The Interloper

by Rellah

When a small colony is attacked by slavers, 21-year-old Paxton Harbor is embroiled in a plot that could leave everyone he knows dead…or worse. An unlikely team with social pariahs, wannabe politicos, and Citadel insiders is forced together on a galaxy-wide hunt to stop the slavers. As they explore the criminal underworld, they discover uncomfortable truths about themselves.

2. Sulk in Our Memories

Sulk in Our Memories

Feeling in sync with the body, shivers along the arms that raise the hair. In sync with the mind, a focus on everything but nothing at the same time. In sync with the soul, the heart uplifted in a beautiful, freeing place where nothing stops its rhythmic beating. Only the warmth of the world surrounding while the coldness fleeting behind, never able to catch up.

Clarity.

Complete control of the uncontrollable, having dexterity over the psyche. Nothing pining down the consciousness. The overwhelming feeling of nothingness fleeting through the fingertips, but in that nothingness was a serene peace where one could see everything. In that clarity, the past and future combined into the absolutely nothing. It was a confusing, paradoxical feeling in which feeling nothing brought a harmony.

The sky was washed over with a warm blue, no cloud was in sight, making the sunlight shine onto the ground. Light winds flowed in the air. Across a lush, green hill was a rocky pathway surrounded by tall trees, where each branch waved to the gentle speed and direction of the wind. Nothing broke the serenity of the world.

Paxton opened his eyes. Sitting upwards, a slight smile brought up his face. When he took a step forward on the rocks, he felt the absolute nothingness—clarity. And that nothingness, that clarity, was, perhaps, the most peaceful feeling he ever felt.

He couldn't find words that could capture the tranquility he felt. Nothing beyond a lustful movement of his lips where only one word could escape: freedom. The world had wrapped around Paxton's essence, his soul, his mind—it became one with him.

With the feeling of peace and unity, he also a felt a strong familiar sense of where he was yet it also felt different at the same time, as if some sort of amnesia had taken control over him. The pathway, leaves, trees—all was at the tip of Paxton's tongue, but it was tasteless. Another word appeared in his mind: nostalgia.

The leaves on the tree, the cracks trickling along them and how the slices spliced the leaves into little pieces of dust. The way the bark on the tree peeled, it's individual and unique markings, the green moss over at the bottom of the tree where the roots flung from underneath the ground; the smell of grass freshly cut and giving a smell that rose through Paxton's body and the unevenness of the rocks in the pathway—all familiar.

This wasn't nostalgia, Paxton knew this was something beyond the memory of what has been—something deeper. His pace picked up, speed walking his way down the pathway as he shifted his head every direction to confirm what he already knew—this wasn't a recollection of his past, nor a generalization of a time before, or even a nostalgic look back on his memories—this was his life

And he was living it all over again.

When he followed the path, the wind started to pull him back. It was like a gentle push, nothing impassable but uncomfortable. Though with every step he saw the sky shift down from a bright blue to dimmer and paler blue, ultimately it faded away and was replaced by clouds. The ease in his body started to leave him, the heaviness came back to Paxton and it made every movement more restrictive than the last.

There he stood, now in front of a small bridge over a stream. There was now a wind coming towards him. The wind pulled back Paxton's hair, tussled his bandanna, and ripped the air out from his body. There was an urge in him to leave, turn back, and forget everything—but his body pressed forward.

All the control was gone; he was Paxton Harbor again.

When he stepped on the bridge, he realized that it became a struggle against nature. Every step was a slam on the wooden planks, his boot grinding into the wood yet finding a way to keep moving on. Everything was so sudden; his oxygen was flying out from his lungs and only quick, labored gasps and yelps kept him relatively stable.

This wind was becoming a cold storm.

Paxton held his head. He still tried to move forward, but every step was becoming harder than the rest. All the energy in his frail body had been exerted. When he slammed into the floor of the bridge, he dug his nails into the wooden boards and tried to pull himself forward. He pushed his boots between the boards and tried to launch himself forwards.

After every push, a board was ripped from nails and was sucked into the wind. Paxton held his breath, closed his eyes, and pressed his body down lower. He went faster. Every time he moved another board flew into the air, but Paxton only went faster. Cuts formed along his finger, his hair became a dirty, frizzy mess, and he occasionally had to shield his head when a branch came towards him.

The nails in the boards twisted out from where they were hammered in. Under Paxton, the boards wobbled and loosened. Panic twisted in his mind as he felt himself becoming lighter and higher in the air. Frantically, he crawled across the remaining boards and yanked himself forward to edge of the bridge.

Paxton pulled himself onto the grass and rested on his back. He lay on the ground, clutching his beating heart. The wind disappeared from behind him and the bridge was left alone. Only the broken boards remained, the others floated down a stream below. Breathes quickly came from out his mouth. When he kneeled at the grass, he started coughing and gasping for air.

Snow landed on his hands, melting on his warm skin and creating a miniature puddle. He looked up at the sky and saw that heavy snow was coming down. He now shuddered as the cold air made him wish for the warmth to be brought back. Paxton shakily stood back up, holding his now freezing body together. In any other instance he would've been terrified at how fast and sudden the cold stung his skin, but now he just wanted a way out from this surprise winter blast.

Paxton had to find somewhere to go, and, in the recesses of his mind, he knew exactly the place.

He started running at first to beat the snow, but as he got farther the snow got heavier on the ground and on his body. The path he was running on started piling up with snow—and fast. Just like the bridge, he had to outrun the storm. As Paxton ran down the pathway, lights from a house in the distance illuminated the darkened world. But as he got closer, he slowed down. Just as he known how to get to the house, he knew to stay far away.

His muscles tensed, hands and legs shook, and his fingers twisted into a firm fist. There was no control of his thoughts, only indecisive, dark words replaying in his consciousness. Like a whisper, it felt as someone had pressed their mouth against his ear and speaking in a low, gravelly tone that he couldn't understand. It was as if someone was ordering him, instructing him, guiding him.

Paxton hugged his body. He was hunched over as walked up towards the darkened house. It was as if there was a supernatural, otherworldly force making him go to the house. While his mind screamed at him to stop, his body was moving on a predetermined path.

Warmth radiated from the house, conflicting with the bitter cold snow. Paxton hobbled forward. From what he could make out of the house, there were white panels that were slowly chipping away, and two columns stood across from each other near a door.

The door swung open.

An overpowering white light emitted from the doorway, stinging Paxton's eyes. In the doorway was a silhouette of a person. It didn't move, it just stood still. He stood tall and refused to move. Shallow breathes came out his shivering mouth and he saw his breathes in the cold air rise.

The figure moved their hand over their middle, clutching at their stomach. From the small pavement walkway, crimson liquid slid its way down towards Paxton. Blood creating a tiny river that flowed towards him, coming from the figure. A red dot hovered over the figure's face, illuminating it.

Melanie's face appeared, emotionless. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she were to say something but chose not to. The cloud of breath exited her red lips, flowing out. Blue eyes staring, locking onto Paxton. His jaw fell from his mouth as he stared back at her, his body quivering as he saw the listless woman leak out blood.

The red dot swirled around her again, moving away from her face and down to her torso. The dot fixated near her hand; it steadied. Paxton started to run towards her, outstretching his hand out to his mother and—

BANG!

Melanie flung backwards, her body hurling into the light. The door slammed shut, the lock twisted, and any light under the door vanished. Across Paxton's face, deep red blood was splattered. He tried to scream for her, but his voice was taken by the freezing storm. Paxton fell forwards into the snow, his hands burning at the frigidity of it. His skin was pale, almost rivaling that of the snow. But that white snow was now painted with Melanie's blood.

And when Paxton tried to move towards the house, he felt his leg be dragged back by a powerful force. He tried digging his fingers in the snow, attempting to claw his way to the dirt and keep himself stationary. He was then grabbed by his shoulders and forced to stand.

Looming over him, a turian was dressed in heavy black and purple armor held a rifle in his hand. He stood over Paxton, hovering over the frightful being that he was almost two feet taller than. A grit formed in his line of teeth, pressing down into his mandible. The slaver's purple eyes crept into Paxton's soul, haunting and taking control over him.

Paxton froze.

No movement, absolutely nothing. Paxton just stared up into the slaver's face, his doe eyes freezing at the sight of him. He felt paralyzed. Everything in his body told him to run, hide, and get away from him but he couldn't, for the life of him, move. His mind rushed with panicked thoughts. Every emotion in his body became active. But nothing on his face showed this, he was listless—like Melanie.

Again, he felt that nothingness inside his body, but it wasn't of clarity, no it was…emptiness. A void grew inside Paxton, swallowing his emotions and leaving fear as the dominant force in his body. This slaver, whoever he was, took everything from with ease and all he had to do was stare with his unflinching, unstoppable eyes.

"Paxton Harbor." The turian put a hand on the side of Paxton's face and looked at him as if her were inspecting him. He then fixed a glare, held his rifle in the air, holding it like he was going to swing it. He held the rifle by its barrel, the butt of the gun was above their heads. The face of the turian mixed between ecstasy and a deep hatred. The turian swung down the rifle towards the human's skull.

Jolting upwards, Paxton's fingers tightened around sheets on the bed. The thumps of his heart raised and lowered his palm. Sweat trickled down his face, he became breathless and tried to suck in more air with every fast breath. His eyes scattered across the room, frantically darting his sight onto everything. When he realized he was in a hospital room, he calmed his breathes, easing the beeps on the heart rate monitor.

Paxton was alone in the room. The soft sound of his calm heart rate, the shuffled footsteps outside the door, and murmured discussions between doctors placated him. He sat back on his bed, looking forward at the wall. Lights from the ceiling evenly spread across his body, not an inch of him was uncovered by light. The brightness made his light skin glow, it made his dark hair shine, and filled his body with warmth.

He turned his head to the nightstand; there was a small bouquet of asters, cards, and a balloon with 'Get Well!' printed across it. Paxton slipped an aster through his fingers; the softness of the violet petals rubbed against his skin and created a soothing friction. There was a yellow base in the aster, which, when combined with the pedals, comforted him. A small card was attached to the flowers and Paxton flipped it open from its envelope.

