His head was buzzing.
It had been buzzing for a long time, but by now it had gotten so loud that the intense fire fight ahead sounded oddly...distant...or as if occurring under water.
That can't be good...
Garrus held back the smile, the agony shooting through his skull by the mere twitch of his facial muscles blinding him with white light for a moment.
It lingered, longer this time.
Nor that...
The plan had so far gone off without a hitch, then again, it was Michael's plan, and he never failed. He wasn't like Garrus...
I failed them...
At least there was a bright side to the buzzing, it made his thoughts...difficult to grasp. The guilt, the pain, the exhaustion...it was all a distant thing to a dazed mind whose tiny remains of focus was being spent on gripping tight onto the shoulder of the Cerberus woman supporting him and dragging one foot after the next.
They had held the mercenaries off...just long enough for the tunnelling teams Michael had gotten Intel about to finally breach the lower levels of Garrus' team's final retreat.
Those foolish Vorcha had tried to flood in through the doors, to take the defenders by surprise and overwhelm them...only to run straight into a murderous cross-fire that had sent the tunnelling teams running...those few that had survived.
Michael had wasted no time – as Garrus had known, he'd tried so hard to emulate him after all, never quite reaching that distant star – and ordered them to press the attack. The group had moved in after the retreating Vorcha and torn apart all resistance as they moved through tunnels Garrus now was struggling to remember the blue-prints of as his head swam with dizziness.
So far it was going well though. "Next..." Agony. His skull full of bright light as he spoke. "...right."
Ahead, Michael nodded in acknowledgement, even as he put a round of shots into the head of yet another charging Vorcha, the thing twisting mid-stride and collapsing in the middle of the long corridor as the more rational humans and Batarians further back dove for cover.
Garrus still couldn't quite believe it was Michael. He'd been at the funeral of the hero after all. Said his goodbye to the closed casket containing nothing but what little worldly remains the man had actually owned...and swallowed down his bitterness as he forced himself to look forward, to prepare to become a Spectre and take up the fight with the Reapers, as Michael would have wanted.
Though that bitterness hadn't quite gone away, and had only gotten worse during the funeral, so fancy, so full of important people, so wrong... His mind managed a hazy flicker of those that had mattered being there...and remembered nothing but more bitterness there. It had not been a good goodbye for their friend...
And after the funeral, after all had hailed him and paid their respect...that horrible propaganda, that changing of facts, that clamping down of the Spectre program, that massacre of everything Michael had done...
It had been too much.
Despite his failure, despite the good men now laying dead at the hands of scum, despite him not having made much difference in Omega...Garrus couldn't quite find it in him to regret his decision.
Not that he really could feel regret, it was all so...hazy.
Yet Michael was back...there was no question of it, the man ahead was moving with an enviable precision between covers and putting round after accurate round into the bullies thinking themselves mercenaries ahead.
Garrus was sure there was a story to it all, something that normally would leave him shocked and confused. Now however...now he could only tiredly acknowledge facts, if even that. He had almost shot the man when he'd seen him in his scope, Garrus' fighting at the end had been something automatic after all...yet he had had enough self-control to hold...and feel that ache and pain of his week of fighting wash over him like a tidal wave.
He wasn't surprised Michael was leading a team though – as much as Garrus could feel by now – it was natural for the man, even one arisen from the grave such as he...though it was a strange group he'd assembled.
The yellow armoured man was an old human, or so his grey hair told Garrus. He was also obviously a mercenary – Garrus could by now recognise one miles away – and quite a good one since he'd survived to an old age.
If the man thought it even a little ironic to be shooting other mercenaries to protect the merc-killer he didn't show it as he with a blast of his worn-looking assault rifle gutted a Blue Sun Batarian coming too far out of cover.
The other man was a bit stranger. Dark skinned and built as heavily as Michael – if shorter in stature – the man was calmly moving right behind Michael and the mercenary, his shotgun time and time again barking at foes moving too close or his body coming aglow, sending people hurtling out of cover with blasts of his biotic power. Though the strange thing was his black jumpsuit sporting the Cerberus logo...given the amount of Cerberus operatives Michael and he had killed during their hunt for Saren Garrus couldn't quite understand it.
Then again, it was getting difficult to...think...
He stumbled, drawing a hiss of anger from the woman holding his arm secured over her shoulders while her other arm wrapped itself around his waist, keeping him somewhat steady despite his obviously far greater weight and height.
