Four months earlier
The Citadel – Docking Bay Y64
RESUMING NORMAL TIMELINE
With a tremendous clatter and a cacophony of bangs, a selection of kitchen appliances fell loudly to the hard ground of my shuttle right as I let out a harsh scream of frustration, having been the one who shoved the appliances down to the floor in the first place. As the kitchenware had scraped along the counter towards the edge, seemingly in slow-motion, it felt almost laborious for me to overcome the force of friction by pushing a simple, easily heft-able load towards where the counter ceased to exist, letting gravity do the rest of the work for me. Viewed through a regular lens, it would have simply looked like I had lashed out in a rage, reacting impetuously in nanoseconds, brutally swiping my arms to send a cadre of pots and pans flying off the counter seemingly without cause.
Enamelware cracked and shattered upon full contact with the shuttle's hard floor. Motes of dust, frothing from the splintered coating, blew up into the air like a harsh puff of wind had caused them to flurry in a sudden gust. Million and millions and millions and millions of irreparable bits, all scattered and dispersed upon my kitchen floor, generated from my own doing.
Sharp shards of the glassy enamel surrounded my feet, threatening to impale me through my shoes. The light tinkling of tumbling fragments was as delicate as china. Just as easy to break as it would be for a crib.
Or a life.
"God… god damn it!" I bellowed again in the stale and confined kitchen, throwing open the cabinet doors and clumsily spilling forth the contents that remained inside, possessed by a gratuitous furor.
Individual plates and bowls tumbled out almost eagerly, ready to join their broken brethren that lined the ground all around my person. The dishes themselves held no sentimental value to me, but the deafening clash of more fragile items breaking, amplified by the enamel-on-enamel contact, was enough to give me pause and to yaw my jaw, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer noise. At the back of my tongue, once again I could discern the taste of blood. My constant screaming was aggravating my throat… yet despite this knowledge I continued to rashly act as if I had no injury at all.
All the pain, mental and physical, had dulled my nerves after living with it for so long. I had almost grown accustomed to the feeling, to the lingering presence of old wounds threatening to break open, wounds that refused to heal.
Or maybe… I was deliberately not allowing myself to heal as some sort of unconscious penance. Wouldn't be surprising, seeing as I could barely control my own raging emotions these days.
Even I could not justify to myself why I had reacted with that final, cruel gesture to my own wife not even an hour ago, even though I had been the victim of one of the worst assaults I had gone through in my life. I had been cowering in the room of my child, subject to her vicious and slashing words baselessly accusing me of a heinous crime, driven forth from a deep and rooted grief, while I was losing my sanity as each syllable crashed upon my defenses. I don't know why I had thought that I could endure Nya's rage. I could have just left the apartment. I should have just left the apartment. Instead, I had destroyed with my own two hands the last resting place my daughter had inhabited while she had still been alive, in an effort to silence the hurtful spite being spewed in my direction.
I might as well have killed her lingering memory. Add it to the list of regrets that I yearned to take back.
Nya had been left there on the ground, her sobs still ringing in my ears. I had broken down myself on the elevator ride out of the building, ashamed at the cruelty that I had lashed out with. It wasn't fair - I had been saving that malice for Eyzn, not Nya! But I had only one person within arm's reach to display my anger and frustration, something that Nya had unintentionally unlocked when she had made the damning decision to level such a bald-faced lie to me. Did she really think that I intentionally killed my own daughter? The audacity… the madness of it all! What in the name of all that was holy could have provoked her to even say such a thing, to even think it?! The stupidity of her statement, combined with the notion that I had possessed such malevolence to intentionally murder a baby - my baby - because she didn't carry any my genes… it had pushed me over the edge.
But I had only cemented her reasoning to hate me even more after today.
Fuck.
"Damn you, Nya," I uttered as I leaned over the counter, my arms trembling something fierce as my devastation of the room around me went temporarily ignored. "I still can't let you go. Why was it so easy for you? I loved that child. You know that… so why did you say such a thing like that?"
"Samuel?" an electronic voice pierced my bubble of solitude.
Immediately, without thinking, I picked up a glass from the counter next to me and hurled it in the direction of the speaker. There was a clear, almost visually imperceptible explosion as it hit the wall, mere inches away from Sagan, who stood in the doorway. The geth looked mildly in at the remains of the glass on the ground before his optics focused on me in confusion.
"Get the hell out, Sagan," I snarled, secretly embarrassed that the geth had to witness me in the middle of a breakdown.
"Negative, Samuel," was the synthetic's even response.
My face contorted in fury, I hefted another glass and threw it too. The container barely sailed by the top of Sagan's housing before it shattered into a million more pieces beyond in the hallway. Oh, wouldn't it be grand if Eyzn had been standing there instead of Sagan? I would have paid all the money in the galaxy just to watch a glass smash right in the middle of that quarian's stupid head.
"You… unbearable geth!" I growled as I grabbed a stray frying pan and marched over in his direction, holding the appliance at my side. "Why don't you just leave, huh? Leave me just like everyone else has! Why do you constantly follow me around everywhere? You don't need to be here!"
It was probably fortuitous that Sagan did not possess any facial expressions, otherwise I would have been fighting the urge to slug him in the face from his perceived indifference.
"You are in distress, Samuel," Sagan said. "We will disregard any directives that you issue for a short period due to your current emotional temperament. Our departure will not lead you to any solution in your favor, so we choose to remain."
"I'm not looking for a solution to anything, you idiot! I just want to be left alone!"
"There is an increased probability that leaving you unattended will result in impulsive decisions being performed in a vacuum of your own making. It would defy protocol to note this pattern of behavior and not to devise some preventative safeguard to discourage it."
A crazed smile slowly spread across my face. "Impulsive decisions, eh?" I mocked. "That's a good one, Sagan. Because for all the effort and planning that I've done to support my family, it's only backfired upon me spectacularly and it's continuing to snowball. With my kid dead, my wife on the verge of divorcing me, and a step-brother of sorts looking to rip my heart out, you tell me what the fuck I can possibly do that doesn't seem impulsive?!"
I swung the frying pan as I bellowed forth my impotent rage, smashing the appliance upon the wall and breaking the cast-iron pan off at the handle. The material of the wall cracked from the force of my blow though and my arms were left vibrating as the impact traveled up them to resonate within my body.
The pan heavily bounced on the ground and rolled between the two of us only to stop with a sad rattle, leaving me holding a chromed handle, looking all pathetic while Sagan continued to gaze at me. I could almost imagine the geth's disappointment at me right now.
"Oh man," I whispered to myself as I suddenly came to my senses, lamely staring at the handle that I still held, at the spot where it had sheared off.
Indeed, Sam. You only prove everyone else correct.
