"We locked several important missions to be released later as DLC. If you want to understand what is going on in Mass Effect 3, we recommend you buy all downloadable content. No, there won't be a sale."

The Mass Effect 2 Manual (2010)


Sections of the cracked ground tumbled away in jagged pebbles as Roahn softly treaded up the hill. The air was stark blue and cloudless. The land here was baking hot, the hillside barren. Yet the basin behind her was filled with shrubs, pockmarked with hardy desert grass, and riddled with towering stone pillars weathered from erosion. An organic maze that was too random to have been made deliberate by an alien hand, yet unique enough to warrant curious appreciation.

There was no helmet she wore to parallel the sounds of her breathing back to her. No enviro-suit that would otherwise restrict her movements. Roahn ascended the mountain suit-less, unbothered by the circumstances. She wore clothing that gently enveloped her frame and protected her from the beating rays of the sun: light pants, long-sleeved hiking jacket, tall boots. She took deep breaths, sucking down cold mountain air, the wind brushing gently at her hair as she continued to ascend.

Roahn had no idea how long she had been walking. She had no idea when she had even started walking, for that matter. There had been only a solitary thought in her mind. No, not a thought. An instinct. One that kept her situated in her current direction.

Her destination loomed up ahead. She had to reach the lip of the valley. To see what lay beyond the border. All notions of context were eliminated in her head. There was just this one task and nothing else weighing in her mind. For the first time in a long time, she felt free.

Rannoch fell quiet all for her.

It could have been anywhere from ten minutes to several hours until Roahn finally reached the rim of the valley. She had stuck to a sloping ridgeline where a natural path from channeled waterways had carved ridges into the ground—lingering echoes of a time when water was more abundant, when it had not been lost from the gradual heating of the planet. The temperature proceeded to drop the further she climbed. Roahn was not winded—her training with her father and with the Defenders had prepared her for cross-country excursions. She recalled her father telling her once that her mother was able to endure the length of entire missions before she would even need a sip of water. Whether that had been an exaggeration or not was a moot point by now—Roahn's endurance had matched the mark that had been set in her mind.

By the time the sun was directly overhead, Roahn had reached the final ridge that marked the highest point of her journey. Roahn's boots left careful treads in the dusty ground behind her as she navigated her way through a narrow channel of boulders before she reached the edge of the vista.

Her world beckoned.

A bowl of green, the mountains a brown scar filled with clotting vegetation, rimmed a panorama. Tilled fields of fertile crops. Mist-soaked forests overflowing with fruit. Sun-dappled hills offering picture-perfect perspectives underneath the sun's direct line of sight. It was as if a giant hand had scratched out a nook in the planet and had sewn that ground with every type of plant imaginable. The prolificacy inherent within the valley was a nearly insurmountable thing for Roahn to process. A luxuriance of food like this could feed a quarter of the planet's population. There were still so many hidden paradises like this one that Roahn had yet to learn about. To see them with her own eyes was overwhelming as her mind tried to weight the gravidity of the produce at her people's control.

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, Roahn knelt down as she took in the sight of the land before her. The gray skin of her face had been cooled from the repeated gusts of wind. Her two hands met atop her knees as she kept her balance.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" a voice next to Roahn suddenly uttered.

Roahn jumped back up to her feet in alarm. A shadow seemed like it had materialized out of thin air—a dark shape against the backdrop of light.

Aleph stood upon the ledge, hands passively behind his back, the sun glinting off of his reflective helmet in a bevy of splintered rays. His cloak flapped behind him in an ambling manner, revealing more of the armored behemoth that it had previously hidden within its dark folds.

The quarian instinctively reached at her side for a pistol that was not there. She did not flee outright as she did not sense any aggression from Aleph. Just a strange aura of serenity seemed to radiate from the armored man.

Glowing eyes narrowed into slits, Roahn squared her stance, the wind threatening to take her off the edge. "What would you know of this world?" she angrily spat. "It's not for you."

Aleph considered this for a moment before nodding his head. "No, it's not." He then turned to Roahn, the movement almost somber. "But neither is it yours. Yet it will be soon. You only need to watch."

"What do you mean?" Roahn hissed as she took a step forward. There was a distinct tug at her temples. The coming ache before a mounting pressure would spear at her forehead. "What are you talking about? Tell me what you mean!"

The visor of polycarbonate and silver Silaris grasped the enraged shape of the quarian, but slowly turned away in a deliberate attempt to evade her scathing questions. Roahn was dumbfounded as she found herself more alone than ever, trapped on this ledge with her silent antagonist.

The ever-quiet being of Aleph resumed his baleful stare out towards the horizon, acting as if though Roahn did not exist. But the quarian's anger had merely been bolstered from this as she was just about to ignite her omni-sword and part the man's head from his shoulders when, off in the distance, a terrific thunderclap resounded, cracking the sky in two and shaking the ground once that a layer of dust leaped from the very earth in a nearly indiscernible outline.

From beyond the ridged blanket of mountains many miles through the sunlit haze, a dollop of light brighter than the sun warmed the planet, shaped like a lightbulb. The glow grew brighter and brighter, the circumference of the sphere widening more and more, until its radiance was blotted out by a shockwave of dust and debris that had exploded from the epicenter. The clouded wave of destruction raced over the snowcapped mountains, over the clear-cut streams, and obliterated its way towards the valley…

and towards the ledge where Roahn now stood.

"What… have you done?" Roahn cried as she lowered herself to the ground, heart in her throat, too terrified to even flee.

"It is not my doing," Aleph calmly said even as supersonic bits of rock and debris punctured his robe and armor, tearing off strips of fabric and scratching at his helmet. A slow disintegration right in front of the quarian's eyes. "But it will transpire without my intervention."

"I don't…" Roahn helplessly shook her head. "I don't understand."

Aleph nodded one final time as he now looked upon the prone quarian once more. "I know. But I hope you will."

The monumental swell of dust finally swallowed the sun as the approaching billow sucked out the air before it crashed upon the ridge. Drenched in darkness, Roahn could only stare as the windswept debris nicked and scoured more and more pieces off of Aleph, taking the man apart further and further with every second that passed by. One large flat rock severed Aleph's cape. Another punctured his chest, ripping open his armor. Two ridged stones nicked his helmet, tearing part of it off and leaving a gaping void.

"After all…"

The onrushing vortex gave a pull and, in an instant, all of Aleph's armor was yanked clean off his person in a shattered and frenzied moment. What was left behind, however, was not an unfamiliar being that had been behind the armor this whole time. Instead, another quarian stood in Aleph's place, enviro-suit pristine, purpled sehni with cresting white waves rolling against one another, a visor of the same color obscuring two loving eyes behind it, neck and chest encrusted with brushed gold adornments.

Roahn's mouth fell open.

"…you still have a lot to lose," Tali uttered before the dark cloud consumed her whole.

There was only a span of five seconds that Roahn was left alone on that ridge before the destruction came for her too.

"M-Mom?" was her final confused squeak before the ripping winds sliced her skin from her face, pulling it away to reveal a bloody skull only nanoseconds before the force of the shockwave pulverized her bones to a powder.


Her eyes opened unceremoniously to unveil the previous darkness that had beset her vision. It was difficult for her eyes to adjust—the room was a tad bright. Perhaps that was just because she still needed time to get used to the level of illumination.

Roahn's body ached. It felt like sandpaper rubbing across the inside of her sockets every time she moved her eyes. There was a dismal and raw feeling in her throat that seemed to extend all the way to her lungs. There were cramps all over her joints, seemingly within her bones. A chill passed along her skin, causing her to unconsciously shiver.

Blearily, she tried turning her head. All that got her was a twinge in the neck. Roahn bit back a curse from the pain. It looked like moving was out. The quarian just had to relegate herself to her current position in order to take stock of her surroundings.

After a few moments, Roahn realized she was lying down on a not-so-comfortable bed, but it had decent lumbar support so she was not in any additional discomfort from her position. A smooth ceiling was the first thing that she noticed directly above her. To her right were some holographic panels displaying readouts of different body systems—a skeleton and several blown-out muscle sections were discernable on the screens. Roahn figured that those were her body parts that were being observed.

She gritted her teeth and was surprised to discover that, as she yawed her jaw, there was no helmet getting in the way of her movements. Now she was able to realize that she was completely suit-less. Strangely, she did not panic from this implication because, truth be told, it was difficult to fear lying around without an enviro-suit after all of the recent encounters that had laid their claim upon her body. Compared to those, Roahn felt serene right at this moment.

