HOLOCAUST

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT:

SOME MYTHS ARE TRUE

July 9, 2186

1031 hours.

Walkway, Geth Superstructure Housing Server Hub 02241-14511, Dalpash Canyon, Former Country of Zel'Matesh, Uma'Waz Subcontinent, Rannoch.

Second Morning War.

Major Randall Ezno.

For possibly the first time in a while, Randall was running away from his target. Actually, no. He preferred the term 'making a tactical withdrawal.' Regardless of how he saw it though, Randall's end goal had not been attained. He had been defeated, where success should have been assured, by unseen variables that drastically changed the ultimate outcome. The Illusive Man, or Captain Banes, could not fault him for having been defeated due to a situation that was outside his realm of control.

So with this in mind, Randall continued running, chest heaving with every breath, but cybernetics keeping his energy regulated, allowing him longer bursts of energy, and a higher tolerance to pain. He rounded corner after corner, occassionally stopping to check his sectors, and to make sure he wasn't still being pursued.

After the fourth check, he eventually just kept running. It was clear the geth soldier had ceased pursuit of his person.

Good. As Randall began running again, he could only mentally hit himself for allowing something like that to occur. Shepard's influence was notoriously well-founded; so it wasn't beyond belief for him to have command of a platoon of geth primes. The moment he saw that geth...he should have shot it. Instead, it ambushed him, and its platoon slaughtered his entire squad. The best Banes' had.

Well, his best wasn't good enough. Any elite squad would have prepared a quick exfil alternative. They just stood there and let themselves get killed. A pity, but not something I'll miss. They'll have to replaced...with actual elite troopers, this time. It was a pity that Leng was not present, as Randall was sure noone would particularly miss the assassin. And as good as he was, he would have stood no chance against the wall of armor they had faced.

And now here Randall was, fleeing like a coward.

There was nothing to be done. 'Live to fight another day,' as the saying goes. I am of no use to anyone dead. And who's to say the mission has failed? If Chase and Brodie did what I told them to do, then their pilot will be dead and their shuttle destroyed. They'll have no way to get offworld. Unless of course they enlist the help of the geth...

The more Randall thought over it, the worse the situation was turning out. He had seemed so sure of victory; he had seen Peta coming and prepared for it accordingly. But even as the quarian choked on his own life source, Randall was defeated by unforeseen variables. Randall Ezno was a manhunter; he was supposed to secure the playing field and ensure the fight was a pitched one.

And yet he had failed. Randall had gotten cocky; submitted to his own hubris, and therefore fell victim to his own undoing. He was just lucky to live long enough to make sure it never happened again. And that was dependent on whether the Illusive Man actually let him live after this.

He will. I'm a valuable asset. Its the prime reason I was assigned to the Deliverance; you don't entrust just anyone to armoury duty aboard Cerberus' most advanced vessel. The Illusive Man wants me alive, and he can't afford to execute me over a simple failure. But that doesn't mean he likes failure, or that he'll accept a second one. I've failed this time, but next time?

Next time'll be my head.

His boots made a consistent clang, clang, clang as he ran across the decked plating of the ground. His rifle stock was still pinned against his shoulder, ready for combat if the need arose. He wasn't about to let his guard down within a geth facility; to do so now, especially after what had just happened, was foolhardy and would end up with him dead.

After one final check to make sure the geth wasn't following him, he made a mad rush for the exit. His mind was divided; one half was focusing on getting to his men, rounding them up, getting back to the shuttle and getting offworld, while the other half was thinking of how he could possibly justify his failure to Banes and the Illusive Man. He had no doubt his captain would be unwilling to accept the fallout that would inevitably follow from his inability to capture the quarian, and the Illusive Man would not stay quiet until Randall knew of his disappointment.

After rounding what had to be the sixtieth corner of the facility, and his eyes coming to land on yet another, generic corridor featuring the same isles of pods and dim lights, Randall decided to stop and check to see whether or not he was actually heading in the right direction. He quickly brought up his omni-tool, double-checking to make sure no one was sneaking up on him before opening up his nav finder. Seconds later, a white arrow sprung up, pointing forward with a loud ping. Below it was the distance between him and his destination; the entrance to the facility.

Good. I'm headed the right way. This place is a maze. I'm surprised they were able to find their way around in here. Yet again, I guess a geth does help things.

Going by what he remembered in his head, he brought his rifle back up again and began moving again. This time, he did not stop to look back or to even contemplate his situation; he was solely focused on getting out of here. He had barely escaped the prime platoon to begin with; he didn't want to wait around long enough for the neighbours to wake up to see what the noise was all about. And from the brief glances he got of the pods; rocket troopers, destroyers, juggernauts, more primes...even hoppers...there was no way he would be stopping for a drive-through.

Despite trying to focus on moving forward, Randall couldn't help but admire the contours and architecture that surrounded him. It was definitely different from the human designs he was used to seeing; less imperialistic, and much more bug-like. That was odd, given that the geth were machines, and not at all inspired by insectoid creatures. So unless quarians were secretly insectoid in nature behind those suits, the geth's choice in design might have simply been coincidental. The geth designs were sleek and new-looking, finished off with the same overall color; grey, or silver. The geth weren't much for color, obviously, and given their logical and efficient demeanour, it wasn't exactly surprising. Any species with the intelligence and self-sufficiency that the geth possessed would be able to recognize that color meant nothing on a battlefield; firepower and manpower did, and the geth possessed everything in both. Every platform was capable of combat, meaning that the geth literally had an army numbering in the billions; more troops than all three of the main Council races could muster, and possibly even more. When it came to ships, the geth didn't possess mess halls, crew quarters, captains, lounges, medical bays or any of the basic necessities an organic warship needed because they simply didn't need any of it. This extra room allowed for the addition of more powerful shields and thicker armor and, more importantly, more guns. A geth light cruiser on its own could outclass and outdance seven alliance heavy cruisers. Sure, the geth sacrificed speed in all but their fighters, dropships and interceptors, but for what they lost they made up in powerful kinetic barriers, plate after plate of heavy galvanized titanium armor, and more guns than could be packed on an Alliance carrier.

All of this was brought to Randall's thoughts as he passed by. Not only that, but the geth were simply leagues ahead of any organic species in the technology department. Without the constraints of an economy, the worries of politics and the pressures of a pre-determined societal status quo, the geth were able to constantly advance, unperturbed. From what Randall had already documented, simply by looking through the data reports retrieved from Shepard's omni-tool (which he had had hacked upon his arrival to make sure all transmissions were blocked), the geth had developed directed energy weapons, most notably plasma; a feat the turian hierarchy has been taking baby steps towards, and so far the closest they had gotten was the thanix cannon; and they had only gotten that because of Sovereign's attack three years ago. And adapting tactical cloak to aircraft and even warships? The possibilities it possessed; a cloaked dreadnought sneaking undetected behind an enemy formation and devastating them from inside could be a major game changer, even against the Reapers. It was the stuff of science fiction; and it seemed Star Trek had prophecized technologies beyond the simple phone.

In the end, Randall realized what all this meant. All this power, all this industry, all this military might and destructive force...and Shepard was working with them. If brought to bear, the geth were by far the most effective, competent and powerful military force the galaxy has known, second only to the Reapers. Bringing them to bear on the Reapers would overshadow any of Shepard's previous alliances; the turians and the krogan? The rachni? Strong to be sure, but with the geth at their side? They would reap hell on the enemy.

It was times like this that he wished that the Illusive Man had abandoned his plans and simply joined Shepard. Not out of fear, but out of admiration. Shepard was a trailblazer; a legend in the making. He was the pinnacle and most exemplary definition of what Cerberus represented; he was humanity's champion; their leader. Forget that his squad was multi-species, and you saw that Shepard had the most impressive track record in military history, and had he stayed on with the Alliance, would have likely earned every medal the Alliance had to throw at him...all but the Prisoner of War medal, of course. And if he already had a prime platoon at his command...imagine what else the man had in him?

Was this what the man was building? A military armada unlike anything the galaxy, the universe, has ever seen? All to bear on the Reapers?

Yes, Randall really did wish they were allies. That they would work together. He had never really been a believer in the Illusive Man's goal to control the Reapers. It seemed so maniacal; so utterly ridiculous. If he didn't know any better, he would assume the Illusive Man was indoctrinated. But anyone could shoot that hoop; Shepard had flogged that horse more times than Randall could count. It was the most common way, and convenient way, to explain his behaviour. But he simply didn't suit. If the Illusive Man was indoctrinated, why was his demeanour seemingly unchanged? Usually the indoctrinated were made to do things they ordinarly wouldn't do; that's when you can tell. They get dumber and dumber, less free will is allowed and more and more of their servitude begins to seep through the cracks. Eventually, they're just a husk, just without the cybernetics. The Illusive Man certainly wasn't getting dumber, and he wasn't cracking; Cerberus' leader was as strong as Randall had remembered him, and his unwavering conviction, even in the face of Cerberus' losses on Noveria, Eden Prime, the Citadel and Grissom Academy...it would have destroyed any indoctrinated puppet.

