Exitium Eternal

by MintyFeet

A turian patrol ship encounters a mass relay unlike any other. The peoples of Citadel space and the Terminus have no idea that beyond it lies one thing: Doom.

9. Chapter 9

BOOK THREE: TERMINAL
VOLUME ONE: FREEFALL (I)

8th of the Fifth Umbral Moon, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age
(October 8th, 2657 Galactic Standard)

It is six in the morning, on th-

Saren ignored the morning call to prayer as he swung out of bed; a quick rinse in the shower later, he put on his undersuit, strapped himself into his combat armour and threw his cloak on. Two energy bars and a mug of water made for a quick and easy breakfast; his weapons - sword, extension staff, sidearm, rifle and shotgun - were waiting by the rack installed next to the front door, and he attached them to his armour with practiced ease. The nearest simulator room was only a hallway away from his quarters, and having already reserved it - not that anyone would be using it yet, since morning prayer and breakfast didn't finish for another forty-five minutes - he entered and made his way over to the command terminal next to the gymnasium's floor. His talons clicked across the keypad with practiced ease:

Simulation Difficulty - 1:1 Realism
Enemy Density: Maximum
Enemy Types: Random (Hard)
Magic Restrictions: Tier One Only
Weaponry: As Previously Logged By User (Saren Arterius)
Weaponry Restrictions: Melee Only

He unclamped his rifle and shotgun, setting them down on a nearby bench, then stepped off the sidelines and into the training area; a moment later, hardlight projections flared into life, placing Saren in the middle of an urban residential block like any other in Indomitable. He rolled his shoulders, unsheathed his sword with his left hand and drew on his magi-biotics with his right, letting its icy heat coil in his fingers.

As the first wave of simulated demons began bearing down on him, Saren smiled, losing himself to the pure pleasure of combat.

Four months on, it was becoming easy. Urban and close-quarters combat had been his forte, even back in his days in basic training, and while Inquisitor Hislop probably wasn't a theoretical equal of the turian blademasters who competed in the Palaven Games, the human's combat experience and utter ruthlessness in sparring - combined with nearly every free hour he could find spent training in the simulators- had been a better teacher than Saren could have ever asked for.

He charged down the city street, shifting slightly from side-to-side to avoid the incoming fireballs thrown by the imps down the street and from the windows above; a multi-projectile biotic pull sent five imps hurtling towards him, and he canceled the pull early, letting their momentum carry the demons straight towards his oncoming blade. Two were bisected; the third, he slammed into the ground with a flick of a biotic push, crushing its head with a biotic-enhanced boot. The fourth and fifth imps fell to the ground beside him; dodging the fireballs from above without having to look, he skewered the first remaining demon with his blade and cast an unsigned frost-spike which tore through the final downed creature through the face.

Sensing something above, Saren purposely ignored the motion tracker in his HUD and let his magically-enhanced senses detect the aetheric signature above - cacodemon, grappling type, twenty metres directly above. Feeling the incoming tongue, he twirled to the left, grabbed the tongue as it stretched past him and pulled the creature down; its body shielded Saren from the next wave of incoming fireballs, and he rammed his blade through the centre of its back and out through its single eye.

From his right, a different set of projectiles came hurtling towards him - five frostballs, three acidballs, missile, revenant type - and he quickly signed a first-tier shielding spell, modified by a curling of his first talon to replicate itself into a seven-layered aegis with a biotic reinforcement at its core. A flowering purple half-dome blossomed into life, its layers unfurling outwards and shattering as they caught the incoming spells - until the missile impacted the final layer, sending shockwaves through Saren as the aetheric blowback rammed into the biotic barrier.

You're mine, Saren thought, releasing the barrier; in an instant, the shockwave travelling through his body vanished, and he hurled his sword towards the source of the missile, focusing on the pair of metal rings which hung from the blade's hilt - the ones he'd forged with not just alloyed metal, but nearly half a litre of his own blood. His mind resonated with the faint aetheric light of the phantasmal echo of his own soul's light, and he let his biotics flare with both magic willpower and physical strain.

The blink was the pinnacle of biotic warfare - the purest expression of mastery, letting one pass through physical matter and literally warp themselves through the fabric of spacetime; much to his chagrin, Saren had not unlocked its secrets. Still, his own jury-rigged copycat served him just as well: a combination of body-reinforcing sorcery, hypercharged short-duration biotic barrier, magic vector acceleration and biotic charge provided the speed, and the targeting matrix spell linking him to his sword sent him flying after his blade. Any observer would have seen only a turian-shaped blur suddenly veer upwards towards the nearest apartment block, and Saren caught the blade in mid-air, smashed through the apartment wall and transitioned from an impact-reducing roll into a combination biotic pull and sword-thrust to stab the biomechanical heart of the skeletal, missile-toting revenant that had fired at him; an instinctive biotic push sent it rocketing backwards into the wall of what appeared to be a living room as its core shattered and the demonic skeleton exploded in a shower of bone.

Twelve contacts remaining, should let my channels cool down. Sword throw. Projectile to distract. Spear remainder.

Of the twelve imps that had been standing nearby, three were caught in the blast; before the other nine could react, Saren hurled his blade in a curving arc, pinning the nearest demon's head into the ground, then used his biotics to fling a nearby couch at the remaining eight foes. Its impact did little to damage the beasts, but it bought him enough time to recall his blade with a biotic pull; he charged forward, clipping the hilt of his sword into the extension rod on his back and, with a mighty swing, decapitated two demons with the first strike, skewered the next with a flurry of thrusts, whirled around to catch one imp who'd snuck behind him with the haft of the spear and sent it flying into the ground.

Step back. Stomp. Five imps.

Two charged, while the other three prepared to cast their projectiles. Two frostballs. One acid. Spear one. Disengage, sword, frost shield, charge, crush.

A quick thrust of his weapon sent it through the guts of the first charging demon; dodging the claw-swipes of the next, he disengaged the link of the extension rod, swung his open left hand towards the neck of the oncoming attacker while pulling his blade back into his hand. It met his grasp just in time for the blade to rip through the neck of the imp - and with his right hand, he cast another unsigned shield, this one single-layered and ice-attuned. It caught the incoming frostballs, deflecting them away with a flare of light, before the acidball shattered it into glittering shards of dissipating aether - but he was already launching himself forward in a magi-biotic charge. The speed of his impact crushed the first imp into paste as he impacted the wall behind it, and an instant later he was falling onto the final two demons with his blade at the ready.

The final demonic beasts in the room had barely fallen to the floor, dead, when Saren's instincts flashed with something dark. He braced himself, sign-cast his magi-biotic multi-layer barrier just in time for a roar to reach his ears; a Baron of Hell, twelve feet of crimson skin and horns and rippling muscle, smashed through the doorway and swung at him with a flaming, talon-handed swipe. Its impact shattered his barriers and sent him flying back out through the opening he'd made in his entrance.

Reorient, reassess, kill.

The second he sensed the building he was about to hit come within reach, he cast a repulsion field behind himself, letting him bounce off with jaw-rattling force - but not enough to cause him any harm. The Baron leapt out in pursuit, just in time to meet Saren charging right back at it; blade outstretched, he caught the demon in its left eye, then shunted himself back to street level before it could take another swing at him.

They stood, silent, in the street, for only a moment.

One enemy. Powerful. Not as fast as I am.

Saren let it make the first move; it charged at him, and Saren sent himself flying towards it with another charge; it aimed another swipe with its left hand, and Saren continued forward, pulling himself up the creature's arm, flipped behind it and rammed his blade into the back of its neck. An unsigned cast sent crackling lightning through his blade, and he flung himself downwards, ripping open the back of the beast. He landed, jumped back and narrowly avoided being covered in the smoking (simulated) viscera of the beast, before again his enhanced senses felt something round the corner and fire a barrage of incoming projectiles - heat, burst projectiles, multiple footsteps. Arachnotron?

His thoughts were confirmed a moment later when the disgusting, eight-legged biomechanical monstrosity came into view; he was just about to make ready for yet another charge when the simulation froze, and then began disappearing.

"Most sincerest apologies, Lord Arterius," came a familiar voice, "but we have a mission today!"

Saren sighed and shut his magic channels manually with a twist of his talons. "Benyamin. Good morning." He looked up, and frowned, noticing another Inquisitor - a young human woman with black skin like Benyamin's, her equally-black hair braided into a short ponytail. She had a severe, calculating expression, and she stood stiffly several paces back from Inquisitor Hislop; she carried a chainsword and a pistol, and her uniform was much like Ben's, with only a green sash indicating that she was an Acolyte, not a fully-fledged Inquisitor. "We have someone coming with us today?"

The woman stepped forward, knelt, and slammed her fists together in salute. "A good morning to you, Lord Spectre Arterius. I am Katherine Shepard, Acolyte Inquisitor, come here this day to train beneath yours and Inquisitor Hislop's watchful eyes. I hope to serve the two of you well in your duties, and to uphold His will in the prosecution of His commandmants."

