The Citadel - June 2177

Daro'Xen nar Chayym sat quietly atop what humans called a "barstool" inside the quarian-friendly restaurant known as "Dextro Delights". It was midday, as far as Citadel time went, and she idly kicked her feet against the rung near the bottom of the stool.

Well, "quietly" was somewhat disingenuous. She was, in fact, humming a quirky little tune by the quarian rock band "The Implants". It was "rock" only in that to a human ear, it would have had all the telltale signs: something approaching a 4/4 time signature, verse followed by chorus, bass/snare percussion, vocals, tenir, bass tenir…it wasn't quite as heavy as some of the music her friends had listened to ("Coffin Suit", anyone?), but it was certainly hard enough to keep her fingers tapping on the table and her head bobbing to the beat.

Her turian waitress, Shizra, walked back to her table with a smile and another sealed fruit drink for her. Daro thanked her and watched the apron-clad woman melt away back into the crowd.

Surrounding her in the restaurant was your standard collection of turians, often with their asari consorts (Daro refused to believe that any of them "loved" each other - especially the asari with their unholy reproduction methods). She even saw the occasional quarian seated around the dining area. Speaking of which, it was the three-fingered hand of her friend that pulled her from the little reverie and observation session. She killed the music.

"Hey Tira, did you get it?" She asked with a barely contained eagerness. Ah, to be young and innocent again.

Tira'Nexala ("vas Nothing", he had told Daro once) sat himself across from her in his standard quarian suit, accented by the light blue male realk that adorned him. She'd met her charming companion shortly after arriving on the Citadel a few weeks ago. As a quarian, he was of course a rogue-ish sort but lacked the telltale sense of duty to the Fleet that her people normally took so much pride in. She'd not asked him for his age specifically, but he was definitely older than she - not a surprise considering the reason that she was here in the first place.

He slid the tube of nutrient paste across the table for her, a clear smile expressed behind his mask. As Daro attached it to her induction port, he did the same with his own. The succulent taste of turian truffles flooded her mouth, and the pilgrim grinned around the meal.

"Yes, I have it. The question, of course, is do you have what we need?" There was little by way of malice or doubt contained in the question. Instead, it was far more rhetorical and posited with a smile.

Of course Daro had it.

"Mmhmm," she grunted around her food. It had actually been quite easy, all things considered. Not only had it been easy, but it had been so epically worth what little risk there had been. What she'd acquired - the baseline programming for an all-new omnitool interface - would fetch for both she and Tira a veritable windfall. The credits would be more than enough to get her a decent ship to bring back to the Migrant Fleet. It would secure her a place on a good number of respectable ships, hopefully a few good science vessels would be in that number. Then she could go about the serious business of helping the Fleet.

And maybe with Tira.

Admittedly, she recognized that this was most likely to be nothing more than a purely fabricated fantasy; the childish notion of the young who were smitten. When she'd left for Pilgrimage, her parents (and a fair number of her older acquaintances - those of the "vas" variety) had warned her of the dangers of relationships while away from the Fleet. These were often coupled with the warnings to be mindful of the turians. Especially the turians, since their shared dextro chilarity meant that every bacteria and virus that they carried was exceedingly easy to transmit to quarians - which almost certainly meant a death sentence. Imagine her surprise when it was a fellow quarian that she would find most engaging.

She'd met him as she labored ponderously and uncertainly through the Wards. She had hoped to secure a job of some kind - something small at first - before she'd hoped to really put her considerable technical skills to use.

Keelah, she'd had no idea what it really meant to be quarian.

After the seventh rejection (and the third "forced removal"), Daro had finally felt hopeless. She had heard that the galaxy looked down on her people, that there was always the latent racism that permeated throughout the galaxy. It was one thing to read or to be told about something, and quite another to experience that bosh'tet firsthand. It was at the point in time when she had slumped to the ground, deflated, utterly defeated and for the first time since childhood, she had felt the warm flow of tears running down her cheeks. A salty reminder of what her true worth was.