Before I could muster out a half-hearted explanation, there was a soft ringing out into the hallway, not emanating near the two of us - Sagan and I - which completely pulled me back to reality. Someone was requesting access to the shuttle via intercom alert. Blinking, I realized that I had walked right up to the yellow-armored geth after my last outburst, to less than a foot away from Sagan's unwavering stare. Realizing how much of a fool I must look like, I withdrew away from Sagan, feeling even more ashamed than from before. The handle of the frying pan finally dropped from my fingers and clanged around obnoxiously as I nearly staggered over to the wall, an invisible hand beginning to constrict my lungs.
An apology nearly escaped my lips, but for some reason it died en route before it could be voiced. Did I think that the geth would not accept my contriteness for the outburst? Maybe I was afraid that all my apologies had lost their sincerity over the months. Words hold a lot of power, but in the end it's our actions that resonate the most long after we're gone.
At the very least, I hoped that Sagan could understand and interpret the long and remorseful look that I gave him that I, in some small way, knew that the geth did not deserve to be subject to my vitriol. All this hatred that bled from the invisible wound in my body… it was something I hemorrhaged and had no control over. It was spreading to everyone who was around me and I was a lone piece of driftwood subject to the raging current of a river, powerless to halt its advance.
I had to stem this agony before it poisoned everyone I cared about.
Sheepish, I edged around the geth to head to the main airlock to welcome our visitor. I used the exterior camera to discern exactly who it was that had come calling at this time. One never knows - perhaps Eyzn had decided to utilize the most direct route of trying to get to me, a move that would admittedly be unanticipated on my end.
Imagine my surprise and relief to find Chandler patiently waiting outside instead.
"I was hoping I'd catch you here," he panted after I had opened the door, allowing him inside. He flashed a dazzling smile which quickly cooled as he beheld the state of my ship's interior. "The heck happened here? Did you set off a grenade or something?"
"I was… redecorating," I lied.
The dumbest person who ever lived would have been hard-pressed to believe the veracity of that statement because it really did look like I had invited a demolition derby onto my ship. Obviously, Chandler did not believe me yet he smirked and shrugged in response.
"How'd you even know I was here?" I asked as I locked the door behind my friend, taking note that my blood pressure was beginning to die down a bit as the throb in my temples began to noticeably subside.
"Thank Sagan for that," Chandler said as he headed into the kitchen, traversing his way around the broken bits that I had created during my little tantrum. "He shot me a message a few minutes ago - seemed worried about you, Sam. Thought you would try something a little… rash."
I glared at Sagan, but not in anger. Instead, it was with a mix of apprehension and a little gratefulness. How many tricks did this geth have up his sleeve? Now I knew Sagan was more perceptive than he let on.
"He did, huh?" I made sure to emphasize the unassuming nature of the question while still staring straight at the geth. A wasted effort - Sagan was not going to give me any tells, at least nothing that I could visually perceive.
"Sure did. Surprised me as well, to be honest. I have to admit that I didn't think that a geth could possibly be… so… insightful."
Chandler had trailed off because he was finally able to discern the extent of the devastation that I had wreaked within the kitchen - bull in the china shop. He stared blankly at the smashed plates, the shattered glass, and he shook his head mournfully. No question that he was disappointed that I could be so careless.
"Aw… dammit, Sam," I heard him whisper to himself before he raised his voice again. "Do you… want to tell me what really happened here?"
He was giving me a chance to save face, but I gave a limp shrug. "I could attribute all this to a drunken binge, but I'm unfortunately stone-cold sober right at the moment. I… had a rough time an hour ago."
"You talked with Nya, didn't you?" Chandler gave a sympathetic smile.
I hesitated a bit before I nodded ever so slightly.
"Was it really that bad?"
"Worse than you could imagine," I admitted.
There was a different kind of pain that Chandler radiated - a kind of helplessness that could only be created by someone on the wrong side of an impenetrable barrier, knowing that they were useless and could therefore not provide any help.
"How about I make you a drink then?" Chandler offered, reverting to a cheer look after a temporary flash of melancholy. "Nothing too strong, of course."
"Trying to butter me up to get me to talk?" I mustered a knowing look, but not entirely opposed to the offer.
"If you'd rather not talk about it, all you have to do is say so."
Yet I did not think that I would be able to keep these words bottled up for very long. I had so many things that I wanted to say, that I wished to share. The combined events of the past few days all swirled around in a messy torrent within my head, keeping me from being able to divine understanding and a clear state of mind.
Meanwhile, Chandler, knowing where I kept my liquor, had already busied himself in the preparation of our drinks. He brandished a bottle of Elijah Craig and said to me, "Do you mind if I use this?"
I did not and responded with a gruff gesture.
A few minutes later, and after Chandler came over to the booth that I was sitting at, after I had dusted the cushy surface clear of broken glass first. The bourbon sour tasted more like lemon than bourbon upon the first sip, which was probably a good thing. Since Chandler had watered down the drinks down to a point where I would not get the inclination to do something stupid under the influence of alcohol by consuming it, any boorish behavior on my end could be attributed to my sorry disposition instead of an intoxicated state. Smart move, that.
I had probably drained about half my drink, barely even discerning the bite of liquor (even though I could feel it acidly biting my throat) before I smacked my lips, quenched enough to carry on a conversation.
"I've made things worse, you know," I began, staring off mournfully into space.
Chandler took a careful sip of his own drink, keeping his expression neutral. "Just by talking to Nya? Come on, it couldn't have been all that bad. Unless… don't tell me you guys are getting a divorce?"
In spite of myself, I gave a mirthless chuckle. "If Nya were human, she probably would have divorced me by now, to be honest. But no… I don't even think that quarians even have an inclination to divorce a spouse, even though there is a precedent for such a thing in their culture. It's very rare, though, and it only happens in extraordinary circumstances. Nah, it's just… I'm just so frustrated with her. Frustrated with myself, too. I've completely fucked things up between us because of my own stupid decisions and I should have known that I couldn't fix things between us right away."
Chandler briefly looked down at his drink before he raised his head back up to glance at me, uncertainty reflected in his eyes.
"Is that what you really think, Sam? Because to Rie and I, it looks like you guys are being way too hard on yourselves."
"Can you blame me?"
My friend's expression turned blank before he finally looked away in shame. "I haven't gone what you have, so… I don't think I'll ever fully understand your plight, even though the solution seems obvious."
"Well, if you have a solution, Chandler, by all means, share it. No sarcasm here, if you've got a suggestion beyond what I've tried to do and failed at, I'd honestly like to hear it. If there is some way that I can get through to my childless and clinically depressed wife, I'm all ears."
Chandler visibly paled but my own look remained stoic, completely serious with my intent. Perhaps he was reconsidering his tip in my direction as he gave further thought to the steep challenges that blocked his path.
