Chapter 25: Lasting Impressions

"So there I was on the Citadel with those memories flooding back and the pain... oh, the pain coursing through my heart again. The bright lights did little to ease it. When I first gazed upon the magnificent station, I often wondered how I couldn't feel safe. But in that moment, with the artificial sun beating down on me, I knew that its light was mocking me.

"Fear. It's all about that isn't it? To drive men mad and to throw them into corners they cannot get out of. They use it in the military. They use it in politics. Christ, they used it against me when my lover died. Emotionally scarred and broken, my hands as cold as ice, they told me that it would be alright. 'Protect those who could be like her,' they said. 'Save others from the pain you feel.'

"But I wouldn't be in pain if it wasn't for them. They were only trying to cover their ass, protect their property, protect the machine that was starting to break from wear. Well, I showed them. I threw away my badge long before the Reapers were a threat. I tore myself from those chains long ago and now – now as I talk to you I start to realize that I may have died if I had stayed. I could have been on one of the ships that a Reaper obliterated or I could've been on a colony where the Collectors hit. I guess you could say she saved me from my untimely demise.

"Damn, I hate it when I say it like that."

"What happened this time, Shade?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You came here for a reason, didn't you? You do know there are others—"

"And I'm sure they will appreciate your services more than I will."

"What's going on Shade? Why are you here?"

I had an answer to that question, yet I remained oddly mute in face of it. Should I have said that my nightmares had escalated? Maybe I should have said that I had felt ignored and useless since Raven had brought members such as Thionan and Rhetoric to the Citadel? Perhaps I reply that I couldn't sleep anymore and would wander the eternal sunlight, never finding any solace? Or should I simply say that Geisha was worried for me and that she forced me to come? Every single thought was none of Rhetoric's concern. As time passed on the geth dreadnought, I became disassociated with Rhetoric, canceling meetings and generally slipping away from her oily fingers.

Any way you looked at it, being as far away from Rhetoric as I could be was a blessing. Perhaps some may think that odd, but I think you know enough about me to understand why I closed myself off the way I did.

Rhetoric, as usual, tried to elicit a response. "I could guess... is that what you want, Shade? For me to guess why you wanted to see me?"

Maybe, if that's what you want. I replied to myself. Maybe if you would shut up and leave me alone.

"I've been going over the stuff your – comrades have said about you..." She almost said 'friends', didn't she? She almost convinced herself I wasn't a solider, wasn't a faceless demon who wielded a weapon more powerful than my mortal hands could ever comprehend. Heh, she almost thought I slept at night. "What do you have to say?"

She probably labeled off numerous complaints, comments, concerns, or just plain interjections from anyone she could get her hands on. I bet Thionan's was a joke, Raven's a passing glance, Biasheta a harsh criticism, Siphon a prayer, and Geisha a genuine concern. What would my write-up be? What would I say about myself if I had the opportunity? I'm a mess, is what I'd say. I'm a fucking mess of flesh and bone.

My silence bothered her and this time it seemed like my dejected glances and hollow remarks broke through her barrier. "Listen, you know that I've been in this program with you for—"

About six or seven months. The story was old, the speech worn, and the tongue dead. I'd heard her 'plight' a million times from a million different wounded soldiers. The differences was that I'd stopped caring. You reach that point somewhere in your life where you just quit talking and just keep trudging on. The moment when you realize that no one in the world gives a damn about your struggle because they have all the struggles in the world crashing down on them.

"I don't even know why I bother anymore—"

"Neither do I," I replied smoothly, as if I were right on cue for some stupid cliché movie. The wounded solider fresh off the battlefield from the Reaper War; the earnest human willing to help even though she held her own demons. If this continued we'd be kissing passionately in minutes. But to be honest, the very thought made me want to vomit. It wasn't the fact that Rhetoric was ugly – far from it – it was the fact that it would be fake, forced, and mechanical. Even Geisha would cringe at the staged movement of flesh upon flesh. That's all I saw of Rhetoric now: flesh on strings dancing desperately for some 'cause' to champion.

My face lifted to hers; I could see the struggle planted firmly on her lips. Her face contorted in some strange array of wrinkles and tension. "Listen, you need help. Whether you say you do or you don't is of no concern to me, helping people through these trials is."

