Tales from the Citadel

Chapter 12: Shepard versus the Dream

Armax Arsenal Arena had the dubious honour of opening for business during the Reaper War. In spite of—or because of—that, it had fared quite well. A lot of people seemed to enjoy relieving their stress or venting their frustration by shooting holographic enemies until they exploded into pixels.

I was never one of them. At the time, I had enough on my plate trying to fight the Reapers, fight Cerberus, gather allies, gather resources and keep my sanity intact. After the war, I was busy getting patched up and undergoing physical therapy. Now… it still wasn't my main form of entertainment or relaxation, but I had played a few games. Enough to 'unlock' new enemy options and new maps. However, there were a few unintended consequences.

First, I'd apparently made Armax Arsenal Arena more popular. When I started, there were barely any spectators and only a handful of contestants. Now the arena stands, lobby, ticket booths and concession stands were pretty busy, if not packed. If it wasn't for the VIP entrance, I'd never get through the crowds.

The second surprise was that I had fans. That shouldn't have been a surprise, not after the god-awful statue on Elysium. But now I had new fans. Combat sim fans. Thankfully I had a dedicated Armax Arsenal Arena e-mail account, so my work and personal accounts weren't affected, and no one had proposed raising another statue… yet.

Some weren't too bad. 'Number One,' a hanar player from the look of things, was kind enough to tell me that my success could bring out an enthusiastic, but generally harmless, fan base. Rosulinix 'Rose' Praecelsus, a turian bartender on Kithoi Ward, wanted to let me know her bar was playing my matches by popular demand (guess they were tired of having the news on repeat). Elois Errin sent me a homemade spreadsheet to track my hit-to-kill ratios, running times and other metrics—along with links to high-definition instructional vids—all of which might have been helpful if the attachment didn't exceed the allowable file size.

Vereen Silvosus wrote to me about how she and her daughter stumbled across some of my matches. She thought it was good for Pelas to have a non-turian role model, particularly as the kid was 'fascinated with humans'. God help us all. It was her hope that I wouldn't let my fame get the best of me and fall into some terrible scandal. Aside from their taste in 'role models,' I had to say it was one of the more pleasant e-mails. Certainly compared to some of the other ones.

I mean, some of the e-mails were odd. Really, disturbingly odd. Like the e-mail sent by some vorcha player that was in all-caps—still not sure if that was accidental or intentional. Or the long-winded rant from a human woman—I think—about her brother who blew a ton of credits on combat simulator gear 'cuz he wanted to go pro (was there a combat sim professional league out there?) only to become depressed when I inadvertently beat his score (oops) but the upside (once he stopped moping about) was that he might actually get a real job (because enlisting was a bad idea that would probably get him killed). Then there was the e-mail where a woman recorded herself doing a screen capture of my one of my matches and making a 3:1 ratio bust of my head… in cheese. Or the asari who wrote a love poem to me—can you say awkward?

There were a few that I found a bit upsetting. A turian who claimed to be my 'number one fan' seemed to be quite well-versed with human history, up to suggesting that Armax Arsenal create some maps based on human historical events. I might not have minded that, had he—she?—not compared me to Patton, Attila and Vlad Tepes.

Honestly, though, that paled in comparison to the human who wondered whether I knew what humanity needed… because I participated in matches against holographic Cerberus opponents. Apparently, Cerberus was unfairly singled out as the 'whipping boy' of the galaxy. Alas, there was no way that players would fight against Council races or Alliance soldiers—never mind that humanity, which included the Alliance, was considered a Council race—because arena management supposedly took their marching orders from the turians. Oh, but don't worry: this guy assured me he wasn't a racist.

