Earth, 2233. 47 years after the Reaper War.
"Attention!" The marine yelled. "Present arms!"
His arm dropped, clear and concise. One shot, then another, and finally the third gunshot rang out. The casings, technology used only for ceremonial purposes, were collected by the synthetic female. Her hands told her of the heat, the residue from the long obsolete black powder clinging to her frame. However, these casings were held tight to her chest she glanced at the pit in front of her. Draped above a casket, the human Alliance flag covered the wooden structure, hiding what lay inside. She knew though, exactly … who was in there. She knew, even without using the technology available in her frame, exactly who's suited hand gently squeezed her shoulder.
Urdnot Wrex, the leader of the Krogan Coalition, stood beside the pit, having asked to speak days before. Although surprising, none had objected during the ceremony's planning. For him to have personally come to Earth for the burial, it was an honor few had earned.
"For the krogan, we value strength, determination, and above all, resolve. Today, a young warrior finds his eternal rest, a true paragon of those values we hold dear. Many would have given up before even the fight began with the suffering that plagued him. He fought with the courage of a battlemaster, and it was he who flew the ship who destroyed the first Reaper. It was my honor and privilege to know this man, and fight alongside him through the war that ravaged the galaxy. Goodbye, Jeff Moreau, and know your actions and will to fight shall resonate for generations to come."
Escaping the hand and kneeling by the grave as the earth was shoveled on top of the casket, her mind was unable to cope with the flood of data, long before this day having finally been seen as her emotions. Whatever had changed after her birth, she was truly alive. The price to pay for life, the joy and love it brings, is knowing and experiencing the loss that can follow. Knowing the one man she'd ever loved, barriers be damned, would someday succumb to the ravages of time. Vrolik's syndrome shortened his life significantly, the cartilage used for vital organ infrastructure along with his bones having erroneous coding.
EDI could not cry, but she could feel. She allowed herself a brief glance, feeling the small shade of warmth seeing so many familiar faces. Most of them aesthetically showed the slow progress of organic species' decline. It was irrelevant, as she knew someday even her own form would deteriorate, her coding degrading. Her memory though, as of now, was perfect.
Turians did not cry, but pain was easy to read on Vakarian's countenance, his mandibles drooping, and eyes softened. He clung to his wife and their adult children, the comfort giving a small alleviation at losing a friend. He was a busy man, but she was grateful he was not too busy to be there when his friends needed him. A trait that Garrus had been known for, and never lost.
Liara's appearance remained similar to when the war was fought. The still young asari was in tears, her species having developed a similar response to emotional pain as the human population, as she tightly held on to the Prothean. Javik's face was of mourning, though she analyzed the data and concluded his was representing as a deep respect. This towards one of the key members of the "primitive" races that had ended the threat even his own mighty empire could not, fifty thousand years preciously.
Another asari, Justicar Samara, stood at attention, her calm disposition remained through centuries of training. Her physical participation, knowing she was nearing her own mortality after having surpassed her thousandth year of life, spoke louder than her countenance. Near her sat an older human, his form showing that his time was also short. Admiral Hackett, though long retired, had been assisted in wearing his old uniform. The team of nurses around him hinted at the risks he took leaving the safety of his home, wanting to give her lover a final sendoff.
Further along, Kaiden stood, his hair gray, as well as his wife's. Their children were also adults, the three of them supporting their father's emotions as best as they could. He had time now as a retired Spectre, though it was never enough. He was one of the original members of the Normandy, along with Jeff. This data coincided with a picture of the crew, much younger than their present forms, and before she had met them.
Finally, her optics had focused on Shepard, his arms around his wife. Tali had to wear her suit off world, especially when surrounded by so many species carrying various microbiota. The children born on Rannoch rarely wore masks, though unfortunately adult quarians from the time of the fleet would likely need them for most interplanetary travel. It was her hand that had rested on EDI's shoulder recently, the woman knowing the pain of loss more intimately than most. Her optics could easily penetrate the masking of the visor if she had wanted. She did not wish to invade the woman's privacy, her body language and occasional shakes conveying the pain her mask kept hidden.
Shepard's grimace was difficult to process. The man who'd lost so many of those dear to him had to experience yet another goodbye, another face only remaining in his memory. He did not appear to have aged physically, though undoubtedly the mental scars remained. His hair remained dark brown, the same face the galaxy had known to be their savior. EDI had analyzed the data of his resurrection, but there was little more than theory involving eventual life expectancy. Cerberus had not thoroughly delved into this area, as the immediate concerns of impending extinction outweighed these trivial matters.
EDI stood up by the grave, as the coffin became obscured by the ground of his species home planet. A monument was in the works for this gravesite. She allowed an image of his face to appear in her mind, a perfect memory of their time, the first day she had seen him with the eyes of more than just an AI. Would she ever see him again? Religious texts approached these concepts, though they left more questions than answers. If any were true, would they accept her mind, one of wires and metal? The geth did not invade, nor flood her with information; they spoke without being there physically, a benefit of their synthetic existence. They simply let her know they understood her conundrum, and would be here to support her as needed. As she looked down, the dirt continuing to pile over Joker's body, she wondered if support would truly be enough to keep going.