"Why do you care so much, Rhetoric?"

The question jarred her, possibly because of its seemingly unrelated detour from her original comment, or perhaps due to the directness of the statement. "Why do I care?"

"Yes." I affirmed illicitly. "Why do you care?"

"Why do I care?" She leaned back in her jet black leather chair, streaks of light through the blinds draping thin lines across her body. These lines wavered, making her body appear to have an uneasy movement to it. "I guess I care because that's what I do. I help people, Shade. My job – my goal in life is to heal those who have been wronged before in their lives. I was chosen for this position so I could help people move on—"

"Hypocrite," I blindly stated, rising to my feet with my hands deep in my pockets. "You can't 'heal' anyone without healing yourself first. Stand and look in a fucking mirror for a change. If you see blood on your body, you are looking correctly. If you see anything else, you're blind as a bat."

I started to walk away, but the drowning sound of Rhetoric's voice held firmly in my mind. "How dare you attack me about my past! You have no right to thrash me for my transgressions!"

"Is that it? The great and powerful Rhetoric is afraid of her past? I thought you were the only one here whom Raven had a damn favour for. What the hell happened to that?" My head turned slightly as my eyes half closed in a snide attempt at humour. "What does he owe you anyway? Is there a baby hiding somewhere missing a father that I don't know—"

"He killed my sister." The statement was direct and blunt. There were no strings attached, no faulty pits of concave drops in tone or style. Just an elegant, but innately human, sentence. He killed my sister.

I heard it all through her tears: how her sister had come to love the man, Raven, how she and he had met in the military and their bond was stronger than any she had ever seen. Her relationship failed, but theirs blossomed. Marriage was expected, children were a wondrous dream, but death waited for no one. In a blink of an eye she was dead and Raven was again alone in the world. Apparently it took two years to track the poor bastard down after his lover's death. Even then, I doubted one could even reason with a man in such a state. And now, standing in a door leading to a placid, bleach white room, I saw the entire tale spun before my eyes. By the end Rhetoric was on the floor, I was standing above her like some god, and the Citadel's manifestation shone on. It always shone brightly in the darkest corners of humanity.

My instinct to turn was short lived once I gazed upon the broken and battered form of Rhetoric on the black carpet, her fingers gripping the soft fabric like a baby when it cries for milk from its mother. There was something distinctly human about her form, heaving in a fetal position in the juxtaposing colour scheme of this monochromatic display around us. In the end I took my leave, fully understanding Rhetoric's plight yet never wanting to reveal my own to her again. I sealed that door long ago and when I think back to what I thought in that space, with Rhetoric newly brought to the Citadel to help but now only a shell of what she was… it… it makes me feel like I have somehow become nothing more than a weapon.

With my quiet exit and Rhetoric's weeping, I departed to the gardens of the Citadel. It had been my secret roundabout of peace since my sleepless nights had interrupted another, Thionan, who had entered my room since Raven had called him forth. Now my room was no longer a sanctuary for the nightmares that broke my body into a cold sweat. Instead the fresh and crisp air of the Citadel, eternally in some sort of pseudo spring season, would be the tomb for my hesitations.

Lovers would sometimes boarder the paths I crossed. They would squirm away from my cautious glances and some would just mash their lips together more voraciously. In either case, insecurity was at the forefront of their minds. Why else would two people go out into public to basically screw when they could do it in private? The answer: it was a show. Everything was a show. Puppets strung on to looks like we could move our wooden frames on our own. The strings were merely an illusion to keep us from our happiness. But it was for naught. I learned that a long time ago so why couldn't these lovers?

Because they wanted to believe in hope, a voice in my head told me. They want to kiss away the worry and enjoy the sun. Isn't that enough sometimes? Maybe that was what Raven was trying to do: give people hope so they didn't have to keep hiding under their false faces. Perhaps he was trying to give the galaxy the gold-like figure it so desperately craved. It demanded hope, but hope was in short quantity after Shepard disappeared from the limelight.

My feet halted before a circular fountain. Instead of taking one of the two paths that circled around the display, my head rose from the ground to start at the centerpiece. It was a statue of Shepard, his hand by his side and his other clasping a great spear raised to the sky. His gaze was centered onto the heavens and his face carved with enough skill to make some of the human statues of old look frail in comparison. He looked like a Greek god.

