Cenotaph I: The Morrow

by Rob Sears

Roahn'Shepard was always doomed to an abnormal life. As the daughter of John and Tali, she would always be overshadowed by her parents' heroics, but at home... her father is no hero. He is distant. Withdrawn. But when a new threat arises, she and her father are forced to confront their differences and Roahn will soon discover what it means to be the daughter of Commander Shepard.

21. Chapter 21: Reichstag Pt I

Excerpt from an Allied Adventures commercial from 2195

"Now, for the first time, the next generation of Normandy Heroes action figures are available in stores today! Choose from figures like Tali'Zorah, with her new holo-drone sidekick, Chatika vas Paus! You can get Tali in three different suit arrangements: Pilgrim, Nomad, and Armored Assault! Each figurine comes with different weapons, from the Reegar Carbine to the Eviscerator Shotgun! Mow down Tali's enemies with superior firepower and you too can reclaim Rannoch from the evil forces of the Reapers!"

"Each Tali figure also comes with a removable visor (likeness in no way representative of Tali'Zorah's actual appearance). Tali does not stop until her foes lie dead at her feet, but that does not mean that she is a workaholic! Tali takes her downtime seriously either by tinkering on the most awesome engine tech in the galaxy or at night, when she retires to her captain's cabin for a little… private time. Soon, kids, you too will be able to see why Commander Shepard went for a badass quarian like Tali'Zorah! Buy your next figurine today!"

NOTE: the above commercial ended up being rejected by the Alliance Advertising Association for being too "risqué" with its content. Allied Adventures ended up submitting another commercial after removing the sexual references and added more blood and gore in the cartoon sequences to make up for the time gap. The revised commercial was then unanimously approved by the ratings board.

---

Berlin, Germany
European Union

For the tenth day in a row, it was snowing.

Private Manuel Ramos—assigned to Chimera's Tempelhofer outpost—grunted as he morosely stared upwards at the flat gray sky, which was completely overcast with milky cumulus clouds that had all merged together to create a singular monotonous blanket that draped over the city. Snow lightly fluttered down from above, gently dusting the deck of Tempelhofer's upper level. Holo-drones had been out all morning, using their static cleaners to zap away the larger piles of snow that had accumulated since last night, but the weather was constantly undoing all of the work that the drones had been diligently performing, despite their best efforts.

There was just too much damn snow.

Ramos shifted uncomfortably within his armor, his limbs having been numbed from the cold for hours. While Chimera had been "kind" enough to provide him and his patrol-mate—a fellow by the name of Ayers—with suits that had built-in heaters, both men had been annoyed to find out that the heaters in their armor were faulty and notoriously unreliable when working in the cold as the low temperatures frequently wreaked havoc with the equipment. Ironic, considering that the heat packs were designed to dispel the cold in the first place. Tempelhofer's outpost did not accommodate a section for any of Chimera's engineer corps to give the suits a fix either, so both men simply had to suck it up and do their daily patrols while their limbs succumbed to frostbite.

That was the annoying bit. Tempelhofer was in the same freaking city as Chimera's headquarters yet the penny-pinchers in that cozy (and heated) building were too miserly to divert a few engineers a few miles south. Ramos had trouble understanding where all the sense in Chimera's leadership had fled to with this supposedly bone-headed decision.

Tempelhofer, the closest starport to central Berlin, was a new posting for both Ramos and Ayers, one that neither of them had particularly relished receiving. Ramos had previously been assigned an outing on Luna, making a habit of getting himself blind drunk on the local grain liquor every day out of sheer boredom, while Ayers had been a veteran of several raids of immigrant camps on the moons of Titan and Io. Neither of them had requested to be transferred to Earth and of course neither of them had designs on guarding a place as innocuous as Tempelhofer on their minds. Upon their first meeting, both men had swapped very few stories of themselves after getting assigned to Berlin, mostly because Chimera dictated that their patrols were to be carried out with utmost vigilance, which was corporate-speak for no talking.

Also, the cold here was doing a hell of a job in tampering down any desire to speak anyway. The body's energy must be conserved however possible and talking would simply drain those precious reserves.

Any other time of the year and Ramos would have probably liked Berlin, but it being so goddamn cold did do a number on his enthusiasm for the city. He was originally from Texas, for god's sake. How did Chimera think he was going to take a posting up here in Germany? Certainly not well, he knew that much. He then flexed his fingers after shifting his rifle fully to his left hand, praying for the blood to slip through his shrunken capillaries so that he could circulate more warmth to his poor extremities. His body was numb enough as it was.

Ramos' boot hit a tiny patch of ice as he walked, a place where the holo-drones had missed in their cleanup, and momentarily stumbled from the loss of traction before righting himself. "Fuck," he seethed, mostly to himself.

Fuck this cold, was what he meant.

Ayers turned around, cradling his own weapon, after hearing his cohort's outburst. Like Ramos, he was armored from head to toe in Chimera's black and red colors, not that it was doing him any good either with regards to the elements.

"Second time that's happened today," he noted out loud.

Ramos just grumbled a bit before returning to walk alongside Ayers. "Fucking drones. Can't even clear the deck properly. We're just freezing our damn nuts off, standing out here. How much longer do we have to stand out here in this misery?"

"I'm going to assume that was a rhetorical question," Ayers drawled. Their eight-hour patrol had only just begun forty-five minutes ago.

"Join Chimera, see the galaxy," Ramos said mockingly as he gestured to the monochrome sky, moving on to a different subject. "It's all horseshit. I signed up to get away from all the boredom and yet here I am. I swear, I'm mustering out of this outfit first chance I get. Fuck Berlin. Fuck this weather. Fuck Chimera. I actually believed the recruitment ads, you know. You remember the ads that showed the soldier carrying the flag from planet to planet? The ones where the bloodstained warrior is shown killing illegals and getting swarmed by ladies during R&R? Heh, I sure was fooled."

Ayers indeed remembered the ads that Ramos was referring to, being easily able to recall the commercial's usage of scantily clad women suggestively throwing themselves upon a man whose armor was still dripping gore, thereby getting covered in blood themselves, but his response to Ramos was a little more muted.

"Chimera got me when they mentioned the pay. 4,000 credits a month. I needed the income."

"Oh yeah, I'm not saying the pay's bad or anything. I'm just a little… disappointed at how our locale is not at all… scenic."

Ramos swept a hand out to emphasize the view, or lack thereof. Tempelhofer Field was a meticulously constructed complex, boasting more than a hundred docking gates that, all in all, covered more than a square mile smack dab in the middle of lower Berlin. The way Tempelhofer had been built was by arranging several levels of gates on top of one another, making the starport look something like a flower in bloom. On a clear day one could have an impressive view of the entire expanse of Berlin on the uppermost level, which is where Ramos and Ayers currently were, but the clouds and the snow today were preventing such a view from being taken advantage of, merely adding to the two's gloom.

Before Ayers could chime in about the benefits that Chimera had been able to provide the two, both of their comms squealed as the harsh whine of feedback burst through on full blast.

"…-econ-… -atrol…" their supervisor was attempting to speak, but the static that enveloped his words made it impossible for either Ramos or Ayers to understand.

"Arrgh!" Ramos clutched at his head, the volume in his headset apparently set too high. "I can't understand a goddamn thing he's saying!"

"Just shut up for a minute—I can't understand anything either!" Ayres shot back, also wincing as the noise assaulted his eardrums.

"…-e on guard. New kill… -rder has been… -thorized by Operative One. Comman-… -ohn Shepard… to be… -illed on sight."

"Something about a kill order," Ayres screwed up his face as he struggled to interpret the message. "Operative One's given authorization to kill Commander Shepard, I think."

The men shared a look. Obviously they had not joined Chimera for the supposed draw of attacking war heroes, let alone the greatest warrior the galaxy had ever seen. Both of them did not need to share out loud their misgivings that the garbled order had represented. Something was amiss, here.

There was no way of putting it that Ayres and Ramos had missed the time where they could have demonstrated their greatest potential. Too young to have been drafted for service against the Reapers, denied the chance to prove their worth to their race, both men had signed up with Chimera because they had been promised that they would receive the chance to become men through combat—a perk that the Alliance certainly could not in good conscience pledge for obvious reasons. They had been frustrated with their government's repeated kowtowing to alien nationals, but striking back at figures like Shepard was not something that had been in Chimera's recruitment ads. They had wanted thrills, an adventure, the chance to immerse themselves into the adrenaline of combat. Killing Shepard was… pure insanity. Not at all the sort of deed they wanted to be remembered by.

And… Operative One. The individual who ostensibly had given the kill order. The hell was that about? Not much was known about Operative One from the main rank and file within Chimera, but there were whispers that the man in question was gargantuan in nature—a cyborg. Names like the "Legionnaire" had even been thrown about in tandem with the Operative One moniker, which were usual grumblings from the grunts not on a need-to-know basis. Either way, with all this secrecy involved, something was most likely going down right about now.

There was little time for either man to discuss this new development because their supervisor apparently had more to say. "Be… -n guard. La-… -ad numb-… -iled flight pl-… Interc-… -nd det-… new arrival… minutes ago."

Ramos slapped his mic, located upon the side of his helmet, in frustration. "New arrival? I didn't get anything else out of that. Christ, who's running this show? Every single piece of tech we have is crap! Or at least, if it works, the cold turns it to shit!"

"I think he was saying something about a 'landing pad,' and a 'new arrival,'" Ayers tried. "Beyond that, I didn't get that much else."

"Landing pad," Ramos scoffed in derision. "Landing pad. Which fucking landing pad? There's 120 pads in this stupid starport!"

Ayres too shared his colleague's exasperation. Between the two of them, they had run into no less than three dozen easily fixable issues since being deployed to Berlin not even a month ago. Their supervisor was a slob, they had no techs on hand to fix the equipment that constantly broke, and to top everything off, there had been this snowstorm raging for more than a week which consistently obscured all visibility to within ten feet, making it impossible to see or even hear a new arrival landing at Tempelhofer.

Further compounding the issues they were facing was that Ramos and Ayres had discovered that the initial Chimera techs that had set up the Tempelhofer outpost had not done their due diligence in creating a solid net of comm traffic in the area. The only localized transmitter for Chimera communications was down at the main outpost building, on the ground level next to the motor pool. The range of the transmissions emitted from that area were notorious for being very distorted and rather range-inefficient. If someone was on patrol on Tempelhofer's top level, then the requisite radio wave would have to beam up from the ground level, go up a thousand meters into the air, somehow punch its way through ten layers of highly refined steel floors on the way, and hope that atmospheric conditions were not worsening the equipment necessary to receive the transmission in the first place. Patrolling the top level was almost always a nightmare even on a clear day—calls were usually obscured and incomprehensible, not to mention that the current garrison only assigned two people on guard for multiple levels. Obviously, guarding Tempelhofer was a fruitless effort to push against the inevitability of a faulty system. A weakness would be exploited, sooner or later.

