When Sagan had first broached the idea of retreating to a secure location to escape the coming search party, it was rather naïve of me to assume that the geth meant a clichéd place like a bunker that would be a cramped and spartan area woefully insufficient to house six individuals for an extended amount of time.

You can imagine the shock I felt when Sagan instead unveiled, behind a door further down the hallway we had previously ventured into, an entire railway complex built into the entire facility within the solid rock of the cliff. The station itself was nothing to sneeze at – those who have been in a regular New York City subway will have an idea of what I'm referring to – but I really couldn't care less about the relative architecture of this place. We had our undetectable getaway vehicle.

Lo and behold, the tram was in the station too. My luck certainly has an ebb and flow to it.

It was a testament to both the innovation of the quarians and the loving maintenance by the geth that the apartment complex's underground rail system was still functioning. Sagan had mentioned earlier, almost in an off-handed manner, that the entire rail system had been planned and constructed by the quarians shortly before the facility had been abandoned. Such technology – three centuries old – had been brought to existence sometime near the end of the Industrial Revolution on Earth.

And the damn thing still operated like it had been built yesterday.

The system itself was a maglev form of rail line. By utilizing magnets built into the cars and the rail, the vehicle could travel along the rail without making barely, if any, contact with a solid surface, thereby dramatically reducing friction and the amount of energy needed to propel the vehicle forward. Theoretically, speeds upwards of 100 mph were easily achievable with this system in place, but with only darkness rushing by outside the windows and the train's own display panel to complicated to read, it was next to impossible for me to determine such a thing by myself. Aside from everything being coated in a thin layer of dust from languishing in stagnation, there was no indication at all that this piece of equipment was nearing the end of its life anytime soon.

I had a million questions I wanted to ask Sagan. How did this place still have power? What kind of source was providing energy to this location, be it an electrical grid, geothermal plant, or nuclear reactor? How was it that this technology was so advanced, considering when it was built, that the rate of innovation in the quarian society had not capitalized upon their trend of upward growth?

Why I never voiced these questions, I could not say. Most likely, I was still recovering from the events of today and needed to savor whenever a moment of silence impacted upon me. I was exhausted, bruised, and angry. I needed to recharge – at this rate my levels of adrenaline and rage had spiked upward so many times today that I was bound to crash at any moment. As funny as it might seem if I just keeled over in my seat on this tram, burned out, it would most certainly be a while before I would even begin to consider such a moment amusing.

Yet I still clung to whatever reserves of strength my body had stockpiled, refusing to rest (rather, preventing me from resting). It was almost like a hidden part of my consciousness was leaving subtle reminders for me to always be on guard, and to stay alert.

If that was true, then my subconscious was a dick. An hour's rest would actually be appreciated at this point in time.

Good luck trying to accomplish that with a geth literally steering the boat. Tram, in this case. Item #473 on the list of "Shit I Never Expected to Encounter in my Life." At least Sagan had not revealed himself to be one of the murderous sort of synthetics. That would really be a bummer, not to mention it would ruin the lone spark of luck that I've managed to accrue today.

Truthfully, there was a little bit of me that had been skeptical of Sagan's offer of shelter ever since Eyzn scurried away from our clutches like a spider. As much as I trusted the geth, I was rather surprised to hear Sagan offer a solution of shelter so quickly, especially since we were now in danger of getting our location discovered. Then again, Sagan is a machine capable of processing millions of variables in less than a second to come to a definitive answer. Not only that, but it was also one of the smartest geth ever to have existed and it had remained in this location for years on end. I guess it was pretty safe to assume that we were in good hands.

I needn't have harbored any worries, for they were all dashed as soon as Sagan led us to the transit hub where the underground train was housed. Not a word of concern was voiced between any of us – Nya, me, Rie, or Chandler (Iroa didn't count as his opinion held no weight among us). Any method of putting distance between Eyzn and his crazed bitch of a mother was a welcome sight.

The tram itself was not terribly large compared to Earth standards, with available seating for around twenty people, not counting standing room. You could tell this piece of machinery was designed for function and not fashion – all the seats were un-cushioned and there were a distinct lack of rails to hold onto in case the train experienced a sudden change in velocity. I could not even name one item in this train that was designed to provide a modicum of either comfort or safety. Quarian architecture at work, I suppose.

Sagan operated the controls at the front, while Nya, Rie and I sat tentatively close by, with Chandler guarding Iroa near the middle. Chandler had a thin cloth clutched to his head that was slightly bloodstained, evidence of his little tussle with Eyzn. We each clutched a backpack filled with essentials that we had lifted from the Obtruder: a few changes of clothes, toiletries, and plenty of food. We weren't about to withstand a siege anytime soon, but we were certainly prepared enough to last at least a week, considering the amount of supplies we brought. Hopefully our pursuers weren't planning on actually enacting a siege.

I considered asking Sagan just how long it was going to take to reach our destination transit-wise, but I figured that in this case, the less I knew, the better. Besides, either it was just me misinterpreting the geth's stoicism, or it seemed like Sagan would rather pay attention to operating the vehicle first and foremost. Kind of dumb of me to assume such a thing, I know, but I've only been interacting with a synthetic for only a couple of hours for my entire life. Give me time.

The view from the maglev was lackluster, to say the least. Everyone who has ever been on a subway can attest to the type of view we were currently witnessing: a cavernous black hallway with the occasional light fixture fitted to the ceiling as we zoomed along the rail at unintelligible speeds. If we weren't in danger of being chased, I would have viewed this as a neat detour to our adventure.

"Approaching Habitation Unit 1," Sagan suddenly announced as the vehicle began to decelerate with a lurch. "Travel distance of 21 miles achieved at velocity of 240 miles per hour. Total transit time is fifteen point eight minutes."

We all silently stood as the maglev train slowly floated to an effortless halt. With a soft hiss, the doors slid aside, allowing access to the platform. We tentatively stepped onto it while Sagan took a few confident steps and turned to proceed to the door at the far end, but not before it crouched down by an access panel on the side of the train, removing it and quickly performed a task with its omni-tool that resulted in a brief flash of sparks. Finished with its task, Sagan nonchalantly rose and headed out the door. The lot of us were flabbergasted at this transition and it took a few moments to compose ourselves and follow the geth.

I hurried forward so that I could catch up to Sagan. "21 miles of track?" I asked the geth. "I only saw the one station in between. How come these buildings were split up so far apart in the cave?"