He deflated in a sigh, obviously trying to find a route that would lead to the least amount of conflict between Nya and I. Unfortunately for us both, after giving it some thought, he had apparently failed. His optimism turned out to be premature.
"Maybe… what I have to say would probably be inappropriate, considering my ignorance."
It was rare for someone, even with my experience, to admit that what they had to say would not be good enough. If anything, I respected Chandler even more for his cognizance. Shame that a solution still had yet to be plucked from the air, though.
Chandler took a hearty swig of his drink. "So why do you think that you made things worse by talking to Nya? You still haven't told me."
That was because I had actually forgotten the question, even in such a short time span.
"When I had gone over to our apartment, I tried my best to be polite to her. At first. I really tried, but from the moment she opened the door, she was… cold to me. Like I was a stranger in our own apartment. I told her about Eyzn, what he planned to do to us, but she didn't appear fazed. It was like what I had to say, despite the implications, automatically meant nothing to her as long as it came from my own mouth. I had broken her trust too badly for her to take me seriously."
"Maybe if she had some time to see the proof of-,"
"I then smashed our crib into the wall," I finished around a tight throat.
"Oh fuck," Chandler blurted out, his eyes widening in surprise.
"That's pretty much what Nya said to me after I did that," I pointed out.
The man sitting across from me tiredly rubbed at his eyes and pushed his glass to the side of the table so that he could rest his elbows in the spot the drink had previously occupied. I think that I could pinpoint this moment as the point in time where Chandler's esteem of me dwindled significantly.
"What the hell possessed you to do that?" Chandler groaned.
That was a question that I had been asking myself repeatedly ever since I had done the stupid deed. It would be the easiest thing to simply deflect the blame partially by indicating that it had been Nya's goading that had sent me over the edge, which in some cases was the truth. Doing that, though, would not fully redeem me in Chandler's eyes, but it was a legitimate way to justify the mistake that I had made.
But how would Nya justify her goading, then? After all, I was the one who had brought about her current circumstance, so in a way Nya could trace the source of all her misery back to me. We could run about this in an endless cycle of blame and distortion, our tempers only being more and more fueled from our inability to definitively state where the end lay.
Violence begets violence. If our tempers continued to flare at such a rate, there will be nothing in this galaxy capable of cooling them.
I had apparently been silent for an awkward moment, so Chandler had to scoot over to place a hand gently upon my shoulder.
"You ever think that you might be playing into Eyzn's hands?" he asked. "This is exactly the kind of thing he's looking to get out from his efforts. This wedge between you and Nya… Eyzn only wants to drive it in further."
"You think I don't know that?" I grimaced as I suddenly rose from the booth and savagely shoved my hands into my pockets. "The bastard continues to remain one step ahead of me as I still cannot get a grip on my personal life. Now I have to deal with this shit." I kicked at a large shard of a plate and watched it clatter into a corner. "It's all getting out of hand, Chandler. I'm one step away from losing it completely. I can't keep going on like this, knowing that I'll never get the chance to talk to Nya directly anymore. I gave up that right the moment I destroyed that damn crib."
"What if there's another way?" Chandler suddenly pointed out.
I stopped trudging in the middle of the kitchen. "What do you mean?"
"I can probably help her trust you a little more, if you think my idea has legs."
Skeptical as I was, I allowed myself to hope. "Go on."
"This is probably just wishful thinking but… what if I were to mediate a conversation between you two? You know, set things up between the three of us. I can do all the talking on your behalf on neutral ground so that everyone will be on their best behavior. Rie's busy at the moment, so I won't bother her with this. Sagan can come, of course. If you want, I don't even have to be physically present - you can simply set me up in a holo-conference to act as a third-party."
"We will be amenable to offer assistance as well," I heard the geth pipe in from around the corner.
I was nothing if not dubious, but I scratched at my chin, deeply in thought.
"It won't be easy to convince her to go anywhere that I will be," I said. "You're going to have to move heaven and earth to get Nya to agree to this."
"You never know unless you try, right?" Chandler indicated. "I mean, if you think this is a bad idea-,"
"No," I cut him off. "It certainly has merit. I… as painful as talking to her might be, I am certainly willing to try this out. Getting Nya to come along is going to be the hard part. I wouldn't be surprised if she refuses you straight out because I really have acted like a dick to her."
"I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be, Sam."
"Well then, if you think that you have a shot, then go for it. Talk to her for me. Be sure to indicate that I am so sorry for what I just did to her. I want her to know that, no matter what she may think of me, she never has deserved my anger."
Chandler, in all his sensitivity, did not appear to judge but gave a knowing nod. "I'll be sure to relay that to her. Do you know of a place that you'd want to hold such a meeting? Probably not a good idea to have it on the Citadel, would be my guess."
"Yeah, I do," I said as I walked over to the closet, sweeping aside broken fragments of enamel with my feet, making a path. "Tell her that, if she's willing to hear my apology in person, that I want to meet her in two days' time at our home. Our real home. She'll understand the significance of that."
"If you say so," Chandler acquiesced as he watched me throw on a jacket. "You going somewhere, Sam?"
I shot my arms through the heavy and dark material of the jacket, eagerly anticipating the shield of warmth to envelop me in its cozy embrace.
"Yeah, I am," I said, a newfound steel locking itself to my spine. "There's just one last stop I've got to make before I head out. Come on, Sagan. We're leaving."
The geth did not protest as I immediately left the ship and bounded off in a hurry so that he could match my gait. In a flash, a dumbfounded Chandler was left all alone in the remains of the shattered kitchen, startled at how quiet the ship managed to get in the absence of anyone else. He privately mused that he might have underestimated the severity of the challenge that lay before him, but he still remained unflappable, still holding out to a tiny shred of confidence that he could help lead me and my wife to some semblance of inner peace.
The poor deluded bastard, that Chandler.
Sagan
En route
The contours of the skycar had not been designed to accommodate geth dimensions but since Sagan lacked the capacity to feel discomfort, that aspect went unnoticed. The synthetic looked a little awkward, though, crammed into a seat that barely was able to fit the geth's lanky frame, yet the fact that Sagan had his hands folded over his lap in an imitation of what the human next to him was doing spoke volumes about his capacity to learn.
Like the human, Sagan stared straight ahead through the curved canopy of the skycar. Lights of all shapes and colors trickled by in a dribble of luminescence, but Sagan did not have an eye to study such beauty. Material aspects were lost on the geth, as were the pleasing lineaments of symmetry that imparted themselves onto random everyday objects.