I must admit, there were days where I viewed the process of wading through my Armax Arsenal Arena e-mail—seriously, they should consider finding an acronym or something for that—with a mix of idle curiosity and mild dread. Thankfully, most of the e-mails consisted of fan mail and spam. One day, however, there was an exception:

Subject: Make a wish come true

From: Manava T'Khanna

Dear Commander,

I hope you'll give me a minute of your time, because I'm not a fundraiser. I'm a parent. My daughter Lati was diagnosed with a cerebral tumour a year ago today. After endless tests, the doctors finally went in with microsurgery machines and removed the bad tissue. Her outlook is positive, but the recovery has been slow. She doesn't have full use of her limbs.

Lati wanted to be a huntress when she grew up, but she's afraid that the closest she will come is watching the games in the Citadel combat simulators. When she heard Commander Shepard was playing, she instantly knew what she wanted: to go to the Citadel and see you live. A small charity called Help a Dream brought her here, and now we want to make one small request: that you fight the toughest Reapers in the simulator and dedicate the match to Help a Dream.

Thank you so much. We'll be watching.

Well. This was different.

I quickly got on the comm. "Hey, it's Shepard," I said. "What's your schedule like?"

Okay, it wasn't quite as easy as that. I had to do some prep work first. Yeah, I know. What did I just say? What is this 'prep work' you speak of? Clearly that blow to the head was more serious than anyone thought. Someone call a doctor, stat.

Then again, if I have the opportunity to plan ahead, maybe I should do so. Blundering into a disaster and making shit up on the fly gets real old after a while.

First, I had to do some research. Turns out the Help a Dream Foundation was a legit charity. A relatively new one, but legit all the same. Apparently, its founders were inspired to start it after hearing about Make a Wish—which came from humanity, by the way. That's right: humans were more than aggressive, ignorant new kids on the block. Who knew?

And yes, Latissa T'Khanni—a.k.a. Lati—did in fact have the asari equivalent of brain cancer. Thanks to modern medicine, they were able to remove the tumour—in the middle of a war, no less—and were pretty sure they'd gotten it all. Unfortunately, it wasn't clear as to whether she'd fully recover.

Next, I checked with the lawyers. If I was going to—oh, hell, who was I kidding?—when I did this, I didn't want the galaxy thinking I'd made some deal with Help a Dream on behalf of the Alliance or the Citadel Council. Appearances matter. Unlike a certain human prime minister, I was aware of how bad it could look if politicians and charities were seen jumping into bed together.

The Spectre Office replied first with a longwinded response that showed that even they were not immune to bureaucratese. The short version was that, as long as I wasn't on active duty, I didn't make any claims of representing the Spectres or the Citadel Council, and I didn't cause any scandals, I was free to act as I saw fit. It took much longer to hear back from the Alliance legal department, but it basically amounted to the same thing.

Then I got in touch with Armax Arsenal Arena. One of the benefits of being a platinum member and a war hero was that I could generally contact management without waiting for an eternity. They were delighted to have me come back to play and were more than willing to arrange a special match for charity. Alas, I couldn't bring my entire squad with me—their combat algorithms were only programmed to generate enough holographic enemies for one to three players at a time. With some tweaking, they could accommodate up to six. But that was it. Any more players and management would be considered it as cheating. Fine, I decided. Six would have to do.

Once that was taken care of, I decided to make a statement.

Yes, I'm aware of the contradiction, especially after the lengths I went to make sure I wasn't making an official statement on behalf of the Alliance or the Citadel Council. But consider this: the galaxy wasn't in great shape right now. Everyone was in the beginning stages of recovering from the Reaper War—and that's if they were lucky. More often than not, colonies and worlds were turning inward; hoarding people, tech, ships and resources. And that was just in general.

If you looked at specific races, the news just got worse. The asari seemed to be generating all sorts of drama, thanks to a certain Matriarch who—when she wasn't spewing a non-stop stream of incoherent rants and outrageous statements—was threatening to break up galactic deals and withdraw from galactic treaties and obligations. The salarians had seemingly escalated a simmering disagreement between dalatrasses to a blatant assassination attempt. Humanity's leadership was engulfed in a series of patronage scandals, all of their own making.

