Two months Later: January 2184 CE

It wasn't right. It wasn't just. Garrus was fuming. Every soldier faced the grim possibility of dying for the cause – sacrificing everything for the sake of the mission. And Shepard? Shepard died searching for answers about the reapers – a way to defeat them before it was too late. He not only defied orders to save the citadel but the lives of those useless councilors as well. Yet, the same asinine politicians decided to honor him by labeling him insane, 'traumatized by the events on Mindoir' were the words they'd used, unreliable. Shepard was anything but unreliable. He was immovable. No matter the odds, you could count on that man to raise heaven and hell if that's what it took to cover your back. He never let them down. Not for one second.

D.E.S.P.I.C.A.B.L.E.
That was the one word that would describe those cunts accurately as far as Garrus was concerned. And if that wasn't enough, you'd think they'd at least honor his efforts to rescue his sister who, against all odds, may very well be alive. But no, those pathetic excuses for leaders were more afraid of ruffling the Hegemony's feathers. How could he follow them after they'd betrayed their most distinguished agent? He shoved another pair of pants in his duffel bag. He was done. Done with politics. Done with the citadel. If one thing had become clear to him after all this time, it was that he, and anyone who actually gave a damn about the state of this fucked up galaxy, were on their own. That was fine by him. As far as he was concerned, those jackasses could kiss his leathery backside. Maybe he didn't have the resources to explore space and reveal the truth regarding the entire galaxy's impending doom. His friend's mission was over. The same leaders who nearly lost their lives to Sovereign had dismissed the reaper menace. Hope didn't live in these dismal halls. But at the very least, he could honor Shepard by slaughtering every slaver and merc who'd have the misfortune of crossing his path. Maybe free some slaves like Brian. Give people some hope. Give himself some hope before the reapers devoured the galaxy.

His omni-tool was incessantly chiming. With a groan he answered, knowing who was on the other end. May as well get this over with.

"Yeah dad?"

"Yeah dad? That's all you have to say to me?" The furious voice answered.

"Nothing you say will change anything."

"Did you seriously tell Councilor Sparatus to, and I quote, 'cram crap up his ass?!'"

"I believe my exact words were, 'you can take your bullshit and shove it up your ass.'"

"Do you have any idea what you've done? You'll never set foot in C-Sec again. Your career as a spectre is over. It never even had a chance to start.'"

"Works for me."

"Son, what are you doing?! Do you realize you were nearly banned from serving in the turian military?! I had to call in every favor I had..."

"Don't bother. I'm leaving."

"You're… leaving… to do what? Where the hell are you going?"

"I'm not sure yet. Somewhere in the Terminus Systems."

"For the love of Palaven, what are you doing?!"

"Dad, I tried. I really did. But..."

"But what? The time for excuses is over. Once again, you're being too rash Garrus. I said the same thing about Saren and look what happened!"

"Don't you dare compare me to him. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Says the man burning down his entire life before taking off for the Terminus Systems, the lawless capital of the galaxy."

"Right. Well, as productive as this conversation has been, it's time I left."

"Son..."

"Sorry dad. Like I said, words can't change this."

Garrus zipped up his pack and took a last look around his apartment. The citadel had been home for years before setting foot on The Normandy. Yet, leaving was the easiest decision he ever made. There was nothing left for him here.

When Garrus stepped off his shuttle to the off-world transportation hub, he had no clue as to his destination. The most desperate, filth-ridden planet in the Terminus Systems would do nicely. But how to choose? There was no way he'd pick a frigid planet like Garvug, even if its inhabitants had descended into anarchy causing chaos and death for its civilians. Some sacrifices were out of the question. There was always Talis Fia, a modern business oriented colony dominated by the volus. They were plagued by piracy given that the squat, physically defunct volus made easy prey. However, Garrus had his heart set on taking down slavers. While Talis Fia would certainly provide no shortage of targets, he had no desire to protect merchandise or corporate interests. This was about bringing hope to the common folk who simply wanted to live their lives in peace.

A group of loudly arguing vorcha caught his attention. They were settling whatever disagreement that festered between them with teeth and claws. No one seemed bothered or even alarmed by their voracious display. When one of the vorcha reached into an ammo pouch to retrieve a grenade, a krogan merc emerged from the pack bellowing. "The fuck you think you're doing?! This isn't Omega! Put that shit away before I blow your brains out." The vorcha quickly snapped to attention and gently placed the shell back in its pack.

Omega. Where did he know that name? That's right. It was home to one of the largest red-sand labs in the Terminus. Back during his C-Sec days, he'd caught many a smuggler from the decrepit space station trying to sneak their contraband past customs. Slavers were known to use Omega as a hub for their wretched business deals as well.

Garrus walked up to the ticket counter and purchased a one-way boarding pass. Omega was looking like the perfect fit.