We remembered how much you loved them when you were a child. We would like to wish you a fast recovery. If you need anything, we will help you and your family out. Don't be afraid to ask, we'll always be there for you, no matter the history. You'll be in our prayers, Paxton. –Valerius and Calista Ataraxia.

In their card was their personal contact information, address and a direct phone number to their workplaces. The sides of Paxton's mouth slightly ticked upwards in remembrance of a distant past—but not for long. He guided his finger down the card, tracing his nail against the paper and tapping twice against their name. He then sat the card beside himself, reached over to the nightstand, and took the rest of the cards.

Instead of a card, a printed picture of Paxton and three other people was signed with names and wishes. The picture was of him and the other people in their very early-20s like him were seated together at a restaurant booth, all four smiling brightly.

In the picture Paxton was seated next to Alison Rae, who had glowing deep brown skin, amber eyes, and thick, wiry black hair that touched her shoulders. Alison had her arm swung around Paxton's shoulders. Across from them was Louison Jansen, a young man with tan skin, and had deep brown hair, a scruffy beard, and hazel eyes. He was in the middle of giving a hearty laugh. Next to him was Ida Michiko, a young woman with a bleach blonde bob with bangs, light brown eyes, olive skin, and necklaces around her neck that seemed to not weigh her small frame down.

When he flipped the picture, a small message was written for him. All three signed under words written in Alison Rae's handwriting that had the same delicate strokes as calligraphy.

Paxton, we're so worried about you! Everything is insane, and we just want you to know that we're going to be there. Don't worry about anything, okay? Take a break from everything. Just try to relax right now because that's what you need. Knowing you, you won't take a break. Just feel better Paxton, we're thinking about you. –Alison, Ida, and Louison *Mostly Alison* Correction: All Alison, these people are lazy, Paxton.

He crossed his hands over his stomach, laying back on the bed, and closed his eyes once more. A sigh left his mouth. The 21-year-old pondered with the thought of solace in his mind as if it were a tangible thing. If he could only grasp and feel solace between his fingers, yanking the feeling towards his body and not let it go—but Paxton knew fantasies have their limits.

Paxton's eyes wondered onto the door, where he could faintly see through a thin cloth over a window in the door. He squinted, seeing another door across the hall. There was separation, a disconnect to Paxton, he felt the ambivalence of the two different rooms with himself and another patient in it. A sense of disconnected unity struck him, as if a line was broken between it—he sensed the beatings of the heart. Whoever it was, they were in the same hospital in the same period of time—and it brought him unity that there was someone just like him.

Paxton scrunched his legs up to his chest, putting his hands in his face and through his hair. For some reason, his mind went to a blank. There was not much he could remember. But he could clearly see the explosion of the spaceport on Proserpina…

Proserpina.

The heart rate monitor started to tick up.

Fear, absolute fear, rang into his chest as he remembered the screaming on Proserpina. The fires erupting and the bombs bursting. Humans being dragged like cattle off in the distance. Complete terror of everything around him. But for some reason, he could not remember anything else. There were pieces of memory still alive in his mind. Even the day prior to the attack was a was a blur, only fragments he remembered, and nothing seemed extraordinary. But that fear, that stinging feeling, was stuck in his heart.

Suddenly, the door popped open, jolting Paxton, and in came a doctor. He strode in, happily walking with a grin. With a shaved head, a stubbled moustache, and a dark complexion the middle-aged doctor seemed content. He stood near Paxton, by the nightstand, holding a datapad in one hand.

"I'm Dr. Santé," He stuck out his hand and shook it with Paxton's, who had risen from the bed. "You're at the Chaya Medical Center, on the Presidium. I've been assigned your family's doctor and I'm fortunate to say that you have no terrible injuries. You suffered from a concussion, but don't worry too much. It should be in the final stages. By tomorrow or the next you will good, Paxton."

Family.

The thought of the two women sprang into his mind. He remembered their bodies lying across the pavement with his appeared in his head again. The rising and falling of their chests as they laid on the ground bloodied, dirty, and sweaty. Paxton could see his sister's face covered with ash as her mouth hung open, parts of her hair in her mouth. On his other side was his mother, bleeding through her suit on the ground. Paxton was hard-pressed as to why they were on the ground.

Looking up at Dr. Santé, he asked, "Where are they?" His voiced was hushed and restrained, he could feel how dry his throat from not speaking for so long.

"Don't you worry about them. They're fine. In fact, your sister is already at home." Dr. Santé patted Paxton's shoulder with a smile. "Now Paxton, you need to focus right now on taking care of yourself. We've ran tests and there is no illness or injury in you. However," The doctor looked at his datapad and scrolled through his files about Paxton. "we found an increase in your electrical levels, as if some current went through your body. Nothing to be concerned over. It seemed to slightly burn your right arm, stemming from your hand but we quickly fixed it."

Paxton then hung his legs over the bed, his pale skin showing on his thin legs. He looked up at the doctor who continued his grin, something Paxton tried to replicate.

"Paxton, do you feel any pain in your hands, arms, anywhere? How is your body holding up?" Dr. Santé held a datapad in his hand, looking down at list for him to write symptoms down. Paxton shook his head, telling the doctor he was fine. He then looked through his datapad, going onto Paxton's medical history, his eyes jolted a bit. "Paxton, we can assign you a grief counselor—"

"Fine." Paxton said. "I'm fine. Just when can I leave here, doctor?"

"Well, you can always accept later. Anyways, we can discharge you today. That's good news, Paxton." Dr. Santé said. "I'll get started on getting you out of here. It won't take long; we'll mail your medication and send you the paperwork before the end of the day. Your belongings are in the nightstand. Just take it easy for the week following, okay? Good, well I'll get going, Paxton."

When he left the room, Paxton gradually eased himself up from his bed. He took a few steps forwards and practiced walking around again. However long he was out, he felt stiff when walking. When he felt comfortable walking again, he took the bag out from the nightstand and entered the bathroom.

Inside the bag there was a basic, bland hospital-issued clothes, a jacket, white shirt, and black pants. There was also his bandanna, his bag, his choker—all having been cleaned. There was a weird serrated knife. He held the knife in his hand, confused and startled. He felt a pressing against his head and his stomach felt light as he held the knife. For some reason, this knife was here. Paxton tried to find an answer for it but failed doing so.

He removed his hospital gown and pulled on his clothes. Paxton took slow precision in wrapping the choker around his neck and hearing the click from the sliver ring be put it in place. Paxton moved his hands carefully and methodically when putting the bandanna around his head. Tucking his hair behind his face and leaving room for some hair to be styled on the side of his face. He swung his bag over his shoulder and rushed back into the hospital room. He stuffed the cards he received into his bag and made a note to have the flowers be delivered back to his home.

Disheveled but energized, Paxton rushed over to the drape-hidden windows. He swung them open, he winced as the light struck back his eyes. He stood back for a few seconds with blinded eyes, blinking to see what was in front of him. The burning in his eyes died down, he began to see what was in front of the window.

Whites, greens, and blues splashed onto him. The white stretches of beams coming cut through the place, they were connected to other stretches of white buildings that warped around the entire surroundings. Images of inauthentic, simulated blue skies and clouds beamed out light and reflected across the water below it. Cars zipped through the air. Paxton knew where he was, the Presidium on the Citadel—home. The calmness of the cars flying across, the pedestrians walking across on the ground, water shimmering and reflecting the light source.

Turning his back, stood near the door, and took a heavy breath. The air from his lungs flowed through his entire body, calming it down. When pushed through the door, nurses and doctors of different species walked down the hall. The hospital was full of energy and life, yet Paxton knew the morgue couldn't be too far away. Across the hall, he could see two C-Sec officers standing beside a door, each holding a rifle in their hands and standing tall. They nodded to him. On the door was a clipboard with files on it, its title consisted of one person: Melanie Harbor.

Paxton's eyes felt cloudy; he pressed a foot forwards towards the door but yanked it back. He just couldn't, or not now at least. Just imagining her on a bed, eyes closed and mind drifting—he just couldn't.

With fast steps, Paxton shuffled down the hall, bowing his head down a bit as he threw his hood over his head. He shoved his hands into his pocket, kept his eyes away from his surroundings, and looked forwards. His breath slowly picked up, murmuring to himself as he moved as fast. He kept telling himself, I want to go home.

He cut through areas, trying to find an exit. Occasionally he bumped into people, gently apologizing whenever he did. Past a large door, there was a private corridor that had an elevator. With his eyes pointed towards the floor, he sped towards it as he saw his boot come forward and move away fast within his eyesight. His mind still raced with thoughts of the door he stopped himself from going into, thinking about how his mother looked on Proserpina, how his sister looked in terror—he just couldn't think of it. At least now, to Paxton, this exit would ease the burdens and—

CRASH!

Paxton put a hand on his head, wincing at a sharp, sudden pain which swiftly subsided. He stumbled backwards, he saw on the ground a dark liquid spill slither towards him, its smell reminded him of coffee. There was a profanity shouted out loud, an angry sounding voice that turned around fast to look down at the human who had his eyes pointed downwards, hands held together, and body somewhat lowered. What Paxton could only see out from his hood two turian feet, tapping forcefully on the ground. The turian pulled down Paxton's hood and stared down at him.

"You."

A familiar voice sent a Paxton into a silent frenzy. As if a blizzard had suddenly appeared, he felt his body shiver and tense up. His fingers gnawed at skin from inside his pockets. The deep voice with a sound of scorn and shock forced Paxton to look up at the turian standing over him. One of his hands was planted at his hip while the other gripped a datapad so tightly that it was shocked Paxton that it wasn't crushed.

Red. That was the color that smothered him. He stared down at Paxton with his red eyes and they cut through Paxton. Eerily, they reminded him of human blood. Within those eyes, a storm of intense, cautious, and calculated thought erupted. The markings on his face were all red: his entire chin was covered and there were two strips on his mandibles.

A fitted red vest wrapped around his torso, underneath was a red and black sweater that was splattered with coffee, and he wore black pants. It was made of some of the finest materials, probably imported from Thessia or some other rich asari world. Even the datapad he slipped into one of his pockets was the most recent model.

