Running Silent:

The Hammer Falls

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An alternate ME3. Commander Shepard and her team are on the run from Cerberus and trying to make alliances before it's too late. In a galaxy with no reaper kill switch, how can they hope to defeat something so ancient and powerful? Their last hope is a desperate plan that may cost them everything. Shepard/Garrus, other side pairings.

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Disclaimer: This author in no way profits from the writing of this story. All characters, dialogue, or other referenced material from the Mass Effect trilogy belong to Bioware.

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A/N: This chapter uses some in-game dialogue from Arrival. I don't intend to do that often, particularly once the plot diverges further from the game, but I may take a few lines or events here and there if they fit.

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The Shadow Broker had seen many things, enough to make her jaded in her relatively young age.

She knew the dirty little secrets of every public figure, the identity of every man that hid behind a name. She knew what projects Cerberus had running at any given time, the number of illegal AIs in council space, and the name of every person that had broken the one rule of Omega. She could start a war with the push of a button, could plunge the entire galaxy into chaos with a flick of her fingers.

It was intoxicating.

A few days of it had cured her of the shock of discovery, and a long talk with Shepard had nearly cured her of the desire to snoop into the lives of friends. Feron's presence cured her of the crushing loneliness—though she hadn't had the guts to tell him she cared and he didn't have the nerve to tell her how much this quiet life chafed.

But none of what she'd seen could have prepared her for this.

She found herself as overwhelmed as the moment she'd first stepped up to the terminal, the secrets of a galaxy at her fingertips.

She thought, at first, that she must be mistaken, that the information she'd received must be faulty. She was wrong. The horrible truth lay before her in irrefutable evidence:

A mass relay had been destroyed, and the Normandy was right in the middle of it.

Hour after hour, Commander Shepard did not answer her calls.

…

It was a beautiful Palaven morning. Dew steamed up from the green and silver night blooms as they curled protectively inward at the first sign of sun. The light came in hazy through the rising mist, casting the world in an ethereal glow. It had always been his favorite time of day, a few moments of beauty and peace before his responsibilities found him again.

He wished Shepard was there to see it. He knew she would love it as he did—she'd grown up delighting in nature on her colony world, a far cry from the life she led now. A view like this one was something he would treasure sharing with her one day. When the war was over, he would bring her here.

His solitude was interrupted by a call from the window, his sister's form shadowed in the deep overhang of the roof.

"Garrus!" she cried urgently, and he turned immediately back towards the house.

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly. "Is it mom?" Adrenaline shot through his veins.

"Get to a fucking vidscreen," she said sharply, and disappeared from the window.

Bewildered, Garrus hurried inside. He found Solana sitting stiffly on the couch, eyes glued on the news report displayed on screen.

"What's going on?" he asked her, but she hushed him immediately.

She sat as rigid as a statue, voice flat and tight. "Shut up and watch."

"As you can see, surveillance has recorded that the Normandy SR-2, reportedly captained by Commander Shepard, was the last ship to pass through the relay before it went dark. It has now been confirmed that the Viper Nebula relay has been destroyed, along with the entire Bahak system. We do not yet know how the relay was destroyed or why. We will release more information as it becomes available."

The news cut away to an advertisement, but Garrus was rooted to the spot. No. This made no sense. What the hell happened?

"Garrus?" came his sister's hesitant voice, sounding like it was lightyears away.

"Damn it!" he swore, finally breaking out of his stupor. "I never should have left the Normandy!" He stormed across the room, ignoring the hand that Solana tried to place comfortingly on his shoulder.

His heart pounded in fear and worry, but there was one thing he absolutely knew. "I have to call Shepard," he announced, and disappeared into his bedroom without another word.

…

Tali hummed contentedly as she experimented with her omni-tool. Some might think it an odd use of her downtime, but she found peace in working with technology. It came to her as naturally as breathing. When lines of code came out neatly or an engine ran smooth, she was in her element.

Intent on her work, she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. The voice, however, she heard with perfect clarity.

"Tali'Zorah vas Normandy."

She turned around to see the blue mask of Kella'Vaar, a particularly rude and xenophobic quarian that had been in her age group at school. "What do you want, Kella?" she asked warily, shutting down her omni-tool.

The quarian crossed her arms in disdain, making the excess fabric of her suit wrap flutter. Kella had always been a bit of a drama queen. "Do you have any idea what your captain has done?" she scoffed, voice full of reproach.

Tali let out a huff of annoyance, putting her hands on her hips. "What are you talking about?"

She listened in disbelief and horror as the other quarian gleefully described the news report, her heart sinking and protests rising in her throat.

