Author's Note I: Hey, here's the second installment of the Citadel section. Also, I took a little liberty with the end of Garrus's loyalty mission, mainly because I wanted to add a choice that I always thought should be in the game. Regardless, mock me accordingly and enjoy. Also, also, I have a request in the second note section.
"Mort's innate honest will never make him a poet; if Mort ever compared a girl to a summer's day it would have been followed by a thoughtful explanation of what day he had din mind and whether it was raining at the time." – Terry Pratchett, Mort
Chapter 33 – A New Course
(Signs, Weasel, A Favor, An Idea, A Blast, Decisions, A Treat, Martyr, Table Talk)
Despite countless years of ignoring billboards, signs, and displays as so much chafe while fighting through civilian sectors, the Master Chief had finally come face to face with the frightening unknown that is marketing.
The commercial played on a display of the department store's ceiling like an illuminated crash that John-117 couldn't exactly find the strength to look away from. It went thusly:
A pair of humans were standing in what appeared like a gym, one holding a small bag up to the other while both failing at doing what actually needed to be done at such an establishment.
They each pulled something from the container, a something he had to pull back memories from a far too early childhood to remember. A chip he believed.
They both ate their respective indulgence, and then they began to look worried. Sound would probably have done much to clarify the matter, but the stream played on silently.
A moment later, one fell, another chip lodged in his neck. The Chief's mind quickly ran through necessary velocity and structural estimations and found the projectile wanting in both regards.
Then, just before the other man could flee, a turian dressed in what appeared to be layered armor of the snacks launched himself at him.
The vid cut to black and then the words "Doritos, For the Bold. Now in Dextro." Appeared in as large and impressive a manner as seemed possible.
It- it didn't make sense to him. Food was made to be eaten, why portray it in such a manner? It was sustenance, not armor. That was neither effective nor plausible. Was this supposed to be a public service announcement on how not to use it? Such things did not seem necessary.
He knew of commercials much in the same way a man who's read the definition of war knows the battlefield. Logically it made sense that companies would be best suited to attempt to influence as great a number as possible, but why didn't they simply state the nutritional characteristics and the name? It was far more factual and would likely exterminate any misconceptions.
Regardless of his misgivings about the feed, he dutifully turned his head this way and that to make another security sweep of the area. It was clear save for the multitude of civilians going about their business, as it had been the twelve other times he'd made one since entering the large store. And, almost as if it were being dragged by a string, after he completed the task, he found his head turning back upward.
He'd never had any interest in these 'commercials' before, but it was either explore the relative insanity of these or-
He looked back down at Miranda as she went through another line of clothes, muttering under her breath as she went. They'd been turned away by two tailors for 'insulting them' with the time crunch, and, perhaps having nowhere else to go, they'd ended up here; cross-species wares apparently.
Every so often she would plunge a hand onto the rack, pull out an article and then grab another of the same in a slightly different color. Then, she'd pick one, thrust the discarded back to the rack and place the chosen off to the side with the rest.
He did not know how she did it, the difference in colors, like the feeds above, made no sense to him. Cortana might have had an idea, but nevertheless the knowledge would be purely academical. Clothes were clothes. He'd wear whatever was acceptable until MJOLNIR was-
"Here, try these on," stated Miranda suddenly, pulling the Chief out of his mental conundrums. He stared back down at her and the neat pile of clothes in her hands, shrugged, and started to pull off his shirt.
His hands barely made it to the hem before a hazy biotic field had snapped over his body, holding him securely in place. The stasis surprised several onlookers, but they kept their distance with one glance at the magnitude of the stare radiating from the operative's face.
"In. There. Please," sighed the biotic not meeting his eyes, one hand pointing at an alcove off to the side and then dismissing the stasis.
The Spartan took the clothes, glanced over to the changing rooms and then around the store once more, concluded that civilian sectors were far too strange a world for his liking, and followed the request.
They fit.
That's all he had to say about them, all he cared to say about them. He put them on and took them off in frightening alacrity that would have left any sane fashionista's mouth agape for hours on end. He didn't bother looking in the provided mirror, ignoring all the extravagant controls to give oneself every kind of angle. Just on, check fit, off, and repeat until his task was completed.
"Well… what do you think?" asked Miranda when he walked out, the surprise evident in her eyes.
"They fit," he answered with a simple shrug.
"Did you try moving around in them? Do you like them?"
"They fit."
"But…" started the operative again before she closed her mouth, turned on heel, and made for the store's exit, his sensitive ears only just managing to pick up the mumbled, "Not everything has to be for bloody combat."
They checked out in silence, the super soldier's eyes continuing to drag on more and more of the strange vids as they progressed.
-a trio of asari dressed in rather ill-advised clothes bent provocatively around a car-
Miranda waved her Omni-tool at the register, a pleasant ding emanating out.
-a couple of noodles raised tiny hands beckoning, begging its holder to eat its contents-
The Master Chief frowned as they left the store, a far too militaristic mind trying to digest the latest oddity. He followed Miranda almost absentmindedly, eyes and ears drawn to one of this Ward's many ad spires.
-"Emphatic Question. Do you hear the people sing?" came a motley ensemble of voices-
None of this was as it was supposed to be, was it; this constant bombardment of entertainment and bids for goods and services?
-"Come to the Presidum Opera house. Take in the sight of the Human Musical, Les Miserable, with its first mixed species cast!"-
"Chief…"
-"This one has come to prod posterior appendages and intake gelatinous sweets, and this one is all out of gelatinous sweets," said a hanar holding multiple pistols-
"Chief?"
-What seemed to be a sentient panda nonsensically, viciously assaulted a salarian's workstation for apparently not buying the cheese it was selling-
"Chief!" The Master Chief blinked, his eyes unglazing as he slowly looked down at the slim form of Miranda standing in front of him. "Are you alright?"
"Green," he said slowly as he blocked out the unnecessary background noise, chiding himself for his curiosity.
"I don't think-"
"So, this looks like a story," came the sudden sound of Shepard's voice as he walked up beside him, the Cerberus Operative visibly flinching before annoyance leapt onto her face.
"Shepard," replied Miranda tersely with a dignified nod. "I see your conversation with Anderson must have gone well."
"Yep, went along with Thane, beat up a guy, talked about burgers, beat up a guy some more, shot a politician in the arm, unfortunately not Udina, and… well… now I'm helping Garrus."
"Well, when you put it like that, you have had a busy day," said the turian, appearing as if by magic at the mention of his name.
"There…wouldn't happen to be a set of armor in one of those bags would there?" ventured James as he tried to spy inside them. The spartan nodded. "Ah good, thanks for helping with that, Miranda."
"Of course," supplied the biotic in a voice that didn't exactly want to see how this was going.
"So…" began the combat engineer, his head creaking up to meet the Chief's gaze as if powered solely by the adverb, "wanna shoot something?"
