Chapter 36: The Picture in the Citadel

In the end, I didn't pull the plug.

I could say it was because he wasn't going to get off that easy. I could say he had to answer for his crimes. I could say I wasn't about to become judge, jury and executioner in a misguided attempt to assuage my guilt. I could even say that I wasn't a medical professional and it wasn't my place to make those kinds of decisions.

But, ultimately, I didn't help him die because it didn't feel right. Maybe it was the merciful thing to do. But it didn't feel right.

After all that, I needed a break. Something more uplifting. So I was happy to help this salarian director guy out. Solik Vass was trying to make a documentary about the refugee situation on the Citadel. His aim was to make the galaxy understand what they were going through—their loss, their sacrifices, their moments of bravery—and shock the apathetic masses into action. Unfortunately, C-Sec thought he'd be too disruptive and wouldn't let him through the security screens. That's where I came in. All he needed was a couple good omni-tool shots—good being defined by what fit the documentary's 'tone.' Artistic types are so picky. But I got enough shots to satisfy him. I even got some credits for my trouble.

I should've known things were going too well. Something had to give. And boy, did it ever.

It started as I was walking through one of the refugee camps. Some doctor was on the comm, bitching up a storm. Didn't take much to overhear what he was saying: "I need support! Someone sabotaged the medi-gel dispensers, and I've got some idiot preaching about Cerberus down here! No, I've contacted C-Sec. They said it's not a priority and it doesn't matter! (1) What matters is that I've got turian soldiers dying for lack of medication!"

My mind flashed back to a conversation I had with Garrus and how turian soldiers were being ferried here—when they weren't being slaughtered by the regiment—because there was nowhere else to tend to their wounded. And now those wounded were at risk of death. Even if we didn't need every able soldier back on their feet, someone had to do something. And I guess that someone had to be me.

Having made that decision, I began wandering around looking for broken medi-gel dispensers. It didn't take long before I found one. The tricky part was fixing the damn things. Thank God for the extranet, downloadable instruction manuals and having way too much time on my hands.

I was just replacing the dispenser's access panel when I heard someone say "Cerberus wants our help! And if Cerberus is good enough for Commander Shepard, it should be good enough for us!"

Sounds like I'd found my idiot. I moved towards the voice, weaving my way through the crowd. Before I knew it, I'd found him. I took a good look…

…I stared with a growing sense of horror…

…and my head dropped in dismay, as I realized the universe had once again decided to have a laugh at my expense. "Oh, for the love of…" I muttered.

Before I could throw up my hands and run away screaming, the idiot saw me. "Commander Shepard! It's me, Conrad Verner!"

I know.

"Wow, it's great to see you again!"

That makes one of us.

"Look, I joined Cerberus too!"

I took a deep breath. Then another. Then another, just for good measure. When I was sure I'd suppressed the urge to slap some sense into the nitwit, no matter how much he might've deserved it, I opened my mouth. "Conrad, I'm not working with Cerberus."

"You're… not?"

"I've been fighting against them ever since the Reapers invaded. Hell, they tried to kill the Council a few months ago. You really think I'd join them after all that?"

Yes, I worked with—not for—Cerberus last year. No, I didn't say that aloud. Because if political leaders, colleagues of various stripes and random strangers had trouble grasping the extenuating circumstances and caveats behind that unasked-for association, there was no way in hell Conrad Verner would understand. Best to keep it short and simple.

It took a while for him to process what I had said. I swear I could see the gears slowly turning as he thought it through. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it finally hit home. "Oh, no," he mumbled as his face slackened. "I screwed up again, didn't I?"

Ya think?

"Just… I'm sorry if I ever accused you of pointing a gun at me when you didn't actually do that. I was really stressed out."

Okay, that was an unexpected detour. But at least I knew what he was talking about. It all started on the Citadel three years ago when I had the misfortune of bumping into 'my biggest fan.' First, he asked for my autograph. Then he asked for my picture. Then he asked for me to endorse his candidacy to join the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Somehow, he had gone from meeting his 'idol' to deciding he was qualified to become the next Spectre.

I managed to talk him out of that hare-brained idea. Then I died. Then I was brought back to life as a cybernetic ninja zombie and found myself investigating abductions of human colonies, dealing with my name being besmirched, recruiting people with a similar lack of self-preservation and prepping for what seemed like a suicide mission to stop the Collectors. I did not expect to run into Conrad Verner on Illium. Nor had I expected to see him in replica N7 armour, fighting crime as a supposed deep cover Alliance operative. And I certainly didn't expect him to take my 'you can do so much better than becoming a Spectre' speech and turn it into "'you shoved a gun in my face and showed me what it meant to be truly extreme.'"

So you can imagine how surprised I was to hear that he had finally figured it out for himself. Mind you, he had decided that his new vocation—in line with following his 'hero'—was to become a Cerberus spokesperson. The more things change…

"Don't worry about it," I sighed. "Look, what can you tell me about your Cerberus contacts?"

"Not much," he admitted. "They wanted me to help recruit people near the medical station."

Aha! "You wanna know why?"

"Sure."

"They wanted you to distract everyone while they sabotaged the medi-gel dispensers. No medi-gel means more sick people everywhere."

The look of horror, which had briefly gone away, suddenly came back. "Oh. Oh, wait. Wait, wait… no."

"I'll deal with it," I quickly reassured him. "Just stay here. Stay here and don't… do, um, anything."

"Okay!" he said with way too much perkiness. "But I might be able to help you with… whatever you're doing now that isn't Cerberus."

It was all I could do to keep the smirk off my face. "Conrad, I'm looking into ancient Prothean tech revolving around dark energy to stop the Reapers. Can you help me with that?"

I froze as the words left my lips. Mentally, I replayed the last two sentences. My stomach dropped as I realized I'd just blissfully violated operational security. I'd just blabbed out the biggest and most important secret of the war. The universe could very well be doomed because I'd had to deal with Conrad Verner one too many times. What had I done?

"Well, I did write my doctoral dissertation on xenotechnology and dark energy integration. So, yeah. I think I can."

Okay. Now the universe was on the cosmic equivalent of the floor, rolling around and howling hysterically. I stared at him in disbelief. Then I rubbed my eyes and stared at him. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was being serious. "Really?"

"Yes! I can send it to you. And I may be able to find some tech for you. Just hang on a moment. I've got an old contact. Former employee of ExoGeni."