Even for a turian, he was tall. He stood at 7'0" and towered over Paxton, and most other people. The human only stood several inches below the turian's chin. The turian's face was silver face and he had sandy skin. Paxton backed a little bit away from him, moving his boot backwards from him. On one side of his face was a bandage, a white wrap partially around one of his mandibles where little dots of his blue blood could be seen. The 22-year-old turian shook his head.

The turian's face was mixed with flurry of emotions, cultivating in one confused stare. It only took a second for his face to emit a cautious, reserved stare. Yet his eyes spoke of a killing anger and a depressive death.

His name is Arcadius Ataraxia.

"It's really you." Arcadius said, taken aback. The turian's mouth was slightly open and he seemed to back away, as if he were trying to convince himself that he wasn't hallucinating. He moved warily. After he placed his datapad into his pocket, he shook his head. The turian took in a large breath. "It's been a long time, Pax. A very long time."

Paxton was stricken with disbelief that he was with Arcadius. The fact that this turian was in front of him just seemed so unbelievable to him. A part of Paxton wanted to touch Arcadius, to hold his hands, put a finger up to his face, and bring him close to make sure that he is real. Another part of him wanted to turn and hide, to never be see again by Arcadius.

"Arcadius?" Paxton's eyes were wide. He shook his head, blinking several times to make sure that it was in fact Arcadius and not some other turian he walked into. When he looked at Arcadius, he felt a lump in his throat. With a blank face, he just looked at Arcadius. They both had their hands close to their bodies and seemed to hug themselves. They both looked as if they wanted to say something, anything, yet they refused.

They stood in front of each other, just staring in each other's faces. Words could not form from Paxton's mouth as his mind went blank. There was a primal urge in him to fight, to fight the danger in front of him. A deep, boiling rage erupted in his chest. He felt like a fire was set inside of his body; a flame consuming, destroying any trace of his existence and only leaving the anger behind. Looking at the turian's red eyes made Paxton want to take back control and set the flames onto him.

But, confusingly so, Paxton felt another instinct; escape the danger, to run and hide until he was safe. This feeling, a feeling which froze Paxton and caused him to feel a coldness along his body. A chilling, icy feeling which prevented him from running. He felt like ice was forming around his body; the stinging warmth of coldness snapped at his skin. Inside, his body wasn't frozen. His stomach churned, gurgled with fear as he felt his adrenaline race throughout his body. This…terror controlled him.

Paxton looked at Arcadius, his expression blank but his body mixed with emotion. Slowly, craned his head back up to the tall turian.

"I," Arcadius paused, breaking the uneasy silence. "I did not expect to see you today."

"That's one way to put it!" Paxton weakly laughed as he tried to avoid looking at Arcadius' eyes. Arcadius joined in with the laughter, and now both had an insecure shake in their laughs. Paxton held his hands around his back and looked back up at Arcadius, who had a slight smile on his face. "Sorry for the bump. Well, anyways," Paxton coughed. "it's good to see you again."

"Yeah, same." Arcadius put his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground. "Oh, well, how are you holding up? I heard what happened on Proserpina—and that's just awful, completely and terribly awful, by the way—I hope your mother is okay."

"I'm fine, thank you." Paxton cleared his throat again and rolled his hair around his ear with a shaky finger. "She's doing good, really good. We're all going to be okay." He looked at the bandage on Arcadius' face. Paxton half-laughed, "Now, are you okay?"

"Me?" Arcadius jumped slightly and spoke fast, as if he were running out of time. "Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just a shooting accident, recently went out to the shooting range and the recoil of my gun was a bit too much." He dropped his hands into his pockets and swung his foot over the other. Arcadius, while hunched over a small bit, said while raising the plates above his eyes slightly, "Accidents happen, y'know?"

"They're not toy guys anymore, Arcs!" This provoked more forced. Paxton saw the awkward, turian-esque smile on his face but saw Arcadius eyes; there seemed to be a mix of anger, or sadness, resting in it. Paxton could sense that Arcadius felt the stings of fury and sorrow like him. But this wasn't comforting to him, it only terrified him more. Paxton felt janky, his movements slow and steady while he spoke to the turian.

Arcadius placed his hand on his hip and talked with a laugh. "Your sister is giving me quite a challenge for Student Director of Asha. She's a real worker, always had been."

"Well," Paxton said, "it must be in our blood to fight politics with an Ataraxia."

"Yeah, yeah! Good one!" Arcadius swung his head with laughter as he looked down at the ground. He kept muttering to himself his last words and slowly shook his head. Along the turian's was confusion. Sharp red eyes stared at Paxton with precision, as if they were digging deep into his soul. The anxious, jittered movements the turian had were gone and were replaced with fast-paced strides. He looked towards the ground, let an agitated breath escape from his mouth, and looked at Paxton.

Arcadius then looked around them, he scanned the corridor. The turian took several steps forward, checking the area before the hallway and found nobody around. With that, he sighed again and placed his hands on his hips. His awkward smile contorted into a frown on his face. The turian's mandibles stretched outwards with frustration. The human's face burned, and his body trembled. Paxton bowed his head and started to pace towards the elevator.

Arcadius stood in front of it.

"I need to get going, Arcadius." Paxton tried to gently squeeze his way through him, but Arcadius kept moving to whatever side Paxton wanted to leave out of. "Hey, Arcadius, I need to—"

"No." Arcadius said firmly, though it sounded more like an order. He glared down at him, he shook his head and crossed his arms. His foot tapped fast on the ground as he stared at Paxton. The turian's tone shifted into a more accusatory, prosecutorial tone which almost popped the mandibles out of his face as he spoke. "Let's cut the bullshit, Paxton. I cannot believe that you would just come over to me, shove me, and expect everything to be okay. You know what is wrong with all of this."

"Look, Arcadius, that's not what happened." Paxton started to sweat; he felt his heart rate accelerate. The sides of Paxton's head felt as if they were going to explode. He then pointed towards his chest as he spoke, speaking fast while he did. "I'm so sorry that I bumped into you, it was a complete accident. I wasn't trying to argue with you, Arcadius, I really wasn't. Please, I just need to leave here."

"After all this time, years¸ and this is how you approach me? All we've said to each other is just 'Hello' and 'Goodbye" for years now. But all you care about is leaving?" Arcadius stood back from Paxton and cocked his head sideways. He raised his hand and dropped it down. He gave Paxton a stern, sharp look of animosity. "Seriously?"

"Arcadius, this is not what I had planned to do. If you want me to buy you a new drink or I'll pay for your shirt to be cleaned if they're now dirty, I'll do it." Paxton became flustered, his face reddened more, and his sweat touched the ground. "Arcadius, please let me through."

"It's selfish of you to just fake small talk, Pax. I don't care if this isn't this right time—no, you don't deserve that. I'm not going to cater to your needs when you never thought of mine. How can you just force someone out of their life and pretend that I was never a part of it? Now that's selfish."

Paxton's eyes watered as he tightened his fist. The frown on his face was contorted into a sneer. His wet eyebrows, drenched in anxious sweat, were pulled down. "Don't go there, Arcadius. You don't know everything." Paxton breathed heavily. He felt his knees and voice began to shake. "I don't want to talk right now."

"I don't really care, Pax. Don't exaggerate everything, I'm not the bad person here." Arcadius scoffed and scowled at the jittery human. "Now you're going to talk to me, you owe me that much. You know that to be true."

He did know that to be true.

Instead, Paxton just clutched the strap of his bag tightly and backed away into the wall. The turian proceeded to walk towards him. "I'm sorry, Arcadius. I just, I just need to leave please. I'm not going to talk about it, I'm sorry. Please stop being…" Paxton paused. "irrational."

"Irrational?!" Arcadius shouted at Paxton, causing the human to flinch and be surprised that no one heard him. The turian stopped pacing, pointed at the center of his chest and said, "You don't even care for what I have to say, don't you?"

Paxton felt like he was having an allergic reaction; he felt skin redden, sweat drip down across his body, and, most frightening to him, that his throat was being closed tight. It was as if he was being strangled, but no hands were wrapped around his neck. With a quiet voice, he pleaded. "Please, I want to leave, just—"

Paxton clutched his bag tightly, holding his close to his chest. He backed away from Arcadius, but he was followed. Arcadius sharply turned back to Paxton and pointed in his face. The turian's larger finger made Paxton cringe backwards. "Fuck, Pax, all you want to do is leave! All you do is avoid my questions. Do you think I deserve at least one answer from you, at the very least? Do you think after shunning me for almost 10 years you would have somethingto say?

"I'm a person too, Paxton."

Paxton turned his head away from Arcadius and stared at the ground. The human could feel the turian's breath on his neck; the warmness of the breath sent another chill along Paxton's body. Arcadius' breathing was labored, constantly puffing with anger as his face was pressed close to Paxton's. When he turned his head back to Arcadius, he saw the fury stretched across his face. Somehow, more so than before, and scarier, too, he felt that the turian's mandibles were about to snap off his face. It didn't matter; Paxton looked at him in his face and tried to muster up the courage in his body to glare at Arcadius. It was an honest, yet failed, attempt.

"If you want to argue in a hospital, that's your choice. I don't want to talk about this here, Arcadius. I'm so sorry but this is way too much for me to handle right now. Please understand where I'm coming from. It's really, really hard to just be here. Please." Paxton's voice was shaky, as was the rest of his body movements. The turian remained unconvinced and unsatisfied. If anything, the turian looked even angrier. "Please, Arcadius, just not here. It's hard enough to talk to you, let alone anyone else.

"Please, just listen to me."

"Why? You never did." Arcadius chided. "You can't live in this little bubble forever. You either confront your problems—like me—or you let them simmer until they boil over, fester, and grow into a rage that you cannot control—like you.

"Now give me an—"

"NO!" Paxton snapped. He pressed his finger at Arcadius and stepped forward. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Arcadius! It was eight years ago! I'm done with this stupid, petty fight. I just got off a planet where my people were being treated like animals, you ignorant creep. Do not talk to me I owe you anything because you'll get nothing from me. Nothing. Grow up! Grow the hell up and get away from me, Arcadius!"

The turian's eyes widened for a moment before tightening with anger as Paxton's face was flushed red and his mouth tightened into a sneer. It took several huffs from his chest to calm himself down. When he looked to the floor, he shook his head. He grasped his bag and marched towards the elevator.

