Titus woke from his sleep with a start. He found his hand holding the familiar weight of a gun, aimed at the door. Old habits die hard.

His eyes flicked across the small space of his assigned apartment. There was nothing… It was just a dream.

It had been three long nights and equally awful days, to the hour. The moment scared and haunted his dreams, the moment that Tori had gotten shot. Titus had not been back to the hospital since Tori's mother chased him out with her words. It was his fault; she had said so and in a way he had agreed with her. The guilt ran through him like bad liquor, leaving his insides feeling hot and riddled with knots.

Ever since, he had woken up in cold sweats, haunted by the images of his dreams.

Flash of an onyx river, the sky alight with deadly white fireflies. There is no sound, just colour. Blue, red and orange. He was standing in a silent battlefield. Suddenly a pillar of blue and black fell. Dead golden eyes stare back at him. They will never smile, harden, and secretly scold him. Those familiar strange lips twitch, they tell him, "Your fault".

He had sullied the Cato name. He had failed to protect her, to prevent her getting hurt. Sure, she was lucky, that was her thing. It had stuck her in her right shoulder, gone all the way through but the damage had been done. She would be out for weeks and it was still his fault.

Titus was not sure what possessed him more; the fact Tori had gotten hurt or how she was emblazoned within his mind. He could see her so clearly when he closed his eyes. Her features no longer seemed so alien, everything was just so...familiar, as if he was looking at one of his own. Ever since the day she poured out her heart about her failure, how she was fighting for her honour and drew his own tale out of him, Tori had stopped being 'the human'. She was no longer the strange alien but one of his comrades, his friends and dare he say it; his clan away from clan? Dare he even dream of calling her his battle-sister? How did he get into this mess?

He was not falling for her, he wasn't. He had to repeat it over and over in his mind. Spirits, what would his parents say if he was? Which he wasn't, but what if? Would he be subjugated like his brother, Decimus, was?

Leaning his arm against the window, which he had positioned himself at after awaking from another nightmare, Titus expelled a deep sigh of regret. He watched it condense against the glass before vanishing without a trace.

He suddenly felt so lost and so small. The view wasn't bad however. The haze around the Citadel always looked prettier in the wards. Titus' military accommodations were situated right in the heart of the turian ward. Great buildings reaching for the stars above, beating their brothers in architectural prowess.

It wasn't home. Triginta Petra was a harsh, dry place, mainly desert but when the Catos came, they conquered its harsh climate. The gardens of the home estate were nothing like the vast deserts and equally expansive oceans outside. His ancestors were originally from Digeris, warriors by trade, When they went to the newly-found colony, they were laughed at. That was until the first shipment of grain that could feed thirty legions. They didn't laugh then.

He rubbed the tiredness from his face, talons catching on the staples that held his new crack together, allowing it to heal. It was starting to itch. As he resisted picking at the scab, Titus was suddenly relieved to have the distraction.

Unnoticed, three differently coloured orbs drifted up over the landing and behind him. Orange, blue and green.

"Good morning" He said quietly as he caught their reflection of the window.

"It is indeed morning, Master Cato. You are awake five hours earlier than scheduled. Would you like to me to rearrange your schedule to adjust to this time change?" came the electronic cold tones of Byte.

Titus turned to his three custom drones; created, built and coded by him. Why three, some asked?

Well, Byte was his first, made to remind him about medications he had to take, doctor appointments, keep him on track and in line. But when it was time for him to perform his civic duty, Byte's processors were unable to deal with the combat systems. So Exa was created. A few weeks later he had a bad allergic reaction to something he ate and he created Yotta to scan him regularly. He later found Yotta useful for C-Sec work, collecting crime scene information instead of painstakingly scanning with his Omni-tool.

Some thought him quite mad to have them floating about his apartment like pets, but they were actually good company. Despite his brothers arguing with him that none of his drones had personality chips, Titus could have sworn that each of them had their own little identities.

Byte for instance, was as friendly as the shade of green from which he was made. Then again, he was the only one out of the three that could talk. He seemed protective of the others and of Titus, and despite his job of giving the turian reminders of his schedule, the drone seemed to glow with pleasure as each task was completed and checked off. He would even shudder and glow dimly if things went uncompleted.