She cried out in utter desperation to no one, anyone; nothing and everything all at once. "Damn it, just give us a chance! Give me a chance!" She'd turned off her vocalizer as she'd sat on the cold, unfeeling floor so the others didn't hear her cries. With her eyes clenched shut and her hands wrapped so tightly that her fingers threatened to pierce her palms, she gently rocked back and forth in an effort to console herself before trying to press on. But it was at that point that a turian - a C-Sec bosh'tet, because of course it was - stopped, ready to arrest her for "vagrancy, loitering, and harassment" even though she'd not said a single word to any passer-by.

But that was when Tira had arrived.

From seemingly out of nowhere, He'd taken a few steps toward her, peering at her curiously before he rushed to her side. He'd knelt down and placed a hand on her arm, whispering for her to "just go with it."

Somehow, she'd managed to not recoil at the foreign touch on her arm, and instead mumbled an "okay" that the stranger couldn't hear.

"Keelah! There you are!" Tira, with relief draped in his voice and body language, had looked from Daro to the officer. "Officer, I apologize. I've been looking all over for her!"

The turian quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so? You know her?"

The male quarian had nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes. This is my sister. She's been going through a, uh, rough time, and we were going to get lunch before I took her to see the doctor. I must have looked away for a moment. Please, just let her go. We were going to the doctor anyway."

"Ma'am, is this true?"

Re-engaging the vocalizer, Daro had confirmed that the obvious lie was true.

"Hmm." The officer had looked around, debating what he should do. Not in the mood for more stupid paperwork, he returned his attention to the two quarians. "Fine. Go. But I'd better not see either of you loitering around here again. Am I clear?" No arrest. No more questions. After all, why waste more time with a couple of suit rats anyway?

Holding her hand, Tira had helped Daro to her feet, and the rest was, as the saying goes, history.

But back to the present.

"Yes, I have what we need. When do we meet your contact?"

"Soon," he answered as he confirmed the time with a smile. "Yes, you have time to finish your lunch."

"Mmmm, good. Thish ish sho delishioush," Daro proclaimed around her food.

When he smiled back at her display, she wondered idly if he might think that she was "cute". That her features would be considered attractive to him. After all, she had the shapely hips, the thick muscular legs and a shapely -

Keelah, Daro'Xen! Stop it.

Dismissing the thought as just more childish fantasy, she finished her meal with a renewed vigor.

Once she was done, they indeed left for the meeting point. Leaving the elevator that had deposited them onto the lower wards, however, Daro noticed that she wasn't feeling quite right.

"Keelah, Tira," she extended her hand to his shoulder to try to balance herself, "I'm not feeling so great."

He spun to face her, concern dripping from his eyes and posture. It was in the way he touched her elbow, the way those eyes darted around her body. "Are you okay? What's wrong, Daro? Should we go to the clinic?" Grasping her hand, he started to head to the nearest med clinic.

But Daro was no quitter, and she could manage through this. Besides, it was likely to pass.

She shook her head. "No, no. I am…fine…"

She was, in fact, not fine.

Not fine at all.

Tumbling to the floor, Daro had just enough sense to break her fall with an extended hand before her whole world snapped to black.

Keelah, what is that noise? Who is that talking? Tira? Is that you?

Daro's eyes fluttered open. Her head was pounding, she was enveloped in a shivering cold all over her body, her stomach felt like it was tied in knots, and there was a really strange taste in her mouth. She couldn't recall eating anything in her life that tasted quite like this. She noted the flashing light displayed in her visor's HUD.

Foreign Contaminant Detected - Purge Protocol Initiated

Purge protocol? Ancestors, what the hell happened?

She was about to open her mouth to ask the obvious question when she stopped and listened to the voice that was slowly moving from the background cacophony and coming into focus. It was a strange noise, but recognizable and familiar.

"Bosh'tet! Of course you'd have this thing firewalled to hell! Damn it, Daro!" A frustrated, breathy sigh. "Stupid bitch…"

Keelah, what?

First, she felt her mouth go bone dry and her throat tighten uncomfortably. The last thing she noticed was the incredible speed her heart was racing at. A thousand questions wrestled through her consciousness that was barely keeping itself knitted together. Thankfully, her peerlessly analytical mind leapt into action and silenced the panic with soothingly cool logic and analysis. She recalled the status alert, and brought her attention back to the flashing warning visible in her HUD.

