Commander Shepard stood in the cycling airlock of her ship and tilted her head back, breathing in deep the filtered air as the scanner field ran over her body. She'd sent her armour and weapons ahead, left Thane to reconnect with his son after a few words to Bailey, and wandered the Citadel for a few hours. The Citadel was different to what she remembered - old haunts long gone and replaced with new metal and new signs, new people with smiles pasted on. It felt a little like the whole station was trying to forget what had happened two years ago.

For a moment it had felt like she had been trying to forget. And then who else had interrupted her coffee time than Khalisah al-Jilani. Well. If any of her friends or family didn't know she was alive, they did now.

The internal airlock door slid open, and she stepped through, box under her arm. A new quarian liveship model. She'd half-hoped to make it with Hannah, like they had when she was a kid, but the Orizaba had abruptly left the Citadel. That was the Navy for you. It'd long turned most of Shepard's relationships - familial or otherwise - into stop-start affairs.

Even now, when she wasn't in the Navy anymore. The thought still sat wrong.

"Commander-" Hawthorne stopped at the sight of her, "Is that a toy, ma'am?"

"It's a model," she said, raising an eyebrow, "is there a problem, Hawthorne?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. A package arrived for you - from the SSV Orizaba? EDI scanned it, there's nothing dangerous, so I had it taken up to your quarters."

"Well, that's good to know," she replied dryly, "wouldn't want my own mother trying to assassinate me."

He opened his mouth, closed it - gulped. "Yes, that'd be - bad."

She took pity. "Thank you. How's the new gun installation going?"

"Tali said the new barrel and ammunition tanks are in place, but there are tests that she needs to run tomorrow."

Shepard nodded. The last thing they wanted was for one of the tanks or the barrel to fail and spread superheated molten metal through sub-decks. Joker would never forgive her. "Carry on, Hawthorne. I'll be in my cabin if I'm needed."

She wasn't twenty-one anymore; a nap after all that running around after Kolyat sounded good. It wasn't like Hannah to send care packages either - that was more her abuela's style - so she was kind of curious as to what her mother had sent over before her ship had abruptly left the station.

The crew had left the box on her desk, beside her work terminal, in the bare space where Cerberus had so carefully placed that holo frame of Ash. After Garrus had found the bug, after Horizon it felt something like an open wound. Something else from her life Cerberus had pulled out of her without asking and put on display. Something to be used. So she'd finally gotten rid of it.

Shepard pulled off her jacket, took off her pistol holster, setting it on her desk beside the box, and winced, rubbing her shoulder. She could lift more than she ever could before, hit harder with both a fist or her biotics, but God, did her shoulder joint ache afterward. The cool air that cycled through the Normandy's life support systems ghosted over her forearms. Cool air was always a comfort on a warship.

She pried the lid off the box. Nestled inside, cradled by packing foam, was a datapad, a small wooden box with the Alliance symbol engraved on the front, and a sketchbook. No, she realised, opening it up. Not just any sketchbook - hers. One of the last ones she'd drawn in during her period of leave before the Normandy's final mission. She traced a finger over a half-finished drawing of the beach below the house she'd had on Benning.

It'd been a small house, one bedroom, a prefab really. But it'd been hers, the place she'd wanted to share with Ashley one day. The place she had shared with Ashley. She gently set the sketchbook on her desk. Those weeks with Ashley on Benning felt very far away, like they'd happened to someone else.

Shepard activated the datapad.

Emilia,

I was hoping to see you again before your next mission, but we got crash-sailed. You know how it is.

No apology, not that Shepard really expected one.

I know it's not the original, but I hope you like it regardless. I know you've always had complicated feelings about it, but I hope it can be something to remind you of home and who you are.

Do what you have to do and come home.

I love you,

Mum.

She set the datapad aside and opened the wooden box. The Star of Terra glinted inside, burnished bronze with the image of Earth in the centre, below the light blue ribbon. She brushed her fingers over the ribbon - and then closed the box.