"The Creators initially intended to expand their facilities spanning the length of the track," Sagan placidly answered, never slowing its gait. "However, their progress was interrupted when the Morning War began. The facility where we came from was Unit 11, meant to serve as the terminus of the track."

"I saw you fiddle around with the tram when we arrived. What was that all about?"

The geth did not motion its head in my direction, but it was not out of rudeness. "The maglev line is prone to signal manipulation on the facility's network. We manually disconnected the tram car from the network by physically removing the appropriate circuit board. Without it, the tram cannot be used by anyone else."

"Smart," I murmured admiringly. "So where the hell are we, exactly?"

"This is Unit 1. The main facility."

Before I could ask any further questions, we had reached the end of the dim hallway just in time for the wide double-doors to open, letting a thick spear of light pour into our eyes.

When I could finally see, I legitimately thought I was hallucinating at first.

Based on the rather thin experiences I've had perusing other cultures, I had no godly idea just how quarians had traditionally organized their housing. From what I saw how things were managed on the flotilla, I was expecting a general aesthetic of cramped quarters and foreboding hallways that looked positively ancient in comparison to anything else. I guess I wasn't expecting… this.

From where the hall to the transit station had led, we were now situated in a giant room – at least ten, maybe twenty stories tall. The room itself was hexagonal shaped, with a giant courtyard situated in the center. If I stood in the center of the courtyard, I would be able to see all angles of the tiered levels above, which ostensibly was where the actual apartments were accessed. The courtyard was surrounded by a metal walk, curved and very fluid-like. All noises reverberated easily in the expanse, creating a symphony of echoes that lingered long after our actions created the sound.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about the entire room was, in the very center of the courtyard, was a segmented riser that was practically overflowing with greenery. Light from a skylight was able to beam down upon the plants, providing them with the necessary compounds for photosynthesis. Vines tangled out over the lip of the risers in a messy heap. Flowers of every color bloomed and filled the air with a sweetish scent. But in the middle, a singular tree proudly rose tall, almost nearing the fifth story in height. Its limbs twisted in all directions yet was eerily quiet with no air to rustle the leaves. It was a magnificent specimen of a species I could not even begin to place. This little garden had to have been planted by the quarians before they left. The fact that this garden was, by no stretch of the word, thriving, was pretty much a miracle.

While Chandler hustled the awed Iroa away for a moment (who tried to splutter a protest), Nya and I hustled over to the array of plants. Sagan dutifully followed.

I reached out and gently cupped part of a vine. It was a deep, healthy green. Springy build. Waxy leaves. Little white flowers bloomed out of the undergrowth, bringing a honey-like scent to my nose. Definitely not fake. I took a deeper inhalation, this time detecting the earthy dirt within the complex palate.

"Nya," I whispered as I tenderly lifted the vine, eyeing the other bushes and flowers incredulously. "This… all of this is real. Actual living plants – nothing like the desert shrubs we've seen on Rannoch so far!"

"But how can that be?" Nya wondered as she gave a leaf a tender, sad stroke. "We're in a closed area. There's no way that these plants can be alive."

A whirring of servos emitted as Sagan knelt down behind us, indicating the riser with a slender finger.

"An irrigation system is installed underground that provides filtered water from the spring. It seeps into the dirt and provides the nutrients the vegetation needs to survive."

Nya looked back at the geth in surprise. "For three hundred years? This place should be overgrown by now by the plants in this planter."

"We have intermittently prevented such instances from occurring," Sagan said in what could be considered as the verbal imitation of a shrug.

I laughed as I realized what it meant. "Gardening. You've been gardening."

"The term is accurate for the described action."

Nya looked back at the plants, her eyes momentarily watering. It was obvious to me that she would have liked nothing more but to unseal one of her gloves and reach out with a bare hand to brush the leaves and to feel them on her skin. She held the loose vines as best she could, chest heaving a bit more than normal. Even suited, she managed to savor the moment.

"Your original programming…" she choked out, quiet enough so that I had to strain to hear it. She looked back at Sagan, eyes aglow with a wavering softness. "You were an agriculture unit, weren't you?"

"Correct," Sagan said. "Our combat programming was only introduced during the period of hostilities. The plants in this area were transplanted by the Creators from the easternmost continent upon the northern tropic – an island named Ishaa'tan. Their goal was to emulate a different biome than the one they were currently inhabiting in order to produce an emotional reaction. Vegetation is also adequate in reducing ambient noise levels, which was a secondary objective for its inclusion."

To Nya, we might as well have stumbled upon a treasure chest. This planter, no matter how insignificant it seemed, was a tiny piece of history that proved that the quarians had professions that varied tremendously from their stereotypical tech/engineer duties. It was practically a monument of what had been… and what could possibly come.

Throwing up a hand so that I could peer at the top of the tree, the central point of the room, I took a deep breath, inhaling both the earthy scent of the plants and the dry notes of the disturbed dust. Multiple flavors were on my tongue that I could discern from the air alone, thick with age.

"The place looks like an abandoned hotel," I mused as I rubbed my hands together eagerly. "I guess there were more similarities between us and the quarians than they initially let on."

"The same could be said of humans and all other sapient species," Sagan cryptically replied.

"Even the geth?"

Sagan turned to face me, his minor optics rotating ever so fractionally around his major lens.

"Even geth," he answered.


"That is a wonder out there! A testament to our past! You cannot lock me in here, I must see-!"

Iroa let out a shout as I rudely shoved him backwards after I had entered the room. He slammed against an empty bed frame before settling down upon it, sending dust flying everywhere. The yellow-suited quarian was more confused than agitated and barely put up any struggle as he attempted to comprehend exactly what was going on.

"You can leave," I said to the three behind me: Chandler, Rie, and Sagan. Nya stayed right where she was. Sagan immediately complied with my request without protest and after a moment's pause, Chandler and Rie followed suit, but not before both flashed me concerned looks.

The apartment we had chosen to continue our little "interrogation" of Iroa had been chosen completely at random – no thought or reason as to why. We simply had selected the first room after ascending a staircase to the second floor and, finding the door to be unlocked, decided that it would suit our needs just fine.

This place itself lacked any indication that it had been previously lived in. Whereas one might expect an apartment to have a kind of touch denoting the kind of person who lived there in the past, be it pictures, posters, or other paraphernalia, the place itself was bone-bare. Barely any furnishings, no carpet, just a few blank rooms waiting to be filled with tenants. Aside from the main living room, the apartment also featured an area that I recognized as a kitchen (without any familiar contraptions designed for preparing food, I might add), a singular bedroom, and a rather accommodating bathroom featuring an odd looking apparatus that I eventually recognized to be some kind of shower (except that the faucet head was installed at waist length and positioned upward instead of downward).