The only recourse at this point was to take the lift over to the main building and bluntly ask for an update in person since the mics were malfunctioning. It was an unrefined solution and it would perhaps be reflected poorly upon whoever was blunt enough to waste time potentially spent patrolling in order to follow up on a broken transmission. Then again, if enough of these complaints piled up as time went by, perhaps Chimera would finally get off its ass and lend some much-needed aid.

Without specifics, the two men were not even going to attempt searching 120 landing pads based off the jumbled message they had received. They had enough plausible deniability to simply slack off and disregard their orders. But there had been this intangible tension in the air for the entire morning so far that seemed to hint that maybe just today protocol should be followed.

Ramos and Ayres entered into a brief game of rock-paper-scissors for the dubious distinction to go ask their supervisor for clarification. Ayres lost and was subsequently denied a chance to go for two out of three rounds.

"Whatever," Ayres finally shrugged as he prepared to make his way to the lift. At least the heaters in the elevators were still working—perhaps this was not as bad of a prospect as he initially thought. The thought of having a chance to thaw his frozen limbs seemed like a good enough reward to counter the awkwardness of speaking to his super. "If they don't like the push-back, maybe they should invest in better infrastructure."

"Let me know what the supe's response was," Ramos said, no doubt smirking under his helmet, relishing the prospect that he would not be the one getting chewed out for daring to question their orders (despite the fact that they could not understand them in the first place).

Their supervisor, Griggs, was a fat, lazy pig of a man. Lethargic and always in a foul mood, Griggs took delight in every opportunity to yell at his subordinates for every fuck-up, no matter how minor. It was most likely his way of living out a power trip as there was probably no place else that he would be able to command authority, much less respect.

Ayres gave a dry laugh. "You want to bet ten credits that he's going to be kind and magnanimous this time around?"

"Change that wager to being foul and irate instead, and you have yourself a bet."

Silently bemoaning his fate, Ayres shook his head. "I hate this fucking job," were his final words before his ears picked up a slight zipping sound, and then something slammed into the side of his head, causing him to feel nothing else.

The aloft snowflakes lazily swirled in the midst of a sudden squall.

Ramos had turned away in the split second that had lingered between Ayres' last words and the bullet that had ended his life, and in doing so had missed watching his cohort's head completely fly apart. His surprise was paralytic once he finally turned back around to find Ayres lying prostrate upon the deck, a pool of blood surrounded by chunks of helmet and brain slowly expanding across the frosty metal. Snowflakes resting upon the frozen floor melted once the blood touched them, gently beading them into the ever-growing dark mirror that dully reflected the creamy sky flurrying above.

The Chimera mercenary simply blinked, dumbstruck, as he nearly became convinced that the sight of Ayres' dead body was a hallucination. It had happened so quick that it was almost unfathomable to imagine that this was, in fact, reality.

"Um…" was all Ramos could utter, because he was not nearly quick witted enough to think of a coherent sentence at a time like this. His fingers, frozen stiff from the cold, creaked as he desperately tried to get a firmer grip upon his rifle, but all that effort would prove to be for naught when another bullet, the sound muffled by the wind once more, shot across the deck and hit Ramos in the leg.

There was the distinct sensation of his knee blowing out—bones cracked and muscles shredded —and Ramos bellowed in pain as he too fell to the floor, his rifle skidding across the deck, well out of reach. The man groped at his leg, his gloves rapidly becoming slippery with his blood, as he too colored the ground with the precious fluids leaking out of him. The area around his armored knee was colored dark red—same as Ayres. He could feel the blood pumping out of the artery that had just been severed in thick spurts. His wounded leg began to grow even colder, if it was at all possible. Ramos' mind swam fruitlessly as he tried to comprehend exactly what the hell had just happened.

He had been shot, obviously. There had been no gun report—at least none that he had been able to discern. His knee was hurting like a son of a bitch, expected given the exit wound was smack-dab upon his kneecap. Bits of his leg nestled in tiny lakes of blood upon the deck and splinters of bone melted chasms in the thin layer of snow. Ramos continued to roar, his fists beating uselessly on the ground in rage and in impotence.

Hidden assailant somewhere on this platform, Ramos was able to figure. No way that he could have been shot from a neighboring building. Not in this weather. If it was not for the snowstorm, he would have been able to see exactly where the attack had originated from.

But as of right now, he was relegated to roll upon the floor in pain some more, his leg becoming a block of ice and less responsive as time went on.

Gray now crept into Ramos' vision and he was not sure whether it was the blood loss or the freezing cold that was the culprit, but either way a dark shape was now becoming more and more defined as it made its way through the snowy mist. The shadow turned humanoid and with every foot it grew closer to Ramos, the more details the downed merc could make out.

Intricate and form fitting armor. Grimace on their face. A long rifle clutched between their hands. "N7" printed upon the breastplate.

Immediately, it all clicked for Ramos.

"Well…" Ramos gritted as he turned on his side, trying to obscure his hand as it slowly crept to the sidearm still holstered upon his hip while his eyes remained fixated upon the approaching man. "I wasn't going to believe it unless I saw it. And… now you're here."

The man didn't give Ramos the courtesy of responding back. As expected, Ramos figured as he mustered a fatigued laugh.

"You look good," Ramos kept talking. "Well… better than I would have figured. Or something like that. Don't worry, I know this isn't personal for you, but I have to ask… are you really back this time?"

"Back?" Shepard asked as he approached to within a yard of Ramos' fallen body. The bearded man chewed his lip as he pondered the question for a moment, snow beginning to accumulate upon his face, giving him a pensive quality. "I doubt it."

"Hmm," Ramos simply responded as his hand crept closer and closer to the butt of his gun. His armored thumb lightly flipped up the clasp holding the sidearm in place and he gently began to slide the weapon out, still keeping his movements shielded from Shepard. "Just my luck, I suppose. A shame, that."

Now Shepard steeled his eyes upon Ramos, managing to pierce the dark visor that obscured the mercenary's face. Ramos halted his actions, trying to gauge when would be his moment to strike. His fingers tightened upon the handgun's grip and his inhalations began to increase until they were occurring every two seconds.

Now or never.

With a near imperceptible grunt, Ramos tried to shift his body as he lay upon the ground to bring his weapon to bear. But Shepard was faster. Ramos had not even begun to squeeze the trigger until his brain finally was able to comprehend that the barrel of Shepard's weapon had smoothly pointed itself directly at his forehead in the literal blink of an eye.

A flash began to expel from the barrel of Shepard's gun and Ramos' last thought was a curse towards Chimera for sending him to such a shit posting in the first place.

---

Tempelhofer – Ground Level

In the shadow of the immense starport that towered above the neighborhoods, the remainder of the Chimera guard forces proceeded as normal with their monotonous work, having not even heard the sounds of the commotion more than half a mile up into the air. Every one of them was more or less concentrated on their own problems, the most popular issue at the moment trying to find a solution to endure the current weather that was otherwise infringing on their comfort level.

In short, bitching about the cold was the most popular thing to do among the garrison.

The main terminal of Tempelhofer was a gigantic arc-shaped complex that had been built a couple of centuries ago during a more tumultuous period for the city. As evidenced by the facades of shell limestone and gothic Germania styling, Tempelhofer's old building was quite firmly fixated in the past. These days, it was used as both a passenger hub and a museum for commuters looking to bustle to and from the Citadel— which just so happened to be the main destination that Berlin offered in terms of commercial flights (if anyone wanted to traverse further in the galaxy than just the Citadel, then the larger starport down in Munich offered a bevy of additional choices). Chimera troops milled about, embarking upon their set patrols, their glazed expressions seeing everything yet absorbing nothing while they carried on in their duties.

The cream of the crop, most certainly.

Not at all helping the Chimera contractors was the fact that the outpost situated right next to the main building at Tempelhofer was remarkably economical to the point of being a completely primitive in appearance. Occupying an empty square lot smaller than a fairly-sized shopping center, the Chimera outpost was composed of a series of prefabricated structures that looked like ugly shipping containers. The main office and armory were not exempt from being placed within these eyesores.

The main motor pool devoted to the outpost was not faring all that much better, as there was only one mechanic on station responsible for maintaining the site's four Lynx armored personal carriers—extremely ironclad, six-wheeled, with a powerful drivetrain, the Lynx represented the latest in technological innovations for ground transportation. Only problem was that, because of their relative novelty in their industry, they were of course rife with mechanical issues ranging from leakage of important fluids due to woefully bad sealing, electronics that developed constant faults thanks to improper wiring, and radio head units that kept ticking over to the gospel channel. The lone mechanic stationed at Tempelhofer always had his hands full with these vehicles, much to his agony.

On a particularly cold Berlin morning such as this, it was business as usual for everyone's minds to be distracted, the current political situation notwithstanding. That was why no one took any notice at first when a confident woman completely draped in smooth silver armor strode over from the main cargo lift, the arm of a young quarian girl held tightly in one of her hands. The quarian cried out, obviously struggling as it looked like she was attempting to free herself from the armored woman's grip.

When the two of them had made it within earshot of the four main guards responsible for patrolling the outpost's interior, the woman called out irritably, "Excuse me?"

All four men turned, rather miffed at the interruption. Beneath their helmets, their expressions changed very little as they observed the armored woman march in their direction, although they did had to raise their eyebrows slightly as they eventually noticed that the woman was dragging a quarian—the presence of which in Berlin was a rarity—along with her.

The woman, her expression unreadable behind a glossy black visor, screeched to a halt, nearly yanking the young quarian off her feet. "Are you going to explain yourselves or do I have to take this up with the supervisor?" she seethed as she shook the quarian's arm for emphasis. "Why the hell did I find a quarian girl skulking about behind the perimeter without supervision?! Did she have an escort? Was she expected?"

"Lady," one of the mercenaries said, forgetting protocol entirely in his exasperation, "what the fuck are you talking about? I've never seen this girl in my life. No one told me shit, okay? Guys, did you know about this girl at all?"

The mercs all mumbled their denials, though they did so rather hesitantly.

"That's not all much better, is it?" the sharp-tongued woman sighed, the girl still whimpering as the human held onto her. "And Private, you'd do well to address me as 'Lieutenant.'"

If this were the military, all four men would have promptly snapped to attention in the face of such a harsh correction, but apathy and overall resentment at their current situation prevented any of them from mustering even a half-hearted response. Clearly, none of them had any qualms about potential punishment from their lackadaisical attitudes.

Another one of the Chimera troopers eyed the woman's armor up and down. "You don't have the insignia anywhere on you," he pointed out, a pitiful defense in the wake of the group's faux pas. "Where are your company logos?"

"Are you really stupid enough to question me when your entire work ethic has been thrown out the window for letting this girl wander about on site?" The woman roughly shook the quarian's arm for emphasis, causing the girl to whimper again.

"So what do you want us to do about it… Lieutenant?" the merc grumbled before hanging his head, having come to the realization that his career in Chimera was probably over and done with after today.