That was just the drama that the media was aware of, mind you. For those with official clearance—yes, even those who were supposed to be on shore leave—there were... 'potential situations'. Depending on who you talked to, some turian separatist movement might have up to its old tricks. The batarians may have given up on the idea of democracy and went back to their old dictatorial ways. And the quarians... actually, they weren't making waves. For once.

Bottom line, it might be nice to remind people what could happen if we all worked together—again. Luckily, there were plenty of people who fit that bill.

First up was Garrus. He definitely knew his way around a sniper rifle—don't tell him though, his ego's big enough—and he could help me show how humans and turians could—and should—move past things like the First Contact War. Liara, of course, to prove not all asari were arrogant isolationists who were desperately trying to roll the clock back and pretend they could go it alone. Wrex could remind the galaxy that krogan could step up when it really counted—besides, if I left him out of the fighting, he'd never let me hear the end of it. Tali could show that quarians were good for something besides roaming the galaxy as space bums, illegally creating AIs, trying to hide it through mass genocide, starting an unnecessary war—twice—and basically shirking any and all responsibility for their actions. And EDI, because she'd proven to be an integral member of the squad, because she literally was the heart and soul of the Normandy and because someone had to represent synthetics.

The only downer was that Miranda wouldn't be joining me. Or James—well, he wouldn't have been available anyway considering he was still on Earth somewhere. Or Kaidan. Or Javik. Or Zaeed, Jack or Jacob. But mostly Miranda. Unfortunately, the idea of equal representation from as many races as possible outweighed my desire to fight on camera alongside my girlfriend.

All right. So I had the squad picked out. Now for team arrangements. I'd lead Team One—none of this Mako/Hammerhead crap—with EDI and Wrex fighting alongside me. As for Team Two, Garrus could lead Liara and Tali. Liara because that would give both teams a biotic. Tali because she'd fought under Garrus's command before… and because, as far as I knew, they still hadn't made up. Maybe this would be the first step towards patching up their relationship. Of course, having Garrus open his big mouth and order Tali around could make matters worse but I had to try something.

I made the reservation with Armax Arsenal Arena and confirmed that my squadmates were available. Okay. There was one last thing to do. I got on the comm again.

"Joker here."

"Joker! It's Shepard."

"Hey. So, EDI told me about this combat sim you were planning. For charity?"

"That's right." I gave Joker a quick sitrep on T'Khanna's e-mail. "I was thinking it might be nice to pick her and her daughter up and fly them from wherever they're staying to the arena. Thing is, Lati's in a hoverchair. Don't think a skycar could accommodate her."

"Unless she has a portable, collapsible hoverchair, a skycar's definitely out. Limo might be an option, though."

"I was thinking we could borrow the Normandy's shuttle."

"That could work too."

"Would you be free to fly us over?"

"Probably. Why me? Why not Cortez?"

"Because I thought you'd like to see EDI in action." And because Lati might benefit from meeting Joker and finding out that you didn't need to be a gun-slinging, biotic-hurling grunt to be an active member of the military.

"That would be pretty cool. Count me in."

Good. Now I had to call Steve and explain why his services would not be required.

Lati and Manava had been put up at the Emerson Hotel, a quiet establishment on the Presidium. It wasn't anywhere near the tourist highlights, nor would it win awards for being the biggest, brightest or gaudiest. Which meant it was probably an excellent choice for someone who'd been through more crap than any kid should have to deal with.

I'm pretty sure neither of them was expecting to come to the hotel's rooftop instead of the skycar lot. I know—judging by the way their jaws dropped—they weren't expecting to see me and Joker waiting for them. "Lati?" I said with a smile. "My name's Commander Shepard. I understand you wanted to watch me play in the combat sims."

"You're..." Lati whispered.

"Yes?"

"…you're Commander Shepard."

"So I've been told," I said with a straight face.