Besides, if he was indoctrinated, why would the Reapers attack Cerberus? If Cerberus was ultimately ruled by one of their puppets, why the need to fight them? No, Shepard was merely looking for a way to switch the Illusive Man over to his side, and when it didn't work, he jumped on the indoctrination bandwagon.

And as much as Randall respected and admired Shepard, his loyalities lay with Cerberus. And if Shepard opposed them, then he opposed Shepard.

It was ironic. He regarded the man as a hero, and yet he was so willing to abduct his wife from him and possibly kill him if the need called for it. If there had ever been a bigger set of ironies in his life, he would gladly entertain them over this one.

And living up to his name, Shepard had unknowingly defeated him. Unknowingly defeated Cerberus, just as he always did. Whether it was his unexpected arrival during the Citadel Siege, or the liberation of Eden Prime; wherever Cerberus was, and the man was present, he made life a living hell for them. Cerberus may have militarized, but it did nothing to stem the man's anger; they were simply no match for this legend of a man.

Not that the Illusive Man needs to know that. And I'll continue to serve him regardless, as is my duty. I'm a manhunter, not a patriot. Like a mercenary, I go where the job offers the greatest reward. Unlike a mercenary however, I do not switch so easily when the wind changes course. Where a mercenary blows in the wind, I stand as still as a rock.

Randall didn't possess a conscious because he didn't need one. He had no wife, no children, no prior girlfriends, no family. Even his old name was discarded and forgotten, left beyond in the slums of Bekenstein; his new name, Randall Ezno, was one he had manufactured for himself; inspired slightly by Randall Noz; one of the lieutenants of the Freedom First faction that had fought in the Second American Civil War little over a century ago. Perhaps that was Randall being sentimental.

Perhaps.

The entrance wasn't far; at least a dozen or so meters. Each stride brought him closer and closer, and further and further away from his intended target. Randall wasn't a racist man by any stretch of the imagination; he had no love for aliens, but he didn't hate them. He didn't believe they were inferior; humanity had just as much to learn from aliens as they had to learn from humanity. Besides, they were hardly the inferior ones when the Krogan Rebellions were raging at around the same time the Egyptians were mummifying the corpses of their dead and worshipping cats and sheep.

Despite his lack of racism, Randall had allowed an amount of overconfidence to slip through his professional demeanour; he had become complacent. He had believed that acquiring the quarian would be a simple matter, despite her being a decorated veteran. But in some ways, it mostly wasn't even that that fueled his cockiness. Perhaps it was the feeling of having an enemy totally under control and trapped; having them in a choke hold that only he could break, and only when he wished to. Randall had sworn to never let it get to him, and he had. After this, after witnessing the mistake of such hubris...he would not make that mistake again.

The Ronald Williams and its task group were more than likely gone at this point; there would be no point in trying to rendezvous with it. His best guess would be to head to head for Omega and have Petrovsky ping the Deliverance. It would take a few days to get to Omega, sure, but it was better than aimlessly drifting in space. And hanging around in the Veil, waiting for another chance to nab Admiral Shepard, would be futile and pointless without the Deliverance to provide support. No, exfiltration was the best option now.

But first, he needed to link up with his last remaining men.

The entrance was just around the corner now. No more geth had awoken to kill him, and none of Shepard's squad had pursued him; likely too drained to be able to do so, much to Randall's benefit. But he was not foolish, and he immediately halted his run the moment he saw sunlight pouring through into the usually dark, dim complex. Slowing down to a fast walk, he quickly and professionally checked his corners, managing to check behind him, around the left and the right in seconds; snapping his rifle up and down as he did. Seeing that nothing was waiting to attack him, he took aim one final time as he moved around the final corner, and out into the open entrance way.

His form was immediately assaulted by intense light, but the temperature had thankfully died down since entering the facility. The humidity was still unbelievable, and he could feel little trickles of sweat dripping down his skin and drying wherever they were abruptly halted, either in the creases of his undershirt, or in the cracks of his armor. He wiped his forehead to clear a particularly soaked area, feeling his wet temple almost immediately dry out as his armoured gauntlet wiped the sticky liquid away.

It was midday on Rannoch. Tikkun rested directly above him, bearing down on the parched surface, and a cool breeze blasted against his uncovered head. Any other person would have hummed in delight at the pleasant feeling, but he simply squinted his eyes to see through it. In the distance, one of Rannoch's smaller moons, likely Kaeli'steiz, could just be seen on the horizon, the clouds and orange sky almost making it impossible to make out its form. Animal cries could be heard, echoing along the savannahs and the long grass plains.

He took a step forward, preparing to move back out onto the geth walkway to head towards Shepard's shuttle, when he heard a sound that definitely wasn't natural. It was the reverbrating sound of thrusters. It was an unmistakable sound for those who had heard it.

A geth dropship.

Thankfully, the sound was distant and echoing, meaning it was far away. As he turned back to the horizon, he saw it; a small, dark shape, almost a dot, darting across the orange sky, moving away from them and due south; towards the moon's side. It was likely a patrol; if he stayed here any longer, he would be spotted. He needed to get out of there, now.

He moved along the walkway, careful to keep an eye out for hostiles, until he found the maintenance ladder his squad had used to descend to the walkway. They had landed their own shuttle ontop of the facility, in the middle of a rocking outcropping. Despite the infrastructure and industry the geth possessed, they seemed to barely affect the environment around them; if it hadn't been for the walkway, it would be almost impossible to notice it. Everything around it was just...normal. Just natural.

Holstering his rifle, he did another quick check before climbing the first rung he could get his hands on, and then another. After a few moments, he was climbing the ladder at a steady pace. For a ladder, it was quite long; it needed to be. The walkway was build several feet below the clifftop, meaning the ladder had to reflect that height. Alot of people's arms would have gotten tired and probably fallen to their deaths climbing it; but Cerberus troopers were augmented cybernetically, and therefore none of his men fell.

Not that those cybernetics saved them in the end. Those primes still tore into them like they would have any Alliance squad.

The top wasn't far now. As he moved, one of his feet slipped slightly and bumped against the canyon wall, kicking off a mini-avalanche of dust and rock and sending it flying down below. He heard it impact the walkway with a small, echoing crash, pinging off the metal and coming to rest as the dust settled, staining its otherwise perfect surface. Randall, having barely noticed, just reseated himself and continued, taking only a few seconds to reach the top of the canyon roof.

Reaching up, he grabbed firmly onto a nearby rock and pulled himself up, feet pushing himself up the remaining rungs of the ladder. With a grunt, he let go of the rock, and got to his feet, quickly dusting himself off for good measure. The sun continued to rain down harmful ultraviolet rays down onto his body, but he could handle it, despite the sweat pouring off of him. Scanning the area ahead of him, which essentially looked like a typical Earth desert with the odd rock or piece of grass sticking out, he remained still until satisfied he was not going to be ambushed. Unholstering his harrier, he pressed forward, continuing to scan the area as he headed towards the last known location of the Normandy shuttle.

Once he had crossed a few meters without a word, he tapped his squad's comms, trying to establish a secure link. Instead, all he got was silence; no static, nothing. So his team had either gone on radio silence, or were...also dead.

Whatever the case, Randall continued towards the shuttle, hoping that the former was indeed the case. He didn't want to return with an entire squad dead; yet again, maybe it would ensure that Banes never put him in command of a squad ever again. Maybe returning with no squad was more of an advantage than he initially believed.

With every step he took, an indent of his foot was left in the ground; a perfect footprint. No insects scuttled across the ground, because Rannoch's ecosystem had not evolved to have them involved. Instead, the plains were almost clear of life, unless you were talking native wildlife; of that, Rannoch had plenty. From the strange, to the downright ugly.

He quickly ascended the crest of a hill, reaching the top in a matter of moments; it was only large enough to block his view of what was behind it, but not large enough to be hard to traverse. He did so with little to no effort, and quickly found himself at the top, looking down. What he found caused him to lower his weapon and grit his teeth, shaking his head as he mentally cursed.

The Normandy shuttle was gone, that much was obvious. It had left a large box-like indent in the ground due to its weight, but the shape itself was slightly distorted due to the ventral thrusters blasting some of the dust away. He could tell the shuttle had escaped, as there was no debris nearby to suggest it was shot down. Even if it had been, he would have heard the explosion, and even if he didn't hear it, his squad didn't have the ordnance to take down a shuttle. And, again, no smoke or wreckage could be seen as evidence to its destruction.

What had truly caused him immense disappointment was the two dead bodies lying between him and the shuttle's original resting place. What was worse, is that the person...the creature...responsible for killing them was still present.

It was by no means a small beast; it was at least the size of a male Earth lion. It was reptilian, the dark brown scales covering its body reflecting the light of the sun and almost blinding him when he looked at it. It had a short tail, which flicked from side to side pathetically; it was definitely far too small for a creature of its size. It was four-legged, its powerful looking legs ending in five-toed claws, making it look fast enough to outrun a skycar. Its muscular body ended in an equally muscular and large head. The head itself looked unusually flat, most of it being a massive, scaled yet tough, crest, much like that of a krogan, which flared bright yellow. It had intense green eyes, but instead of facing outwards like most animals on Earth, these were forward-facing...like those of humans.