A door at the back of the room was made of blacked out glass. An exit to a balcony perhaps? A closet? Where would such a door lead?

The only items inside the apartment, aside from the bed frame, were a simple desk and a couple firm chairs. I took one of these chairs for myself while Iroa sat up straight on the bedframe, his eyes simmering behind his visor.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man bellowed. "I'm no threat to you, I'm cuffed! I have not instigated any violence towards you, so why can't I-"

Before I had even taken my seat this man had made both the idiotic decision to open his mouth and to say something unequivocally false. My own blood pressure surged and almost automatically, I rushed over to Iroa, bodily yanked him up by the straps on his enviro-suit, which rendered him unable to complete his sentence, and slammed him against the wall. The quarian yelped as the straps dug into both his suit and his skin and Nya let out a soft cry of surprise as she watched me threaten her father.

"You… were not… about to say that!" I seethed through a locked jaw, shoulder muscles burning. "Do you really think that we're stupid enough to believe that crap?"

"It- it's true!" Iroa yelled fearfully. "I haven't hurt anyone!"

"Liar!" I roared so loudly I feared I might have torn some tissue in my throat. "You've been an associate to the fact! Twice now your stupid stepson has been in a position to hurt someone – first it was me, now my friends. Both times you stood by and did nothing. Nothing! Try to justify yourself again and I'll-,"

Iroa wheezed as he elicited a rough chuckle, despite the fact that his feet were dangling off the ground as I gripped him. "You'll what?" he mocked. "Kill me? You won't do such a thing. You're not a murderer."

Am I? I was almost tempted to say – wanting so dearly to prove this man wrong.

A sneer gripped my lips, my throat itched, and my arms were beginning to cry out in agony from holding the quarian aloft for so long. I had half a mind to hold Iroa by his throat and throttle him until I felt a pair of hands insistently tug at my arms, small three-fingered hands with a vice-like grip.

"Sam, no!" Nya urged as she tugged my body in the opposite direction. "Don't play his games. He wants you to hurt him. It will only make him hate you more."

For some reason, I was lightly entertaining the idea of smashing Iroa's visor and leaving him to die in this place, all alone and choking on his own blood as an infection took him. As quickly as that macabre image formulized, it faded as the rest of my moral center felt horrified that I could even conjure up such horrible things.

Listen to your wife.

Finger joints creaking as they suddenly sprang open, Iroa dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, nearly falling over as his knees absorbed the impact. The man started to massage the areas on his body where his straps had been chafed his skin. Nya pushed me away quickly, knowing that I'll probably spring on Iroa again if I was provoked again.

"I'm glad to see that my daughter is more level-headed than you are," Iroa quipped nastily, earning a pitiful look from poor Nya.

Furious with the man's cavalier attitude, I managed to break from my wife's half-embrace and cocked a fist back, ready to hurl it straight at Iroa's head. Immediately, Iroa flinched backward, pathetically raising his hands like they would somehow be a sufficient shield against my upcoming blow. Yet, after a period of time had passed when Iroa finally realized that the punch had not arrived, he tentatively looked my way to find that I had lowered my arm, my expression dark with disapproval.

"You should be glad," I rasped while Iroa tried his best not to look too foolish. "Because if you manage to piss her off, even I won't be able to stop her. Got a sense of the pecking order now, asshole?"

Iroa fumbled his way up onto the bed frame, very much trying not to look sheepish.

"I… understand."

"Good," was all I said before I finally sat down upon the chair, emitting a sigh as I did so. Nya continued to stand while shifting her glance furtively between me and Iroa, her silvery eyes fluctuating wildly beneath her crimson visor.

Iroa continued to glare at me with something that I interpreted as both anger and scorn.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?"

"I do have a medical degree… so, yeah."

"You're nothing but a brute. An arrogant alien who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever my daughter saw in you is invisible to me."

Forcing myself to concentrate solely on Nya, I managed to keep my expression rock steady while my hands were clenched so tightly they could crack stone. Eventually, something within me relaxed and I found myself able to breathe easier through an open throat.

"Believe what you want to believe," I calmly intoned. "At least I can rest easy in the fact that I haven't been labeled a deadbeat or a liar. After all, you did just stand back without protest while your stepson held a knife to someone's throat. I don't know about you, but something seems wrong with that picture. They have a word for that in my culture, it's called complicit."

"You can't hang that over my head!" Iroa protested. "I told you before and I told you again that I did not know what Eyzn was up to! I don't know how many times you want me to say it!"

"Then why do I not believe you?" I hurled an accusatory finger in the man's direction as Nya continued to stand silently by, yet she nodded her head in agreement. "There is clearly an agenda in your circle and either you are completely in on it, or were too stupid to have seen it coming. Please, I dare you to lie one more time to my wife's face that you were not aware about this entire clusterfuck happening."

It almost looked like Iroa was about to gulp out a word or two of protest, but as he looked right at his daughter, something clammed up within him and he slightly wilted.

"It wasn't supposed to go this way…" he murmured.

"Yeah, well, I've got two friends plus myself bearing an assortment of wounds courtesy of your stepson who is clearly on some mad tirade for whatever reason. Kraana said that we pose a security risk to you guys, but I don't buy it because everyone's been acting so violently. I just want you to be straight up with us: what the hell is going on here?!"

Iroa did not give me the courtesy of looking right at me. Rather, he focused his gaze completely at Nya and jabbed a finger into his thigh for emphasis.

"Look, I did what I thought was right!" he said adamantly. "What happened to you isn't my fault! I'm sorry this occurred – I really am! Had I known that Eyzn would behave in such a fashion I would never have brought him along in the first place. I honestly have no idea as to what he hoped to accomplish by being so belligerent and hostile. Even I was unaware of the possibility that Kraana would want to keep you all restrained so that you wouldn't turn us in to the Admiralty forces. I swear to you that that's the truth!"

Nya just slowly crossed her arms as she sadly looked on at her pathetic father. "I think that Sam had a point, then," she finally spoke. "You're either lying to protect Eyzn, but you're most likely an idiot for thinking that I could possibly believe you."

"Nyareth, all I wanted was to be there for you as a fathe-,"

"Nothing that you can say could possibly make this right," Nya coldly cut Iroa off. "Your stepson hurt Sam. He hurt Chandler and Rie. And all the while you sat by and let it happen. In all this time, none of us have heard you accept any responsibility in some way for what happened, just like you never took responsibility for getting caught and getting mother exiled. Did you stand by then? Did you even try to protect your wife?"