Foreign contaminant.

From what? There were no suit breaches, she'd not been exposed to any pathogens. That left -

Something I ate, ingested. What did I eat? A food tube from that restau- no. A food tube that Tira gave me. Okay, he sounds like he is still okay. So the question is "why?".

Now she had to figure out what to do. She glanced at her wrist and saw what was not there.

Her omnitool.

Looking around in a strangely controlled frenzy, the young woman tried to get her bearings. Where exactly was she? Ruefully, she thought that if she'd had her omnitool, she could find out immediately. As it was, she didn't recognize any of the buildings that surrounded her. They were large, shadowed, and blocky, with no windows that she could discern. Maybe warehouses or storage buildings? In any case, this appeared to be a back alley. There was no evidence of anyone else present; she suspected that this was the intent. There was a bright light that showered down, and it was within this cone of light that her companion stood facing away from her. She could see that he was working at something. He was holding an object in his left hand, that much she could tell even from here. But what was in his right? It sure looked like a -

Scanner. But for what? And why…he could have asked.

In her mind, the last statement was a realization that dripped with simplicity - that it was a stunningly easy thing. That, whatever it was he was doing here, it could have been avoided with a simple question. Her rationale was both stunning in its simplicity and its naivete`1.

As quietly as she could, Daro'Xen got to her feet and nearly wobbled over from weakness. She remembered the nature of her suit's "Purge Protocol" and thanked the Ancestors that her mass effect field generators had worked as they were supposed to. After using a nearby wall to steady herself, she was able to stand fully erect.

"T-Tira…what are you doing?"

The air crystallized in its silence, and the shadowy figure that had been her friend stiffened at the sound. Whatever action he'd been taking stopped immediately. When he turned and faced her, his eyes were widened with false intent.

"You're not supposed to be…"

She took a hesitant step forward. Daro's eyes held a seething stoicism - she knew what was going on - and yet there was a part of her that dared to hope that this was not at all as it seemed. Perhaps there would be a simple explanation that would ease everything in her mind and lock all of the unknowns down into their sensible places, with each rendering their own satisfying little clicks. "Tira," she repeated with more force, more conviction, "what are you doing?"

With one more step, she saw the realization dawn on him, and his answer both surprised and shattered her.

He laughed.

"I see you're finally awake, Daro'Xen." He had used her full name for the first time since the day that they'd met. And his tone…gone was the friendliness and familiarity that she'd grown so accustomed to. That she'd perhaps grown to…she left that part unsaid, unthought. In its a place was a voice that was hard and cold and sharp. It was unfeeling, calculating.

Somewhere, a piece of her mind clicked as it filed her reaction to this stimuli away for further study.

"You are awake far earlier than you should be." He calmly placed both the scanner and her omnitool into a side pocket before taking a cautionary step. Well, it was supposed to be a "predatory" step, but her mind was once again shifting things into place, letting them fall into an order that she could study; analyze. Her analysis was done almost instantly. His step was indeed a cautious one.

He had not anticipated this, her waking up, and was now trying to determine his next course of action.

"I wonder why that is?" He asked, more to himself than to her.

"Tira," she began while trying to stifle the uncertain fear embedded in her voice, "I asked what you were doing." Of course she had. And he was stalling.

She watched his head shake a little. Was it laughter?

"I was stealing information, Daro." The friendly, matter-of-fact tone had returned. A feint? A strategy change by way of course correction, perhaps?

"Why?"

"Easy: credits. The plans that you acquired would more than pay for me to live comfortably on whatever planet I chose for quite some time." There'd been no pause. He'd had that response planned.

It was simple. Direct. Matter-of-fact. She watched him and knew that he, too, was calculating.

Reshuffling the deck, looking for the next card to play.

More clicks as more of the missing pieces came together to very nearly form the complete picture of what had transpired here. He had watched her since she arrived. Watched as the fresh-faced pilgrim girl stumbled around in her innocence, fumbling blindly against a galaxy that hated her for the unforgivable crime of simply existing. Knowing that her idealism would eventually fail her, he waited for that moment. Then he had struck. He reached for her at her most desperate hour, and used that desperation against her. He gained her trust. He treated her with respect; as an equal. And all of it had led to this moment. There was a damning realization as she concluded that "this moment" was never even supposed to occur - her own modifications to her suit's internal systems had thrown a spanner in the works.