The animal, more than likely a carnivore, paid Randall no mind as it happily enjoyed its meal; one of his men. The sound of teeth shearing through flesh and crunching down on bone could be heard as it tore into the exposed chest of his dead soldier. The armor on his abdomen was almost non-existent, claws having tore the armor apart like butter, leaving it in scattered remnants across the plain. What was left of it was hanging on loose straps or was engorged in his torso, soaked in blood to the point of the paint being unrecognizable. Even the Cerberus logo couldn't be seen, the sheer viscera being dark enough to block it out. His head lay a few meters away, helmet torn apart to reveal deep claw marks, so deep that the white of an exposed skull could be seen under all the blood. Trailing between the head and its neck was just a trail of crimson, which by now had begun drying into the dust and rocks around them. The Cerberus' troopers belly was torn wide open, exposing his insides. The creature had made short work of his intestines, burst open his ribcage and was now minding its own business as it fed on his flesh.

It didn't seem to have bothered with the second trooper yet, even though he was equally as dead as his comrade. His helmet remained intact, but his neck had clearly been sliced wide open; so much so that the head was snapped back, a massive mark at least five inches apart running along the front of his throat revealing the extent of the damage. Blood still spurted out, occassionally shooting out in brief fountains, staining the grass. Two fingers on his left hand were missing, including his ring finger and middle finger. His rifle lay across the ground from him, bent down the middle to the point of being a U-shape. Empty thermal clips lay all around him, showing that he had emptied quite a few magazines at the creature to no avail. His right leg was completely missing, with blood still seeping from the pores, meaning that the predator had torn it off and devoured it immediately. From the rate of decomposition, they had only been dead a few minutes. Six, at best.

Looking up, he turned back to the creature. What he saw caused him to freeze, ceasing all movement. The creature had turned to look directly at him, and he now got a better look at its mouth. It clearly had no sense of smell, as it was missing nostrils; meaning its hearing and sight were greatly improved. Its jaw was split into three sections; one part moved downwards, while the other two moved to the left and right when it open its mouth. Along each jaw part was a long line of razor-sharp canines. A long, forked tongue hung limply on its lower jaw piece, inbetween its many teeth. When it growled, the sound wasn't so much as animalistic as it was synthetic; it almost reminded him of the Yautja from the Predator universe. It was definitely chilling.

He made no movement, and quickly thought through his actions. From what he could see, his men had tried killing it, but bullets hadn't worked; so firing at it would likely only enrage it. So his best option was a grenade; but how the hell would he throw it without the creature reacting?

In that moment, he realized: he couldn't. He would need to move if he was going to kill it. And he knew he would need to kill it, because the look it was giving him was one every species universally recognized: feral hunger.

A plan formed in his head, and he steeled himself. The creature had forgotten its original meal now, one foot moving to land firmly on the dead man's chest, using it as a foot rest; as it did this, a loud crack could be heard as the remains of the man's ribcage were crushed by the sheer weight, a squelch echoing through the valley as the ribcage was passed and flesh fell under it. It hissed and growled, cocking its head slightly as if studying him.

Make your move, it almost said. It dared him to move. Was that a sign of intelligence, perhaps?

No. This creature hasn't observed organic life for three hundred years. So unless its a quick adapter, it can't possibly know what I'm going to do.

With another long breath, and fixing the creature with a stoic pose, he activated his omni-blade.

The movement, along with the loud hiss that came from its activation, was like a switch. In seconds, the creature dashed forward, closing the distance in but a few, rapid strides. Its mouth widened to its apex, his face being hit with its putrid breath; he could see bits of undigested raw flesh and skin hanging between its teeth and gums, and the smell was intense; it was the smell of death and digestion. It almost made him nauseous. It didn't roar; clearly not an arrogant creature, preferring to kill silently than to announce its kill to the world. It didn't even use its claws.

Its final mistake.

Just as quick as the creature, he brought up his omni-blade and shot his wrist upwards in an uppercut. He grunted as he felt it slice through and wedge itself up the middle of its lower maw, its movement only stopped by his fist impacting the body of its scaled chin. Gritting his teeth, he saw the predator cease all movement, giving off a low keen to symbolize that it was in pain.

It would not be its last keen. Without waiting a second longer than he needed to, and with dark, lime green blood seeping through the entry wound he had made, he quickly yanked his blade to the side with a snap of energy. The flesh of the lower jaw blackened due to the intense heat, the edges around the cut blackening to the point of the flesh being unrecognizable. Its low keen turned into a screech of fury as his omni-blade sliced its entire lower jaw off, the piece of meat slapping against the ground, what was left of the appendage flapping around uselessly as it spat blood in a steady stream. It splashed against his face, but he closed his mouth in time to stop any of it from getting down his throat and making him irreversibly sick. Without any further hesitation, he grabbed a grenade from his vest, primed it, and jammed his hand as far as he could down its exposed throat.

He managed to let go of the weapon just the beast's left leg plowed into his side, sending him flying. He felt the breeze assault his face mercilessly for a few moments as he glided through the air, before eventually his back slammed painfully into the back of a rock, and he collapsed to the ground, face first. He coughed and sputtered, spitting out stray bits of dust and rock that had entered his mouth, but the bitter taste remained persistent. He pulled himself just in time to hear a thunderous boom in his ears, telling him that his grenade had gone off. A mere second later, he felt bits of torn scales and flesh slap against his body, informing that the creature was now dead and his plan had worked.

He wasted no time in getting back to his feet and surveying the damage. The grenade had made short work of the predator, that was for sure. Most of its back was still intact, but shredded, and where its torso and head should have been was reduced to random, indistinguishable pieces of flesh lying across the ground or sticking to his armor. He wiped what he could off, but left the blood on his armor for it to dry; not bothering with the slick and disgusting substance. The blood itself smelt of smoke, and whatever seeped into his mouth before he spat it out tasted like ink. Moving over and retrieving his rifle, he opened his omni-tool and hacked into his shuttle's main operating system, switching the thrusters on and triggering auto-pilot; he then uploaded his coordinates. His pilot had been the man the creature had been feeding him, leaving only Randall left.

As he stood there, listening to his shuttle's engines powering up in the distance, he could only look up at the bright sun above, trying to block out the smell of the creature's corpse and the stench it had imparted on him.

And then, even as his shuttle began to depart, he felt it; a raindrop splashed against his head. And within moments...

...it began to rain.

{Loading...}

July 9, 2186

1036 hours.

Connection Node A-672, Geth Superstructure Housing Server Hub 02241-14511, Dalpash Canyon, Former Country of Zel'Matesh, Uma'Waz Subcontinent, Rannoch.

Second Morning War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Normandy, Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian, Second Lieutenant James Vega, Shadow Broker Liara T'Soni, Second Lieutenant Imogen Keeling, Legion, Moses.

Ever since Moses and its cohorts had sworn allegiance to Marcus, there had been silence in the room. Nothing needed to be said. Legion and Moses stood, facing each other, but said nothing, not requiring verbal voiceboxes to communicate; their data exchange was silent, and if it wasn't for his prior knowledge, he would have thought they were just staring at each other. The primes did not move, with only six having moved; three covered the entrance way and another three covered the rear to ensure that no more Cerberus forces got the jump on them. And to make sure that if Randall returned, he was reduced to plasmatic ash.

His squad looked battered and worn. James and Garrus' moods had been boosted immensely when they learnt of Moses' intentions, but they had also realized the somber tone of what had just occurred, and had decide to pay their respects as they remained utterly silent, their only sounds being their low breathing and the occassional click of a mandible from Garrus. Liara had been brought back to consciousness shortly after, now sitting down and leaning against a node, holding a cloth to the area where her tooth snapped off, where purple blood could be seen staining it; she had used it previously to wipe up the blood that was left trailing her jaw before using it to clog the exposed area. Her tooth hadn't been found but, according to Liara, asari grew their teeth back extraordinarly quick, and she did not see it as an issue. Even so, he insisted she see Chakwas and Michel upon their return to the ship to ensure that no problems arose.

Keeling was the most deathly quiet out of all of them. She sat in a similiar fashion to Liara, but she was not only quiet and unmoving, she literally didn't make a sound; if one listened, it sounded almost as if she wasn't breathing. She stared quietly at the ground, almost unblinking. Her helmet rested beside her, and her rifle stood leaning against the wall beside it. Her arms rested on the tops of her knees, and despite himself, he couldn't understand why she was so quiet. She almost looked angry, her pose radiating fury. Was it because she let Randall get the slip? Was that the issue? If so, he was going to have a long talk with her upon returning to the Normandy.

Marcus, himself, was at a loss. His feelings were conflicted, outweighed by battling emotions of triumph and defeat, and his body felt heavy and exhausted. The exertion from his time in the pod, to his brief engagement with Randall, had left him with feelings of humiliation and fatigue, but most of all, his body felt ready to drop. As he looked at the floor, his legs could only wobble slightly and beg him to collapse; even metal looked like a mattress when you were this tired. But in the end, Marcus resisted the urge, preferring to simply stand there and look off into the distance.