"I'm leaving."

"I told you to answer me, human."

He grabbed Paxton's wrist. There was a great tremble across Paxton's body as he looked directly in the turian's eyes. Across Arcadius' face was a grimace, heavy breathes came from out his mouth.

Abruptly, Arcadius let Paxton go. He loomed over Paxton ominously for a few seconds before closing his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Instead of yelling again, he so simply looked at Paxton with a sullen face that then dropped into a subdued angered state. He sounded annoyed and defeated, as if he had just lost a serious game.

"Just, just don't talk to me ever again. Keep your distance. I just know that, no matter what, there is no point to talking to you if you're going to continue to never end this. This is what you started but you refuse to stop this. You fucked this up, again."

"Arcadius, I…" Paxton's eyes watered, and his bottom lip trembled. He shook his head, looking back up at him with sorrow. "I don't know what to say. I…I'm so sorry."

"Go fuck yourself, Paxton." Arcadius pointed to the spilled drink on the ground. "Clean your mess, no one is going to do it for you, human. I should've known that talking with one of your kind was impossible. I should've known that, when presented with truth, a human will just run off and pretend reality doesn't exist. All of your kind is the same. All. I should've known someone like you will refuse to be reasonable.

"You, you can sulk all you want; I don't care anymore. I should never have wasted part of my life hoping you weren't a still a kid. You're a mess. I've got better places to be, better people to talk to, and just a better life to live without you." Arcadius clenched his jaw and whispered into Paxton's ear. "I know you more than whatever friends you've got."

Before Arcadius walked into the elevator, he looked over and spoke,

"I know the real, Paxton Harbor."

The elevator brought Arcadius down from Paxton's view.

Paxton sat on the floor, up against a wall, and rested his hands along his knees. He shook his head and bit his lip. The fabric of his jacket started to get wet from small drips of water from Paxton. There was a soreness in his muscles as he kneeled against the ground. Inside of him, he felt heavy as he took off his jacket. When he began to clean the floor with his jacket, tears flowed freely from his eyes.

Paxton felt his heart drain across the floor, creating massive puddle of despair around him. It didn't matter how hard he cleaned; the mess only seemed to get bigger. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at himself at the opaque reflection in the mess. Thankfully, to Paxton, it obscured his appearance.

"You don't know anything, Arcadius Ataraxia." Paxton whispered to himself as he began to clean the mess that he was in.

Paxton sat on a bench, it was in a corner away from a crowd, but it overlooked the Wards. He was near a shopping, easy-going, hang-out center—the Sisyphus Center. It was a commercial center near Asha Institute, where many of young students of all species gathered together to take a break from their studies. It wasn't uncommon to find groups of students laughing hysterically or crying hysterically together in corners with their coursework spread across a table. The place was glistening with lights that glowed red, orange, blue, and purple.

And it was always crowded.

His legs were together, and his back was hunched over with his bag on his lap. Inside his bloated bag was a drenched jacket that, if squeezed, dripped out liquid onto the floor. He sighed. Lifting his head upwards he looked around: soft whirs in the sky were from cars zipping away, pedestrians walking on pathways below and laughing between themselves, and advertisements on restaurants and shops that tried to lure him into buying whatever they sold.

Paxton dug his hand into his bag, taking out his tablet. He inspected it. Turning the tablet over and analyzing it, he realized there wasn't any damages or broken parts to it. Paxton took a deep breath of relief. When he grabbed his stylus, he tapped on his tablet, and let the loading screen pop on. The screen read the date, July 17, 2180.

A whole week? He started scrolling through notifications quickly, realizing that he's missed seven days of his life. Whenever an article about Proserpina showed on his screen Paxton removed it as if it was a cancerous tumor inside a body. He didn't know if it were in remission or not. As the dates increased further to the present, less articles appeared about Proserpina. He removed his tablet and stylus from his bag and began to write.

July 17, 2180

Everywhere I look I see people walking, talking, and being unaware of, well, tragedy. When I see monitors, Proserpina isn't blasting on it, the pundits just argue, and nothing is revealed. Nor do I want to go and check to see the revelations. I've been in it.

My mind just feels so fuzzy, I can't remember my dreams, but that feeling still stays. I want to remember but I can't. I don't even know how I got here. I can only see those terrible images of death just looping in my head, replaying and replaying until I cannot think of anything else. I need to remember more; I just have to. But I know I can't, or, if I can, I shouldn't.

I can't go back to my mind within that state. Proserpina isn't ready for me,

And everyone else, too.

No one seems to care, no one. I see nothing and nobody acts any different. It just feels so wrong. I feel like nobody seems to even care about this. I wonder if I'm the only one who actually cares about Proserpina. Hell, I don't even remember most of it, but I care. Why do all these people have the privilege to not care? No one bothers unless it's them, and then they realize they're off all alone.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe.

I just can't with this right now, especially not when my jacket is still drying from cleaning up my mess. I can still feel Arcadius' breath on me, his tight grip around my wrist. I can still see him above me and looking down at me. It's so fucking uncomfortable when I see him.

The fire in his eyes turns me into ash when we're around each other. It's even worse when I talk to him. Mostly, he just insults me when I walk near him. It's so subtle that I think I'm losing my mind, but I know he does it. I just know it. But this time, for the first in a long time, I actually said more than just a goddamn greeting to him, and he said more than an insult passing by. I should've known it was just a fucking front for a verbal lashing.

He thinks he can reprimand me like a child. It's him whose stuck as one. How does he even feel remotely comfortable bringing that up in a fucking hospital? All he wanted to do was just yell at me. That's it. All he wants is just see me be miserable and below him.

I should've told him straight in his face that he just insults me! All he does is that if we fast-walk by each other in Asha, I can hear him utter some human slur at me. And when I turn around, he just stares at me. It's so quiet that only I would hear. I have to tell myself that I'm not crazy because I know it's happening. I really do. He holds onto this rage against me. But I can't blame him. If I were him, or just anyone really, I'd probably get sick of me, too.

God, I still cannot believe I saw him—like actually him. It's so weird because the last time I saw him, he was so…different. And a lot shorter, too. I wanted to hug him, to hold his body near mine and laugh about it. He would've made fun of me for doing so before, but I knew he liked it. But now…but now I don't even know who he is. It's been so long and so many years have passed where we both aren't the same. I just wish that it didn't go as bad as that, I wish it was calmer and quieter. I hate seeing him like that because I know, even though how angry he is now, Arcs is still in there.

But is he?

Every time I see him, I just get so completely and utterly broken. I just feel awful, completely awful. Arcadius is right, maybe I'm just never going to admit anything I do wrong. Or maybe I'm just the wrong.

Is it bad I still miss him?

Goddamn it, Arcadius, we were just kids.

Some people have it hard reading turian moods from their face, but I always know. I can see right through him.

But honestly, I only wish I could never see him again. I just wish I never met him. I just feel so lost. He deserves better. I shouldn't have skirted his questions and angered him. I don't know what to think. No, I deserved better. No excuses for someone like him. He says I'm angry, and you know what? I'm fuming. I wish I could've just thrown him to the ground when he grabbed my wrist. He's such a bitch.

You know what? I don't know what to feel anymore. It's all so childish and stupid. I am a goddamn adult not some teenager stuck in some high school drama. Though it certainly feels like it right now.

All this stuff hurts my head, I just want it to be over with.

Hopefully soon.

Arms squeezed around his body, almost yanking him up from the bench.

"PAXTON!" Alison Rae ran up to him, she wrapped her hands around his chest and gave him a hug from behind. Her hair bounced in the air, jumping with every step she did. When he turned around from his frightened greeting, he sped around the bench and embraced her close. Alison's face curved into a concerned grin as she stood back and gave him some space. She still had his wrists clenched in her hands, moving them with every word she spoke. "I was like so scared. You don't understand how little I slept this week."

Seeing her bright face, her beautiful smile, and warm eyes dropped Paxton's anxiety. The bounce of her hair when she turned her head, the way her face showed genuine concern, and her rich and soothing voice made Paxton feel welcome.

"Not as much as me, that's for sure." Paxton quipped. "I had to get my beauty sleep."

"In that case you must be sleep deprived." Alison took his hand, yanking him away from the bench. She giggled with him. Her laugh was deep, loud, but reminded Paxton of a child's. They walked down out from the area and down into a parking lot. Alison turned her head to him. "One week later and Paxton Harbor hasn't lost his personality."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" Paxton jested. Alison pulled out a miniature magnifying glass from the pocket of her high-waisted white pants. She started to inspect his body, looking up and down, occasionally nodding her head. He let out a confused laugh and put his hands-on hips. "Um, is there something you're looking for, Alison?"

She placed her magnifying glass into her back pocket and folded her hands in front of her, saying, "I just had to make sure that somebody didn't take the real Paxton. Who knows what could've happened when you were shipped back here?"

"What do you," Paxton stuttered when he planted his hands on the straps of his bag. Tilting his head and repeating, "what do you mean?"

"Oh…you and your mom and sister were transported here from Proserpina on some Alliance medical ship or something. Or at least that's what my dad told me. Alison shrugged her shoulders, placing a hand on her friend's back. "C'mon, let's get out of here. Let's not discuss…that right now, you just got out your hibernation. I'm just glad my friend is back home. We'll talk when it's okay with you." She stopped suddenly and pointed her hand in Paxton's face. "And yes, I did buy a mini magnifying glass for that joke. I've been planning for it all week. I was really proud of that one."

"Wow." Paxton said flatly. "Your sad attempts at 'humor' makes me want to be stuck on Proserpina."

"Don't be an asshole, okay? I will be the first to admit that I'm not the funniest person around—"

"That's true."

She glared and continued, "but you know what, Harbor? Alison Rae, even if she's not successful, tries."

"Two words: try harder."

"Being a dick doesn't make you funny."

"Well, it doesn't stop me from laughing."

"I will never not hate you."

They laughed and walked together. The two waited by a car, leaning against it and joking between themselves. Alison caught Paxton up with the latest gossip, who was dating who, who just broke up, who failed their classes at Asha and—ooh! Corina Lepidus so drunk at a party, damn asari can't hold her drinks. At some points Alison and Paxton giggled loudly, getting the attention of some people walking past who shook their heads at them.