So here she was: ill, weak, and facing the very real possibility of her own death. Worse still? It would be at the hands of one whom she had trusted. It wasn't supposed to be like this; not with other quarians.

At least, that was the belief on the Fleet.

When he lunged for her, his fingers shot out for her neck like grim snakes - coiled and strong. Daro had known that it was coming, but her body was unable to react with the speed of her brain. She felt them latch onto her, grasping and squeezing around her throat despite the suit's malleable "rings" that encircled her there. Trying to suck in a stifled breath, her eyes bulged in the pain that she'd known was coming but was still entirely unprepared for.

The force of the lunging impact, in conjunction with Daro's already weakened state sent her stumbling backwards until she crashed hard against the wall of the closest building. The force of the impact jarred her head, forcing her eyes shut as it sent more shooting pain through her. And still, Tira held on. Of course, her first defensive reaction was to shoot her hands to his; hoping to pry them off of her neck. His weight, relative health, and reach advantage all made her attempts desperately futile - she was wasting what energy she had left on a fight that she could not hope to win.

So Daro chose to lose this fight, and begin a different one.

Despite her ill health, Daro'Xen was still in incredible physical condition. It was more than just a byproduct of a quarian's natural state. She had worked terribly hard to reach a level of fitness that even her peers on the Fleet had found jarring. With all this in mind, she made a choice. She allowed him to push forward, pressing her body hard against the wall. She suspected that it was enough force to hold her there if she could just -

With a truncated groan, in one flawlessly fluid motion, she brought her knees up as close to her chest as she could, suspended to the wall as she was. Rearing up, Daro uncorked the still considerable force that she could generate, and slammed both feet into Tira's midsection, sending him stumbling back. He roared in fury and surprise as his hands involuntarily left Daro's neck and clutched to his damaged midsection.

As for Daro herself, she slammed ungracefully to the hard ground, shooting hot tendrils of pain through her backside and then up her spine. Coughing and swimming in tears of pain both physical and emotional, she tried to press the advantage by rolling onto her knees to get up. Daro managed to get her left foot on the ground, and she was readying herself to stand up fully. Keelah, did her throat burn! Chancing a glance at Tira, she was dismayed at the sight before her: the det kazuat was not nearly as harmed as she'd hoped he'd be. With a shake of his head, he stalked back toward her with a slight wince with each step. She had at least slowed him down, but she knew the inevitable outcome unless -

Her left hand had hung listlessly at her side, and her fingers had touched the cold ground when she felt it. Keelah, how had she forgotten? Quickly, she released the two straps that held her bootknife in place. She silently thanked the Ancestors for the bosh'tet's arrogance. Somehow, she felt herself calm down. Perhaps it was the realization that this was it, or maybe it was due to her final formulation of a plan. She'd been caught off guard, yes. She'd been taken advantage of, yes. But this time, perhaps she would return the favor.

She watched him silently, and as she'd hoped, he bent down in an attempt to lift her to her feet and finish the job. His hands reached toward her, in slow motion.

"You know, Daro, you're all right." He laughs easily as he prepares to send another ball down the…what was it called? The "lane". She smiles at this. It is heartfelt; it is genuine. Keelah, she has never felt this way before about anyone else - not even the kid two compartments down from her on the Chayym. She barely remembers his name despite the near flawless memory that she possesses, such is her current enchantment.

"Th-thanks, Tira. I, um, like you, too. I mean…" Damn it. That's not how she meant to say it.

Or was it? Keelah, she wasn't sure what was going on with her head lately. This was nothing at all like the simple playing that she had been doing not so long ago. Her dolls had been her favorite thing about being a kid. She had only recently become aware of the odd looks that she would get from those that she might have considered friends. Little did they know that she was only trying to find places for new and improved implants for them - to help them live longer and better. They hadn't seen what she sees. Daro'Xen sees potential. They see only change, destruction. Deviation from the mean, perhaps.