Well, he wasn't exactly looking into the distance. His eyes were focused, although he was wishing they weren't.

On one hand, he felt victorious; the fight today had brought them to the gates. One final effort was all that remained. The Second Morning War was moving towards its close, and with the location of the Reaper signal no longer a secret, Marcus could destroy its source, once and for all, and free the geth of its chains. There would be peace, and then the most powerful and most technologically savvy races in the galaxy would join the UGC, once again bolstering their efforts to defeat the Reapers. Victory was not theirs yet, and he knew it wouldn't be that easy, but it was better than fumbling blindly in the dark. That, and they now had an entire platoon of geth primes on their side, all of which had pledged fealty to him. And he had managed to thwart the abduction of his wife at the hands of Cerberus. How could today get any better?

The real question was: how could it get any worse?

Because while the signal was no longer hidden, a life had been lost today. A life of which Marcus should despise, yet respected because of the heroism he showed in trying to save them.

That life was now extinguished. As Marcus watched on, he could only stare blankly at Tali, his wife, as she lay crouched on the ground, one knee against the cold deck, arms holding up the now still corpse of Peta'Tasi vas Nedas; quarian exile, and Tali's would-be murderer.

The killing blow that had been Peta's doom, the one that had punctured his throat, was still quite prominent. All around the entry point, bits of torn suit could be seen, with some of the fabric still intact albeit shredded. Whatever grey skin had been concealed underneath could not be seen, largely because a massive, jagged hole now left a clear look into the man's neck, with blood oozing out in a steady stream. Before, jagged spurts had popped from the quarian's neck, but with the passage of time, the violent actions had decellerated to the point of blood simply oozing out. Even then, this blood was not being pumped, and the heart had given out several minutes ago, and it was simply a remnant of what was left; the last of his life force leaking out onto the cold floor.

Before, the quarian had been gurgling; a byproduct of blood filling his oesophagus and lungs and clogging them, causing him to literally choke on it. Now, dead, no gurgles could be heard; silence was the corpse's valediction. One hand still clutched his chest where it had been left as he died, dried blood crusted around his gloved fingers and palm, with little trickles still managing to break free from the gaping wound that had penetrated his stomach. Behind his visor, the blue orbs that represented quarian eyes were absent; the life having gone from them. From what he could see, red blurs could be seen on the interior of the visor; a testament to the blood he had spat out as he choked. Peta's entire body simply lay there; blood, dried or still wet, lying all around him.

Peta'Tasi vas Nedas was dead, and Marcus still didn't know whether to be happy, or saddened.

In the end, it wasn't Peta he was looking at with his tired eyes. It wasn't even Peta he was thinking of; it was Tali. Ever since Peta had been shot and left to die, she had been awfully quiet, only responding to him when it seemed the geth had them dead to rights; before they realized Moses and his primes were friendly. After that, she had holstered her shotgun, made her way to Peta's corpse, crouched and simply held it; looking into his visor, almost like she was searching for answers.

Marcus had many questions of his own. Why did Peta save them? Sure, he gave a grandiose speech about love and redemption, but what was the switch? What happened to make Peta into his new, rebranded person? Why was today any different to the year before? Hell, why did Marcus feel even an iota of remorse for a man that, up until now, had been the source of his utmost profound hatred? Sure, Leng gave him a way to funnel and channel that hatred at a new, far more dangerous source, but that didn't mean he had stopped hating Peta. Had Leng managed to stab his wife in their own home in their own bed as they slept? It was something that only Peta had done, and something that had earned the quarian the rage of the most dangerous man in the galaxy.

So why now? Why was it that Peta began his whole 'path to redemption' schtick now? What turned Peta from wannabe-husband to almost-hero? What made him even think that attempting to take on a squad of soldiers was a worthy risk? Was it some half-arsed attempt to win over Tali? To make her indebted to him? If so, than the quarian had paid dearly for it.

And his death, for whatever reason, had changed Tali. Tali was a battle-hardened soldier, and she had managed to keep her stomach's discharge at bay as she watched Horizon's colonists get liquified on the Collector Base, so what it was silly to believe that she would be broken by the death of a person she despised. So just what did it? Why was she suddenly so...empty-looking?

Why did she look like the war had just been lost?

These questions raced through his head, but he didn't have answers for them. Maybe it was fatigue that made his mind so slow, or perhaps he genuinely had no clue.

Eventually, Legion provided a source of distraction, arriving beside him almost silently. Marcus did note his arrival though, and with the bare minimum of acknowledgement, nodded his head and took a deep breath, sighing heavily, "Any more good news, Legion? We could certainly use some." Why am I acting like there is bad news? Fuck Peta.

Selfish prick. The man just saved your wife. Hasn't the man earned forgiveness?

If man murders your son and then saves your daughter, should he be forgiven, even though he killed your son?

But he never killed her! She's still alive! And, ironically enough, she is the very reason you should forgive him! He saved her, he saved you, he saved your squad!

I can't just forgive him.

You can.

I can't.

Then you better forgive him quickly. Harbinger isn't going to play ping-pong while you sort out your personal issues.

Legion, unaware of his inner crisis, responded, "We believe that the information we have acquired is most certainly within the boundaries of the organic concept of 'good news.' We have achieved consensus with Moses and other platforms and can confirm that the Old Machine signal is located at a heavily fortified geth facility exactly nine hundred and forty-eight kilometers due north-east. This facility is located in the same continent we currently reside in, but within the former country area of Poltane'r, at the end of what ancient creators called the Great Plains."

Marcus nodded, wiping his face, "Good. Then we'll have the Normandy bomb it from orbit."

Legion's headflaps twitched, and then it shook its head, "This strategy is not recommended, Shepard-Commander. The defensive capabilities of this facility are designed to repel orbital bombardments, mass ground assaults and short-range bombing. Defenses include a planetary cannon, plasma artillery batteries, and ultraviolet GARDIANs. These are only some of the defenses present. There are many more. Would you like a full detailing?"

Marcus shook his head, licking his lips as he scratched his scalp, waving his hand in a sign of defeat, "No, no I wouldn't Legion. Right now, I just want to know that this war is almost over. Not the Reaper War, this one. This stupidity. I'm satisfied that we know where the signal is; now we just need to work on breaching that fortress. But from the sounds of it, our job just became a whole lot harder. So if we can't bombard it from orbit, and we can't launch a mass ground assault, what should we do? Infiltration will be useless if the geth's intrusion alarms have been upgraded by the Reapers as well," it was then that a question occurred to him that he had never thought of asking before. He turned to the geth, frowning, "What is the signal anyway? I've seen Reaper artifacts before, but nothing that transmits such a linear transmission. What is it?"

Legion shrugged its shoulders, headflaps unmoving, "We do not know. The information we managed to acquire only pertained to the existence and location of the signal, but not its physical appearance. It is likely to be a simple transmitter within the facility. Also, we do not have any particular tactical advice to provide on how to infiltrate the geth fortress."

He bit his lower lip, taking a deep breath as he scratched his face, "Wonderful. This day just gets better and better."

"Have we done something to displease you, Shepard-Commander?"

If the situation called for it, Marcus might have chuckled. He might have even managed a smile. Instead, he simply reached up and slapped the Legion's shoulder, nodding with another sigh, "Its just been a very long day, Legion. Too much information all at once. I've encountered quarian history, had Cerberus soldiers try and abduct my wife, and had a man I despised for an entire year just try and save us only for a platoon of geth primes to blast away said Cerberus soldiers. To say I've seen alot of shit is an understatement."

"We understand," Legion stated, "We also understand you wish to be alone. We will comply with your unspoken demands."

Marcus could only nod, turning back to look at Tali. He barely even noticed Legion turning and moving back towards Moses, his eyes set only on Tali. She hadn't even twitched; she was still crouched, cradling Peta's body. She just looked blankly at him, and she didn't even turn as he began to move towards her. He had no idea what he was going to say and do; only that he had to do something. That he wanted to do something other than just standing there.

So it came as no surprise when he suddenly found himself standing beside his traumatized wife, and kneeled down beside her, eyes still fixed on her, while occassionally darting to Peta. It was clear that his death had affected her more than she would immediately admit, and despite himself, he felt some sympathy rise for Peta out of that, despite every fibre of his being insisting that his feelings remain unchanged. After all, this man had previously tried to kill her; how could he forgive that? How could he find it in himself to let go of that and simply thank Peta for what he had done? Why was he so adamant in hating the man?

Tali did not move, despite his presence, and he began to wonder if she even knew he was here. Was she even conscious of her surroundings at that moment? Or was she more disconnected than he feared? To test this, he reached out and grasped her shoulder, lightly squeezing it. His suspicion was confirmed when she slowly turned her head around to look at him. What was more unsettling however was that she still didn't say anything, remaining ever silent and just staring at him blankly. He was usually able to tell what her emotions were, even with her mask on, but right now...he felt just as clueless towards her emotions at that moment as he did when he first met her all those years ago. It infuriated him, and he almost felt like snapping, but he simply sat there, saying nothing, being her silent anchor.