Saren twirled his blade around, tucked it back into its scabbard and rubbed at his fringe. "Ah. Good morning to you, Acolyte Shepard. There's no need to stand on formality - so long as we're not out in public, you can just call me Saren, and I'm sure Ben's already given you his thoughts on proper procedure."

"I did," Benyamin noted with a roll of his eyes, "but it seems to have been ignored. Anyways, you've been assigned an Acolyte as of today. Congratulations, Saren! You are, as of now, a probationary Inquisitor!" He clapped theatrically, then walked up to Saren and clapped him on the shoulder. "Not that you require the encouragement. Slayer knows you've been handling everything on your own these days."

Saren chuckled, and folded his arms. "So? What's our mission for today? Are we hunting down people who haven't paid their parking tickets, or dine-and-dashers?"

"No, I was entirely serious," Benyamin replied earnestly. "We do have an actual mission today - a mystery to solve! A true investigation!" The man paused, then glanced back at Katherine, who was still kneeling with her head bowed. "Ah, Katherine, why are you still kneeling?"

"No order was given for me to stand," Katherine replied matter-of-factly. "Until directed otherwise, it is my duty to remain bowed in the presence of superiors such as yourselves."

Saren glanced at Ben, one eye raised. "You are quite possibly the least by-the-books Inquisitor I've met so far, chosen specifically because Patriarch Harper thought I'd work better together with someone similar to me, rather than a more...classically-trained individual. I am the sort of person who respects rules, if I think they're worth anything. And this is who they picked for me to mentor?"

Benyamin scratched at his hair uncomfortably. "I do not - yes? Believe me, it was not my choice to make, and I did not select - Katherine! You are free to stand, and at ease, at that," he said, scowling as Katherine got up and awkwardly shuffled over to lean up against a nearby wall. "Like I was saying, Saren - Katherine was by no means my first choice. That is not to say she is unskilled - indeed, she completed basic Inquisitorial training at the top of her class. Her combat skills are record-breaking, her prowess with magic is nothing to laugh at, and she is a leader like no other of her age. Truthfully, for any other probationary Inquisitor, she would be the best of the best. The finest choice." He paused, then sighed again. "Even so, I thought her...inflexibility to be a poor match for us scoundrels, and yet the orders from on high came."

"Katherine? Are you, by chance, related to Hannah Shepard?" Saren asked. "Knight-Errant, attached to the Church of the Inquisition, went to the Citadel as part of First Contact with the Council?"

"Just so, milord," Katherine replied stiffly. "Abbess Shepard is my mother."

"Spirits. I really hope they didn't pick her because they thought name-recognition meant anything to me," Saren grumbled; he walked over to Katherine and sat down on a nearby bench. "Come here - take a seat," he said, gesturing to a spot next to him.

"Of course, milord." Katherine did as she was instructed, and sat next to Saren, hands folded across her lap in perfect posture.

"Alright. Look. Top of your class - that's good to hear. If Ben says so, I have full confidence in your abilities," Saren explained, careful to look Katherine in the eyes. "But let me tell you this right now - Patriarch Harper was very happy to have me here, along with several other Spectres, specifically because we represent a shakeup in operational doctrine to your Inquisition. Let me ask you something - a hypothetical mission. A group of heretics is operating out on the frontier. Not actual cultists, or anything of the sort - I'm fully aware that you can only cleanse that sort of taint with fire. No - think slavers, pirates, bandits, maybe...secessionists. Do you follow?"

Katherine nodded slowly. "Heretics of that sort - yes, I am following."

"Good. Now - you have two years to figure out how they plan on attacking….say...a military outpost, because you have actionable intelligence that they intend to wait that long to contact or set up other cells, gather material for their assault, et cetera. They're well-entrenched in the local populace, have been known to flee at the first sign of suspicion and are notoriously hard to nail down once they think they're going to come under attack. They've been caught several times, and yet, let's say...fifty years later nobody's managed to nail their command structure down, and even when you thin their numbers with violence they're very good at quickly re-establishing new cells wherever they set up shop. What's your first instinct? How do you deal with this?"

"Saren," Ben cautioned in a low tone. "Come on, now, be kind."

"Ignore Benyamin. Just answer the question, Katherine," Saren continued, waving Ben off with a shake of his hand. "Don't think too hard. Just say what comes to mind."

Katherine looked up, smiling, and spoke with ironclad confidence. "It would be best to marshal a strike team and assault the heretics immediately, milord. Their history of flight means that only overwhelming force will be a match for them, and it is only with swift, unmatched violence that the heretics in question can be stamped out before they are capable of retreating and regrouping."

"Bad answer," Saren noted, sighing. "But textbook for your people. Everyone else, Benyamin included, gave me that answer."

"If I may be so bold, milord," Katherine said, frowning, "how else would one go about defeating these heretics? Surely you would not suggest simply waiting and observing them."

"No, I would not," Saren agreed. "Why?"

"The heresy would spread," Katherine replied, forehead creasing as she thought through the problem. "And such things cannot be allowed. It would be vital to crush these blasphemers as quickly as possible."

Saren shook his head. "You know from intelligence that they can easily retreat - they've done it before. And they could always just blend back into the populace. Pick another option."

Katherine sat, silent, for several moments, before shaking her head. "I do not understand, milord. You do not propose immediate action - this, I understand, though I do not agree. And yet you also do not propose observation. I can think of no other acceptable choices."

"Come, now, Saren - do not string the young lady along," Benyamin said, shrugging. "You know very well that I did no better when you proposed the same exercise to me."

"Not talking to you, Ben. Katherine, let me ask you something. When I say infiltration, what do you think?" Saren tapped his head. "Again, just say what comes to mind."

Katherine bit her lip, clearly trying to grasp the goal at hand. "I...covert operations, in order to...observe the heretics at work, whilst remaining undetected. Perhaps through the use of concealment magic, to directly lay eyes upon their actions?"

"Close, but not quite."

"I must apologize," Katherine said at last, downcast. "I am incapable of understanding your lesson."

"You are. And that's a problem," Saren said, rubbing at his chin, "not because you're stupid, or because you're incapable of action. When I say infiltration, I mean infiltration of the heretic ranks-"

"-blasphemy," Katherine gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. "No! You would - you would ask me to...to...to, what, break bread with the heretics? Contribute to their cause? Steal from the innocent? Even - even bring harm to them?"

"Yes. Yes, I would," Saren said, nodding. "Ignore your objections for a minute. Think it through. You approach the heretics, posing as a common woman. You are...a farmhand, or a factory worker, recently arriving on their planet of operations, and you express to these heretics that you agree with their cause. You say, 'the Exitium offers me nothing but war, so I'm throwing in with your lot.' Or, you say, 'I'm sick and tired of being a poor farmer, when the businessmen at the top make all the money. I just want revenge for all my labour that they've stolen.' Something along those lines."

"But I do not," Katherine sputtered, scowling, "I most certainly do not espouse such beliefs!"

"You don't have to, not really. They're heretics. You're lying to them," Saren explained slowly. "You play the part of a heretic. You have two years to gather information, to place yourself into their chain of command. Ideal outcome, you work your way into their highest echelons, maybe even call the shots. Root out the other cells. Expose the whole rotten thing. Even if you don't succeed at that, you'll still be in a much better position to find intelligence, assassinate key targets, or sabotage their operations. Am I wrong?"

Katherine, mouth agape, could only blink in abject confusion.

"Am I wrong, Katherine?"

"N-n-no," Katherine managed at last. "I...I cannot...your logic is not faulty," she admitted. "But the very thought - what of your soul? Your conscience? What will He think, on the day of judgement, that you have spat upon His name and damned yourself with sin?"

"The Doom Slayer," Saren said-

"-blessed be His name," Katherine muttered-

"-wants your people to be protected and to eliminate the threat demons pose to you. I am not a theologian. I am not even a religious man myself. And yet, somehow, I feel like he wouldn't care all that much if you played the role of actor for a while, in order to address the threat the actual heretics play." He paused, then laid a hand on hers. "Can you tell me, from the bottom of your soul, that you believe it would be worth allowing innocent people to die, all because you could not dirty yourself with a year, two years, of lying about your faith? Would you condemn a hundred innocents, because harming a single other is too great a cost? If not, what of a thousand? What number, then, would be enough, to justify your inaction?"

Katherine shuddered. "It...the worth...no. No, it would not be worth the cost. He commands us to shelter the weak and protect the innocent. I am one woman. My soul, my body - I have already sworn it to the cause."

"You will follow His One Command, to the very end, right?" Saren's eyes bored into hers. "You promised this. I know you did."

"I made an oath," Katherine answered, trembling. "But - but - would - you would not ask this of me, would you?" She looked up, eyes barely holding up against his own. "I fear that I cannot - I will not - be able to do such things."

"Well, I'm not asking you to drop what you're doing and live a life of piracy. It was a hypothetical," Saren answered, ruffling her hair. "Spirits willing, you won't ever have to do anything like that. But I'm trying to make a point, Katherine. You - the best of your class, the exemplar of your classmates - did not even consider infiltrating enemy ranks to be an acceptable solution to a problem. It's not the fact that you dislike it - I hate doing it, too," Saren lied, his tone gentle.