"Apart from giving me the respect I deserve?" the woman countered. "Forget it. I'm probably asking too much of you as it is. Just put this girl in a holding cell until her parent or guardian comes to claim her once we contact them. After that, you're on your own."

The rest of the troopers looked at the woman blankly. "We don't have holding cells on site," another merc chimed in.

"Then where do you keep your prisoners?!"

"We don't. They hardly give us the bare essentials to run this place, really. We just turn anyone we arrest over to the cops. It's simpler that way."

The woman, frustrated by the attitudes of the men, then gave a tired gesture towards an area behind a series of stacks of crates. "Whatever. If you're not going to take care of this problem, then I will. My associates over there will process this girl accordingly since all of you are apparently too lazy to do so. Make no mistake, I will definitely be passing a note to your supervisor about this."

The group of mercs had each been hoping that this lieutenant would simply let this go, as neither one had felt like they needed to be more proactive today, considering the awful weather and how boring their assignment was. To have this person come in here and yell into their faces, not to mention threatening to go to their supervisor, was enough to drive them out of the funk they had placed themselves in, for fear of reprisals.

"Fine," the closest man said as he reached out an armored gauntlet. "If you want it to be our problem, then it's our problem. We'll take the girl."

That was not good enough for the woman, who leaned away to get out of reach. "Are you serious? The time for you to step up has come and gone. All of you can consider yourself reported. Now, out of my way."

The men parted, but only out of disbelief as the woman brusquely pushed her way past them, the quarian girl still in tow. Obviously neither of them were particularly keen on having to explain to their supervisor that laziness had been the main factor for impeding them in their duties, so they decided to keep pace with the lieutenant in the hopes that they could change her mind and let them take the credit for this arrest.

Weaving through the stacks of metal crates alongside the barren wall of the main terminal, each of the mercs was wondering exactly where this woman was taking the quarian. The route she had selected did not lead to anywhere in particular—from what they figured, the path was certainly not heading anyplace important—so they were particularly befuddled to see if the woman knew something that they did not.

Imagine their surprise when the woman reached a dead end within the stacks of containers and slowly turned around, now holding onto the girl's hand rather gently instead of gripping her arm in a vice like she had been doing in the beginning.

The troopers milled about, blocking the only exit out of the tiny cul-de-sac, but not one of them was in a particularly malicious mood. "The hell is this?" one man blurted out in confusion before finding a twinge of smugness at being able to observed a perceived flaw in the form of this woman's apparently faulty sense of direction. "You lost, Lieutenant?"

Instead of being flustered or otherwise aggravated, the troopers were surprised even more when the woman barked a curt laugh. "Lost? No, I'm right where I need to be. Out of sight from everyone else. The real question is, are you all where you need to be?"

"I believe that was my cue," a deep voice, grating like a rock slide, emitted from behind the Chimera mercenaries.

All four men turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction, eyes wide with alarm behind their helmets as all of them came to the conclusion that they had been had.

Standing several feet above them, looking particularly mountainous, Grunt bared his teeth in a gleeful expression while his unarmed hands slowly clenched into fists, already anticipating the ensuing outcome and the devolution from the bleak monotony into chaos and violence.

Obviously none of the Chimera troopers had expected to be face-to-face with a krogan today and they were simply so startled at Grunt's appearance behind them that all of them forgot the simple fact that they were armed. Had they come to that realization several seconds earlier, perhaps a different outcome might have been possible in their favor.

Unfortunately for the squad, their hesitation proved to be their downfall as the krogan simply was able to sweep one arm parallel to the ground in quite a long arc, catching each trooper, one by one, off their feet and throwing them all carelessly into an adjacent corridor between the metallic containers. Grunt laughed uproariously as he smacked his fists together before proceeding into the tight passageway, eager to positively beat the ever-loving hell out of the men that had been indirectly responsible for the death of his warlord.

Gobsmacked, the troopers could only stare fate in the face as it took the form of a couple tons of steaming-mad krogan, bearing down upon them with just his fists. Grunt's victims did not manage enough breath to scream.

After the krogan had disappeared out of sight behind the bend to commit to the carnage, the woman finally let go of the quarian girl's hand so that she could remove the helmet that she had donned for this particular assignment.

"Sorry if I was a little too rough back there," Miranda Lawson said to the girl as she combed her fingers through her hair to alleviate the damage that the helmet had done. "Did I hurt you at all?"

"No, I was actually fine," Roahn said as she dusted herself off, trying to ignore the sounds of commotion being emitted from around the corner from Grunt's exuberant activities. "I wasn't actually in pain. That was just acting."

"How method of you. Not bad. Your father teach you that?"

Roahn shook her head. "Dad doesn't have the imagination for that sort of thing. I just thought that I needed to help sell the effect… or something to that effect."

"Ingenious," Miranda patted Roahn's shoulder affectionately before gently leading her away from the maze of containers, making sure the girl did not see the resulting mess that Grunt was apparently creating, judging from the gruesome splattering noises the krogan was finding joy in. "We might as well reunite you with your father anyway. No doubt he'll be relieved to see that this phase of the infiltration worked like a charm."

"No doubt," Roahn agreed, nearly looking back over her shoulder, very tempted to take a peek as to what manner of things Grunt was doing to the Chimera troopers.

Miranda's hand, however, placed firmly upon the back of Roahn's helmet, prevented the girl from doing so.

---

At the same time, Griggs, the supervisor currently on station, was aimlessly browsing through the extranet on his omni-tool, his feet kicked up onto his desk. He was alone in the portable office—a glorified mobile home made out of corrugated materials, which meant that it was basically made out of the cheapest crap imaginable. He disregarded the snow falling outside, as he, like his cohorts, found the cold to be a particularly miserable experience. Griggs simply did not have the time nor the energy to commit his all to the tasks at hand—Tempelhofer was such a shitty posting that anyone would be hard-pressed to imagine a more boring outpost to defend. He considered it an affront to his skills that he would be placed in charge of such a worthless station.

Griggs' disdain for just about everything meant that he garnered very little in the way of friends, much less acquaintances. The man was simply too oblivious and too acerbic to notice that his boorish behavior did hardly anything in terms of endearing himself to anyone.

Ironically, had Griggs been paying more attention outside from the very beginning, he probably would have been able to find some excitement to break the constant cycle of drab and seemingly worthless chores placed upon him. With the opacity on the windows set rather high and his attention fixated upon some random cooking program he had selected to pass the time, Griggs had missed all of the signs that something was wrong in his little slice of the kingdom.

His reign of obliviousness was finally ended when someone firmly rapped on the door from the outside, the noise causing Griggs to shoot up in his seat, startled. The supervisor hastily deactivated his omni-tool, patted his hair down, and headed towards the door, annoyed that he had been interrupted from his all-day siesta.

His annoyance vanished on the spot after he opened the door to discover that it was not a Chimera subordinate that had come calling, but two heavily armored soldiers in Alliance colors.

"Sergeant Rupert Griggs?" the first man inquired, a middle-aged individual with a thicket of combed black hair. His cohort was a Hispanic man, several shades taller, and impressively muscled. Griggs felt emasculated just by looking at the second man as he tried not to envision his own paunch he had accumulated thanks to his sedentary lifestyle.

"Yes?" Griggs said cautiously. "Who… who exactly am I speaking with?"

The first man tapped at the insignia upon his breastplate. "Alliance Logistics, sergeant. It's the end of the quarter—HQ should have told you we were coming. You remember how this works?"

"Oh right, right," Griggs nodded vaguely as he gestured for the men to step inside. "The audit."

"Yes," the Hispanic man repeated sagely. "The audit."

Griggs mentally smacked himself for his forgetfulness. Chimera's bean-counters loved to flex their muscles and initiate accountings from its outposts every quarter. It was an extremely disruptive process that did nothing but waste time and energy, in Griggs' opinion. Though lately, Chimera had been outsourcing these little investigations back to the Alliance as they were technically a licensed subcontractor. The government wanted to make sure that their money was being spent properly, no doubt.

"Could have sworn you guys started this whole thing later," Griggs mulled as he headed over to his desk to procure a datapad with the information the auditors needed. "Year's not even over yet. I know that the accounting department has got a hard-on for the numbers being all in order—and I can sympathize—but I'm really not sure why you need to get the information from me so soon. Can't you guys just mosey on over to HQ and solicit them for this shit?"

"You don't read the news much, do you?" the first man bumped his eyebrows. "We're all facing scrutiny on several fronts. The Alliance has to be even more thorough in its dealings with corporations like Chimera. That means diligence and accountability have to be in check here."

"I see. Everything in triplicate, eh?" Griggs then began grumbling to himself as he struggled to rapidly pull up the Tempelhofer spreadsheets denoting the monthly expenses for the fiscal year. Document upon document to peruse—this was going to take a while. "By the way, I didn't catch any of your names. I'm a bit old-fashioned in that I kind of like to know the name of whom I'm talking to."

The first man shrugged. "Sounds fair to me. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Kaidan Alenko and this is Captain James Vega, N7."

Slowly, Griggs scraped his gaze upward from the datapad. "Wait… Alenko. Vega. Aren't you two those war heroes or some—"

He never got to finish his sentence because James, in an effort to shut the man up, suddenly hurled out his fist in a massive punch that headed straight for Griggs' face. The punch landed squarely upon Griggs' jaw, spinning him all the way around and knocking the man unconscious in one fell swoop. Ungracefully, Griggs fell to the floor heavily, out like a light.

As James shook his hand after delivering the blow, Kaidan shot a glance towards his cohort. "That wasn't the direction I would've taken, but I suppose there's nothing we can do about it now."

"What?" James inquired genuinely. "Shepard said to disable the security around this place covertly. I did that."

"Yeah, but we had cuffs. We had tape. I thought we were just going to bind this guy up and gag him, not knock him out."

"You can still do that now. Tape him to the piping over in the corner."

"That's hardly the point, is it? He's already unconscious. He probably has a concussion and it'll be a miracle if he manages to remember the last few minutes before you broke his jaw."

James considered this as he whistled lowly, staring rather placidly at Griggs' shallowly breathing body. "You think there's a chance of that happening?"

Kaidan just shook his head in derision. "Honestly? No idea. Let's just get this over with. Grab his feet."

---

Three minutes later the whole group had congregated around the row of Lynx armored trucks, with two of the vehicles already undergoing preparations to be utilized as quickly as it could be physically possible to achieve. Snow continued to drift downward lazily, building up a thin layer over the concrete ground that caused slight crunching noises whenever anyone stepped on by, leaving their footprints embedded in the slush.

The Lynx were odd vehicles; white, angular armor coated the majority of the exterior bodywork while there was a depression near the back near where the exit ramp was that was big enough to fit a few people—a truck bed most likely meant for guards to keep overwatch. Two giant doors flanked the front cabin, which had enough room for three individuals to seat themselves relatively comfortably.

