted humans kept in pods while only a few are used for experimentation."
"What kind of experimentation?" I questioned, unable to keep my eyes from sliding back to the grotesque heap. I had managed not to think of it up until this point, but suddenly the confines of my breather helmet felt stifling, the way it did in my dream, the way it had when ... I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, and attempted to focus on what it was the doctor was saying.
"Initial scan shows evidence of genetic tampering. Not able to ascertain exact reason, need resources of Normandy's lab to reach more thorough conclusion."
There was nothing more we could do there, but it felt somehow wrong to me to move on so cavalierly. Humans had died here in terrible ways, subject to some manner of atrocious experimentation, and as I gazed again at the pile I found myself besieged by an awful, unavoidable thought—
"I wonder how many of them were from Horizon," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.
Garrus heard me, of course. The other three had moved on ahead, but he turned to me, shaking his head. "Don't." I couldn't see his face because of the helmet he wore and I felt momentarily disconcerted by the emotionless visage he presented. This faded when transferred his rifle to one hand and touched me on the shoulder with the other.
"We can stop more of this from happening," he said, indicating the gory refuse with a tilt of his head. "So focus on that, Shepard."
He was right. I nodded my assent. He withdrew his hand, and together we quickly went forth to catch up with the others.
.x
Things went sideways not long after.
We'd found, with the aid of EDI, the central data-networking hub for the entire ship. I established with my omni-tool a bridge between EDI and the hub; as the Normandy's AI began the upload the entire vessel shuddered around us. What followed was sheer chaos: Joker's frantic shouting over the comm, intertwined with the steady monotone of EDI and the concerned barrage of questions from Miranda and during it all the five of us struggled to maintain our footing as the platform we stood upon rocked violently. The world suddenly steadied and the enormous confines of the chamber we were in fell silent. Knowing this to be the calm before the storm, I took advantage of it to make certain the Normandy and the rear guard team were okay. I'd just received confirmation on both accounts when Garrus shouted and pointed with his rifle. More platforms like the one we stood upon were inbound, and all of them carried Collectors.
We were outnumbered and we were on unfamiliar terrain, but we held our own. Garrus took up position on a platform that had taken up position adjacent, using a raised ledge for cover while he fired off successive headshots. Mordin knelt near him, peppering the Collectors with an effective mix of tech and bursts from his weapon. Samara, crouched behind the same short wall Thane had slid smoothly behind, made deadly use of both her assault rifle and her biotics, picking up enemies and throwing them into a deadly free fall with a simple wave of her arm. Thane was in continual motion, flowing from cover to cover and placing perfectly timed shots as he did so. His biotics, while not as potent as Samara's, were still enough to wreak havoc. I remained where I was, firing periodic bursts with my Locust in order to create a deadly crossfire with Garrus.
For a while, it looked like we might actually have an easy path by which to escape by. It wasn't to be, however—a warning cry from Samara jerked my head around to find four more platforms bearing Collectors soaring up from our right. I slid out from behind the ledge, intending to run for more suitable cover; the appearance of the new enemies had rendered my current position too vulnerable. Thane and Samara had done the same, vaulting up the terraced platforms in order to find safe spots near Garrus and Mordin. Switching my Locust to one hand, I used the other to vault upwards, my grip slipping momentarily on the smooth surface beneath me.
"Shepard, on your right! They've got heavies—"
Garrus's warning came too late. Still racing forwards, I took the full frontal brunt of a biotic shockwave released by one of the strange, fused abomination husks that stood on a platform that had just arrived. The impact knocked me flying; hitting the platform I'd just left behind, I skidded fast over the surface and came up hard against the ledge I'd been using for cover. Breathing was not an option in the moments that followed, as my insides seemed to have rearranged themselves under the force of the collision. As I gasped for air that wouldn't come, a new voice intruded upon the crazed clamor of the battle, low, booming and utterly imperious.
"Assuming direct control."
"Shepard, get up. Get up now."
I tried to obey Garrus' urgent command as swiftly as I could. Air had finally flooded my lungs; gasping I transitioned into a crouch, cradling the Locust I'd had the good fortune not to drop. I risked a glance over the ledge and found myself facing a form of the Collectors I'd never seen before. Its frame was identical to the others, but it glowed all over as though harboring an inner fire that was corroding it from the inside out.
"Shepard."