"Hahaha, fuck yeah, Mendax," the man says, turning to you as you start slipping away from the crowd. "With Jutilium in charge, we're gonna start fucking shit up!"

"You know it, Neriso," you reply, grinning. It's not even hard to fake it, knowing what comes next. "Things are going to get real exciting soon. Just thinking about it leaves me breathless."

"Breathless? Holy shit, man, you talk like some sorta holo villain sometimes, y'know? All...educated and shit."

"Hey. Nobody says a pirate can't be classy."

"Ha! Maybe we oughta all start taking classes." Neriso takes a swig from his bottle. "Maybe this place could use a little class."

"Oh, I'll think of something," you say, waving as you leave.

"You have...consorted with heretics? Milord," Katherine whispered, "you are a...your will is iron, and your faith is strong." She paused, and her tone began to regain its confidence as terror became something approaching awe. "No, you, yourself, said you are not a man of faith. You...you have done such a thing, without His Hands most Holy to shield you."

"I haven't just done it once," Saren explained carefully. "Infiltration as a precursor to sabotage, assassination, even just as intelligence-gathering - I've done it dozens of times. And they might not have been heretics, not in the religious sense - but they were criminals of the worst sort. Slavers. Bandits. Pirates. Terrorists. And each time, I swear, infiltrating their ranks was the cleanest, most effective way of handling it. I might dislike doing that - befriending and betraying the enemy - but my own discomfort means nothing, knowing that I've saved lives elsewhere."

"Does such a thing not weigh heavily upon your soul?"

"It does."

"Mendax? Man, the fuck are you doing up here? Don't tell me you're getting all paranoid about those militia cruisers we passed," Brumus says, gesturing vaguely at the sensor consoles in the bridge.

"Look, man, I'm just being careful. All the boys downstairs are partying - someone's gotta make sure we don't get killed because nobody was paying any attention," you say, shrugging.

"Spirits, Mendax, relax! I drew the short straw, I'm on sensor duty. Get the fuck outta here, go have some fun!"

"You know me, Brumus, always hard at work. You go - I'll hang out here for a while."

"Sheesh. Well, it's up to you, you dork. Your loss." Brumus gets up, and you take his seat.

"Hey - you got any booze up here? Just because I'm not down there partying, doesn't mean I'm gonna sit here and be sober," you say, smirking.

"Fuckin' right I do. Got some in the fridge by the comms chair - one sec, I'll pass it to you on the way out."

"Thanks, Brumus. Don't worry about me. I'll be down there in the hangar soon, alright?"

"No worries, Mendax." Brumus walks over to the small fridge across the bridge.

You draw your pistol.

"Can always count on you, Brumus."

Silence.

"I'm not asking you to do these things. If you're not comfortable carrying out an order from me, then you're free to leave whenever you want. I just want you to know, Katherine, that if you wish to study under me - if you want to work with Inquisitor Hislop and I, that you're going to be exposed to some...unorthodox methods of carrying out your duties. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that my methods are objectively better than yours, or that infiltrating a bunch of theoretical heretics is going to be the key to winning, or even turning the tides of the War Eternal. But if I'm in a position to make a hard decision, because that hard decision is going to save lives, I'll take that option every time."

Katherine swallowed, hard, and shut her eyes for a moment.

She opened them a moment later, a small fire smoldering deep beneath her discomfort. "Of course, milord. I...I understand. And, while I cannot promise that I will have the fortitude to follow or even approve of your methods, this I swear - I shall spare no effort to understand your ideals. So long as the lives of the innocent are protected - so long as we carry out His will in the name of righteousness, I shall endeavor to be a student you can only approve of."

"That's all I ask. So long as you try to keep an open mind," Saren added approvingly as he got up, "then we'll get along just fine."

Benyamin exchanged a glance with Saren, then grinned. "That is all we can ask for, Acolyte. In the end, all that we do is in His service."

You hum a little tune to yourself - The March of The Twenty-First Spears - as you pull the lever.

The slavers, the pirates, the scum in the hangar, all begin to scream, but you can't hear them.

There's no air in there anymore, after all.

You hum the song, imagining yourself back in Basic, marching to the graduation podium with your rifle at your side.

Neriso, somehow, manages to pull his way over to the door. He looks at you, even as life begins to drain from his eyes, clawing at the glass.

You smile, wink, and wave goodbye as his grip falters and he's sucked out into the vacuum of space.

The March of the Twenty-First Spears is a good song for a great day, you think to yourself.

Saren positively beamed. "Well said, Benyamin! Now," he continued, clapping his hands together, "what's our job today?"

"This is our target," Benyamin explained as he sat down with the other two; he unrolled a dataslate onto the bench between the group, and it flared to life, showing an image of some sort of large industrial complex centered around a large, multi-ringed pillar which poked out into the sky. "The Sigil Power Plant," he continued, "is located down on stack four-thousand-five-twenty, and provides power for hundreds of factories both nearby and on the next stack up. For the past few months, reports have been coming in that the factories which primarily rely on Sigil have been experiencing problems maintaining their output thanks to an ever-increasing frequency of power outages."

"You said this would be interesting. We're Inquisitors," Saren grumbled, "not electricians. Can't you send some priests from the Church of the Wretch?"

Benyamin shook his head. "The Church of the Wretch has, in fact, been operating on-site from the first day the complaints were reported. They have made no progress, unless something key has occurred without anyone noticing within the past day. It is not just them, either - the Lawbringers are involved, investigating the criminal act of refusing to provide services paid for, though, of course, the owners of the Sigil plant are firm in insisting that they cannot be held liable for power shortages when they themselves are already working hard to rectify the issue. The Church of the Slayer has sent representatives of their own as well - no small number of the factories affected are charged with the production of firearms and munitions, you see. And, of course, the company which owns Sigil has their own private investigators who, naturally, are displeased at the loss of face their company is suffering due to this entire chain of events."

Saren sighed and rubbed at his fringe. "This sounds like a total mess. Even if whatever is causing this problem was an easy fix - or was the result of one or two people - with all those different orgs down there getting in the way of each other, I'd be shocked if anyone was getting anything important done. Hells, if this was the Citadel, it'd be another three months before anyone could settle on a proper chain of command. As it stands, they're just contaminating the scene."

"It is within our power to take charge of the situation," Benyamin noted with a nod. "And so it should be. At the very least, I can imagine that having people direct the overall investigation in a specific manner would accelerate the process of deducing what, exactly, is causing problems for our friendly neighbourhood engineers."

So it was, then, that in short order Benyamin, Saren and Katherine made their way down deep into one of Indomitable's lowest manufacturing districts; nestled deep within a stack filled almost exclusively with factories, power plants and warehouses, the Sigil Power Plant was a sprawling complex of spiraling support facilities which culminated in the eponymous generator - a gleaming steel cylinder, at least a hundred stories in height, surrounded by a dozen floating clusters of rune-inscribed satellites. Arcs of shining blue aetheric energy flowed between the pillar, the satellites and energy collectors on the ground; the light emitted by the device was so great that as they landed in the building's parking lot Saren realized that all of the lamp posts and lights nearby were switched off, letting the natural illumination of the generator itself do the work.

"Well, I do believe we have found our problem," Benyamin muttered as the trio left their vehicle and descended a short flight of stairs. Down in the main yard - directly beneath the generator itself - crowds of engineers clad in blue uniforms were standing awkwardly to one side while a motley crew of Lawbringers, Wretch-priests, soldiers in dress uniform and several corporate representatives were busy holding a meeting at what once was the foreman's station. "Hello there! Inquisitors Hislop, Arterius and Shepard at your services," Ben called out as they approached.

"Oh, thank the Slayer," one of the soldiers said, jabbing a finger at the power plant. "Are you three here to take command?"

"We are," Saren replied. "It's my understanding that, at this time, representatives of no less than four separate groups are attempting to conduct independent investigations at this time. From now on, this is no longer the case." He paused, clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a professional, no-nonsense tone. "We're taking over operations. I need everyone in charge of each delegation to give me a summary of the situation so far - their take on the problem, what steps have been done to try and fix it, and any other information that might be pertinent. By the end of the day, I want full written reports, submitted to either myself or either of my colleagues. Leave nothing out. Every detail counts." There was only an instant of silence before the assembled individuals began talking amongst themselves, sending forward representatives; they lined up before Saren, and he nodded at Katherine. "Take notes - add your thoughts, if you have time. I'm recording this, so don't worry too much about transcribing everything."

"Understood, milord," Katherine replied; she drew her dataslate, and began typing away.

"Would you mind?" Benyamin jerked his head at the administrative building. "I shall see if I can conduct a questioning of my own within - perhaps the scribes and bureaucrats shall have something to offer."

"Go ahead." Saren watched as Benyamin took off at a jog towards the nearest office building, then turned his attention to the assembled delegation before him. "Alright. First, I want to hear from you," Saren began, gesturing at the strogg representative from the Church of the Wretch - a humanoid, balding thing, features obscured by a three-eyed mask and long, flowing red robes. "Your name and rank?"