Eventually, she turned back away from him and looked back down at Peta's body. She wasn't crying; when Tali cried, it was a loud and moving affair, but right now, he heard nothing. She hadn't turned off her exterior microphones, as he hadn't seen her do it, which clearly meant that he would be able to hear if she was crying or not, and right now, he couldn't hear so much as a sniffle. She was chillingly quiet, and it upset him to no end. He knew in that moment that he had to do something other than just holding her shoulder. He needed to say something...he needed to get her talking. The silence...it was killing him. He didn't care if she shouted and growled at him, as long as she wasn't...whatever this is!

"Tali," he spoke, voice a low whisper and tainted with fatigue, "Please say something."

Victory was his as the quarian admiral, still staring at Peta, responded, "I went to school with him."

He frowned, confused, "You what?" Has she finally lost it?

"I went to school with him. Every ship had a school, but the liveships have the biggest ones. Kal, Peta and I all went to the same one on the Rayya," she repeated, further explaining the meaning behind her words, "I grew up with both of them. Kal was like a brother to me, but Peta? He...he was a kid that needed to be protected. He always got bullied. Pushed around, used. He was so gullible, but also...innocent. Kal and I couldn't just stand around and let him get him get pushed around. We always made an example of his bullies; of course, Kal did most of it. His father was a marine too; taught Kal how to deal with bullies before going to school. Kal scared them off while I made sure Peta was alright. I still remember the first time; perhaps more clearly now. He held onto me. He...he never wanted me to leave. I think that's when...I think that's where it began."

Marcus, still confused, just rubbed his face, looking down at Peta's body as he responded, "Where what began, Tali? You're not making much sense."

"His obsession," the admiral declared, "His obsession for me began that very day, I'm sure of it now. The way he looked at me, the way he held me...he never wanted me to leave. Ever since the first time we saved him, he kept following us around...at first I thought it was for protection, but when the bullies turned on me...only then did I work around to figuring out the real reason. The bullies targeted me because they thought I was his girlfriend. Because it was obvious to everyone else but me...obvious that Peta was hopelessly obsessed with me. That he believed that he had a crush on me. And maybe he did."

Slowly, and gradually, Tali began to lower Peta to the floor, as if lying his body to its final resting place, "Maybe he did have a crush on me; guess we'll never know now. All I know is that ever since that moment, Peta wouldn't leave me alone. When we hit puberty, he even openly hugged me and professed to me his intentions to marry me. He...I don't think I really realized how much I hurt him when I told him to let go of me. I think...I think I genuinely hurt him. Maybe that's why he did what he did. Maybe in his mind he was getting revenge for what I said to him. I guess we'll never know."

Marcus just listened to what she had to say. The more she spoke, the more he realized that her words...they were like a eulogy of sorts. This was how she was dealing with her grief, if that's what he could call it, and he was her target. So he sat there in silence, letting her say what she needed to say.

Her silent anchor.

Finally, Peta's body resisted firmly back on the ground, his wife gently pulling up his hands and splaying them ontop of his chest. Whatever was left of his blood had stopped oozing now, some of it having collected on Tali's gloved fingers, but all having dried at this point. The quarian's body had finally given into death, and his soul had long carried unto the afterlife.

If one exists.

"I hated him. I know you hated him," Tali admitted, shaking her head as she placed her now empty hands on her knees, cocking her head down at the corpse laid out before her, like a scientist in an autopsy, "How couldn't we? I fell in love with you, and all Peta could do was try and mess it up. To try and ruin what we had for his own selfish reasons. Keelah, he even managed to rope in father on his obsession with me; besides, father would have done anything to keep me away from you, before he died. And then that night...where he...stabbed me...I saw the monster he had become...a sick, twisted freak...and I was frightened, Marcus. I'll admit it, I was frightened. I had told myself that Peta wasn't a threat. That he was...harmless. Could you blame me? The man got bullied at school, and it took me and Kal to save him. He wasn't military like you and me. He wasn't a trained assassin, a mercenary, or an information broker with a private army at his back. He wasn't two kilometers tall, and he certainly wasn't part of a pro-human supremacist group. Keelah, Kal tried to warn me! Samara tried to warn you! Did we listen!? Should we have!?"

As her eulogy continued, her voice rose in their octaves, and by the end, she shook with self-anger, her hands having closed into fists. He could only look on sadly at her, biting his lower lip. He remembered Samara's warning well; do not trust Peta. Letting him join the crew was a mistake. And she was right. Why hadn't he listened? When an asari matriarch, let alone an asari justicar, who can almost smell criminals from worlds away, tells you someone is a danger, you don't tell them they aren't a threat; you listen. But he hadn't; he had given into Peta's little guilt trip. His crocodile tears and story of redemption. And perhaps just by doing that, it had actually been Marcus who had almost killed Tali. After all, it never would have happened if Peta had remained on the Rayya, and not on the Normandy.

Yes, Tali. We should have listened. We were fools. Ignorant, stupid fools. And we paid for it. Peta...paid dearly for it.

Eventually, she calmed down, shaking her head as she sighed, head hung low, "Years of conflict had made us cocky, Marcus. Gave birth to our own hubris. We thought we were invincible. Taking down armies of geth? No problem. Taking down a Reaper? Give me one frigate. Blasting the Collectors back to hell? Give me your finest team of professionals and I'll make it happen, you said. As far as we were concerned, we were untouchable. And then comes along Peta, who waltzes into our cabin, and stabs me. I guess its symbolic; I wake up to being stabbed almost like waking up from the dream of our invincibility. Because we're just as mortal as everyone else."

Finally, she looked up at him, motioning a hand lamely at Peta, as if the effort itself was too tremendous, "And now here we are. Did I create this, Marcus? When we watched Peta get exiled...we were so smug. So happy. Justice is served, we thought. But what about the injustice dealt upon Peta? The injustice dealt upon his happiness? I created this, Marcus. Me. Alone. Everything he has done, every person he has gotten killed, every drop of blood I lost when he rammed that knife into me...I molded every bit of it. And to think it started with something so little as getting fucking bullied..."

It was one of those rare moments where Tali picked up on Marcus' bad language habits, but he let it slide...the moment was too raw, the feelings too intimate...he just listened, not making a sound.

"Look at this body, Marcus. Take a good long look. Take in the smell of that blood, and watch that dead, beaconless mask. Seal that in your mind, and whenever you even begin to think your wife is innocent and pure, remember that she forged a monster just with kindness."

At that moment, he chose to intervene, shaking his head, "That's not true. Tali, look at me."

She refused to do so, shaking her head, "You don't get it, do you? You don't know what I've done! His death, all the lives he's taken! It was all because of me. He did all of it because he was obsessed with me! And the only reason he's obsessed with me is because I showed him kindness when he was getting bullied at school!"

"Shut up. Just...shut up," he snapped, "Look at me right now. Damn it, Tali, look at me!" he almost roared the last part, which likely garnered the attention of everyone behind him, but he didn't care. He roughly grabbed Tali's arm and spun her around, the quarian finally looking at him. There was unbridled fury in her eyes, and he knew that if he had any hope of quenching them, he needed to talk her down, not rile her up further.

Lowering his voice slowly, he spoke again, "Don't you dare tell me that Peta was your fault. Don't you dare tell me that showing kindness at any one point is a crime! You had no way of knowing what he would do! No idea what he would become! His crimes, the blood he has spilled, and the lives he has taken is his crime to hold, not yours! Don't you dare place a burden on your shoulders THAT IS NOT YOURS TO HAVE! You don't get to do that! You don't get to blame yourself for such things! Not now! Not ever! Because you know what? You're not innocent! You're not pure! You know why? Because you're my wife!"

His words stilled her, and even as she moved to respond, he cut her off, waving off her response dismissively, "I don't want to hear it! You have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to creating monsters, Tali! You don't have a clue! Look at me, Tali. Look at me, and tell me what you see! Because you know what? I am a monster, not Peta! Peta is but a baby. He was but a figment of what a monster is. Do you know what I've done? What this war almost drove me to do? You know what I considered doing? I almost shot Mordin!"

The entire atmosphere froze at that moment, and not a word was heard. Even the geth had gone silent, and any objection Tali had been preparing stopped. She looked shocked, eyes wide behind her visor, and she just stared at him. He shook his head, letting go of her arm as he stood up, turning away from her as he held his head in his hands. After a moment, he turned back, shaking his head.

"That's right! I almost shot him! You know why? Because that bitch, that fucking whore of a salarian, Linron, tried to cut me a deal! She offered the entire salarian military in exchange for sabotaging the genophage cure. And if that wasn't bad enough, when Mordin found out, I almost had to shoot him! That's what this war has driven me to do! What kind of person is not only willing, but actually proceeds to hold a gun to one of their friends? Who? Come on, Tali, tell me that. Have you ever tried to shoot Kal? Madi? No? Well I almost shot Mordin! And for what? A bitch's promise? For a few ships and the motherfucking STG? And that's not the best part! Oh no, I was willing to shoot my own friend, but also stab another in the back whilst also destroying the future of an entire species! I was ready to play god in a 'what if' game with the salarians! Tell me Tali, how does that 'perfect' picture of me look now? Who's the real monster here? Peta? Or Shepard, the man who could have killed a friend, betrayed another and doomed the krogan species to extinction based on a foundation of lies!?"