When the two laughed, he saw the bounce in her eyes and the smile pull up her cheeks. For some reason, despite her back around, Proserpina still was there in back of his mind. Even as he was standing on the Citadel, a part of him still felt like he was still there. It was like he was still feeling the ash in the air, fires—

Coming out from the distance they both could see Louison Jansen and Ida Michiko walking towards them. Louison gave a tight bear hug to Paxton, squeezing him and spinning him around for a few seconds. Ida stood back, shook her head with a smile, and pulled Louison off a bit.

"Dude, he just got out of a coma." Ida said laughing. She turned to Paxton, hugged him carefully while holding a drink in one hand, and then handed him a small gift bag. "It's nice to see you again, Paxton. You don't understand how scared we were. We missed you."

"I would say I missed you, but I was asleep for most of the week."

"Yeah, yeah, open your present." Ida laughed, pointing at the bag.

There was a small hand mirror in the bag. It had silver olive branches twisted along the frame to the top. The glass was pristine, shiny and reflexive. Paxton could see every bit of his face; every detail was perfectly clear. Paxton was taken back by it, tilted his head and found it odd. "It's so…real."

"It's asari made, it's based on some rural Earth areas. We found it at a shop, and we thought it was perfect. Now when you want to think about your existence and the meaning of life, you've got a mirror to ponder just that." Ida said. "Bad hair day Paxton will definitely need it to be saved. Oh, and don't worry. It's hard to break, you can slam it against a table, and it won't crack. It's super durable."

"And super expensive." Louison jested, getting a glare from Ida and Alison. "And super nice?" Louison gave an absent-minded grin which got a shrug from them.

"Well, thank you. I'll keep it with me when I go to party."

"That's got to be a joke, Paxton. You? A party? Never!" Alison laughed with her friends.

"That's got to be a joke, Alison. You? Funny? Never!" Paxton snorted loudly, causing Louison to erupt in hysterics.

Alison glared at her friends and noticed even Ida was laughing slightly. "Ida…I thought you were the reasonable one."

"Alison," Ida said, speaking as if she didn't want to continue, "I hate to bring up the time you tried stand-up last year…"

"Fine, fine." Alison said, defeated. "Point taken."

"You're a better journalist than comedian." Paxton told Alison, poking her with the mirror.

"Oh? Now you want to be friends?"

"Who else do I have to gossip with? My sister?" Paxton laughed as he slid the mirror into his bag. "Trust me, Ali, you're a friend."

"Of course I am." Alison smirked.

The four drifted in light conversation as the they were bringing Paxton up-to-speed with the latest in Asha news. Alison had even made a list of the recent events in galactic news from the past week and read them off to Paxton.

When Paxton slid his mirror into his bag, Ida looked down at the bag and noticed the jacket. "What's with your jacket? It smells like a barista's wet dream."

"I, I don't want to…" Paxton looked up and saw across Sisyphus was Arcadius, chatting up a couple of people around their age. He was wearing a new, unstained shirt. The students wore clothes with the Asha Institute logo on it. He looked like a seasoned politician, laughing and listening to whatever a student was saying and then exchanging social media profiles, but Paxton knew under that face wasn't the truth. Paxton's friends looked at him staring at Arcadius with dreadful eyes with a half open mouth, just slightly dropped. "Can we go? I think I need to get home."

"Him?" Alison hissed, crossing her arms. "That sly fucking turian, he is such an asshole to literally every human unless they like bow to him. Nobody sees it or they don't want to see it. Even other humans don't see it. He cannot be student director. It'll go right to his head."

"As if making Alex director would make all of us better off." Ida said. Quickly, she snapped back to Paxton with one of her eyebrows raised with an apologetic smile. "No offense."

"Absolutely none taken." Paxton sighed and paced around. "I just hate that it's them. I can't understand that the runoff vote is of them. I, for the life of me, can't understand why people like them so much.

"And why does it have so much bearing on our lives at Asha? Why does that title give them so much power? It's so much more than really should be. Having access to millions of credits shouldn't even be possible as a student director, but they get to budget it however way they want.

"With her being, well, her. And Arcadius," Paxton grimaced. "Just saying that name makes me want to jump off a roof. There is no happy medium. Between Alex and Arcadius, we'll end up either living in a police state or some off-brand military dictatorship."

"And that's why I hate politicians." Alison groaned. "They're all lying to you and laughing at you on the inside. It's why I report on them, to make sure they're not lying all the time." She began to quickly clear her throat with a nervous laugh as she looked at Paxton. "Except your Mom, of course. No offense."

He just shrugged his shoulders.

Louison was fuming, he had his eyes fixed onto Arcadius and clenched his fist. "Did he make another insult again? He needs his ass beat. I don't care if he has almost a foot on me." Louison rolled his eyes at him and turned to Paxton. He shoved his curled fists in his pocket, glaring at the turian in the distance. "If he does anything you've got to fight him back. Fight fire with fire, Paxton. Punch that skeleton face."

The other three collectively expressed shock at Louison. They shook their heads at his expression.

"Hey, Louison, Paxton is not going to fight an Ataraxia. As much I want him socked, you know what kind of diplomatic incident would occur if the children of two secretaries-general fist fought? You know damn well that every turian got their military training. He'll put you down before you can swing your fist.

"You better turn your hot war cold. And fast." Ida put her arm around Paxton, and continued, "Just tell us what happened this time. What comment did he make this time?"

"It's not important, really. It was stupid. We just talked. Not a good one, we just did. End of story. He just makes me uncomfortable." Paxton talked fast, occasionally slurring words in his fast pace. "Look, I just don't want to be here. Is that reason enough?" Paxton almost had tears in his eyes, and he started to speak lower, mouthing the word 'Please' to them.

Before they could leave, they could see Arcadius walking over to them with his datapad clenched in his hand. The three collectively sighed, while Paxton felt his himself stiffen.

"Y'know," Louison whispered. "if we all grabbed a part of him, we could land a few hits in. He can't take us all down."

"If only he could take you down." Ida elbowed his side, making Alison laugh.

Still, Paxton had his eyes stuck on Arcadius. His fingers dug so deeply in his bag that its leather started to wear down slightly.

When Arcadius stood in front of them, he gave, from what he could replicate, a form of turian grin. The sides of his mandibles tipped upwards; his teeth exposed slightly. "Hi, everyone! I'm out here to remind everyone, and I mean everyone, to vote soon. The online portal to vote is open and it will be for a little while. As a candidate, I am obligated to encourage all Asha Students to vote. So, any questions?"

"Who are you voting for, Ataraxia?" Said Louison, slyly.

"Any real questions?"

"What did you to Paxton?" Louison said firmly, his voice lowered.

"Excuse me?" Arcadius cried, his grip on his datapad tightening.

"Will you stop?" Paxton hissed quietly to Louison.

"Look, I just came over here as a part of my job and not to be accused of something that I supposedly 'did' to your friend. I don't know Paxton, at all. I only know him because our parents are colleagues and I work with his sister. I've never spoken to him, only in passing before. I've never done anything with him."

"You're defensive, I can tell." Louison said, narrowing his eyes at Arcadius. "We all know you hate Paxton and humans."

Arcadius turned his attention to Paxton and glared. "I don't know what you're saying about me, what you're doing—but stop. I'm disinterested in being the topic of your gossip and talk with your friends. I barely know you, so I don't understand your grudge against me because it always seems you have these people give me dirty looks. I will only ask you once to stop before I have to report you for harassment. Trust me, I don't want to. Do not push me."

All he could was just look at. There was nothing he could say, even if he wanted to. He just stood silent as he looked up at Arcadius. It was all he could do.

"I think you should just go." Ida said as she awkwardly stepped in front of Arcadius. "There's others you've got to talk."

Without answering, or taking his eyes off Paxton, Arcadius stood straight and turned around. His fist was tightened around his datapad as he stormed off. When he turned around a corner, he locked eyes with Paxton once more and glared.

"Asshole!" Alison pushed Louison's shoulder. "You need to practice, I don't know, being a considerate friend."

"C'mon, I doubt he's going to try anything anymore. Arcadius Ataraxia is no longer going to be problem for us."

"Yeah, and if he doesn't become the Director. Otherwise, he'll place us all in a gulag."

Ida looked at Paxton, "Ignore them, we should take you back home. Your sister is probably waiting for you."

He didn't answer, he just followed with them as they walked away from Sisyphus. Paxton occasionally turned back to the corner where Arcadius stood, and for some reason, he wanted him to be there looking at him,

"I can't believe you were friends with him at one point." Alison turned to Paxton, nudging his shoulder. "Was he always this insane?"

Taken aback, Paxton mulled over her question in his mind. Before he could say anything, Louison interjected.

"Don't be dense, Ali, of course he was. No need to ask." Louison dipped his hands in his pockets and rolled his eyes.

Alison glared. "Talk to me when you aren't considered brain-dead."

They laughed and began to walk over to Ida's car. Paxton slid in the backseat with Alison, glancing out the window. They took off into the Citadel sky, zooming past other shuttles and flying into the Wards. Lights shimmered over his face and it danced around his eyes, which were constantly dilating and closing. While his friends were talking about Asha, he occasionally chimed in as well, but he mostly stayed relatively silent as ads of products and services popped around him in the Wards. Paxton could see people of every species assembled together in small pockets of groups, hanging out and enjoying themselves.

Occasionally Paxton saw a romantic restaurant, at one traffic stop he saw a proposal between an asari and a human. The asari leaped into the human's arms, holding him and crying. The two received a healthy amount of applause from the patrons. As soon as Paxton's heart melted the shuttle sped away, the couple faded in the distance until they became a blip in his memory. He felt everyone else was in control of their life, except for him.

Paxton rested his head onto the window, thinking of the fastness of his life.

As he closed his eyes he fell into a small slumber, and as he did, he felt connected with Melanie as they both were slipping into unconsciousness.

"Paxton, you're not in a coma again, are you?" Louison looked behind to Paxton, who began to slowly wake up. "Oh good, I was really hoping we didn't have to swing you to the hospital. They're freaky."