Still my feet did not move. Instead it was my mind that wandered. It searched for answers to the image of Shepard, it craved a reason to exist. And, furthermore, it wished that somewhere, someone would give me a simple answer: something that would solidify my reason for being. Am I like them? I finally questioned myself after darting around the idea for hours, possibly days. Do I wear a false mask to tear myself away from the pains of the past; the present?

My omni-tool started to hiss at me. It clicked and chirped for my attention, but I did not give it. My stare remained on the stoic Shepard. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of annoyance, my hand flashed to the holographic screen and brought up the caller. I patched it into my earpiece to avoid the static voice from alerting attention.

"Yes?" I stated, irate.

"Heard about what happened," a soft voice shifted its way through the com, making my body freeze in place. "Do you want to talk about what happened with Rhetoric, Shade?"

Why Geisha? Why must you try to reach me in this distraught state? My clouded gaze started to clear. "It's none of your business."

I heard a muffled sigh. "It was my business when you collapsed in the hall a few days ago." That statement tore at my heart as the memories of my collapsed form crying on the ceramic tiles of the Citadel flooded back in full force. "When I find you shuddering from trauma, I think I have a right to know what's going on, m'lord—"

"I told you before, I don't want you speaking to me like that!" A soft sound from Geisha was emanated from the device, it almost sounded as if she recoiled from the impact of my comment's ferocity. "I control my own damn life!" With my hand raising to brush back my hair, I gutturally growled, "You can't possibly understand what it's like. You're an AI after all, only meant to replicate emotions, never fully understanding them…" It took only a second to realize the mistake I had made, but it was a second too late to stop myself. The damage had been done and I had destroyed my relationship with Geisha horrifically, possibly forever.

"Goodbye Marcus," was the reply as the sharp screech of the com's connection dying was my ceremonious farewell. I stood there, dumbfounded and alone, my body shaken and my mouth agape. Did she just call me Marcus? Was that even real? Did that title exist when I was born or even before my conception? My hands slowly found their way into tight balls as I threw down my head and swore viciously.

My elaborate embarrassment lasted for a few minutes. My languish was perpetrated by inconsistent growls causing glances from lovers sitting or standing in their own world. I could not see their faces, but to this day I imagine the tight-lipped face of a salarian, his eyes narrowed in disgust, or the regal flair of a turian shaking her head at the putrid display of human emotions, or maybe some provocative asari who nimbly touched her face with a daft hand to whisper sullenly, "Oh dear." These are the faces of those who watched my sorrow and these are the faces of the people I despised to be around. I did not need their sympathy, I did not need their wandering eyes, I did not need … I did not need the embarrassment, did not wish for my heart to look like glass to them. My heart was not an open shutter and yet… I could not fault them for their glances. I was the only one who could be faulted for attracting their eyes for I secretly begged them to stare and feel sympathy.

My eyes eventually found the surrounding scenery and, in that haze, spotted a lone asari under a full tree of emerald. She was encapsulated in shade. My body froze, my eyes scanned every part of her to find out who she was and how long she had been there. The second quarry could not be discerned, however the first was all too obvious. Biasheta was watching me.

There was an awkward standoff as we stared back at one another. Her stance was completely calm with her icy glare while my body trembled at how much, wondering how much she had actually seen. The silence lasted a few more moments until my lips opened and a soft sound was uttered by my coarse voice. "What are you doing here?"

She did not move, did not make a sound in response. There was only that stare, that judgmental oppression of superiority on me; elitism at its finest. No wonder she was an outcast of her people: she was a perfect reflection.

"What do you want?" Again there was no movement save for the breaths that escaped from her lips. My temper was growing as steadily as the wind in the artificial plain. "You know what, I don't want to know. I'm sick of all of this. Raven, no, I'm not sick of that bastard. But I'm sick of the rejects and pathetic insults to humanity he associates himself with." Why must he always associate himself with beggars and the forgotten of society?! It's like he imagines he is some sort of Christ figure! My mind wandered, swore, and fought against me. The circular logic always found a way to come back and bite me hard in the ass. This time it hit so hard it almost knocked me to the grass: I was one of the rejects.