Shepard wasn't the same person she'd been as a twenty-two year old on Elysium. Hell, she wasn't the same person she'd been when she'd hunted down Saren Arterius. But Cerberus didn't get to define who she was now. Talking to her mother had given her something like hope - that she could go home when she'd finished with the Collectors.

It was probably just as likely she'd get herself shot by some Collector, but everyone needed hope; whatever the Illusive Man thought she wasn't some automaton he could put together and then aim at his enemies.

Do what you have to do and come home. Hannah's calm, unflinching acceptance settled somewhere in her chest.

There was a knock on the door, hard and frantic. Shepard rose to her feet, forehead creasing into a frown, hand instinctually reaching for where her holster should've been - but of course, it was on the desk. "Who is it?"

"It's Garrus," his voice was tight and sharp-edged.

"Come in." She dropped her hand.

Garrus came in, his posture taut. There was something cold and hard in his bright blue eyes, something that reminded her of when she'd found him on Omega, weary and surrounded. Something that reminded her of when he'd shot that Eclipse NCO on Lorek. "I've got a lead on Sidonis. He was seen here, on the Citadel, with a specialist called 'Fade'."

So much for her nap - but Garrus was here, asking for her help. "You want to find Sidonis." It wasn't a question. "And what do you do when we do?"

"'Eye for an eye', that's what you humans say, right? A life for a life. Or twelve, in this case."

"So you want me to help you hunt down and murder someone," she said flatly.

"I want you to help me get justice." His eyes burnt into hers.

"You can dress it up however you like."

"Are you going to stop me?" Garrus' voice was low and taut - vicious. Shepard looked at him and saw very little of the man - the boy, really - who'd walked onto the original Normandy. Months ago for her but years for him. A sharp knife of grief sliced between her ribs. She'd missed so much goddamn time.

She knew the kind of rage that lurked in his blue eyes. Knew how it poured into you like acid, half hate, half maddened grief, corroding your insides until you were scraped empty. Until all you wanted was to rip into something - someone - if only give it an outlet.

She understood that rage every time she saw the Illusive Man's smug face and her fingers itched for a trigger.

"What happens tonight is your choice, Garrus," she said finally, "but-"

"Don't give me one of your speeches," he bit out.

Garrus was grieving and expressing it the only way he felt he could - out of the barrel of a gun. She still gritted her teeth. "I just don't want my friend to do something he might regret."

The turian flinched but his expression firmed. "Sidonis deserves to die, Shepard."

If she didn't go with, he'd go after Fade by himself, unless she confined him to the ship. And, God help her, she needed him. He and Tali were the only two people with guns on this ship she completely trusted. She couldn't do this mission without him.

Shepard broke their staring match and reached for her holster, "Let's go find Fade."


Two Years Previously

The low lights of Dark Star lounge pulsed. Garrus navigated his way through the crowds, most of the drunken patrons getting out of his way when they noticed the uniform. There was a strange desperation to it all - the drinking, the dancing, the laughter. The bars had recently re-opened and the Citadel was reaching for a sense of normality.

Nothing would be normal again. Frustration churned in his chest.

"Williams?"

Ashley Williams lifted her head from where she was slumped in a booth. There was a red mark on her cheek from where she'd pressed her fist into it, and he counted four empty glasses in front of her and another loosely held in her other hand, full of a deep amber liquid.

"Heeeey, Garrus. What're you doin' here?"

He flicked his mandibles. "The bartender called me. You look like crap, Williams. I'm surprised they haven't cut you off yet."

She leant forward unsteadily, as if she had a secret to tell him, "We're famous, Vakarian. Did you know that? 'Cause we…'cause we helped save the Citadel."

Misplaced gratitude then. "I did know. How much have you had to drink?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "A bit? I just needed to get out of the barracks. Everyone wants to talk. I just want a drink."

He levered himself into the seat across from her and carefully pried the still full glass from her hand. She watched him do it apathetically. "You've had more than a drink, Williams. More like a bottle."

It'd been three months and it still didn't feel real. People like Shepard didn't just die.