Exa was his combat drone, larger than the other two, with a warm gentle orange glow like some descending angel.. She carried herself with a dignity and quiet patience, however if Titus didn't perform his weekly checks up on her, he swore she became agitated and gave him light shocks.

Yotta was the smallest of the three, with his cold dim glow. Yotta's job was to scan crimes scenes, analyse the data and store it. Sometimes he also took on some of Byte's data to store. The drone seemed to float about with a lazy attitude and no matter how many times Titus reworked Yotta's coding, he just couldn't seem to fix it.

Perhaps he was just starting to go mad. It wouldn't surprise him.

"That's not necessary, Byte. I think we will do things out of schedule today."

"Out of schedule, Sir?"

Titus wasn't going mad. The drone actually sounded concerned and somewhat panicked about his choice.

"That's right, out of schedule," Titus reaffirmed, resting his hand on Exa. The drone bobbed up and down, could he say, happily?

He moved away from the window across the landing and down the stairs, pulling open his tool box and opening up his Omni-tool. Like many times before, Exa floated over and settled on the table.

"Let's get those marksmanship algorithms right. You were firing sloppy the other day," Titus began as he brought up Exa's coding up on his arm. He threw himself into the work willingly, his fingers easing nimbly over the keys as he adjusted the math. This was a welcomed relief from thinking over and over the events of a few days ago.

After that was done, he took out his gun boxes and the oil needed to clean them, disassembling with care. He could do this with his eyes closed, with just as much care but he didn't want to close his eyes. Every time he did, an image flickered across his mind.

Those lips and their lopsided smile, long strands of keratin, framed gold irises…

Sprits… She was beneath his plates and embedded within his skin. He set down the rag and the butt of his gun, and stared blankly into the abyss. What Titus needed was meditation, something to calm and relax him.

His eyes lifted from their fixated place to his Mexta – the ancient sword of his bloodline. It was a replica, of course but it didn't make it any less important. It bound each Cato child to their ancestral home.

The Catos were famed for keeping many of the old traditions that many turians had forgotten about, or whose meaning had been lost. The Mexta was part of the turian military dress uniform but few knew why they carried it. Catos, of course, came with their own. His grandmother had drilled it into his brain from an early age, knowing he would do the same to his offspring.

He examined its long, blue-tinted blade. It was a symbol of purification, the metaphorical shape of piercing the spiritual soul and in turn, sacrificing physical bondage. That was exactly what Titus needed: spiritual purification.

He reached for the sword on its display stand. It was kept unsheathed, as a constant reminder that one's soul should never be covered up by the material world. Sacrifice for the cause.

The handle was crafted for a turian hand alone; he had wondered what human swords looked like and how they dealt with that many fingers around the hilt. He drew the Mexta to his cheek, finding that just having the sword close calmed him. He drew a finger along its blade, stretching, reaching out for desperately for purification.

He slowed his breathing, so his chest rose and fell calmly like the tides. His arm moved to his side, before he pulled it behind his back.

He saluted upwards with the sword, pressing the blade to his forehead once, in honour of a god whose name history had forgotten, like most things. He was ready.

"Spirits, cleanse me of my guilt. Purify my thoughts so that I may be your blade of justice. Lastly, transition me beyond… her."

He felt slightly guilty at that last part, but he needed it. She muddled his thoughts; he found it near impossible to think, to sleep, and to eat. Food had never been a true pleasure for him. Nearly everything on the citadel was vat-grown and despite 'science' proving he was wrong, it all tasted chalky. But when she was absent, everything lacked taste and the world was dull.

The first stance: "He Who is Not Pure of Heart". Outstretched sword as straight as the arm. No one must falter. Their arm should never shake. He remembered as a child, in line with his brothers, his grandmother and father watching, holding his arms out like this, the feel of the sword too heavy for young arms. His grandmother was losing her sight by then but spirits forbid if she noticed a tremor in those arms, a young turian would find themselves with a quick cane to their wrists.

He swept the sword down in a perfect crescent, his elbow above his head, kneeling in submission.

The second stance: "Justice Revealed". It wasn't as if his grandmother was a cruel women. She had warmth in her - just rarely. She was hard on them because they were the future. Out of six sons, one of them would be successful enough to reign after his father. One would carry on the Cato name and success, like his father before him.