After his rant had concluded, it was Garrus who spoke, his voice sounding broken and slightly betrayed, "Then why didn't you?"

Marcus just chuckled bitterly, waving his arms, "That's hardly the point, is it? Yes, my morals got the better of me! I couldn't do it! I couldn't tell myself that what I was doing was right! And who convinced me of that? Mordin, of course! Even looking down the barrel of my gun, Mordin managed to talk me down! And you know what? It doesn't change anything. Because I'm still the scum that had the balls to raise a weapon to a man who should have been a comrade. And now he's dead! And his last memory of me was of having to talk me down before I shot him over a promise that may or may not have been true!"

He had been so focused on Garrus when he was responding that when he turned he failed to notice Tali approaching before it was too late. Within seconds, she wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling her mask into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry..." she began to weep, shaking her head, "I didn't meant to-"

"What the hell are you sorry for?" Marcus hissed, gritting his teeth, "Were you listening? I tried to kill Mordin and doom an entire species. You didn't."

"No," she managed to blurt out through her hot tears, "I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you. To...guide you down a better path..."

"You're here now," he assured her softly, more softly than he had wanted to be, "So it hardly matters now."

"What matters," said Garrus, suddenly standing near them, "is that, in the end, you decided not to pull that trigger. You know why Mordin tried to talk you down? Because he knows who you are. What you are: a good man. You're my brother, and Tali's husband. Don't you ever sell yourself short of that."

"I still chose to take up arms against a friend," Marcus dismissed, gulping, "A change of heart doesn't absolve that."

"No, it doesn't," Garrus agreed, shrugging his shoulders. But then he looked up, raising one eyebrow, "But did you succeed?"

Marcus shook his head, "No. The cure was dispersed, and the krogan got the future they deserved. And Wrex still doesn't know what I tried to do."

"Then I'd say you're not a monster," Garrus stated firmly, but before Marcus could object, he butted in, finishing his sentence, "Monsters don't second guess themselves."

Those words were enough to stop Marcus, and drained whatever argumentative capacity he had. It was then that he realized just how drained he really was; memories of what had happened in the war so far flooded his mind. The Reaper War had only just recently entered its second month, and already so much had happened. To think, only a couple of weeks ago he was on Tuchanka, suffering under its blazing sun, running under Vanguard as the Mother of all Thresher Maws grappled with it...and now here he was, on Rannoch, once again moving to make history. Curing the genophage and reclaiming the lost homeworld of the quarians? Too much was happening too soon, and it took a toll on Marcus.

His body reacted on its own. His arms went from limp to hugging Tali to his chest tightly, and his eyes went from blankly looking into space to scrunched up against Tali's veil, a few tears escaping where no one could see them.

Peta was a monster, but he had absolved himself by saving his wife. And in some way, even if not completely, Marcus could learn to forgive the quarian in time.

Marcus was not a monster.

Because monsters didn't second guess themselves.

And for Peta, Valhalla awaited.

{Loading...}

July 9, 2186

1047 hours.

Walkway, Geth Superstructure Housing Server Hub 02241-14511, Dalpash Canyon, Former Country of Zel'Matesh, Uma'Waz Subcontinent, Rannoch.

Second Morning War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Normandy, Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian, Second Lieutenant James Vega, Shadow Broker Liara T'Soni, Second Lieutenant Imogen Keeling, Legion, Moses.

It hadn't taken long for the squad to mop up the area. Moses and his primes had cleared out the Cerberus corpses and disposed of them, but as the blood had already dried and wasn't much of a threat to any critical systems, they had let it remain. Randall of course was still nowhere to be found, and had likely escaped already, as Legion couldn't detect any Cerberus-tagged vessels in the vicinity. The Cerberus bodies had been thrown, quite ruthlessly he might add, outside to be cleaned up by Rannoch's more carnivorous wildlife; apparently an animal called the gbab'dav, which was reportedly reptilian in nature and very much like a cross between a gecko and a lion, thrived on this part of Rannoch, and did not discriminate between its prey; even geth platforms were said to have fallen to the beasts, although they obviously didn't eat them because they were machines and did not possess flesh of any kind to feast upon.

As for Peta's body...they couldn't just let him be eaten by the gbab'dav, and so instead, Marcus ordered James to pick up the quarian's body and carry it out with them.

With Legion's help, just like before, they managed to find their way out of the facility, pretty much the same way they entered. Marcus, having reached his breaking point, was almost entirely incapable of walking, and halfway to the entrance had practically collapsed, only for Garrus to pick him up. Now Legion and Garrus shared the load as they had both of his arms tossed over their shoulders, hands grasping them as they moved him along, the spectre himself just barely managing to keep his eyes open. He did not envy having to encounter the rays of Tikkun again, but if he could just reach the shuttle, he might be able to catch a nap.

Tali had elected to walk beside James, as if she was Peta's guardian, despite him being dead. Taking up the rear, just behind James and Tali, were the geth primes, moving in two columns through the isles, with Moses heading the two columns. Legion, Garrus and Marcus were of course at front, as Legion was needed to navigate them through, with Liara and Keeling just behind them exchanging the bare minimum of conversation.

Minutes later, as they were nearing the entrance, the team comms lit up, and not long after, Cortez's voice could be heard, "Shepard...Shepard! Squad, this is Cortez, please respond. What's your status, over? How copy, over?"

Marcus moved to respond, but Garrus, being his second-in-command, shook his head and tapped the comm instead, "Solid copy, Cortez. This is Vakarian. The squad is safe and sound, just ran into a bit of trouble."

"Tell me about it. I had to commence immediate dust off when a couple of Cerberus assault troopers decided to sneak up on me. I got off fine, but they...they don't seem to have coped so well," the pilot replied, "I've landed on the opposite side of the canyon, inside this massive cave; I was hoping the minerals in the rocks would help keep the shuttle safe from ground penetrating radar. Seems to have worked so far. What about you guys? Any surprise Cerberus encounters?"

Garrus just chuckled, grunting as they continued to move Marcus along, "You could say that; got a whole squad, actually. Thankfully though, we had some unexpected help. Although we do have one casualty," he said the last part with less humour, his tone taking a much more somber mood.

Cortez's response was instant, "Who was it? What's the extent of the damage?"

"Dead," Garrus declared, "But they weren't...he...he wasn't one of us."

"Copy that," Cortez responded, his voice less enthusiastic this time.

Garrus, changing the topic, quickly remembered something else the pilot had said, "Now Cortez, didn't you mention the Cerberus troopers not coping so well? What did you mean by that?"

There was the sound of a clearing throat over the comm, "Yeah, this huge four-legged creature came out of nowhere and just...growled. I can thank it for alerting me to those Cerberus troopers outside. By the time I was taking off though, it was already tearing them apart. You should have seen it; that thing was both bulletproof and able to tear through armor. Nasty stuff."

Tali was quick to respond over the comm, "That seems to describe gbab'dav perfectly. When the ancestors were still in the Stone Age, they were the greatest threat to my people. But by the time they had developed gunpowder, the ancestors had colonized the planet to the point where the gbab'dav were driven into the forests. It seems that after the Exodus, they have returned to their original habitat."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to pick a fight with one," Cortez declared, sighing, "So how went the mission? And where's Shepard?"

"The mission was a success, Cortez. The Cerberus soldiers were dealt with, and we found the location of the Reaper signal. We also managed to win over a platoon geth primes to our cause," Garrus smugly declared, rounding another corner. His waypoint stated that they were almost back at the entrance, "As for Marcus, he's a bit out of it. Apparently his time in the consensus really drained him. He'll live."

"I feel like shit," Marcus mumbled, "You having to carry me doesn't make that any better."

"How do you think I feel?" Garrus drawled, "I have to help Legion drag your fat ass back to the shuttle. Not my idea of fun either."

Cortez cut into the ensuing banter, his voice not radiating the surprise it usually had when confronted with ridiculous situations, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised Shepard won over a bunch of geth. If he can talk down krogan, then anything's possible. Where should I pick you up?"

"Same place you picked us up, Cortez," Garrus stated firmly, "We should be there soon."

"Copy that," Cortez responded, the sound of the shuttle's systems powering up being heard in the background, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Cortez out."

Garrus lowered his hand, turning to look at Legion, "How far are we now, Legion? My navpoint says the entrance is dead ahead."

The geth nodded, "That is correct, Vakarian-Archangel. We will be clear soon."

"You know..." Marcus began, coughing slightly, "...I could have easily answered that hail myself, Garrus."

The turian just scoffed, baffled by the human's audacity, "You can't even walk, Marcus. I suggest you let me handle the rest of this mission. Don't worry; I'll do my best to make sure there's nothing to shoot at. Otherwise I'd be forced to take all the kills, and we just can't have that, can we?"

"You're learning...Vakarian," Marcus said dryly, smiling slightly, "You're a slow learner mind you, but at least you're trying."

The turian's only response was to chuckle, and they continued towards the entrance in silence, the only sound being the slight patter of their footsteps and the much louder thuds of the geth's footsteps behind them.