Garrus had met the Alliance cruiser at the docks, seen the ambulances, the hollow-eyed survivors. Ashley had been kept on the Citadel, working for Anderson in what she derisively called 'baby-sitting' and Garrus just - he didn't know how to help her beyond picking her up after she'd drunk herself into a gutter.

He didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for not being there.

Ashley waved a hand, nearly knocking over one of the glasses. "Gotta get it in while I can. They're calling me back to Arcturus."

"Oh." His mandibles twitched. It felt like the Normandy crew was scattering across the galaxy. "For the inquest."

She scowled. "Yeah. The fucking inquest. Finally finished the - recovery, so now it's time to find who to blame! Only it won't be fucking NavComm who sent us there."

"Williams-"

"They have four bags full of bones, heard them telling Anderson," she lifted her head to look at him, brown eyes vacant and not really seeing him, "That's all. They're doing DNA testing."

Garrus had seen his fair share of bodies and terrible things, but that still…

"I'm sorry."

Williams shrugged with affected disinterest. "Not like I thought she could've survived that."

"You're still allowed to be upset now there's confirmation," he tried. He was a detective; he'd noticed the way Williams and Shepard had acted around each other, the way Shepard had shown her a softness she hadn't with anyone else, but knowing how the human military frowned on such things, he'd kept it to himself. So long as they did their jobs it wasn't anyone else's business as far as he was concerned.

"I wasn't her - I wasn't her anything," Ash mumbled.

"I don't think she would've agreed with you."

"She's dead so that doesn't matter anymore," the human woman's voice was low and sullen.

"I'm sorry," Garrus blurted out again.

Ash's eyebrows crinkled in confusion or maybe irritation. "What for?"

"For…I wasn't there."

She glanced up at him, "So?"

"Maybe…maybe I could've done something." Gone with Shepard to help her get Joker, freed her when she got trapped.

Ash scoffed. "You would've followed her orders just like I did and she would've still gone alone. She had to be the fucking hero, and you would've just been the perfect little soldier she wanted."

Garrus was stung, despite himself, "You don't know that. Shepard didn't want to die."

"It doesn't matter now," Ash stumbled to her feet and he leapt up, catching her arm before she tripped.

"Easy."

She shrugged him off irritably, "I'm just…gonna sleep. Gotta a flight tomorrow."

"Let me get you a cab."

"I can just walk."

He looked at her critically. She could barely stand straight. He went for honesty, "You try walking back like that you'll end up in a gutter or in the drunk tank."

She looked at him with another frown, expression hazy. "Fine. You're such a cop sometimes."

"If that was true I'd just toss you in the drunk tank," he pointed out dryly, "this is just being a friend. Generally you say 'thank you'." He hovered by her side as they made their way out of the bar, close enough to steady her but not holding on - if there was one thing Williams was, it was proud.

She tossed him a look that was contemplative, "Never thought I'd be friends with a turian, you know."

"It's my charm. Irresistible even to humans."

She squinted at him, but there was a hint of a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, and he'd take that as a win. "That's one word for it."

Garrus brought up his omnitool to call a cab, and saw he had a priority merssage. The traffic above their heads whizzed on. Business as usual. Never mind the bullet holes, never mind the station's saviour had just been found in pieces.

Meet me outside Pallin's office as soon as possible.

Life went on.


"What is it with mercs and gunfights in warehouses or cargo bays?" Shepard asked conversationally as Garrus reloaded, each movement easy, the clicks of the heatsink locking into place familiar as his mother's voice. Gunfire cracked overhead, punctuating her words, but it was unsteady, ragged. The Blue Suns squad had the advantage of height, firing down on Garrus and Shepard from atop the second level of the warehouse, and they had at least one rocket launcher, but the first few casualties had worried them. Especially when one had been Warped by Shepard. A nasty way to die.

A lot of mercs and gangsters, Garrus had found, didn't have the stomach for a real fight against hardened soldiers. You dropped a few and the rest decided they'd rather be somewhere else. The Blue Suns and Eclipse were an exception some of the time, depending on which of their units you were fighting. These guards weren't exactly the 9 Commando.