"We wouldn't have had a problem doing so, friend." Ida glared at Louison, who then nervously laughed and nodded his head. "Paxton, you're home. I think you may need to talk to your sister now."

"Have fun with Alexandria the Ice Queen." Alison pointed out the window to Alex, who stood at the opposite end of an apartment complex outer lobby. Before Paxton opened the door, she extended her arm over him. "My dad needs to speak with you. It's just about what happened on Proserpina. You know, legal stuff. Don't worry, he told me you should take the time you need."

Paxton nodded and dragged himself out the skycar and gave a tired wave at his friends, who returned with thoughtful replies of his health and jokes at his sister's expense. He watched as the shuttle descended into the traffic above, his friends slowly becoming blips in his vision as they disappeared into the sky.

There was tapping on his shoulder.

"Hey." Alex spoke softer than usual, although it kept the straight-forward curtness that Paxton expected from het but lowered, softer. It brought him at ease to hear her speak…normally.

She stared at him for a few moments before embracing him in an awkward, slow hug. They patted the other's back gently and slowly, not knowing how hard or fast to embrace. It all reminded Paxton of a vid of a robot learning to love, learning how to hug another.

She cleared her throat and scanned him and put her hands on his arms, as if she was trying to accept that was real. She then started to brush off Paxton's clothing, though her touch wasn't gentle. She then looked at his bag and smelled. Alex almost gagged at the coffee smell and looked back at Paxton with annoyance. "You don't get total muscular weakness from a one-week coma, Pax. Keep your hand still."

"It's a," Paxton looked at the ground. "long story."

"Hey," She snapped her fingers in front of his face and brought them up to hers. "what did I say about looking at the ground?"

"Don't?"

"Exactly." Alex said plainly. "I didn't know you were being discharged today," She added, "The doctors told you were going to be awake in a few days."

"When was that?"

"Just yesterday, actually." Alex crossed her arms, and kept looking across the courtyard as if she watching, waiting for something. Her foot tapped on the ground and her fingers kept dipping in and out of her arm. "It's nice seeing again, Pax. Are you doing…okay?"

Paxton looked confused; more so taken aback by her…warmth? Was that it? Or emotion? He didn't know but he just tittered. Paxton pulled his sleeves up and pressed his hands into his face and shook his head. When he looked at Alex's face, she appeared to be just as puzzled as him.

"I feel like I've lived a year in just a day. It's like everything that shouldn't happen, happens. There is just no end." Paxton confided in Alex, even though he felt like he shouldn't. She kept giving him the same, confused look. It was unchanging. "But I'll make it through. Don't you worry."

Alex sighed and turned around. "Let's just go home."

The two walked across a courtyard, it had a large fountain in the middle with several people sitting down at it. Their apartment complex had a mixture of various species walking around, or floating around in a hanar's case. One of things he liked about this particular Ward was its diversity unlike other Wards which had major populations of other species. But Asha Ward, this was the true melting pot. When they then entered their building and took the elevator up to their floor.

The two stood at opposite ends of the elevator, both keeping themselves in their respective corners. Alex had her arms crossed and stood tall, keeping her head tilted away from Paxton and not looking in his direction. Paxton looked over her, trying to piece together whatever she was feeling. No matter how hard he tried, she remained a blank to him. Unlike Arcadius, there was nothing he pick up on. With that, felt trapped when he was around her. Paxton felt that she could control his emotions and withhold her own. Unless she said anything, he was constantly confused at who his sister was.

Everything Alex was an absolute mystery to him. She was an impregnable fortress of coldness her own making. Whatever she was, whoever Alex is, Paxton longed to be a part of her inner world. All he wanted was to be inside her head, even if she didn't care to explore his inner world—he just his sister.

Alex's face was firm, unmoving and not breaking from a fixed, almost permanent, glare. He thought she was beautiful, but her beauty did little to bring comfort to Paxton. He wondered if she was always this way around others or simply just around him. Whichever it was, it made Paxton's face curve down.

Whatever you are, whoever you are, I miss you, Alex.

All I want is to tell you everything. I want to vent to you about Arcadius, I want to laugh with you with my friends, and get through this Proserpina mess. I want you to be in my future and not exist in my past.

So please, please, please Alexandria, just let me in.

Whatever you are, whoever you are, I love you, Alex.

Alex turned her head with confusion. "You're staring at me. What?"

Paxton stood towards the door, clutching the straps of bag, and turned his eyes to her. When he saw her standing confused, he felt his chest grow heavy and sink back to his knees.

"I saw Arcadius today." Paxton said, switching his mind away from his sister.

"I bet that one went over well." Alex grimaced. "None of my business, however."

"Yeah…" Paxton sighed. "I—"

"None of my business."

"Right."

"Hey," She said. "I mentioned Arcadius when we argued on Proserpina. I shouldn't have."

"It's okay."

"Okay."

Paxton stared at himself in the elevator's doors. It reflected a blurry version of himself. It was him, he knew it, but it reminded him of a silhouette that wasn't completely darkened. But, whatever image of himself he saw was too messy to piece together.

The elevator door opened, tearing his reflection into two.

They had passed a few doors down the hallway and stopped at their own. Alex punched in a code on a holographic keypad next to the door and scanned her hand. That prompted another code, followed by an eye scan. Finally, the door clicked open.

"Oh," Alex said pointing to the box on the floor inside their apartment. "Before you come in, there's a package on the floor next to the door for you. It's weird, big, and heavy."

The two walked inside and Paxton eyed the large box on the floor and stared at it with wonder. When he looked up, he saw his home again. Their home was a complete contrast of colors; black and white, with other colors barely popping out.

They entered the living room, which was very blankly decorated with a cutting modern design. White furniture and walls had a sleek, elegant design. It had heavy straight lines, very rarely was there curves in the decorations or the furniture. For its sharpness, the furniture was very soft and comfortable. There were windows, which counted as walls, on the opposite side of the entrance that led to a balcony overlooking Asha Ward.

A white fireplace had a screen above it, but it wasn't turned on. Alex sat on the couch around it and started to type into her datapad. While Paxton still stood in the threshold between the entrance and the living room. After slowly slipping off his boots he cautiously walked around. Slouching, Paxton had his hands in his pockets and dragged his feet across the floor.

When he walked around his home, it felt strangely…empty. It was a peculiar feeling. Even at home, Paxton felt his own emptiness increase tenfold Everything had looked just like how the they left it before they had left with Melanie to Proserpina. Nothing was different, not physically at least. Every time he turned around to get a look at his home, it was all the same.

Paxton didn't know what to expect, possibly something different at least. There should've been photo albums strung about. Tissues, perhaps, darted along the black hardwood floor. Or at very least there should be disheveled young woman with messy hair, puffy red eyes, and jittery movements!

Something, anything, at least.

Paxton sighed.

"What?" Alex huffed, slapping the datapad against her legs. She crossed her arms and slowly tapped her foot against the floor. She jutted her head forward with confused brows and a weary smile, "You okay?"

"I …" Paxton sat next to her on the couch. He looked down at the floor and then straight forward at the fireplace. The fire cracked, whipped the air, and sent an ashy smell to his nose

The fire from the fireplace sent him back to Proserpina. He could feel the ashes in the sky falling, the stinging and lung-clogging heavy smell of burning buildings and people, the sticky sweat wrapping around his body. Even when he closed his eyes, he couldn't escape it. There were just memories of the constant running, his legs stiffing up after, or what seemed to be, countless hours of sprinting.

He heard the endless yells in the distance, only for them to be silenced after a loud gunshot; he could still hear it ringing in his ears. Sometimes, in the corner of the streets, he could see some lifeless bodies just lying on the ground. It was only a glance during the run, but his mind quickly pieced it together.

The way his mother moved, confidently running without losing a breath or tripping; the soldier in her was still alive. Her fingers tightened around a pistol, with one always on the trigger. When she looked back and gestured with her arm to move faster, he could see the sternness in her eyes. His mother's hair flowed her, constantly jumping from her shoulders.

It was then he could remember it clearly.

Himself, Alex, and his mother stuck in the back of the alley as slavers shot into the shield Melanie emitted from her Omni-Tool. The hissing from the shield terrified him when he saw the slavers start to destroy their own protection. When he saw her Omni-Tool start to build a blue spark, he did the same as her: letting his Omni-Tool charge a striking shock of electricity.

The clearest part of that moment was seeing Melanie's panicked face when he ran up to her as the shield around started to fall. Before his Omni-Tool reached hers, he could see her mutter something softly. Her mouth moving to only emit one word.

"Paxton…"

"Pax!"

Alex shook his body. She looked at his red face, which was dripping in tears, and saw him move his hands away from his eyes. Her face was in shock, her mouth was slightly open as she looked over him. Frantically, he jumped from the couch and shook his head. He paced around the living room as Alex stood up from the couch.

"Pax, what just happened? One minute you're fine and the next you're off in another planet. What the hell happened?" She stood in front of him. "Just calm down," She put her hands up, shaking them in front of her before putting them on her forehead. She stared to pace. "Just breathe. Come on, it'll be fine, Pax."

Paxton took several deep breathes. The air he huffed into his body sent a chilling comfort to him. When he controlled his breath, he felt the sting of emptiness set in him again. Now he knew the emptiness in their home.

Melanie.

Paxton walked over to a collection of hanging photos on the wall and saw a photo of her. It was an old photo, one from when she was his around his age standing next to another man in an Alliance scientist uniform. She was wearing armor with an assault rifle holstered on her back. The backdrop was of a lush green landscape, rolling mountains and hills of pure green. They both were laughing, their laughs producing tears, as evidenced from the drips from their eyes.

Paxton just stared at her, the emptiness only amplifying when he looked at her.

At the bottom of the frame was a label, written in Melanie's cursive handwriting. It read:

David & I. Our first colonial placement on Terra Nova. Trying to not be discharged! 2150

Paxton put a finger up to her face, dragging it down until he touched the wall. He turned his attention over to his boots and quickly started to zip them back up.

"Pax!" Alex shouted as she stood next him, her arms outstretched. "What the name of God are you doing? Where are you going?"

He turned towards the door and swung it open. After he heaved the box in his hands, he turned back to Alex. Paxton gave her a small frown and looked across her body. There she stood, waiting for an answer and was confused as hell to what was happening.