Shepard, on instinct, headed for the driver's door of the first Lynx, but Liara quickly stepped in and halted his progress. "Not this time," she emphasized by pressing his chest firmly with a singular finger, pushing him back a step. "I'm going to drive this thing."

Liara adorned the man with all her heart, but it was not a big secret that Shepard's driving skills were not all that up to snuff. Whether it was a Mako or a skycar, Liara always had been the most vocal critic of Shepard's abilities behind the wheel, routinely screeching in panic whenever the man tried to steer the thing. It was not that Shepard had a habit of crashing into objects, but his rather aggressive driving style was a bit too exuberant for Liara's tastes.

There was no time to debate this, so Shepard quickly acquiesced to the forceful asari. "If you insist."

On the other hand, Grunt, having finished with his disposal of the Chimera soldiers he had so thoroughly destroyed, grinned as he opened the door to the second truck. "Mine!" he declared triumphantly, the engine roaring to life soon after.

Shepard honestly believed there could not be a more dangerous combination of a krogan and a fuel cell-powered vehicle, but there was also the futile prospect of having to convince Grunt to let someone else take the wheel, so Shepard decided against dissuading him. He was actually more intrigued to learn that apparently the interior of the Lynx was spacious enough to accommodate a wide range of individuals who were not human, krogan included (although Grunt ended up having to slide the seat all the way back to fit his bulky frame).

Miranda, James, Jack clambered into the bed of Grunt's Lynx, having prepped their weapons beforehand, while Kasumi took the passenger seat next to the krogan. Kaidan and Javik took the uncovered rearward compartment of Liara's Lynx, while Shepard, Roahn, and Garrus prepared to join them in due time.

"Did Sam and Nya manage to get themselves to safety?" Shepard asked Garrus as he approached him near the first Lynx. Roahn was clambering on board the vehicle at this time, intent on taking the middle seat next to Liara.

The turian nodded. "They just let me know that they made it out of the field and are now taking the train into the city. They definitely weren't keen on keeping too close to us."

"Can't say that I blame them. They're civilians. This isn't their fight."

"I suppose not," Garrus admitted before he tilted his head in admiration, the movements of his mandibles translating into a smile that seeped through the mist and biting frost. "Once more unto the breach, eh, Shepard?"

The commander checked the slide of his rifle, making sure that a thermal clip was slotted securely in place. "Once more. For the last time, I hope."

"I'll drink to that."

Shepard was about to reply when he noticed a faint line of red light seep its way between the snowflakes in their descending patterns. His eyes automatically tracked the direction he perceived the light to be heading in and managed to spot, for a split second, the tiniest red dot that flickered its way upon the side of the Lynx, wavering to an organic beat.

Sniper.

"Get down!" Shepard bellowed as he shoved Garrus to the ground. The lingering echo of a shot rang out a second after the harsh ping of the bullet impacted itself uselessly upon the armored hull of the vehicle. Both Shepard and Garrus had their rifles out as they lay upon the frosty ground, prone, their breath lodged in their throats.

The air abruptly died down, the snow seemingly muffling all noise.

"Dad!" Shepard heard Roahn scream from inside the truck, but he was too fixated on the person shooting at him that he could not respond to the girl.

"Thought we got all of the troops in this sector," Shepard grunted as he hugged close to the truck.

"Apparently we didn't. I don't have a good view. Do you see him?" Garrus whispered to Shepard as they maneuvered behind one of the Lynx's front tires.

Shepard rapidly scanned the top of the nearby terminal through his scope, using his memory and trained ear to pinpoint the direction in which the bullet had traveled. A glint near one of the towering windows caught his attention and he screwed up his focus.

"Got him. Air terminal. Fifth floor on the fire escape. Yep—Chimera armor."

"Obviously," Garrus drolly murmured before he leaned out and squeezed the trigger once on his sniper rifle. There was a ferocious kickback to the weapon, as well as a deafening sound, but the turian was able to absorb such discomforts quite handedly while showing little discomfort.

Through the scope, Shepard saw the top of the sniper's helmet briefly impact before crumpling inward completely. A puff of vaporized blood emitted in the frozen air and the sniper fell backwards, not moving.

"You got him," Shepard told Garrus as he got to his feet. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Both men hustled on board Liara's Lynx and Shepard made a rotating gesture in the air to Grunt, a signal to start their little convoy and get it on the road. Grunt did so with gusto, pummeling the gas pedal and sending the wheels of his Lynx squealing upon the slippery ground before they finally gained traction.

"You guys okay?" Liara asked as Shepard clambered into the interior of her truck, squeezing Roahn between them.

"So far. I think that sniper might have been the last one. I don't know if he managed to call for backup or not." Shepard then slammed his gauntleted hand upon the dashboard in frustration. "Two and a half miles from here to the Reichstag, as the crow flies. That's two and a half miles of being pursued all while we're in the middle of a crowded city—if he got a call out in time. This is just getting better by the minute."

"Relax," Liara assured as she carefully eased the Lynx onto the main road, successfully managing to merge it in traffic to ease it into the middle lane, Grunt's truck right behind her. "With any luck, we won't run into any trouble."

As if the universe was laughing at Liara, the air was suddenly split by the harsh whine of what was unquestionably police sirens. Loud. En masse. Several units, from the chorus effect that was apparent.

Shepard's face flattened as he peered over at the asari. "You want to rethink your statement?" he inquired before he tentatively turned away to stick his head out the window for a quick moment.

His heart sank as he looked down the street behind the truck. Chimera had mobilized quicker than they had expected as it looked like there were at least eight cruisers with flashing lights, combined with several combat cycles, headed in their direction. The private military vehicles swerved and weaved through the traffic among the crowded streets, managing to force open a lane that gave them a direct line of sight to their quarry: Shepard.

Faint black dots now started to pinprick the air and Shepard was now even more discouraged as a squadron of gunships dropped from the clouds, their engines spitting fire as they spiraled on down to join in on the action. Two heavy machine guns and a concussive cannon made those gunships a serious threat if they also belonged to Chimera—a few blasts from those guns had the ability to rip apart a Lynx with ease.

"Contact on our six," he barked into his omni-tool. "Ground and air units. Get ready, everyone. This is it!"

To Roahn, Shepard turned as he hefted his rifle in preparation. "Stay down as low as possible, okay?"

"I will," she promised, the familiar sting of adrenaline beginning to surge through her veins, making it impossible to relax. Combat. Combat. Combat. Keelah, she had no idea what such a concept would entail!

"We see them, Shep," Kasumi said over the comms. "Looks like the front of the pack are all standard chase units—regular fuel cell automotives and pursuit cycles. Air support is made up of Mantises. And… we've got a couple of Makos and Hammerheads bringing up the rear."

"Jack and I will handle the gunships," Miranda spoke up.

"I'll try to thin out some of the cycles and the Hammerheads," Garrus said from the back.

"The three of us," Kaidan said, referring to himself, Javik, and James, "will aim for the Makos and some of the cars."

"And I'll…" Grunt practically wriggled out a laugh of anticipation as he was probably bouncing up and down behind the wheel of the Lynx, "…do what I do best! Mayhem and chaos—my specialty."

"You have anything in mind for me?" Liara called, her eyes frantically scanning the imbroglio of controlled chaos that was the city of Berlin as it lay ahead of her.

"Just drive and keep us all alive," Shepard grimly said back. "We have no choice but to take the highways to keep our speed up. Next main road, take a left—the map shows that it'll lead us into a tunnel. We can shake the Mantises, at least, if we go that way."

"All… right," Liara muttered tentatively as she scanned the approaching street sign, her lips struggling to pronounce the foreign word. "Going left on… Yorckstrasse? These human names! What were they thinking?!"

Holding onto the railing of the Lynx's chassis, Shepard gritted his teeth as he partially leaned out the window, gun aloft and prepared to disperse destruction. "Don't ask, just drive!"

As the envoy of Chimera troops moved ever closer, the uncomfortable ring of machine gun fire began to pop off to ward them back. Muffled screams and shouts lined the air from pedestrian and combatant alike.

Chaos queued up to deliver its salvo in turn as the company raced through the streets.

---

A few miles away, in the deep recesses of yet another Chimera facility, mechanical arms whirred to life in a circular room. Mist flooded the air of the room and the walls were lined with slots for individual single-rider vehicles. From the ceiling, a thick grappling arm descended, carrying out the commands sent to the circuits lining the shafts and axles of the appendage. The mechanical arm rotated from the center of the room and suddenly halted in front of one of the vehicle slots. Edging forward, the arm gently grasped one of the motorcycles upon its central axis, the tongs inserted perfectly upon two locking points.

With a heavy whirring noise, the arm withdrew with the vehicle in its grip, un-slotting the motorcycle with several series of clicks. The metal column retreated back into the centerpoint of the room before the entire subassembly was lifted upward.

Once the arm had left the room, still carrying the cycle in its cold fingers, it was eventually positioned over a narrow track in the dark bowels of the facility. The arm lowered the vehicle gently onto the track and let go, where automated accelerators gently began to ease the machine forward upon the downward slope, edging it towards the exit from the gloomy murk.

Heavy doors filed open, allowing the cycle to gently roll to a stop within a dimly-lit garage. The vehicle had shuttered to a standstill directly in the middle of a painted circle that was ringed four times with the word "Caution" written in white block lettering on the ground.

Overhead lights that had been flashing red the entire time the motorcycle was being unloaded from the central chamber now switched over to green—the universal sign that it was now clear to proceed. The large figure that had been positioned at the edge of the painted circle darkly looked down at the floor before steadily walking forward, easily swinging a massive leg over the cycle's wide frame.

The Tomahawk was an experimental motorcycle, meant for use in intense chase sequences, but it had officially been scrapped a decade ago due to ballooning costs and constant budget cuts for the manufacturer. Known for not being very prudent with its finances to begin with, Chimera had purchased the remaining stock of Tomahawks for use in its own ranks, a privilege granted to a select few of its employees.

The Legionnaire happened to be one of those employees.

The cyborg spent the next few minutes in total silence as he prepared the Tomahawk for departure. The Tomahawk had a design that was not exactly ergonomic for organics, which is where the Legionnaire had the advantage. The retro and backwards-looking Art Deco-inspired swoops in the styling of the Tomahawk were fashioned from solid blocks of aluminum, making the motorcycle itself quite heavy.

Weight was not the issue with the Tomahawk though, as its hydrogen fuel cell engine was capable of producing 1465 horsepower with a calculated top speed of 320 miles an hour. Although it may have looked like it had two wheels, like most motorcycles, the Tomahawk actually had four. They were coupled closely to one another—two in the front and two in the back—which gave it its motorcycle-like appearance and all of the wheels were sprung independently, granting the vehicle the ability to lean into corners and to allow for effective counter-steering.