"You'll have to let them know your critique."

"Reckon they have a convenient complaints email address?" Shepard popped up, firing a burst from her Locust. Above him, Garrus heard a shriek of pain as the shots wounded one of the surviving mercs. The gunfire petered out.

"Are they retreating?" Garrus asked. Maybe he should've asked others along on this - he trusted Tali at least, and she trusted Kal'Reegar. But this was - personal, and even with his CSec connections and Shepard's Spectre credentials it was easier to get two armed people onto the Citadel than a whole fireteam.

Shepard shot him a look, exasperated under her clear visor. "You just had to say that, didn't you?"

"What?"

Two YMIR mechs dropped to the warehouse floor with a heavy, metallic thud, their arrival immediately resulting in a torrent of machine-gun fire. Garrus cursed and dropped his head.

"Got tech grenades left?" Shepard asked, pressing her back to cover. Whatever Ariake Technologies used to ship their goods was durable, he'd give them that.

"Three left," he replied.

Shepard's reply was abruptly cut off as the world around Garrus exploded. He found himself half fallen between crates, coughing as harsh grey smoke scoured his throat, shrapnel pinging above him. He shook himself. There - his rifle, his talons just centimetres from the stock. He wriggled, getting his feet under him and pushing himself up.

Shepard was nowhere to be seen. Cold fear splashed over him - but there was no time to look for her. He could hear the heavy tread of a YMIR mech, close, and the warehouse was tight and claustrophobic, piles of shipping crates limiting where the YMIR could walk, yes, but also cutting off avenues Garrus could use to move. He pulled a tech mine from his webbing.

To his left he could see the body of a Blue Suns trooper lying just inside the doorway of an open container, his rocket launcher lying nearby.

Garrus gathered himself and sprinted across the gap between his cover and the container. Gunfire followed him, dashing off the metal grated floor, a scream in his ears. He slid into cover, nearly tripping over the corpse, and turned to toss the tech grenade out the open doorway. It bounced to land at the nearest YMIR's feet. As it went off, electricity crackling across the mech's form, he grabbed the rocket launcher and raised it to his shoulder.

He didn't miss. The YMIR stood for a moment, its chest a crater of torn metal and leaking conduit fluid, and then fell, its vocaliser still stuttering through prerecorded lines.

One target down, but where was the other mech? He spotted it, on the far side of the warehouse. He couldn't help the way his mandibles fluttered happily when he saw a white metal box fly through the air, propelled by a blue-black biotic field, and smack into the YMIR, staggering it.

Shepard was alright. He didn't have another friend's name to add to the list of all those he'd let down. He lifted the rocket launcher again, but a bright yellow lance of light cut through the sterile white light of the warehouse before he could fire again. The light cut cleanly through the torso of the mech. Shepard's new Collector toy.

He staggered back when the YMIR's internal rocket bay cooked off, tearing the mech to pieces, the entire room echoing with the explosion. Thank the Spirits for the noise dampening in hardsuits that blocked out sounds above a certain level.

"Shepard?" he jogged over.

She waved a hand at him. The look in her eyes was dangerous. "Good to see you in one piece. Harkin's even more of a sonofabitch than I thought. He was bragging you couldn't catch him. Arrogant little prick."

"Where's the rest of the Blue Suns?"

"They fucked off." Shepard glanced over at a nearby body. It was the merc she'd Warped, the one who screamed until one of the other Suns had shot him. They were surrounded by destruction. "You know, the first time I killed someone, I had nightmares for weeks. I was nineteen, an infantry PFC, and we were clearing a pirate base, and I threw him into a wall with my biotics so hard his skull was crushed. He had these big green eyes, and I'd dream he was watching me with them, with his brain leaking out his cracketed helmet. I haven't had nightmares about anyone I've killed in years."

"What are you getting at, Shepard?" He asked warily, because Shepard liked her tests and her points, and he didn't have time for it. Harkin was up there and Sidonis was near. Justice was waiting.