Only a minute later, they rounded the corner, and the entrance was once again before them. As soon as they rounded it, Marcus had expected his face to be blasted by a wave of heat and blinded by the light of Tikkun, with humidity quickly setting in and sending sweat pouring down his skin, with his armor's air conditioners desperately trying to compensate.

Instead, his air conditioner's were now working alittle too efficiently.

Where he should have been wincing from sunlight blocking his vision, he was now wincing due to a chilly breeze slamming into his face, followed by wetness. As he opened his eyes, he realized that the wetness was actually water, and it was coming in small droplets, which continued to assault his face briefly until the wind died down, causing the water to cease its attack upon his team and instead fall restlessly onto the ground, drenching the walkway and creating little, isolated puddles all around. He watched as the water bounced off the steel, and the distant sound of thunder could be heard in the background.

"Well, would you look at that," James exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear, "That looks like rain to me. Now that is something you'd never see on Tuchanka. When it was nothing but a wasteland anyway."

Marcus could only marvel at the sudden change in climate and weather. Humidity and heat had vanished to be switched with a chilly wind and cold air; something his air conditioned suit was quick to notice and adapt, switching off the air coolers and turning on his in-built thermal unit. Rain cut across the air, drenching the entire continent, falling from the dark clouds that birthed them, which trailed across the sky and blotted out the beautiful orange he had noted before and, thankfully, Tikkun was nowhere to be seen. Darkness literally clouded the sky, and everywhere he could see, anything that wasn't covered, was drenched in water. It was heavy; the droplets were fat and blotchy, not small and barely noticable like light drizzle. And then, just like all storms, the main entertainment made its presence known, booming across the clouds, hidding behind their thick, grey curtain.

White flashes briefly blotted the sky, occurring rapidly, randomly and ending just as quickly. Five seconds later, sounds like those of multiple explosions grouped together and amplified; distant, yet present. The sound was disembodied, coming from everywhere at once, and the sound so eerily reminded him of his torment at the hands of Oblivion back in the consensus.

"This must be the season inbetween the dry and wet seasons," Tali noted. Unlike the others, who were trying to avoid the rain (except Legion, who didn't care) she was openly embracing it. She stood outside, arms opened out and visor looking up at the sky, the rain so heavy that it drenched her form in seconds. Luckily, her new veil was flexible metal, and the water simply pelted off of it, and the rest of her suit, while wet, went through largely the same process. Rain flowed off of her visor like flowing rivers, and she looked to be utterly enjoying the sensations.

Marcus could only smile while looking at her, but the smile had a tint of sadness behind it. I bet she's wishing she could feel that rain on her skin. Wishing she could open her mouth and let it flow down her throat. She's experiencing the natural phenomenon of her homeworld, and at the same time, she isn't.

"So basically like Spring back on Earth?" Keeling asked. When Tali looked quizzically at her, she explained quickly, "On Earth, we have a dry season, which is Summer, and a wet or cold season, depending where you come from, called Winter. Again, depends on which part of the planet. But we also have two inbetween seasons, Autumn and Spring. Autumn is the transition between Summer and Winter, where night comes earlier and and the temperatures cool down. Spring is more of an "aftermath" phase, and its basically where we have both sun and rain to help plants grow."

"Okay then," Tali responds, looking back up at the sky. A few seconds later, she looks back down, "Then I guess this is Rannoch's Spring then," she then turns back to the group, "Come on, we should get going. Cortez is probably waiting for us."

So, despite the rain, the squad trudged on. Luckily, they weren't wearing any clothes, just armor, which meant they couldn't get drenched; unluckily for Garrus though, his lack of a helmet meant his unprotected head was getting pelted. Legion, Moses and the other geth didn't mind though; being a machine had its benefits, including not having to worry about such trivial "organic" worries. Marcus, his helmet attached to his belt, also had his head getting pelted, his hair now drenched and sticking to his face and pouring down his face. Despite it all though, he enjoyed the sensation. Definitely better than intense heat.

Just as before, they trudged along the walkway and it didn't take them long to reach their shuttle. Cortez delivered on his promise, and the shuttle was now hovering above the end of the walkway, thrusters spitting out exhaust as it hovered. As they got closer, the hatch slid open, and Cortez was waiting for them, wincing against the rain. Reaching down, he helped Garrus and Legion lift Marcus onto the kodiak, but Legion did most of the work, so it was really just up to Cortez to help lift him the rest of the way. Once inside, the rest of the squad hopped in.

Except Legion.

Marcus, confused, twsited in his seat to face the geth, coughing, "Legion? You're not coming with us?"

Legion shook its head, and it only took Moses and his platoon to come into view for Marcus to begin to understand, "This shuttle does not sport the tonnage or space to fit this cohort. However, Moses has informed us that this facility sports numerous dropship-class vessels that should be able to suit our needs. We will use one of these dropships to transport us back to Normandy."

Garrus just chuckled, "Another one? First the one on the dreadnought, and now a second dropship? You spoil us, Legion."

"Affirmative," the geth responded, with what Marcus thought was a genuine response to Garrus' quip. If the turian noticed it however, he did not show it, and simply lay back in his seat as Cortez returned to the cockpit. The hatch closed, sealing off the view of Legion and the primes, and they felt the shuttle lurch, and then begin to move.

Just as they began to leave however, Tali spoke, loud enough for Cortez to hear her.

"We're not leaving yet, Cortez," the quarian declared, approaching the cockpit.

"What?" Marcus protested, raising an eyebrow at her, "Why?"

Just as she opened the cockpit door, she turned back to him, a sad look in her eyes. He understood immediately. Without saying a word, he simply nodded, and Tali nodded back, confirming their silent confirmation. She entered the cockpit, door closing behind her, and began to tell Cortez what she wanted to do.

"Why aren't we leaving?" James asked, gently laying Peta's body on the ground, careful not to disturb Tali's arrangement of it, "Its too dangerous to stay."

Marcus simply closed his eyes, "We've got unfinished business." And with that, he fell silent, gulping as he thought through all that had happened.

It was alot to think about.

{Loading...}

July 9, 2186

1103 hours.

Lower Mountain Side, Mount Kelle'kar, Former Country of Zel'Matesh, Uma'Waz Subcontinent, Rannoch.

Second Morning War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Normandy, Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian, Second Lieutenant James Vega, Shadow Broker Liara T'Soni, Second Lieutenant Imogen Keeling.

It didn't take Tali long to find a suitable location for what she wanted to do. In retrospect, it was actually a perfect spot. A large mountain, likely three quarters the size of Mount Everest back on Earth, stood in the middle of a vast plain, and it was only ten kilometers southwest from Dalpash Canyon. Unlike Everest, it was not covered in snowy peaks and nor was it in the middle of a frozen expanse. Instead, it looked exactly like the location it was sported on: Rannoch. Replacing snowy peaks was simply barren, rocky savannahs, with disjointed paths winding up the side of the tall sentinel, and the odd tree poking from its surface. It was quite possibly the second most beautiful thing he had seen all day.

Tali had chosen one particular spot near the base of the mountain; on the lower peak. Upon contacting Legion, the geth had told them that the mountain was referred to as Kelle'kar, and Legion, referring to human naming conventions, had called it Mount Kelle'kar. It was named after a quarian explorer who lived, according to the human Gregorian calender, around 67 BCE. Kelle'Kar pav Zal'Arteshna, which was the name of the country that preceded Zal'Matesh, had led an expedition up the mountain during the quarian equivalent of the gunpowder era, and all but him had died scaling it. When he reached the top, he had placed the country flag on top.

In his arrogance, he misstepped while drinking to his victory, and toppled down the side of the mountain, splitting his skull open on a jagged rock. His body was recovered and buried at the base, and the mountain named in his honor. Marcus asked how Legion could have known this, as the geth had stated that they had no memory of anything before their creation, but the geth had said that it was a memory possessed by one of the primes, of which possessed the programs of a unit that had once been the secretary of a well-known quarian historian; a woman who was recalled to the Republican Army when war broke out, and died in the subsequent fighting.

The explanation had only shown to Tali that her choice in locale was perfect.

Still raining, although slightly died down, Tali had stepped out only to be assaulted once more. James had followed her, with Peta back in his arms, and Marcus had followed, even ignoring the objections of Garrus as he did so. Tali had grabbed a shovel from the back of the shuttle; part of the emergency kit stored in it in case of a crash or in the event that they were stranded. She seemed to drag the piece of equipment along the ground, her eyes scanning the area for a suitable digging location, while James followed behind her silently, carrying the dead quarian in his arms like he weighed nothing. Meanwhile however, Marcus found himself constantly peaking up the mountain side. It towered above them, standing silently, while thunder clapped around its spired peak, truly extending upon them the aura of its might, and emphasizing the awe they felt in its presence.

Garrus' voice crackled on his and Marcus' personal comm frequency, "Marcus...is she alright?"

"She will be, Garrus."

"She's acting like a zombie."

"You think I haven't noticed?"

"I know you have. I'm just wondering what you plan on doing about it."

"Tali's already figured out what she's going to do about it. That's why we're here."