He activated his comm and punched in a number. "Hey, it's me. I need a…"

He paused. "Aw, come on, Hossle. Help me out!" To me, he said "Sorry. The war has him scared."

I started at that name. Where had I heard it before…? "Wait a second. You said this Hossle used to work with ExoGeni? Would that be Gavin Hossle?"

"Uh… yeah…"

"I did him a favour once on Feros. Tell him this is for me."

"I had no idea you two knew each other!" he marvelled. "Small universe, huh? Hang on… Hossle? Look, this is for Commander Shepard. He said he helped you on Feros? Yeah? Well, he needs any Prothean stuff you might have. You have some schematics? Really? Great!"

Conrad looked at me. "Okay, he's forwarding the schematics over… now." He pulled up the data on his omni-tool's holographic display and looked at it. "Oh, no. This isn't any language my omni-tool's familiar with. Best guess is… some ancient asari dialect. Without something to help with the translation, these schematics won't be any good."

"Hang on," I frowned. "Let me think. Um…" I brightened as a thought hit me. I turned on my own omni-tool and accessed the Normandy's database. "About three years ago, I gathered a collection of asari matriarch writings. Would they help?"

Conrad gawked at me as I sent the collection to him. "Um, yes. Yes, it would. Okay, it's auto-translating. Let's see… oh, no. Some of this tech already falls under an existing patent. I can't actually access the schematics without a current license from… let's see… Elkoss Combine."

Wordlessly, I transmitted the authorization codes from the Elkoss Combine license Traynor requested from EDI a while back.

"How did you even…" Conrad's look of shock turned into elation. "Well, this is great!" He tapped his omni-tool. "Okay. Translated tech schematics, unlocked and ready to go. I'll forward them to you along with my dissertation. Hope this helps you stop the Reapers!"

So to summarize: I got some more help for the Crucible thanks to an idiot fan who somehow got a doctorate in xenoscience, a freelance researcher who I'd helped three years ago and a collection of old asari crap I gathered while aimlessly wandering around the galaxy when I should've been hunting down a rogue Spectre. (2) I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't experienced it myself.

"Anyway, good luck fixing the medi-gel dispensers. I'll just be here… not touching anything."

I found a second broken medi-gel dispenser. After fixing it, I doubled back to make sure Conrad hadn't gone anywhere. Or done anything. To my surprise, he'd done neither. He was still standing there, staring into space with a silly grin on his face. "Hey, Shepard!" he greeted me.

"Conrad," I nodded. "Hey, weren't you running a shelter for war orphans on Illium?"

"Yeah. It was doing well until the Reapers attacked."

Oh.

"Ended up spending most of what I had left getting the kids off world. I'm sorry if that was—"

"No," I shook my head. "You did the right thing."

"Really?" he said hopefully.

"Really," I assured him, clapping him on the shoulder.

For once, I meant it. Conrad might be an idiot, but he meant well. His decision to start that shelter, and his subsequent decision to evac them using his own credits, might have made up for all his screw-ups and then some.

"Wow," Conrad said. "Thanks."

After fixing a third medi-gel dispenser, I checked in on Conrad again. "You doing okay?"

"I'm doing great," he beamed. Then he actually got serious. "Listen, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you really think you'll defeat the Reapers?"

"We'll defeat them or we'll die trying. There's no other option."

"Yeah, okay."

Conrad thought about that. And thought about it some more. I was just about to turn and leave when he said "Listen, another question. Do you really think you'll defeat the Reapers?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "You just asked me that, Conrad."

"Sorry. I like to ask all the questions I can think of and sometimes I forget which ones I've asked already."

He liked to ask all the questions he could think of. That kinda sounded like… oh no. No, no, no, no, no. "I-I should go," I stammered. "Over, um, there." I raised a shaky hand and pointed in some random direction.

"Okay! Nice talking to you!"

About five minutes later, I found and fixed my fourth medi-gel dispense. So I decided to go back and make sure Conrad was still obeying my orders. Better safe than sorry, I figured.

Thankfully, he was still there. "Seems this place is hard-pressed for supplies," I said. "I think I saw some guys fighting over a thermal clip."

He looked at me blankly. "A what?"

"A thermal clip. They stop weapons from overheating. Sorry, just a joke."

"Wait… where did these 'thermal clips' come from? I thought weapons cooled down."

"They used to," I replied. "After the geth attack a few years back, we switched to thermal clips."

"Well, that sounds like a major step backwards," he snorted. "Why did we do that?"

"It lets gun fire with more power and soldiers can pop in a new clip instead of waiting for the gun to cool."

"Fine, sure. You can still wait for your gun to cool down on its own, though, right?"

"Well, no. The in-gun cooling tech was sacrificed to make room for the thermal clips."

"Okay, that's just…" Conrad broke off with a laugh. "You might as well be going back to limited ammunition."

He was actually making sense. I'd thought the same thing myself when I first heard of thermal clips. To say this was unexpected would be a colossal understatement. But then, after curing the genophage and bringing an end to the conflict between the quarians and the geth, I guess anything was possible.

"It's not ammunition, Conrad. Not technically, anyway."

"I just don't think it's a very good idea."

"Well I'll be sure to let every military organization in the galaxy—all of whom have also switched to thermal clips—know that," I said without a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

"That's the spirit! If anyone can change their minds, you can."

Oh God.

I did a final sweep of the refugee camp. As far as I could tell, I'd located and repaired every medi-gel dispenser in the refugee camp's clinic. More importantly, Conrad was still standing in the exact same spot where I'd found him. He had an idiotic grin on his face that probably came from the sheer joy of seeing his idol several times in the same day. All the industrial-strength bleach in the galaxy might not be enough to wipe that horrific image from my mind.

Having said that, the idiot had helped me. A bit. So it wasn't that much of an effort to ask him whether he'd lost anyone back on Earth.

"Nope. I mean, extranet friends and such, sure. But I don't really have any family left."

"What about your wife? You know, the one who'd bought that fake N7 hardsuit and ticket to Illium?"

…

"Well?"

"Um…"

Oh for crying out loud! "Conrad," I said patiently, "do you even have a wife?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Really?"

"Well, no. But see…"

I lifted a finger to silence him, closed my eyes and counted to three. Then I extended that to ten. And again to thirty. And finally to sixty. "Conrad," I said at last, "if you have some kind of weird shrine dedicated to me, I'm going to be very unhappy."