"Yes," replied the Master Chief so quickly he hadn't actually remembered moving his lips. A moment later, he found himself looking somewhat guiltily towards Miranda who had already begun to roll her eyes.
"Let's go find a storage locker then…" sighed the biotic, already heading off and drawing the men along in her wake.
"So, thoughts?" asked the Commander as he pulled even with the Master Chief.
"On?"
"Oh, the Citadel, mingling with civilians, our wonderful ad system… Shopping?" Wince after wince built up on the Chief's face and he was powerless to stop them. "Not a fan it?"
"Not exactly."
"Well, unfortunately I think the last one at least was necessary. I'm surprised that's survived this long," reasoned the Commander gesturing at the current state of his attire.
"Commander?" came the biotic's voice calmly from ahead, the woman not bothering to face them, "what do you mean survived this long?"
"Well, I-" started the Spectre as he stumbled a step.
"Because, if I had to hazard a guess, I would think that you saw us earlier…" The troupe moved in silence for a handful of steps, the Chief's mind drawing conclusions and then setting them to the side. Whatever it was, he had a feeling it really wasn't his business.
"… and that she was able to find anything around here," continued James eventually, pushing past the outburst with a voice barely above a whisper.
"So was she."
"Here," declared Miranda as she thrust open a public storage locker with perhaps a little unnecessary force. The Master Chief handed the armor bag to the Commander and quickly began to toss the rest inside. A moment later, a muttering operative's hands set about straightening the pile into a somewhat semi-cohesive mess.
"So," came Garrus's voice as the pair turned around seeing their companions already looking curiously at the more combat oriented facets of their haul. "It's… pink?"
"Well, to be fair-" added the combat engineer as he looked up at Miranda and John.
"-It might be light-ish red…"
OOOO
There was a weasel at the front of the warehouse and there had been for some time.
No, it wasn't among the myriad of vermin from dozens of different worlds littering every corner of the expanse; at least, not in the traditional sense.
Nor was it the group of blue armored faceless individuals that all may or may not have been wearing red shirts underneath. Those were dogs held on a leash of credits waiting somewhat patiently for their next opportunity to bear their teeth.
No, the man stood in the midst of them, exasperatedly waiting for their latest possible contract to arrive. The Volus had mentioned an interested party was on the way, well, hopefully they weren't looking for group discounts. He had made a great amount of credits by simply driving the hard bargain to, well, anyone who could pay and let the oafs do the talking if things went south. He was still a weasel, mind you, but one with some class now, and that made a world of difference.
And so, he could say things were unacceptable and actually hear people scrambling to give a damn about it. Unfortunately, enough for him, the H-Vac repairman wasn't scrambling fast enough. He'd have to talk to someone far less weasel-ly than himself about that. For now, though, he was content to work on the control unit himself.
Who knows, maybe he'd get lucky.
"One of you come here for a minute," he mumbled as he locked in on a possible solution with the skill of a caveman attempting to recreate that whole 'fire' thing.
None of them moved.
"Hey, I said give me a hand with this damn thing," grumbled Harkin as he turned towards the guards and then followed their collective gazes towards a large pink armored form walking slowly towards them. The size should have set off weasel-ly instinctual alarm bells within his head but the color scheme had the man marked for derision almost instantly. "God, that Volus seems to find the weirdest cases…"
The large what he assumed to be human just continued to walk forward without a care in the world or very many personal belongings for that matter. It wasn't too often that he got people that didn't have at least some baggage; then again with the amount of guns this guy was carrying it was a wonder that he wanted to fade away at all-
The Blue suns around him tensed as a trio of others walked out from behind the eclipse of the oddly hued giant. Ah, now this was more like it.
"So, is it all of you or…" the balding man trailed off as the furry creature that had replaced the reptilian portion of his brain gave the rest of his mind a sharp kick. "You…"
"Me," replied Commander Shepard from the middle of his well-armed group, flashing a smile that said all too plainly 'so good to see you…' And, with a show of teeth, luck was suddenly removed from the menu today with extreme prejudice. "So, are we-"
"Don't just stand there, shoot them!" yelled the former CSec officer as he turned and dashed back inside the warehouse yelling for every good for nothing merc in the place to get off their collective asses.
He'd been so careful, staying out of sight as well as his weasel-ly instincts had allowed him to, better even. How the Hell had he shown up on Shepard's radar? He'd seen that smile before; he wanted to be nowhere near it.
"Run all you want, Harkin. We'll find you!" Huh, Vakarian? Another voice he'd hoped not to hear again.
Something told him he'd probably not get off with just a punch this time.
OOOO
Ping.
They had laughed at first when the team made their way into the warehouse, the mercenaries chuckling for a strategically imperative moment.
They were no longer doing so now.
Ping.
Garrus stared through his sighting and found there was no one else to shoot outside of the warehouse. A sense of unease went through him at how easily they had gone through the initial forces. He chocked the feelings up to what he had become to dub 'The Sanctum blues' and tempered it as well as he could. It wasn't these poor bastards' fault that they actually needed the majority of their organs in order to survive.
He looked down at the handful of dead Blue Sun mercs as the team made their way forward, appreciating the precision. So, this is what it felt like, to work with both the Spectre and the human super soldier. He'd apparently missed out on the fun part down on Sanctum. Then again, he'd probably have had to have developed something along the lines of Kasumi's temperament to call any of that fun. Oh well, at least the Suns had died before their minds could properly come to grips with the fact that they'd been expertly overwhelmed by a pink colossus.
Ping.
The sniper momentarily flirted with the idea of proposing they paint all of their armors in the color. There was no better feeling than the possibility of having the element of surprise just by walking in the front door. However, he kept the thought to himself; he didn't think he could work in anything other than his normal blue.
"So, Shepard," started Garrus, downing one of the mechs that rushed to meet them as he continued to focus on not thinking about how close he was to finding the rat that betrayed his team. He never worked well when he was angry, "is this what it feels like to have your own private army?"
Ping.
"Pretty much," replied James bluntly as he bid one of the mechanical troopers to turn against their masters. The forces in this part of the warehouse seemed far too disorganized, apparently too accustomed to their uncontested guard duties. Well, if they were lucky, the trend would continue further in.
Yep, if they could just keep poking their heads just a bit above their cover just like that- his sniper rifle blared a retort- that would be great.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Pi-
"Hell, Garrus," growled the Commander suddenly as the pair of friends slammed behind their next set of cover, fixing him with an annoyed glare, "either answer it or switch your Omni-tool to silent."
"What are you-" started the sniper as a certain salmon suited soldier surged forward with what the unwise might have called his babysitter. The turian looked down at the growing number of notifications on the glowing tool, all from a thief that should have been hopefully still getting some rest. Shaking his head, he ignored them and toggled the sound off. Then with a smile he added, "But how will I listen to 'Fire in the Courtyard'?"