"Priest Visindi," the strogg said in a tinny, low-pitched voice. "Inquisitor, we have examined every piece of the aetheric reactor, from the outer casing to its smallest bolts. There are no problems. No faults. None. So, too, have we examined the control modules and stations which dictate the function of the reactor. Those, too, are in exceedingly good condition. The error, ultimately, must be one of the flesh, not of the machine."

"Like Hell, they is," the grey-haired woman to Visindi's right grumbled in an dialect Saren's translatory matrix placed as being an oddly-specific North Salavos accent; clad in a yellow jumpsuit festooned with tool belts and wearing a pair of well-beaten goggles around her neck, she folded her arms and spat a thick blob of greyish-brown paste on the ground. "We has been working our arses into dust each day, aye, and I'll not has you come round and tells me that were us who's to blame."

Saren coughed to catch her attention. "Your name, ma'am?"

"Parbati," the woman replied proudly, "and I's worked here at Sigil since the day it were built. Fifty-two years of service, and not until a few months ago did this...strangeness take hold this here facility. I mean no offense, Priest Visindi, but we labourers and engineers knows our work good, and we does it well. Check our records! They are spotless."

"I do not mean to imply that you and your fellows are incompetent," Visindi noted, shaking its head. "Even the greatest strogg, is, at the end of all things, a marriage of flesh and machine. Mistakes can happen. It is a possibility, you must admit?"

Parbati, in turn, simply opened a pouch on her belt, withdrew a handful of dried leaves of some sort, and stuffed them into the back of her mouth. "Now look, priest, I take no hurt from your words - but I swear to you, in His name, we has only done our duties as instructed."

Saren tapped his talons against his legs thoughtfully. "What about the cabling that transmits the power to the factories in question? Could a fault there have sent some sort of surge back towards the power plant?"

"Captain Gleeson, Church of the Slayer's Ordnance Requisition department," the soldier in the group said; he was a pale-skinned man with a thick, red-haired mane, and his enormous, well-muscled build seemed to stretch his dress uniform to its limits. "All factories affected by the power outages report no problems with their equipment - and, given the fact that the affected manufactories appear to have no pattern of interruption, we do not believe this to be an act of sabotage, either."

"The cabling," Visindi added, "we have scanned it extensively and found no issues there either. I have tasked my colleagues with searching in the labyrinth of tunnels in which these cables reside - it will be a week, perhaps two, before they finish their on-foot inspections, but I am quite confident they will find no problems." They shrugged, a metallic clanking coming from its robes as they did so. "Steel is certain where the flesh is not. It is not an insult, just a statement of fact."

"What, then? An act of sabotage? I find that...hard to believe," Saren admitted, scowling. "If someone wished to destroy the reactor or otherwise seriously cripple the factories which use Sigil as their primary power source, I can't imagine it would be difficult. Or, at least, any harder than repeatedly causing power outages."

"I must concur," a woman in the uniform of the Lawbringers added. "Officer Wiesta - me and my men have been surveilling the entire facility, day-in and day-out almost since the complaints started, and nothing untoward has been found, at least not visibly. If these outages are the work of a group, or an individual, who have been labouring to...well, I am not quite sure what their goal would be, but in any case this would have to be an act of internal sabotage. I am at a loss as to what else could be causing this."

Saren heard from one last person - a corporate representative from the Aspis Manufactorium - who, other than complaining about the situation, had nothing to add, and once he confirmed nobody had anything else to share, he let them go before turning to Katherine, who was dutifully scribbling away at her slate. "Your thoughts?"

Katherine bit her lip and glared at the slate. "I...hrm. The situation is, indeed, confounding, milord. It is, as you say, very strange that these outages should be happening in the first place, and once again, as you said, if this was an attempt at sabotage it is a very poor one at that. Even so, what else could it be? My instinct speaks to me, and it says that this is an intentional act - though to what end, I cannot say."

"An intentional act. Hrm," Saren muttered to himself. He pulled up his omnitool, and called Benyamin; the man picked up a moment later.

"Saren? Something the matter?"

Saren grimaced. "No - well, yes. Nothing's really been cleared up. Any luck on your end?"

"Not particularly," Benyamin admitted with a deep sigh. "I did speak with the head foreman - the man did say he was rather miffed about how the place is run, but the complaints were more to do with how the staff are kept around instead of being sent home, even when the generator has been down for hours on end. He insisted that I speak with the plant's operations manager, go straight to the top, and convince him to give the workers some extra time off if they are going to be sitting around doing nothing anyhow."

Saren raised an eye. "Are you planning on doing that?"

"No, not particularly," Benyamin replied, shrugging. "Ideas?"

Saren sat, silent, for several moments.

"Maybe. Ben, could you check around, and see who might have access - direct access, that is - to the generator's output? Or, ah, its master controls? That sort of thing." Saren gestured for Katherine to join him, and he nodded at the young woman. "You've got a better grasp on Exitium technology than I do - Katherine, if you were to just...yank the plug on an aetheric generator, would its excess power dissipate?"

"With explosive results, yes," Katherine answered, confused. "Aetheric reactors - especially one of this size and with this many connections - have a draw-down period. The deactivation process is prolonged, allowing time for any excess energy, as well as any surges from power already flowing in the output conduits, to be safely redirected."

"Redirected? Where," Saren asked, "and how quickly?"

"Emergency battery banks," Katherine explained, gesturing at a fenced-off area in the far distance which housed a small forest of gleaming metallic obelisks. "They will ensure the reactor is disengaged without incident, and will store the excess power over the course of several minutes. Indeed, such is their design that the batteries themselves can be removed from their place in the installation, and can be transported for use elsewhere in case of a critical power shortage elsewhere."

"Like - if a munitions factory was in dire need of power, since the power plant here suffered an outage," Saren said slowly.

"Yes?" Katherine cocked her head. "That would be the case."

He leaned in close to the young woman. "Katherine, I need you to go investigate those battery banks. Check their power levels, see if they're charged, when they've received power, how often they've been used lately. Especially if they've been used. See if any of those batteries have been shipped off-site. Ask around. If you do end up needing to check yourself, don't make a show of it. Be discreet."

"I...I shall do so," Katherine said, nodding; she got up, made a show of saluting Saren, then ambled off at a leisurely pace and began speaking with Parbati, who was in the middle of sorting her toolbox.

"You think someone is...what, siphoning the power for something?" Benyamin frowned. "What for? Power is practically free on Indomitable, unless you are exceeding your allotted ration - and let me tell you, having once tried to operate a rokok farm in my house's backyard, ah, let us say, before I was granted a permit to do so, the power ration per household is absurdly large."

"Could be another factory," Saren mused. "Why bother paying extra, when you can work a deal out with an existing operator? Maybe they've worked out a price that's lower than the government rate. I don't know. It's just a theory. Depends on what state the emergency battery banks are in."

Ben grumbled something incoherent, then returned his attention to Saren. "I suppose any lead is better than none. I shall investigate the matter of the plant's master controls. You?"

"Nothing to do at this point but wait on you and Katherine - well, that's not strictly true," Saren said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I might go have a little chat with the plant manager."

"Do you have specific suspicions?"

"No, but it can't hurt," Saren admitted. "Plus, it'll help give us a better idea of the general vibe here."

"I...do not follow," Ben answered.

"Sometimes there aren't any leads, in my experience, so you've got to make your own. Put a little pressure on the higher-ups, see if they leak info without realizing it."

Benyamin chuckled, and shook his head. "Are you certain you are not just looking for an excuse to threaten the poor man as sport?"

Saren grinned. "I don't need an excuse to do that. I'm a Spectre and an Inquisitor. It's a perk of the job."

The plant manager's office took only a few minutes to walk to; the exterior was much like any other office building - a simple wooden door in a bland, obviously prefabricated hallway. The plaque on the exterior was made of simple metal, and the engraving read thusly: Skye Turnick, General Manager - Plant Operations. Saren knocked at the door, and a moment later a man's voice replied, muffled from within.

"Enter!"

Saren did so, and was greeted with an austere room. A single metal desk with a terminal sat at the far end of the office, and a similarly cheap-looking table with a half-dozen seats lay in the middle of the room. The only decorations Saren could see were a plain, beige prayer rug tucked in the corner of the office, upon which the office's sole occupant sat cross-legged, as well as a wooden statuette of a nondescript human holding a crescent moon upon its back hanging from the ceiling by the desk.

"Good afternoon, Inquisitor…?"

"Inquisitor Arterius," Saren answered.

"Well met," the man said; pale-skinned, blond-haired cut short and his limbs lanky, he struck a distinctly unimposing figure as he got to his feet. "I am Skye Turnick, manager of this humble power plant - let me say, Inquisitor, I am glad to see that your organization is looking into the matter of my plant's malfunctions. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"Nothing in particular, Mr. Turnick," Saren replied, moving forward to meet the man; they shook hands, and after only a moment's hesitation the plant manager clasped arms with Saren as well. "My colleagues are, at the moment, working to clarify what's already been found out by those who came before us. I simply wished to speak with you to get your take on the situation."