But Tira? He sees her, as she is; and if he judges her, he does not do so harshly. In him she perhaps finds acceptance, that she is not just an outlier, that she is worth the effort of kinship.

He laughs a little at her obtuse response, but it is not a teasing sound. It does not contain malice nor does it intend harm. His eyes form the familiar crescents of a wide and genuine smile. He places the ball back on the rack and takes a step, then another, and then another. With each step, Daro's pulse increases with the anticipation of his touch. He extends a hand, reaching for her shoulder before she -

With speed and tenacity that would have made a salarian jealous, in one fluid motion Daro's left hand had moved backwards then and up. In that motion she had swiped the knife from its holster and without hesitation, she extended the blade with enough force to pierce Tira's suit. There was a gurgling gasp of surprise as she felt the slight hesitation as her knife first encountered his suit, then skin and then the bone beneath that. The pause of penetration was nearly imperceptible, but Daro felt it all too well. She was not consciously aware of it, but her eyes never left his own wide bright eyes. They were bright with life and engorged in surprise and terror. He can't believe that this has happened.

Daro continued to press further and deeper, inserting the foreign metal that she knows will kill him - if not from the rupture of vital organs, then from the introduction of foreign pathogens directly into his bloodstream. If one doesn't get him, the other certainly will. A dark whisper in her mind pondered which she would prefer that ends him.

She stepped up from her kneeling position, and was amused by his attempts to halt the blade's advance. He flailed wildly and weakly at her arms, her shoulders that he could not reach. His crimson blood began to gurgle around the blade that was still inserted in him. His life ran down his suit in a slow, dark rivulet.

Daro smiled through hot tears and let go of the knife, allowing him to stumble backwards weakly. As he tumbled to the ground, it was his turn to lean prostrate against a dark, cold and unfeeling wall. His arms hung limply at his sides.

"Daro…" he whispered. His voice sounded like something she'd never heard before. The noise was simple, pleading…monstrous. She froze at the sound of this vocal bolt of lightning, and her smile was erased from existence. Left in its wake was an open frown with her hot tears rolling regretfully into her mouth.

Hearing her name, she shook her head in defiance. No, how dare he call for her. After all of this? After this betrayal?

Her feet moved toward him anyway. Within a few impossibly heavy steps, she stood in front of him before crouching down to look him in the eye.

"What, Tira?" she hissed. "Will you now beg for your life? For mercy? For forgiveness?" Somehow she didn't recognize her own voice; it was dispassionate and alien in its quality and yet it felt completely natural.

He coughed. It was a wet and disgusting sound. She watched and heard a spray of blood squelch against the inside of his visor. Death was now a certainty.

"No, Daro," he gurgled. "We both know that I deserve neither. Nor should you give me either."

She blinked at him. It was a startlingly transparent appraisal.

"For what it's worth, I am…sorry," he rasped.

For a reason that she would later still be unable to name, she sat beside him as she deflated against the wall. Keelah, she was tired. She didn't feel him tumble over in exhaustion and weakness. Tira's helmeted head rested in her lap. There was a moment when she thought that she would speak; when it seemed that she would offer some oddly fitting platitude. She did not recall grasping for and holding his hand. Had he really deserved to die?

"Daro…remove my mask…please…"

Her first reaction was revulsion. What a stupid idea! He would die if she -

Instead of asking why, her fingers went to the little release buttons and unlatched the locking mechanism. Shaking, she lifted the visor away from his helmet, and for the very first time in her young life, laid eyes on another quarian face that didn't belong to her parents. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. Keelah, he appeared to be little older than herself, she thought. His features were angular, and his gray-purplish skin was marred by the wet red globs of blood that mockingly clung to his chin and cheeks.

His eyes were dim.

"Thank you…" he whispered with a dry hoarseness that she would come to loathe as it woke her from too many sound sleeps.

Her own eyes stung from the tears. Did she look like that? Did all quarians look like him? Because his features were…

Nothing further was said as she cradled the head of her dying…friend? No, clearly that had not been correct. Well, maybe it had been at one point, but it was no longer. Their eyes remained locked together - his in death, Daro's in continued life - until his light slowly dimmed, blinked, then was extinguished.