Roahn slowly sucked in a breath through her nostrils—slow enough to avoid scrounging up a flare of pain from deep within her respiratory system. As she did so, she flicked her gaze to the left and, to her surprise, beheld a human face behind a clear shield, his head enveloped in a sterile and plastic looking covering, one that extended to encase his entire body.

The quarian could not hold back a tired grin. "This isn't the afterlife," she croaked out, surprising herself with how dreadful her voice sounded—cracking and rusty. "They wouldn't let you in."

"With an attitude like that, you're not bound to gain admittance, either," Sam scoffed as he stood over her with a somewhat bemused expression on his face. Tiny readout tables were displayed across the interior of his own mask, bathing his face in reef-green light. "Sad to say, you're back on the Menhir, fully alive and recovering… despite your best efforts to the contrary."

Roahn tried to offer a rebuttal to answer the doctor but a lump caught in her throat, causing her to become possessed by wracking coughs, each one feeling like they were tearing her throat open. After they had subsided, Roahn flopped back onto the bed and gently caressed her neck, a pained look on her face.

"Sore throat?" Sam asked.

Roahn nodded.

"I'm not surprised," the doctor said. "With the type of exposure you received, I'm amazed you became conscious this quickly. Your body just doesn't know when to quit, Roahn."

"I almost did," Roahn mustered after taking an agonizing swallow, the lump boiling her esophagus as it traveled downward. "How… how bad…?"

"Apart from the usual bangs and scrapes, including a broken ankle that was fixed while you were out, you have moderate bruising to your lungs and esophagus," Sam recounted dispassionately. "Mostly that was incurred from the heavy medications I had to give you. Quarians don't exactly react all that well to bronchodilators, but I had no choice. You were nearly comatose when your father and Garrus brought you back to the Menhir. Not completely unconscious, but sort of in an in-between state. I had to inject you with high-acting steroids and antihistamines to control your body's immune system because it was in the process of going haywire. You also burst a blood vessel in your eye—either from the severity of your reaction or from coughing so hard—but that will heal all on its own. And I just have to ask, Roahn, are you planning on being interred in my care every so often as a running gag? Because I have to say, it gets old fast."

"This isn't on purpose, believe me," Roahn groaned as she tried to sit up, but Sam very gently placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down onto the bed.

"Yeah, no. You're not leaving this room for at least a day. You probably shouldn't even try to sit up until a few hours have passed."

"I could countermand your orders," Roahn wheezed, but she did it with a mirthful glance. "I am your commander, after all."

"Feel free to," Sam shrugged. "But you'll leave me in a tricky situation where I have to explain to our captain why you collapsed three feet out the doorway of the med bay after improperly resting when your immune system was recently compromised. That just invites more paperwork. And I hate paperwork."

Roahn shook her head ever so slightly, enough not to draw out any more pain. "Maybe I will rest for a little bit, if only to spare you the tiresome routine of procedure."

"I won't be the only one who's appreciative of that," Sam said with a grateful nod as the door opened behind him.

Shepard appeared over Sam's shoulder, similarly dressed in a germ-free body suit the sickly light green color of a hospital couch. The doctor turned towards the older human, nodding in greeting before he readied to leave.

"She can talk for a little bit," he told Shepard, Roahn momentarily lost in the background. "God knows she has the strength for it. But if she asks you to remove your mask out of some familial recognition, don't indulge her. Her immune system probably couldn't take the stress."

"Got it," Shepard nodded as he patted Sam's arm. "Thank you for looking after her."

The doctor departed to leave the family alone for a bit. Shepard stepped forward and grabbed one of the chairs so that he was sitting next to Roahn's bed. His suit was not as advanced as Sam's—there were no mini-displays rimming the edges of his bubble-like helmet. He crossed a leg as he regarded his daughter, an almost-remorseful look flicking at the edges of his mouth.

"So…" he started, "here we are again."

Roahn closed her eyes as she flopped her head down onto her pillow, a hand tracing the outline of her jaw. "I'm not all that enthused about it either, trust me. Keelah, and I'm lying here without my mask on the ship. I bet the entire crew has seen my face by now."

"Actually, that's not true," Shepard said. "You were brought into the med bay with your suit still on. The doctor was kind enough to switch on the privacy glass so that no one could look in. He even set a holo-containment unit around your bed to reduce the risk of contamination. Essentially, you're still sequestered to the people that matter to you."

The quarian was relieved to hear that. Not that she would have been that upset had the circumstances warranted others seeing her face while her life was in the balance but there was just the perceived loss of control over such a choice that proved to weigh more heavily on her than the actual consequences.

Her father was still going on. "Sam told us that you're due to make a complete recovery within the next day. Like you've noticed, you're back on the Menhir, safe and secure."

"Are we still in Earth orbit?" Roahn asked.

"Yes and no. We docked at the Citadel a few hours ago."

"The Citadel?"

Shepard nodded. "The ship needed to stock back up on provisions and it was time for many of the crewmembers to cash in on their shore leave. The Menhir's staying in drydock for a couple of days, waiting for you to recover mostly, but you'll have a chance to leave the ship with your friends and enjoy the station for a bit once you're ready."

"Huh," was all Roahn could say to that. A thought then hit her like a sack of bricks and she imagined herself sinking deeper into the bed. "The artifact… did…?"

"Gone," Shepard said. "Vulkov was also pronounced dead at the scene. Heard the coroners listed it as a fatal heart condition, but I know that was a bullshit diagnosis."

"It was," Roahn squirmed as she tried to lift her upper half off the bed, albeit with a fair amount of discomfort. "Aleph killed the admiral. It wasn't a heart condition. I… I don't know what it was but he certainly did not die naturally."

The man's eyes grew dark and he leaned forward in his chair, a pensive yearning to understand engrained in his features. "You saw him? He was in that office?"

Roahn nearly forgot that neither her father nor Garrus had actually seen Aleph in that room standing over Vulkov's body. They had only arrived at the end to save her from Raucous' rampage. She chalked the temporary confusion up to her general disorientation at the moment but that certainly brought no comfort, considering her situation.

"He did something to me," Roahn tried to recall as she lifted her prosthetic hand, flexing all three fingers upon it. "It was like my whole body tightened up, preventing me from moving. Every single muscle refused to obey my will—my nerves were breaking down. It… it wasn't biotics, dad. It was something else, but I know he was responsible for it. I think it was the same power that he used to kill Vulkov."

"No biotics?" Shepard mused. "You saw none of the telltale signs? None of the glow around the hands? The subtle muscle movements to direct the flow of energy?"

Roahn shook her head for every point. "He just… twisted his hand… and everything stopped. It felt like fire-hot insects were crawling in my brain, trying to crush my head. I… I felt…" Roahn clutched at her chest as she struggled to find the words. "I nearly lost myself to fear back there, dad. I don't know if I could have helped it but… every time I see him I just freeze up. I lose control. Forget how to think."

Shepard sat back and steepled his hands together, staring at his daughter all the while. He took Roahn's words and tumbled them end over end in his head, trying to put the pieces together for a puzzle that had not yet revealed its true shape.

"I don't want you chasing this man, Roahn," he finally said. "Not after all the pain he's been putting you through."

"But dad," Roahn protested, "Aleph must be—"

"I know he's a threat," Shepard gently interrupted. "And I can see how important this is to you. But every time you've come into contact with him you've barely escaped with your life. Now he's also grabbed one of the Reaper artifacts right out from under our noses. Sooner or later, your luck will run out if you continue to pursue Aleph, Roahn. He might be able to be beaten, yes, but he's showed us he's too clever to allow us to ever get the upper hand. And… and I don't want you to be consumed by something that could ultimately destroy you. Not you. Not my daughter. That's the last thing you deserve."

"It may be too late for that," the quarian wistfully mused. "I can't just walk away from this, dad. It's too…"

"…personal?" Shepard finished, a grave look in his eyes.

Roahn waited for a moment before hesitantly nodding, as if she was ashamed to admit such a thing that would ordinarily be grounds for concern.