I had always known, but I had never accepted it. Now the logic hurt and burned inside my cranium. That was why Raven had chosen me, had chosen all of us. We were each faulted by this world, were susceptible to his will and his ideas. He promised us glory that had passed us and we lapped it up like rabid dogs. And, all through this revelation, I wanted only to be part of it more. I wanted to accept the logic of Raven's scheme and, furthermore, I wanted to be fooled by it.

"You are here for a reason," I said through rasps. "Tell me what it is so I don't have to see you anymore."

Biasheta, seeming to have had enough of my displeasure for one afternoon, decided to utter a single name. "Neidak-Yalec." Man of the future. I had learned what the phrase meant from Prince when I had called him through the long distance communications network aboard the Citadel. I had questioned him on the gang at that time and the members who had inhabited it. Prince, only wanting to be accepted as an equal to most members, found it easy to tell me a lot about Biasheta, including some of her dialect.

We stared at one another for a moment longer, she apparently disgusted by my vocalized thoughts and I disgusted by her presence. I decided to speak again, in retaliation. "Well, I got who sent you. Where does he want to meet?" She cocked her head and apparently reveled in the expression her actions brought upon me. "Where the hell does he want me?"

Like a lone figure, the grim reaper of human myth, she stretched out her arm and extended her figure. It pointed towards my arm. Finding this gesture curious, I looked to my left and found my omni-tool flashing a bantam light that flickered like sunlight off a pond's surface. I had not noticed it, precisely because I had been too enraged by the world around me and partially due to the blinding summer refulgence. There, after a few flexes of my fingers, I found the answer to my question. It was an unassuming location and an odd one at that. The asylum of the Citadel allowed for such discrepancies in culture and lore. As such, locations shown on my omni-tool were as common as simple mutations. "Genetic differentiation" would be how Prince would put it.

My head twisted in its point, staring at Biasheta now and considering her full form. She did not wear the usual purple and black as before. Now-a-days, no one wore that costume. It was like we had grown up, matured beyond our time. What were we now? Adults who had had their dreams shattered before their eyes. In the same way we were cheated by youth, Raven had cheated us by idealism, all of this to show the frailty of the galaxy's peace. Was it worth it?

I took my first steps from that place with a calm gait. It was a migration of spirit away from the daunting and scintillating eyes of artificial luminescence and the sheen of an asari's eye. Before I left her, I rolled my neck slightly as to give the inclination that I was directing my next comment towards her. "You disgust me." Biasheta didn't move. "Are you sure you heard me correctly? You're a demon, a fucking blight. Emotions don't exist because your mother held onto it when you were ripped out of her stomach—"

A punch connected with my face, causing me to recoil. Then silence followed. Then the sound of footsteps on concrete. Then my knees colliding with the ground. Then me… watching the ground… and observing the reflection I could not find. Some refugees said during the Reaper War that the streets were paved with silver and gold, that if worthy men looked down, they would see their reflection. But all I saw was the ground. That's all I ever saw back then: what was in front of me.

The halls of the citadel were elongated and grandiose. Walking in, one could not help but spy the rows of seats that flanked the sapphire carpet leading to the ritual sanctuary. Krogan religious figures were carved into large oval dents in the walls, giving the space a feeling of mystique and age. Yet to know that the place was only two years old since its original inception was shocking. Even so, it was not as shocking as seeing Raven with short blonde hair watching a bloodletting sacrifice in the sanctuary.

Vocal accompaniment was expected in such a place as that one. Deep, guttural chants from a chorus of krogan males clashed against the pillars of the great church, their cries growing more shrill and high as the ceremony drew on. I found myself engaged in the ritual yet oddly detached. Maybe that was the purpose of such an old rite. Maybe some cultural identity was best left under the sands of Turchunka.

I reached Raven when a krogan in a frosted cloak approached the center of the sanctuary, a porcelain bowl in his hands. Speaking not for the respect of the service but of my own embarrassment of the situation, I was forced to witness the bowl being handed to two females, each dressed in the same white garbs, who were instructed to hold it before the leader. The chant continued, raising higher and higher, their voices soaring. It was a dance of echoes in the midst of silence until at last a knife, crystalline and embroidered, was removed by the ashen cloaked lead male. Drums were pelted from some unknown place in the halls and the females started shrieking. Then, with the knife held high in the sky, the blade crossed the krogan's arm lengthwise, blood bursting onto the members around him. A gasp from the crowd. Then silence.