"Yes, but should we let her?"

Marcus stopped for a moment, sighing, "If you've got to say it, Garrus, say it."

"I'm just worried, Marcus. Liara is too. When Jacob, Mordin and Thane died, you were different, but this is..."

Marcus continued along, rolling his eyes, "...different? How so? The only difference here is that Tali gets to bury her grief. I, we...we never got that chance."

"Thane did."

"And what about Mordin, hmmm?" Marcus snapped, "And Jacob? Thane was put to rest because we had a body. Mordin and Jacob, two good men, now lie in unmarked graves. After losing your squad on Omega, I thought you'd understand."

When Garrus responded, it was bitter, "Of course I understand. I...look, I'm sorry. I'm just...scared."

Marcus sighed, nodding, "You just want everything to go back to normal. I get it."

"Normal?" Garrus laughed. His attempt at humour, "Since when as any of us been that?"

"Times are different, Garrus. If I could change everything back to like it was in the old days, I would. Kicking mercenary ass. Nothing to worry about but the next mercenary boss to kill. With Tali and you at my side, the Normandy...but its not like that anymore, Garrus. I think Tali's realizing that faster than we are. It just took Peta dying to wake her up."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Then maybe we all need to grow up, eh?"

"Yeah...we certainly do."

A few minutes later, and Tali finally felt satisfied with the spot she found; a large open area with no rocks in the way. Just the damp, wet ground, and the rain over their heads. Turning to James, she nodded, and turned back.

She brought up the shovel, positioned it, and made the first thrust into the ground.

Sitting down on a nearby rock, Marcus could only watch Tali plow through inches of dirt, slowly and steadily creating a man-sized hole in the soil. As she continued, her digging got more ferocious, and towards the end there seemed to be anger and pain in her digging, making her movements more desperate and frenzied. The sight pained him, but he knew this was Tali's therapy...her way of coping with her loss.

Normal. Normal. What's normal anymore?

Ever since a month ago, normal had been ridded from the equation. The Reapers were here in force, and everything they had taken for granted was burning burnt away, one world at a time.

There is no such thing as normal anymore. No, normal is taking the back burner. Now, its fight or we die. Victory at any cost. Ruthless calcalus.

But that's what war is, isn't it? Fighting for normality. Fighting to preserve it.

What is war, but not a fight for normality? In that moment, Marcus realized.

That's what I'm fighting for, isn't it? For a normal life in Tali? What worthier motivation is there but for a chance at a normal life for two, tired soldiers?

...but will the aftermath permit that? Or will be so desensitized by the end that we can't differentiate between a battlefield and a lounge room?

'Romance doesn't belong on the battlefield', I once told myself. For some, maybe that still rings true.

He was standing up by the time, which was an hour later, the hole was fully dug. He approached as he watched Tali toss the shovel up and onto the surface, turning to James and motioning for the body. James did as he was told, and quickly and quietly lowered Peta's body into Tali's arms. While his body was heavy, and Tali's body strained with the effort to hold him, it wasn't long before she put him to rest on the bottom of the hole. She straightened his suit, and then proceeded to simply stare at him, as if saying one final goodbye.

When he finally reached the hole, James reached down and offered his wife a hand up. She took it, and she braced a foot against the wall to help boost her up. Once firmly back on the surface, she leapt to the otherside of the hole and retrieved her shovel. Returning to the large pile of dirt she made, she began the arduous process of returning it to its previous location.

The first load landed squarely on Peta's face, the second on his torso. Only ten minutes later, Peta's body vanished beneath the dirt, and Tali only continued to add the dirt. Twenty minutes later, only dirt remained, shaped in the outline of the hole she had made, and standing in firm contrast to the area around them. She compacted the soil with the flip side of the shovel and then dumped it to the ground, falling silent once more as she simply stared at it. That's all they did for a few, odd minutes...just stare at it, the rain peppering down all around them.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, they were shaken from their silentium by a familiar squawk was heard.

A few moments later, Tali and Marcus looked up to watch as a qui'tee glided down towards them. It flapped its wings effortlessly, its beakless mouth opening to squawk was once more, showing off its serated canines. It was left unperturbed by the rain, continuing to fly regardless and circling around them before finally descending.

Both of its three-toed feet quickly found purchase, and the bird flapped one more time before coming to rest directly on top of the hole Tali had just filled in. Marcus was eerily reminded of Tali's words regarding the mythology of the creatures, even as the qui'tee took note of their presence, squawking up at them, its mouth hanging open.

"It was said when a quarian dies, a qui'tee would come down and carry their soul to the afterlife."

These words only continued to haunt him as the qui'tee began to peck at the ground, displacing a few articles of dirt. Its next squawk sounded angry, and they only watched as it continued to peck, as if trying to dig. Eventually, it gave up and took flight once more, flapping its wings until it was ascending into the air, turning into a mere dot to their eyes.

Maybe the myth rings some truth after all...

After a while, he turned back. As he did, he heard words being mumbled under Tali's breath, and he immediately remembered them. They were the quarian equivalent of a mourning prayer, and he let her be as she said them. Eventually, she finished and just stood there. She was moving to grab his arm and tell them to go, as James had already done, having left to give them privacy, but stopped when she heard him begin to speak himself, saying his words much more loudly.

"May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified. Amen," he began, saying the words with clear uncertainty. It had been a long time since he had muttered the words, but he did so regardless, and as he spoke, he grew with confidence, "in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel, swiftly and soon. Amen. May His great Name be blessed forever and ever. Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One. Blessed is He, beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. Amen."

Taking a deep breath, as Tali listened on, he finally finished, "May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life upon us and upon all Israel. Amen. He Who makes peace in His heights, may He make peace, upon us and all Israel," with one final look to Peta, he turned to Tali, and their eyes met. His last word might as well have been a mumble.

"Amen."

Seeing he was done, she spoke, raising one hand to stroke his cheek, "What...what was that? Alot of it didn't translate."

His eyes stayed with hers, and he reached up one hand to cradle the one she had to his cheek, "I...its something I haven't said in a very long time. Its called the Mourner's Kaddish, or the Kaddish Prayer. Its...its a vital part of my people."

"So its a human thing?"

"No, not human. Not universally anyway," Marcus shook his head, "But...its Jewish. Do you remember when I told you about them?"

"Yes," Tali said immediately, sighing as she lowered her hand, "I remember everything you tell me. I also remember you telling me you'd given up on your old faith after your first death. What changed?"

He turned back to Peta's grave, slowly, and sighed.

"I realized faith is what's needed to win this war."

"So after Peta'Yala's sacrifice, what happened? You returned to the Normandy, obviously. But I'm guessing this was the endgame, given that you now had the Reaper signal's location."

- Reia'Inas pav Earth.

"Yes. But I also realized we couldn't tackle the geth base alone. Not with just my squad, and I couldn't risk the immense casualties that would ensue by bringing the Migrant Fleet back into the fold. No, I decided we needed outside help."

- Marcus Shepard.

"The UGC."

- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.

"Yes."

- Marcus Shepard.

A/N:

Yes, last I checked, I am alive. Alive and kicking. And no, I wasn't comatose, either. And I wasn't dead and resurrected due to a hyper-secret Lazarus-esque project that was run by a terrorist group either. I simply wasn't DEAD. Question is, are YOU?

I only got one review last chapter. ONE. Why you hate me so? Ah, actually, maybe it was my shitty attempts at Middle English, like that one. Anyway, I sincerely hope I get more reviews this time around. Especially now that I bring good news: I just finished Year 11! YAY! Yes, with my exams and Kickstart out of the way, I'm officially in my last year of school EVER. THANK THE GODS! God...sorry.

With this comes more Fallout 4, more Halo 5 Warzone...oh, and this fanfic, of course. Ha! A matter of fact, given that I now have 2 months of holidays, I hope to have the quarian-geth arc done and dusted by the time I officially start Year 12. And hopefully having started the next arc. However, I do have a history with promises, but I do remind you that I haven't broken my biggest promise: this story will never die while I still live. I will continue to work on it. But with Year 12 next year (and it being my most important year), IV: Holocaust might become alot like Razor's Edge: Requiem in terms of updates, I'm afraid. While I have seemed like an Iron Man when it comes to this fanfic (alot of authors, especially professionals, have expressed disbelief at my ability to perform despite the life I live), but that ends as of next year. I will still post, but said posts will be far and few. Needless to say, don't expect consistent updates like this, but do expect eventual updates. As long as my love for Mass Effect remains strong, I will continue to write. That being said, THAT'S TWO MONTHS AWAY! So right now, let me write like crazy!

Next chapter will be another interim. Yes, I know, I haven't had this many interims (let alone non multi-part chapters. Seriously, this story is turning into the Mass Effect equivalent of Doctor Who Series 9 with the amount of multi-parts I'm doing) since the space between 'Coup De'tat' and 'Cold Liberties', but there it is. Just one more before the big payoff. The interim will be largely focused around preparing for the attack on the geth fortress. After that, a two or three-parter (depends how long it gets) for Priority: Rannoch, and to end the Quarian-Geth arc with a bang. ;)

Until then,

Keelah Se'lai, troopers!