"This is what I'm good at," she told him, "it's what you're good at too. But it doesn't mean we always have the best…frame of reference for what is normal. There's a saying. If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail."

"Damnit Shepard," he snapped, the anger rising up again. He felt like it'd burst out of him, scorching everything it could touch. It was easier to swallow down when he could just - focus it all on Sidonis, the one person who deserved it. "Are you with me or not?"

"Of course I am," Shepard's expression had changed from menacing to tired, "Let's go question Harkin."

The room Harkin had been using was really just a repurposed shipping container, hidden among hundreds of containers that looked just like it. The kind used to ship goods of every kind across Citadel Space. They had to clamber up and across stacked towers of them, and when Garrus glanced over at Shepard, she was breathing hard, her eyes hard under her clear visor. Harkin was so close. So close, holding all the information he needed to find Sidonis.

Sidonis.

The first friendly face Garrus had found on Omega, the first person to pick up a gun and fight by his side. He'd thought of Lantar like he was his Spirits-damned brother. He hadn't even had to courage to shoot Garrus himself, but fled into the darkness like a coward, leaving them all to die.

He'd found Butler first, because Butler had never quite made it back across the bridge to the hideout. Then Vortash, face unrecognizable after some sick bastard had carved out all four eyes and cut his throat, so deep he was nearly decapitated. Ripper and Sensat had died in the doorway side-by-side, krogan and salarian.

There was nothing Sidonis could say and do that would wash all that blood away.

Shepard jerked a thumb at the other door to the container and Garrus nodded. Cut off the escape route. He moved quickly, ducking below the viewing window - and in.

"You were close, but not close enough-"

Harkin turned right into Garrus' curled fist, his gloating cutting off into a pained yelp as the turian felt the cartilage of his nose give way.

Hitting him felt good. The fear in his eyes did too.


Two Years Previously

Garrus Vakarian, Spectre candidate, lingered in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot. Some of the passing CSec officers glanced at him as they passed and at the stern red light of the lock on the door he was waiting next to. Detective Vakarian was still nominally a CSec officer, just as he had been when he'd been on the Normandy, but now he was a proper Spectre candidate.

He'd passed the training courses and he had his own Spectre mentor. Spectres didn't take on trainees everyday; you could pass the training and yet still not get picked. And yet, here he was, locked out of yet another meeting.

Shepard wouldn't have done this. He flinched at the sudden thought. He wasn't even sure it was true; Shepard had listened to him like she had the rest of her crew but she'd kept her own counsel and expected obedience just as his new mentor did. But, he'd known who he'd wanted as a mentor, and when he'd broached it in an email to her, Shepard had been willing - and then she'd died, and for what?

He hoped Williams had gotten back to her barracks safely.

The door opened and he straightened. Spectre Meginia Isalus swept out of Pallin's office. She was a tall, tan-plated turian woman, with sharp yellow eyes and the red and black tattoos of the Sittia region of Gothis. Gothians were known for being backwards and having separatist tendencies - but Isalus had been in Black Watch and then become a Spectre. Her loyalties were without question.

She was a good turian.

"Vakarian," she said, with a twitch of her mandibles, "You made it."

He nodded at the door, "What were you meeting Pallin about?"

"I found a lead," Isalus said simply as she gestured for him to follow her, starting off down the corridor.

The rush of excitement drowned out his annoyance that she hadn't brought him into the meeting. "What did you find?"

This had been the biggest case he'd worked since Saleon, as befitted a Spectre. Organised crime on the wards, with their claws in pies like drug trafficking, extortion and even sapient trafficking, with connections to syndicates on Omega and Illium. Places CSec normally couldn't reach - but a Spectre could, even bringing along a CSec detective she was evaluating. And now, Spectre Isalus believes two of the high ranking members had stolen bits of Sovereign and hidden them from the recovery teams.

She flicked a mandible. "Gillingham has been seen on a shuttle to Illium. He told customs that he was visiting family, but I think it's more likely he's making connections with humans who resent the contracts they've signed and have turned to crime."