Iroa jumped up so suddenly that I instinctively started to yank my pistol from its holster in alarm. But Iroa did not attack and simply ambled forward a few steps, but he was clearly aggravated beyond his normal threshold. His restrained arms shook, but not from a desire to strike Nya, but from the need to express himself with his entire body.

"You don't mean that," a shocked sob escaped Iroa, to my surprise at the man's rush of emotion. "You have no idea of the dilemma that I faced when it came to that horrible moment. Xen… she threatened to kill me and my family. Had I not willingly complied to be her lackey, she would have executed your mother instead of exiling her. It was her way of making a point. I already knew that people were going to die because of the work I did – I didn't want to lose Qirra that way too. I chose this path because I wanted to save her, and in turn I saved you, so watch your tone."

"Oh, don't even fucking start with that!" I shouted in exasperation as I too stood up, my height over Iroa giving me a clear advantage. "You didn't even know that you had a daughter until after she was born! I can't believe you, you motherf-"

A hand sharply gripped me at my shoulder, momentarily cutting off my blood circulation. I stopped mid-sentence as Nya gently stepped in front of me, her body language now soft but her eyes unforgiving.

"So, was that really how it happened, Iroa? Submit to Xen and save your wife – save mother - or struggle and watch her die?"

Iroa just numbly nodded as he tenderly tugged at the scarf looped around his suited neck. "I want you to know, that I am praying to the Ancestors that you will never have to make such a choice in your life. Do you now understand, at least, what it was that I had to go through? I'm here before you now because I will no longer be a pawn of Xen. I want nothing to do with that bitch anymore. Nothing. I want to make up for the time she stole from me. I want my family back. I want you in my life, Nyareth."

I want. I want. I want. Many of the worst horrors ever conceived were performed because of someone's wants. Want does not equate to get.

After emitting a ragged laugh, I looked on at the bedraggled quarian without an ounce of pity. "You say that like Xen's going to just let you walk away from everything. From what you've told us of her, she's not going to be very happy that you just up and left."

"You think I don't know that? My days are numbered anyway if I'm to remain in her employ. She'll conveniently 'no longer have a use for me' and execute me once she finally drains me of every ounce of research that I have. I'm hedging my life on the fact that sooner or later she's going to get killed or captured one of these days. And even if she does get captured, she'll be executed anyway. This is the first time in years that I've allowed myself to be hopeful. Considering how far I've come," he looked at Nya for emphasis, "I believe that my faith has been rewarded in some way."

"Then I guess it's quite sad to hear when a traitor finally gets what they want."

I was really testing my luck by my continued prodding of the caged animal otherwise known as Iroa. The quarian tensed, probably determining if he could take me one-on-one in a fistfight, before managing to choke out his next words around a closed windpipe.

"I may be considered a traitor by my own people, but do you know how I manage to reconcile that fact with myself?"

"Please, enlighten us," I snarled.

Iroa gave a pithy snort. "It's because the people that gave me that label are all hypocrites. They 'posthumously' exiled me after they decided that my AI research was in fact illegal, yet I know for a fact that every single admiral would have welcomed my research if it proved to be successful, and I daresay it, would have replicated it even if the entire incident had not gone public within the fleet. The admirals are the real traitors – they are tools to their foolish base of constituents even though they hold completely differing political agendas. Very poor representatives of the people, in my opinion. My work was kept secret only because it was obvious that the uneducated population of the flotilla would have a panic if they knew that an AI was being developed where they lived after our disastrous mistake with the geth. If I had made a public announcement, I would be put on trial for illegal research. If I had announced my intent beforehand, I would have my rank pulled and I would have been disgraced. Secrecy was my only option."

"You assume they are hypocrites, yet where's the proof?"

"You can certainly make the connections yourself. Just start asking questions to the Admiralty's higher-ups, particularly on the topic of Rael'Zorah."

I blinked and turned to Nya for help, the name not ringing a bell. "Who's Rael'Zorah?"

"A former member of the Admiralty Board," Nya remembered after pondering for a bit. "He was in charge of Special Projects. Beyond that, I'm not sure. I never really knew the man that much. All I know is that he died a few months under some muddled circumstances before the war began and that his daughter eventually filled in his spot before she retired after the war, but that's it."

Iroa sat back down on the bed, eyes sharply slit with anger. "You want a real traitor? Rael'Zorah is that person. Yet his official record is clean. No blemishes in his political or military career. Funny, how that man, my captain at the time, voted to have my name stricken from the manifests of every ship I served on when I know that he should be remembered as the worst war criminal in our history!"

Nya looked unconvinced, as was I. "And why exactly is that?"

"Because I took every precaution while he was being reckless!" Iroa slammed his bound fists on the bed frame, obviously frustrated. "I made sure my AI project was outfitted with every single safeguard imaginable to protect organics from the cold judgment of a machine, thereby erasing the potential of us coming into conflict with synthetics again. In contrast, Rael'Zorah performed blind experiments on geth, deliberately activating them in order to find ways to hack their neural network. It served him right when his own experiments killed him, but somehow his name was exonerated. His legacy survived while mine did not… and I was not so stupid to activate live geth on the damn fleet! I cannot fathom how such a thing could have been possible unless our entire government is so corrupt that they'd rather cover up the truth rather than risk their careers by revealing it. One would think it would be obvious that a high-ranking quarian admiral would be killed by geth within the flotilla, not to mention the inevitable question as to how said geth became reactivated in the first place. Yet he is remembered as a hero instead of a 'traitor' like me. Rael'Zorah, as one of the captains privy to my revelation as a supposed 'traitor', gave a statement condemning me for my work while he would go on to do the same thing, if not worse, years later!"

I had realized what Iroa was doing halfway through the tale. He was shifting the blame again. Now he's defending his own criminal deeds by offering up some unrelated account concerning this Rael'Zorah person to distract us from the fact that Iroa was in the wrong to begin with. Either he did not understand what he was doing, or he truly did not have the capacity to stomach criticism.

"That is… an interesting story," I conceded before I loudly sighed. "But in your mind, did you really think that telling it would cause us to view you in a different light?"

"Perhaps it was too much to hope that a human like you could ever understand," Iroa bitterly replied.

"I understand plenty," I shot back. "You're just trying to make us feel sorry for you, but you can't bullshit a bullshitter. You're just a greedy, manipulative bastard who doesn't care about anyone other than yourself."