In a sense, the closest thing that could cause Sagan to feel anything close to wonder was the presence of patterns hidden within the galaxy. Fibonacci. Pi. Fractals. Infinite sequences of numbers that defined the atomic construction of matter were fascinating to the synthetic. Math was the backbone to existence, to life both organic and inorganic. Tiny pieces of the puzzle were hidden everywhere, whether it was the presence of a perfect circle, the formation of a star cluster, or even the bottomless gravitational well of a black hole did Sagan realize that he alone could not comprehend the grand mathematical formula that the universe so constantly hinted at.
Sagan never got frustrated. He never understood the point of getting frustrated, never mind the process to achieve such a state, but the geth constantly wondered why life was so purposeless. Organics never seemed to possess a clear indication for their course of action throughout their lifespans. Chemical reactions constantly mixing in a turgid brew in a nervous system created their capacity to make decisions, to carry out the whim of a thought. All driven as responses to stimuli rather than the anticipation of interaction.
It was different for Sagan. He had been created, not born. He was a being of silicon, copper, oxides, carbon alloys, and electricity. Each individual component within him had been designed for a specific purpose, crafted with precise care and thought. For all intents and purposes, the geth form was superior to that of any organic species. No one had a say in shaping an organic's digestive tract, for instance. Sagan even noted that, despite life's tendency to evolve, there still existed clear disadvantages and errors in many species that seemed to defy explanation, such as the weak immune systems of his Creators (a severely restrictive attribute), the originally high birth rate of the long-lived krogan (a growth rate that would have resulted in a shortage of natural resources had it not been curbed centuries ago), and the existence of an appendix in humans (which was, all things considered, an organ that had no use whatsoever).
Sagan understood the existence of these biological errors. What he did not understand was the rationale for why these errors had been allowed to exist in the first place.
As a synthetic, derived solutions mandated that corrections be made instantaneously to facilitate better progress towards the achievement of the objective. Sagan could interpret an action that he would need to make and act accordingly with respect to his current duties. Organics hesitated when confronted with change, with uncertainty. Again, Sagan could pinpoint the construction of the nervous system as being the primary culprit for this trait. It was an organ that Sagan could not hope to fully understand - but what he did know was that many of the problems Samuel was facing all stemmed from his head.
It was either a rock or a hard place for Sagan. The geth was observant enough to note that many of the symptoms that he had heard Samuel describe about Creator McLeod were, in fact, similar symptoms that Samuel himself was exhibiting. Illogical decision-making. Violent mood-swings. A breakdown of higher thinking. All clear signs of this disorder that had been previously described to him as "depression."
Ordinarily, Sagan would have mentioned this sort of mental lapse to Samuel a long time ago, but the current circumstances had persuaded the geth from doing just that. Logic was being followed less and less by the human as time went on - and such a dramatic declaration of the human's own mental dichotomy had a high probability of inciting a reaction of rage from Samuel, which was not the sort of feedback that Sagan was looking to achieve. The geth had already made the decision to remain mum on Samuel's behavior, but he was certainly able to pinpoint the pros and cons of both decisions. As terrible as it might seem, Sagan felt that it was better to risk Samuel's mental health gradually deteriorating over a period of time rather than potentially destroying it all in one fell swoop by bringing these destructive tendencies to the human's attention.
Maybe… the geth considered, he now understood how frustration was derived.
The invisible threads that linked the human to his mate, Creator McLeod, were being shorn apart with each passing hour. Each situation they had spent in close proximity since their shattering point with the death of their daughter had resulted in nothing but fractious attitudes and darkened moods. Sagan had spent the better part of an hour about every day since their separation, pondering the steps it would take to bring the two back together in a more harmonious relationship.
The geth came up with nothing but NULL values each time.
There was simply not enough data, not enough stimuli, for Sagan to formulate a solution, not even an estimate. Every single time, Sagan was hampered by his inability to understand the mental anguish losing a child can cause. If comprehending emotions was enough to overwhelm Sagan's capacity for perception, then the reproductive urges of organics were beyond him. The construction of familial hierarchies could be visualized clearly to him, but Sagan knew that its view on raising a family was an altogether clinical and unemotional perspective. He was incapable of providing comfort and understanding on that front.
As the skycar floated on through the frigid vacuum of space, Sagan continued to silently ponder, realizing that his shortcomings on organic comprehension were proving to be a hindrance to his learning progress. The geth knew that if a resolution could not be found in a timely manner to solve the crisis that Samuel faced with his mate, then what should have been a lifelong relationship as strong as hull metal, will prove to wind up in tatters, as fragile as paper.
Rie
Huerta Memorial Hospital
The turian bristled as she entered the nearly pitch-black interior of one of the hospital's many visualization rooms, the door sliding sinisterly shut behind her, nearly enveloping her in darkness. The cold, sterile scent of the medial institution was choked out as soon as she entered the gloomy expanse, sending relief to her sensitive nostrils. In its place, Rie could detect the vaguest acrid hint of ozone, causing her mandibles to briefly bristle in the new environment, as if she had passed through a slight barrier of static electricity.
There was a stand next to the door that contained a rack of visors with a thin and wide piece of glass serving as the lens, unremarkable at first glance. Rie took one of these visors and slipped it over her eyes and streams of aqua light were strewn across the glass as the visor detected that it was now attached to a head, formulating in tiny little icons and symbols across the transparent face, cluttering the turian's vision with tiny fragments and morsels of amplified context.
There was a glassy black circle positioned in the center of the room, obsidian-like. The moment that Rie stepped into it, two round outlines, one red and one blue, both positioned within the black circle, glowed malevolently. Holographic crystals warmed and a cylindrical grid rose from the circumference of the black surface, made entirely out of shaped light. In front of Rie's eyes, through the looking glass her visor provided, a simple menu popped out of thin air, shimmering a golden wheat color, a couple simple sentences imprinted upon its face.
Welcome to Huerta! Press anywhere to get started.
"Nothing ventured," Rie managed through bated breath as she reached out a slender finger to tap at the intangible slate, causing a soft beep to form and a query bar to come into view.
Rie lifted her arms tentatively, trying to get used to working in this virtual landscape. This technology had only been donated to Huerta a few years ago so in terms of functionality it was very limited and Rie had not accumulated enough time with it yet to become fully accustomed to how it worked.
The Woz Augmented Reality Channel utilized technology that was actually more than a century old, fabricated back on Earth and named after a beloved computer science inventor. It had been refined over the years by various other companies when the patent could be licensed out. Too expensive for home use, the WARC had found a home in being adapted for specialized services, mainly for engineering firms and laboratories. Being able to manipulate a virtual environment with someone's own hands instead of having to manipulate a cursor on a comparatively primitive screen opened up a realm of possibilities that had been previously unattainable, a method of machination that still had merit to this day.