"He's out there," Roahn stared off into space. "Where no one can reach him. And all I can think about is that terrible fear. The fear of being hurt again… and I can't get rid of it. As much as I try to turn that fear into something else… anger, perhaps… nothing else comes through. I just don't think…"

Shepard did not say anything but simply leaned forward so that his gloved hand could take his daughter's bare one. He squeezed Roahn's hand gently, continuing to remain silent, for there was no need to speak. He had already broadcasted his understanding to her through the connection their dissimilar eyes held. To say it out loud would be a redundant effort.

"Dad?" Roahn asked after a while.

"Yes?"

Flashes of her dream seared back into her own eyes. Rapid-fire bursts as if they emitted from a machine gun.

"When you and mom were on the battlefield… did you ever notice if she was afraid?"

Shepard hung his head as he considered how he could answer that question.

"If she ever was afraid…" he started, "…then it was something I never noticed."

"Oh," Roahn felt her stomach sink at the notion that she had already failed some kind of threshold. "You mean that she always so brave? Like she was portrayed in the films?"

There was an opportunity for Shepard to show a glimpse of his glib side, but the memory of his wife proved to be more overpowering, keeping him soberly rooted in a distant ennui.

"I never noticed because I think I was the one who was always the more afraid. She was just better at hiding it than I was."


Morningtide

A terrible scream ripped through the interior of the frigate, shaking the dust that had caked upon the coils of cabling that wrapped around the ceiling. The walls rippled with the sound, black and oily. Empty hallways echoed the cavernous bellows and roars, amplifying it to a horrifying degree.

The savage orange light from a supernova remnant warped the entire room at every angle. A deck that stretched to the stars while the ghostly void marked the headstone for a star that had detonated eons before anyone on the ship was ever a thought. The sanctum did not appear to have a window—it looked like a circular platform simply extended into open space. This was a cleverly orchestrated trick, as the platform itself was safe within the Morningtide's atmosphere due to a transparent steel viewport that had been purified time and again to render itself almost invisible, making the viewer feel like the overwhelming crest of icy blackness would wash over them in a nanosecond.

In the center of the platform sat a complex piece of machinery—a harness essentially, and Raucous was being lowered into it.

The cyborg was wailing as an enormous crane was lowering him into the harness feet-first. Steel chains wrapped around the quadrupedal construction in an "X" shape, leaving his paws dangling. Yellow conducting fluid had dried on the side of his triangular face, making it look like Raucous had been weeping. He was not being moved without a struggle—the cyborg was thrashing in every direction from the pain that had been delivered unto him. One of his leg plates had been cracked and a carbon tube had sprung a leak near his neck, intermittently delivering a hiss of steam while sparks crackled at his collar.

The crane patiently dropped Raucous into his prison—the harness detected the cyborg's presence and several smooth plates moved upward to encase him above the shoulders within it. Magnetic locks clamped themselves around Raucous' paws, preventing him from moving. He was essentially now "standing" within the harness, though with his limbs supported at a forty-five degree angle so that he would not be able to exit without the crane's assistance. Raucous still thrashed and roared, filled with rage, mouth spitting fire and steel teeth.

Aleph stood by, watching as the crane lifted away, the now empty chains dangling from the hook. He slowly approached where Raucous struggled in his delirium, pained beyond craziness.

Stepping forward, Aleph raised a hand in the air and slowly made a circular motion with a finger. The Morningtide's automated systems detected the gestured command and several turrets popped from the floor and the ceiling to ring around the platform, all aimed towards Raucous. The turrets all held moissanite-tipped spears, finely notched to inflict maximum damage. The spears were linked to the turrets by synthetic snap-proof cables. Aleph had always been confident that Raucous was under his complete control, but he was pragmatic enough to allow for any contingencies. The spears were one of the few projectiles that could penetrate Raucous' armor with ease and, if fired at a great velocity, could puncture right through his limbs instantaneously. Aleph had intended for these weapons to be the last line of defense in case Raucous ever went rogue out of blind rage, not that he was sure he ever would, but Aleph did not want to leave things to chance. The automated defenses would target Raucous and the spears would anchor the cyborg to the turrets, keeping him in place until he could let his anger burn out eventually.

So far, Aleph had never needed to utilize the system. The threat of its existence seemed to be a satisfactory deterrent—even Raucous seemed to realize the danger it presented to him at times and remained ever compliant under Aleph's watch. Raucous had attacked members of Aleph's crew on occasion as a result of his fury not being satiated in time, but he would never attack Aleph. As simple as he was, he would never lash out at his master.

Aleph slowly walked up and palmed one of the plates at the base of Raucous' neck. A great triangular section of the armor slid away, embedded sensors there recognizing Aleph through his touch. A translucent and milky covering had been placed over what looked like a red gelatinous mass underneath where the armor had parted. The reflective silver helmet dipped but did not linger at the sight of the cyborg's brain.

In one of Aleph's hands he held a large and thick mag-cable. He lifted it up and slowly slid the metallic rod that made up the point of the cable into the port in the center of Raucous' brain. Aleph twisted the cable once he had slid it all the way in, locking it, which caused an automatic flow of dopamine to surge itself directly into Raucous' nervous system.

Immediately Raucous stilled himself and made a few canine-like whimpers. Aleph remembered the sensation of such an immediate dopamine rush: it felt like chilled and molten mercury was slithering through every vein in your body, icy fingers grasping at the edges of your bone, paralyzing you as your agonies gradually departed. Raucous needed a greater volume of dopamine per minute to counter the damages incurred not just to his body, but to his very mind.

Aleph gave the sedate cyborg a gentle pat on the head, the only thoughtful gesture he ever made towards the quadruped. "Old friend. I deserve all of your hate for I unintentionally set you on this path. Perhaps you will never understand why, though it is my greatest hope that you do even if it costs me your trust. This is not what I wanted for you. I cannot fix you, but I can ease you along as best as I can."

Without another word, Aleph lifted his hand and touched a singular button on his omni-tool. In the next second, a matrix of vibrant recorded feeds—twenty-one in all—ignited in a tableau of electric wildfire in front of Raucous' face. The cyborg immediately honed in on these videos, his head swiveling to face straight on, and began making cooing noises, low and distant thrums that shook the harness trapping him. His animalistic body had finally ceased its struggling any was now gently shaking with a profound and horrendous sense of pleasure. His jaw slackened somewhat and Raucous was now gazing glass-eyed into the void that captivated him, pulling him ever deeper into a trance as Aleph turned up the volume to encase him into his mental prison.

The collective spurts of sound turned into one continuous wave of white noise. Aleph did not glance at what was being displayed, choosing instead to look upon Raucous and his distractions. While Raucous was rapt with attention at the films, tiny and precise instrumental arms rose up from the metallic harness and began setting to work at repairing the damage to the cyborg's armor. Streams of hot sparks soon fizzled into existence, splattering the ground at Aleph's feet.

Aleph turned only for a second to look upon the vids that Raucous was looking at. Every one of the screens was showcasing a violent or otherwise heinous act that would have deeply disturbed most anyone, except that Raucous was actually enjoying watching these videos. The mix of audio channels was so overlapped it was tough to discern which belonged to which screen, but Raucous, as a cyborg, could muster past that without much effort.

Raucous was positively aglow with delight as he watched the carnage on the screens in front of him, his previous agonies slowly being forgotten. The snuff films blistered with an indescribable terror, an abstract disgust, and an intense sense of fading hope.

The snuff videos had been compiled from all across the galaxy all for Raucous' benefit. One was showing the brutal killing of a man in which his hands and feet were cut off, followed by his eyes, tongue, and the skin of his face. Another was showcasing the sadistic rape of a woman while her neck was being broken. Then there was one showing the aftermath of a still-alive asari who had burst her head apart after diving unintentionally into a shallow river. There was also one showing the beating of a turian by several hoodlums with hammers. Many other screens showed particularly graphic decapitations. Blood was plentiful in the emblazoned images. That, and pain. Plenty of pain.

If the dopamine was the relaxant that caused Raucous' mind to heal, then the videos were the finishing touch. Raucous was incredibly single-minded in that he could only concentrate on a few things at a time. His entire world was death and violence. The films helped ease him back into that world in which he was comfortable. It projected the illusion that he was among the death and disease and otherwise repugnance that the galaxy had to offer.

To others, staring upon the screens would be a cruelty. For Raucous, it was a kindness.