Footsteps were now signaling the approach of an individual, but the Legionnaire did not even turn to perceive the Chimera tech that had started to jog towards him—a woman, already breathless.

"S-Sir?" the tech coughed, her lips fumbling her words as she looked upon the gargantuan metal man. "Senator Larsen s-said—"

Ignoring her, the Legionnaire continued prepping the Tomahawk for its utilization on the road. He did not want to hear the name "Larsen" right about now. He did not want to talk about him or see him, for that matter. In fact, just repeating the name "Larsen" over and over again was merely serving to bring what little blood was in his body back to a boil, his brain stewing with hateful thoughts and images as he deliberately kept on preparing the motorcycle whilst denying this woman basic courtesies.

The tech halted her sentence, looked lost for a second, and tried again. "S-Senator Larsen said that… you are not to leave the building. He w-wants you in place at the Reichstag."

Only a hiss escaped the Legionnaire's vocabulator as he finally gunned the throttle, creating a pulsating roar that fled through the exhaust pipe, rumbling around the tight garage. The incidental noises that his chassis naturally exuded also contributed to the atmospherics, continuing to decline offering the woman an answer.

"It is his order—" the tech protested but was clearly becoming more and more distraught from the terrifying cyborg's refusal to respect her or the wishes of her boss.

Without even looking, the Legionnaire shot out a thick arm, his chilled fingers managing to wrap nearly all the way around the tech's head. The woman gurgled in pain, her cheeks mashed together, blood now starting to dribble from the corner of her smashed mouth.

Calm breath filtered from the air vents in the Legionnaire's head as he still refused to meet the tech's eye. It would be so simple for him to squeeze his fingers and the head of the woman would crumple and explode in a torrent of blood and gore. A few more pounds of pressure and her skull would crack like and egg. The tech's hands beat uselessly at the Legionnaire's lone arm holding her in place and was now starting to make disgusting noises of panic and agony.

The cyborg gave a curt grunt. This was a waste of time. There were other matters he needed to attend to.

Nothing would keep him from his destiny. Not even Larsen. Soon, even Larsen would realize just how little control he himself maintained over those he thought were his inferior.

The Legionnaire savored the feeling of holding the woman's life literally in his hands before the present fell back upon him. He pushed the tech at the same time that he released his hand. The woman, suddenly freed, stumbled and fell to the ground, breathing shallowly in a daze. Splotchy blood marred the Legionnaire's fingers in addition to clumps of her hair. He shook the organic matter off with a singular and powerful motion.

Twisting the throttle and adjusting his center of gravity upon the Tomahawk, the Legionnaire's head had been staring forward the entire time as he lifted his entire weight upon the bike after gently pushing off with a foot. The wheels squealed in a high-pitched note before they managed to grip the ground, sending him screaming out through the corridor, up the access shaft, and into the frigid Berlin morning where a frightful gust of icy-cold air and snow greeted him in a thick wall.

The Tomahawk was airborne for a second before the wheels met the pavement. The chassis slammed into the ground once, sending up sparks.

Soon, Shepard. Soon.

---

To say that Liara T'Soni was not mentally frayed at this point in time would be stretching things a bit. She was certainly not calm, to say the least.

The asari was more suited for working behind the scenes, as her career as an information broker had proved. Fighting on the front lines was a secondary ability she had developed over the years, mostly as a result of Shepard's tutelage.

Driving a vehicle, especially one as large as the Lynx, was far beyond her skillset however.

The Lynx was incredibly sluggish in its steering. Turning the wheel on this monster felt like the entire column was set in concrete. The brakes had the distinct feeling that they were made out of cheese for they were so incredibly ineffective, not to mention that there was the distinct wall of gunfire that had been hounding them for the past few minutes, adding only more tension to the situation.

Liara now knew that she could never be afforded any more opportunities to criticize Shepard about his driving ever again.

Shepard had been barking out directions for her to follow the entire time, which proved to be somewhat disconcerting. Berlin was a maze, plain and simple. The architecture on this planet was not at all like the smoothly constructed buildings Liara had grown up with on Thessia, as the edifices here were all part of a mishmash of disparate stylings all crammed together for the sake of squishing more people into a smaller area. The roads also did not seem to be following any sense of logic and order—they tended to twist and curve, not at all keeping to a simple grid pattern that would otherwise make navigating so much easier. Adding another degree of difficulty were all the cars that lined the roads as everyone had found themselves all caught up in the morning rush hour. Fortunately, the drivers here seemed to have a shred of good sense once they had sensed that a commotion was encroaching from their rear, but Liara had unfortunately sideswiped a few errant vehicles in the process of carving an avenue through the gridlock, creating white gouges in their paint as her Lynx squeezed on by.

Liara dimly heard Shepard calling for her to make an immediate right. There was something else in his sentence about a park, but that was all immaterial for the time being. She found it quite an effort to crank the wheel so that the Lynx could turn about without tipping over. Not as easy of a prospect as it sounded.

The sound of incoming bullets pinging against the Lynx's armor was quite apparent to her, but now that Liara saw they were headed into a small tunnel, she felt that she could relax as she no longer had to worry about the gunships in the air taking shots against them now.

Roahn squirmed against Liara's side while her father partially stuck his head out the window, firing all the while and causing the intense blowback of hot air to cook the interior of the front cabin. Staccato inferno beats jackhammered the air as Shepard laid down upon the trigger, his precise aim spider-webbing the windshield of a pursuing Mercedes, killing the driver and causing it to list towards the wall and perish in a fiery explosion.

"Stay down, Roahn!" Liara screamed out as she took panicked looks towards the girl to make sure that she was all right. The quarian was breathing heavily, her eyes locked wide open, but she said not a word as she hunkered down in the middle of the bench, grabbed at the front hand railing, and tried her damnedest to be brave.

Trillions of bright iotas clustered upon the walls of the tunnels flashed advertisements in tandem, only providing more distractions for the errant drivers. The tunnel flashed aqua, then leafy, then cardinal as every single imaginable color scythed brilliantly in time to the rapid-fire reports of gun shots—the accompanying soundtrack.

Light seared through the artificial veneer. There could not be more than half a mile left of this tunnel to go. Traffic had luckily cleared up by then, giving both Lynx trucks an avenue to speed down.

Next to them, Shepard mouthed a quiet curse as he had to spend valuable seconds in ejecting a spent thermal clip. To compensate, Shepard unleashed a concussive burst from the lower barrel on his rifle, sending a large projectile screaming across the air. The concussive shot slammed into the front of an onrushing BMW, crumpling its hood and sending it flipping end over end in the air, sending sparks and debris flying.

Bursting back out into the dim and cloudy open air, the long drive continued.

---

"Gare, on your left!"

Kasumi's voice crackled over the comm, but Garrus had already spotted the threat that she had been warning him about. Coming up from a side street, a Chimera motorcycle unit suddenly roared into view, their drivers toting submachine guns and grenade launchers. Heavy stuff for a glorified bike gang.

"I see them, Kas. Hang on."

The turian let out a breath and rested his sniper rifle upon the frame of the jiggling Lynx while he planted his feet so that he would not go sailing away in case the vehicle took an unexpected turn. Garrus lined his aim up with the point man at the head of the approaching unit, too far away for assault rifles to effectively reach, but with his sniper rifle, it was like he could just reach out and touch them.

In point of fact, that was exactly what he did.

The sniper rifle jolted as Garrus applied gentle pressure to the trigger. A red globule burst from the lead cyclist's heart in astonishment, the force of the shot punching cleanly through muscle and bone. The force from the bullet knocked the instantly-dead man clean off the bike, itself starting a chain of mishaps as the rider who had been traveling closely behind him could not avoid the toppling corpse in time to get clear. The second rider yanked on his handlebars, but the wheels locked up as they drove over the man's deceased cohort, sending the second Chimera agent flipping over his bike and landing heavily enough on the concrete to break bones.

"Nice," Kasumi replied from the other Lynx, giving her husband a playful wave. "Now it's my turn."

The remaining two bike riders were close enough for small-arms fire but these Chimera troopers were not disciplined enough to focus their fire onto one particular target. The rounds from their machine guns sparked uselessly off of the heavy armor of the Lynx and their grenade launcher projectiles rebounded comically off the trucks as they were too close to arm themselves in time.

Kasumi then popped her head up through the passenger window and sprayed a small line with her submachine gun towards the Chimera bikers. A series of bullets smattered one man in the head, killing him straight out and sending his motorcycle flipping end over end.

The final biker performed a double-take as he realized that he was the only one out of his squad remaining, perhaps going through a moment of reflection that this was not the sort of career path he should have taken and that he should have gone to college instead. Regardless, there was not any more time for him to be regretful over poor life choices for Kasumi rose up again and fired her weapon in another short burst, riddling the final trooper and making him fall off as well.

There was little time to celebrate as the oft-employed cliché of having to punch through wave after wave of seemingly infinite forces of bad guys was out on display when a Hammerhead infantry fighting vehicle roared out from the corner of an intersection they had just passed, hoverjets burning sapphire-blue—so hot that they were leaving scorch marks on the road. On the side of the Hammerhead was, of course, Chimera's winged insignia.

"Well, that's no good," Kasumi said rather nonchalantly. "How much ordinance are we going to have to face until we actually reach the building?"

"As much as it takes," Garrus grimly replied as he set his sights back up. "We've got this. Don't worry."

The Hammerhead wobbled as it fought to steady itself upon the flat tarmac. Garrus knew from experience that the Hammerhead was severely stunted in terms of traveling at an even speed—the vehicle was notorious for overheating quite quickly despite its relative light weight.

The singular turret upon the Hammerhead swiveled as it attempted to overcome the vehicle's swaying. It unleashed a series of missiles in rapid fashion, one after the other. But the gunner's aim was poor and all of the projectiles ended up sailing harmlessly down the boulevard. Chimera had apparently not opted for the guided missile package. Yet another example of budget cuts doing more harm than good to an organization, ironically enough.

Garrus and Kasumi had not wasted any time, however. The Hammerhead, although possessing a powerful gun, had extremely weak armor that was even susceptible to small-arms fire. The couple simply and calmly started plugging away at the hovercraft, not letting up in their assault from their barking weapons, and soon enough a fire began to sprout from the rear of the Hammerhead, caused by the shield module overloading. The fire grew as Kasumi and Garrus kept shooting and in short order the entire Hammerhead was consumed by a brilliant crimson conflagration that mushroomed into the air and billowed thick, choking smoke. Parts rained down from above, still trailing ash and glowing red.

Glancing at the other, the married couple shared a quick grin.

---

Grunt was similarly laughing, but not in the sort of fashion that one would conduct in the presence of a spouse. No, the krogan was having an all-out blast and he was reveling in the chaos.

Unable to help himself, Grunt began to weave his own Lynx back and forth, upending chase vehicles and knocking hapless troopers off their motorcycles as they tried to drive past. These series of lurching motions earned him shouts of ire from his passengers, but he ignored him for he was having too much fun.