"Oh my Goddess, you're Commander Shepard I'm your biggest fan in the galaxy I've been watching you since Elysium and was so excited when you became a Spectre and was so mad when that Saren guy said you were a liar but you proved him wrong and I was so horrified when they said you were killed but you weren't killed I knew it all along and then the Alliance arrested you after Bahak they were so mean but then you had to save us all from the Reapers who came like you said they would but no one would listen and everyone thought this was the end but I knew you would save the day and you did and now you're gonna fight and I'm gonna watch and I can't believe you're here right now!"

Okay. A little over-the-top, but understandable, all things considering. "Well, after everything your mom said, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. You too, Miss T'Khanna."

"Thank you," Manava said, recovering a little faster than her daughter. "I… this is quite an unexpected surprise."

"True," I allowed, "but special circumstances should be made for special occasions. Like today, for instance. Rather than have you take rapid transit over to the arena, I thought I'd give you a lift."

Lati's eyes widened. "Are you going to fly us over in the Normandy?"

Again, I tried to keep a straight face. Mostly. "The Normandy's a bit big to fly through the Presidium. Besides, she's currently undergoing repairs." I thought it best to avoid mentioning that the last thing C-Sec needed was to find out the Normandy was flying through civilian airspace—again. "So I thought we'd take her shuttle instead."

Just when I thought Lati's eyes couldn't get any bigger, they did. "A real shuttle? From the Normandy?"

"That's right," I confirmed. "And while we won't be flying in the Normandy herself, we will be flown by the Normandy's pilot. May I introduce Lieutenant Jeff Moreau." I motioned to Joker, who raised his hand in a brief wave.

"Nice chair," he said. "Avalon 219, right?"

Lati's head snapped towards him so fast, I thought she'd give herself whiplash. "How'd you know?" she blurted out.

"I spent half my childhood in an Avalon 210," he replied. "Different model, same problem. The 210 had a bad habit of leaning to the left. Heard the 211 had the same problem. And the 212. And the 213. Did they finally fix that glitch by the time they rolled out the 219?"

"In a way," Manava said dryly. "Now it leans to the right."

Of course.

"So you had to reset the mass effect field in an asymmetric configuration to compensate."

Manava nodded. "It was that, or have Lati fall out every time it turned around. I'm curious how you know so much about the quirks of the Avalon hoverchairs."

"I've got Vrolik syndrome—also known as brittle bone disease. Had a lot of surgeries in my youth—one of which was because I did fall out of my hoverchair after turning around. After the twelfth or twentieth round in the OR—and a ton of genetic enhancement regimens—I slowly graduated from hoverchairs to crutches and leg braces. The last genetic booster finally let me ditch the crutches and braces. Now I just hobble around like an old man."

"But don't let his 'old man' routine fool you," I added. "He can make the Normandy dance."

"Soar," he corrected. "Like a leaf on the wind."

"Then perhaps you can guide this leaf to the arena," I suggested. "I believe Lati and her mother have a game to watch."

"Aye, Commander," Joker nodded. "C'mon, Lati. Let's get you settled in."

As we flew over, I talked to Lati and Manava. They came from Agessia, a planet that faced a non-stop stream of volcanic activity, solar winds and magnetic bombardment. Normally, you'd think that wasn't a selling feature, but it turned out to have an unexpected benefit: the magnetic fields and amounts of airborne volcanic ash caused a great deal of sensor interference. As a result, the asari were able to keep their underground colonies and palladium and molybdenum mines hidden from the Reapers. Manava had the unenviable task of figuring out how to sneak convoys past Reaper patrols while simultaneously looking after Lati—the dad had been recalled to active service during the war and, unfortunately, had been killed on Menae.