Aleph considered Raucous one more time before he finally walked out of the room. The adjacent corridor was thin and dimly lit, the shadows cradling him as he walked deeper into the structure. As he proceeded onwards, Aleph could only sadly reflect on the damaged mind of his friend, now turned into a mindless beast. Raucous had once been in a promising position—he had been a prime candidate for a cybernetic transfer only for a clumsy doctor to damage the brain during the implementation! That was not to say that the transfer was going to be seamless, as Raucous' organic body had been heavily damaged prior to that which necessitated the transfer in the first place, but mishandling his brain had been the final straw for a being who had been through hell and back. Once Raucous had been fully completed, Aleph had killed the idiot doctor with his bare hands, breaking his back in several places before stomping on his head. It was an act that could do nothing to better Raucous' situation but it would serve its effectiveness for Aleph's conscience.

Which, in this case, was equally important in Aleph's mind.

The filtered air was clear of dust, the black slate tiles of the floor spotless, leaving only Aleph as the sole contaminant travelling through the Morningtide's arteries. He traversed the labyrinth of halls before finally arriving at the great hall. The towering windows beckoned one to step up and to see the fields of scattered stars and nebulae. The Monolith, nearly hidden in shadow, patiently sat upon the rightmost corner of the dais, anticipating an approaching presence.

The Cardinal was seated in front of the steps, her four skeletal arms all tapping at individual displays that seemed to orbit around her body like an incomplete halo. Her head, glittering with blue light, looked upward as soon as Aleph entered, shutting all of the feeds down around her to prove that he had her undivided attention.

"My lord," the Cardinal groveled, bending over in a bow as Aleph came up to her only to stride up the steps without a glance in her direction.

"Provide your latest report," Aleph said as he moved to stand in front of the Monolith, his arms gently behind his back as he considered his handiwork.

If the Cardinal was distressed by Aleph's deliberate distancing, it was impossible for her to show it. Inside that bone-colored chassis, the being that was the Cardinal was silently weeping in disappointment.

"I have commissioned thirty-five additional pairings to proceed in order to obtain the DNA you require," the Cardinal said, her voice smooth and gliding without letting her internal conflict register. "Sequencing can commence once I have fully synthesized the composited DNA."

"And the DNA conglomerate itself?" Aleph asked, still staring intently at the Monolith. "What is the last recorded threshold for what we have already compiled?"

There was an uncomfortable pause as the Cardinal did some silent debating. "The last level the conglomerate was recorded to have was at 72%," she said. When Aleph did not immediately respond, she took a tender step forward, the tips of her slender toes touching the bottom step to the upper platform, but not daring to proceed any further. "My lord… even with the volume of hosts we have amassed to obtain the DNA you need for the integration, each genetic sample has generated returns so miniscule that we will require an inordinate number of organics to complete the sequencing. With such diminishing returns, perhaps 72% is adequate—"

"It is not," Aleph's voice was quiet but the words were terrifying enough to causing the Cardinal to drop to her knees in despair.

"My lord… I apologize, I meant no disrespect, but I only—"

Aleph turned away from the Monolith to ascend the steps downwards, towards the Cardinal. The lesser cyborg was now quaking fearfully as her master approached, his outline drowning out the stars that glimmered in his wake.

"Everything I have withstood, everything I have cultivated, is all contingent on the necessity to proceed only when all the condition have been met. A 72% efficiency rate is not enough, Cardinal. Nor is an 80% efficiency. Or 90%. I will not accept anything lower than complete and total compatibility with the Monolith. It must be adaptable to all forms of DNA in the galaxy otherwise I will not proceed. But it can reach that threshold. It is certainly possible."

The Cardinal's limbs shook as she raised them in a posture of mercy. "Yet… after all my experiments… there still remains a significant gap in that compatibility, my lord. How… how can you know there is a way to close that gap?"

"Because," Aleph now raised his head, not directly looking at the Cardinal, "such DNA integrations were carried out successfully every 50,000 years. It is not a matter of how, but a matter of when. Do not trouble yourself with trying to close a gap so significant, Cardinal. For I believe I know what we lack that would allow us to finalize that threshold and attain the synergy required."

"You… you do? But when did you find that out?"

The polished surface of the helmet hideously perverted the Cardinal's image as Aleph looked upon her with an unknowable emotion.

"Mere hours ago."


Dock 184
The Citadel

The familiar surroundings of the Citadel docks went largely unnoticed by Roahn as she tenderly made her way down the ramp, across the bridge that acted as the lone span between the superstructure and space, and forward into arrival processing. The Defender ensign manning the desk looked bored—he was essentially responsible for coordinating the smooth transition of thousands of people into the station every solar day, meaning that Roahn would just be another face in the crowd to him. She passed through the security checkpoints without much incident. The electronic scanners embedded in the hall were designed to cross-check her weapon IDs with her own, essentially making sure that she was not smuggling in illicit weaponry. No pings went off, ensuring her access to the Citadel.

She kept moving without breaking stride.

Garrus, Skye, Korridon, and Sam were all waiting for at the other end. The neon lifestyle of the station's glamorous Coraltide Vein, one of the more boutique sections of the Citadel, blazed behind them all. Garrus walked over and gently clasped Roahn's shoulder as she approached the quartet, nodding in approval.

"Glad to see you're up and about," he told her. "You took a nasty hit back there. Any side effects?"

Roahn tapped at the side of her helmet. "A little congestion," she admitted. "Throat still feels a little raw but I'm coming back nicely, all things considered."

"You'll have some time to heal further. I've mandated that the crew gets two solar days of shore leave on the Citadel starting now."

Roahn tilted her head. "Heard my father mention something about shore leave, but I haven't really processed it. We have time off already?"

Garrus laughed. "Roahn, we've been out on our mission for a couple months now. We've gone through several campaigns without a firmly set break in between. Plus, if I don't give everyone some time to spend their paychecks I'll have a riot on my hands."

Roahn's head swam as she struggled to comprehend that it had been weeks and weeks since she had joined Umbra Team and, as Garrus had just said, already participated in several boots-on-the-ground missions. Of course, it was her wont to declare that shore leave was merely a distraction from pursuing their main objectives, but Roahn was cognizant enough to know that the rest of the crew probably desired this shore leave a whole lot more than she did. If anything, she was just going to have to bite her tongue and go with the flow.

"And I don't think that riot control was stated in my job description," she murmured blithely.

Garrus could also be an empath in certain times and he lowered his head closer to Roahn. "I know you're itching to get back in the fight, but you're no use to any of us tired or wounded. Take the time off, relax, and come back here refreshed and ready to fight. Think you can do that?"

"Without a doubt, Garrus."

"Good," the turian clapped Roahn on the back. "Go have fun." As he watched Roahn leave, he then looked over at Sam standing beside him. "The number of knocks she's taken… I'm amazed she's still standing."

"She's stubborn," Sam observed. "I don't think she likes to admit when she's been hurt."

"She could push herself too far," Garrus worried.

"You're keeping a good eye on her. She has the right people looking after her. We'll be able to tell when she's about to burn herself out."

"But will we be able to stop her?" When Sam pulled a face and made a shrug, Garrus made a grumbling sound of unease before flaring his mandibles and clearing his throat. He was about to say something to the doctor when, in the next second, he thought he saw a flash of a familiar face through the crowd just ahead. It had been a split second but Garrus could have sworn he had seen a warm and welcome face, large and shadowed amber eyes under a draping hood. But the moment passed at the turian was left blinking in confusion, as if a sudden warm wave had come upon him leaving him parched and aching.

"See something, Garrus?" Sam tilted his head, noticing the turian's distant look.

A minute shake of the head. "I… I thought I did." He turned back over to Sam. "So, what are your plans for your shore leave? I don't think trying to brew ethanol in the med bay constitutes as a good time budget, but that's just my opinion."

"Har… har…" Sam drawled. "That was just one time and it was only for fun. No, my wife's visiting our apartment on the station for the couple of days we're here. I plan on going straight over and I'm going to bed with her the first chance I get. That detailed enough for you?"

Garrus rolled his eyes. "Quite."

"Indeed, but she's not the only one who came up to visit."

The doctor pointed down to where Roahn had congregated amongst Skye and Korridon, only now a new face had joined the small crowd. Like Roahn, she was also a quarian, but perhaps a centimeter or two taller. The color of her visor and sehni was a dusty golden hue, almost like a cornfield under a cloudy sky. The rest of her enviro-suit was the same shape and model as Roahn's. The two quarians had immediately hugged upon seeing one another, obviously having met beforehand. Skye and Korridon respectfully edged away a step, not wanting to intrude on the reunion.