I knew the voice that emanated from this new and strange Collector, even though I'd never heard it before. I knew it was that of a Reaper, knew that the Reaper was directing every movement, every action this glowing creature before me was making. I knew also that it had done so in order to get at me, because it knew me—
"We'll cover you while you move." Thane's rasped voice startled me out of my grim reverie, coming in loud and clear over the comm. I lurched upwards with the full intent to run, but hastily dropped back down again as the Collectors behind the Reaper-puppet opened up with a steady stream of suppressing fire. I heard over the din of multiple weapons being fired the distinctive echoing blast of Garrus' rifle and knew he was doing his best to thin the enemy ranks. I decided to try and assist, knowing I could never make it back to my team unless more of the Collectors were dropped. Trying to coordinate my fire with that of my team, I leaned out of cover and aimed for one out in the open. My shots punched their way up its torso and it flailed sideways before tumbling over the edge and into oblivion.
A piercing, airy whine cut through the commotion. Samara's voice, still calm, confirmed the arrival of more enemy-bearing platforms, this time to my left. The only place for me to go was up and back, but there was absolutely no way I'd make it there alive with so many flanking me. Hunching over to avoid being clipped by a stray shot as my team and the Collectors exchanged deadly streams of fire, I reached my free hand across and ripped from where it rode on my shield harness a flashbang grenade. I had no inkling if it would work as effectively on these creatures as it did on most others, but I was running out of options—I needed a distraction. I pulled the pin, leaned as far as I dared out of cover and hurled it into the midst of the Collectors on my right. The explosion created a white-hot burst that even from that distance had spots dancing in my eyes, but I blinked hard, leaned forward and braced my weight on my hands in preparation to burst forth and race up the haphazard staircase that had been created by the myriad platforms.
"Now, Shepard!"
I heeded Mordin's words and shot forwards. I knew I was going to take hits; my back was completely exposed and I prayed that my new armor's shield generators were up to the task. I leaped up the first step and vaulted over the second—with three more to go I was feeling pretty good about my chances. The faster I closed the distance between myself and my team, the better they'd be able to suppress anything that pursued.
"This hurts you."
I saw it out of the corner of my eye—a black and amber bolt of energy, similar to that a biotic would produce—hurtling in my direction. I veered, turning so sharply I had to catch myself with one hand on the ground. The mysterious projectile followed, perhaps locked on to the heat of my body, perhaps propelled by some technology the rest of the galaxy wasn't aware of yet. It hit me low on my left side with such force that I heard the telltale fizzle-snap of my shields dying, and I cried out as pain blossomed throughout my ribs, as I staggered uncontrollably to the side. The edge of the platform loomed all too near; I saw, as I struggled to regain my balance, Garrus vault over the low wall he'd been using for cover, assault rifle in hand as he prepared for a foolhardy rush in my direction.
There was no time. I couldn't straighten my body, doubled as it was by the hammering sensation that raced up and down my ribcage. I couldn't avoid the second bolt of energy—a product, I knew, of the Reaper-puppet—that honed in on me directly behind the first. The only way for me to go was up and I couldn't cover that distance in time. Still, I tried, lurching forward in an awkward limping run. The second projectile slammed into me with as much force as the first, and a red haze of agony descended over my vision, the world spiralling as I was driven over the edge of the platform.
A hand caught at my wrist just as the full realization of what had happened hit me; staring down into a void that may as well have been bottomless, listening to the frantic, frenzied voices over the comm I remained suspended there as the fingers holding me squeezed and flexed, attempting to maintain my weight. It was only when reality reasserted itself, that I could make out just what the voices in my ear were saying, that I tilted my head back to see just who it was that held me.
"Fall back." I said into the comm, my voice sounding foreign to me, flat and hollow as I stared up at the rippling, molten glow of the Reaper-controlled creature. For a moment we regarded each other, my eyes wide behind the clear surface of my helmet, its eyes multiple and filled with an eerie, malevolent light. It began to tug me upwards, counter-balancing against my pull.
The voices of Garrus, Mordin and Miranda had all been fiercely arguing against my directive. There was no chance of a rescue, not without loss of life. "Fall back to the shuttle," I said again, unable to tear my eyes from the Reaper-puppet. "All of you. Get back to the Normandy."
More hands—Collector hands—were reaching for me. A silence had fallen over the area—my team had stopped firing for fear of slaying my rescuer. Two of the creatures had joined their glowing comrade; one grasped me under my arm, the other catching at my other wrist. With a final, collective heave they pulled me over the side of the platform.
"Garrus." I said as calmly as I could as the Reaper-puppet, still crouching, placed its large, segmented hand upon my shoulder in order to keep my still. Flat on my back, I was surrounded by a loose circle of the Collectors and could see, from the very peripheral of my vision, more of them standing nearby, weapons drawn and pointed in the direction of my team. "Garrus, this is an order. Withdraw. Get back to the shuttle and return to the Normandy."
