Ch 8

Wrex stared down at the corpse of the rival clansman at his feet, as if daring the soldier to stand up again. The body was still warm, the scorched armor around the crater in his chest still smoking from the incendiary blast Wrex had pumped into the young krogan… the krogan who had been stupid enough to challenge his rule. Wrex collapsed down his shotgun and returned it to its place on the back of his armor's beltline. Compared to the rest of the council races, krogans were always angry, but Wrex's blood-rage, when it was kindled, was infamous even among the krogan. It was what made him feared, and in the krogan world, being feared was the most essential trait of a leader. The warlord violently expelled the air from his lungs as he scowled at the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle. His blood still boiled at the last indignant words that the dead one had spit at him, the words that had prompted him to shoot the warrior down where he stood. They were words that he had heard before. He had heard them far too many times…

You are not a true Krogan…

You are a coward…

He put his fist through the thin metal lining of a crate that was stacked against the wall of the underground chamber. Individual packages of food stuffs and nutrient pastes spilled out onto the hard clay at his feet. He had always struggled to calm himself down after a fight, but it was a trait common to most krogan. He wanted to keep fighting… all of his dissenters, all of his rivals, all of the invisible enemies from his past… all of the dead who had dared to call him such a name as coward. He had put them all in early graves, and he would do it again. He longed to do it again. He was tired of having to prove himself to his clan. He was tired of his plans constantly being undermined by his own people.

Wrex often thought of the time he had spent on the Normandy, as a member of Commander Shepard's crew. It was a mission that had inspired him. It had made him second guess his role among his people, to look long and hard at his decisions; to look at his life not from a perspective of success and failure, but from a perspective of personal responsibility. He had abandoned his people out of frustration, but that did not change the fact that he was bonded to them. It was a bond of service, of requirement. Regardless of how difficult it was, he could not give up on them. He was a krogan, and he could not change that. He did not want to change it. His mission with Shepard had taught him that too… how to be proud again.

For as much as his time aboard the Normandy had given him, though, he found the memory equally frustrating. Equally infuriating. Shepard had provided an example of leadership, and his crew an example of loyalty… but as much as Wrex admired these examples, they were useless to him now. They were values that were not shared by the krogan he led. Where Shepard had been patient, Wrex had to be ruthless. Where Shepard had used understanding, Wrex had to use violence. It was not a matter of preference; it was a matter of necessity. This was a lesson he had learned quickly on his return to Tuchanka, and this was a lesson that had been repeated many, many times over.

As much as Wrex hated those who moved against him, he understood why they did. For a krogan warlord, he had always been an agent of change, and theirs was a race that did not change easily. The one quality that seemed to set him apart from the rest was that he looked at the big picture, and this was both his motivation and his curse, because for the krogan… the big picture wasn't a pretty one. Wrex suspected that this was one of the reasons that so many reacted aggressively to his ideas, a form of violent denial… like trying to change, to fix things, first required them step back and admit how horrible they had allowed it to get in the first place. And maybe that was an admission that many were unable, or unwilling to make. But the fact remained- change was necessary. The traditionalists may have been living by ancient krogan values, but they were values that required a way of life that was no longer acceptable, no longer sustainable. The genophage had made sure of that…

Wrex was still boiling in his own blood. His thoughts had only served to prolong his rage, and at this point he didn't even care to stop. These traditionalists were so devoted to this ideal of krogan values, of krogan essence, and they never stopped to think about what it has cost them. They had devastated their own planet making war amongst themselves, and when they had tired of killing each other, they had taken their bloodlust out to the stars. They had captured world after world, waging war against an entire galaxy… for what purpose? To expand their empire? Or were they fighting just to fight… because that's what krogans do. Because there is no such thing as krogan peace. And when the smoke had cleared they were left with a population that was headed straight for extinction. They were practically sprinting there. How low did they have to sink before they realized that something had to be done?

For a race that was prized for its survival instinct, Wrex didn't see it. It had been buried underneath a tradition of blood for the sake of blood. A tradition that reached deeper than bone. Deeper… even than family.

Another lesson Wrex had learned in his youth on Tuchanka… a lesson about family. A rival warlord… his own father... tried to have him killed- for the sake of power, of tradition. And in return Wrex had stabbed him… in both hearts. Wrex still remembered watching him die. It was the moment he had decided that the krogan were a hopeless race, the moment he had given up, wandered off into the galaxy to live as a mercenary… at least until he met Shepard. How can you fight against something that is so deeply engrained? Something so deep it would turn family against family, clan against clan? He wasn't just fighting traditionalists; he was fighting the tradition itself. And he had to admit that so far… it was winning.

All he had accomplished since he had returned to Tuchanka was to get sucked into the very conflict that disgusted him so much. He had shot, beaten, and stabbed his way to the top… because violence was the only authority that this people recognized. He found himself wishing that it could be different, and the thought made him stop pacing for a moment. He was the warlord of the most powerful clan on Tuchanka, and he was also probably the only warlord in the history of his people that didn't want to make war.

Maybe I'm not a true krogan…

The thought gave him pause. Perhaps he had been approaching this problem the wrong way from the beginning. He had been trying to change the way a krogan lives, the way a krogan thinks… but a "true krogan" could never change.

Wrex turned to address the throngs of soldiers that were still gathered there, watching him pace, waiting to see what he would do. He looked over their heads, and clenched his fists as he attempted to gather the anger churning inside him. He would use it now; use it to make a point to all his clansmen. He felt the heat burning from his eyes, and he lowered his brow, staring down the crowd like a predator eyeing its prey. As much as he had admired his human Commander, now was not the time to be like Shepard… now was the time to be like Wrex.

"Look at this krogan." He pointed to the body of the soldier he had just slain.

"Look at his blood that runs across the ground. This is the blood of a true krogan. Look at his face, the grotesque mask of pain he will wear forever. This is the face of a true krogan. Remember the last sound that left his lips, his last breath, his death rattle. This is the sound of a true krogan."

He glowered at them with murderous eyes, and his voice rumbled with the bass of a growl. He spoke with power, and the ones who listened were afraid of his rage.

"The true krogan is dead, and I have killed him. If there are any among you who feel that honor, that tradition, compels you to walk his path, then step forward now and I swear that you will join him."

He paused for the breath of a moment, daring any to make a move… but none did.

"I did not become your leader because it is what you wanted. I became your leader because I killed every krogan who thought he could stand above me! And now I will rewrite what it means to be krogan! I will erase our history, our tradition, and I will replace it with my own! I will tear apart our bodies, and put them back together the way that I see fit! I am not true krogan… I am new krogan! And if you wish to continue as a member of this clan… If you wish to continue as a member of this race… then you will become exactly like me!"

He watched as a stillness fell over the chamber. The words he had just spoken were the closest thing to heresy that a krogan could possibly say. They went against everything they had been raised to believe, everything their histories told them about their ancestors. But Wrex did not care. He was the strongest, he was the leader, and he would save his people… whether they wanted him to or not. They no longer had the luxury of time, and he could no longer afford to wait for the masses to change their minds themselves anymore.

Besides, he had seen Shepard when the Commander had come to Tuchanka with his new crewmate… the tank bred krogan. He had seen the human who could not die, looked into his face. He knew the man well… and he could see the determination in his eyes, hear the gravity in his voice. He knew that what Shepard had said about the Reapers was true. There was a war coming… a war for survival… maybe the greatest the galaxy has ever seen...

We have to be ready…

...

And it's my job to make us ready.