"Hah!" the krogan bellowed as he angled the Lynx into a head-on collision with a Mercedes carrying additional Chimera troops, who had apparently been driving on the wrong side of the road because of their unfamiliarity of Germany's rules of the road. The Lynx's torque enabled it to keep on moving once it almost lazily smashed the car aside, hardly slowed by the impact. The occupants of the sedan, on the other hand, had been ejected from the car and subsequently ground to hamburger by the enormous wheels of the Lynx.

Another car, this one a VW, pulled up alongside Grunt's Lynx and almost immediately opened fire. The bulletproof driver's window cracked angrily, but held firm. Angered by the boldness of the mercenaries, Grunt savagely yanked the wheel to the left, catching the car and driving it into the lanes of oncoming traffic.

"Heh. Bye," the krogan mockingly waved.

The VW could do nothing to change its trajectory and crashed headlong into the front of a heavy hauler, utterly disintegrating the car but leaving the larger truck mostly intact. Grunt spared another laugh to himself as he got his Lynx back behind Shepard's, having some difficulty with the transmission as the gears ground agonizingly while he tried to shift up into fourth.

Another Hammerhead dropped down from above, looking to halt the push that Shepard's convoy was making. It quickly inserted itself between the two Lynx trucks and set off a singular burst that made its way directly to Grunt's front cabin. The windshield was briefly awash with a fearsome display of fire and smoke, but the Lynx persevered quite easily, shrugging off the detonation in a handy fashion.

The Hammerhead had slowed for that one attempt to disable Grunt's vehicle. Conversely, Grunt had not.

The Lynx plowed straight through the Hammerhead with a ferocious tearing noise, crashing through the thinly armored hovercraft as if it had been made of paper. The Hammerhead split in half, spraying the road with its metallic innards, electricity and sparking conflagrations lighting the air all around the victorious truck as it proceeded on through.

"Bring me more," Grunt murmured to himself as his foot pressed further down upon the gas pedal.

---

When the Lynx trucks had exited the tunnel just a few minutes previously, they had almost immediately been set on again by the Mantis gunships, who were descending from on high to strafe the trucks with their powerful machine guns. Persecute and destroy, the Mantis motto.

One of the gunships edged around a tall arbor that had been planted in the median of the avenue, trying to angle in for a better line of attack. Miranda, however, saw this coming and reached within the well of dark energy that lurked underneath her skin, drawing it out and shaping it into a wall of pure force and manipulation, and sent it blasting away from her fingertips, grunting as the effort took some of her strength away.

The Mantis could do nothing to evade the approaching biotic attack, despite the efforts of its pilot. The warp field lassoed itself around one of the Mantis' engines, crumpling it, and shearing it away from the main hull. Listing heavily to one side, the Mantis temporarily tried to boost power to its remaining engines, but a flaw in the gunship's design meant that the Mantis could not remain aloft unless all of its engines were performing optimally. In the end, the Mantis entered a death spiral from which it could not escape, alarms blaring through the cockpit, and it crashed in an open field a kilometer away from the quarry it had been chasing.

"Not bad," Miranda heard someone say behind her and she turned to see Jack shoot her a wry smirk. "…For a cheerleader."

Miranda could not help but grin back as the wind threatened to whip her hair and sleet into her eyes. "The 'cheerleader' has downed one more gunship than you."

"Oh, are we playing that game?" Jack's smile turned catlike as she narrowed her eyes.

"You seem to have me confused with someone else. I don't play."

"One of these days," Jack said as she straightened up, "you're going to figure out that the solution to your bitchiness is that you need to get laid."

"Excuse me?"

Jack was now conveniently ignoring Miranda as she levelled an explosive shockwave that had drawn in energy up from her arms to expel from her hands. The seismic shock glimmered to life in the sky before imploding in a flash, sending out a Praxis wave that served to knock another Mantis gunship right out of the air. Thrown heavily to the ground, the gunship collided with the ground and embarked upon a torturous slide that ripped chunks of road from the earth while shredding the undercarriage of the craft.

The former convict smirked as she levelled a sarcastic salute towards Miranda. "All tied up."

The laugh that expelled from Miranda's lungs was short-lived and frosty. "Not for long," she levelled a knowing stare at her cohort before crouching down to deliver another salvo of dark energy against their hapless enemies.

---

James Vega had been involved in more campaigns than he could count, but that did not lessen the indignation and fear that accompanied the sensation of a bullet whizzing by his face, rippling the muscles of his body as the invisible pulse hurtled through him.

The fact that this time, it was his countrymen he was fighting—humans—angered him even more because of their blatant stupidity.

First Cerberus, now Chimera. Has no one learned that you can't take on Shepard in a fight and expect to come out on top?!

Vega's internal monologues would have to remain unvoiced for the litany of vehicles still in pursuit commanded his attention. Kaidan and Javik were laying down the same cover fire in the other vehicle, and between the two of them, they were doing an admirable job in warding off the heavier vehicles that threatened to upend their progress.

A Mercedes SUV roared up, filled to the brim with more troopers. Vega's precise fire blew out its tires and killed the men sitting up front, listless past a broken windshield. A Mako tank crept up from the lower roads, cannons barking. Kaidan's rocket launcher caught the behemoth perfectly, flipping it upside down and completely halting it in place. Javik was using his particle rifle to slice offending cars and tanks in two, leaving their husks to smoke on the side of the road. None of the seasoned soldiers took any pleasure in their work, their movements almost robotic in their exactitude, rigorous and defined.

Despite the danger and the utter chaos riding in the back of the Lynx, Vega managed to keep his breathing at an even pace, very deliberate.

The inviting green boundary of the Tiergarten, the park at the heart of Berlin's government sector, beckoned just half a mile away. A thin tower, perched with a glimmering figure shone like a distant prize just further down the road.

Nearly there, now.

---

Meanwhile

Sam McLeod was trying his damnedest right about now to keep an optimistic mind about things as he was trekking through the Tiergarten with Nya at his side, both of whom were attempting to distract themselves with life using the sights and sounds of the unfamiliar city to the advantage as best as they could. The park that was the Tiergarten was large and expansive—it reminded Sam of New York City's own Central Park, but this was more densely forested, a little wilder.

Old World penchants, indeed. The Tiergarten was home to a bevy of dirt paths that seemed to spread aimlessly around the boundaries of the park. Despite being located in the heart of one of the most major cities on the continent, if one were to embark just a few feet into the forested areas, one could easily imagine that they had stepped into a thicket out in the middle of nowhere, as there were no indications that one could glean that would denote their urban whereabouts. Even in winter, when all the leaves had fallen off the trees and snow blanketed the ground, the overwhelming silence dominated all.

Both Sam and Nya had a good inkling that, right about this time, Shepard and company were no doubt raising all sorts of a ruckus around the city in their attempt to reach the Reichstag (which, ironically, was only a quarter of a mile away from where Sam and Nya were right now). For the two, it was hard to keep themselves relatively calm when they knew that a column of gunfire and overall mayhem were most likely fast approaching this location, given the threat that Shepard represented to the government at the time.

The couple had not shared a single word since they had left Berlin's subway system, too anxious to make small talk. They had silently proceeded to savor the Tiergarten area, both on the same mental wavelength as they embarked on their own exploration. Several times they cocked their head as they meandered along the many pathways that the park offered, intent on attempting to discern the telltale crackle of gunfire, but when silence greeted them at every turn, they soon gave up on trying to feed their worries.

Berlin would offer them plenty of distractions, in any case.

"Huh," Sam muttered as he turned his head to track a woman on a bicycle that had just ridden past him.

Nya craned her neck and shrugged at the sight. "It was just a woman on a bike, Sam. Nothing special there."

"No, it was a woman on a bike drinking a beer at the same time."

"So?"

"So," Sam was now walking backwards as his face lit up, "that's just the most brilliant thing I've ever seen. And she was drinking from an actual glass, not a can! The control!"

Nya gave a derisive snort as she lightly thwacked her husband on the arm. "You're all worked up because you saw someone drinking and driving?"

"It's just not heavily enforced over here, not like where we live. Screw UNAS, Germany has got it figured out!"

"You can always drink and bike back home, dear."

"And get myself arrested in the process while earning points on my license," Sam added. "They still don't like intoxicated people being in control of any moving vehicle over there."

"I wonder why," Nya said flatly. Santa Cruz had faced a spot of trouble lately for drunk drivers crashing their cars among the hilly roads for years. The traffic fines had been steepened as a result, which had angered the residents.

As they continued to walk, the pair began to notice a growing clamor of what was unmistakably the collective chanting of a mass of people congregated into one area. A crowd was near the direction of the Reichstag, from what they could discern with just their ears.

"The hell is that?" Sam squinted his eyes. "What, is a riot going on over there or something?"

"Don't know," Nya offered with a shrug, her eyes nebulous behind her crimson visor. "Want to check it out?"

"Why not? This day's going to be interesting regardless anyway."

They crossed a nearby trail and headed towards where the forest abruptly ended at the edge of an open field. The uproar of diverse raised voices grew louder and louder as they approached, a solid indication that they were heading in the right direction, ensuring that their curiosity would be sated.

On the other hand, their progress would soon be halted as they rounded a particularly thick tree while struggling not to slip in patches of ice, now facing a Chimera soldier who was guarding the only way out of the park, a sour expression embedded upon his face.

"You can't go ahead," the soldier held up a hand, preventing Sam and Nya from proceeding any further.

Sam, a little mistrustful, glanced at the offending appendage and back to the mercenary's face. "Any particular reason why? Just wanted to check things out."

"No more people are to be allowed to participate in the protest. We're going to be clearing everyone out momentarily. And don't even think about trying to sneak around me. I've got eyes in the back of my head."

"Protest?" Nya tilted her head. "What are the people protesting about, exactly?"

The Chimera mercenary, stone-faced, blatantly ignored the quarian's question, which had the effect of sending Sam's blood into a boil. Such obvious racism that this merc dared to exhibit to his wife's face! He always had the tendency to become quite mad whenever someone insulted his wife because of her race. Nya had lived with the prejudice nearly her whole life, so she was used to this sort of treatment and had assured her husband several times in the past that she was not hurt too badly by most cutting remarks. Sam, conversely, was struggling to contain himself as he turned an impressive shade of red in the process.

"You heard her," Sam spoke slowly to the man. "What is the protest about?"

"Apparently a bunch of anarchists are protesting against the PMCs in front of the main Senate building," the merc offered immediately (thereby proving his own racism). "It's not going to last much longer, actually. We've got orders to go in and clear them out in the next few… wait, you look familiar."

Sam blinked. He could not see how he was familiar to this man at all. He had never seen this Chimera soldier before in his life. Sam would soon be provided with an explanation when the merc engaged his omni-tool and accessed a video file—security footage—and paused it on a particular section for Sam and Nya to view.