The way she spoke of humans was dismissive at best, contemptuous at worst.

"What about Holding?"

"He's still on the Citadel. I want you to keep him under surveillance until I return. It's likely he's guarding the stolen geth wreckage."

"You mean the Reaper wreckage," he challenged.

Isalus stopped, looking over at him with a flat expression, her mandibles drawn close to her jaw, "Vakarian, I know you were fond of the humans you worked with, but be logical."

"I know what I saw," he insisted, "and Shepard wasn't crazy." He'd been there when Shepard had spoken to Sovereign. He didn't think he'd ever forget that horrible speech. You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we demand it. Shepard had always seemed in control, calm, but she'd been afraid then.

"Vakarian," she said, looking put out, "I understand Shepard was very charismatic, but what sounds more likely? That there are a mysterious biomechanical species hiding in dark space ready to eat us all, or that a woman with a history of mental illness broke under the strain of accessing not one but two Prothean beacons? She was brave, no one is discounting her virtues, but that doesn't mean she was right."

For a moment Garrus' entire chest seized with anger. He gritted out, "Talk to - Bau or Matolyt. They saw some of what we did too."

"I'm not having this argument with you again," Isalus dismissed. "We have a job to do, and if you want to be a Spectre, you'll remember that."

He had to look away. "You're going after Gillingham."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes. Remember, watch Holding until I return."

Garrus Vakarian watched Spectre Isalus leave, frustration churning in his guts. He felt like he was screaming, but no one was listening. They were choosing not to listen. If you want to be a Spectre, she had said, and he knew he was shooting that chance in the foot by arguing with her so much, but Shepard deserved better than the way they were speaking about her - with pity, with malicious sympathy, saying her mind had broken under the stress of the beacons. She hadn't been making anything up. He'd seen it too. His friend, his mentor, was dead, and they were making her into a laughingstock.

If you want to be a Spectre.

He was wearing his CSec issue armour, his pistol holstered on his hip. Something crystallized in his head. Something cold and hard, something Castis Vakarian might call stupid or reckless - something Shepard might've said the same thing to. But for Garrus it was like seeing Point A, Point B and the perfectly clear line between them. Clear. No grey.

His locker was nearby, in the CSec armoury. No one questioned him when he retrieved his rifle and then walked out of the CSec headquarters, heading to the nearest rapid transport stand. He was a Spectre candidate after all. He spent the ride down into the Wards writing a hasty email - and queuing when it would send to Pallin. He just needed a little time.

Joseph Holding lived in an apartment on Kithoi Ward. A nice, fancy one without bullet holes in the walls, particularly suspicious considering how many people were still living in temporary housing, and on paper the guy ran a shoe shop.

Holding's wife screamed when Garrus burst in and pointed a gun at her husband.

"Don't try anything," Garrus told him, talon balanced on the trigger. Far beyond stealing bits of potentially mind-bending wreckage, Holding and Gillingham were suspected in at least five murders, including two Duct Rats. Children, whose lives they'd discarded like it was nothing. Maybe Isalus didn't care about that. Maybe CSec didn't. But Garrus cared.

"You got a warrant there, Batman?" Holding sneered. He was tall for a human, with wide shoulders and arms like tree branches.

"No," Garrus said calmly, aim not wavering.

"Well, you better know I'm making a complaint to your superiors-" He reached toward his omnitool.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Or what?" the criminal scoffed, "You'll shoot me?"

"Yes."

Garrus' cool, calm voice finally seemed to erode Holding's confidence, and he slowly raised his hands.

"Come on. We're going to take a trip, you and me."


Garrus' talons gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove, dancing light from holo ads casting strange shadows across the inside of the skycar.

When he looked over at Shepard, she was watching him, face maddeningly neutral. "I'm worried about you, Garrus. You were pretty hard on Harkin."

"Harkin is a bloody menace. He deserved it," he said coolly. Who knew how many people that bastard had gotten killed with his 'services'?