"You still listening to those old tunes?" ventured the combat engineer as they watched Miranda pluck a mercenary from behind cover with her biotics and the Chief threw the poor man into his compatriots. This really was unfair right now. He made a mental note to try and feel bad for them later.
"They're classics, Shepard," countered the sniper as he plied his trade once more, indignation dripping off his every syllable.
"If that's what you want to call them..." Well now, that was just rude.
"A man's got to enjoy his work," replied Garrus smoothly leaving the 'especially when on the trail of traitorous bastards' to play coldly in his head.
"Says the man who just missed his last two shots," countered the Spectre as two more mechs fell prey to a drone that was far more explosive than the standard fare.
"Just want the Chief to keep working off the rust," replied the turian as he tried to sight in on a merc before they all fell to what seemed like a far too anxious super soldier. It was getting harder and harder, "you know how injuries are. Nothing ever feels right at first."
"If he's feeling it, it's not showing," corrected the combat engineer as his own tool began to ping softly. The pair looked down at it, an explosion blooming upward behind them. "Damnit… just answer her…"
"Fine," sighed Garrus as he quickly poured over the multitude of messages that had continued to pop up en masse on the display, all of them possible to summarize with a single word; 'Hey'. Well, she wasn't really one to do things in half measures now was she? He set his messaging system to verbal command, linking his Omni-tool to his visor, and answered back with a short, "What?"
Oh good, glad I finally caught you, came the text almost instantly over his visor. His sniper rifle blared as he downed another merc, the more playful portions of his mind already treating this more like a handicap. You really going to let them beat you?
"Well, unless you're about to tell me that I'm the first turian super soldier then-" Garrus paused mid-word as his brain caught up with a thought waving frantically for attention. He paused, letting the others press ahead as realization began to dawn. "Wait, what do you mean?"
Your feed is on? He snorted as he collected himself once more and sprinted after the rest of the fire-team. She really needed to get out of the Med-bay soon.
"I didn't turn it on…" the turian trailed off as he downed a mercenary that Shepard had been working on. He heard a curse yelled back at him. Well, too bad, that was a point for him.
Yes, you did?
"Kas…"
Fine, I may have encouraged it on… besides it's a good show. Well, if she was going to put it like that he guessed it was okay. And, with ego pleasingly stroked, she continued. Anyways, I need a favor…
"Now's not really a good time," he grunted as one of the blue armored guards leapt from the side at him. A moment later a long rifle cracked against the man's head like a war staff and the first real threat of the day was downed.
You're really going to say no to little old me stuck on a medical bed? spelled-out the text as the team focused fire on the lumbering shape of a YMIR attempting to move its way around the expanse of crates and supplies.
"Did you get into Chakwas' medi-gel stash again?"
Come on, Spike, came the text almost instantaneously, the resulting chuckle almost throwing off his aim just enough. Thankfully, the mass accelerator round glanced harmlessly off a certain Commander's kinetic barrier. I haven't done that for days…
"Garrus," stated Shepard calmly over the comms, "that had better not have been on purpose."
"Just making sure you're paying attention," countered Garrus before toggling back to voice command. "Meaning you haven't been caught for days or that you've stopped trying?"
Yes? … Anyways, not the point. Could you pick something up for me?
"Once more… not really the time." They were starting to come out of the woodwork now, and with all the other moving boxes and industrial equipment working about, the handicap had over-stayed its welcome.
Later, Spike. Oh, and watch out for the ones on your left.
"What?" On impulse his weapon swept over in the proscribed direction, shooting almost before the pair of mechs emerged from their container. Their blocky heads blew apart a few moments later as their predictable VI's lead them to their deaths. "Okay… thanks… but… can't this place deliver?"
They don't do that.
"What kind of place doesn't deliver?" asked the sniper in surprise as the team moved through a door, a dead warehouse behind them.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He paused as his eyes focused a bit too long on the symbols. He could hear his translator fume as it tried to digest that particular bit of text.
"What?"
*shrug*, came the eventual reply, the turian almost hearing the sigh that would have inevitably accompanied it on the other end.
"Why couldn't you have done that the first time?"
Why can't you figure out proper Omni-chat lingo? He looked at the others waiting calmly within the dividing control room. Waiting patiently for him… on his mission.
"…So," he started doing his best to wrap this up as hurriedly and casually as possible. "That place?"
Right, send it to you in a bit. Of course she didn't have it ready. Thanks again, Spike.
"Yeah well," replied Garrus as he looked through the small room's window into the next chamber, "you owe me, Miss Goto."
No need to bring last names into this.
"…I'm hanging up now."
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Now that was going to be a little hard.
OOOO
She couldn't help herself.
She had managed to get back to her work on MJOLNIR for about an hour after Garrus had excused himself rather urgently from the Tech Lab. The productivity had been marred of course, once because Legion had clomped its way back into the room to resume its own work, but mostly because her thoughts couldn't keep from playing back the curious scenes every time she tried to focus on the armor below her. She just needed for Mordin to come back with those supplies he'd promised, it was almost impossible for her not to be productive around him-
-but that wasn't how the world works.
The feed had snapped back on even after the quarian had turned off the display in her determination, the bright flash of light entrancing her immediately. And, without any others to pull her from the mire, the engineer willingly let herself succumb. She remembered EDI and Legion telling her that recordings were once more being created, but an absentminded wave kept the synthetic pair from pressing the issue.
She watched as readouts beyond measure spewed over the feed as Cortana was given command of the ship's weapons. So much power given to one entity, but the scary thought failed to find purchase in the face of the young quarian's curiosity. She watched as the fledgling intelligence's consciousness spread through the vessel in its entirety and then to the massive battle beyond.
Keelah, even the war vids she sometimes downloaded for educational reasons didn't compare to the onslaught of explosions and newly formed debris taking form above the war torn planet below. She watched the intel wash in from the space and ground battles, watched the digital equivalent of wheels turning.
She flew the massive ship with a grace that would awaken every competitive instinct within Joker, dodging massive bulbs of energy that seemed liked ship sized versions of the Master Chief's strange guns as they flew across the void.
She could almost feel as information about the energy spooling up within the belly of the strange vessel flooded the feed. A massive slug began its acceleration, zipping out into space and rapidly gaining on a flight of missiles.
And then a thought occurred to the nomad, the plasma weaponry, it wasn't theirs. It was their enemy's. She'd thought that it had seemed far too different to the blocky projectile weapons they'd used on the Dawn. It made sense now.
Those thoughts dashed aside as the feed showed a massive bulbous ship in the middle of a pack of smaller similar vessels flash brightly and then destroy a trio of human vessels. A weapon so very similar to the Reapers but-
And then, before she could even ponder that any further, she observed a blinding detonation wash over the flagship, destroying it entirely as the explosion reverberated within its own shield.