The WARC that Rie was using was supposed to assist with providing doctors with detailed surgical scans that could be shared in real-time in addition to providing a new peripheral for various other duties such as driving nanobots through a 3D representation of a vein or taking control over an entire suite of equipment that could perform a wide swath of complex operations in hours that would normally take a six person team half a day to accomplish. However, Rie was using the WARC right now because it was still being tested to accommodate itself within Huerta's databases, meaning that in addition to the privacy that this room afforded, all her browsing activity was not being monitored, nor would it be stored as the WARC would receive a clean install once its systems had been completely integrated. Rie was not normally a paranoid person, but she felt that she should be rather prudent with the information that she was about to access. There would be some people that would object to where she was prying.
"Access prior medical history," Rie announced to the darkness as she folded her arms across her chest, the tight white jumpsuit of her medical uniform angrily pulling at her carapace while the grid of light slowly rotated around her.
"Specify filter, please," the WARC intoned in a synthetic female voice.
"Surname: McLeod."
There was barely a discernible pause as the machine buzzed through the files. The WARC's next response was so quick it was as if Rie was carrying on an actual conversation with it.
"Three files located. Which one would you like to access?"
"Intone file names," Rie ordered.
"Samuel. Nyareth. Unknown. Three files corresponding to surname McLeod."
"Open file 'Unknown.'"
Wordlessly, a document, surrounded by a bright blue border, appeared in mid-air through Rie's goggles. She reached out and pinched at emptiness, but what she saw, thanks to her visor, was that she was grasping the corner of the document and visibly dragging it toward her. She brought it to within a distance that she was able to easily read, her yellow eyes no longer having to squint to make out the electronic text.
The complete medical history of Sam's daughter, all at her fingertips. Rie tried to control her anticipation and fear, knowing that if Sam found out that she had been looking at this that he would hit the roof.
But the more she lingered upon this first document, the further Rie's heart sank. Since Sam's daughter had barely lived a week, there was not much for her to look over. What she had clutched in her hands barely amounted to a glorified birth certificate, which denoted the date and time that she had been born, the names of the parents, and everything else that was altogether useless to Rie. The first name section was left blank, but that was due to the indecision of the parents at the time their child had been born.
Rie gave a grunt of frustration. There was nothing here that she could learn, no route towards figuring out exactly what went wrong with Sam's daughter. Unless...
Rie looked down and spotted an icon at the bottom right corner of the document - the symbol that indicated that there were more pages of the document to peruse. Aha! Rie knew that she had not been seeing everything. It had taken her a bit to figure out how this operating system worked, is all.
With renewed vigor, she tapped at the icon.
The WARC angrily beeped back at her.
The page refused to open.
"What in the…" Rie muttered as she leaned in to peer at the document. She tried tapping at the icon over and over again in a vain attempt to gain access, but she would be denied every time.
Someone had placed a lock over the document's contents. Rie was shut out from accessing anything beyond the first page.
But she was not about to give up so easily.
"Activate root access," she ordered. "Token authentication provided. Open document on 'Unknown,' surname 'McLeod.'"
The WARC's security protocols had not been finalized yet, either. Since Rie was one of the trusted few individuals who could access the WARC in the first place, she had the ability to request root access and make any modifications that she saw fit, bypassing most security locks that were in place.
With a more agreeable ding, the document unfolded in front of her to reveal nine complete pages of text, all pertaining to Sam's daughter. Rie's eagerness briefly blossomed before it withered within her after she had taken a first pass to scan all the pages that had been provided.
The content of all the pages had been blurred out.
Incredulous, Rie tapped on one of the blurred sections as though if she could find additional context-sensitive menus that were hidden in the UI. No such luck, the blurred lines remained as they were.
"Reveal content," Rie whispered.
"Access denied," the WARC warbled back.
"Link token authentication," Rie tried again. "Grant level 1 file access."
"Access denied. You are not one of the users permitted to view this file."
That was odd. Usually Rie had access to most patient files. She had to have this sort of access if she was expected to do her job, at the very least.
"List allowed users," Rie stated. Maybe if she knew someone in the building that had access, she could perhaps cajole them into giving her a temporary account?
"This file may only be viewed by the parents or primary guardians of 'McLeod, Unknown' or from the corresponding user that had created this file."
"So who is the user that created this file?"
"Redacted," the WARC said, and that was all.
"Dammit," Rie growled. Dead end. All this way for nothing.
Now there were even more things that did not make a lick of sense to Rie. Who besides Nya and Sam had locked the document? Which doctor out of all the ones employed at Huerta would have been the one to keep such a thing a secret? And for that matter, why would such a document need to be kept secret at all?
But right as she was about to close the document, one of the few un-blurred titles on the top of the second page caught her eye. For some reason, they now seared into her eyes, vividly clear compared to the other myopic lines.
It read: Cause of death determined by autopsy to be organ failure.
The details were locked, but that sentence was enough to stop Rie cold. She halted in place, fingers grazing the electronic tablets that were suspended before her.
Organ failure.
Autopsy.
There had been an autopsy, Rie realized. But… Sam and Nya had indicated that they did not perform an autopsy, because the both of them figured that it would be too upsetting to go through with such a procedure. But if this document was correct, and an autopsy had been performed, who was the one that ordered it? The details of how Sam's daughter died were all in this file, but maddeningly, Rie could not open it. Why all this cloak and dagger shit?
Why was there so much secrecy surrounding the death of an infant?
Sam had to see this, Rie decided as she furiously closed all open tabs with a savage wave of her arm. Damn the consequences when he realized that she had been snooping around his private life. If he had the ability to access this file, then he deserved to know the truth if he really did kill his own child on accident or not.
If this meant the end of this destructive feud, then Rie felt it was her obligation to do whatever was in her power to fix it.
She just hoped that Sam was still on the Citadel.
Sam
The Citadel - 3rd Arm Wards
I was still on the Citadel, but not for very long. I had plans to leave within the hour, but I needed to visit one last person before I left.
For almost half an hour, I had been positioned suspiciously just around the corner that looked out to the walkway that lined the populated shopping avenue just a story below. For every time that I had heard footsteps emanate from the direction I was scoping, I would take quick glances just to confirm that the person I was looking for was arriving at their place. I knew they weren't at home right now but that they would be back very soon, knowing that they tended not to wander very far when they left their place.
And eventually, my patience was rewarded.
I managed to spot the familiar figure when I had taken my periodic peek, beholding their form waving their omni-tool in front of the door so that they could be allowed in. Even at this distance, I could still hear the telltale click and whirr of the locking mechanisms disengaging as the door slid aside.
That was when I moved, Sagan right at my heels.