"Eyzn may have had a point with your rather odd sayings. I'm rather unfamiliar with the term 'bullshit.'"

"The point is, you can't fool me, old man. You fucked up early on and now you want to make amends. You don't just want her to have the knowledge that she has a father who's alive, you want nothing less than constant contact with her… to the detriment of everyone else I'd imagine. You want Nya back in your life, fine, but you'd rather tear up the only family she's ever had at this point simply to satisfy your selfish plans. Understand this: she's my wife first, and your daughter second."

It seemed like it took an eternity for this to sink into Iroa's head, but when it finally hit, the reaction was not what Nya or I were expecting. The man just began laughing to himself, very quietly, but still at a volume where it was becoming quite obnoxious.

"You really are a naïve human," Iroa muttered after catching his breath back. "Is this also how you see it, Nyareth? Is this really how the hierarchy of your family works?"

"Without a doubt," Nya fired back immediately. "He's my husband first. Everyone else is just vying for second."

Iroa flitted his gaze lazily over our faces before he leaned backward on the bed frame in amusement.

"Is that so?" he sneered.

"Yes!" Nya hissed.

"You trust him that much?"

"With my life."

"That's disappointing to hear."

"Why?" I now growled. "Is it because I'm not 'good enough for her?'"

"You are a human."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Everything."

I shook my head. "That's no excuse."

"It is the only excuse I need, because there is no conceivable way that-,"

"Listen here, you little-,"

"-that I will ever see you as a husband to my daughter."

I got to my feet and savagely kicked my chair aside, causing both quarians in the room to jump with fright. My face must have looked murderous, because I could actually see Iroa begin to tremble as he beheld me fully.

Once again nearly triggered to the brink of insanity by this man, I felt my chest begin to tighten in on itself. My vision began to gray out slightly, accompanied by a slight itch at the edge of my eyeballs. My breath was now beginning to emit in a slight wheeze – if I stayed it would only get worse. I had to leave this place or risk losing everything I held dear in my wretched life.

"I don't know why I'm continuing to bother with you when you're clearly beyond reason," I gritted out before I did an abrupt about-face and stormed over to the door that led back out into the courtyard.

I held my hands out in preparation to push the door away from its hinges, but the entryway merely slid aside once the motion sensors were triggered. Nearly losing my balance, I swore I heard a chuckle come from behind me. Cheeks burning, furious at my momentary lapse of door operation (damn 21st century habits!) I rushed out of that apartment before anyone had the chance to call after me or chase me down.

Homicidal thoughts overriding any shred of common sense, I stupidly kicked the wall after I had gone about a few feet, leaving me cursing and temporarily limping as I was reminded that the bones in my foot are softer than solid rock.

Now that walking my anger off was no longer an option for me, I hobbled down the stairs to find a bench in the courtyard somewhere where I could rest and cool off.


Had I chosen to stick around at least instead of succumbing to a temper tantrum, perhaps I would have been privy to a couple new aspects of the conversation as it continued among its set trajectory. However, my unexpected departure would prove to have shifted the tone entirely, as the array of potential topics under discussion abruptly pivoted, meaning that I could never have accurately predicted what would go on behind those closed doors in my absence.

As Nya watched me leave, she considered following me out the door as well until a stroke of inspiration hit her – quick flashes of anger and malice followed by a yearning for information. Slowly, menacingly, she turned around, hands balled into fists as her father watched her with a mixture of smugness yet turmoil.

"You're such an idiot," Nya sighed explosively. "Why would you do that to him?

Her father genuinely had confusion in his eyes. "I just stated my position. If he couldn't handle the truth-,"

"You angered him," she softly castigated. "You're never going to win him over if you keep doing that."

Iroa just shrugged and found fascination with other objects in the room, not Nya. "Perhaps if he wasn't quick to anger it wouldn't be an issue. You should have had second thoughts when you… pledged yourself to him." He said those last few words with a shudder. "Besides, why would I care what he thinks about me?"

Nya walked over and righted the chair that her husband had previously overturned in his outburst and sat down upon it, all the while never taking her eyes off her father. Two sets of eyes behind two different visors – both faces invisible yet plainly obvious to the other.

"Because he cares about me," she pointed out. "Shouldn't that be reason enough? Wouldn't you want me to be with someone who adores me and treats me with love and respect?" Nya paused before she bit her lip in a scowl. "Isn't that what most fathers should care about? Don't mistake my words, because I still think you're a bastard, but if you really do care for me – if you really want me to think of you as my father - my choice of husband should be a non-issue for you."

As she was saying this, Nya was pulling up memories old and new to draw examples from. She certainly had a plethora to choose from – moments clearly demonstrating her love between herself and her husband. Lying on a blanket in California, with him holding out a ring. Their fingers clutched together as they lay on a couch with a movie blaring in the background. The warm and sensual feeling of lips against each other as their naked bodies pressed against each other, their repeated gasps and moans drowning out all ambient noise.

Safe to say that Nya had plenty of reasons to care.

Yet Iroa was indifferent. "So why does he storm out of the room every time he's pressed? He's clearly unpredictable and rude. I hope those aren't the qualities that attracted you to him."

"He's had a difficult life," she defended. "And you're merely provoking him. Sam is more complicated than you could understand – he's gone through things that no one could even begin to describe fully. That being said, he's really not an angry person, but the only times he's ever truly furious is when either someone criticizes our marriage, or if I'm threatened." Nya then glowered before she added, "Both scenarios did just happen today, by the way."

"Then that's a weakness. He should be more even-tempered."

"For the majority of my life, I've only been taunted," Nya broke in. "You have no idea how much that hurt me as a child. I was unruly as a kid – I rebelled, I fought. I even ended up cracking a fellow pilgrim's visor with a wrench because he was harassing me. I got thrown in the brig for a day because of that and the crew eventually suppressed my outbursts over the years, but I was never allowed to forget that my social standing would always be tainted because of things that occurred which were completely out of my control. Do you even understand, Iroa, how it feels to have no control over the most critical moments of my life? No one asked me what I wanted out of my life or if I could renounce my traitor father, they only gave their assumptions because that was good enough for them."

"I'm not talking about you, Nya. I'm talking about Sam."