She tried to get her hands working once more; she needed to get as much work done on the armor as possible. Every moment with this wondrous exo-suit was a gift and here she was basically watching Cortana's greatest hits. Years of her engineering practice demanded that she stop wasting her time, but curiosity, able to win the day no matter the choice, was having none of it.
She watched as docking bay cameras took in the arrival of a drop ship, a large familiarly green armored figure carrying another, running faster than humans had cause to.
The IFF's on the feed continued to dwindle, faster and faster as the protective circle around the large planet became a ghost of its former self. She watched as ships kilometers long blew up, as battle stations that had spewed slug after impossibly massive slug into the fray were torn apart or simply grew silent. The silvery sharks of the sky began to accelerate towards the planet, cannons already spewing death down below.
She watched in a mixture of sadness and fascination as a great blue and white rift opened up in front of the ship, swallowing them whole as they fled the destruction; a technology born not of mass effect fields, bearing the vessel forth into the stars through separate dimensions.
She watched as the feed accelerated, as the AI kept the crew alive, governing a ship that looked like a city, like one of her people's live ships fit for combat. And then, just when she thought the memory was all but done, they left the strangely hued space and came to rest. Sensors played out, searching their surroundings for hostilities and a rather strange sight popped up. A giant ring-shaped construct filled the view-
-and then the feed cut.
"Keelah!" she muttered as she tossed a cleaning rag at the dead terminal, narrowly missing Legion's still form as she returned once more to reality. This AI had better damn well be more talkative then her giant friend or she was going to blow a gasket.
Almost immediately she set back to work, venting her frustration in the world of mechanisms and technology once more. That was, until Mordin slid in from the CIC. The salarian managed only a few steps forward with the multitude of bags he carried until he found her gaze.
"Missed one?" asked the Doctor immediately suspicious as he set the new equipment down on a worktable and then rounding on her once more.
"…No?" managed the quarian weakly as she turned what she hoped was an honest enough expression his way.
"Delayed response…" started the wide-eyed alien, Tali immediately cursing herself for skipping her bluffing sessions with Garrus recently. "…tentative answer… missing one annoying, but acceptable… Missed more than one? - " The combat engineer nodded. "-Data-logging purgatory!"
Legion stood aside as the doctor appeared beside the terminal almost before the intervening space thought to move the air out of his way, his fingers dancing about to pull up what he had missed. Before the practitioner could call up the recording, however, the synthetic spoke.
"There is nothing remaining to repair." The pair of organics within the room shared a look and then collectively turned it towards the geth platform.
"Pardon?" ventured Tali eventually.
"There is nothing remaining to repair," repeated Legion, fins flaring as it attempted to reorganize its thoughts for proper fleshy consumption. "Entirety of assumed logic matrix functioning normally. Pinging of central nodal system creates unknown runtime errors. Cortana-Unit unable to process logic strain at this time."
"Interesting, possible need to jump start systems?"
"It is difficult to say at this time," began EDI, popping into existence as Tali's thoughts began to whir around her, trying to bring the relevant thought to light. "We have continually been unable to pierce her central consciousness. It is possible that the system needs this, but we are unable to confirm at this time how best to do so."
"Keelah," let out the nomad, feeling the weight of three glances upon her as she trailed off. "I think-
-I have an idea."
OOOO
Regardless of what she knew of the large man's many talents when it came to the battlefield, Miranda couldn't help but try and keep an eye on him. She'd known why she'd continued to do so; from the unfamiliar armor system to the wounds that she suspected to still be healing, the evidence was there. But, as he was oh so prone to do, he was easily showing why none of that truly matter; not against these foes anyway.
They had plowed through the Blue Suns and their mechs thus far, the Master Chief taking ownership to no small part of the carnage. It was almost as though he had been letting off steam…
She fought off the urge to glare at him as he looked through their cover's window. Shopping found ways to aggravate even her, what could she truly expect of the super soldier that had been raised by his military?
"How many?" she asked eventually as she stared out into the next portion of the warehouse with him.
"Three left, two middle, four right, multiple angles for mech delivery," rattled off the man immediately, cycling a fresh thermal clip into his assault rifle without bothering to look down. She gazed up at his ridiculously hued helmet and then back out through the window, still not seeing the hostiles yet.
"Any idea on weapons?" she asked as she eyed his own armament, noting not for the first time the entirely mass accelerator complement. Whether he wanted to or not, they were going to have to address that.
"No," he answered simply as they readied for the task at hand, waiting for Garrus and the Commander to finish their conversation.
"And how are you holding up?" she asked eventually, gazing back up at him.
"I'm green," came the predictable answer, the biotic only just holding back a chuckle. The sheer inevitability of the answer regardless of the truth should have had her annoyance growing, but it only managed to draw a sigh from her.
"And would you say that if you were on fire?" She watched the shrug work its way upward calmly, wondering if she saw just the hint of a smile on the other side of that faceplate for just the briefest of moments. "You're right, I probably don't want an answer to that…"
"Alright," started Shepard, grabbing the team's attention as he moved towards the door. The Chief was behind him in an instant, ready to charge back out into the fray, "shall we?"
The team stormed through the door and in an instant was set upon by mass accelerator fire. Garrus and Shepard dove to cover on the left, already starting to push forward. She found herself following the Spartan to the right, her pistol barking at the ducking form of a trooper with a far too active rocket launcher.
She slid into cover beside the Chief as a pair of rockets shot overhead, high speed rounds chipping away at the metallic crate. She watched the veteran point a pair of fingers forward and another off to the side, the implication obvious. He was readying to make another charge despite the weaker armor, but before he could emerge from their shelter, she grabbed him by his Omni-tool arm.
The glance he spared down towards her could have deflected the next flight of rockets by itself and stated quite clearly 'explain.' She ignored it, however, as her fingers danced across the tool's surface and then made a show of hitting a rather large bit of the interface. She released her grip just in time for the searing red Omni-blade to snap into existence. The capability was in most Omni-tools, after a little encouragement sometimes, but after seeing him wield the plasma sword on Sanctum, she figured a little more familiarity wouldn't hurt.
"They're not permanent. Just hit the control to make a new one." The Master Chief stared at her, the curious 'And why exactly haven't you shown me this until now?' all but said. "I wasn't thinking… So, ready?"
He nodded, and, needing no other confirmation from the man, the biotic rose from cover and sent two of the Blue Sun's twirling into the air. With calm precision, her pistol eventually found its way past their armor plating, and, from the sounds of distress to her side, the Spartan had put his new-found ability to good use.