He looked hurt. I almost felt ashamed for myself.

"It's just a poster with a few candles."

And just like that, the shame was gone.

"It's very tasteful."

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help but shudder.

"Hey, shouldn't you go repair those medical stations? I mean, people are dying, right?"

And now he was making sense. I turned around wordlessly and walked away, wondering why the hell this kind of thing always happened to me.

I found the refugee doctor who'd alerted me to this comedy of errors in the first place. "Excuse me? Commander Shepard, Office of Special Tactics and Recon. I heard about your problem and fixed the sabotage. The medi-gel dispensers should be working now."

It was as if I'd taken a giant weight off his shoulders. Which, come to think of it, I probably had. "Thank you!" he said sincerely. "I'll get patients moving through triage immediately!" (3)

I might've said something else, but the doctor was in a hurry. More importantly, a certain idiot had finally decided to forget my instructions about staying put, followed me to the clinic and was cheerfully waving to me. I sighed in resignation as he trotted over like a puppy.

"Great work, Shepard! And listen, I'm sorry for…"

He trailed off and looked over my shoulder. "Hey, that's him! That's my Cerberus contact." Before I could say anything, he called out: "Hey! Hey you! You're under arrest!"

For the record, that was the worst possible thing to do. Before the blood could drain from my face, the man looked at him, looked at me and pulled out a gun.

Time seemed to slow down. I watched him raise his gun and point it at me. All I could think of was… great. So this was how I'd meet my end. Not by some husk clawing the crap out of me. Not by some merc filling my body with lead. Not by some Cerberus goon decapitating me with a sword. But by Conrad Verner, my biggest fan.

I glimpsed some movement out of the corner of my eye.

I saw Conrad Verner dive in front of me, shouting "Nooooooooooooo!"

I heard a gunshot.

I saw Conrad Verner collapse on the ground.

Taking a step forward, I knocked out the Cerberus agent with one punch. Reaching down, I secured his pistol and patted him down for any other surprises. Once I was satisfied he wouldn't be causing any more trouble, I hurried back to Conrad.

"Shepard," he whispered as I began running a medical scan with my omni-tool. "Shepard… did I help?"

There was only one thing I could possibly say. "Yeah, Conrad," I said quietly. "You helped."

I watched as a smile slowly spread across his face. "I don't even feel anything," he marvelled.

A beep told me my scan was complete. The results—or lack thereof—dispelled anything I might've said. "That's because you weren't hit," I frowned. "He must've missed."

"Actually, I sabotaged his gun. It might've looked and sounded like it fired, but that was just the thermal clip overheating."

I turned around to see a human woman deactivating her omni-tool. She was wearing the kind of clothes you'd typically find on the docks—leather, well-fitted, left the shoulders bare but covered everything else. For some reason, she looked familiar. "Hi," I said.

"Hi, Commander. It's me. Jenna. You helped me a few years ago when I was working undercover at Chora's Den."

That's right! She was working for a C-Sec detective named Chellick, trying to track illegal weapon mods. On behalf of her sister, I convinced Chellick to pull her out in exchange for helping him with his investigation by buying some mods from a krogan arms dealer. "And now you're volunteering here?" I asked.

"Right," she nodded. "Chellick showed me a few little tricks when he had me working undercover. Guess that paid off, huh?"

Conrad stepped forward before I could reply. "You… you saved my life!" he said in awe.

"I can't believe you were willing to lay down your life for Commander Shepard. You're so brave!" Jenna gushed.

The two of them exchanged nauseatingly dreamy looks. Conrad somehow came to his senses first. "Oh, the commander and I go way back," he grinned. "Let me give you a hand and I can tell you about it."

The two of them walked off, so intent in exchanging stories that they didn't even think of saying goodbye. Frankly, I considered myself lucky for getting off so easily.

Any elation I felt was tempered when I saw Cortez.

He and James were standing by a makeshift memorial wall that the refugees had set up at some point to commemorate the loss of all their loved ones. It was covered with photos and pictures of men and women and children of various species. The floor around it was cluttered with bouquets of flowers, offerings of food, candles, incense and various items of significance. I hurried over to join them.

"Hey," I said gently to Cortez.

James nodded silently to me.

Cortez stared at the wall before lifting the datapad he was holding in his hand. "I've just been standing here, holding this for I don't know how long."

That datapad contained the last recording of his husband, I realized. Robert was at Ferris Fields when the Collectors attacked. His last act was to warn Cortez, who was working on a remote station near the colony, ask him not to attempt any rescue, but to escape before it was too late and move on with his life. Cortez had done all but the last part.

Now, perhaps, he was ready to let himself grieve. Ready to let him go. "He'll always be a part of me," he choked.

"Yeah, he will," I agreed. "No one can take that away. Laying him to rest won't mean you'll forget about him. He was your husband. He's part of your past. That'll never change."

I stopped talking and waited. The next move was his.

"He'll always be a part of me," he repeated before taking a deep breath. "But it's time to move on."

Slowly, he walked towards the memorial wall. Coming to a halt, he activated the datapad. "I love you," Robert's voice said, "but I know you. Don't make me an anchor. Promise me, Steve."

"Goodbye, Robert," Cortez cried. Bending over, he laid the datapad down next to a bouquet of white roses. There were tears streaming down his face as he stood up. James and I each took a step forward and clapped him on the shoulder. We stood there for a minute, each paying our respects in our own way.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," I replied.

"Come on, Esteban," James said. "There's gotta be a bar here that sells decent tequila. And I'm buying."

I resumed my random wandering throughout the docks. That's how I found Zaeed. He was busy staring down a batarian. "What're you staring at?" he snarled.

"Nothing," the batarian hastily replied, holding up his hands. "Nothing, I swear."

"Busy making friends, Zaeed?" I asked as the batarian fled for his life.

"Wondered if you'd ever show up, Shepard," he said. "Figured you'd be too busy recruiting goddamn armies for this war you're in charge of."

"Please don't say that," I groaned. "If word gets out that I'm 'in charge,' I could really get in trouble."

We shared a laugh, though mine was more rueful than anything else. "That being said," I added, "I could always use more help."

"I'll bet," he nodded. "I've seen footage of what happened on Earth. Tell you what: I'll see if some old contacts of mine are still around. Can't promise you anything, but if enough of them are still breathing… I can lend a hand."