Not that I forgot about the VIP. Lati and I spent the whole trip chatting. Apparently, she had just turned thirty—God, I feel old. The last year had been hard, considering she celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday with a double-whammy of bad news. First, she couldn't go anywhere because her colony was trying not to get noticed—and wiped out—by the Reapers. Second, her doctor had to sit her down and tell her she had a brain tumour. At the time, she didn't know how to process her predicament. It was bad enough thinking that her life—social as well as literal—was over. How could things get any worse? Well, she found out the lesson I'd learned time and time again: never tempt the universe. It just loves to smack you down and doesn't care how low you're feeling.

Lati's first response was to seek solace in the extranet. Not surprisingly, it wasn't a satisfactory outcome. Extranet connections were spotty, considering how one of the first things the Reapers did when they invaded was to target and destroy as many comm buoys as possible to isolate star systems and hamper galactic coordination. When she finally got through, it didn't take long before she realized how hopeless things were. Who cared about celebutantes and vid stars when she was dying? How could you find hope when the news kept telling you how many colonies and planets were lost and how many millions of people were dying?

Just when she was about to give up, she ran across Emily Wong's article about the genophage finally being cured. Despite everything I had done to emphasize that it was a team effort, a substantial amount of space had been dedicated to my role. That's when she got hooked. Finally, Lati said, someone who was trying to do something, instead of sitting back like the asari matriarchs and hoping this whole Reaper thing would blow over. She began following the war in earnest, specifically looking for news about my exploits. The more she read, the more she wondered about what else could happen, now that the genophage cure had become a reality. Maybe the Reapers could be defeated. Maybe she could walk again. Maybe she could be a huntress. Those dreams kept her through her surgery and during her lengthy recovery. Well, that and a growing interest in combat simulation matches.

I guess you could say she regarded me as a role model of sorts. Of course, if that was really true, she'd be lighting fires left and right, poking her nose into things that were none of her business and swiping everything that wasn't nailed down. Ah well. Baby steps.

We arrived at the arena without incident. Much to my delight, there were no reporters. Last thing I wanted was to turn this into a media circus. Lati and her mother had been through enough. The manager, Demetrius, was waiting for us. Thankfully, he kept his usual borderline sycophantic gushing to a minimum, focusing entirely on welcoming Lati, Manava and Joker to the VIP booth. That last bit was unexpected but I decided to let it pass. I did rope Joker into this with the promise of watching the match, after all. Certainly Joker wasn't complaining.

"Okay, Lati," I said once the guests of honour were settled in. "This is where we part ways. I gotta meet up with my squad and get ready for the match."

"Kick some Reaper ass, Commander!" she cheered.

"Copy that," I grinned. To Manava, I said "Again, it was great to finally meet you. I hope you and Lati enjoy the match."

"I'm sure we will," she smiled. "And thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure."

With that, I left to join my squadmates and suit up. They were waiting for me when I arrived at the locker room. "Late as always," Garrus teased me.

"Like a wise man once said, I'm never late," I said with mock seriousness. "I arrive precisely when I mean to."

I let Garrus ponder that while I patted Wrex on the shoulder. "Wrex, glad you could make it."

"Of course I'd come. You princesses would fall apart without me."

"EDI. How're you doing?"

"All systems are operating with normal parameters. Also, I am doing well. Thank you."

"Great. Liara, thanks for coming."

"My pleasure, Shepard."

"Tali, glad you agreed to join us."

"Of course. Thanks for inviting me."

I quickly changed and gathered my weapons. "All right," I said. "You know why we're here: to make a little girl's dream come true. And to remind everyone what can happen when we all work together. Remember your training, watch each others' backs and remember that the only thing these 'Reapers' can hurt is our pride—and that's only if we lose. Now let's get out there, kick some ass and have some fun!"

Most people would agree that I'd gone to a fair amount of trouble to make today a special occasion for Lati, which was why I was kinda disappointed to see the simulated combat zone look like just another room that you might see on a starship or space station. The centre of the arena consisted of an elevated platform, accessible by stairs on all four sides. Every area had some kind of cover. The floor-to-ceiling vid-screens on each wall showed a never-ending stream of objects—asteroids, maybe?—spinning by. The more I looked, the more it seemed like we were in one of those retro carnival rides, the one that strapped you in and spun you around and around. Luckily none of us suffered from vertigo, or we might puke right on the spot. Hardly a good way to start the match.