"That's ridiculous," Tali argued. "The mass relays can't be destroyed. And Shepard wouldn't do something like that!" She couldn't help the pleading way her voice rose. It wasn't true. It couldn't be.

Kella'Vaar smirked in response, pulling up her omni-tool to play the news vid. The reporter's voice droned over the security footage, and Tali glanced up at Kella in horror. A realization hit her. That wasn't anger or revulsion in the other quarian's stance. That was satisfaction. Three hundred thousand batarians had died, and Kella was pleased.

"I… have to go," Tali said hurriedly, feeling sick. She rushed from the room, desperate to find somewhere quiet, somewhere alone where she could send a message to Shepard.

She ran helmet first into Kal'Reegar, but jerked out of his arms when he asked if she was okay, ignoring him calling her name as she ran down the hall.

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The name of a planet she'd only learned weeks ago now curled like poison in her ears. Aratoht.

It was supposed to be a routine rescue mission.

She heard three hundred thousand screams in her mind, saw faces contorted in pain every time she closed her eyes. Chakwas sedated her, and when she slept, she saw worse.

Prepare yourself for the arrival.

The vision burst forth in her mind like light behind her eyelids, reapers darkening the sky of worlds for which she had no name.

Screaming fell harsh upon her ears before being drowned out by a low rumbling noise, the prelude to a red beam that burned and destroyed all in its path. Everyone ran. More screaming. Chaos. Death.

She looked up and saw it—a reaper framed by a sky of shooting stars. It was beautiful and terrible and the most frightening thing she had ever seen. The shooting stars slammed into the ground around her, birthing twisted, strange creatures out of the smoke and flames.

She ran with the crowd, trying to escape the horror that chased them. She looked around her to see people sobbing in terror, wild sprays of gunfire, and red beams of death. A child's alien face, streaked with tears and contorted by fear, went blank and stiff. The small lifeless body fell to the ground, clambered over by those who could still run. No one stopped. No one noticed. They were coming.

She saw it over and over as she slept, the destruction of a people so alien and yet so familiar. The visions faded one into another in her mind. A warning sent across an empire too late. The memories of an ancient green and growing thing, watching death from afar. The boasts of a reaper, meant to strike fear into her soul. You, too, will run in terror. You, too, will die.

The visions came more faded and less often, and then not at all. They would come again, she knew, but not today. All that remained were the memories of a reaper artifact, an indoctrinated lab, and a mass relay looming close. A VI telling her that the press of a button would cause 304,942 casualties. Pressing it anyway because she had no choice.

Even looking back now, she didn't doubt her decision. In that moment, she made the only choice she could. But never before had she been the cause of so much death, the loss of so many innocent lives. She knew she had done what was right, but that didn't stop the gnawing ache in her gut.

When she saw Dr. Chakwas entering the Normandy's med bay with Admiral Hackett on her heels, she thought she was hallucinating again. But he didn't disappear. His face didn't turn into that of a dying batarian, wondering why he was sent to his death while she lived. He was real.

"Huh," the admiral said. "Looks like you've recovered."

"Admiral Hackett," she greeted, trying to quell the surprise in her voice.

"Sounds like you went through hell down there. How are you feeling?"

It was obvious he didn't mean physical injuries—Doctor Kenson's people had patched her up well enough. Apparently Chakwas had told him about her… dreams. Hallucinations. Whatever they were. She'd been trying not to think about it.

"Fine," she said shortly. "No more visions, if that's what you mean."

She wished he didn't know.

"I, uh, wasn't expecting to see you here, sir," she added hesitantly. She absent-mindedly ran a hand over her hair. She probably looked like hell. She definitely felt like it.

He gave her a small nod. "Commander, you went down there as a favor to me. I decided to debrief you in person," he explained, and paused. A fire shone behind those gray eyes. "That was before the mass relay exploded and destroyed an entire batarian system. What the hell happened out there, Commander?" His hands were behind his back, posture stiff. His face betrayed nothing. Admiral to the core.

She'd written the report immediately upon returning, before Chakwas had cornered her in the med bay and sedated her. The medical report was in there as well, she imagined, and Hackett had probably read both. Why did he need to hear it from her when she'd already had to relive it every time she closed her eyes?

She took a deep breath, pushed those emotions away, and told him the whole story from beginning to end. She hoped he would believe her when she told him she'd tried to save the colony. She couldn't afford to second-guess her decision now. It was too late for that, and too much was at stake for her to waste time doubting herself.

He was quiet after she finished, pacing away and back.