Another thought occurred to me. "And if not, maybe there's another way you can help. You know the current leader of the Blue Suns?"

"Vosque?" Zaeed shook his head. "Don't remind me. Little scumbag shot his mouth off on a patrol mission once. Got half his squad killed. Real popular after that. We couldn't boot his arse from the Suns fast enough. If I'd known he'd weasel his way back in and work his way up the ranks, well, I'd have ended his tenure with a bullet."

"Well if you can't get enough contacts together, maybe you can help me—and Aria—keep Vosque in line," I suggested. "And if he brings up the idea of sleeping with Aria—again—do me a favour and record what she does."

He cracked his knuckles. "It'd be a goddamn pleasure."

"Thanks," I said. "And listen: I hope you're not beating yourself up about that last job. There's no way you could've known Korlack stopped working for Cerberus."

"That's no excuse," he spat. "I kill Korlack and I'd have done right by Cerberus. No, the way I see it, those bastards owe me."

"For what?" I wanted to know.

"After you turned yourself in, Cerberus offered me a job," he admitted.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Pretty surprised myself.I mean, I helped cover your back while you blew up the Collector Base. So why would Cerberus hire me after that? Got curious."

"And?" I prompted. "What happened?"

The short answer to that question would be something along the lines of "Negotiations went south. One big clusterfuck." Zaeed had been choosing jobs to screw over Cerberus ever since. The long answer was an hour-long saga full of bullets, over-the-top bloodshed, excessive violence and explosions. Lots of explosions. All accompanied by a steady stream of foul language. Somehow I managed to say goodbye and head off without spending the rest of the day waxing 'goddamn nostalgia' with him.

As I walked through the docks, I spotted two people who looked awfully familiar. There had been a lot of that today, so at first I didn't think much of it. The more I thought about it, though, the more I couldn't help wondering where I'd seen them before.

And then it hit me.

The human kid had been hanging around the docks long enough to catch the attention of a turian C-Sec officer. Any suspicions he might've had about her being a loitering teenager looking for trouble were dispelled when he found out she was a refugee from somewhere or other who'd been separated from her parents. She was still naive enough to believe that her parents would be coming by on another transport any day now.

"Hey there," the turian said.

"Oh, it's you," the kid said. "Hi."

"Your parents get here yet?"

"Nope. It's okay, I mean—they'll get here. They promised, after all. And they always keep their promises. They... next shuttle was probably just late or something. That's all."

Oh boy.

I could tell the turian had taken that development—or lack thereof—and come to an entirely different and all too depressing conclusion. It was just as obvious that he didn't want to burst her bubble just yet. "I'm sure you're right," he said carefully. "I look forward to meeting them."

Shaking my head, I left the docks and returned to the Presidium. There wasn't much I could do for the kid, but maybe I could help someone else. To that end, I went to the Spectre Office and used my codes to do a couple things. Authorize a few warrants. Release medical supplies to Huerta Memorial Hospital, since they could no longer be delivered to the occupied zones that they were originally intended for. Expedite a transfer for Private Talavi so she could do things like sabotage Reaper processing centres instead of accidentally killing her poor, misguided, brainwashed brother who'd become the latest Cerberus goon. Authorize a civilian consultant license for an importer/exporter who'd been convicted in the past for smuggling but wanted to make up for past sins by gathering critical supplies for the Alliance and various civvie populations. Approve a commendation for Captain Riley in recognition of her exemplary bravery and valour at Cyone. Little stuff like that.

After making a whole bunch of decisions that hopefully wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass, I returned to the Normandy. Made my rounds. Talked to the crew. Retired to my cabin. Checked my e-mail and… wait a second:

From: Admiral Hackett
Subject: Urgent

Commander, there's an Alliance researcher working on the Citadel named Dr. Garret Bryson. I need you to meet with him right away.

Dr. Bryson has uncovered important new information about the Reapers that could have a direct bearing on the war. I'm officially directing you to support his efforts at the first possible opportunity. Please visit Bryson's laboratory on the Citadel at once.

My first thought was not 'Woohoo! This could win the war!'

Nor was it 'Yes sir, with a vengeance!'

No, it was a loud and emphatic "The Citadel? I was just there! And now you want me to go back?!"

Yes, I went back. Did you really expect otherwise?

Originally, I was going to ask Avina for directions to Bryson's lab. That changed when I saw the lineup. So I got on the comm, contacted EDI and asked her to look up the address for me. Turned out Bryson had set up shop on the Presidium.

Now it's important to remember that the Presidium is where the elites and wannabe elites of Citadel space live and do business. We're talking politicians, diplomats, businessmen, top military officers and far too many celebrities. The best of the best. It regularly makes the Top Five Most Expensive Pieces of Real Estate to Own or Rent. Actually, make that the Top Three, since the only places that could possibly beat it are Bekenstein or Illium. And clearly this Bryson guy was Very Important if he got to do his work up here.

With that in mind, it wasn't surprising to find that there weren't any official parking areas near the lab. The closest spot was an overpriced parking garage situated a good ten minutes away on foot. But I was an Alliance officer acting on direct orders from Admiral Hackett himself. Not to mention a Council Spectre. So I blithely flew to the lab, circled once and parked in the backyard.

What? There was enough room. And I was in a hurry.

For once, the door was wide open, so I just strolled on in. And gradually slowed down as I took everything in.

Hackett had called it a lab. Okay, I could see where he might get that idea. There was no reason why labs couldn't be housed in a two-story, split-level structure. Naturally, labs would have lots of tables and computers and vid-screens. Sure, there might be lots of number-crunching as data is being analyzed. Having a couple artifacts and whatnot scattered around could be par for the course. And maybe a lab would have something very similar to a galaxy map. But how many labs have a Loch Ness monster hanging overhead?! (4) Though why the heck Bryson had a Loch—

—oh! Right! Bryson! The reason I was here! Where was he?

Turned out all I had to do was take a couple more steps inside. There were two men working at different computers. One of them was probably Dr. Bryson.

"I want you to match this against all known locations and update the map," the older man said in a quiet, gravelly voice. "Then contact the field teams for a progress report."

"Yes, sir," the younger man said. He looked up from his computer and realized they weren't alone. Clearing his throat, he caught the other man's eye and tilted his head towards me.

The older man turned around. "Commander Shepard," he greeted me. "We've been expecting you. Just a moment." Turning back, he added "And Hadley, could you gather the Leviathan data for us?"