Nya inwardly sighed at her father's obliviousness. "Why the double standard? Why should I get a pass and Sam should not? He never experienced that sort of cruel upbringing before and every time it's brought up, it upsets him when I get mocked. He gets really disappointed in people when they go out of their way to try and bother me, and since he loves me so much it drives him over the edge when it happens. Don't you understand? I became numb to the injustice, but Sam was only recently introduced to it. The fact is that he gets hurt a lot more from flippant comments aimed in my direction, and it's only helped me realize just how lucky I am to have met him, so that I can push back again against the abuse that has tainted me for so long."

Iroa gave a snort. "Sounds like he's just fighting your battles for you."

"Weird. I would have thought that would be an implicit side-effect of being married to each other."

"I still don't understand that," Iroa grumbled as he walked over to the tiny window on the far side of the room, allowing a tiny sliver of orange sunlight to bathe his face in a warm glow. "I would have thought that humans preferred to remain with their own kind, just like us. Was there really no one else that made such an impact on your life?"

"No," Nya replied firmly. "Just Sam."

"Hmm," Iroa mused as he looked forlornly out the window.

"He's a good man," she emphasized. "He's kind to me. I love him and that's what matters most. I most certainly don't need your approval, even if you are my father."

"And yet he seems to let his anger get the best of him, particularly when confronted with one simple fact."

Iroa then turned away from the window as he tilted his head this way and that to iron out all the kinks in his neck.

"You noticed it too, didn't you? The way he ran out the first time when I pointed out that he was unable to father a child with you. Unless some magical serum came out while I was imprisoned that can somehow enable two species to cross-breed, I don't think that's something you can achieve at this moment. It frustrates him the same way it frustrates you."

Nya's glare could have bored a hole through Iroa. "We're… discussing our options," she said, trying not to make her voice sound too strangled.

"I'd make sure that a child is something that Sam wants," Iroa simpered. "If you want one so badly, but he doesn't share your sentiment, then I would guess that would be rather awkward for you both. That would be a shame. Also, if he shot down the idea of adoption, then I would think that he married you purely for selfish-,"

Iroa didn't know it, but he had hit the mark in a way he had not expected. Nya began to tune him out as she dimly considered the man's words. Hesitantly, she explored within the recesses of her mind the multiple angles comprising this jagged problem.

Did Sam really want a child? He said he did, but he was very unsure of committing to artificial conception. But those are the only options available to us! Keelah, I just don't know. I have to find out what he really wants eventually.

I know he'll be a good father! No doubt in my mind that he will care for our baby with so much love. I just… I want him to be happy.

"-tragic if he didn't," Iroa continued to drone on. "Because he is not catering to your best interests if he won't-,"

"Enough," Nya seethed, finally cowing Iroa. She rose from her chair and shakily backed away, but did not dare to turn her head more than a millimeter. "You don't know anything, Iroa. What is discussed between me and Sam is none of your business. We will find a way to work out this problem – together, like adults. You have no part in any of this."

Iroa stepped away from the window and lifted a hand, silently begging her to stay and remain.

"I only want you to have the life you deserve," was his pathetic reply.

Nya's eyes held no sympathy as she walked close enough to the door for it to slide open. "Then you failed at your goal twenty-eight years ago. You can't give me anything I want, but I can certainly take away what you want the most. If you continue to refuse to acknowledge Sam as my rightful husband, then I will never recognize you as my father. Try aggravating him further and see what happens."

"Nyareth-,"

"You cannot negotiate this," were Nya's final words as she stepped out of the apartment, lingering for as long as it took to see Iroa's posture slump as he finally realized that he was not even a player in this game.

Allowing herself a breath of victory, Nya walked down the hall, in the direction her husband had traveled, leaving Iroa alone in his room as the door locked itself.


That liar! That charlatan! That complete hypocrite! Who was Iroa to lecture me on what was best for Nya? Just because they were related by blood did not mean that Iroa should automatically be Nya's greatest role model! Did he not realize that he couldn't just show up and expect to maintain a significant presence in her life after being out of the picture for so long? It didn't work like that! Not to mention that Nya thought Iroa had been dead for all her life – what obligation did she have to him?

Not a goddamn thing, that's for sure.

Problems sure were rife within the McLeod clan.

After leaving the apartment, I had made a quick beeline to the nearest stairwell, which I quickly hustled down in order to reach the courtyard in the center. Once there, I carefully stepped over the intruding vines where a simple stone bench had been erected, the perfect place for me to rest and collect my thoughts. The stone itself had been smoothed and polished when it was first built, but time had chipped away at it, leaving once sharp edges ragged and unblemished surfaces scarred. At least it felt good to finally sit down on something.

Once again, I despised myself for having left Nya in the lurch all alone with Iroa, but I really felt that I had to drop out this time, otherwise I probably would have done something that I would have dearly regretted. That, and the constant aggravation was making my injuries flare up once more. The doctors had made sure to tell me to get a handle on my emotions otherwise my slow healing process could be significantly compromised. I felt better now, physically, but this constant roller-coaster between ecstasy and despair was definitely not doing my health any favors. One of these days, everything was going to come crashing down for me, especially at this rate.

Iroa. That goddamned prick. Him and his misguided sense of familial ties. Could he really be so blind as to not see who was more important in Nya's life? I was the one who had known her the longest, who supported her in the darkest moments of her life. We shared a bond that was not so casually forged, but from the experiences we shared together. I certainly did not pressure her into having a relationship with me – to even marry me! That was a choice we had made together. This wasn't something an outsider like Iroa could butt in on, his parental status be damned.

But how could I make him see this from my point of view? What would it take to get this uncomfortable truth through his thick skull?

If I had less self-control and was sure that doing so would not completely rip my throat open, I probably would have let loose an earth-shattering bellow of frustration. Sometimes screaming out loud can work with dispelling stress, but not in this case. Instead, I was refined to making muffled noises between gnashed teeth and thrashing my body all about in anger whilst pounding my fists upon the bench. Not exactly productive, but it burned some of my rage – of which I had in spades.

"You appear to be in distress, Samuel," an electronic voice suddenly emitted behind me. "All you all right?"

I turned on the bench to see Sagan walking right towards me, bushes flanking the path all around the geth. Following closely behind was an anxious looking Rie and a similarly fatigued Chandler. The latter two hurriedly walked over and sat on either side of me on the bench while Sagan preferred continue standing, as geth appendages never fatigued.

"I'll admit, I've been better," I sighed as I hung my head briefly. "This is not exactly how I thought my day was going to go."

"Where's Nya?"

"Yelling at dear old dad, I guess."

Chandler gave me a brotherly pat on the back, unknowingly relieving me in some way. Grateful for the support, I managed a smile as my eyes were naturally drawn to the scratch on his head.