I later learned that the arena had considered setting this match in a real-world setting, but they were worried that they might upset viewers who would recognize the location and be abruptly reminded of someone they had lost. Political correctness can go too far at times, but I could see how people might still be grieving and their wounds might be too raw. The Reaper War had only ended a short time ago, after all. A little courtesy and sensitivity would not go amiss.

"Let's start by taking the high ground," I said.

As we moved up the stairs, the VI stirred to life. "Commander Shepard is dedicating this match to the Help a Dream Foundation," it announced.

All things considered, I was more focused on finding where our ersatz adversaries would spawn. "Looks like the hostiles are coming from there," I said, pointing to the holographic Reapers that had materialized in front of us. "You know your assignments. Team One will stay here. Team Two, go around and try to flank them."

As we moved into position, the VI began counting down. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Round one."

My playlist had already been cued up. As soon as I heard the words 'round one,' I hit the play button and the song I selected began playing—quietly, as I didn't want to drown out any orders we might give each other—over our private squad channel.

"Although I couldn't afford it,
I bought a beat-up guitar.
I worked 'till four in the morning,
in a broken down bar.

"This is why we fight.
This is why we fight."

Thanks to my orders, Team Two was heading down the stairs to my right, which meant Team One got the first kill. Specifically, a Marauder appeared, took a step forward and promptly lost most of its shields from EDI's EMP. I collapsed the shields with a shot from my sniper rifle. Wrex lobbed a lift grenade, whose biotic field yanked the Marauder and several spider-like Swarmers into the air. Then I set them all on fire.

It was far too soon to breathe a sigh of relief, though. Especially as all those Swarmers had to come from somewhere. Sure enough, amidst the rain of embers from barbequed monstrosities, I spotted a Ravager. And another Marauder. And a Brute. We were getting a smorgasbord of Reaperfied horrors and the first round wasn't even over yet. "Team One, focus fire on the Ravager. Team Two, take out the Marauder."

The way I saw it, as long as the Ravager was alive, it would keep spitting out Swarmers that would charge at us in a suicidal rush. And that's assuming it didn't blow us up with its artillery cannons. As for the other hostiles, the Brute was by far the greater threat, but the Marauder could be taken out a lot faster. As long as the Reapers didn't get any more reinforcements—

"Shepard, we've got another Brute and Ravager coming from your three o'clock."

Aw, crap. That changed everything. "Understood, Garrus. You deal with your buddies, we'll deal with ours." Switching over to Team 1's channel, I said "Looks like we're on our own. EDI, Wrex: target the Brute instead. I'll take care of the Marauder."

Knowing I couldn't afford to be delayed for long, I immediately locked onto the Marauder and zapped it with an EMP. It was still twitching when I put two shots right between its beady little eyes. Ejecting my clip, I paused to see how everyone else was doing.

So far, so good, I decided. It had been less than a minute, but EDI and Wrex had already made a lot of progress in whittling down the Brute's defences. Wrex occasionally broke off to take out any Swarmers scuttling our way, but generally stuck to the plan I'd established. Meanwhile, Team Two had chosen to focus fire on the Ravager, as Tali's drone was able to keep the Brute at bay.

Everything seemed to be under control. Time to shoot something. I started off with a stream of piping hot plasma before raising my sniper rifle and drilling a hole right through the Brute's ugly head. Somehow, it stayed on its feet. I scowled, aimed and fired again. It wasn't down yet! I aimed—

—and watched as Wrex took it out with a burst of gunfire from his assault rifle. Some people would be pissed at him for poaching 'their' kill. I, however, am too professional for that. Most of the time. Biting back any comments, I turned my attention to the Ravager. I fired the last shot in my clip, launched another fireball and ducked down to reload. EDI followed my lead, shooting another burst of plasma and rapidly snapping off shots from her heavy pistol. Wrex just stood up and howled happily as he hosed down the Ravager with lead, his biotic barriers soaking up any return fire.