"Sure thing," Hadley nodded.

Bryson began walking through the lab without another word. Taking the hint, I quickly caught up with him. "Apologies, Commander; the rest of my team is out investigating leads right now. I'm Dr. Garret Bryson and this is Task Force Aurora."

"What's your assignment?" I asked.

"Our mandate is to investigate legends, rumours… old stories about the Reapers before anyone knew they existed."

Seriously? The Alliance put together a task force now? "That's an interesting goal, but is anyone doubting the Reapers exist these days?" I asked.

"The Alliance is still desperate for intelligence."

There were many ways to interpret that.

"Reaper motives, their operational tactics… anything that can give us an edge."

"And how did you wind up in charge?"

"When the rest of the galaxy says something doesn't exist, I take that as a chance to prove that it does."

"So you're in it for the challenge."

"For the truth," Bryson corrected me. "Even as late as 2148, humanity still thought aliens were a myth. That was within my lifetime. Once that myth was proven to be reality, our entire history changed."

"Reapers were part of that reality too," I commented. "A fact that's been hammered home over the last several months."

"But even they have a history, Commander. If we can just uncover it, there may be a weakness we can exploit."

"I could've really used your help three years ago," I sighed.

"Yes," Dr. Bryson acknowledged. "If people had paid more attention to your Prothean beacon, we might not be in this war."

THANK YOU! FINALLY SOMEONE REALIZED THAT!

"But now, with new information we've uncovered, a breakthrough is near." He handed me a datapad. I started poring through it while he activated the galaxy map. It looked like Task Force Aurora had been chasing every other myth and legend in existence, judging by the wide scope of planets they'd visited and mission objectives they followed. However, as I looked further, it seemed there might be a pattern. A method, if you will, to the madness that seemingly guided these myriad investigations.

So engrossed was I in the datapad's contents that I almost didn't the tingling at the back of my neck. Just as it finally registered, Dr. Bryson looked up. "Ah, Hadley, do you have the data?"

"No."

That caught my attention. It sounded choked, almost as if he was struggling with something. Looking up, I was startled to see Hadley with a gun. Before I could do anything, he pulled the trigger. Bryson made a startled sound as the bullet struck home, staggered back and collapsed.

Hadley evidently decided that he should eliminate any witnesses. Unfortunately for him, I had military training and a little heads-up notice. Thinking fast, I tossed the datapad at him to knock his gun arm off balance before I tackled him.

Kicking the gun aside, I got on the comm. "This is Commander Shepard! I need C-Sec at my location! Now!"

"You shouldn't be here," Hadley said dully. "The darkness can't be breached."

"Yeah, yeah." A single punch knocked him out. Shaking my hand, I hurried back to Dr. Bryson. "Come on, Doc," I urged. Stay with me."

He didn't stay with me.

Dr. Bryson was dead by the time the C-Sec officers—both of them turians—arrived. One of them began a background check through the various Citadel databases. The other kept an assault rifle trained on Hadley. The hardware seemed like overkill to me, but I guess the Cerberus coup attempt had put everybody on edge. They weren't the only ones: try as I might, I couldn't ignore the tingling sensation that still danced along the back of my neck.

"Transit records show his name as Derek Hadley," the first officer finally said. "He's worked here for a couple months."

Before I could reply, someone called out my name. "Shepard."

Turning around, I saw EDI enter the lab. "EDI," I said. "What're you doing here?"

"You did ask me for the location of this address," she reminded me. "When I monitored a C-Sec alert from this same area, I thought I would investigate. Were you harmed?"

"I'm fine," I assured her. "But since you're here, I could use your help sorting this out. Dr. Bryson was heading up a task force here. He was beginning to tell me all about it when his assistant, Derek Hadley, put a bullet in his chest. Take a look through their files. I need to know what they were up to."

"At once."

Hadley jerked awake just as EDI began her search. "What? I…" He looked up at the C-Sec officers. Specifically, the officer who was now pointing his assault rifle at his face. "W-what's… happening?" he stammered.

"You tell me," I replied, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

"I… I was gathering our data when you arrived and then…"

He closed his eyes and shivered. "It was dark… cold… like I was someplace else…"

"And then?" the first C-Sec officer asked.

"I don't know!" he shouted. "A… gun was in my hand. I saw Dr. Bryson. There was… a loud noise."

"That would be when you pulled the trigger," I said helpfully.

The officer helpfully stepped aside so Hadley could get an unobstructed view of his former boss, now prone and lying in a pool of his own blood. "Dr. Bryson!" he shouted. Scrambling up, he rushed over and dropped to his knees, heedless of the officer who almost took his head off.

"I didn't do it!" Hadley insisted. "It wasn't me! You have to believe that!"

"So someone else pulled that trigger?" the second officer asked skeptically. "Someone else who just happened to look exactly like you?"

"But I would never do that!" Hadley yelled.

"Right," the first officer said sarcastically. "You were just doing your job, minding your own business, and then suddenly decided to go all homicidal on your boss. Absolutely believable."

"Commander," EDI interrupted, "this does resemble reports of indoctrination."

"Indoctrination?" Hadley repeated, rising to his feet. "Me?"

"It's possible," I said. Of course, if he was indoctrinated, we might have bigger problems than we realized. Hope that other officer really did know how to use that assault rifle. "Let's back off for a second and talk about that 'Leviathan' Bryson mentioned. What is it? How does that tie in to anything?"

"It's… some kind of creature," Hadley replied. "Our field teams have been tracking it. We picked up all sorts of fascinating things along the way. Like that thing."

He pointed at a large sphere sitting on a pedestal in the corner. Green and blue wisps of light swirled hypnotically within its depths. I shivered as the tingling sensation began spreading up from the back of my neck to the base of my skull.

"That artifact came in from our researcher, Garneau," Hadley said. "He sent an audio log too if you want to—GAH!"

Hadley screamed and clutched his head. He doubled over in agony and grunted in pain.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Wordlessly, Hadley dropped to his knees. His arms fell to his sides. Slowly, gradually, he looked up. "Turn back," he said, in the exact dull tone he'd used earlier after shooting Dr. Bryson.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "Turn back from what?"

"The darkness cannot be breached," he said before his eyes rolled up and he fell over.

"Damn it!" I motioned to the two officers. "Get him over to the nearest hospital. See if they can tell us what's wrong with him. Keep a guard on him until further notice."