Never would it return.

For either of them.

Her tears would continue to fall long after this night was done.

She sat in the back of the ship, trying desperately to remain unseen as her crying fits rocked her body, heart, and mind. The rows of seats in front of her held a stunning array of galactic species. When she'd boarded from the Citadel, Daro had had to make it a point to not look at any of them.

Keep your head down, don't speak unless spoken to, and try not to look like someone who just murdered her only real friend.

Again, hot tears tumbled mercilessly down her face and the ability to control the shaking in her hands was swiftly eroding away into so much dust.

She had woken up maybe an hour after she watched Tira'Nexala take the final breath before he met his own Ancestors. On autopilot, she gently lifted his head from her lap, surprised by its weight and the stiffness in his body. With some reverence, she'd laid his helmeted head down and replaced his visor. With a forced calming breath, she had gotten about the business of tying off and cutting the loose ends. First, she'd removed her knife from his chest, watching in something akin to curiosity as its removal forced a small spout of blood to gush from the wound. Daro had held the blade in front of her with a morbid fascination. Finally, she'd placed it back into the sheath that was strapped to her leg.

Daro, for reasons known only to a dreaded, quiet part of her mind, waited until Tira's blood had dried on the blade. She had not even attempted to wipe it clean as she slipped it back into its resting place with a sort of dreaded reverence.

Maybe so she could always have a part of him with her?

A grim reminder of sorts.

Then Daro had retrieved her omnitool from his side pouch, and scanned his own omnitool. She'd been shocked by what she'd found - hundreds of files and messages and secret dealings. He was, in fact, the quarian stereotype - the exception that proved the rule. But that wasn't why she'd accessed it.

She'd needed credits.

Transferring credits onto a credit chit was easier than she'd thought it'd be. A simple hack-and-erase program that Tira himself had given her in the first place (she laughed bitterly at the slice of irony) broke in and then covered her electronic tracks, and she was 200,000 credits richer.

Then she'd wiped the omnitool clean. Scanning it for a second and then a third time confirmed that there was no data stored at all on the device, and the virus she'd uploaded was confirmed to have wiped any e-trace of what she'd just done.

"Leave no trace, Daro," she'd muttered aloud as the words - his words - echoed through her mind in his haunting voice.

But now she was alone - completely alone - with only the clutching of her heart and the salty liquid forcing its way out of her tear ducts. She alternated between anger, sorrow, regret, and chastisement.

She thought of what she knew - or at least what she thought she knew - about how she'd felt around him. He had helped her out of an impossible situation and had asked for nothing in return except for her company. He had shown her how to survive and even prosper on the Citadel. Granted, most of their dealings were…unsavory, but she had learned a lot.

He'd always told her that he admired her tenacity and willingness to learn.

Daro had thought his actions toward her were born from a place of genuine care for her, not just as the means to an end.

How had she been so foolish?

How had Tira come to such a state in the first place?

The line of questioning led her to more questions - about power, strength, respect - that were far more existential in nature. What could be done so that her people would not have to stoop to this level of desperation, of cruelty?

How could she prevent anyone else from ever feeling what she felt now?

Turning her dispassionate and analytical mind in on herself, Daro concluded that she'd been too weak to see her pilgrimage out on her own terms, instead relying on the false charity of another. Now she knew that even her faux benefactor had been tainted by the stench of quarian weakness. Its stain and stench she resolved to eradicate.

When she'd finally arrived home -

"Into the darkness did I depart, into the cleansing embrace of wisdom have I returned."

"Welcome home, Daro'Xen. Please proceed to bay 17 aboard the Chayym."

She'd come home with credits, a cutting edge omnitool operating system, and the bloody lessons that were trapped within her sundered and hardening heart.

Stepping onto her new ship, Daro'Xen nar Chayym withered away and died from the wounds inflicted on her now-broken soul.

In that girl's place would stand the looming figure of Daro'Xen vas Moreh, with a singular purpose forged from the ashes of that dead and barren soul.

She would return her people to greatness, damn the costs -

For she'd paid that price already.

She'd paid it in spades.