The soles of my shoes thankfully made little noise as I broke out into a fast walk. I did not have much ground to cover so I was able to make it to the door way before it had begun to close. Sagan, adopting my silent style of walking, also made it in with me, being ninja quiet to help me keep the element of surprise for as long as possible. Still unseen by the individual as I entered his threshold, I silently reached out and grabbed the back of their neck while I jammed a fist into the small of their spine, mimicking that a weapon was in my grip. I heard the man give a startled cry before I suddenly pushed him in a rapid fashion forward across the cramped space of the apartment and brought him face-down on the nearby couch, pinning him to the comfy surface, his head pressed sideways at an uncomfortable angle.
I had a firm grip on the person's enviro-suit, my fingers well away from any of the metal adorning them so that they would not be agonizingly pinched. The man's eyes were terrified behind his visor and they looked to me in horror as he tried to glean his predicament, too caught off guard to even muster a decent struggle.
"What is…" the man began to yell out, hopelessly confused as he pathetically thrashed in my grip. "What are you doing?!"
"You didn't think that you'd be rid of me so soon, did you, Iroa?" I grimaced as I held the elder quarian down. I don't think I had caused any damage at all to the man during my passive break-in, but it was obvious that he was quite startled at my sudden appearance.
Iroa began to panic as he began to realize the extent of how he was restrained. "This… you can't be here, Sam. You know what happened last time. My parole… the tracker…"
"Ah yes," I nodded sagely. "You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you? Well, one of the benefits of having a geth on your team is that they have the ability to suppress any passive alerts that our respective networks might emit. Safe to say, no one's going to be barging in upon us anytime soon, so it's just us guys."
"At least let me go, then!"
"Not yet!" I seethed, giving the man a shove further onto the couch. "Not until you set Eyzn straight for me!"
Iroa continued to sputter some more but I at least had the courtesy to ease up on him some that he would be able to sit up on his own couch instead of being placed in a humiliating position like the one I had started him out with. I still stood at an uncomfortable proximity to him, body tensed like I could pounce on him at any moment.
The quarian, my step-father, raised his hands defensively, his eyes pleading to understand this newfound aggression from me.
"I…" he said lamely, "I don't know how you could ask that from me. I told you before, right? I told you that I have no power over what Eyzn says and does."
In a fury, I shot my fist out and it plunged straight through the weak material of the wall inches away from Iroa's head. The man flinched away with a yelp as there was a crunch of the flimsy surface breaking. Without changing expression, I withdrew my hand, ignoring the tiny spatters of blood that were starting to bead on my skin, the rest of my limb rather undamaged from the blow. I stretched my fingers out menacingly, deriving some pleasure in witnessing Iroa's horrified expression through his eyes.
"You did say that before," I conceded with a grunt. "But you have lied to me in the past. Your reputation precedes you."
Iroa continued to make pleading gestures with his hands. "I swear to you! I have not so much as seen Eyzn since you last talked to me! Before that, even! Why do you find it so hard to believe?"
"Why do I find that hard to believe? Who else besides your daughter and me does he know intimately on board this station? Who has spent the most time with him out of the two of us? Despite your disagreement, why wouldn't Eyzn come to you? I don't like coincidences, Iroa. I don't like knowing that you two have been the closest to each other in months. The both of you cooked up a way to hurt me in the past and I don't think that Eyzn would be stupid enough to let his animosity of you get in the way of his revenge. You can be a valuable asset to him, knowing what you know. So… why has he waited to share his plans with you?"
"I have no idea," Iroa's head gave a minute shake. "You'd have to ask him yourself."
Iroa could not know just how close that stupid comment of his made him get to getting strangled by me. Inflamed, I had to do a ton of mental restraint upon myself to keep from setting at the quarian's throat. I was not able to hide the fact that my face was turning a magnificent shade of purple, though, as Iroa could at least see that I found his suggestions were making everything worse for him.
"You…" I shut my eyes as my raised hand slowly clenched into a fist, "...are not… helping. Between you and that step-son of yours, I am being driven completely mad. Iroa, I am literally two seconds away from laying you out right in this room."
Iroa bristled at my words but he was able to sit himself up a bit more, sensing hesitation within me despite my violent demeanor.
"All I can promise you, Sam, is that I have not done anything that could otherwise be used against you. I don't know what you're expecting out of me right now. I have no control over the man. I don't know how to even contact him - C-Sec wiped out all my omni-tool addresses when I was placed under house arrest. If you think I'm lying, I'll willingly show you. You can even get that stupid geth of yours to hack into my tool if you still think that I'm not telling you the truth!"
The quarian was getting more and more indignant as he was allowed to talk, and I was starting to feel that he really was telling the truth. I took a quick glance back at Sagan for verification, but almost instantly realized that I would just be wasting time asking the geth to run a scan. All these theories that I had previously entertained were being blown away like they were made of dust, showing that my futile hope was hastily and ignorantly constructed. Whatever link I had thought existed between Iroa and Eyzn had truly been sheared away long ago, way before I had even entered this room.
All this time… and I still had nothing to show for it.
Disappointed at my failure, I sullenly stood and walked away from the couch, allowing Iroa some room to stretch his limbs and to not feel any more fear from my close proximity.
"You can't think of any solutions, huh?" I asked out loud. "You really don't know how I can find him, do you?"
Iroa narrowed his eyes at me as he rubbed at his wrists, ironing out the kinks that I had previously inflicted on him.
"If we're being honest with each other, I don't," Iroa said. "But even if I did, do you think that I would give you information that would help you kill Eyzn? That is what you said that you wanted to do to him, yes? It may be different for you, Sam, but I don't know if I could condemn family like that. No matter what he's threatened to do to you."
I gave a scowl as I folded my arms over my chest. "That's a pathetic excuse, and a weakness in your race if that's true. What is really preventing you from turning against your family, knowing that they're trying to do others harm? If Eyzn was a serial rapist or a terrorist threatening to drop an asteroid on a planet, would you really defend him then? If you did know something about Eyzn, why would you not give him up while, in contrast, your daughter pushed me away for something that I did on accident?"
There was an obvious silence.
Iroa noticeably faltered, his eyes desperately scanning the room like he was trying to search for a pre-planned script with an automatic and vague response to my questions, but the quarian dipped his head shamefully. Capitulation. I had him there.
"In fact," I continued, "it might actually be in your best interest if you were to simply let Eyzn have his way with me, right? With me out of the picture, that would be a pretty big thorn removed from your life, wouldn't it?"
I crept over to the man and bent my knees so that my face was about a foot away from the man's rose-colored visor.
"You…" I softly breathed, "...why don't you just admit that you hate me?"
The man made a gulping noise, his eyes fogged with confusion. Iroa's hands shook and he muttered something unintelligible to my sneering face.
"You want me to suffer, don't you?" I persisted in my pressing.
Still Iroa remained silent, but his refusal (or inability) to speak was doing all the talking for me. Yet, I did not want to give Iroa the impression that he was the one in control of our discussion.