Strong little lady...
While the man looked more like an alliance soldier in the way he acted and kept the covering fire up during the group's advance the woman somehow radiated Cerberus...the 'uniform' didn't even seem necessary. What's with...human women and...tight clothes...? Stupid...fashion...at least Asari...are...attractive...
He swayed again, drawing a grunt and a glare from the woman even as someone ahead cried out in agony. Why...am I...thinking of...clothes? Garrus frowned in puzzlement, sending a searing lance of pain through his torn face that left dark spots dancing over his vision.
His head was listing, half-closed eyes taking in the woman gripping onto him, struggling with his weight yet somehow keeping things going...and clearly resenting the whole thing. Blue blood had stained her left shoulder as he continued to bleed on her, some having worked its way over her – given her uniform – modest cleavage.
She was clearly hating it, her face contorting in disgust, nose wrinkling...reminding Garrus that he probably didn't smell all that great either after a week of constant fighting, running through tunnels of sewage and general filth.
Poor Cerberus...bitch...having to carry...a...Turian around...
Garrus would have smirked, but couldn't, his face contorting with an agonising spasm as he coughed, blood dribbling out from his mouth and onto the floor.
More...bad...news? Another cough, blood spraying over his dented breastplate.
"Hang in there, Garrus!" Michael shouted over the screaming buzz in Garrus' head, the order somehow sending a jolt of energy through him, making his feet just a bit steadier, his breathing easier, sending the buzz in retreat, if only a little.
That's how good a Commander...should be.
He looked up.
The corridor was as it always looked, filthy, downtrodden and supported by worn down pillars along the walls, making for good cover even as one wondered if too much damage to said pillars would make the entire complex of tunnels come apart.
Ahead, Michael and the mercenary were advancing diagonally to the supporting pillars of the filthy tunnel, their paths crossing as they kept up a fusillade of shots down the hall, making several mercenaries duck into cover...only to cry out as the black man came alight with biotic energy...and sent several enemies flying forth...
Michael and the mercenary turned from their new cover...and fired a hail of shots into the helpless enemies, turning the flying mercenaries into flying corpses surrounded by gobs of biotically lifted drops of blood.
And then there was a roar, a bloodthirsty, deep, reverberating...familiar...roar.
The good news...keep...coming. Garrus narrowed his aching eyes...and watched as the lazily drifting corpses were suddenly flung aside like broken dolls as something large – and angry – crashed forth.
Garm...Garrus' eyes narrowed further, the hand gripping onto the woman's shoulder tightening in anger at the sight of the Krogan brute. Below, the woman glanced up at him, making him realise he had spoken the name aloud as he glared at the monster bore down on them.
Michael and the mercenary both leaned out of cover, rapid firing rounds thumping into a purple barrier of the charging monster, the addition of the blaze across the barrier made by the black human's shotgun not doing the least to slow the charge.
Garm came in full throttle...his dark red armour a massive blur as he rushed at a Michael standing his ground, assault rifle peppering the Krogan...only to be smashed aside as Garm's shoulder crashed into Michael, drawing a pained gasp as the human was sent hurtling through the air and into the pillar behind.
Don't...die...please... Even Garrus' panic seemed distant as he watched Michael struggle to get to his feet...
Garm was nowhere near done though as he swung the flame-thrower in his claws towards the mercenary...who with a curse ducked under the spray of fire, rolled away from a kick and stumbled sideways, wildly firing into the fading barrier of the Krogan.
A Krogan inexorably moving his weapon towards who he really wanted...
His left hand shot out, pointing a wicked claw at Garrus as his large face split into a raging roar: "You're mine Archangel! I'll rip you to shreds and feed you to the Varren!"
Garrus barred his fangs in reply, numb left arm moving down to his pistol even as the woman supporting him moved to drop him, body aglow with charging biotic power...
Then the black man was there, the human surprisingly fast as he bashed the flamer – now only held in one hand – aside before levelling his shotgun at the chest of the Krogan.
A thunderous blast...
And the Krogan grunted with pain...before his free hand swept round and gripped onto the human's head, drawing a gasp from the man as the claws began to close...
Garm grinned, not taking his eyes from Garrus as the human in his grip twitched, shotgun falling from hands now jerking up to try and pry of the closing vice of a grip away...
Then a sweeping right foot in black armour struck Garm's flame-thrower, sending it sideways, out of the Krogan's grip...and into Michael's hands as the man spun with the kick. His right foot stomped down on the floor as his left came down...onto the side of Garm's right knee.