The pair met up as they moved onto the next bit of cover, the Cerberus Operative taking a moment to watch Shepard and Garrus do the same. There were only two left, both on a platform high and to the middle of the room. They were scared, the fact evident as they fired blindly at them from their relative safety. A rustle to her side had her looking at the Chief as he sighted at the moving conveyors running rapidly on the ceiling.
He fired once, and she watched as a single barrel dropped on the unsuspecting pair, exploding a moment later. She fixed him with a look; it said quite plainly 'Now you're just showing off.' And, in highly expected fashion, he shrugged, drawing another sigh from the biotic.
Then, with the immediate threat taken care of, the team joined back up and began to climb over boxes and platforms working their way towards the very back of the facility. Back where there wouldn't be any more room to run. As they flew down impromptu stairs, however, she heard machinery start to whir up above once more.
"Oh crap," she heard Garrus mutter as the team looked up at the pair of heavy mechs dropping down to greet them. Immediately she felt the Chief toss her back towards cover, eliciting a surprised yelp as he followed quickly behind.
"Do you really think you can take me down Shepard?" said a dead man from his hiding hole as the YMIR mechs unfolded, their mini-cannons already spooling. Then with the relentless surety normally bestowed upon the simple virtual intelligences, heavy footfalls began to drag their twin bulks forward.
"So, you guys want to take care of yours and we'll take care of ours?" ventured Shepard his surprisingly, annoyingly happy tones somehow piercing the sound of mini-cannon and rocket fire before them. Three affirmatives filled the air and then vanished in it as a pair of rockets slammed into respective covers.
"How about-" started Miranda as she reloaded her pistol, wondering how long before their cover began to crumble.
"I have an idea," interrupted the Spartan, drawing her gaze mid thermal cycle. Her eyes found the interior of his helmet just as he offered a simple, "Cover me."
"That isn't MJOLNIR…" she trailed off as the obvious slunk out into the air.
"I know," he replied calmly as he toggled his Omni-blade into view. Her eyes widened as a risky course of action drew itself up in her mind.
"That wasn't a challenge either…" she added slowly.
"I know," replied John, crouched and ready like a human spring.
"Just be-" The word careful died on her lips as she sighed and readied her submachine gun instead. She looked at him again and added a weary, "Ready when you are."
"Mark." She rose from her cover, immediately gaining the ire of a most efficiently whirring gatling. She did not return fire with any specific point in mind, her job almost already done simply by the rounds slamming into her personal barrier. If the Spartan could get on with it, though, she would be most appreciative-
Suddenly, the fire fell off, the massive mech turning its body to face a large pink and white armored shape that flew past her cover, brandishing one of the room's countless crates in front of him like an ungainly shield. As he drew near the YMIR, a bulky appendage moved to target him, and was swiftly knocked aside as the metallic container was thrown at it. A moment later, the Spartan leaped into the air, grabbing onto the mechanism's frame and proceeded to stab at its optics with his Omni-blade.
The thing's head sparked and its body began to flail, its arms dispensing rockets and mass accelerator rounds in all directions and even managing to strike the other.
"Hey, I'm working here!" she heard the Commander yell, the smaller man having gone for a similar version, if somewhat more surreptitious form, of the Chief's plan. The combat engineer held a set of wires extending out from the behemoth in either hand, giving the man the impression that he was riding the universe's most dangerous attempt at a mechanical bull. "If you're going to copy me, the control panel's at the right shoulder on most models."
The Master Chief was there in a heartbeat, swinging dexterously around the thrashing mech and ripping into the recommended board. A second later, his Omni-tool flashed red once more and he jabbed the temporary blade deep into the opening-
"Jump-" started the biotic as her hands began to glow with ebon energies, but the warning came too late. The resulting explosion threw the Spartan as if by a giant, launching him into the air and towards a wall. The operative pulled with her biotics, slowing his trajectory, but the inevitable dull thud still made her wince as she rushed over.
He was already making his way to his feet before she'd reached him, and, after looking the front of him up and down once she couldn't help but offer a laugh. A large head cocked as if to ask 'What?'
"Sorry," she replied as the second of the two YMIR's detonated, hopefully not yielding exactly the same results for the Commander. Forgetting just for a moment how he could have damaged his recovery. "It's just; I think we've found a temporary fix for your armor color…"
The Chief finally looked down at his soot blackened armor segments, the motley splashing of the new hue providing a rather strange but ultimately more acceptable camo effect. The Spartan shrugged, the Operative barely able to hold in a second laugh.
"So," came the Spectre's weary voice.
"Who would like to finish this?"
OOOO
"You didn't have to shoot him, Shepard," said Garrus finally breaking the silence within the sky car, the thought that had been bumping about in his head at last finding the correct exit.
"Well, if I didn't, you were going to," answered the Spectre with a casual shrug, cycling the thermal clip in his pistol as if to emphasize the fact.
"Fair point," added the turian, dropping the thought. The combat engineer was probably still just a little miffed that he accidentally winged him.
"Besides, I've beaten up a scoundrel, shot a politician, and now I've shot a former CSec officer… who knows where this day might lead." The sniper found himself chuckling, that was until his wandering gaze landed on the current look Miranda had fixed in the Commander's direction. A glance back in James's direction suggested he'd seen it too. "What?"
"With what's happened recently, I just forgot how you can act sometimes," provided the biotic, a trio of stares making their way towards her as the sky car began to land. And, a moment later, she was pressing herself out of the vehicle, as tranquil as the turian had ever seen her.
"If you've got nothing else to do, head back to the ship," called the combat engineer as the Spartan followed her, the car door already starting to fold shut. "We should be heading out soon after."
And then they were off once more, soaring towards the lounge, towards their latest target. However, before he could begin to focus too much on the specifics he heard the Spectre laughing quietly beside him.
"What?" asked Garrus, murderous intentions lost once more.
"I'm just surprised she keeps forgetting that I'm a bastard…" answered James with one of those strange wistful human smiles. "I must be losing my touch."
"Well, that just means you need to practice more." The pair stared at each other for a moment, shared a laugh, and, as they brought themselves back down, the turian continued with a genuine, "Thanks again for helping me with this, Shepard."
"Of course," replied the Commander a bit distantly. Then, with a simple shake of the head, the human had his business face on. Good, they'd both need it. "So, we're heading to the rendezvous?"
"Yep."
"And, I presume I'm the bait?" Oh, he knew him so well.
"Keep going," prompted the ex-CSec officer as nervous hands began to check over his sniper rifle once more.
"I distract him while you line up the shot."
"You've done this before, haven't you?" asked Garrus as he looked up with a chuckle and then froze.
"And you shoot him." The sniper watched as a frown started to build up along the Spectre's face, the mixed signals immediately working his mandibles in confusion.
"Dead," replied the turian simply, watching the Commander's current thought working its way across his face.
"And you're okay with that?" Ah, so that was the problem.