"Speak, damn you!" I suddenly roared, my voice shaking the tiny apartment.
Iroa jumped at the same time a ribbon of azure light from the window, crept in from a wafting advertisement, slid across the man's form, briefly wrapping him in the cool color. A low bass thrum sounded from the crowd outside while my outline became enveloped in a halo of light, a result of the outside illumination throwing itself against my back.
I waited, with clenched teeth, for the quarian to make a sound.
For the longest time, Iroa refused to utter a syllable, not knowing if he would get a glimpse of hell if he were to say the wrong thing.
But that tiny speck of courage that exists in all of us chose this time to shine within Iroa, and the man took in a labored breath, his gaze scraping along the floor in anticipation.
"It's something that I have been pondering for months, Sam," Iroa spoke laboriously, but with such a dry confidence that immediately reminded him of the first time we had met, "and I know that I'm not going to be able to change your mind with how you feel about me. But I want you to know that, if the opportunity ever came to me where I would be able to talk to my daughter again without her hating me, and with the knowledge that you were the only obstacle in my path, I would pull the trigger on you myself."
Now the bloated silence was on my end as I was left to stare at Iroa blankly, with nothing less than anger and disappointment radiating from the sad look that had befallen upon me. Iroa's look was also tinged with regret, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words - he truly had meant what he said.
No lies between us, as I had wanted.
Heart in my throat, I could only muster a solemn shake of my head.
"You… fucking coward," I rasped, raking each syllable out painfully.
I wanted to beat him. I wanted to thrash this man, crush his bones, break his spirit. I wanted Iroa to crumble to dust in my very hands, but as much as that inclination begged me to submit to my baser instincts, I found myself unable to. I looked down at my aching palms, finding that the stiffened joints creaked agonizingly with an invisible prescience, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.
Sensing my desire, Iroa steadied himself upon the couch, mustering up his bravery for his confronter to deal the grievous blow. His body, taut as a wire, trembled the longer I lingered, seeking to lift the painful impatience of the dawning pain.
But I would end up surprising us both.
Fixating him with a mournful stare, with precious tears in my eyes, I stood up above a startled Iroa and, without another word, hurriedly fled the apartment with Sagan dutifully following, to be swallowed up in the crowd just outside the walkway that led to the shopping avenue below.
Finally alone again after I had departed his presence, Iroa held his head gratefully in his hands as he began to uncontrollably sob. Unbeknownst to me, I may have finally broken the man.
Chandler
Citadel Wards - Deck 35
Despite the number of layers he was wearing and the fact that the air temperature was downright pleasant, Chandler could not shake this chill that he had been feeling ever since he had left Sam's ship. The last time he had been feeling this nervous was probably back on Earth, during the war. But even then, he had possessed some sort of idea of how he was going to get out of the fragile situations he had found himself in. What he was about to do next, he had zero experience with.
Heck, he almost wished he was back in the trenches rather than doing this.
It was probably for that reason that he had picked a secluded corner of the wards to squeeze himself into, trying to limit the number of people within earshot in case he somehow managed to embarrass himself.
"Oh boy, Chandler, this no longer seems like such a good idea," he grumbled out loud as he raised his arm and activated his omni-tool, allowing golden light to warm the surrounding area. "I'm definitely going to go to hell at some point."
Hell might be a definite, actually, because Chandler had made a promise to Sam that he would do his best to make this upcoming conversation happen. If he had to endure a few minutes of awkwardness, then it would be a small price to pay.
He probably shouldn't even be complaining, he reasoned. Look what had happened to Sam. Chandler silently emphasized that he should at least be grateful that his own life had not taken such a huge deviation… yet.
Almost machine-like, Chandler dutifully typed in the address of the user he wished to call, radiating tingles responding from the haptic keys of his omni-tool. The call went through without a problem, though it took a little more than ten seconds for the user to pick up, which was a relief. Chandler did consider that she would probably hang up on him entirely, depending on her mood, but thankfully that did not happen.
"Chandler…" the audio was scratchy at first but the human was clearly able to see the crimson visor and the person's suited outline on his image feed. "Is that you?"
He smiled warmly. "Hey, Nya. Yeah, it's me. How are things going with you?"
There was a pause so pregnant that Chandler wondered if his audio had cut out for a second, but that turned out not to be the case.
"I've… I've honestly been better," she said.
Her voice was still scratchy over the tool, Chandler noted sourly but then realized something. It wasn't the tool. That was what Nya actually sounded like. A person that had been crying for a while would be hoarse as a result and Sam had mentioned that he had left Nya's apartment on very bad terms, so Chandler could assume that Nya had been in a sorry state that had warranted the crying. Confronted with evidence of Sam's cruelty, Chandler silently wondered if he was doing the right thing.
"Yeah," he only replied, doubt beginning to eat away at him. "That's what I've heard."
The expression of Nya's eyes turned even sadder on his feed. "You've talked to Sam, haven't you? I can… I can tell that this isn't just a social call."
Chandler swallowed, now rather uncomfortable and flushed in the face. "I have."
"Let me guess," Nya took a tortured breath, one that still had a hint of a sob behind it. "He tried to defend what he did to me. He tried to blame me for 'goading' him into smashing our crib, didn't he?"
"Actually," Chandler anxiously rubbed at his shorn hair, trying not to make too much eye contact lest he wither under the quarian's gaze. "That's not what happened at all. He did explain what had gone on between you two but he was really upset at what he did to you. He blamed himself, to be honest."
The quarian gave a ragged combination of a cough and a raspy laugh. "I wish I could believe you, Chandler. I really do."
"I'm not joking. He really does want to apologize. He wants you to know that he is sorry for treating you so poorly the last time and that he is really hurting from it."
"So why didn't he call me himself instead of you having to do his dirty work?"
"Because," Chandler scratched more furiously at his head, visibly agitated, "he thought that you would hang up on him the moment he tried calling you."
Nya did not have an answer to that, but merely looked away from the virtual lens in silent agreement, begrudgingly having to admit to herself that hanging up on Sam would have been exactly what she would have done without a moment's hesitation.
"He wants to apologize to you in person," Chandler emphasized. "He made me promise to give you that message. Nya, I swear to you, he's being completely serious. He swears that he will be on his best behavior when he sees you because… well, at least I think that he still has hope."
"Hmm," Nya only murmured, her eyes still turned away in contemplation. Or was it discomfort? Chandler could not read the visual tics of quarians as well as Sam could and he felt severely disadvantaged at this moment.
"He told me to tell you that, in two days' time, he'll wait for you at your… 'real home.' He said that you'd understand the significance of that… even if I don't exactly know what he's referring to."
"I do," Nya responded, her voice rather distant. "I know exactly what he means about where he wants to meet."