"I'm," Paxton cleared his throat. "I'm going to back to Chaya. I need to."

With the box in his hands, he started down the hall. Alex stood out into the hallway as she saw Paxton dart away. She yelled his name once more, but he disappeared into an elevator. Alex looked at the ground as she shook her head. She stood in the middle of the hallway with her hands in her pockets and stared at the elevator.

The elevator's doors closed in on Paxton and when they did, the reflection showed Alex standing in the empty hallway all alone. She bowed her head slightly and sighed. While dragging her feet, she made her way back into her home.

The door behind her slammed shut.

The door in front of Paxton had only one name:

Melanie Harbor.

The same feeling which wanted him to run was still pounding in his heart, but he knew that he couldn't run away again. Slowly he took one hand from the box pressed his hand into the holographic lock until the door slid open. He walked in, keeping his eyes planted on the ground. The light was gone from the hallway and the room wasn't pitch black; the soft 'nighttime' light of the Presidium was sliced by the blinds and onto the bed in the opposite side of the room.

beep…beep…beep

The sounds of the heart rate monitor filled the room. Paxton sluggishly moved in the room, dropping his bag and box on the floor without paying much attention to it. Instead, his eyes were stuck on the bed in the room. He just watched the slow rising and falling of her chest.

The image of Melanie with terrified eyes, expressing panic at him kept replaying in his mind. He imagined that he could see the three of them laying on the ground in the alley from above. A part of him felt that he was and wasn't there; trapped between being a participant and a spectator. In his mind, he just saw her dirtied, exhausted face that had small drips of blood leaking on the ground. His mind didn't allow him to find more memories, but he knew that they were there.

Paxton moved closer and grabbed a chair, holding it as he walked over to the bed. He positioned the chair next the bed and slowly sat down. His eyes were looking at the edge of the bed, away from her face. The blanket showed was an outline of her body. Paxton followed that outline until he saw her hand.

The veins on her hands and arms bulged out. Her fair skin was rough. On her long, thin fingers were few wrinkles that folded together. The knuckles below her fingers were prominent and were somewhat bruised. They were colored a greenish-yellow, which gradually falling back to her normal skin tone. Scars were on her hands from decades prior, but, like the scar over her eye, it was fading away. Melanie had hands weathered by age and war.

Paxton took his hands and held hers within his.

His body was scrunched up and pointed towards her. He took his thumb and rolled it down her hand slowly, feeling her boney fingers once more. Inside, he felt his chest drag him to the floor. Rubbing his foot over the other, he took silent and shallow breaths in.

Even though his neck felt weak and his head heavy, he looked at his mother's face.

Unbothered by the outside world, Melanie laid with her head against the pillow with her eyes closed. The light glistened over her face; it was peaceful, content, and but blank. Her hair was parted down the middle and it comfortably rested on her shoulders. But that peace was broken by the medical equipment that provided her life support. Mechanical breathes came out from Melanie's mouth.

The terrible emptiness inside of him was squashed as he felt it lifted from his body. For the first time, since her speech before the attack, he felt secure. His muscles relaxed and his breathing was brought down to a normal level. He didn't know for how long he sat next to her; it didn't matter to him. It didn't matter to him, he just kept holding onto her hand.

Paxton felt his eyes grow heavy and spotted a couch in the side of the room. There was a closet and he grabbed a spare pillow and blanket and laid it across the couch. Paxton took his bag and the heavy box and put them on the couch. When he sat down, he held his legs then folded them. When he held his bag, he tossed his stained and smelly hoodie into the trash.

Paxton threw himself on the couch and flicked on his tablet.

Whatever happened on Proserpina happened. People were slaughtered. There's no hiding that. If we're the survivors than I don't know what we can do but sulk in our memories. Doubtful.

If Alex can choose to ignore it, then so be it. It's not my responsibility to make her care about anything. If she can play pretend, then let her. I won't feel for the both of us. Mix her and that Arcadius, I should only expect people either unable or unwilling to care. Maybe my friends do…they probably do. But what can I say to them? Describe to them the smell of burning bodies? The screams in the distance of people begging not to be enslaved. They wouldn't get it. I don't even think I do.

Everything is so trivial…my own friends to Alex to Arcadius. Just a bunch of dumb, pointless drama. It all doesn't matter—just a distraction. This is what matters—her. Proserpina matters. Not some stupid "election" that Alex and Arcadius are probably going to fight for, or my own drama with Arcadius, or even my friend's banter—just a distraction. It's pointless. So fucking pointless. There were people's lives stolen and all everyone seems to care is everything but that. Am I the crazy one for caring? I have to be. No one gets it.

But she would. Stuck in her endless sleep, I only hope she knows I'm here. I need her here. She's the cure-all, I guess. I just find myself so completely lost without having her presence around. Even though I don't talk to her…I don't feel right without her presence. Maybe that's why I tagged along to Proserpina with her. Maybe.

Wherever her mind is, I hope she's somewhere far away from Proserpina.

I know I want to be.

He swiped at the screen, bring it to a newsfeed. The screen flashed to present an asari newscaster sitting at a desk; a symbol of the Citadel was in the corner of the screen, flashing the name Citadel News Net.

"…Secretary-General Valerius Ataraxia made no comment when approached today regarding the human colony of Proserpina that was attacked and pillaged by slavers. Instead, his press secretary released a statement saying that Ataraxia feels 'saddened' and 'mournful' over the loss of the colonists but, in accordance with his first statement prior, reiterated that Terminus Systems colonies are beyond the power of the Citadel and cannot act on a primarily human issue…"

Of course they can't. Paxton shuddered, grimacing at the name "Ataraxia".

"Our sources tell us that Alliance investigation into the assault on Proserpina is not giving many insights as what exactly happened on the colony. Comms were disabled on the colony during the attack and only resumed after the slavers left. Feeds from Secretary-General Melanie Harbor's speech cut off after a sniper shoots her body. Out of respect of the Secretary-General and her family, we are not playing the footage nor are we releasing it."

Thank God.

"Currently, the Alliance, when pressed for a comment, didn't answer on the nature of their investigations but said they continuing to find the bodies of colonists and look for survivors. In other news, Alliance Navy soldier Commander—"

After tossing his tablet aside he sprawled out on the couch before realizing the package was still unopen. He sat it on the small table in front of him and examined it. It was a large box without a return address on it. The box was larger than his head. With his fingernail, he split the adhesive open and found a hard box within it. He held it in his hands and pried it open. Inside was a small, folded paper sitting atop crumbled paper.

When he unfolded the paper, he realized it was an image, a photo of the café on Proserpina and it zoomed in onto Paxton looking over his tablet.

Paxton's heart dropped from his chest as he tore through the box and found, sitting at the bottom, was a large turian helmet. His eyes widened as he lifted it in his hands and turned the front part towards himself. It was as if the turian was looking directly back at Paxton himself with a deathly glare.

It was then he remembered all of it.

The heavy foot against his back, keeping him pressed against the ground. The tall turian looming above wearing the helmet and throwing it on the ground. Still, he could feel the heavy breathes from the turian's face stinging his. It felt like a nightmare, but the turian's voice reminded him he was, in fact, conscious.

The terror that rang in his body stuck with him, as if it was unleashed from dormant slumber of several years and flowed once more in Paxton's body. He was stuck in the slaver's control, unable to run or yell. From just his presence, the slaver had complete, absolute power over him. Paxton couldn't talk, feel, or even think when this slaver was around. Subconsciously, he fell under his spell and had to obey his every command.

Fear consumed Paxton and devoured him whole.

Paxton saw the slaver clearly in his mind, saw him standing in the distance looking back at him with his purple eyes.

When Paxton opened his eyes turned the helmet around and saw two letters inscribed:

VH

His eyes were wide, almost bulging out of his head from the shock. Inside of his bag, his tablet was flashing with notifications. Slowly, with labored breathes he sat the helmet on the couch and crouched down to grab his tablet. He saw the messages pile up on the screen, all from the same sender, VH.

VH: It doesn't matter what room you're in or planet you're on—I'll be watching. I always am, Paxton.

I'll strike when you least expect it.

So, go back to holding your mother's hand, keep it close, because you'll never when your blood stops flowing in your body and drains out from your head.

Paxton, wrapped up in terror and shock, resisted the urge to collapse to the ground. As frightened as he was, he just wanted an answer. No one seemed to give him truth or any bit of information regarding Proserpina. The doctor brushed it to the side. Arcadius didn't care. Alex didn't care. His own friends didn't care. All of the stupid bullshit from today was trivial, so pointless and unnecessary—only distracting Paxton from the truth. Thinking back to the people treated like beaten livestock only made desire answer. The fear he felt was insurmountable to the anguish of the colonists.

He knew that to be true.

Even as his entire body told him to stop, his mind gnawed at him for even making such a daring move, but he did it anyways.

Paxton sent back a message.

PAXTON HARBOR: Who are you?

No response.

The lights in the started to flicker, slowly at first then it started to pick up in speed. It came to the point where the lights started to disorient Paxton and strain his eyes. The tablet slipped from his hands.

Melanie's life support powered off. The heart rate monitor started to gain in speed.

beep…beep…beep…BEEP

Paxton tried to find out what was wrong with the machine, but the constant strobing from the lights and the sheer panic from his mother's breathing, made his efforts weak. He tried to find a button to alert a nurse, and when quickly fumbled around, he gave it a sharp press. However, no alarm rang out. No light went off. Nothing.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

He was stuck in the room, forced to witness his mother's heart rate accelerate to dangerous levels as the terror from thinking about her oxygen loss paralyzed him. Between the strobing lights, he could faintly see his mother's face; calm on the surface, but deep inside was screaming for life.

From the light that emitted from under the door, the hallway showed it also was suffering the same fate as Melanie's room. There was scattered movement and yells from hospital staff who panicked at the power outage. Against the metal door, the officers who guarded Melanie's room were struggling to get in.

The flickering off the lights slowed down, taking several seconds between when it was on and off. The same went for the life support, only momentarily giving oxygen in Melanie's body before stopping. This cycle lasted for half a minute, but it felt like a never-ending nightmare to Paxton as watched his mother hang on the edge between conscious life, permanent brain damage, and death.