Skye gestured for Saren to sit at the meeting table, and the two men sat down. "I am afraid, Inquisitor, that the information I have to offer will likely be the same as you have heard so far," Skye sighed. "Truly, it is a most confounding situation my workers and I find ourselves in."

"Even so," Saren replied with a small smile, "I would ask that you speak with me regardless."

Skye cleared his throat, then nodded. "Where would you like me to begin, Inquisitor?"

"From the start, please."

"Well, our problems began about four months ago, maybe a little less," Skye began. "It was hardly serious - in hindsight, examining the records, the generator failures began at least a week before my engineers first reported the issue. The generator would overload for less than a picosecond, then reactivate just as quickly - far below the notice of any of my workers. Of course, sooner rather than later, the outages began happening at an increasing frequency and the outages themselves lasted longer and longer - and here we are now." Skye wearily rubbed at his forehead. "Now, the outages can last as long as a whole day, before the generator reactivates - and there is, ah, considerable pressure from multiple people who do, in all fairness, rely on Sigil's output to go about their daily business."

You didn't mention them. Odd. "What of the emergency battery banks? I would have thought," Saren retorted, "that at the very least they would be of some use."

For the briefest moment, Skye seemed confused, then shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, Inquisitor, but that they have not proven themselves to be sufficient at this time."

Hesitation. Why? "Apologies, Mr. Turnick - I am not entirely familiar with your technology yet," Saren admitted. "Could you fill in the blanks for me?"

Skye nodded. "Of course, Inquisitor. The emergency banks do indeed receive power when the reactor shuts down, yes, but the output simply isn't enough," he explained. "A single draw-down cycle, in addition to the flushing of the conduits only provides a modicum of power - hardly enough to charge even a single battery. The banks are designed for cases of catastrophic reactor failures, not unexpected stoppages, you see - and we have been using the leftover power from each reactor failure to speed up the rebooting process."

Saren pulled up his internal HUD with a thought, and quickly used his unsigned magic to send a message via his omnitool without taking his eyes off Skye.

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to K. Shepard - how much are emergency batteries charged during non-catastrophic reactor shutdown? Enough to provide one full charge? Spare power used for rebooting, y/n?

"That must be frustrating to deal with," Saren said aloud. "These outages, and not even being able to provide a stopgap solution - I can understand that there are quite a few people who've been inconvenienced by this, but from what I've learned so far none of this is really your fault."

The man chuckled slightly and shook his head. "I am a Zentholic - you are familiar, Inquisitor Arterius?"

"Somewhat," Saren replied, recalling the various cultural briefings he'd read many months ago. "I know the basics - of your Creator, of Saint Yeshammed, and so forth."

"Yeshammed commands us to suffer, such that our souls are shaped to receive enlightenment," Skye explained with a tired smile. "If I were being punished for, say, the destruction of Sigil due to some catastrophic explosion, or if I were being jailed due to legal troubles, I would have no difficulty in accepting my fate. I would welcome it!" He gestured vaguely at the windows, and exhaled deeply. "But these trials, I should imagine, can hardly be called suffering. I gain no spiritual boon from...doing paperwork and writing letters regarding the technical matters at hand, and I can scarcely imagine that my workers are truly suffering, either, unless one finds boredom truly inexcusable. In truth, this entire situation is exhausting to deal with, especially given the fact that the situation seems only to worsen and progress in fixing the aetheric reactor remains maddeningly elusive. I would just like to be able to get back to work, and I am sure that my engineers would, too."

Zealot? Maybe. Hard to say. Press harder. "I could imagine how this situation, in and of itself, could be a test from the Creator," Saren said slowly. "Yes, you are not being thrown in jail, and certainly you're not being attacked by demons or shot at by pirates, but just thinking about the situation you and your subordinates are in makes me want to bang my head against a wall. Stuck labouring on a machine that just won't work, insisting to your clients and corporate headquarters that you really are doing everything that you can - and nobody'll listen? That sounds pretty bad to me."

Skye regarded Saren with an appraising look; his tone was, like Saren's, slow, and searching. "I...yes, I suppose that if one were to examine the circumstances through that lens, it could be construed as suffering. Not the most sanctified kind, but suffering of a sort. It eases my heart, knowing that, perhaps, this is not a complete waste of time and effort." The plant manager cocked his head. "I know this is something of an unlikely thing, but you are not a Zentholic convert yourself, are you, Inquisitor Arterius?"

Incoming Encrypted Communications - : Regular shutdown procedures in case of unexpected power failure enough to charge 2-6 batteries depending on output at time of shutdown. Residual energy in reactor post-deactivation recycled for reboot, energy remains for months unless purged manually. No need for extra power using batteries. Is something wrong?

Gotcha, you pyjak-fucker. So - questioning me? Changing the subject entirely, or trying to get me off balance? Both? "No, I'm not," Saren replied, tone professional. "I'm not a religious man, or even a spiritual one. You might call me an atheist, I suppose."

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to K. Shepard: Plant manager acting suspicious. Sitep re: battery status?

"Oh? I mean - I would not have expected you to convert to any of the Exalted Exitium's religions, as much as I would like you - and everyone else, of course - to see the light of Creation and join the Zentholic ranks," Skye noted with evident interest, "but to hear that you have no faith at all? Not even that of your own people's?"

Incoming Encrypted Communications - K. Shepard: Still questioning employees. Emergency facilities are only inspected twice per year manually - otherwise done via remote scan.
Last status report, taken one month ago, indicates the batteries have remained empty and unused for the past ten months. None shipped off-site.

So where in the hells is that extra power going? Saren folded his arms and leaned back in his chair; it creaked slightly as he did so. "You're familiar with turian religion?"

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to B. Hislop: Plant manager lying about emergency batteries. Sitrep re: master controls - siphon theory?

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to K. Shepard: Manager says otherwise. Perhaps energy being siphoned for other uses. Ask around - any power conduits that don't go to factories? Secondary clients, non-industrial uses, etc? Emergency cabling? Some sort of grounding wire, surge protector (not batteries)? Check with Lawbringers / Wretches / employees - stay discrete!

"I'm familiar with most of the major religions in Citadel space! Well, not in any substantive sense, I will admit. Four months is hardly enough time to make one a theologian of one religion, and of course a frustratingly large portion of my time these days is occupied trying to untangle the mess that Sigil has become," Skye replied happily. "But there are very few religions in our ancient Exitium. The worship of the Doom Slayer is all-pervasive, and, truthfully, far from complex. Makron-worship is...in my opinion, more of a philosophical sibling to those who worship the Doom Slayer. There are other religions which bear no ties to Zentholicism or the Doom Slayer, yes - but only dadaoism, the original faith of those death-cultists who founded what is now the Church of the Slayer's Order of the Long Knife, and the loose collection of animists, shamans and ancestor-worshippers who make up the Ìṣẹ̀ṣe Iūdaeōrum can lay claim to a substantial number of followers. Naturally, upon learning that an entirely new collection of peoples, all with their own religions, existed beyond the known borders of the Exalted Exitium, I was very excited to see what these alien faiths would hold."

Educated. Intellectually curious. Seeking converts? Maybe... wanting to understand his...enemy? "The same applied to me," Saren noted with a nod. "I agree with your sentiments regarding the Doom Slayer Religion and I don't know all that much about Makron-worship - but, believe me, I was more than a little surprised to see your Zentholic religion bear so much in common with the salarian believers in Yerisarta."

Incoming Encrypted Communications - B. Hislop: 3 individuals have access to master controls - Plant Manager, Chief Engineer, Priest from Wretch Church. Lawbringer records show the only person interacting with controls in the previous year is Plant Manager - always after shutdown events. Directing energy somewhere? Spoke to Chief of Engineering - says PM probably would be using control override to ensure safe shutdown, purging power into batteries, etc. Siphon theory is very credible.

"Ahhhh. Yes. I recall - they believe in the Great Wheel of Life, in the suffering of the soul and in the endless cycle of reincarnation, no? It is similar to Zentholicism, indeed. Though they may not believe in the Creator, it brings me great comfort, knowing that some of the people who hail from your lands share common divine inspiration with us Zentholics," Skye noted, beaming with pride. "It is, if you will excuse my arrogance, self-evident - demons or not, it is the fate of all that lives to suffer. Hunger, loss, pain, disease, death - these are universal things. It is no surprise that these salarian fellows of yours, renowned for their intellect, should arrive at the selfsame conclusion that we have."

Definitely a zealot. Linked to his lying? Influencing him? Doesn't add up. Why lie? What're you hiding? "And what about your thoughts on turian faith? I know we've veered quite off topic," Saren admitted, "but this is a fascinating conversation."

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to B. Hislop: Records of master control usage? Do those exist / can you get them?

Incoming Encrypted Communications - B. Hislop: Wait one. Restricted area, so on, so forth - will need to use Inquisitorial badge, roguish good looks.