"That doesn't mean you can just shoot an unarmed man." Her face was hidden in shadow, but her voice held disapproval.

"I remember you throwing a man out of a window not too long ago," he snapped.

Shepard flinched. "He was a combatant."

The words lacked the usual strength.

"Is that how you justify it to yourself?" There was a time where he'd wanted Shepard's approval more than anything.

"You're about to fire a sniper rifle into a crowd on a civilian street to get revenge," Shepard looked over at him, the light washing over the dark of her helmet.

"You think I'll miss? CSec trained me for this exact thing - bullet to the head, no one else gets hurt." The irritation crept into his voice. He'd made shots like this before - and Sidonis deserved it. Couldn't Shepard see that?

"You're one of the best shots I've ever seen, but you're a cop, Garrus. You tell me how ricochets work, how many times an innocent person got hit by one or by a bullet fragment?"

"Who's going to bring Sidonis to justice if I don't? Nobody else knows what he's done. Nobody else cares." He was squeezing the steering wheel again, tight. His sniper rifle was in the boot, waiting in its case. He could make this shot a hundred times.

"This isn't about justice," Shepard had her arms crossed, her head now tilted back, "Justice, revenge, they're both about the living. The dead are dead, they don't give a shit anymore. This is about feeling like your heart has been ripped out, and wanting to take it out on someone. I do know how this feels."

"What do you want from me, Shepard?" he looked away from her as he parked the car. They were close to the alleyway he could use to get to his preferred sniper perch. "What would you have done - if Williams hadn't been there when you found Wayne?"

"I probably would've killed him," she admitted in the dark. "And it wouldn't have had a single thing to do with justice."

"So you get that choice, and I don't?" he could feel her eyes on him now.

"Let me talk to him. I'll…stand aside, but let me talk to him."

"Talk all you want, but it won't change my mind," he said flatly, "I don't care what his reasons were, he screwed us…he deserves to die. I'm not you. Why should he go on living while ten good men lie in unmarked graves?"


Archangel was born of Omega. He had killed evil men and women without mercy, because no one else cared and that was the only way he knew to protect Omega's innocent.

Archangel would've put a round in Sidonis' head the moment Shepard stepped aside and spread her arms, looking up at him to say look at him. He's a broken man. It didn't matter that Sidonis couldn't sleep at night or that they'd tortured him until he'd broken. You always had a choice - he'd chosen wrong and ten good men had died.

But Garrus Vakarian lowered his rifle and watched Lantar Sidonis stumble away.


Codex Entry

Service Record - Garrus Vakarian:

Hierarchy Combined Service Database Record

Service Number: 8234T3341A

Name: Vakarian, Garrus

Rank: First Lieutenant (Army)

Age: 28

Place of Origin: Cipritine, Palaven

NOK: Castis Vakarian

Status: Inactive Reserve

Biotic: N

Service History:

Processed by Recruit Administration, 2174

Entered Recruit Training, 2175

Promoted to Recruit

Recommended for officer training

Entered Palaven Officer War School, 2176

Promoted to Officer Trainee

Completes Initial Officer Training, 2177

Promoted to Officer Cadet

Deployed to 15th Palaven Legion, Military Policeman

Attended Palaven Scout-Sniper School

Deployed to Joint Task Force 4 aboard HSV VALIANT, 2178

Promoted to Cadet-Corporal

Assigned team leader

Awarded Battle Star

Commissioned as an officer, 2179

Promoted to Second Lieutenant

Assigned platoon leader, 2nd Platoon, 24th Military Police Company

Promoted to First Lieutenant, 2180

Lateral transfer from Army to Citadel Security

Assigned to Special Response

Passed Detective exam, 2182

Detached on special duty to Office of Special Reconnaissance, 2183

Awarded Star of Valour (Council)

Awarded Distinguished Combat Medal (Systems Alliance)

Awarded Citadel Service Medal

Awarded Eden Prime War Campaign Medal with Wounded in Action clasp

Designated Inactive Reserve, Service Term Not Fulfilled, 2184