"Your wound… is it-?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Chandler gave a brilliant grin as he waved a hand in dismissal, oddly jovial for someone who had just gotten conked on the head not long ago. "It's just a scratch, didn't even get a concussion. Rie checked me out already. I guess I was just dazed, didn't expect to get overpowered by a quarian, no less."

"That seems to be the moral of the story for everyone right now," I mused as I now turned to Rie and lifted up her chin so that I could see the scratch on her neck that Eyzn's knife caused. "Let me look at that."

The turian slightly winced as I appraised her wound. The scratch itself was merely a shallow line, already congealed at this point, but a few errant drops of blue blood had slid down her throat, making the injury look worse than it really was.

"How bad is it?" Rie trembled as she squeezed her eyes shut while I grabbed a cloth from a spare pocket to wipe the blood away.

"You'll live, sadly," I humorously groused as I dabbed at the scratch, scourging Rie's metallic plates clean. The glib comment just came out of me, my previous anguish having evaporated. "Everything's already healing nicely. In a few days I'm sure it will look like- wait, are you crying?"

Indeed she was, for tiny droplets were beading around Rie's clenched eyes as soft whimpers escaped her. Alarmed, Chandler ran over to comfort his girlfriend while I clumsily pressed a rag into Rie's hands for her to use at her whim. Sagan stood back, wisely not commenting on the situation.

"Hey, dear," Chandler soothed. "What's the matter? You're fine. We're all fine here. You're safe."

I nodded heartily in agreement. "No one's going to touch you here, Rie. Is that what you're worried about?"

After a moment or two of her sputtering and trying to catch her breath, Rie finally opened her eyes, exposing her slit pupils and blazing yellow irises. I had never seen a turian cry before, but I was struck at just how emotion eyes alone could convey while turians had very few facial muscles to manipulate. Goes to show what I know from experience – I live with a quarian, so I probably should have picked up on that fact.

"I'm fine…" Rie spluttered in between heaves. "I'm f-fine… I'm just… damn… I'm sorry, you guys."

"Sorry?" Chandler jerked in surprise as he tightly hugged her against him. "You've nothing to be sorry about, Rie."

"I put everyone in danger a few hours ago because I wasn't thinking! I completely forgot all the training I ever had and let someone use me as a hostage!"

"And I let Iroa get the better of me and nearly entered into an all-out brawl with another quarian," I piped up, my voice back into my soothing doctor mode. "We can't keep trading apologies for every mistake we make, otherwise I'd outnumber you all."

Rie then slammed a fist down onto the stone bench, the fire in her eyes boiling away the remaining tears.

"Sam, I… I can't just move on from this so easily. I'm a turian, I should have been more prepared! What little basic training I've received was more than enough to get out from that quarian's clutches but instead I acted like a little girl. I was pathetic back there."

In part, I understood. The turians were a militaristic race where service in the corps was mandatory for every citizen. Their society was a rigorous, structured one, heavily fortified by rules that served as a rigid path for their people to tread – the institution that hammered in the iconic work ethic and strict discipline of the turian race. Rie would have entered into basic training before she entered her twenties and have gone through the exact same process that billions of turians had before her as her initiation towards citizenship.

Except that had not exactly been the case for Rie.

What most people did not know about Rie was that, her portion of basic training had been cut off abruptly with the arrival of the Reapers. She had only just started out, a fresh-faced recruit eager to serve, then her entire world had been upended all at once. Their military had been scattered, personnel and equipment were displaced, and in the chaos Rie somehow found herself in the middle of backwater Palaven, guarding a remote outpost with little to no strategic value. It was a dull posting, but those were her orders and every good turian will tell you that you never question orders.

So she had waited. And waited. And waited. She kept waiting to protect her outpost against the invading force that never even got close to her position, as it was so far out of the way that it posed no direct threat to the Reapers.

Then one day, the reports started to come in. The war was over. All military personnel were instructed to report to the capitol for debriefing and cleanup duty. Thus Rie's career in the military was over.

Rie had only recounted her tale to me once, and it was something I surmised was especially painful for her to bring up. I could imagine the excitement she had felt when she had first entered her platoon only for disappointment to take hold as she was shuttered in and then churned out by the bureaucracy that was the turian military. Such a bright and useful recruit completely wasted by governmental incompetence.

The most insulting thing to Rie was that she had even received a medal once she had made it back to civilization. A token, in her mind, just for surviving while more deserving recipients would be forgotten in the rubble. She had not even fired a single bullet at an enemy during the war. Mere minutes after it had been looped around her neck, she had promptly thrown it in the trash. She then left Palaven to get training as a doctor on Earth and the rest is history.

"I wasn't cut out to be a soldier," Rie mumbled almost incoherently as she dabbed at her eyes. "I got called a hero for sitting on my ass for months. I felt sick to my stomach for a long time. I knew I didn't deserve anything because I didn't do anything. If I wasn't going to make a difference in people's lives as a soldier, I thought I might as well try my hand at being a doctor. I thought it could bring me peace. It did, for a while, working with you, Sam. We helped people get their lives back together, and I thought I could finally be free of the warrior's life I was supposed to have. Funny how at the first sign of violence on this trip, I freeze up and get a knife at my throat for my troubles. Some turian I turned out to be. I'm… I'm sorry I didn't do anything, Sam. I should have done s-something… but I didn't, and Eyzn got away."

"Come on," I tenderly shushed as I helped Rie up so that I could give her a reassuring hug, only slightly noticing that in my subconscious, I had already forgotten my private plight when friends of mine were hurting. "Rie, no one's blaming you for anything. Believe me, I'm the last person who could ever blame you for panicking in a stressful situation as you're talking to someone who was a hopeless basket case during the war. Ask Nya, I was near useless as a fighter back then. Anyone in your position would have had the same reaction if someone came at you with a knife."

"R-Really?" Rie sniffed. "But… when you saw that I was in danger… you pulled your gun and started acting so… so cool, like this life was nothing new to you before."

My lips pursed into a line as I scratched my bearded chin in contemplation. Not saying that I thought Rie was wrong, but I never really had considered how much more confident I've been acting with regards to these kinds of situations. The old me would have freaked.

I took hold of the turian's hand in both of mine, feeling her rough carapace against my comparatively smooth skin.

"Unfortunately, I've had weapons pointed in my direction far too many times to count. You get used to it after a while. I hate that I'm like this now, believe it or not. I would have rather my life been a bit more normal, but there's very few things one can do when you are confronted with a lunatic. You either cower, or take control."