"He deserves it, Shepard," deadpanned the ex-CSec officer, his flanged voice reverberating oddly within the confines of the speeding vehicle. This didn't sound like the Commander he'd gotten used to over the past months. "Nothing to feel uneasy about it."
"I don't think I'm arguing that." Okay, now there was the Spectre that had gone through the streets of Omega with little more than a scowl and a pistol.
"So…?"
"I just can't really see you doing this."
"I can," answered Garrus immediately, taking the previous as a personal challenge.
"Well, yeah, but that's the angry Garrus talking." Well, technically he wasn't wrong, but he smelled a lot of hypocrisy coming from the human's general direction, at least he hoped it was that. "But you're about to shoot someone in broad daylight… so to speak…"
"Careful, you'll start sounding like you used to," provided the turian dryly, not sure exactly how to take the latest turn from the combat engineer.
"Yeah well, that 'me' did make sense at times…"
"He deserves to die, Shepard," stated the sniper, resolving himself even in the face of his friend's genuine concern.
"You said that."
"Well, it was worth repeating," countered Garrus as the car landed in a patch of shadows and he pulled himself out of his seat. "Just go over there and get him talking, I'll do the rest."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
OOOO
It may or may not come as a shock that the Master Chief quite enjoyed silences. They were a time to mentally calibrate, to set records straight, or, in several circumstances, to prepare for ambushes. Right now, however, the silence was the simple casual kind, not a type he'd ever grow used to, but relaxing in its own right.
Yet, out of the corner of his eye he could see Miranda matching his stride and ultimately not enjoying the silence as much as him. She was attempting to hide it; of course, she no longer seemed content to simply bull her way into conversations as much as she used to for some reason. A more curious person might have found this, well, curious, however aside from an introvert's genuine appreciate for unforced circumstances; any other context that might have been lurking could have simply been chaff floating on the winds.
And, maintaining the slow quiet pace, the pair had almost made it back to their storage locker without another word between them before a strange sight chose to interrupt the path of their gazes.
Coming the other way, festooned with tightly packed bags was Grunt. A motley assortment of bizarre foodstuffs accompanied each carrier, but, wherever space seemed available, strangely marked cups had been crammed with vicious ferocity; their steaming mount of noodles logos a telling indicator of their contents. John's eyes flickered down for a moment to Miranda, watching as hers widened and finally registered the scaly food truck bearing down on them.
The unlikely pair stopped, said truck, however, did not.
"You saw nothing, humans," he grumbled as he passed them, barely even turning their way in his parting. They watched him go for a while, turned towards each other, and shared a shrug.
And, with silence's command broken, if only for a moment, the metaphorical floodgate yawned open. Well, she had lasted longer than normal at the very least.
"Did you have to stab it?" came the question so very out of the blue that it threatened to attempt to start its own musical group.
"Yes," he answered simply as the pair continued to watch the flux of Citadel traffic.
"Why?"
"Testing." It was close enough to the truth, technically speaking. He had wanted to see how effective it could be. It wasn't as powerful as the plasma sword, yet with how little charge that had, it was nice to have an alternative.
"And if I hadn't shown you the Omni-blade?" pressed the biotic, looking up at him and noting his shrug with a raised eyebrow before turning towards the awaiting storage locker. "You'd have still done something similar…"
Miranda's finger danced across the interface, inputting the temporary code as she sighed. The door turned open with a hiss and the unlikely pair began to pull the bags from their provisional home.
"You know," started the operative once more with a sigh, closing the locker with a contemplative click, "you're not expected to fight like you do in your normal armor. Everyone would-"
"Mission parameters changed," replied John, the exhale that greeted his answer suggesting quite simply that it knew the rest of what was coming. "I reacted."
"And what happens when there isn't another mission to throw yourself into?" she asked after a moment, unknowingly diving into increasingly familiar territory ever since he'd come to this universe.
"I don't know," he replied genuinely. The thoughts hadn't come to pass since Cortana's incident, it hadn't felt right. He needed to keep focused, and missions were the best way of doing that-
"I'm sorry," he heard her say as they began to walk, merging into the multi-species flow of foot traffic. "That didn't come out like I thought it would."
Silence came back to roost as the two marched, the Chief holding a majority of the baggage as the Cerberus Operative pull ahead. Unfortunately, she was already veering off course from what his internal navigation was telling him was the correct way for the public transit. But, before he could speak up, they walked into a heavily lit district.
Thankfully there were not as many ad columns here, but the flaring neon that covered nearly every store front was more than enough to fill those very oddly shaped shoes.
"Where are we going?" he asked as what seemed to be the target of their deviation loomed in front of them.
"I always come here when visiting the Citadel," provided Miranda cryptically, ignoring the look he currently had fixed her way. "It's-"
"-the best?" he finished for her, the interruption finally giving the biotic a moment's pause.
"Essentially," she managed, a fluster briefly taking up residence upon her face. "Would you like one?"
The Master Chief gave the building a more scrutinous glance and felt his immediate response catch in his throat.
Just to the right of the service windows was a brightly colored segmented display. To the average person, it wouldn't have been especially awe inspiring except for those of the more gluttonous persuasion. It didn't impart anything scandalous or ludicrous like certain holo-columns had, hell, in the long run it wasn't even the most expansive display in the immediate district.
Below the well-lit 'Ben & Jaarvte's' sign was a gridded presentation containing numerous frozen delicacies. And, in the face of such things he no longer had the capacity to understand, such decadence, he could not speak.
"Have you-"
"It's… been a long time," said the Spartan slowly, as if the words had to be relayed through a hollow tube miles away.
"Would you like me to choose?" Why did people need so many choices for a food that wasn't part of any logical dietary plan? Food was for sustenance, for making sure you could effectively complete the tasks at hand, to keep pressing on along the road of life.
Yet, despite the thoughts buzzing through his head, he found himself nodding numbly. He watched as Miranda joined the queue and eventually made her way up to the human and asari duo running the window. And, nearly as quickly as the exchange of credits, the Cerberus Operative was walking away with two cups, a spoon protruding from each. She handed one to him, a red, brown, and white concoction and silently beckoned him to follow. He did so, only just able to watch her walk over to an open bench facing out on the sky lanes as he concentrated down on the cold treat in his hands.
"You know, you're going to have to take the helmet off to eat that, right?" she stated as he sat down beside her. He continued to stare at his "gift". "The kinetic barrier works even when the helmet is off…"
Begrudgingly, he took off the piece, eyes finally leaving the ice-cream as he began to scan their surroundings despite himself. Even over the sounds of flying vehicles, he could hear the exasperated sigh.
"My biotics are ready if needed… we're safe." They shared a look, it wasn't the same one. His said 'it's necessary' while hers imparted a calm 'I think we can take the risk.'