I was horrified.

"From the third great krogan dynasty that conquered all of Turchunka." My head rotated towards Raven, where the voice emanated from. "Legend says that the great dynasty brought a thousand years of peace for the krogan people, however it did require the ritual killing of the monarch every fifty years." He chuckled at the thought and shook his head with his eyes lightly shut. "A day of bloodshed every fifty years … just for a thousand of peace." Screaming could be heard as the female krogan, covered in the orange tang of the male's gore, yet it was not uttered in fear. No fear was in their eyes, instead it was all a show, though the wound was frighteningly real.

The krogan, bleeding profusely, poured his blood into the bowl before him. He still clasped the knife like a mother to her newborn child. "They spill their blood every fifty years in the same manner to grant another thousand of peace." Raven's laughter was growing now, though it was not sadistic in any form, instead it held an air of disbelief. "Can't they see that their blood could be used to rebuild? Why must the Council grant such horrific sanction for the races under their jurisdiction? Are they afraid of rebellion? How far does this complacency go?"

The chanting became more distorted now as the stained glass appeared to bleed a bright crimson as another krogan in blue entered, in his hands a large case of medi-gel. He waited another few seconds, they seemed like hours to the onlookers, before rubbing it on the wound to seal it shut. However, the instantaneous nature of the powerful gel still had some blood seep through as it began the rapid regeneration of the krogan's cells, stirring his body to clot the wound.

Covered in sticky plasma, the lead krogan held his arms up, the knife displayed for all to see and started to cry out. His voice was surprisingly high and the shrill nature of the pitch was almost unbearable. For the trained eye, tears could be seen running down his cheeks. Then, the unthinkable. I gagged when I first saw it and was close to vomiting in the aisle. In fact, some days with a full stomach I do throw up when I recall the memory, so excuse me if I become pale as I tell this.

No better person could describe the repugnance better than Raven could. "A regeneration of soul and body. An awakening of sacrificial prosperity." He made it sound so gorgeous, like you would want to cut yourself open and complete the sacrifice yourself. But even with Raven's words, chills ran down my spine as the krogan took the bowl and started chugging down his own blood. It spilled everywhere, covering the floor and soaking his body in the inhuman stench. The smell of death filled the room and I was surprised that everyone was holding their meals as well as they were. However, I realized at once that the few present were krogan in origin. Except for myself and Raven.

I felt alone.

"Why am I here?" I questioned aloud, my eyes glued to the scene before me. All I could hear was the thick chug of liquid and the glossy gaze of the krogan who was consuming so furiously.

"To watch. To learn. To listen," replied smoothly Raven, whose eyes were open again and whose laughter has ceased. "I require your services once more."

"What for and why here?" Many had not questioned Raven on his choice of symbolism, yet now I asked – no, begged for the answer. I needed some guidance, I needed to know that my life was still in my grasp. I needed to know I was not like Rhetoric, a puppet to the past. I needed to know I was not like Finnegan, begging for the means to stay alive. I needed to know I was not like Prince, someone who wanted to be useful. I needed to know I was not like Siphon, finding old religions to solidify his existence. I needed to know I was not like Geisha, demanding for a future. I needed to know I was not like Biasheta, a slave to her prejudice. But most of all, I needed to know I was not like the man I saw in the mirror.

I wanted to change, some bullshit character arc like in those stories people read. The hero, some asshole or lost bastard, who finds himself at a crossing roads. Then, when the world needs him most, he rises to the occasion, saves the world, gets the girl, and stops the threat. From the womb I was promised these choices, I was promised my right to existence. Being told that I would choose my own ending, I would rewrite the mistakes and become the legend that I was meant to be. That I would not die with a whimper, but with a thousand trumpets and an armada behind my back. All I wanted was to be told I was a hero.

And with simple words, the dream faded. "I need you to find a traitor in my ranks." A traitor? The idea shocked me. Sure there had been security infringements prior to their landing on the Citadel, yet since then? Impossible. Doubt had seeded into Raven's mind now, he was being delirious.