Once the Ravager was down, I consulted my HUD. Team Two had finished off the Brute and were making short work of the Ravager. However, another Brute/Ravager team had just spawned over to our right. So rather than celebrate the fact that I'd achieved a nice little kill streak, I decided to deal with the party crashers. How, you ask? With a fireball, of course. One that EDI ignited with an electrical spark. And then, because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, EDI launched her own fireball. Wrex set it off with one of his lift grenades. And then, because we hadn't had enough explosions yet, I threw a sticky grenade that adhered to the Brute's face… before it blew up. As for the Ravager, we decided to go with the gold standard: riddling its body with bullets.

"Round one is over," the VI announced.

We quickly reloaded our weapons. I searched for thermal clips and distributed them as needed. The holographic Reapers told me the hostiles would be coming from the high ground. So be it. "Team Two, cover the left stairs; Team One will stay here. Together, we'll catch them in a crossfire."

"Now every morning when I wake up.
I put another bullet in my coffee cup.
Oh come on, darling.

"There's a war on our TV.
But it's all right.
In our bedrooms, we are free.

Deep in the guts of me.
I love you violently.
Until the dawn's early light.
This is why we fight."

Speaking of fighting, Garrus had just gotten his team in position when the countdown began. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Round two."

Two Brutes and a Ravager materialized in front of us. They took up so much space, you could be forgiven for missing the trio of husks behind them. Luckily, Liara had the presence of mind to take the husks out of play with a singularity. Using my HUD, I highlighted one of the Brutes. Didn't really matter which one. The important thing was that we concentrated our fire and took that giant monster down ASAP.

As we attacked with a never-ending series of biotics, plasma and bullets, it seemed like the Brute's armour integrity bounced all over the map. Looking back, there was so much going on that my sensors had trouble keeping up, flipping between one Brute and the other like a ping-pong ball. By the time the first Brute went down, the second was also in rough shape, having soaked up a great deal of collateral damage. It would have gone down in seconds, but we were a little distracted by the husks running around like civvies hopped up on caffeine and red sand. Still, they were all dispatched in short order.

Which was a good thing considering there were two brand-spanking new Brutes stomping down the stairs towards me. Well, me and the rest of Team One. I think the universe was tinkering with the combat sim algorithms. "Target the lead Brute," I ordered, hoping that would stall both of the behemoths. "Weapons free."

The squad began a series of alternating fireballs and biotic blasts, in between a non-stop barrage of gunfire, which practically tore the first Brute apart. However, the second Brute managed to leap through, ignoring the gaping wounds it had suffered. It came to a halt before me, as if it was being held up by a literal wall of bullets. And yet, it forced itself to take one more step forward. And another. Before it could get close enough to reach out and start pulling my limbs off, I exercised the better part of valour. Which is to say I activated my cloak and ran like hell.

No, I didn't bolt from the arena screaming like a baby. I just put a little distance between me and the Brute before turning around and blowing its head off with a shot from my sniper rifle. That scored me another kill streak. Woohoo!

Most of us had probably forgotten about the Ravager. Thankfully, Tali—probably at Garrus's bequest—had been keeping it busy with her drone. Now that we had dealt with all the other hostiles, we could give the walking siege cannon our undivided attention.

"End of round two."

Needless to say, it didn't take long. As soon as the digital dust settled, we reloaded, passed around thermal clips to anyone who need it and patiently waited. Well, my squad patiently waited. I ran across the field just to hit this holographic diamond. What? It said 'Bonus'. What am I supposed to do?

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Final round."