An upwards sweep that would gut a softer-made man, till his sword pointed to the heavens, then it slammed to the ground behind him. His body followed the steps. They were well-known.

The third stance: "Character of Duality". Decimus was stricken off as heir at the young age of twenty. He always said it was because of his accident but their grandmother swore it was because she saw a corruption in him that would not suffice. Several years later it was revealed Decimus had more than a fondness for debauchery of any kind. Catos do not lie to their clan, but part of Titus had always wondered if his elder brother's dismissal was the cause of his path, not a result of it.

Invisible enemies to the right; a turn of the body and arm. Sword, soul and mind all as one. The sideways sweep, till his torso was twisted round on his hips.

The fourth and final stance: "The Unity of Leadership'". Horiatis, well...everyone knew he was strange. He was terrible with a gun, for a start. For the first time in two hundred years of Cato lineage, a son left the army with the lowest pass grade possible. He preferred to read, socialise, party, make networks and connections. He hated the traditional hunts with their father. Horiatis always complained of the dirt and the cold. But in his later years, it turned out his unique personality had proved useful. He stood by the side of his mother, bringing contracts to the company that his father could only dream of. Horiatis was a unique treasure. with a mind as sharp as a volus. Titus' father bitterly said he could be a powerful politician.

Ovidus and Valerius, the twins. Well, they were still young and not in their own elements yet. It was hard for them, for everyone associated them together. They tried going their own ways but how could you separate one matching glove form another?

Valerius was gentle and calm, the quieter of the two. For years he refused to talk to anyone directly, using his elder twin to communicate for him. His father hid his face in discrace when, Valerius announced he was going to medical school. His mother, champion to them all, said it was a wonderful idea, especially if he could think of ways to get into the pharmaceutical market.

That left Ovidus alone to find his own way. Like Titus, he chose to be a career soldier, which meant three sons were now in the army, all striving to climb the ladder. It had been a century or two since the Cato line had produced a general.

That only really left Aegidius as Titus' rival. Back when they was younger, Titus thrived on his grandmother's favouritism, how she called him the white victor, the title given to the albino ancestor who founded their bloodline. It drove Aegidius insane with jealousy back then and Titus loved it.

But as the years passed, Titus realised he didn't want to be heir, the golden prince to a long line of history and tradition. That role should be given to someone with more responsibility, with someone with a bigger sense of themselves. But Aegidius fell in love, married and had two beautiful children. The race for heir was no longer his concern and it left Titus to stand alone.

He expelled, not realizing how long he held his breath. His arms were shaking. If his grandmother saw him now...

He pressed the blade to his forehead once more, before settling it back on its stand. The spirits did not answer his prayers. He shook his head before walking into the shower. Soap and water cleansed, but it did not wash the soul.

Titus turned it on scalding-hot and stood beneath it, letting the burning sensation run down his neck and chest. What was wrong with him?

After his shower he dressed in C-Sec blue and black, looking at the time. The stores would be opening soon and he had a few things he needed to get. He also had an idea for a 'congratulations, you didn't die!' present but now that he thought about it, it sounded a little lame.

He left his small designated apartment, and wandered down to the turian-owned stores of the Bachjret ward. The population here was mainly turian, so it was the best place to find anything he needed like plate oil, polymer digestion aids and if Titus was lucky, freshly imported food from Palaven. He went about his business, shopping, ignoring the odd look he would get here and there, from those that recognised the markings on his face.

He had forty-five minutes before he had to at work in the Presidium, so he hailed a cab and let it take him there. He could browse the windows of stores before he had to wonder into work. Not like Pallin would give him anything to do. Not without Tori.

But he arrived early, like always. He hated the fact that he was now a career soldier. It alienated him from the other C-sec officers and it wasn't like the good old days. Back when he was green, he loved socializing with the others, going out on stakeouts, just as much as Tori loathed running laps around the Presidium. Titus adored it. The sights, smells and sounds of the Presidium couldn't be likened to anywhere else in the galaxy.

Titus stopped at a human-run armoury and the clerk gave him a funny look as he entered, as did a few of the patrons. He stopped in front of the kiosk and browsed the catalogue, like he had every business being there. And he did.