"I have the time to spare. Creator knows otherwise I would just be filing more reports about the same things over and over again. In truth, your axatara - your Spirits - are not wholly incompatible with Zentholic canon. Saint Yeshammed himself speaks of several times in which he communes with, or is visited by the phantasmal; yes, Zentholicism would perceive spiritual beings to be more...individuals of their own, let us say, rather than the collective soul of a specific locus - but, frankly, the only concept I have difficulty with is that these Spirits can provide inspiration and guidance to the worthy, yet somehow simultaneously not have the power to influence the mortal realm." Skye shrugged. "I mean no offense - it just strikes me as a rather arbitrary place to draw a boundary."

Incoming Encrypted Communications - K. Shepard: There should not be. All power channels go lateral, or up-stack; Sigil provides power for manufactories up to three stacks above. Conduits are routed through the central tunnel before branching off - all are accounted for. Regarding other forms of power channeling - last resort in case of total reactor meltdown is emergency surge cable, located underneath Sigil - leads into industrial toxic waste storage. According to employees, said cable has not seen use, ever, due to a lack of such emergencies.

Shit - shit, shit, shit. Nobody would check that. Why would they? And even if they did, nobody would want to go trudging around, on foot, in a toxic dump. Easy enough from there to just change some records or fool a scan. "I'm surprised," Saren said, projecting a light and airy tone. "You seem quite accepting of at least some of our major faiths, considering that Zentholicism specifically denies the ability for any deity to supersede your Creator in divine hierarchy, and especially forbids the acceptance of any philosophy which contradicts the prime objective of, ah, 'absorbing suffering into the soul,' I believe my lessons said."

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to K. Shepard: Finish whatever you're doing first. Something is very wrong. Power has - probably - been siphoned off right from the start into that waste facility. Figure out what sorts of devices, rituals, etc, would require an ever-increasing amount of power at an ever-more-frequent rate.

"There is no need for the faithful to be unkind," Skye explained with a smile. "And, equally, while Yeshammed and his disciples command the faithful to spread the word of the Creator, we are not charged with the conversion of heathens by force - that would taint the spiritual purity of those who seek enlightenment. Every person who desires to become one with the Creator must begin their journey of their own volition. Every convert who becomes part of our congregation must join not because we, the faithful, have pressured them to do so, but because they have, through hardship and tribulation, accepted pain and hurt and suffering into their hearts, and wish only to accept it. To make it part of their personhood, to engrave its ink upon their souls."

Wait a minute. So - you can't convert anyone, but...you could...set up a situation in which people would be driven into your church? Saren suppressed any sign of suspicion, and simply continued politely chatting with the human. "I'm shocked, really, that your church doesn't have more followers," Saren honestly noted a moment later.

Incoming Encrypted Communications - B. Hislop: Data spike worked, also have a date with an employee next week. Very handsome fellow. Records show Turnick as the only person to use the master control terminal - not sure what to say. He has redirected power during outages, but either to the emergency batteries or, ah, an 'emergency surge cable' of some sort. Maybe he is innocent and was honestly attempting to prevent damage to the reactor?

Saren quickly forwarded his correspondence with Katherine to Ben, and smiled at Mr. Turnick. "Accepting the...primal, perhaps, nature of the universe - the natural order of life - seems like something most people I've talked to in the Exitium have done. Taking one more step - believing in your Creator - doesn't sound like much of a stretch, after that."

Skye shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps that last step is a large one - I do not think so, but certainly I do not speak for the common masses. It must be said that the Zentholic Church is hampered by its small size. We can only preach the word to so many, and the Exalted Exitium is a vast land indeed - and, of course, not all that we preach to take up the good word. Why, even you, Inquisitor, have said only a moment ago that you believe our philosophy to be in line with what you think to be the 'natural order of life' - so, what prevents you from taking that step, and believing in our Creator?" Skye raised a hand before Saren could answer. "And please, I do not mean that as an insult, or anything of the kind - it is a hypothetical, from one man to another."

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to B. Hislop: Maybe, maybe not. Can you investigate the emergency surge output area? I think our Plant Manager might be siphoning energy via surge cable into something in the waste dump down there.

Incoming Encrypted Communications - B. Hislop: On my way.

"The same reason I've given to any and all who've tried to convert me to a specific faith," Saren answered with a shrug. "No proof, physical or logical. I imagine atheists in your society have faced the same question and given the same answer: without any proof that one afterlife, or form of judgement post-death, is more credible than another, why bother acting in accordance with a specific faith? Either there is a judgement, or deity, or something else waiting for me, in which case I guessed wrong and had no control over my fate - or, there isn't, in which case my beliefs wouldn't matter anyhow. In the end, it's just a matter of faith, isn't it? It takes belief in a higher power to be religious. I don't believe in one. It's as simple as that."

"Ah! But you do believe in a higher cause, surely," Skye riposted, "or else I think you should be lacking the conviction to be an Inquisitor, or its equivalent to your peoples, no?"

Incoming Encrypted Communications - B. Hislop: Emergency tunnel mostly dusty - but there are footprints. Human male, fairly young, work boots. Hatch leading into the surge conduit tunnel has handprints; scuff marks on floor. I will scout ahead.

"Of course I do," Saren replied, nodding. "Otherwise, I'd have been a mercenary."

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to B. Hislop: K is investigating - don't know what's down there. Wait for us topside.

"You, a common sellsword? I find that a rather difficult thing to imagine, somehow." Skye rubbed at his beard. "If you don't mind me asking - whose ideals, then, and what are they?"

Incoming Encrypted Communications - B. Hislop: At once, your highness.

"My own," Saren answered with ironclad confidence. "I do what I think is right, and to be frank I don't particularly care what other people think about that. I believe in being honourable to people that deserve my respect and magnanimous to those who seek a chance to do what's right, even if they've made mistakes. I believe in the application of swift, exacting justice against those who show no such remorse, to ensure the continued functioning of civil society. I believe in charity for the poor, because the universe is already cruel enough - someone has to balance the scales. And I believe in merciless retribution, because sometimes you do need fear of the lash to keep the worst sorts of people in line."

"Those are...a very specific, and very personal set of morals," Skye said, blinking with evident surprise.

"You can call me arrogant, it's fine," Saren chuckled. "I'm more than aware of my faults, and I'm fully more than capable of recognizing that my belief in the complete supremacy of my ideals over all others isn't based on any sort of philosophically sound argument. I just don't care."

"Don't care? How ridiculous," Skye said, his tone suddenly harsh. "A man's faith is his own - in that, I can find no fault. But to base your entire philosophy - your spiritual being - on, what, indifference? Truly, does that not weigh heavily upon your soul?"

Ahhhh, I've touched a nerve, huh? Come on, you slimeball, let's see you get angry. "I don't believe in a soul. Well, that's not true - I know, now, from my studies that a 'soul' exists," Saren agreed. "But to me it's just another element or extension of my body and consciousness. I have a noetic pattern. I exist. I think. That's one thing. An 'immortal soul,' which exists to be judged by a higher power - that's something else entirely. You have faith. You, by definition, believe in such a thing, despite - or maybe because - there's absolutely no evidence for it. I'm a practical man at heart. Faith is worthless. It has no concrete, tangible value."

Incoming Encrypted Communications - K. Shepard: I have spoken with Parbati and Priest Visindi. There are several possibilities, none of them acceptable. I am unsure as to how to proceed - would it be possible for us to reconvene and discuss this in person?

Skye got up; he strode over to his statuette of Saint Yeshammed, fists clenched, and when he spoke again his tone was carefully restrained. "I must apologize for what I am about to say, Inquisitor, but it hurts - deeply hurts me to hear you, a man who has come to learn from the Exalted Exitium, say such horrible things about the very basic nature of faith and religion."

Encrypted Medium Range Communications to K. Shepard: Of course. Returning now - almost finished with the PM. Excellent work!

"I did say I was an atheist," Saren retorted nonchalantly. "And I do apologize if I've offended you - I promise I didn't mean to."

Silence.

"I...yes. You are right. Forgive me." Skye turned around, facing Saren, and sat down at his own desk; his expression was as polite as it was stiff. "I am afraid that I must return to my duties, unless you have any further questions for me?"

"Not at all. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Turnick." Saren got up and made his way out of the office, a gleaming fire in his eyes.

Alright, you masochistic psycho. Let's get to the bottom of this.

Saren returned to the parking lot, made his way to the second level and found Katherine and Visindi huddled standing at the front end of the car; both were huddled over a projection of some sort and were eagerly discussing the schematics at hand. Benyamin, on the other hand, had popped the trunk of the car open and was sitting on its tailgate, happily eating a sandwich of some sort.

"Ho there, Saren," Benyamin called out, waving at Saren as he approached. "Hungry?" The human scooted over and tapped the space next to him; Saren took a seat and sighed.

"Where'd you find lunch? I didn't see you pack any," Saren muttered.

"Always keep some rations with me in the trunk," Benyamin explained, jerking his head towards a small crate of ration packs tucked next to the medical kit. "Never know when one might require a bit of extra sustenance during an investigation. Please, help yourself, if you'd like."