"Can you give me a hint? Because I really think that I should be there when you two-,"
"That's not really up to me at this point," Nya cut him off abruptly. "But… thanks for giving me the message. I'll… I'll talk to you later, I guess."
Chandler barely had time to call out, "Nya, wait! Does that mean that you are going to be-,"
Too late. The visual feed disappeared with a blip. The connection had been closed.
Left with an empty line on his omni-tool, Chandler shut the device off with a stunned blink. Left all by his lonesome, he steepled his hands together, wondering if he had done something wrong during that call, or if he could have conveyed his message a whole lot better.
He would never discover where the fault lay.
Nya
Xebron Towers Apartments - 15th Floor
The giveaway noise of an omni-tool powering down gently resounded throughout the living room as Nya limply laid her arm on her lap, eyes locked onto the window, flitting across the occasional skycar that screamed past her view. There was a low thrum in her ears, a churning sensation in her stomach, and a coarse feeling in her throat brought on from her crying hours ago. Her tears, unable to be dabbed away, had long dried by now, but she still could feel the trails they had made down her cheeks when she had seen the crib her child had once lay in completely destroyed by a rampaging human.
One of the posts of that crib was idly played with in her hands, a dull metallic sheen barely reflecting the overhead light, cool and smooth to the touch. The metal end of the post had been screwed onto a wooden support, of which it had splintered into an angry point when the crib had been smashed. Nya lightly traced a finger over this point, careful not to exert too much pressure lest the wooden spear would puncture her suit. In this environment, in her apartment, a breach would not be so much of a death sentence but merely an annoyance. She was pretty much accustomed to the majority of the contaminants floating around this space anyhow, though she rarely made a habit of venturing outside her suit all that much anymore, despite the low risks.
Perhaps… Nya realized that it hadn't been while her daughter was still alive had she walked around her apartment unmasked. A long time, comparatively speaking. It felt good to breathe fresh air, just once in a while, but she feared that if she did so, she would be exposing herself to more than just germs.
She would be exposing herself to memories. Memories that could destroy her if she was not careful.
In no way was she ready to face that kind of mental assault.
Setting the sheared post gently on the stand next to her cushioned seat, Nya then glanced over to the side, towards the L-shaped couch that sat in front of the holographic fireplace next to the window.
"There you have it," Nya said flatly toward the couch. "You have what you need. Any questions?"
"Not many," the glowing form of Eyzn said, his voice scratchy yet pleasant, the round Orb in the center of the hologram's chest hovering perfectly in place as it projected the quarian's shape all around it.
Nya narrowed her eyes as she stared at Eyzn's hologram, visibly unnerved from the man's presence, even if he was not truly in the same room with her. The Orb was the only tangible item about the man's shape right now - Eyzn could be on another planet or in the next room, for all she knew. The sinister apparition of the closest thing she had to a brother tapped his fingers together in anticipation, taking delight of the fact that he could carry out this conversation anywhere and at any time he wished.
"I did what you requested of me," Nya growled, her cheeks growing hot. "I want you to leave now."
Eyzn's form raised a taunting finger, pinpricks of light dancing around the digit. "Not just yet," he simpered. "You did well to alert me of this conversation that you were having with this man Chandler, but I still need more information because I still don't have all the pieces of the puzzle."
"You promised that you would leave me alone!" Nya protested, hoping that Eyzn would not detect the desperation in her voice. "You said that you would never bother me again if I gave you-,"
"-any pertinent information on Sam," Eyzn finished almost lazily. "Yes, I am aware of our deal, but we're not done by a long shot. If you want me to depart, I need more than what you've simply showed me. You need to tell me exactly what your 'real home' refers to, because Sam will be there, yes? Obviously, this… 'home' is not here on the Citadel, I would assume? No… it's referring to another place. And I'll bet this is a place that holds some sentiment to you both - a place that you can feel secure and comfortable in. Tell me where it is, Nya, and I will leave."
Nya's eyes fell upon the broken post and she recalled the mask of hate on Sam's face as he had hurled the crib through the air, tensed muscles on his neck bulging as his mouth hung open in a silent roar.
"You'll just kill him if I tell you," she trailed off.
"That is not my intent," Eyzn shook his head as the Orb floated closer to Nya, the hologram's footsteps eerily silent. Static coated his visor as he drew closer, rendering his expression to be unreadable. He knelt down beside Nya, who still did not turn to face him. "But it is not your place to be concerned. You worry for a man who has torn your life apart, who has caused it to deviate in such a way that you are now worse off than when you started. I hold no quarrel with you, Nya, and I do not wish to give you pain. Why would you protect a man who has hurt you more than anyone else ever has? I can help you heal, Nya. I can make the pain stop."
"H-How?" Nya whispered, her moistened eyes finally drawn to Eyzn's virtual form.
"I know what it is that you want most. I can give it to you. All I need is your help, Nya. Tell me what I need to know, and I will do everything in my power to make you… whole again."
"You c-can't possibly know what I want."
Eyzn chuckled through a horrid roar of distortion, his hand outstretched. "Would you like me to prove it? I can keep talking and you can decide for yourself how you want to live your life: filled with joy… or wracked with pain? Do I have your confidence, Nya?"
Ordinarily, the odds were astronomical that Nya would have listened this far into this dialogue with Eyzn. Nine times out of ten, she would have immediately disengaged with a prodded fury, stricken with anger and disgust at sharing even a sentence with this man. For when had Eyzn ever done anything to Nya that was good in her life? What had he provided that could be seen as advantageous?
But, as in all encounters that have transpired before in the universe, Nya would learn firsthand that nothing is absolute, that even though the hand you have been dealt might be a winner, it is never bulletproof.
Nya looked at the floor.
Then she looked at the ceiling.
Divining strength, she finally stared straight into Eyzn's veiled eyes, speckled with bits of dusty light as the hologram fizzled just inches in front of her.
"Very well," Nya said through a dry mouth, though there was little indecision plaguing her words. "Keep talking."
A/N: Had to do a lot of perspective jumps here to get a lot of things set up. Hopefully it wasn't too disorienting for you guys.
I'd wager that the next chapter will be completed some time around when Star Wars comes out. I fully expect every one of you to make that a priority over this, so if the chapter is delayed because of Star Wars, I hope it is somewhat understandable.
As always, thank you for the feedback! I greatly appreciate the reception and the constructive pointers that I've received thus far!
Playlist:
Sam's Kitchen Rampage: "Inferno" by Hans Zimmer, Bryce Jacobs, and Mel Wesson from the film Rush
Iroa's Admission: "Mogren Radio Outro" by Ludvig Forssell from the video game Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain
Nya and Eyzn Discuss: "Invaders" by Hans Zimmer and Lorne Balfe from the video game Crysis 2