"Yes, sir."

The officers handcuffed Hadley, just in case he woke up. Between the two of them, they managed to lift him up and haul his comatose body out of the lab. Shaking my head, I turned to EDI. "Anything?"

"Commander, you'll want to see this: it's an outgoing message from Dr. Bryson to Admiral Hackett."

That would be a start to this whole mystery of horrors I'd somehow gotten myself into. I joined EDI by one of the computers and waited as she started the recording. "Dr. Bryson," Hackett said, "you have an update?"

We watched as a holographic image of Hackett appeared before Bryson. "Admiral, the 'Leviathan of Dis' that we've been investigating—I think we're really onto something."

"Give me the brief."

"About twenty years ago, the batarians discovered the body of an unknown, enormous creature on the planet Jartar that had died in battle. Shortly after their survey team filed their report, a dreadnought visited the Dis system and the 'Leviathan' disappeared. The batarians covered it up and denied it ever existed. But I believe that corpse… was a Reaper."

"That would be consistent with the interviews we conducted with batarian refugees and the communiqués we've intercepted from their military," Hackett offered. "Based on what we've put together, we believe the batarians found something on Jartar and brought it to Khar'shan for further study. They seemed to believe it could provide all sorts of military and technological advantages if they could unlock its secrets. After their attack on Terra Nova, the Hegemony accelerated their research. When the Reapers invaded, key Hegemony defences were sabotaged. Obviously it's been difficult getting to the bottom of things, but we believe the individuals involved were batarian scientists and officials who had contact with the research site. If that something was a Reaper, and the perpetrators were indoctrinated, that would explain a lot."

It sure would, I realized. No wonder the batarians were driven into exile.

"Fascinating," Bryson offered. "But I'm more intrigued by the larger implication of the initial discovery."

"What could have killed a Reaper in the first place?" Hackett finished.

Whoa. That was intriguing.

"Exactly. That's the real Leviathan."

"It's worth pursuing," Hackett agreed. "Continue your investigation and keep me apprised on your progress. Hackett out."

Hackett's image shimmered away. Bryson walked away. "Definitely worth pursuing," I echoed.

"There is also a follow-up message from a few weeks later," EDI told me. She pulled up the recording and played it.

Bryson was pacing back and forth when Hackett's image materialized. "Admiral, the Reapers are shadowing my field teams as if they're hunting Leviathan themselves. Whatever it is, I believe Leviathan is nothing less than a Reaper-killer—almost an apex predator—and it has them nervous. If we could just find it, imagine the impact on the war. I'm formally requesting assistance in tracking it down."

"You'll have it," Hackett promised. "This is now your top priority, Doctor. Find that thing. And given the company dogging your field teams, I'll make sure you get some backup with experience in dealing with Reapers. Hackett out."

"It appears we were meant to be that assistance," EDI observed.

"Yeah," I frowned.

"You seem concerned."

"I'm just wondering where this Leviathan's been all this time. I heard about that Reaper corpse on Dis: the thing was, like, a billion years old. The Reapers have been dropping by tons of times between then and now. Plenty of opportunities to off a few more Reapers, so what gives?"

"Anything else?"

"Maybe part of me's worried that the cure's worse than the disease. Don't get me wrong: a Reaper-killer sounds like a great idea. But anything capable of taking out a Reaper could also do a lot of collateral damage. Just look at the Leviathan of Dis: it left a giant crater on Jartar."

"All valid points," EDI conceded. "Yet given the state of this conflict, I believe the saying 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' may be relevant."

"Probably," I sighed. "Mind you, it's a moot point if we can't find it said enemy. Which reminds me…"

EDI watched as I began looking around.

"Hadley said they got a log from a field researcher named Garneau. Maybe there's some more information that could help us. All I have to do is find—aha!"

I bent over and grabbed a datapad displaying Garneau's log. As I straightened up, I couldn't help but notice that the artifact Hadley pointed out had gone dark. The only light I could see was a reflection from a nearby light panel off its spherical surface. Weird.

After regarding the artifact, I shrugged and turned back to EDI. Absently rubbing the back of my neck, I scrolled down until I found the playback button for the audio log:

"Dr. Bryson, it's Garneau. I'm sending you an artifact I found. About the only thing I found there, in fact. Maybe it's nothing, but I'd swear Leviathan came through here. I'm going to crunch some numbers, burn up the rest of this project travel allowance. Maybe I can project our Reaper-killer's movements. I'll check in when I get to the next site."

"Garneau appears to be our best lead to track Leviathan," EDI offered, "but he does not state a destination."

"No, he didn't. Let's focus on what he does say, then."

"He mentioned extrapolating Leviathan's path."

"And crunching numbers." I snapped my fingers as I put two and two together. "You don't do that randomly. Which means he wasn't flying blind—he had data. Data that must have been gathered before he began his travel."

"That would be a significant amount of data, judging by this office."

"So how do we narrow it down?"

"Bryson and his colleagues evidently used a galaxy map search program in their hunt for Leviathan. It may help us locate Garneau."

EDI and I headed over to the galaxy map. It looked like there were about sixteen different systems in the search history. "Does this tell us where Garneau went?"

"Not necessarily," EDI replied. "However, we may be able to narrow down his location if we find clues he was using in his search for Leviathan."

"Right," I nodded. "Let's start looking."

I started by going to the right of the galaxy map. Good place to start, considering what I stumbled across: a dull grey object taller than I was, rectangular but with gently curved contours like a whale's fin, and glowing green lines that traced over its surface. "Is this Prothean?" I asked aloud.

"Yes," EDI said after a moment. "I believe Dr. Bryson and Liara would have had much to discuss." (5)

"No doubt," I agreed. It was too bad that they would never have that chance. "Can you add a search filter for locations known to have Prothean ruins or artifacts?"

"Adding the search filter. You may examine the results on the galaxy map program."

"Later. Let's see what other clues we can uncover first."

I passed a long table full of empty drawers. On top lay a heap of bones, two microscopes and something that looked like a husk head. The damn thing twisted its neck towards me and screamed out loud when I got too close. Scared the crap out of me. I mean, who the hell hacks the head off a husk and takes it home with them? What kind of nutjobs worked here, anyway?

In the corner beyond the table of horrors lay a pair of computer screens, datapads and miscellaneous printouts randomly strewn around. Reaching over, I turned on one of the screens. It showed dozens of different faces. "EDI?"