Saren leaned back and began rummaging through the crate; Ben's supply of snacks appeared to be a random assortment of entrees, desserts and drinks, all removed from ration packets issued by the Churches of the Inquisition, Slayer, Seraph and Wretch. Saren grabbed a pouch of qawah-cortar - a bean-based beverage with stimulating, tupposa-like effects, cut with a dash of grain-derived 'milk' - and tore it open, eagerly guzzling the drink down.

"Should eat something, you know. Qawah does not a meal make," Benyamin said in between mouthfuls of sandwich.

Saren sighed contentedly as he finished the drink off and tossed the crumpled packet into a nearby trash bin; he reached into his armour, fished an energy bar out of one of his utility pouches and shook it at Ben. "Saves time. Faster than eating a whole damn sandwich."

"Good Slayer," Benyamin snorted. "I had forgotten you were categorically opposed to pleasures of any sort." He finished his own meal, threw the sandwich's wrapper back into the trunk, and gestured at the front of the car. "Come - Visindi and Katherine have news that I believe you will not like."

"That's really great to hear," Saren muttered.

Benyamin shrugged and smiled, though the expression was a troubled one. "I do my best."

So engrossed were the acolyte and the strogg priest that it took them several moments to even realize Saren and Ben had joined them. Visindi bowed slightly, and Katherine hastily punched her hands together in salute.

"Lord Arterius, Lord Hislop," Katherine said, ignoring Benyamin's exasperated sighs. "I took the liberty of informing Priest Visindi of your troubling conversation with Plant Manager Turnick; they and I believe we have found the answer to our conundrum."

Saren clapped Katherine on the shoulder, and the young woman beamed with pride. "Excellent work, Katherine. Priest Visindi, thank you for your assistance in this matter."

"Your thanks are unnecessary," Visindi answered. "I serve your lordships with honour."

"Right then - so, care to fill us in? From the top, please," Benyamin asked.

"Acolyte Shepard," Visindi began, "informed me of the...irregularities you three have found, and requested my help in illuminating the mystery we face. With some additional clarification from engineer Parbati, the parameters became quite narrow - what sort of device would require an ever-increasing amount of power, at decreasing intervals? My first priority - and Acolyte Shepard's - was to ensure that we do not face any sort of demonic threat. While the construction of a gore nest of any kind would immediately set off the demonic incursion sensors scattered throughout every stack, it is possible to circumvent those security functions by avoiding the demonic altogether - using an aetheric portal, one could conceivably program the device to open at a set time with the coordinates pointing to Hell."

"Indeed, such a portal would require a great amount of power," Katherine continued, her brow furrowing with evident concern. "But while aetheric portal devices certainly do require a great amount of power to function, nothing about them demands a specific application of power, or power to be fed to it at an increasing rate. Thus, we have ruled that option out as unlikely. Indeed, the specificity of the rate at which the generator has been 'failing' - especially if these outages are, in fact, someone, Plant Manager Turnick or not, siphoning power into another device - leaves only two options. The first is a theurgic bomb of some sort - there are several types which require an exponential input of energy in order to properly reinforce the magic."

"I find that difficult to believe," Saren said, rubbing at his fringe. "Setting explosives off in the middle of the waste dump? What in the hells would that achieve?"

"Nothing," Visindi noted, nodding. "So, while it is a possibility, I am in agreement that such an act would serve no purpose, and thus, the ordnance theory is statistically unlikely. This leaves our final - and most disturbing option." They looked at Katherine, and the two shared a moment of uneasy quiet.

"An aetheric distress beacon," Katherine said at last. "It is the most likely choice, I should think."

"Eh? That...I do not understand," Benyamin muttered, scowling. "Why? What function would that possibly serve? If our mysterious saboteur - Turnick, in all likelihood - wished to alert some hypothetical group of comrades, there would be - literally - hundreds of easier ways."

"Sorry, I'm not up to speed here," Saren interjected, raising a talong. "I thought aetheric distress beacons were low-power, disposable tools used by frontline military forces? They fire long-distance SOS signals without requiring significant power, but, in turn, the signals they send are relatively slow to travel - we're talking days, maybe even weeks, depending on the aetheric current, for a message to pass from a frontier sector to Gaia . How does that apply to our problem with Sigil's outages?"

Katherine's fists clenched, and Visindi stared - forlornly, Saren thought, despite their features being obscured by their mask - at the holo-schematic of an ADB projected onto the hood of the aircar.

"In ancient times - we speak of the...third? Fourth age? Well - either way, this is very ancient history, Inquisitor Arterius," Visindi explained, "faster-than-light communications were not nearly as well-developed or understood as they are today. Rather than relying on aether-rending communications buoys and long-distance theurgic uplink terminals, the primary method of communications was via a device that the modern aetheric distress beacon is a descendant of. It was not a fast method of communication, to be sure - but their velocity can be increased." Visindi looked up, and their body shuddered with unease. "Such acceleration, naturally, is not free. The laws of reality cannot be cheated without the use of theurgy, and the price is this: using the precursor to the distress beacons as a communications relay requires exponentially increasing amounts of power to gain miniscule advances in message speed."

"If you have a point, get to it," Saren growled.

"You know the unholy hordes of Hell primarily track us by searching for dense clusters of aetheric signatures," Visindi explained, shaking their head. "An inhabited planet, from Hell, looks like a shining star as viewed from the surface of a planet. In ages past, the so-called aetheric transmitters were hard-wired to cap out at only half their potential output."

"Oh, shit," Benyamin muttered, eyes growing wide.

Visindi nodded slowly. "Yes. Precisely. At full output, these aetheric transmitters would, thanks to their inefficiency, require the same amount of power one might fuel an entire city block with. More, perhaps, depending on the model. One could say the power draw might be equivalent to that which could fuel, say...several hundred ordnance factories."

"And the signature? The aetheric signature," Saren pressed, feeling a sudden chill run down his spine, "what would it look like from Hell?"

"Not the light of a star," Katherine near-whispered, "but imagine a single, blinding ray of moonlight bearing down from the night sky."

"Not enough to draw the entirety of Hell's attention. Not enough, even, to allow someone to pinpoint a specific location in Hell - as much as one can, anyhow, given the spatial nightmare that Hell enforces upon reality." Visindi planted their arms upon the car and their metal fingers tightened enough to scratch the hood. "But certainly more than enough to catch the attention of any demons that might, upon going about their usual foul business, suddenly stumble upon a perfectly clear and blinding source of light which would guide them directly to the source of said power."

Nobody said anything.

"How much more," Saren said, grabbing ahold of Visindi. "How much more power would Turnick need? And how accurate would this beacon be - are we talking demons pouring out of portals right here, in the heart of this district?"

"I do not know," Visindi admitted, their bulky form trembling. "Nobody has attempted such heresy in...in a very long time. But, theoretically - one, maybe two more outages would be enough to fire the distress beacon with the same level of power the old transmitters were designed not to allow. And as for accuracy? Who can say? The Fourth age was more than forty-thousand years ago - the demons in question could pop out onto the upper stacks, or down here - or maybe they could be scattered throughout the city. It is impossible to say."

"Well I'm sure as shit not waiting around to find out," Saren growled. "Visindi, I need your help one more time. Get the civilians out of the power plant, grab every person with any authority you can find from the investigation groups and tell them what we've found. Ben?"

Benyamin's insouciant demeanour was gone, now, replaced by something dark and cold. "Katherine, you will be with me. We are going to shatter that beacon before it can be activated. Saren?"

"I am going to have a nice, little, friendly chat with Skye," Saren spat. "He talked a lot about how much he loved suffering. Let's see if he really believes all that tripe."

The group took off at a full sprint back towards the power plant; Visindi broke off from them first, and began shouting at the investigators. Katherine and Ben were next, splitting away once the entered the main administrative building.

"Be safe, Saren! And if you cannot take that heretic alive," Ben shouted, "put a boot in his arse for me!"

"You too, Ben. Katherine! Stay close to Ben, don't do anything stupid. No heroics!"

Katherine nodded. "Yes, milord!"

Pounding up the stairs, Saren didn't even bother knocking once he arrived outside Skye's office; he simply drew his shotgun, kicked in the door, stormed in-

-and found the room empty.

"Spirits' shit!" He ran over to Skye's desk and tore open its drawers; they were all empty. Wasting no time, he drew a data-spike from his belt, jammed it into Skye's terminal and took off back in the direction of the emergency tunnels. "Ben! He's not in his office!"

"Damnation," Benyamin replied over comms. "Hatch down here is already open - we're going on ahead! There is a map of the tunnels here - make sure to photograph it before you follow us in case we get separated!"

Saren found the map a minute later, snapped a copy into his HUD and took off through the dusty tunnels and made his way through the open hatch.