He looked down at the 'food' once more, then, finally giving in, he lifted the spoon and took a bite, feeling as memories swelled up in him. He could not pull the specifics, they were far too removed, far too old and impotent to do anything but impart a familiar feeling. He lowered the spoon as he let the host of flavors work their way over his tongue.
"What do you think?" The words eventually reached his mind, drawing his gaze down at the staring biotic.
"Processed sugars have inefficient-"
"No…" she interrupted with the beginnings of an amused smile. "What do you think?"
"It's … good." The word, at least for describing food stuffs, tasted strange to him. And, as he felt the second bite enter his mouth, he couldn't help but feel the question, 'what right did he have to this?' bubble up within his head. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure," she replied, immediately earning a cocked head from the Spartan. "It was a rather long name, but they recommended it."
The duo lapsed back into silence, eating slowly as they watched the cars fly by. He waited for her to press on, and she probably certainly wanted to, but she didn't. He appreciated it.
It was a good silence.
"I'm sorry," continued the biotic finally, a confused frown growing onto his face.
"For?"
"Dragging you into the more… advertisement heavy sector of the Citadel," she admitted sophisticatedly around a bite of her own indulgence.
"It was… different," he replied as he began to feel the weight of gazes on his back. He turned towards huddled groups as they walked by, the citizens looking away and whispering conspiratorially as his gaze settled on them. Worry began to flood into his system, but a soft laugh beside him had the large man's staring back at the operative in an instant.
"We really need to head back to the Normandy to get that color fixed," provided Miranda as she gestured at his armor with her spoon. He looked down at it, noticing the large areas that the soot had finally begun to abandon the shell.
"Yes," he replied, agreeing wholeheartedly.
OOOO
Shepard sat against the ledge of the Citadel walkway, legs dangling off the side as he watched the traffic fly past. A number of onlookers had attempted to politely dissuade him from continuing to do so, but a stern 'I'm waiting for someone' had them all turning away before they got past their first disagreement. He was up to ten minutes by his count, and, knowing how well Garrus could make his way around the massive station, he was probably still trying to figure out how pissed he was.
Then again, the way the sniper had yelled over the comms at him when he had 'cut out the middle-man' so to speak, well, maybe he did know exactly how angry to be. If he was lucky though, maybe he'd understand-
"What the hell was that, Shepard?" asked what he hoped was still his friend as the turian finally made his way towards him. Expletives, always off to a good start when those were around. "Why? Why did you shoot him?"
"For starters?" clarified the Spectre as he turned towards the blue armored alien, holding his precarious position. The man nodded, thankfully not moving towards any of the weapons he happened to be carrying. So, at least they weren't on that bad of footing, not yet at least. "Because of the two of us, only one has Spectre status."
"Newly reappointed status," pointed out the sniper with the kind of dry sarcasm that would leave a desert looking for a drink.
"Status none the less," continued James as he cautiously offered a space next to himself. The turian didn't even budge. "And two, of the pair of us, only one is a complete bastard."
"Shepard, he wasn't yours," stated Garrus exasperatedly seeming to at least accept that nugget of truth.
"Hence the bastard comment…" A silence punctuated only by the sound of zipping sky cars and faraway patrons of the walkways settled into position. Shepard turned back towards the Citadel's expanse, and, a moment later, he heard the ex-CSec officer walk over and sit down beside him. "Look, do you feel better, now that he's dead?"
"No…" trailed off the turian with a sigh, begrudgingly truthful.
"Good, because I think you'd have felt the same if you'd done it," replied the combat engineer as he gave a moment of thanks. If that hadn't been the answer, things might have started to get a little dicey.
"That still doesn't make it your call," came an answer that wasn't as powered with disdain as it probably wanted to be.
"Perhaps not, but it's the one I made." They sat in silence, both staring out the countless number of people streaming along the courses of their lives. Then, after a time, a thought occurred and the human added a short, "I get it though… I do."
"You sure about that?"
"Well, if you want to leave-" began the Spectre, resignation beginning to drip off every word.
"Is that what you told Tali?" interrupted Garrus surprisingly lucid. "Back on Illium?"
"There was a bit of shouting first, but pretty much."
"Thought so." And, in that moment, the Commander knew that his friend had forgiven him, even if he wouldn't admit it yet. Part of him wanted to wince, but he'd done what was necessary and he'd live with that. "Spirits, I have to think for a bit. I'll see you back on the ship."
"Going to go on Kasumi's errand?"
"Damn, I almost forgot about that," replied the turian as he pushed himself back onto the landing and onto his feet, the combat engineer holding his ground.
"See you there," he stated as he watched the sniper leave and then turned back to his view. Then in the kind of whisper that would have been hard to hear at only a pace away, the grey eyed man added, "And sorry…"
He was wrong, even though he'd never exactly tell Garrus. He wasn't acting like he had on Illium. That Shepard just wanted to get the job done and would have gladly let the turian take pot-shots at an unarmed man; betrayer or not so long as it focused them for the missions to come. But now-
When the questions and the investigations came, he wouldn't have his subordinates, his friends under siege. He couldn't. He'd protect them even if they fought him every step of the way and in the end-
-he hoped they could understand that.
OOOO
In the darkness under the comms room table, a thief smiled.
No longer content waiting for someone to rescue her from the med-bay and unwilling to simply see the healing process come to an end, Kasumi had taken matters into her own hands. She had managed to get her cloak working, and, even though her cast was causing more than a few glitches, she had snuck out of the clutches of the evil doctor with relative ease. Besides, if she had had to spend another hour on that cot, she might have started frowning again.
Now, if she could just get the crew from ratting her out to the medical mastermind, she would be in the clear and wouldn't need to keep ducking into the comms room. Who knows who could just walk in at-
"And what were you doing the past six hours?" came a familiar voice from outside, the thief only just toggling her cloak back on before the Commander, Tali, and Legion walked into the room.
"Working?" The unauthorized borrower only just held back a snicker at the attempted bluff. She'd sat unseen next to the quarian for a half hour during her binge-watching session, her only wish being that she could have brought in some popcorn to pass the time.
"Watching certain memory flashes?" pressed the Commander, nearly matching his fellow combat engineer's upward inflection.
"No?" Oh, she was trying so hard, good for her. Now, if only Garrus could keep coaching her, and hurry up and bring her the goods while he was at it.
"Really?"
"Shepard-Commander-"
"One second, Legion… figuratively," replied the Spectre, the man adding the last bit just as the synthetic's fins began to shift once more. She wondered if Legion could detect the incomplete cloaking layer over her cast. She hoped not. She had a feeling she wanted to hear what was coming.
"Yes?"
"And you can say that with a straight face?"
"Shepard, you can't see my face." Ooo, bold strategy let's see how this goes.
"That doesn't answer the question," proclaimed the Commander, Kasumi watching the roguish smile creep onto the man's face. Well, at least she had made the attempt.