"Are you sure that we house a person with malicious intent—"

"There is too much evidence for it," interrupted Raven bluntly. "Everything adds up to someone working for the Normandy in the very least. I understand the apprehension you must feel, which is why I am putting this burden on you and you alone." His head turned towards me, his face emotionless and chiseled. "In the same way faith and undying devotion is required for such a sacrifice to be performed, I need that same loyalty from you. Understanding your role is only the beginning of the task I ask you to do. I require your heart and your mind. Will you serve me to protect this universe we both share?" The choir was growing as the ceremony started towards its end. The dark vocals reverberated through the halls as the light from the stain-glass window had become a dark copper.

"I am the third deity, the third dynasty, the third eternity of peace; reborn!" cried out the krogan drenched in his own gore.

"I accept, my liege. Whatever you need of me, consider it done," I replied with hidden eagerness in my voice. I had found a purpose for the time being.

That was enough.

It all went according to plan.

"Here stands Marcus John Tyson before the Council in reconciliation for his crimes against his race and the galaxy at large." The attendant was a short batarian, lean and fit yet humorously smaller than most of his race. Politics looked to be his only prospects by his wiry form, for batarians took to their new found role in the Council with distain. Most saw it as soft and dishonourable. Only the rejects of that society ever got a job here. Surprisingly, my presence was being announced by a disgraced soldier for the Batarian Union. Now I look back on it as ironic. "He served in numerous battles across Alliance space, mostly in ship to ship combat during the second half of the Reaper Conflict—"

"That is quite alright, Minister Zaryluk, we request no further investigation upon this human's previous military dalliances," stated the turian, Chancellor Vernluck, with a wave of his hand. I was to act like I was a traitor brought in by my superior when I confessed my sins to him openly. The story went that I begged for forgiveness, pleaded on my hands and knees for the punishment to be light. But Raven saw his patriotic duty to the galactic union and swore to send me in for a trial in front the Council themselves. Such a horrid being could only be sentenced in front of the galaxy's elite, for Raven wanted the traitor to look into the eyes of the people he or she was killing. I was to be that puppet.

The whole plan was dependent on the true prisoner revealing his or herself in front of the audience. I was allowed no meeting with any of the task force. I could not see Giesha nor Thionan who would laugh at my predicament. There was secrecy in defense of secrets, lies to hide lies, and promises broken to ensnare the true villain. That was, at least, how Raven put it. I was never one for theatricality… heh, look at me now though.

Geisha showed up to my cell, however. I was only meant to stay in that place for a day, yet it dragged on to two. In that time I was surprised as any to see that vixen in the shadow of the door, her skin luminescent in the blinding light outside my cell. She quickly grasped me and hugged me tightly. After the immediate and unexpected display of affection, she withdrew herself and stood straight. Her demeanor of professionalism taking charge once more. She explained coolly how she had asked Raven for her to see him. He, of course, knew of our growing relationship and had no qualms with it occurring. The very fact that she came to me when no one else was allowed showed that fact. However, part of me feared the price she had to pay for that quick meeting.

In that time she also told me of how she felt responsible for this mess, how if she had not pressed my meeting with Rhetoric, none of this would've happened. I disagreed, saying that Raven had planned it all along. She surrendered to that point. Never once did she smile or show any sign of life. Maybe I had hurt here that badly before and it was a sense of duty that propelled her to come, but I still had no idea how her feelings tied into my creed to Raven. It is a puzzle I still do not understand to this day.

"Marcus." My head flew up to the chancellors above me. Each had a look of displeasure plastered across their face. The asari chancellor looked the least horrified by my trial, yet still there was great speculation of my character from him; I was some painting to be gawked at by the rich and famous. No dirty hands could touch me now.

"Yes?" I replied again, making sure to sound as if fear trailed through my voice.

"What have you to say about your crimes?" The krogan chancellor asked, his face a mixture of curiosity and wonder.

I had planned my responses beforehand, even now there were measures of escape that were within my reach. If the plan went sour there was a small pistol in a pocket strapped to my leg. The electromagnetic cuffs that tied my hands behind my back could easily be released if such need arose. I was told I was safe in this position, that I was only here to draw out the traitor. Now the reason for why I was needed for this act was beyond me, however I did understand that I could say whatever I wanted to now.

"I cannot say anything about them, only that I regret my part and involvement with the rogue crew of the Normandy."