"Shepard—"
Everything I heard in his voice was echoed in the chaos of my mind, but I swallowed hard, still staring at my captors, and forced my words out past a jaw I had to unclench. "You're in charge now. You're Commander. Go."
There was no reply. "Go!" I shouted; my captors shifted at the noise, their own insect-like chitterings rising in response. And then their large, misshapen heads swivelled about in unison, and I knew then that Garrus was doing as I'd ordered. I felt no relief. I felt no hope. I felt nothing but a creeping, paralyzing fear as I realized I was as human as the bodies we'd found earlier, as I realized that this entire trap that had been laid—and there was no doubt now that it had been a trap—had been to lure me here and capture me.
The platforms that had assembled began to disperse, soaring back to wherever they'd come from. Combining with the noise they made came a deep and vibrating groan and I knew it for what it was—this ship was powering up. Even over all that commotion I could hear the distant echoes of gunfire and I closed my eyes, hoping Garrus and the rest would be able to make it back, hoping that the shuttle would be able to return to the Normandy before Collector's weapons came online.
I had no time for other, fervent silent prayers. The platform we all occupied was moving and as it did so, smoothly making its way, I was hauled roughly to my feet by two of the creatures. As we spiralled downwards I shifted my weight, testing their hold; immediately their grips tightened, and every single one of them gathered near looked my way as though anticipating my struggle. I bowed my head, breathed deep, and remained still for long moments, hoping they'd buy my air of defeat. Opening my eyes, I caught side of what looked like a docking bay growing steadily nearer. Whatever awaited me there, I didn't want to know.
I threw myself backwards, pulling my two handlers along with me. They kept me upright but I'd managed to knock them off balance; I surged in the other direction, breaking their hold and stumbling headlong into the crowd of the others. I had no weapon—my Locust had followed me over the side of the platform—so I made due with what I had. Hands balled into fists, I threw a punch directly into the eyes of the Collector that had caught me in the middle of my mad rush. The noise it made was a vibrating shriek that hurt my ears but I was moving away from it already, shoving through them all as they grabbed at me. I kicked at knee of one and it buckled, falling into another but already I was caught; hands caught my arms, caught my legs and I even felt fingers wrap about my neck and they bore me down, down until I was on my back again, held so securely I could hardly move.
"Shepard," came the very voice of enmity, "You cannot resist."
Inwardly, I planned to resist as much as I possibly could. The platform shuddered as though it had gently collided with something before falling still and I knew we'd arrived at our destination. I was lifted again to my feet and half-carried, half dragged forwards. I fought them every step of the way, kicking at their legs, pulling at their hold. I broke free several times only to be swarmed and subdued by their sheer numbers. They did not strike me and I found myself worried, ironically, by the fact that they would not cause me harm.
Thus continued our inexorable march.
My fate, when I finally saw it, threw me into a panicked frenzy. I twisted free of the two that held me and rushed at the others, plowing through them in a charge that would have made a krogan proud. Swiftly disentangling myself from those I'd knocked down, I deliberately stomped on the head of one and felt a savage satisfaction in the resulting squishing sound that mixed with its pained shriek. I swung about, looking for an escape only to stagger back several steps as the glowing Reaper-puppet rose up before me. It extended one hand, palm out, and pushed. The wave of energy it summoned broke over me in a debilitating wave and I knew then only a sensation of falling.
When awareness flooded back to me, I had been lifted by the arms and was being carried towards the dark, open maw of one of the stasis pods I had seen earlier. My head was bare; they had taken my helmet from me and I reached the sluggish conclusion that I could breathe the ship's atmosphere. My legs were dragging behind and I tried to get them beneath me but my body would not obey my commands; whatever the possessed Collector had done to me had been as potent as a heavy electrical shock. Upon reaching the pod they lifted me, turning me over so that I found myself staring up at a huge, domed ceiling that was littered with thousands of similar pods. I was chillingly certain that all of them contained fellow humans. I tried with silent and frantic fury to fight back, to free myself but it was as though my muscles and bones had been liquified. I could do nothing, say nothing, as they laid me carefully within the pod. The Reaper-puppet stepped near and with one long finger touched the interface that had sprung up the moment I'd touched the interior of the pod.
A pane of some clear material slid up and over me, effectively sealing me in. I was given no time to dwell on this new horror, however, for immediately the pod began to fill with some manner of liquid. It rose swiftly, swirling viscously about my legs and then my arms and then I could feel it at my neck, rising over the line of my jaw, filling my nose, oozing over my eyes as I squeezed them tightly shut.
And then I was enveloped.
.x.