Beyond was a stairwell which spiraled down for nearly two minutes - which, at last, deposited Saren in an enormous, echoing cavern of concrete and steel, dimly lit by green strip-lights. Saren's HUD showed Ben and Katherine moving north, and so he followed; sprinting through connection tunnels and passing by room after room filled with nothing but dust, cobwebs and hazardous waste containers, he eventually arrived at an airlock which bore a plethora of warning symbols and signs.

CAUTION! WASTE PUMPING FACILITY EC2 AHEAD: BIOCHEMICAL / RADIO - HAZARD. SECOND-TIER PROTECTION MAGIC AND / OR EQUIVALENT HAZARDOUS MATERIALS EQUIPMENT REQUIRED

He entered, waited for the machine to cycle, and on the other end of the seals found yet another cavern. It resembled a storm drain of sorts, but rather than water flowing through the various channels cut into the labyrinthine maze of gantries, walkways and platforms, a pulsing, neon-green sludge gurgled and bubbled as it flowed to parts unknown.

Hazardous environment detected, Saren's HUD flashed - and, indeed, already Saren could feel warm, thrumming magic flowing through his lungs and filtering around his throat as it purged the industrial toxins from his body. He was consulting his map, mind racing as how to best chart a course across the various platforms, ladders and so on to catch up with Katherine and Ben when his comm channel crackled.

"HERETIC SCUM," Benyamin roared; Saren could hear a crackle of gunfire and the crystalline sound of magic barriers flaring in protest. "We see him! Moving to engage! Katherine, stay on him - don't let him out of your sight! Skye Turnick, cease your resistance or I will not hesitate to cut you down!"

"You cannot stop what has already begun," Saren heard Skye shout. "Death comes for us all!"

"We'll deal with this blasphemer," Benyamin shouted as the sounds of gunfire intensified; the report of the firefight was now echoing down to where Saren was standing. "The cable terminates at the northwesternmost point of the facility! Smash that beacon!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Saren hissed; ignoring his earlier plan, he opened his magic channels and sent himself flying across the rivers of shining waste to the exit tunnel at the far northwest corner of the room; he overlaid his map of the waste dump in his HUD with a marker showing the cable's terminus, and began winding his way through the facility at breakneck speeds. "I'll be there as fast as I can," Saren broadcast. "Take that bastard out!"

"Crazy...Zenth...bastard," Benyamin growled a few moments later; if anything, the gunfire was only growing louder. "For a paper-pushing heretic the man fights as about half as fast as he runs - and I would like to know who thought it would be a good idea to give the bastard an autogun!"

"We shall worry about the source of his ordnance later, lord," Katherine cut in, her voice momentarily drowned out by the bark of her pistol. "He moves right! Come, Ben, make haste! Saren, hurry - he is drawing us towards the beacon!"

"I'm almost there! Just rounding a corner-"

-and he was there.

Saren gazed upon yet another cavern full of waste-rivers - but here, placed atop a walkway, was an aircar-sized device. Trapezoidal in shape, it was a solid, sturdy-looking machine of polished black-tinted metal, and though it lacked any visible console or terminal, it was festooned with a panoply of switches and input ports; the emergency surge cable, itself a thick, corded steel bundle of cables as thick as an elcor was wide, snaked out of the ceiling and into the very top of the device.

Saren drew his shotgun and was about to open fire when his senses flared-

"-SAREN! BEHIND YOU!"

Before Katherine's words even registered in his mind, Saren dropped to his knees as a hail of gunfire spat overhead. He brought his weapon to bear, aimed reflexively at the source of the attack and fired a burst of shells - and missed as a humanoid blur leapt straight towards him with the muzzle of some kind of rifle aimed squarely at his face.

"ACCEPT YOUR FATE," Skye screamed as he opened fire at point-blank range, "YOU FAITHLESS HEATHEN!"

Saren quickly cast an unsigned third-tier barrier and let the bullets ping harmlessly off, dropped his shotgun - letting his armour's magnetic clamps attach the weapon to his chestplate - drew his sword with his left hand and simply reached out with his right. Skye's momentum sent the zealot straight into Saren's grasp, and he clamped his hands around Skye's throat, his blade raised tip-first at the man's face.

"You're mine," Saren hissed, slashing at Skye's wrists; the man thrashed in pain, dropping his compact rifle. It clattered to the floor, and Saren kicked it off the walkway into the toxic river below. "Now, let's have a little chat, Mr. Turnick." He heard footsteps clattering behind him; Saren didn't look back. "I found our friend," Saren growled. "You two see to the device."

"Allow me, milord," Katherine managed in between heaving breaths. She rushed forward, and cast a technomantic spell of some sort; out of the corner of his vision Saren saw a line of glyphs form before the young woman as she knelt before the aetheric distress beacon. "Oh, Slayer bless us, the machine is not fully powered. Close - too close - but we are safe."

"Well, well, well," Saren rumbled, still holding Skye aloft. "It looks like your little plan's gone to shit."

"You...cannot...do this," Skye gasped, still trying to get free. "It...I am doing this...for you!"

"Excuse me? I have not had the chance to discuss business with you," Benyamin spat, striding up to stand next to Saren, his chainsword and pistol still in hand, "but I do not recall anyone asking you to SUMMON DEMONS ONTO OUR BLESSED HOMEWORLD, YOU SLAYER-DAMNED MADMAN!"

"The demons...not...not our greatest enemy," Skye muttered, eyes lit with a conviction that shone bright.

"Not our - say that again," Katherine screeched, jumping to her feet and jamming her handgun's muzzle into Skye's stomach. "SAY IT AGAIN! SHOUT, BLASPHEMER, SO THAT ALL GAIA CAN HEAR YOU!"

"Katherine," Saren muttered, "easy. We want him alive. He could be valuable to us - tell us about his movement. His friends, maybe."

Katherine slowly - slowly - withdrew her pistol with shaking hands.

"Cowardice! Sloth! Disunity! Those - those are our truest foes," Skye shouted, glaring at Saren. "You know this! The demons - they are nothing. We will defeat them. Not tomorrow, not in a million years - but we will! In the end it will be OUR failures - OUR greed - OUR indifference, which brings ruin to all that lives!"

"How convenient," Benyamin noted acidly, "that the solution to the problem of Hell just so happens to resolve itself in your faith."

"It is the TRUTH," Skye screeched. "I do not lie! Even you, Inquisitor Arterius - faithless, spineless, indifferent little heathen that you are - you know what must be done!"

"Speak not in riddles," Katherine growled.

"He means to say," Saren clarified, "that...my people are not unified. They fight amongst themselves. They don't take the demonic threat seriously, not yet."

Skye nodded, grinning madly. "Yes. Yes, Saren, yes! You understand!"

"And," Saren concluded, "he thinks that by summoning demons to Gaia - by forcing we who call Citadel space home to bear witness to demons - not just a small force, but an enormous invasion - to actually see the threat the Exitium faces, we will have no choice but to become better."

"You must be bloodied," Skye whispered. "You must be tried. You must suffer. It is the only way."

Saren gripped tighter, feeling flesh begin to give way to his armoured talons. "Nobody asked you to do this. Nobody wants you to do this. You think I'm arrogant? At least I'm not the one sentencing thousands - maybe millions - maybe billions - to their deaths just to make a fucking point."

"Some...lessons...harsh," Skye choked out. "The lash...keeps...in line-"

-Skye wrapped his legs around Saren's waist with a final effort-

-and forced himself down, face-first, into the point of Saren's blade.

A blinding white light.

A swirling flow of energy.

An aetheric flow, Saren dimly realized.

The aetheric distress beacon suddenly let out a droning beep.

Then two.

Then ten.

The machine shuddered and rumbled, pulsing with power.

"No," Saren whispered. "No, no, no, no-"

It flared with aetheric power, sending beams of blue-white power up through the emergency surge cable and beyond.

A deep, heavy rumbling began to shake the entire waste facility.

Klaxons began to ring.

"DEMONIC THREATS DETECTED," a voice began to shout from every speaker in the room. "MAJOR DEMONS INCURSIONS ON STACKS: ONE, TWO, FIVE, SIX, FOURTEEN, FIFTEEN, SIXTEEN, SEVENTEEN…"

Skye slid off Saren's blade with a wet squelch.

"...FIFTY, FIFTY-ONE, FIFTY-TWO, FIFTY-THREE..."

His body hit the floor with a thud.

"...EIGHTY, EIGHTY-ONE, EIGHTY-THREE, EIGHTY-SEVEN, NINETY…"

"I...no...I'm sorry," Saren managed. "I...I didn't...I didn't think…"

"...ONE HUNDRED, ONE HUNDRED-TEN, ONE-TWELVE, ONE-FIFTEEN…"

Katherine, eyes beginning to well with tears, looked between Saren and Ben, her whole body trembling. "L….lords? What...what now?"

"...ONE-SIXTY, ONE-SIXTY-SIX, ONE SIXTY-NINE, ONE-SEVENTY…"

Fear, anguish - and then rage set into Ben's features. "You didn't do anything wrong, Saren. To think him that far gone - to think him that...that insane...no. It matters not," he said, bowing his head as his hands clenched around his weapons so hard that they began shaking with effort. "We have to join the defense, now."