"What are you doing here?!" Roahn gasped in delight as she broke away to look at her dear friend Taylor'McLeod.

Taylor's eyes lidded upward in the only way a quarian could possibly indicate to the fullest that they were smiling. "Dad told me you guys were coming over here. I had some time off work so I figured I should say hello. Mom gave me a lift over here."

Roahn's hands were still being held by Taylor. The other quarian could undoubtedly feel that one of Roahn's hands was significantly different in terms of feel and weight. Roahn braced herself for a comment of surprise towards her newest bodily addition but that did not come to pass. Taylor instead looked down at Roahn's prosthesis, studied it in curiosity, and quickly moved her head to look right back at her, her interest satiated. Roahn had to fight to hold in her gasp of relief, moved by the other quarian's mindset to treat everything as normally as possible. Only Taylor would realize just how much Roahn would treasure this moment—she could feel it through their grip.

The two shared their veiled smiles with the other, interrupted only when Sam sidled past the group to give Taylor a tap on the shoulder.

"Hi, dad," Taylor greeted warmly as she released Roahn's hands so she could hug her father. Roahn watched the two from afar, mixed feelings of joy and envy swirling within her in a torturous dance.

"Hi, honey," Sam said, wrapped in his daughter's embrace. "It's nice to see you, if only briefly. Got a fun night in mind with your friends?"

"I certainly think so."

"I won't keep you," Sam lifted a smirk at Taylor but bobbed his eyebrows once at Roahn. "They're going to need all the free time they can get. But give me a call and we'll have breakfast together before I leave."

"It's a deal," Taylor said earnestly.

Sam's fingers dropped from Taylor's hands and his smile turned melancholy, obviously wishing that his personal time with his family could start right now. "Love you, Taylor."

"Love you, dad," Taylor waved without a hint of embarrassment as Sam returned the gesture before departing.

Roahn always had a longing feeling reside in her chest every time she saw Sam together with his daughter. They shared such a natural relationship together in that they could spare a few words and convey all that needed to be said in such a short amount of time. Add to the fact that Taylor had a complete family and Roahn could not help but yearn for the other part of her life that was missing.

But Taylor quickly swiveled back over to Roahn, bouncing on the tips of her toes. "I want to hear everything that you've been up to," Taylor said in excitement. "Your adventures. All of it."

"Let's wait on that for now," Roahn gave a quick and breathy laugh. "I'd rather just relax for a bit before I get into any of that."

"Then you've come to the right place," Taylor lifted a hand to gesture to the breadth of the shopping center. "Coraltide's got the best shops and bars on this arm."

"The bar certainly sounds like a good place to start," Skye piped up for the first time. "But I could be tempted to window shop."

Taylor glanced over at the human in confusion for a second before Roahn stepped up to extend a hand—palm up—towards the red-haired woman. "I'm an idiot. I forgot to introduce you guys." Roahn nodded first to the human as she placed a hand on Taylor's back. "This is Skye. We go back to our Defender days."

"How's it going?" Skye grinned as she pumped Taylor's hand vigorously, nearly shaking it out of the quarian's socket.

"And this is Korridon, our engineer." Roahn helped pry Taylor away from Skye so that she could introduce the turian.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the turian politely said as he shook the quarian's hand with a considerately less amount of fervor compared to his human counterpart.

After finishing with the handshakes, Taylor put her hands on her hips as she considered everyone. "Ah, but it is so good to finally be able to put names to faces! Roahn's told me a little about you guys already, but I know there's a lot that I'm missing. Still, the three of you are soldiers under Garrus Vakarian. Now that's an honor. You know, I met him once when I was about ten. He came into my house, actually. With my father."

"Oh, really?" Skye arched an eyebrow, interested. "I bet you must have been excited. What was the occasion for meeting him?"

"Well…" Taylor took a mirthful look at Roahn, the two quarians sharing one of those nearly invisible but tangible stares that contained many emotions undetectable to most aliens. "It's a long story, but the funny thing was that it was the same day that I met this one here." She threw an arm around Roahn's shoulders and the two women came together in a shared one-armed hug. "I'd say she's made more of a lasting impression, believe it or not."

Skye flashed a smug grin. "She certainly has that capability, no doubt."

Roahn rolled her eyes. Leave it to Skye to make such thinly veiled comments.

It was a good thing that Taylor remained clueless to the implications that the human was referring to. She beckoned the trio to follow her with a slender finger, finally prying them all towards the glittering avenue that promised lights, booze, and degenerate advertising all wrapped up in a single package.

"First time on this part of the station?"

Skye and Korridon shook their heads. Roahn was the only one who nodded.

"I have some ideas of places you might like," Taylor said. "Shall we take a look?"


It turned out that Taylor's intuition was highly accurate. She had led the group on a slowly meandering route through Coraltide that brushed up against some of the glitziest stores the Citadel had to offer. And it was not just clothes or jewelry that was being displayed but rather a pure spectacle of the entirety excess could generate. Gourmet food shops, sleek electronics, even boutique gun shops comprised sections of the storefronts that the four passed by, though not without longing looks.

Despite Skye's initial insistence that they all head straight to a drinking establishment to become coddled by the familiar blanket of an alcoholic buzz, she could not help but become distracted as she took in various views through glass casings at any items that had an implicit demand to be put under her ownership. The rest of the group was in the same boat, particularly when it came to the weaponry stores.

Despite the fact that Roahn and Skye were the only craftsmen in the realm of soldiery amongst the group, Korridon and Taylor were not blind to the allure that the shining racks of guns presented. If anything, their interest had spiked to similar levels.

Gun manufacturers had certainly done well for themselves after the war. Demand had risen drastically over the years as it seemed obvious to every household that having a gun at hand was probably a good idea. Never know when a crazed victim of indoctrination could come knocking at their door, despite the improbable nature of such a scenario.

Still, it was hard for everyone to tear their eyes away from the towering racks of platinum-barreled shotguns, the hanging gardens of the latest sniper rifles with the most advanced motion tracking software built in, the rotating displays of pistols from the boxy and utilitarian krogan Quartermaster to the elliptic and stark asari Inoculum, and the very walls of many of these shops which used the space to store each and every assault rifle and machine gun they had on the market which came at every price point to reflect an echelon for every customer's expense.

The point was, it was difficult to justify taking a straight route to the bar when such treasures were in their proximity.

Both Roahn and Skye would be swayed by their temptations as they had gone in and had bought a weapon for themselves. Any operator under Umbra was paid quite handsomely, considering that the Council was funding the group directly. Roahn, in particular, got a rather hefty cut as XO—her careful spending habits meant that she had amassed quite a large chunk of credits for her to use on purchases such as this.

Thirty minutes later and Roahn was walking out with the new Mistral, the latest pistol model from the Browning-Springfield Armories on Earth. The grip was a stiff polymer, comfortable enough to fit into her hand, and the polished carbon barrel was lower down on the gun's axis, making it simpler for Roahn to line it up with her eye. Light and accurate, the Mistral had been rapidly adopted by several militaries and were all reporting pleasing results. Roahn had wanted her hands on one for months.

Skye came out of another shop, this time touting a turian sniper rifle, the Cavalcade. The contours were not as angular as most turian models as this one was rather squat and stocky, but the gun itself had an impressive firing range and had proven itself to be quite reliable on the battlefield.

They rejoined Taylor and Korridon, the latter having taken the time to purchase a few electronic upgrades to his omni-tool from a nearby vendor. Taylor led the now-satiated group towards a part of the avenue that gradually became more and more dominated by restaurants, indicating that this was the right place to search for somewhere to get a drink. But instead of following Taylor into one of the establishments that was prominently displayed upon the boulevard, the quarian led them down a winding alley that otherwise conveyed no signage that would indicate that they were headed towards a bar of any sort. Yet, despite the lack of information, after a few turns a craftwork display of hanging lights in the shape of a red arrow pointed towards an innocuous door at the end of the alley. A single sign that read "INDUSTRIE DRAFT" hung over the door. Actual physical letters, not holograms.

Upon entering, Roahn's visor adjusted to let her see easily in the darkness of Industrie Draft. There was a sense of the bohemian that enveloped the guts of this bar. The walls were lined with a material that resembled brick. The floor was deliberately cheap panel wood. The chair were constructed out of flimsy aluminum, as well as the tables. Neon tubing wrapped around the actual bar area, which was a pill-shaped section in the middle of the bar, searing every color in agonizing hues.