"Accessing lab and Citadel databases. Performing biometric comparisons. Please standby. Analysis complete: these are all murders in which the accused lacked a known motive and claimed memory loss."

"Just like Hadley," I realized. "You think Garneau was following a trail of blackout crimes?"

"It is possible. We need to find data matching dates and locations for crimes of this nature."

On a hunch, I turned on the other screen. "Here it is. Can you create another filter for murders where the killer claimed memory loss, based on this time-and-date chart?"

"Adding this search filter to the galaxy map."

This corner happened to be right by the door I used to enter the lab. Just for the hell of it, I wandered outside. I probably wouldn't find a clue, but it didn't hurt to get some fresh air. Okay, okay: none of the air in here was fresh. It was all filtered, recycled and recirculated. But something about this place was giving me the creeps.

It won't surprise you to hear there weren't any clues out in the backyard. But there were a few weapon mods. (6) Three of them, to be exact. Who the hell just randomly dumps pistol and submachine weapon mods in your backyard for any random stranger to pick up? Bryson was damn lucky he didn't get fined or arrested for his negligence. Of course, he was dead now, so it was a moot point.

After doing another circuit to make sure I didn't miss anything, I went back in. This time, I looked a little more closely at the structure set up inside by the door. "'Hull fragment from the Reaper designated as 'Sovereign,' retrieved after the Battle of the Citadel'," I read. "Hey there, Sovereign. Big, bad vanguard of our destruction. How's that working out for you, big guy?"

Okay, that was kinda pointless. It didn't get me any closer to figuring our where Garneau went. Sure didn't help me win the war. But it made me feel better, if only for a moment. Gotta take those little pleasures wherever you can.

Having indulged myself, I moved to the closest work station. It was just as messy as the others, so I just randomly pushed something. A miniature holographic recording of Bryson popped up. "March 7th, 2186: I'm looking at the rachni. Their movements during the Rachni Wars suggest alien influence. But the timing is wrong, and rachni weren't implanted with Reaper tech. What if Leviathan was preparing the rachni to fight the Reapers?"

"Hmm," I said aloud. "The rachni queen did say that her people were coerced by an outside influence. We thought it was the Reapers, but maybe it was Leviathan. Yeesh: two oppressors mucking about with your people? That's gotta suck. What do you think, EDI?"

EDI ignored the long-term historical implications—and my admittedly flippant summary—focusing instead on the immediate objective. "It is possible that Bryson's team is using ancient rachni fleet activity to find Leviathan. If we can find data on the movement of ancient rachni ships, it may help us narrow our search."

The computer screen next to the holo-projector conveniently had a file open that collated sightings of ships matching rachni signatures. At my request, EDI added another search filter cross-referencing locations of these sightings.

My next stop, after scooping up another weapon mod, was a table with a bunch of rocks on it. There were a few robot arms nearby with pieces of equipment attached to the ends. "Meteorite fragment, maybe?" I guessed.

"Bryson was studying it as an object of importance. We should look more closely at a sample."

I grabbed a random rock, put it under one of the robot arms and switched on whatever doodad it had. The gizmo scanned the rock and displayed a 3-D holographic picture next to a spectrographic analysis. I repeated the scan with a few other rocks. "They're all meteorite samples," I finally concluded, "with traces of element zero. Would Leviathan need eezo, EDI?"

"While it is not consumed as fuel during FTL travel, element zero is used for several other purposes such as—"

"You don't have to give me every single use," I hastily interrupted. "We are on the clock, after all."

"Very well. To answer your question, element zero will decay after several centuries of active use. If Leviathan is old enough, it would need to replenish its supplies."

"Okay. Add a search filter for locations with element zero."

"Adding it now."

The wall behind the table of rocks was covered with reports. "Looks like Bryson was tracking unexplained creature sightings," I reported.

EDI had spotted something else. "The photographs have a trace chemical residue. It may be visible under another light source."

"You mean like that light source?" I asked, pointing to a nearby lamp. Flicking it on revealed a whole series of equations, formulae and notes scrawled on the wall—and most of the pictures as well. "Bryson was not merely tracking sightings," EDI said after a moment. "He was attempting to extrapolate a course."

"And Garneau could've been following that course," I added. "Just like we suspected from the beginning. EDI?"

"Adding a search filter for systems along this projected path now."

"Thanks."

A datapad nearby didn't have any clues, per se, but it did give me some food for thought:

The Thorian—August 17, 2185

The Thorian, a life form discovered on Feros, provides fascinating insight into the lifecycle of a truly alien species. Unlike conventionally intelligent life, it does not use mass relays; Prothean artifacts would not interest it.

Commander Shepard claims that 'Reaper enemies' cultivated life to evolve along lines they could predict, using technology the Reapers controlled. The Thorian is an exception to that rule: it evolved to use organic tools rather than conventional technology.

Leviathan must be somehow similar to have survived undetected for so long. The Thorian used pain conditioning to control its victims, using them as manual labour—or even as a man would use his own hands and fingers. Commander Shepard claims that Reapers do the same thing through a different process called 'indoctrination.' Whatever Leviathan is, it must do something similar.

Okay, so maybe that's how Leviathan survived: by not relying on mass relays and eezo-reliant technological development. What was more disturbing was the comparison between the Thorian, the Reapers and Leviathan on how they controlled other beings. It once again raised the question of whether the cure was worse than the disease.

All that was set aside at the next workstation. It had a computer terminal and a holo-projector. Turning on the latter, I watched as Dr. Bryson saluted an unseen figure. "Sir, this is Bryson. We know the Reapers are after Leviathan. Studying Reaper hunting patterns could be vital to finding it."

"That data is classified 'top secret,' Dr. Bryson," the mysterious figure replied. "If it falls into the wrong hands…"

"It won't. The data's encrypted, isn't it? I'll keep the key safe… close to my heart."

There were no other recordings in the holo-projector, so I turned on the computer. My eyes glazed over when I saw all the numbers on the screen. "Lots of data," I finally concluded.

"The pattern and organization could be Reaper fleet activity," EDI suggested, "but it is undoubtedly encrypted, per Bryson's statement in the log."

"And the only way to beat the encryption, short of brute force coding, would be to find the decryption key that's 'close to his heart'," I said. "What the hell does that mean?"