Spotting the holographic Reapers helpfully standing in the distance, we knew where to aim. So when the Brutes came lumbering into view, we were ready. Biotics. Plasma. Bullets. Boom. The first Brute went down like a sack of potatoes. The husk tagging along like a mindless puppy didn't fare any better. Looking around, I started to issue orders to tackle the second Brute.

Then I saw the Banshee. It wasn't anywhere near us, but I'd recognize that obscenely pregnant Reaperfied asari anywhere. Besides, with its ability to teleport short distances, it would be all over us if we didn't do something. "Team One on the Brute, Team Two on the Banshee," I quickly ordered.

The Banshee picked that moment to teleport. Maybe its ears were burning. In any event, when it rematerialized, Liara was waiting with a biotic blast. So was Garrus with his concussive round. And Tali with her ever-reliable drone. I allowed myself to fire a single shot at the Banshee from my sniper rifle before switching targets to the Brute. Two shots and the clip was spent.

This time, I didn't reload. Instead, I switched to my submachine gun. Not the most ideal weapon for Brutes and Banshees, but what it lacked in penetrating power it made up for in the sheer volume of bullets. Besides, it seemed to take down the Brute just fine. With some help from EDI, Wrex and the fireballs from my omni-tool, of course.

No time to rest on our laurels, though. There was another Brute, along with a pair of husks, coming in hot. And since Team Two was still working on the Banshee—seriously, what was taking them so long—it looked like it was up to Team One. "EDI, Wrex; target the Brute," I said. "I'll keep the husks off your back."

Since they didn't need to worry about being mauled by husks, EDI and Wrex were free to let loose. The Brute went down fast. Real fast. I knew we'd fought almost a dozen Brutes by this point, and practice does make perfect, but still. Part of me wondered if the arena had nerfed an otherwise-devastating opponent. Then I told myself to concentrate on the husks—not that that was a difficult task. The submachine gun was better suited for dealing with the fast-moving husks and they were pretty far away to begin with. I'm not saying they just stood there and waited to be slaughtered but, honestly, I'd had more stressful situations. And it was an easy way to achieve yet another kill streak.

Once the hostiles were all eliminated—yes, Team Two had finally finished the Banshee—I consulted my HUD. Three more targets. One was a husk that bolted out into the open and was taken down just as quickly. The other two were a Brute and a Banshee. "Team One will deal with the Banshee," I decided. Time to show Garrus, Tali and Liara how to deal with those horrors. "Team Two, take care of the Brute."

I started by firing a quick burst from my submachine gun, draining a little bit of power from the Banshee's biotic barriers. As I expected, the Banshee responded by blinking forward and to the left. Unfortunately, EDI was expecting such a response. As soon as she'd confirmed the Banshee's new location, EDI let loose with another stream of plasma. Wrex immediately responded with his biotics, causing an explosion that shattered the Banshee's barriers.

Seeing that, I quickly swapped weapons and slammed a thermal clip into my sniper rifle. My first shot caused the Banshee to stagger briefly before blinking away to the right. I followed its path and launched a fireball, which EDI was quick to ignite. The Banshee barely had time to respond with a biotic blast at Wrex—which he shrugged off like a champ—before I blew its head apart with a shot right between its glowing eyes.

"The match goes to Shepard."

The VI went on to explain that this match had been brought to us by Rosenkov Materials, but that didn't matter. Not when I looked up and saw Lati cheering at the top of her lungs.

The next day, I opened my e-mail. More reports of political unrest. More spam. More creepy fan mail. And a request to dedicate my next match to the xenophobes of Terra Firma. Great. Just great.

But then I saw this e-mail.

Subject: Why We Fight

From: Manava T'Khanna

Dear Commander,

Thank you. My daughter always says you aren't just a soldier… you're a hero. Now I know what the difference is.

We'll never forget you or what you did for us.

Maybe I couldn't solve all the galaxy's problems. Maybe I couldn't make everything right. But for one day, I made a little girl's dream come true.

Maybe for now, that was good enough.

Song of the Day: Why We Fight, by Fast Romantics