"Aren't you… this person?" the man gestured to a particular point on the screen. "We got a blip on our security screens near Tempelhofer. Something to do with persons of extreme interest."

Sam leaned forward and screwed up his eyes, indeed recognizing himself right off the bat in the film. The watermark in the lower right-hand corner denoted that this was a section of security footage from Tempelhofer—the starport that Sam had deposited Shepard and everyone else at. The video file had managed to catch Sam exiting his ship and even exchanging a few words with the impressively decked out Commander Shepard in such a high resolution that one could even see the faint blemishes on his own skin from the cold temperatures.

Caught, Sam knew that he had no choice but to do one thing: be as difficult as possible.

"No, that's not me. You're mistaken," Sam said in dull tone, keeping his own expression level, as if he was being insulted from this association.

The unimpressed merc glanced at the picture again, which was clearly showcasing Sam's bearded face. Only a complete dolt would not catch the similarities.

"You weren't at Tempelhofer?" the man asked, arcing an eyebrow.

"Tempel… hofer," Sam pretended to be completely clueless. "How do you spell that? Actually, can you write it down for me? How many letters are in that word? Eight? Ten?"

Becoming more and more annoyed with Sam's antics, the guard pressed on. "And you don't recognize this other person in the photo, I take it?" The Chimera soldier was now pointing at Shepard on the screen, another figure that should have been immediately recognizable to any human.

Still Sam attempted to gaslight the man. "No clue. Looks like a cosplayer. Wait! Give me a hint. Is that man part of the cast of Star Trek reboot?"

"Sir, are you a complete retard?"

"Retard?" Sam pretended to act shocked. "I thought the PC community outlawed that word centuries ago. That's bold of you, sir. Good one."

The merc explosively sighed, just about fed up with Sam's boorish behavior. "Right, I'm just going to assume that you're a total moron."

"Funny. The feeling goes both ways."

Before the soldier could suitably come up with a response to Sam's pointed verbal attack, there was a harsh clunking noise and a snapping of wood as bits of timber and snow sprayed out in a white and brown arc. The Chimera operative shuddered, his eyes partially rolling upwards into the back of his head, and collapsed at Sam's feet, revealing Nya standing behind him, holding the remains of what had been a fallen and particularly thick tree branch. The bough had snapped off down the middle, jagged chips rimming the stump when the quarian had brought the branch slamming down upon the soldier's head.

Sam mildly glanced down at the unconscious man before stepping over the prostrate body. "Eyes in the back of his head, indeed."

Internally, he was guffawing at how easily the man had been distracted long enough for Nya to sneak up from behind and bludgeon him on the back of the head.

"It's weird," Nya murmured as she tossed the branch she had just used into the nearby briar. "I didn't think that was going to work, either."

"Only because I did such a good job at pissing him off," Sam gloated.

"Well," Nya smiled secretly, "it is what you do best, Sam."

Rolling his eyes, but captivated all the same at his wife's resourcefulness, Sam offered his arm to Nya, which she teasingly took—the gesture that it was all clear for the two to proceed as a unit of their own, towards where the action was.

Breathing shallowly behind them, the knocked out guard continued to face the soupy gray sky where he lay, snowdrops melting upon his cooling face.

---

The whippets of ice streaked across the windshield of the two Lynx trucks as they burst onto the scene within the Tiergarten just after crossing a bridge south of the park that spanned a small canal. A few Chimera vehicles were still hot on their heels, but the combined small-arms fire that emanated from the rear accesses, arguably from the best soldiers the galaxy had ever seen, were doing an admirable job at keeping them at bay.

One such Hammerhead lurched downward sharply after one of its hoverjets was blown out by this concentrated zone of fire. Leaving a sea of sparks behind as it agonizingly skidded on the road, the broken-down vehicle finally caught on a partially-opened manhole and the great force of its inertia caused it to pitch violently forward, embarking into a deadly cartwheel that hurtled parts off of its frame at an alarming rate.

"Was that the last of them?" Liara called as she continued to grip the steering wheel of her vehicle so tightly that blood flow to her fingers was nearly cut off. Next to her, Shepard was silently reloading his rifle, a grim look on his face.

"No…" Miranda reported. "They're holding back now. It's like… wait. A single rider is approaching our column. Custom bike. Large profile."

A tired expression overcame Shepard as he racked the slide of his rifle. "It's him," he hoarsely got out.

Roahn's glance up at her father confirmed her worst fears imaginable.

Less than a tenth of a mile away, the Tomahawk custom cycle roared into view, swerving its way between the wealth of Chimera minions, its massive rider sitting atop the brushed aluminum frame, all oculi lined up in an array reminiscent of an inferno and death. Snow and melted ice spat from beyond the rear tires as the Tomahawk surged ahead, closing the gap between the Legionnaire and his prey with an alarming efficiency.

Metallic fingers were like ice as they gripped the handlebars. The Legionnaire's synthesized breathing noises were muted by the wind slicing at him as he rode, oblivious to the cold. Tiny adjustments to the throttle and brake teased his approach while targeting software was already picking out potential avenues of attack as he neared firing distance of the first Lynx.

Soldiers to the end, the occupants in the bed of the rearward Lynx—James, Miranda, and Jack—all opened fire on the Legionnaire the instant he came into range. Bullets pinged off the armor of the Tomahawk and the shields of the Legionnaire sparked furiously but were nowhere near the point of breaking. The enormous cyborg began to maneuver his cycle in a serpentine manner, looking to draw some of the fire and to evade it, if possible.

Slots upon the Legionnaire's shoulder pads opened up and two miniaturized rocket launchers unfolded and began pinpointing targets courtesy of the Legionnaire's automatic laser guidance system. With a series of whooshes and searing combustion of gases, several rockets were expelled from the launchers, spiraling high in the sky as they headed on course for the two Lynxes.

The trucks were rocked hard by the detonations and everyone who was fighting outside had to duck lest they get a piece of shrapnel in the head for their trouble. Tiny flowers of pressure and fire zapped into existence for a mere microsecond before the explosions had a chance to take effect. Temporarily deafened, everyone fighting at the rear of Grunt's Lynx was, for the moment, discombobulated, unable to mount a resistance for precious few seconds.

The distraction that the micro-rockets had offered allowed the Legionnaire to pass the Lynx that Grunt was driving and to come up alongside Shepard's vehicle. Utterly silent, the Legionnaire fixated his vision upon Shepard's passenger side door, which is where the human was laying out suppressive fire in the Legionnaire's direction, hoping to knock the monster off. The attacks were useless and the Legionnaire made a controlled gesture towards the rack slotted behind him, causing the automatic shotgun mounted upon his back to flip up and forward into position, neatly inserting the grip into his palm. The shotgun's magnetic tubing found the requisite ports in the Legionnaire's chassis, beginning the process of effective heat dispersion.

"Just like before, Shepard," the Legionnaire croaked out, his voice carrying through the stale air even at this speed.

"Not this time, you bastard," Shepard retorted, mainly to himself, but he had to pull back into the cabin because the Legionnaire had depressed the trigger of his shotgun and was now spraying the Lynx at full blast.

Slugs of such great diameter slammed into the truck, enormous explosions peppering the outside as the gun fired ad infinitum. One such shot clipped the corner of the Lynx and punctured the front windshield from the back, splintering it, and leaving a saucer-sized hole behind in the process.

Liara flinched from the report, her vision now partially impeded now that half the windshield was ruined. Instinctively, she threw an arm over Roahn for protection as they now approached the iconic roundabout in the middle of the Tiergarten, a circle of concrete that ringed around an impressively tall statue that was topped with a bronze sculpture of the goddess Victoria. Hanging a right, the back of the Lynx briefly skidded out of alignment before Liara could get everything under control while the occupants lurched around from the change in direction.

Now the column was screaming down the elongated boulevard that led straight towards the Brandenburg Gate. The Legionnaire was adjusting his aim all the while, punching great dents into the Lynx as he kept up the pressure, his shotgun singing war cries.

Garrus tried to lean over the side of the moving truck to get a shot at the Legionnaire but the cyborg simply shifted the gun and fired a burst almost lazily in the turian's direction. Garrus ducked the blast, which had narrowly missed the crest of his head, breathing hard in the face of such willful malevolence.

"Liara," he bellowed into the comm. "Knock this guy off his bike!"

The asari did not respond verbally out of sheer panic, but made it known that she had received the instruction when she veered the Lynx sharply to the side, looking to ram the Legionnaire off the road. The cyborg braked just in time, narrowly missing the tail end of the Lynx that whipped around from the sudden deceleration. The Tomahawk bike shot to and fro, as if the Legionnaire could not decide which side of the truck to assault next before making another attempt on the left side, maneuvering his shotgun into a firing position once more.

Shepard was not going to be treated so callously for so long. Just as the Legionnaire began to run alongside Shepard's door, the human abruptly poked his torso out, rifle at the ready, and unleashed a solid five-round burst towards the cyborg.

The bullets missed the Legionnaire entirely, trails of heat blurring by the impassive frame of the cyborg as they shot on by.

How pitiful, the Legionnaire thought.

The Legionnaire did not realize at first what Shepard had been aiming at and assumed that the man had made the stupid mistake of taking a shot at point-blank range and had improbably missed in the process. The Legionnaire allowed a nanosecond to scoff at Shepard's incompetence—the commander's aim was on par with the average Chimera trooper, evidentially!

But when the Legionnaire finally depressed the trigger of his shotgun, there was the immediate sensation that something was amiss. Slugs were being forced out of the weapon as normal, but the handling of the shotgun felt different somehow. It felt… rawer. Wilder. Almost as if it was becoming harder to control with each detonation and expulsion of every projectile.

The Legionnaire glanced down and was rather surprised and incensed to see that the barrel of the automatic shotgun was glowing red hot. Heat was wisping from the weapon in manipulative and hazy waves while snow hissed and dribbled off of the scalding hot barrel.

That was when the Legionnaire saw the root of the problem.

The heat dispersal tubes—responsible for transferring the residual heat from the shotgun to be rerouted and ultimately circulated throughout the Legionnaire's chassis—were severed, sheared away by the looks of it. Shepard had not missed after all. In fact, the human's aim had been so precise that he had managed to hit a tube about the thickness of a human's wrist while on a moving vehicle in such adverse conditions.

The shotgun then bucked as a piece of its internal mechanism abruptly imploded, cracked from the stress of the heat. Then another part detonated. And another. And another. Without a way for the shotgun to get rid of the heat it generated when firing (as it contained no thermal clips) the weapon itself was disintegrating in the Legionnaire's hands.

Seeing as the gun was falling apart as the seconds ticked on by, the Legionnaire threw the remains of the weapon away with a callous gesture, letting the shotgun clatter and explode on the road behind him.

"Very intriguing," the Legionnaire murmured admirably, but the surprises were not ending there yet.

In his haste to rid himself of the malfunctioning shotgun, the Legionnaire had not been monitoring the speed at which he had been traveling upon his Tomahawk. While Shepard's Lynx was pulling away, Grunt's vehicle was swiftly closing the gap.