Despite its ramshackle appearance and tucked-away entrance, Industrie Draft apparently was a very popular place as a good portion of the establishment was filled with a sea of drunken visages. A comfortable throng of people in the far corner swayed in a torrid beat to the latest techno music that was being pumped through the overhead speakers. Bartenders surged from patron to patron, expertly juggling glasses and ingredients as they piled on the orders from people desperate to stray from sobriety.

In no place was this bar quiet, but Roahn found herself relax nonetheless. Now this was a type of craziness she could be herself in.

"How the hell did you find this place?" Skye shouted to Taylor, having to raise her voice to even be heard.

Taylor just shrugged. "You just have to know where it is."

"Interesting. What do they have to drink?"

"Anything you want. All the drinks are custom."

Korridon swiveled his head around. "You're kidding. How does that work?"

"The bartender asks what your favorite spirit is and what you're in the mood for. They then craft you a drink based off what you tell them, basically."

With that information, the four then gradually pushed their way to the counter, trying to edge their way as politely as possible through the patrons either waiting for their drinks or watching one of the games on the overhead screens. Roahn got their first and was met by a smiling blond human woman, who proceeded to interrogate her about her spirit of choice, just as Taylor had said.

Roahn was in the mood for something hard-hitting and sour, so she indicated that she had a preference for a certain turian grain alcohol comparable to human bourbon. The bartender immediately whipped out a fresh glass, a shaker, and a strainer before proceeding to whip out a bulbous fruit before it was sliced in half. She then used a juicer to crush the tangy liquid from the fruit, collecting it in a cup. That was then poured into the shaker along with her base as well as a couple additional alcohols—complementary flavorings—before it was clattered in the air like a percussion instrument. The resulting concoction was then strained into a glass filled with crushed ice, all completed in less than a minute. A garnish comprised of the twisted fruit peel added a colorful splash to the drink.

Impressed, Roahn tapped out a sizeable tip with her credit chit before closing out her tab. She grabbed her drink and then ducked through the crowd to find a table. She found one somewhat close to the dance floor, where the music was not quite at overpowering levels. There were no chairs, though. Standing room only. Taylor soon found her as she touted her own drink, followed in short order by Korridon, and finally Skye.

Everyone took tastings of their drinks, finding them all to be in line with what they ordered. Roahn's was especially strong and there was already a noticeable swaying sensation in her head after she had consumed a quarter of her glass. Skye was in an even worse state, as she practically chugged more than half of hers, not bothering to savor it, and was soon uproariously laughing at multiple beats during the conversation.

She's drunk already, Roahn noted as she took a careful sip through her straw, a reminder for her to slow her intake a bit so that she would not turn out like her friend.

"Before I forget," Roahn said loudly, "Taylor, how are things going at your job?"

Taylor took a large gulp of her drink, something quite fruity looking, before she responded. "The work itself is mundane but the bigger picture is so much more exciting. I don't know if dad mentioned it to you yet, but I'm working in a city called Milan. It's a beautiful place that is in a pretty old human metropolis. It's only a few hours away from the beach—the views are fantastic! But I'm running a lab that's working on imaging infectious cells—government contracted, actually. We're working on developing and improving natural biologic resistances for toxic substances."

"Classified work?" Roahn took a sip.

"Most definitely. At least, the specific substances we're trying to counteract are what's classified."

"Good. Wouldn't want you to get into any trouble by letting something slip to us."

"Which I'm sure you're quite familiar with," Taylor looked particularly smug as she took a step away to broadly take stock of her friend. "Being part of the most elite crew since the Normandy probably comes with its own share of secrecy."

Roahn flushed behind her mask. The symptoms of hero worship had proved to stray far from going to her head, but it was a whole other deal when one of her best friends had succumbed to it. She had tried for as long as she had known Taylor to downplay her prestigious heritage in an attempt to seem like an ordinary kid. Taylor had not been hiding under a rock—she knew exactly who Roahn was the very instant she had met her, but that had been quickly discarded to the wayside as she had found friendship to be more valuable than Roahn's so-called "celebrity." Roahn had appreciated that sort of consideration which was why Taylor caught on quickly that she was close to slipping up by becoming a bit too effusive right now. Drink and the company of strangers had the tendency to loosen anyone's tongue.

"So," Taylor jutted back in hastily, "is there anything that you are able to tell me, Roahn? Last I heard you were starting to get into a rhythm of smashing PMC groups. I mean… you look good, so you've obviously have seen success."

Clearly you didn't see me earlier today when I was lying in the med bay, Roahn thought to herself humorously.

Oh, but there was such a temptation for Roahn to just blurt out everything she knew since working with Umbra. Aleph, his vicious team, the Reaper artifacts, all seemed to overshadow her initial and paltry mandate for going after such small change like PMC death squads. Indulging Taylor's curiosity would definitely feel rewarding, surely. But Roahn held her tongue. There were still several layers to the whole scheme that she knew that she did not understand, therefore Taylor would not as well. Besides, what good would telling her about Aleph do anyway apart from elicit feelings of panic? Not the best way to spend a night like this, she knew. To be fair, she was in a bar to escape such feelings anyway.

"I think we're all starting to gel well in combat together," Roahn said carefully, flashing strobes now starting to appear around her head, making it look like her entire body was backlit. "Haven't had any catastrophic moments thus far, so I'd say that we've got a good start. Still, there are many ways we can improve, but once we get to that level, I'll be interested to see what we can tackle."

Taylor nodded, managing to detect Roahn's slight evasion but she did not press further, taking the hint. Skye then took this moment to lean forward, her center of gravity slightly askew, as she moved closer to the yellow-suited quarian in interest.

"You were saying earlier that you met this one," the human gave Roahn's arm a forceful nudge with her elbow (Roahn had to rub the afflicted area once the shadows came over her), "when Garrus was over at your house. And, I'm sorry, but… why did that happen again? I just… I never would have guessed that's how you two would have met."

Both quarians glanced at each other. Roahn allowed a small shrug—permission for Taylor to proceed.

"Roahn and her father were on the run from a PMC many years ago," Taylor turned back to face Skye. "They needed to take refuge somewhere that they figured was safe. Garrus knew my dad because he received an operation from him sometime before that. He sort of forced my dad to take him and Shepard's family to our house on Earth."

"Through smooth talking or at gunpoint?" Skye smirked.

"Never asked, actually. But you could imagine my surprise when I wake up one morning and I find several people that I've only seen in the vids now in my living room. My mom was just as surprised—dropped a glass in shock, if I recall. But then I saw, way in the back behind everyone, this girl. Same age as me, same height. She looked so shy and so confused. And, honestly it's rare to see quarians on Earth at any rate. I think that the only other quarian in the city besides me at the time was my mother. So obviously I focused on her the most once I noticed her."

"And this would be Roahn?"

"Who else?" Roahn shot back through a small smile.

Taylor bobbed her head eagerly. "I showed her around my room and we talked for a few hours. We traded omni-tool addresses so that we could stay in touch afterward and… well, we haven't really stopped talking ever since."

There was a definite lull in the conversation as all four proceeded to take further draughts. Skye in particular drained the rest of her drink while everyone else still had a healthy portion left to go.

"Now," Taylor continued as she looked at Skye, who was beginning to turn slightly glassy-eyed as the potency of her drink was already starting to wallop her, "you said you met Roahn prior to joining her team? In the Defenders, did I hear that right?"

The human slowly proceeded to give a lopsided grin. Oh no, here we go, Roahn thought in alarm, standing ramrod straight with bated breath.

"Boot camp," Skye affirmed. "Obstacle course week. Our prelude to the Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape program."

"Ah," Taylor bobbed her head. "You mean SERE? I've heard of that."

"'See-ree,'" Skye corrected. "Not 'sear.' For some reason, a lot of civilians mispronounce that."

"Oh," Taylor drooped, slightly abashed.

"You're not the first to mix that up, don't worry. But the whole week was nothing but constant team-building exercises designed to build our rapport with our comrades and what not. Of course we were all cocky idiots back then, thinking that we didn't need anyone else to complete the courses. So one day, we get set onto one of the trails like usual. I'm ahead of the pack, doing amazing, as always…"

Roahn was slowly slouching more and more towards the table, flustered yet amused by the sureness of the human's braggadocio. She could just as well deactivate her audio receptors so that she would not have to listen to any more of this, but she knew the temptation to hear every word would just be too much for her to resist.