"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" answered Tali with a sigh as she finally gave in. Of course, he would, he's the Commander, Mr. 'Stop listening and go back to sleep or I'll suffocate you with a pillow'.
"Only if you don't stop talking in question marks when you lie…" She wondered if getting caught listening on things outside of the med-bay warranted the same fluffiness to face application.
"Bosh'tet," mumbled the quarian with a yielding shake of the head. "Fine, I was watching her."
"Her?" Oh, and he goes in for the low blow…
"Shepard… I will hit you," retorted the nomad as the thief watched her shift further into prime punching distance.
"Shepard-Commander. Predictive scenarios based on recorded interactions with Creator-Tali suggests threat plausible." Kasumi wondered if they really could get the geth to run the odds for the pool, or at the very least the obvious ones.
"Thank you, Legion. I had guessed that as well."
"Perhaps if previously used enhanced interrogation techniques-"
"I don't think… that will be necessary-" interrupted the Commander all too quickly, the man giving the machine a throat slashing gesture behind the quarian as he did. He might as well have attempted to yell at a storm to be quiet.
"Legion, what do you mean previous 'enhanced interrogation techniques?'"
Good, now is the time for your revenge, bid the apparent avatar of small scale evil and petty vengeance.
"Well," started the Spectre, weak smile fully in place as an excuse framed itself, "to be fair, I thought my suit feed was off…"
"Keelah…" trailed off the quarian apparently searching for the words that Kasumi would have been all too ready to provide if certain circumstances weren't, well, the current circumstances.
"Look, no one died from that," reasoned James, seeing daylight and instinctively running away from it. "Legion, tell her…"
Oh, poor choice there…
"The subject was incapacitated only," provided the collective of VI's, the Commander's face momentarily elated before the synthetic continued, "and a politician was shot. Also-"
"…You're just doing it on purpose now…"
"Shepard, you-" started Tali, the thief pushing what she hoped were latent mental powers to aid the girl. But, before the quarian could go any further, the door swished open once more and a pair of new feet entered Kasumi's view.
"I believe," began Miranda as she took up position on the other side of the table with what the asian believed had to be the armored form of the Chief. She liked the color on him, "we can wait outside if you're busy…"
"No?" started the Commander weakly, Kas only just able to hold off another laugh. "I mean, no, wouldn't want to put this off… Legion, would you like to start us off?"
"There are no more detectable runtime errors within Cortana-unit."
"She's fixed?" came the Chief's voice, a frown of commiseration almost working its way past the thief's chipperness as she heard the hope in that gravelly voice.
"No." The geth needed to learn some bedside manner, preferably not from a certain Chakwas.
"This is where you want to fill in the rest of the story, Legion," prompted the Spectre, not unkindly.
"All digital neural nodes have been repaired. We ran several thousand various pinging attempts but the control remains closed off. We predict possibility of self-restart… unlikely."
"Could we force her to wake up?" ventured Miranda with a kind of concern that made the thief wonder if she'd suddenly lost Lot sixty-three.
"In the simulations I've run with Legion, this path leads to an estimated seventy-five-point eight percent failure rate and a ninety-three-point four percent chance of inflicting permanent damage to her core programming," added EDI, Kasumi only just fighting off the urge to take a peek over the table.
"Suggestions?" pressed Mr. 'Just has to heal faster than the rest of us'.
"Back on the flotilla, I had an idea for what is essentially a hard reset for a synthetic. It was meant as a stalling mechanism, to knock out geth for a few moments if they started to swarm but I left my prototype to my father and his researchers. If we could go to the Flotilla-"
"You want to take a human AI into the Flotilla?" asked Miranda immediately, doubt etching every syllable.
"Oh wait, it gets better…" prompted the Commander, the thief not even having to work herself his way to see the slick smile slide back into position. Over her tenure aboard the Normandy, she'd taken no shortage of pleasure in watching his many verbal sparring sessions with the operative.
"Knowing how tentative the situation is, I'll probably… need… Legion to help me modify the prototype for a more refined surge."
"Is there a way we could just build a new one here," asked the biotic exasperatedly.
"It's possible, but without my original blueprints I would be starting from scratch. Who knows how long it could take?"
"What are the risks?" asked the Spartan calmly.
"Keelah, where do I start?"
"For her?" prompted the super soldier softly, tugging heartstrings once more.
"Well, there's a small chance that if we get the pulse wrong, we could fry her programming." Not so tiny gambling instincts immediately wanted to start guessing at the percentage, she squashed them after allowing a few speculations. "I know it sounds bad, but who knows what could happen if she's left like that."
Silence coated the room for a moment as the quarian finished, Kasumi wriggling around below the table as best she could to try and see what was happening.
"Don't look at me; this is your call…"
"We try it," came the Chief's voice almost immediately at the prompt, a cloaked arm fist pumping into the air at the possibility of getting another potential friend back. Even though her experience with the tiny AI had been brief, she'd liked her style. Before anyone could go any further, however, the door slid open and a familiar pair of three-toed feet faltered at the threshold.
"Oh… sorry," came Garrus's voice, instantly drawing the thief's full attention.
"Did you need something, Garrus?" asked the Commander as Kasumi squirmed bit by surreptitious bit towards the exit. She just needed to see if he'd picked up a certain package.
"Just looking for Kasumi." Kas, Spike. Was it really that hard to remember?
"Why do I get the feeling that 'med-bay' is not the correct answer here…"
"Because it's not." Uh-oh, they were catching onto her. It'd only be a matter of time before she was probably betrayed by an intricate and 'oh so helpful' EDI scan. "I talked to some of the crew, and they think they saw a few shimmers up here."
"Well if you… wait… what is that?" asked the Commander, voice brimming with something quite less than amusement. Ah, so he had been able to get it.
"What she asked me to pick up for her…" Oh, why didn't they put it in their normal box? Or maybe they did and a certain turian decided to pry… for shame!
"That's in poor taste…" stated Miranda slowly unknowingly breaking the last straw.
"No one asked you, Miranda," said Kasumi as she slid out from under the table and de-cloaked. Six pairs of eyes fell on her, then worked their way back to the plushie version of an infection form that Garrus was unwillingly holding. "What? I told you I thought they looked cute…"
"Were you under there the whole time?" asked Shepard, eyebrows raising to new and exciting heights.
"No?" attempted the thief, unwisely trying to take a page out of Tali's book of innocence.
"Of course, you were…"
Author's Note II: Hope you enjoyed. For reasons that may eventually become apparent, I chose to use a scene from the Fall of Reach book rather than the game. To me, it worked better with what I have in mind. As for my request, I've started to game plan the ME 3 arc, so if you've got any requests or ideas, now is more or less the time for them. Anyways, see you all again at the end of April.
Next Chapter: Chapter 34 – War Games
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