It didn't take him long before he found what he was looking for. He selected the item and paid for it. He waited for the clerk to fetch his item and she suspiciously pushed it over to him. A look of uncertainty in her eyes like he was a wild varren, as if she was unsure whether he would attack or not.

"Can I look at the item first, before I walk away? I have some questions," Titus said slowly, trying to ease the clerk's tension. It just brought out a confused look on her face. He was used to that look from Tori. She often looked confused but sometimes that expression meant curiosity, also. Still, this girl did not look intelligent enough to comprehend curiosity, so he took it for the former.

"Sure," she replied uneasily.

He opened the box, discarding the promotional packaging, with its nicely-taken picture of the item and all the promotional info splattered over it in eye-catching font. Were humans always so visually stimulated? He took out the visor and examined it; it felt fragile and flimsy in his hands. Not to mention small.

"Does it come in other colours?" Titus questioned, not looking up at the woman as he turned the visor side to side, wondering how such an item could be considered useful on a battlefield. It looked like a decorative piece of a headwear and nothing more.

"Unfortunately not. This is the first model, but I'm sure others they produce will be in other colours."

Well, that was disappointing but nothing Titus couldn't easily fix. Changing the colours of something was simple; you simply swapped out the LEDs for the right colour. Orange would clash with C-Sec blue…

"Will this fit a human? It looks quite small for a male and too big for a female."

The clerk regarded him with a look that he was quite an idiot, and Titus clenched his mandibles in annoyance.

"This is a human armoury, Sir. It will fit a human…so yes," she said, in a tone that seemed to announce that she was bored of him.

He held the item in his forefinger and thumbs and held it out for her to take. "Put it on," he suggested firmly, growing quickly uncomfortable in this surrounding

"What?"

"Put it on. This is for a human female. You are a human female." He held out his arm a little closer, urging her to take it.

"Do we even have the same head shape and size?" she said warily. One would think he just asked her to strip naked right there in the store, considering her tone.

Titus examined her. He couldn't tell, but he shook his head eventually. He knew Tori's head shape well. Hers was not like that.

"No yours is much bigger, but this human female has lots of…" He gestured around his crest, forgetting the word for a moment. "Hair?"

The shop clerk jutted out her bottom lip. She looked angry. Titus was not sure what he said wrong, he had simply answered her question.

"Fine. We'll see if it will fit your perfect girlfriend."

"She isn't my girlfriend, she is a colleague," Titus retorted quickly, sounding a little defensive at the notion.

"Ah-huh, sure…" The clerk replied with a smirk as she pulled the visor apart with a few clicks to make it fit her head size.

Titus wasn't buying it because he liked her. He wasn't…

The clerk moved her head side to side and let him observe how it fitted her. Once satisfied, Titus took it back, placed it back in its box and left the shop abruptly. It was time to go work.

Once in there, he made his way through multiple corridors and stairs until he found his desk. He sat down and stared at the empty seat behind his holo-screen, where Tori should have been sitting. He couldn't bear to see it empty. His gizzards started to knot as the guilt rang through him.

He stood up and moved away from the scene. He wouldn't sit there again till she was on the other side, biting the end of her pen, squinting at the screen and pawing at it like she was unsure of what she was doing. Occasionally looking up with those golden eyes to smile at him, and then back down at her work like he had insulted her…

He forwarded his mail to his Omni-tool. If anyone needed him they could simply message him. Titus found he actually wanted to visit the labs, as he hadn't been down there yet. Back when he worked here full time, the head of the labs was a turian - Quintes was his name, old and most likely retired now. Still, Leiada had often mentioned how ecstatic the labs team were with old Quintes' work.

It would be a nice place to store himself and work on his gift for Tori. His Cato hands did not forget how to build as much as they had come accustomed to holding an assault rifle. As he rose out his seat, his Omni-tool beeped and he looked down at it to see a new mail:

Good news,

She is being discharged tonight, you should go see her. Be warned, she is a little restless…

L

That made him smile, his guilt relieved a little. She was well enough to go home and without her mother being there, he could check up on her and present his gift. He would just need to get it ready for her. That would waste the day away until it was time.