"I won't lie to you, Shepard," he finally said. "The batarians will want blood, and there's just enough evidence for a witch hunt."

Shepard's mind reeled at the implications. She hadn't had time to think about it in that light—she'd been too busy reliving that terrible vision to consider what other results her actions might have. She'd slowed the reapers, but at what cost?

"We don't want war with the batarians," the admiral had continued. "Not with the reapers at the galaxy's edge."

Shepard paused, her face becoming dangerously impassive. "What are you saying?" she asked flatly. The admiral was stoic at the best of times, but something about his stony manner shook her.

"Shepard, if it were up to me, I'd give you a damn medal," Hackett said. "But not everyone will see it that way."

She listened numbly to the admiral as he explained what was expected of her. Go to Earth and stand trial. Take the brunt for this so that the batarians might not go to war. Wait out this storm until the next one hit.

Shepard argued. Explained exactly why that would be a bad idea with the reapers literally knocking at their back door. She didn't have the heart to tell him that the batarians had much larger problems than her right now.

He wouldn't budge.

She felt sick at the realization of what she had to do. "I need to take care of some loose ends before I go, Admiral." The lie tasted bitter in her mouth.

He promised to delay for her. She wondered how long it would work. How long could he keep telling them she was coming before they realized that she wasn't? How long before he realized that she wasn't?

She watched him walk out the door, wondering if that was the last mission Hackett would ever send her on. And then it hit her, with the force of a dreadnought at FTL—there would never be a place for her back in the Fifth Fleet.

Even while working for Cerberus, Shepard had found comfort in knowing that the Alliance was still there waiting for her. A home to return to. She was slowly realizing that there wasn't a place in the galaxy for her, not for a mass murderer, no matter the reasons for her actions. She was set adrift, lost and hunted.

Would you do differently if given the chance? she asked herself.

No.

No, she did what she had to, and would continue to do so. If she gave up—if she ran away—if she failed—there would be no place in the galaxy for anyone. There would be nothing at all.

And that was just not acceptable.

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She meant to go up to her cabin, but somehow she found herself in the lounge.

Shepard glanced towards the brand new poker table at one end of the room. She could call up Ken and Gabby, get them to play a round or two. But no, she didn't want to see them. She didn't want to see the judgment in their eyes, the confusion. The destruction of their idol.

She didn't want to see anyone.

So instead, she went the other direction—towards the bar.

In the old days, the idea of drinking on the ship would have been pretty shocking. She would've had to break quite a few Alliance regs to do it, and while she'd gotten a few marks for attitude during her military days, she wasn't usually one to flaunt the rules that flagrantly.

But things had changed with Cerberus. Out in the Terminus systems, it was safer to go drinking on the ship than on shore leave. The Normandy wasn't an Alliance ship anymore—there were very few regs to break except the ones she put in place herself. She didn't make a habit of it, but right now? Hell, there was hardly anyone there to see it. Shepard slid onto the barstool and reached out towards the closest bottle, not caring what was in it.

Suddenly, a figure materialized on the other side of the bar. "I don't think you want to drink that, Shep, unless you prefer poison to drunkenness."

Shepard jerked back in her seat. "Shit, Kasumi," she hissed. "Will you stop doing that?"

The thief slid the bottle out from between Shepard's fingers. "Dextro," she said, displaying the label to her counterpart. The woman's painted lips turned up in a small smile. "How about an old standard instead?" she suggested. "I make a strong martini."

Shepard plopped her chin heavily into her hands, elbows resting on the bar. "Make it a double and I'm in."

"With the day you've been having, I'll make it a triple," Kasumi offered, and Shepard let out an amused snort. Kasumi smiled enigmatically from under her hood and busied herself with bottles and glasses.

"I take it you saw what happened in the med bay," Shepard said. She didn't even bother getting angry anymore. She knew full well that nothing happened on the ship without the thief finding out. Fortunately, Kasumi was as good at keeping secrets as she was at unearthing them.

Kasumi set down two martini glasses and began to pour. She paused as she reached for another bottle. "You're not going, are you?" Turned halfway to the shadows, Shepard couldn't see her eyes.

Only after Kasumi pushed the finished martini her way did Shepard choose to answer. She took the glass and gulped it down. "No," she said quietly. "I'm not going."

The glass was refilled and emptied again.

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A/N: This is something of a turning point in the story, one of the two premises that this story was based on. What if Shepard didn't go back to the Alliance after Aratoht? So that's what we're exploring from this point in the story until the reapers arrive. Thanks for making it this far and I hope you continue to enjoy! Please review—it makes my day!