It buckled.
Grunting Garm dropped onto one knee, the grip on the Cerberus man loosening...and the man leapt away with a gasp of relief that was nearly lost with Garm's growl of anger as he turned his baleful eyes to Michael...
His clawed hands lunged to grip and crush the human as he had so many before, mouth opened in a roar that was as much a lunge to bite and tear the man's head off as it was of rage...
A mouth suddenly finding itself biting down on the barrel of a flame-thrower.
There was a moment of wide-eyed realisation, the clawed hands reaching up to grasp the weapon...and then a muffled scream of pure agony as Michael pulled the trigger, sending jets of superheated fuel right down the gullet of the monstrous Krogan.
Garm's scream grew louder as he jerked back...only for Michael to follow, jamming the weapon deeper into the Krogan's mouth as he bowled the monster over, foot crashing down on the chest of the twitching Krogan as more and more fire spewed into the creature's insides.
Garrus grinned, the pain for a brief moment a distant thing as satisfaction warmed his own insides, remembering his own fight with the Krogan far too well. Regenerate...that...
Before him the Krogan twitched, jerked, shaking arms reaching up for the weapon in his mouth even as his eyes exploded into a gobbets of scorched blood, armour hissing and sizzling with heat as his skin crumpled like burnt paper...
And then...Garm...was no more.
Garrus nearly fell, knees weak as his world spun...but he smiled, watching as Michael jumped off the blackened Krogan in a suit of armour still sizzling armour.
That's...my...buddy.
Ahead the mercenaries in the tunnel, having taken massive casualties without barely having scratched their foes, and now with their leader nothing but armoured ashes, routed. Men and women, humans, Batarians, Turians and Vorcha...all turning and running, only a few of them bothering to fire off some covering fire before rushing away from the onslaught.
Cowards, as Garrus knew they were.
"Pathetic." The mercenary growled, putting a round of shots into the back of a retreating Batarian before turning to the others, nodding towards the corridor: "We'd better get going though, once they've stopped pissing their armour they'll realise what their bosses will do to them if they're caught running."
Garrus nodded in agreement, feeling his brain rattle within his skull like as if it had turned to stone.
It hurt.
His voice didn't seem his own, a distant rattle: "Yeah...not far now...we'll loose them if we stick to the right..."
"Garrus...?" Michael's voice was tinged with concern...as was his face as he stepped up close, helping Garrus to straighten his head...and forcing the Turian to offer a pale smile.
"I'm...f-fine M..." He blinked, the name suddenly escaping him. "I'm...good..."
"We need to hurry, Shepard." The woman muttered, her voice distant despite her being so close.
Then there was a beep...a beep Garrus knew, a beep he'd memorized...and he bared his fangs in a growl, ignoring the pain as he lifted his left arm.
It didn't really feel...attached...it was more like a thing of rubber stuck to his shoulder then a limb...
"Wait...have to...d-do this..." Garrus lifted his right arm, too tired to feel any enjoyment over actually having feeling his other arm as he moved it over the woman's head and towards the glowing omni-tool.
"Garrus, this isn't really the time for...what is that?" Michael's voice asked, the corridor suddenly too dark for Garrus to make the man out. All Garrus could see...was the glowing hologram of his base, red dots filtering into it.
"They're moving in from the front." Another voice noted, Garrus was too disoriented to make out who. "Damn, if they push the pace they can get behind us, we'll be caught in a vice."
"Not...happening." Garrus hissed, head lazily listing left and right as he struggled to focus on the growing number of dots as they spread out, searching. Forty...fifty...sixty...
"Ummm..." The hesitant voice was so distant, a strange hiss in Garrus' ears.
Seventy...eighty...ninety...hundred...
Garrus growled, something in his face snapping with a crack...and flicked his hand over his omni-tool.
The ground shook, dust suddenly drizzling over him along with a loud rumble, the hologram on the omni-tool shortening out as the explosives went off...tearing, shredding...annihilating.
Garrus smile was tiny...but the glow in his withering insides warmed as the world turned grey...
"Got..."
"Garrus?"
He held onto that warm glow...as all else faded.
"...you..."
"Garrus!"
The world spun.
"...you..."
"Garrus!"
Darkness.
"...bastards."
"GARRUS!"
Darkness.
8
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8
Thanks to Abydos Jackson for being such a fighter.