"…I'm on this log bridge, okay? Under fire from the trainers—they're using stun rounds, you see, to try and throw us off balance. Anyway, I make it through this next section and I find myself in a defilade with a quarian. Fake mortars are going off around us, so it's like we're on a battlefield. We're filthy, covered in mud, and this quarian is just staring at me, eyes open wide. She's like, 'What are we going to do?' and I say to her, 'Be calm. I have a plan. I'm going to draw their fire and you're going to hang right on my—'"

"Wait. Wait. Wait, wait, wait," Roahn interjected, waving a hand and shaking her head at the same time, unable to restrain herself. Her veiled expression was a mixture of disgust and exasperation. "That's not what happened. That's not at all what happened. If you're going to tell the damn story, tell it right, Skye."

Skye smirked before resuming, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Oh, all right. So… Roahn here was in this hole—paralytic with fear—but I wasn't going to leave anyone behind. I slung her over my shoulders in a fireman's carry and together we got out of that hot zone—"

"Idiot." Roahn thwacked Skye on the arm with a finger.

Skye was now openly laughing as she kept on edging further and further away, trying to avoid Roahn's attacks. She was still maintaining eye contact with Taylor the whole time while she spoke. "I might be embellishing a few parts, if only to relay the situation for when Roahn fell head-over-heels for me that day."

Now Roahn was in full-on defensive mode as she lightly cuffed the side of Skye's head with her right arm, cheeks furiously red behind her visor. Clearly alcohol and tact could not coexist together within the person that was Skye Lorne. This was doubly embarrassing, not because of Skye's blatant fabrications, but from the revelation to Taylor that she had been somewhat romantically involved with the human at one point. That was something that Roahn would rather have not approached, partly due to the timing being completely inappropriate, but because that revisiting it would dredge up sour memories that Roahn would rather leave alone.

Yet, despite all that, Roahn still retained an expansive comprehension that did necessarily render part of Skye's exultations to be true.

Because at one point, Roahn had fallen head-over-heels for Skye. Cocksure and full of swagger, there had been something inherently hypnotic about the woman that embodied a unique allure, pulling Roahn into a torrid spell.

The very same spell that she realized was gripping her right now.

It hit her like a cold pulse from her heart, surging to her very extremities. The teasing comments, the natural amusement, all of was derived from spontaneous and heartfelt emotions that did not at all indicate her initial declarations of refusal and revulsion.

By the Ancestors, Roahn was actually getting comfortable around Skye again.

Easy thought it might have been to verbally deny such a feeling, Roahn knew that saying such a thing would not make it true. For the evidence seemed quite clear—she was slowly gravitating more and more towards this woman again. Was it her changed attitude? Her promises to be more respectful? Or was it simply that smile? That damnable smile. The one that very well hinted that Skye carried a secret and that she just might let you in on it if you played her little games.

Damn her, Roahn thought miserably. Why can I not stop thinking of you?

Their tumultuous past should have been a barricade, a further impediment towards any emotional development. Or so Roahn might have thought. Either Skye had proven to be very resilient in taking up residence in Roahn's mind, picking apart the blockade piece by piece, or Roahn herself had been dismantling such defenses without ever realizing it.

After all, their last relationship had ended disastrously. Who was to say things would turn out differently a second time? Or had there honestly been a mistake the first go-around and this was just a sign from the universe that a second chance was now on the table?

While Roahn was lost in her self-torment, Taylor had splayed her hands on the table, squinting as she was trying to weigh Skye's words in her head. "Oh, so you're saying that you two used to be together when you were in the Defenders?"

Skye, now uncharacteristically quiet, turned to Roahn to let her complete the affirmation now that her stature had been called into question. There was that maddening smile on her face again.

Roahn narrowed her eyes at the human, hoping that she would get the message of discontent before finally nodding back to Taylor. "Yeah. For some of the time," she said, hoping that would be diplomatic enough to satisfy her friend's curiosity.

Okay. Can we stop asking questions about this now? Please?

"Does that mean, since you're working together again, that you're still going out with each other?"

Oh, son of a… Skye, I'm going to kill you.

"I'm not in the habit of getting into relationships with my subordinates," Roahn quickly fibbed before Skye could get a word in. "It's honestly not something that I've thought of since Skye's been assigned to our team."

"Then I guess your past relationship isn't a distraction if you're able to fight alongside each other?" Taylor guessed.

Yes.

"No," Roahn said.

At this point, it was evident to the other quarian at the table that Roahn had gone quite stiff and tense. Taylor was a compassionate sort, not to mention empathetic, so she realized (finally) that there this was a topic that Roahn might not be comfortable discussing for long periods of time. Searching for something else to talk about, Taylor's gaze swept over to Korridon, who had been quite for the entire conversation, eyes uncomfortably wide as he had taken large sips of his drink, presumably to chemically hasten the drowning out of the awkward vibes garnered from being in such close proximity to this line of dialogue.

"We haven't heard much from you yet, Korridon," Taylor said, causing the turian to jump and to spill his drink slightly as the focus of the conversation now turned onto him. "Did you know Roahn before being assigned to her team?"

Korridon shook his head as he patted his sleeve dry. "Actually, no. Call it a coincidence, a fortuity, or whatever. The commander took a chance on me by extending an invitation to join her team."

"Found it to be what you expected?"

The turian politely chuckled, his somewhat kind eyes flicking over to the quarian sitting across from him. "I… I don't know what I expected. But I never would have guessed that I would have found myself as part of such a team."

"Do you have anyone special in your life?"

"What do you mean?" Korridon asked.

Taylor shrugged. "A partner. Husband, wife, something like that."

Now it seemed it was quite difficult for Korridon to make eye contact with anyone. "Um… no. Not presently, at least."

Next to him, Skye scoffed. "I should think that someone like you would be able to snag someone quite easily. I could… hey!" The human brightened, taken by an idea. "I could be your wingman! I'm sure there's plenty of people around here that are your type. What are you into? Turians? Humans? Asari?"

Korridon's eyes had been bulging wider and wider in mortification at the sheer notion that he would have to enlist someone to give his dating life a boost. As quickly as he could muster, he shook his head savagely.

"Skye, don't… please…"

"Hey, hey!" Skye turned around and waved at a passing clutch of turian females who were chatting to themselves as they tried to find a table. "You girls should have heard all the nice stuff this man was saying to you while you were ordering! He's just the—"

With a speed that startled everyone at the table, Korridon whirled around and grabbed at Skye's arm gently but quite firmly. The music surging around the bar chose that moment to drop out, creating a momentary vacuum of noise in which Korridon was able to get out one word, but the delivery was a tortured rasp so quiet it could have been mistaken for calmness, but the unamused glint in his eyes was enough to convey the desperation that fueled his movements.

"Stop."

The timbre was lower and more savage than Roahn had previously heard from Korridon before. At some level of her subconscious, it almost terrified her because, in that quick glimpse, she had seen a side to the turian that she had never seen before. It was a raw, more primal side. It was Korridon at the end of his rope, finally fed up.

The mirth fell away from Skye's face as she momentarily felt a startled pang. Another lesson for the woman that she had gone too far. Yet again.

Korridon's expression changed not a whit as he slowly opened his fingers, allowing Skye to take her arm away. Another song on the playlist began to spool back up with the throbbing surge of bass pulsations that took up residence in everyone's eardrums. The turian returned to his drink with a somber glance and Roahn carefully mimicked his movements while making sure to briefly connect her gaze with Skye's, hoping to see some semblance of remorse upon her face. No such luck. Skye was still reeling from confusion at being cut off so abruptly, perhaps not even understanding where she had erred.

After the group had finished their drinks, many of them had an inclination to partake in the festivities on the dance floor. A decent way to blow off such feelings of awkwardness. After all, with drink in their bellies, they had lost any barriers of self-consciousness with regards to their dancing abilities that would otherwise act as a deterrent.