"So you can confirm the rumour that the Normandy was indeed responsible for the heinous acts and are, indeed, aligned with the Vipers as we speak?" The Chancellor Vernluck seemed to press the topic heavily, as if he needed clarification before he could begin his rant anew.

"My involvement is unquestionable."

That seemed to be the answer the turian chancellor wanted. "Now see! Look at what this great 'team' of Commander Shepard's has done! In fact, now the evidence is piling so high against these so-called 'heroes' that it seems impossible that they are not responsible. Behold yet another testimony against them. What say you, Chancellor Kain, about your great war hero's immortal unit?"

The human chancellor, with his hands folded against his chest, nodded his head in thought. "There is no point in protecting this criminals any longer. The attack against them to retain their ship, the SSV Normandy, was not of my own design. Indeed, I was against the idea entirely. News of other stations that had made contact with the ship also reported testimonies that were contradictory to the information delivered by Mr. Richardson and his new unit. Now? I'm not sure we can deny Richardson's facts." So this was the true purpose. It was not only to catch the traitor, but also to solidify the knowledge of the Normandy crew's corruptibility and strengthen the Council's trust towards Raven! This realization caused me to admire the human even more.

"I agree with your assessment, Chancellor Kain," spoke the asari chancellor. "I, as well, considered Mr. Richardson's information false. Was it not Commander Bailey, leader of the C-Sec forces, who helped the aforementioned Normandy crew escape? His testimony was against these accusations and he is indeed a respected figure in the galaxy. But I suppose even the most righteous can be corrupted."

"Yes, even you pathetic human angels can have seeds of doubt spurred into your sack," chuckled the krogan chancellor deviously.

A few glares were given towards the chancellor from the others in the assembly, yet their gazes turned north towards my position where I still awaited the fake verdict of my sentence. I would really like it if this traitor revealed himself sometime soon, I thought grimly. I mean, I like being bait and all, but this is getting ridiculous.

"In the case of Marcus John Tyson, however," started Chancellor Vernluck again. "We, the Council, have deliberated previously on the accounts presented in this case." What? "It is then, with our unquestionable judgment as leaders of the galactic community, that we sentence this former human officer to death under the legislation written prior to the unification and settlement of the—" The words quickly faded away as they drew on. My body was weak and I felt frail under their gazes. Was this all a show or was I really being sent to my death? These thoughts flooded through me as I tugged on the cuffs behind me, surely they would have unlocked by now? But they had not and I was alone in my choice to be the sacrificial lamb.

I felt fear, hate, anger, but most of all shame towards all that I had done. What had been my life really? A ton of wandering and searching in a meaningless galaxy. Everything I had ever wanted as a boy seemed false and broken. Each grasp of tangible matter turned to dust and ash, covering me in its harsh soot. I remained a broken person whose life seemed to lead to nowhere.

But my deliverance came in the most unexpected form: a single shot that was fired from a high balcony of officials. Raven and the other members of the gang were in those balconies and in that same place my savior fired a shot that saved my life, but ended his.

Panic erupted in the room as the chancellors flung themselves to the ground. C-Sec officials stormed the chamber, raising weapons high to the onlookers, demanding to know who had fired the shot. Such a densely populated crowd made it hard to discern the potential assassin from the honest merchant. I even spied Raven's shocked expression in the balcony opposite to the one where the shot was fired, he was searching for the culprit as well.

The crowds parted for a moment, just so I and others could gaze upon the person who had saved my life. It was so simple, so shocking and yet it broke me to the core. It was Thionan with a simple black widow sniper rifle in his arms. He was the traitor in our midst.

The shackles that bound me, broke off with a sharp snap.

"All officers under Mr. Richardson's corps report to action immediately!" Screamed some guard in C-Sec. Instantly the place was flooded and I saw Siphon, Biasheta, and others climbing over walls and jumping off the balconies to chase after the newly found traitor. This was what I had my gun for, this was the ploy coming into fruition. Yet I found myself unable to move, shocked into submission. My heart beating against my chest was all that I could recognize as I fell to my knees in despair.

Thionan… how could he… how could he have ever been…? These disjointed thoughts tore at me, brandishing their swords towards my gut. I had been played like so many before me. I was sick of being used; I just wanted all the pain to stop.

And yet I found myself coming to my feet, against my will, and chasing after the turian who had flipped my world upside down.