"I should have taken control, then. Instead I cowered."

"You cowered because you weren't expecting anything like this. You can't be told what to do when someone has a knife at your neck, Rie. You had a completely normal reaction for someone who's never faced the business end of a rifle. You got knocked down today, but you have another chance to pick yourself back up. You're so smart, Rie, that the next time someone threatens to knock you down, I know you'll be there to stand your ground and push back."

Rie gave a tiny sigh as her lava-like eyes fixated themselves upon me gratefully. "I'm glad that I met you, Sam."

Now I chuckled as I momentarily glanced away in embarrassment. "You're going to make me cry, Rie. I've probably screwed this whole vacation up more than anyone ever could."

"I don't know," Chandler gave me a light pat on the arm after I released a sniffling Rie. "You're taking this far better than I would be. I don't know what I'd do if I found out that my dead step-father was never really dead. Of course, I would need to be married for the situations to be remotely in the ballpark, but still."

I pathetically chortled. "Give it time. At the rate this is going I'm liable to lose my mind any moment now. Besides, Iroa would rather pull out all the legal stops to prevent me from even sarcastically referring to him as my step-father. Not that I would be complaining about that, but he seems rather hell-bent on taking Nya away from me. Fat chance that's going to happen."

"His loss," Rie's eyes finally warmed as she gave a slight hiccough. "He will never understand how lucky he should be that Nya is with someone like you."

"Aw, you guys," I blushed, despite myself, as Chandler and Rie both laid their hands upon my shoulders. Feeling more sheepish by the second, it was hard to look my friends in the eyes and see their adoring gazes upon me. "I'm just… shit, I'm all choked up… I'm lucky that I got the chance to know you. Both of you."

"And we're lucky to know you," Rie affirmed. "You're a better man than Iroa could ever be."

"Exactly," Chandler agreed. "You are a good man, Sam. Don't let that idiot get to you, because whatever he calls you is a lie."

Whatever did I do to deserve such caring people? Years ago I didn't give a shit what anyone thought of me. Now I was surrounded by folks who I had let in to my life, defining it in ways I could not have foreseen. Nya, Rie, Chandler. I was loved here, far better off than back in 2015. Maybe it didn't matter if this vacation turned out to be truly crappy or not – I had gotten what I had really wanted, it seemed.

"Thanks," I muttered gratefully before I clumsily disengaged myself from my friends.

I was in such a mental state that I was unsure if I was going to break down if either Chandler or Rie attempted a hug at this moment. Not really something I was willing to chance right now, so I mumbled some excuse about wanting to get some rest, pointing out that such an opportunity should be taken advantage of since we were in an apartment complex.

Fortunately, everyone understood, leaving me to progress to a room alone. Taking my backpack with me, I strode back upstairs and selected a door at random. The apartment looked exactly like the one I had left Nya and Iroa in, complete with the ubiquitous layer of dust. After withdrawing the tightly packed sleeping bag from my bag, I unfurled it upon the empty bed frame (after giving it a thorough dusting). My eyelids already drooping at the prospect of rest, I quickly clambered in and zipped myself up for what I hoped would be a restful night.

My hopes could not be further from reality, unfortunately.


Many miles away – Rannoch surface

The figure finally had to stop, the muscles in his legs cramping to the point where it was too painful to run anymore. Savagely, the man's gait stuttered to a halt as he bent his knees and started to hack, out of breath. If he wasn't coughing his lungs out, he would have muttered a few choice expletives in his native language, all directed at a variety of things and people.

The sun, Tikkun, was barely fluttering above the horizon and the stars were clearly visible in the purplish sky now that night was quickly encroaching. The desert landscape around the man was still, a few shrubs barely fluttering in the pathetic breeze. The temperature had dropped into a downright balmy range, but darned if the man could actually tell the difference with this enviro-suit on.

After a few more seconds of panting, the figure straightened up and checked his omni-tool, finding the text on the screen to be displaying a satisfactory outcome. Now resorted to pacing to calm himself down, the figure trudged back and forth until a dull whine buzzed in his audio receptors.

He turned to face the source and could discern, through a low valley over to the south near the sea, a boxy ship was turning in his direction, the lights fixed on the undercarriage illuminating its chosen path, the jet wash from its engines spinning up clouds of dirt and grit, otherwise disturbing the usually serene area.

The ship's pilot wasted no time by shillyshallying about in a stacked holding pattern, rather the ship began decreasing its velocity immediately as it headed right on course for the man standing in the desert. In less than a minute, the ship had come within a hundred meters of the figure and had landed in a relatively clear area, creating more shockwaves of sand to be hurled about as if a hurricane had approached. The man did not bother to shield his eyes from the stinging particles (thanks to his visor), but he made a point to clutch at his hood to make sure it was not blown off his helmet. He still had a shred of vanity left at this point. At the very moment a tiny sliver of the landing ramp had begun to descend, the man stalked forward on cue, grunting as he fought to make it through the rushing air distributed by the engines.

Once underneath the ship, the frantic wind ceased, like he had entered a vacuum. The man took some time to shake himself off and make him appear somewhat presentable. The person at the top of the ramp, however, apparently could not wait a second longer than necessary, giving the man on the ground a moment's pause before his stature relaxed in recognition as he glimpsed a silver visor.

"Hello, mother," Eyzn greeted respectfully as he started to stride up the ramp, the blue accents on his enviro-suit splattered with dirt. He held up his arm, the one where the omni-tool was blazing its orange light. "I apologize for being late, but I believe I have exactly the thing you want to hear."

Kraana held out her arms and embraced her son, but the gesture was stiff and cold, not at all loving. She then pushed Eyzn out to arm's length as she appraised him before silently deeming him well.

"Wonderful, my son, just wonderful," Kraana gushed, her voice syrupy-sweet. On a dime, what little warmth was contained in the quarian's eyes vanished and her tone introduced a steel note of malice. "Now, where is my husband and his little brat of a daughter?"


A/N: The kettle's about to boil over, eh? Trust me, things are about to kick off very soon. Perhaps not next chapter, but soon. Everyone's still hiding a few secrets, so who knows what anyone's endgame truly is?

Unit 1 (Nya's Theme): "Crossing Mars" by Harry Gregson-Williams from the film The Martian. This is a carryover theme that I previously assigned to Nya in the first Quantum Error story. The cue itself is light and mixes a bit of new age with modern electronic sensibilities, a soft sensitive theme that I think goes well for our quarian co-protagonist.