Whatever confidence he had channeled from Melanie was destroyed as he fell to her side, lifting her head upwards and holding her head in his hands. The terrible panic came over Paxton again as felt small, weak, and broken. As looked at his mother's face, he could only shakily whisper out her name in her ear.

Then, it just stopped.

Her ventilator started flowing oxygen back into her body. The heart rate monitor came down to a steady pace, ending the constant beeps of her heart that flooded the room. With Melanie's head in his hands, he just stared at her with a face pulled so deeply frown that it surprised him that his jaw didn't break off.

BIZZ…BIZZ

The tablet ringed.

Paxton cautiously put his mother's head back onto her pillow and kneeled at the ground. All the while he didn't change his expression and was stiff. He wrapped his fingers around the device slowly as he saw, instead of messages, a call from VH.

He just stared at the screen, petrified at it. There was a great urge in him to throw his tablet out from his window, to stomp it under his boot, or crush it with the helmet. When he looked back at Melanie's ventilator, he realized there was no other option but to obey.

Breathes.

All he could hear was VH's breaths. Deep, loud breathing from the other end of the call. Paxton felt his heart rate rise faster than Melanie's, his throat tightened faster than when he was around Arcadius, and a greater obscurity of emotion and turmoil than being in the same room as Alex.

Dread: it was all he could feel. An uneasy feeling of monumental worry and fear than in the alley on Proserpina. The same terror when looking at VH's helmet; that dormant fear which ruled his body. It was familiar to Paxton: that familiarity didn't give him relief, it only made the hairs on his body stand and teeth chatter. Like before, it was a memory he could not remember.

But nothing came to his mind.

The turian's breathing remained. Each breath Paxton could hear VH took sounded like a bomb detonating in his ear. It felt like a whisper; invading his mind, slowly suppressing any thought he had, and making his brain bleed with his personality. All that was left was primal fear.

VH cleared his throat, sending shockwaves down Paxton's spine, and spoke. "You don't get to ask questions." He curtly demanded. VH's voice rang of authority, it's deep and gruff tone only made Paxton feel lightheaded. "Do you understand?"

Paxton hesitated. His mouth shook to open, but a small part of his free mind kept it shut.

Melanie's life support turned back off.

"I said do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," VH growled. With his angrier tone, he somehow made himself sound like he took great pleasure in Paxton's response. Then, Melanie's life support turned back on, breathing back life into her. "do not make me repeat myself ever again."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Trust me, Paxton," The human's body shook rapidly. He felt like he was submerged in freezing water, not only because of the coldness he felt around his body, but the constant shaking that took away his movement. "You will be."

The call was ended, and the tablet slipped from his hands. Paxton stumbled his way towards Melanie's bed and just watched her. He leaned against the bed, putting both hands down on it and throwing his head down. He took in a trembling breath and when he breathed out, he felt utterly defeated. His voice broke as he sighed.

Just looking at Melanie reminded him of VH's total power over them. No matter what he did, Paxton felt that nothing could ever stop VH from destroying his life whenever he wanted to. Seeing Melanie's face also brought up a deep anger. He abhorred seeing her lay in that bed, confined to a coma and unable to be herself. He thought of his mother's stoic face when they were surrounded the slavers in the alley. The power she exuded; the determined stance to stand against multiple people with firearms pointed at her, the way she didn't break when confronted with impossible odds.

He channeled Melanie in him and felt her energy rise in his body.

Paxton was in sync with his body, shivers along his arms raised his hair. He was in sync with his mind, focused solely on finding VH and finding the truth. He was in sync with his soul, his heart was filled with fire which consumed his body, only fastening the beating of his heart. Only the warmth of the room surrounded him while the coldness fleeted behind him, never able to catch up.

He grasped his mother's hand and looked over face. When he looked back at the helmet, he tightened his other hand into a fist.

Paxton knew what his mother would've done—he knew what he had to do:

Stop VH.

"Lights—off." She said as she slipped into a small, dark room. The only light which filled the void between the four walls was from the window. It was covered with blinds so the purple-blue lights from the outside was cut into even lines onto the floor and across her face. She put her hands on her chair, took a deep breath, and stretched her back. The lights from the window illuminated her green eyes and when there was an orange light flaring, it made her brown skin glow. Half of her head was shaved, but her remaining long, curly, black hair extended past her shoulders. She sat at her desk and said, "Computer—on."

From the computer came many different screens hovering above and around her, each relaying different websites, news vids, frantic writings, videos, and pictures—all regarding Proserpina. Multiple articles described the horrors about the slaver attack; first-hand accounts by shell-shocked survivors, photos and reports released by Alliance investigators, and photos and reports not released by the same investigators, but instead stolen from her.

In one corner of the multiple windows of information was a looping video of Secretary-General Melanie Harbor getting shot down by a sniper. Each time she saw the video it built a strong urge to vomit. But that video reminded her of the disaster she averted.

All thanks to him.

She enlarged a photo on her display, and it loaded a public identification form with a photo ID next to it. The name attached to the face in the photo read Paxton Harbor. She remembered seeing him come into that café every day for a week, isolating himself in a corner while he prodded and picked at his Omni-Tool. A strong throbbing in her chest erupted when she thought about him getting her the ticket out of Proserpina.

She owed him everything.

This Paxton Harbor…was he the key to solving this?

There was no good reason for her to pursue this, she figured it would only bring her danger. But something inside of her, whenever she saw his face, made her want to chase down whoever did this to Proserpina. Paxton Harbor was someone she thought she'd never see again. But now…now she felt the urge to give back the life he restored—hers.

She enlarged a photo of his body found on Proserpina; dirt, and blood, and ash smothered across his body and studied it. The girl bowed her head in frustration as she read over notes.

"Harbor…Proserpina…Slavers." She whispered to herself while reading her frantic notes.

This couldn't be a coincidence. Why attempt to assassinate the Secretary-General and leave her and her family alive? Something didn't add up to her.

The girl slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out a box about the size of her hand. She found it in her mailbox only a few hours prior. Attached to the box was a handwritten note written in the standard, galactic trading language.

I'm reluctant to help you…but these are unforeseen events

If you're truly up to this, then I'm going to make sure you're in this with me.

—A friend

Each time she read the message; it triggered a sinking feeling in her gut. It didn't matter who it was from, as long as they could help her that's what mattered. Inside the box was an Optical Storage Disk. It was about the size of her finger and thicker than her thumb, resembling a small disk enclosed in a plastic shell. She slid the OSD into her computer and watched as the files began to load across the display.

Whoever had sent the OSD included the files she stolen from the Alliance and made a note that she wasn't as secretive as she had hoped as they included her IP address and exact coordinates; it was information she sure she cleared with a fake security clearance. She wasn't stupid after all, she knew—

The girl jumped from her chair and frantically scrolled through the files that continued to upload onto her computer.

Videos of the Harbors racing throughout Proserpina while being chased by three heavily armed and armored individuals who were, much to her disappointment, blurred out by the heavy distortion of the broken security footage. Messages of distress beacons that never were sent out. And classified damage reports that she hadn't been able to steal. These…these were dangerously high level, classified documents.

She froze.

A live recording of her staring at the screen appeared. When she moved slightly, she saw herself move with it. Slowly she looked up at the corner of the wall and saw a tiny red dot blinking at her. If she wasn't made aware of it, it would've easily missed her. She pushed her chair near the wall, stood on it, and yanked the tiny camera out of the wall.

She then feverishly jumped off the chair and smashed the camera under her boot until it became a small mess of broken parts of steel and wire. The live recording of her ceased and a warning symbol displayed over the feed, reporting a mechanical failure of the camera.

"Good, had to make sure you knew what we're up against. Apologies for the intrusion." Said a voice coming from her computer. The voice was obstructed under layers of filters, so it changed between sounding feminine and masculine, each with a different accent from various species, every other word. "And don't try to search your apartment's security cameras, I've already cleared them of me."

She stood at the opposite end of the room with her fist tightened, her breathing fastened. "Who the hell are you?"

"An ally."

"Bullshit," She hissed, pacing towards the screen. She spoke under breath, violently. "Don't be vague with me. How am I supposed to trust you, think of you as an 'ally' if you're going to break into my home?"

"Because you will. You've already got yourself deep into this by stealing Alliance documents. We both were logged in with fake credentials, but there was something off about your connection and after that…it was easy to discover who you are. It was chance timing, really. I could very easily report you to the Human Embassy, but I didn't, and I won't. Help me help you. But if that's not enough…I have more."

The call ended and was replaced with live footage of Chaya Medical Center. There were multiple different security footage screens across her display. From the outside, the lights were flickering on and off. Inside there was medical staff racing the hallways as the power kept changing. It had only lasted for a short minute, but the frantic energy of the chaos in the hospital caused her stress.

Enlarged on her display was a hospital room. Besides the footage was information on its patient: Melanie Harbor. She gasped when she saw Paxton Harbor in the room with her. She saw him reach down and hold his mother's hand.

The footage was closed and replaced stills from a security camera appeared, they were of her boarding a ship off Proserpina and arriving at the Citadel. More stills loaded of her walking down a street with her hands thrown into her pockets. Then private identification documents of her loaded onto the screen with several ID photos of her loaded, including school photos of her from when she was only a child. She stared at the photos of herself on the screen, her own image reflecting back at eyes. She couldn't help but just look at herself when she just a kid.

"I'm only one person, friend. I can't protect you or the Harbors, and not the people taken on Proserpina. As you saw, there's very little done about the colony and the likelihood of the Alliance solving this decreases each day. The slavers have gotten away and this case is getting cold. They need to be—have to be—stopped, but I can't do it alone. I need your help. I know you can do it. You got yourself involved in this and there really isn't any backing out now.

"Are you with me?"

She closed her eyes, wrapped her hands into a fist, and thought about the horrors she evaded. She thought about that the people treated like cattle that could've been her. She thought about the families who would never be reunited. She thought about the café she worked at, she hated it but now it was…gone. She thought about Melanie Harbor, Alexandria Harbor, and the one her who prevented her death…Paxton Harbor.

Justine Holguín opened her eyes, "I'm with you."