The answer to that mystery came a few minutes later in the form of a painting buried under a mound of paperwork. I think it was supposed to be a rachni, though from my experience, rachni were not decked in yellow with purple stripes and orange polka dots. Of course, the artist was very young at the time, so that explained a lot. "'By Ann Bryson—age nine'," I read aloud.

"Records indicate Ann is now 28," EDI said helpfully. "She works for the Alliance."

I tapped the painting thoughtfully. "Bryson was keeping the decryption key close to his heart. What's closer than family?"

EDI took the painting from me and carefully studied it. "An interesting hypothesis, but I detect no trace of the decryption key in this… art."

"Then we keep looking," I declared. "Starting with upstairs."

As I noticed when I first arrived, there was a second split-level to the lab. It consisted of a few paintings—none by a young Ann Bryson—some bland monotone carpets, a reclining chair, a few tables, some plants, a bed and a bookshelf. It was the latter that caught my attention. Specifically, the painting of a young man in blue labelled as 'Daddy,' standing on a field of green grass on a bright sunny day, made by a nine year old Ann Bryson.

"Another piece of Ann Bryson's childhood art," EDI said.

"Wait a minute," I whispered. I took a closer look at the grass. It wasn't completely green. There was a message painted on top with yellow paint. "Well, take a look at that. '65. 81. G. 97.""

"One of the lists of figures we saw earlier had this combination of numbers and letters," EDI said. "I can use it to construct a decryption key."

"All right," I said. "Let's get back to the datapad we found earlier."

Of course we didn't go back right away. I still wanted to search the rest of this floor for clues. Or loot. Or random bits of information like the one I found on an audio log sitting on top of the bookshelf:

"Dr. Bryson, per your request, I'm clearing Task Force Aurora for intercepted batarian communications regarding the Leviathan of Dis."

The voice changed from the man Bryson talked to in the other audio log to a new voice. The gravelly tone and slight flanging effect was characteristic of a batarian. "Commander, the dreadnought is in custody, but the salarians may have surveillance footage."

"Our ambassador will issue a full denial," a deeper batarian voice said. "Give me your preliminary analysis."

"Several million years old at least, but its technology outstrips anything on the Council."

"Excellent. Our scientists will work day and night to bring its secrets to the Hegemony."

"One concern, Commander: the real Leviathan of Dis, the thing that destroyed this ship, is still out there. Unaccounted for."

"Irrelevant. The ship is our priority. And as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, there is no Leviathan of Dis. There never was."

And we now know how well that turned out. Still, it was nice to get some confirmation of what Hackett and Bryson had said from the batarian POV.

Okay. Distraction over. Time to get back to work. EDI and I went to see where she'd seen that combination of numbers of letters before. Turned out to be a whole whackload of lists of figures. EDI tried several variations, but ultimately settled on counting 65 lists from the left and 81 lists from the bottom. From there, she ran dozens of simulations before deciding that G equaled 97. This took a grand total of twelve seconds.

Meanwhile, I was busy staring at the fossil again. "I wonder if Task Force Aurora ever proved the existence of the Loch Ness monster?"

"You mean a plesiosaur," EDI corrected me.

"Loch Ness monster's more interesting."

"Interesting and nonexistent."

"But you agree it's interesting."

"I agree that we should decrypt the Alliance data on Reaper movements."

"Spoilsport."

Sadly, she had a point. We returned to the computer and EDI did her magic. "Decryption complete. Analyzing data. Conclusion: these movements do not match the standard invasion pattern observed since the start of the war. The Reapers are searching for something."

"And I'll bet Garneau used this intel. Can you make a search filter for it?"

"Of course."

All right. I'd walked through the lab and uncovered all sorts of things. There were probably more surprises and mysteries just waiting to be discovered, but I figured I had enough to start. Each of the six search filters EDI had created hovered above the galaxy map console.

"Let's start with Reaper activity." I reached out and tapped the last search filter. There were eight hits. Three of them were in completely new systems that weren't originally shown on the map. The others, though…

"Based on the search results, Garneau is in one of these five systems."

I know I love wandering around the galaxy. God knows I did that with Saren. But given the current stakes, I had to be a bit more selective. Make that much more selective. "That's a start."

"Shepard, I have updated the Normandy's galaxy map with possible locations. We can leave now unless you wish to further narrow the search."

"It would be a shame to create those other filters and not use them," I said. "But first, can you remove the systems that weren't in the original search history or the Reaper sightings filter?"

Once EDI had done so, I enabled the Prothean artifacts filter. It gave me five hits… in five entirely different systems. "Well that was helpful."

"No results. Some of our search parameters may be irrelevant."

Which made sense in hindsight: if Leviathan really had developed its technology independent of anything linked to the Reapers, then any Leviathan sightings wouldn't overlap with Prothean sites. Having said that, it was possible that its tech was reliant on eezo. I removed the Prothean artifacts filter, to which EDI said "Five possible systems." Repressing the urge to comment on her stating the perfectly obvious, I added the list of element zero deposits I'd uncovered. There were eight hits, three of which overlapped with Reaper activity.

"Okay, what about rachni activity?"

That gave me four new hits in completely new systems.

"No results. Some of our search parameters may be irrelevant."

Blackout crimes gave me three new hits that also went nowhere. That left alien sightings. That filter gave seven hits… one of which overlapped with Reaper activity and eezo deposits!

"We have a match: the Aysur system in the Caleston Rift. Updating the galaxy map."

"Good. Recall everyone who's still on shore leave. It's time to find Garneau."

(1): These words were later attributed to an inadequate level of staffing to handle all the myriad requests, a lack of communication and a lamentable set of priorities by the ranking C-Sec officer at the time.

(2): Miranda was equally incredulous at the revelation that 'Shepard's biggest fan' was Dr. Conrad Verner. While researching his publication history, she discovered that Conrad had added Shepard's name to the list of acknowledgements for his doctorate. I believe this is what humans call a 'punch line.'

(3): This would also allow the refugee camps to package and ship crates of dextro-amino acid medi-gel out to the Turian Seventh Fleet, who had suffered particularly high casualties in the course of their war against the Reapers.

(4): A cryptid—that is, an animal or plant whose existence is implied but not scientifically documented—that supposedly inhabits Loch Ness, a lake in the Scottish Highlands on Earth.

(5): EDI was correct in her assumption.

(6): It will not surprise readers that Shepard dealt with any lingering uneasiness by searching for 'loot.'