Taylor led Roahn towards the dance floor by the hand, with Skye and Korridon hurrying to keep up in the wake of the two quarians. Upon traversing through the jungle of writhing bodies, Taylor immediately erupted into a series of swaying motions, caring not a whit about appearances or if her actual movements were lining up to the beat of the music. Roahn paused for a moment in the center of the area, struck by her friend's confidence, before she too joined in with a jerky choreography. Her dancing skills were nothing to brag about (the alcohol certainly was not doing her any favors) but Roahn did think that she was doing a damn sight better than most of the people in this place, probably because everyone else was even more drunk they had no idea what position all of their limbs were in. Skye then eagerly jumped in to form a tangled circle as she made a passable attempt to dance while Korridon, the most sober of the four, eventually shuffled in, not looking completely comfortable, but was kept reasonably sane by the presence of the other three people around him.

The capacity of the bar ebbed and flowed as the hours saw patrons come and go. Roahn had truthfully lost track of time as the beat of the music seemed to carry her away, the haze of liquor midway through subsiding. A smile on her face, she looked amongst the people in her proximity, from the joyful serenity in Taylor's eyes, the enticing smirk on Skye while her crimson hair bobbed in her wake, and the relaxed form of Korridon as they all were swept up in the invisible tide.

Though Roahn had to crack open an eye a little bit wider as she noticed a human in a sleeveless shirt slowly edge his way closer and closer to Taylor without her friend noticing, a sinister smile on his face. "…thing for suited tail…" crept into Roahn's ears, immediately filling her veins with the clear dosage of adrenaline.

Before she could warn her, a hand lurched out of the crowd and brushed at Taylor's side. The quarian was cool enough to take the harassment in stride as she slapped the offending hand away, not looking back at the person that had just groped her. That did not completely deter the man as he seemed to grin ever wider as he crept forward, now making another greedy attempt to lay his hands upon Taylor.

Roahn was quicker on the draw as she quickly sidled up to her friend before the human could do anything else. "Try that again and you'll lose fingers," she snarled to the man.

Another human, this one a little less leering than his sleeveless buddy joined in, presumably to defuse the tension, while darkly marked turian came up behind them. Great, Roahn thought. Now they've got a squad.

"Relax, honey," the other human said in a patronizing tone, which had the complete opposite effect in Roahn who proceeded to nearly go volcanic. "He just has a thing for you guys. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Then he can keep his hands to himself," Roahn growled, a still island while the dancing crowd churned around them, awash in psychedelic colors. Taylor had put a hand on Roahn's shoulder, sensing danger, but Roahn was not having any of it as she was starting to see red.

"But you just make it sooo hard," the sleeveless man whined. "It's the suits. I mean… they leave nothing to the imagination. The way they… curve… on your asses. They're just glorious. All I want is a peek at you ladies. What's wrong with that? I just want to see how pretty you are."

Roahn had never been more conscious of how her enviro-suit felt on her skin until right now. The tautness of it now felt so wrong, like a reptilian skin that needed to be shed. Her fingers curled into fists, hidden by the grateful shadows while her silver gaze grew hardened with steel.

"Roahn, let's just get out of here," Taylor urged as she tried to push her friend back. "They're just drunk."

"You think that's going to make them leave us alone?" Roahn muttered out of the corner of her mouth before she spoke louder to the men. "We're not interested, so get the hell out of here."

The sleeveless man pretended to consider these words before making a callous shrug. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. I know you're just playing. It's okay, sweetie, you don't need to act tough around me."

The quarian wondered if this guy even knew who he was talking to or if he made a habit of doing this routine to women often. Regardless, Roahn was already feeling sick to her stomach, especially after being called 'sweetie', and was seriously considering sticking a knife in this man's foot before Korridon suddenly made his way forward, his arms pushing the two sides apart.

"All right, guys, knock it off," the turian said diplomatically. "These ladies have had a long night and all they want is to be left alone—argh!"

The other turian, sensing weakness, quickly lunged forward and grabbed Korridon by the shoulders. He rotated in place, hurtling the younger turian several meters across the room. Korridon careened into several tables, spilling drinks and finger food. The drenched alien skidded across the sticky floor, smelling of booze and bar cheese, going limp with a groan.

With a cruel laugh, the sleeveless man turned to reach out a hand to grab at Roahn's shoulder now, confident that her 'bodyguard' had been dealt with. But when he was a scant few centimeters away from making contact, Roahn whipped up her left hand, caught the human's own appendage, and clenched down with all her might.

There was a rapid series of crunches like plastic being trod on as every bone in the human's hand shattered, crushed from the force of Roahn's prosthesis.

The human glanced down in the series of seconds where the pain had not yet registered, his face progressing into an expression of shock. When the pain finally did hit, he let out a yowl that was drowned out by a barrage of intoxicated singing from the other dancers. He sank to his knees as Roahn let go of his hand, which was already turning nasty shades of purple and sickly yellow, his fingers jutting out in angles that were certainly not natural.

"My hand!" she heard him howl. "Bitch broke my haaaaand!"

Taylor then took her chance and surged forward in an open-palm strike. The heel of her palm impacted perfectly on the man's nose, breaking it, and making it look like an explosion of blood had burst in his face. Thrown from the momentum of the blow, the sleeveless man collapsed, blood smearing across his features while his ruined fingers helplessly twitched and throbbed.

The aggressor's other human friend, the one who had seemed more aware of his surroundings, had only a moment to take stock of the situation before he angrily stepped forward, intent on levying a slap to Taylor's face. But Skye, now stone-cold sober, came in with an attack of her own. A wall of biotic energy shot from her fist and slammed right into the human's chin, the sheer power of the force sending him airborne into the light fixtures several feet overhead. His skull smashed into one of the supporting beams, dislodging one of the atmospheric lanterns in a flurry of vibrant sparks. He crashed down to the ground, breaking one of his legs in the process while also sporting a concussion.

The bystanders scattered in alarm as the remaining turian pulled a knife from his belt. Several screams peppered the bar while the music continued to resonate.

Roahn stood the most prominently, Taylor and Skye at her sides. The women took stock of the new danger that had presented itself and proceeded to answer by activating their omni-blades, emitting a caustic glow from the center of the flow.

The singular turian seemed to falter upon realizing that he was suddenly outnumbered and outgunned as he took a lonely look at the paltry blade clutched in his fist. However, he was still too taken by intoxication to make amends and disengage from the confrontation, even as the barks from approaching bouncers were starting to make themselves known. His eyes swept back and forth, trying to gauge which one to attack first. He seemed to be considering Taylor and Roahn the most prominently—tearing open a quarian's enviro-suit would certainly cause the most damage. The turian tensed his knees, about to strike.

But there was a percussive pop and a burst of glass erupted around the turian's head. He staggered and the knife dropped from suddenly limp fingers. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he dropped to the floor, revealing Korridon standing right behind him, clutching the shattered stem of a liquor bottle.

Skye gave a loud laugh. "Oh, man. That's too funny."

"You brilliant turian!" Roahn stepped over the prone bodies of the men they had taken care of to give her friend a quick hug. Korridon was wobbling unsteadily against her and he dropped his makeshift weapon so that he could clutch at his head. "Are you okay?"

"I've had better days," Korridon grunted, slurring his words a bit. "Hell of a headache."

"Here, we'll find you a seat."

Roahn had to enlist Skye's help to haul Korridon away. The bouncers skirted past them without making any second glances. Security here would have clearly seen that Roahn and her friends had been accosted by the three so-called tough guys which made their aggressive reactions understandable. Bar protocol was practically shared by all the species across hundreds of years—starting a fight was looked down on but finishing a fight was not.

The two women gradually sat Korridon down at a booth in one of the quieter corners. Roahn gave the turian a grateful pat on the shoulder, a warm look of approval clearly evident in her clouded expression.

Skye, on the other hand, was more jubilant. She clapped her hands together as she beamed at Korridon. "Take a breather, Korr. Let us know when the room stops spinning for you, 'cause the rest of your drinks are on us tonight!"


A/N: All right, I'm back and ready to get back down to the grindstone. The regular release schedule should resume now that I've taken care of some things in my personal life in addition to recovering from the jet lag that I got after returning from Australia. Overall, quite the rewarding trip and the country is certainly a place that I would wholeheartedly recommend everyone visit at least once in your life... when it's not on fire, that is.

If you have time, let me know what you think of the chapter!

Playlist:

Raucous' Curse
"Tripwire"
Thomas Newman
1917 (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Bar Fight [Source Music]
"Reload"
Rob Zombie
The Matrix Reloaded: The Album