Looking up from the control gauges, the Legionnaire was offered a brief moment to ascertain the rapid pace at which the tables had turned an instant before Grunt's Lynx smashed clean upon the back of the Tomahawk. The cyborg jolted and the motorcycle was momentarily propelled forward but the krogan kept on accelerating, hitting the Legionnaire one more time, successfully dislodging the metallic man from his seat.

The Lynx was subject to several bumps and rises as it ran over both the cycle and its rider, destroying the former beyond any hope of repair. Leaving a trail of strewn parts in his wake, Grunt roared in triumph as he continued to speed away.

---

For a moment there was static. Warm, red fuzz momentarily seeped across his vision before a local software reboot initiated. Various processes in his heads-up-display darkened but gradually began to come back on again, each one showing no signs of malfunction anymore.

Abruptly, the Legionnaire sat back up from where he had been dumped onto the road, the remains of the Tomahawk laying everywhere and all around him. The ground was slick and wet, snow continuing to melt upon the ground as it touched the warmer surface. The cyborg gave a frustrated grunt and moved to stand, the hydraulics in his legs emitting vague groans in the process.

Internal sensors were showing signs of damage. A cracked faceplate and some dents to his central cavity had been garnered, most likely when the Lynx had run him over. Such trifles were quickly disregarded as the Legionnaire held Shepard's departing convoy in his sights. A tightness enveloped his senses. His mind ran flat as he pictured the image of his prey solely in his head. An animalistic noise came from his vocabulator as he beheld his destiny leaving his sight.

A soft noise from behind finally shattered his line of concentration. In the middle of the road, the Legionnaire turned around, the black and gray armored behemoth capturing fire in his gaze as he hissed out his searing breath.

A civilian in a Renault Raccoon had rolled to a stop upon witnessing the rather unconventional conflict that had been tearing through the Tiergarten, her expression one of mild concern that quickly graduated to fear once she had realized the breadth of the Legionnaire's presence. The Legionnaire was a practical individual and did not particularly view himself as a force for evil, but logic did dictate that he needed a vehicle to continue his pursuit of Shepard and since his Tomahawk was no longer functional…

The pistol from the hidden holster snapped into the Legionnaire's hand in a flat blur and the cyborg only pulled the trigger once. The cracking sound of the pistol being fired echoed dully in the frosty air of the park and the cyborg began to stagger over to his newest acquisition. He forcefully wrenched the door to the Raccoon open and rudely deposited the dead woman onto the ground. Blood leaked from the round hole in her head and her dead eyes gazed at nothing as she too became blanketed with snow.

Barely squeezing himself into the driver's seat, the Legionnaire did not spare his victim a sorrowful glance as he took off in pursuit, the wailing of the wheels sending up an icy gale of frozen water as it tore down the road.

Peace soon returned to that section of the park. Crumpled on the ground, the dead woman lay alone upon the frigid road.

The cold greedily ate away the last remnants of warmth.

---

"He's coming back around!" Kasumi shouted on all channels, creating a momentary crackle of distortion as the feedback ripped through the speakers.

Shepard leaned over to peer at the side mirror and sure enough, he caught a glimpse of the rounded form of a Renault Raccoon—a bulbous and stout SUV—making its way back towards the convoy. The orange oculi of its driver were impossible to miss, even from this distance and through a windshield.

"He just can't take a hint, can he?" Garrus similarly drawled as he unleashed a frustrated sigh immediately afterward.

There was no time to dawdle or reflect any more upon the meaning of life in the brief absence of violence for the Legionnaire had just about caught up to them again, now brandishing a heavy pistol in the interior of the car he was driving. Right off the bat, the cyborg partially leaned out of the driver's side window and began plugging away once more at the trucks, picking up where he had left off before he had been unceremoniously run over.

Shepard yanked his head backwards before one of the Legionnaire's bullets hit the side mirror he had been glancing out of, disintegrating it and causing a splash of vaporized glass to dust all over him. For god's sake, that cyborg had an uncannily scary aim!

The Raccoon that the Legionnaire was driving, however, was not as maneuverable as the Tomahawk motorcycle he had been atop of in the beginning and so he was having a more difficult time trying to skirt around Grunt's vehicle to get to Shepard's. As far as he was concerned, the Legionnaire did not care a whiff about the occupants of the first vehicle, he just wanted to get to the human up front, except that the krogan at the wheel was making things mightily difficult for him. The Raccoon weaved across all six lanes of traffic but the cyborg was thwarted at every turn by Grunt when trying to make his pass, much to the driver's immense frustration.

Emphasizing his annoyance, the Legionnaire turned his arm upon the rear wheels on the left side of Grunt's truck. Firing indiscriminately through his own windshield (blowing it out in the process) the Legionnaire punctured the four tires with an explosion of rubber and pressurized nitrogen. The Lynx, its weight now off balance, swerved heavily to the left, giving the Legionnaire an opening on the right to proceed.

The twin-turbocharged engine of the Raccoon hissed ominously as it accelerated, but Grunt was not giving up so easily. At the wheel, the krogan gave a roar as he tried to get his vehicle back on track, yanking it to the right in a savage maneuver. The Legionnaire, caught up in his efforts to make it back to Shepard, could only stare as Grunt's Lynx was once more onrushing him towards a fatalistic collision. The smaller Raccoon jolted heavily as the corner of the Lynx impacted against the driver's side door, puncturing the aluminum frame and ripping it off its hinges, exposing the occupant. Sleet and snow filtered in, soaking the Legionnaire, who yowled in his rage.

The door-less Raccoon wobbled heavily, nearly losing its grip completely after hitting several ice patches, but the Legionnaire wrested control of the car before the oversteer could overtake him. Leaving the floundering Grunt in his wake, the Legionnaire met up with the lead Lynx…

…only to be subject to the whipping motion of its back end as Liara made to cut him off.

Shepard had an obscured view from his position, but he heard a terrific sound of glass shattering and metal crumpling and he dared to look behind him to see the red Raccoon flipping end over end behind him, vaulting over sidewalks and hedgerows to land upside-down, a smoking wreck.

"Did you get him?" Shepard called over to Liara, momentarily taking his eyes off the road.

With a hellish roar, a shining limb unexpectedly wrapped in through the window and chilling fingers fastened themselves to Shepard's neck. The maw of the Legionnaire then leaned in through the gap, his vacant expression causing Roahn to scream and Liara to briefly become agape with horror.

"Not yet, commander," the monster whispered as he increased his grip, metallic tendons whirring in protest.

Shepard mouthed a word.

The human's free hand then splayed open as his omni-tool momentarily became aglow around his palm. In an instant, he touched his hand to the Legionnaire's wrist and the cyborg screamed out as a bolt of electricity arced out from the tool and was sent searing directly into the armored chassis. To the Legionnaire, it felt like his brain had just been set on fire and his organs were dissolving from the sudden and intense pain. Micro-spasms ensued and the cyborg jerked away, desperate to rid himself of the agonizing suffering, releasing a gagging Shepard and ripping the door off of the Lynx in the process.

Shepard rubbed his throat, recovering quickly, as he managed a savage grimace and whipped up his rifle to fire a burst into the Legionnaire's face. Sparks ripped through the vacant air, flaring luminously upon the metallic being's shields and armor. The Legionnaire surged backwards along the side of the Lynx, using the railings and his magnetic soles to keep himself situated properly. The cyborg's pistol, having been dropped in the chaos, bounced upon the ground and fell to a stop lamely before being crushed underneath the tires of the Lynx.

Growling to himself, Shepard now veered himself out of the door, holding onto one of the interior handles while he kept his feet firmly planted on the outside skids of the Lynx. In the other hand, he still held his rifle and he quickly brought the weapon to his hip and laid off a series of rounds towards the Legionnaire, who was still clinging to the side of the truck, same as Shepard, just a few feet away.

At point-blank range, there was no way for Shepard to miss. The Legionnaire's shields furiously bubbled and spat as the pressure mounted upon them. They distorted and broke with a fierce snap-hiss! That was when Shepard unleashed a concussive round from his rifle, which caught the cyborg on the shoulder and blew off the armor plating there. Chunks of metal sprayed the ground and smoke billowed from the "wound." The Legionnaire stumbled backwards a bit but did not fall off the Lynx, staring in astonishment at the damage that Shepard had managed to rack up on him in just a few short seconds.

"Hell," the Legionnaire uttered.

The automaton now seemed to realize that his advantage had shrunk precariously in the past few minutes. This was no longer the washed-up human he had humiliated time and again. This was a whole different beast.

Time to switch things up.

The Legionnaire placed his palms flat upon the side of the Lynx, activating his magnetic points at those locations. Scurrying like a spider, the Legionnaire crab-walked up the truck until he had made it to the roof—a far quicker effort than any organic could hope to replicate.

Shepard continued to shoot at the cyborg, but his foe simply produced a wide shield that sprouted in a flash from his omni-tool, temporarily deflecting the bullets with ease as they vaporized against the auburn hard light face. The Legionnaire used that amount of time to produce yet another hand cannon that he used to open fire upon Shepard, blowing holes in the ceiling of the Lynx as the human was forced to take cover. Bending his knees in a combat stance, the Legionnaire fired one-handed at Shepard, the gun throwing away spent thermal clips almost once a second for the metal creature was pulling the trigger faster than the human could perceive.

Deactivating his omni-shield for a brief second, the Legionnaire twisted his wrist and a miniature missile protruded out from a launcher embedded in the cyborg's arm. Shepard, immediately identifying the danger, shifted his aim to bear upon the launcher. Flaring scintilla shot up around the Legionnaire's arm, the force of Shepard's bullets driving the limb down a few inches, successfully shifting the aim away from him as the monster fired.

The projectile shot forward a few feet and hit the roof of the Lynx, the resulting eruption nearly blowing out Shepard's ears and burning his face. The force from the shockwave was enough for him to lose his grip on the outside handle and, to his horror, he began to pitch backwards off the truck, towards the road.

Time diluted as his brain became saturated with adrenaline. Shepard felt at peace as he fell, practically calm as he watched the exterior of the Lynx fall away from him. If he was to die this way, then it would not be so bad.

But someone unexpectedly reached out and grabbed his wrist, keeping him in place. Startled, Shepard tilted his head up, his body lying nearly parallel to the road as he was held like this.

His eyes widened as he found the person who had saved him.

"Hold on, John!" Tali screamed, her beautiful purple sehni whipping in the wind. Her three fingers latching onto his wrist felt like iron. Water beaded on her black enviro-suit and dripped off her purple mask as she locked eyes with him, carrying such wonder in her expression.

Somehow, Shepard knew that things were going to be okay.

His eyes then regained their focus after he blinked for a bit and then Shepard finally allowed color to seep back into his vision.

"Hold on, dad!" Roahn screamed, the girl replacing her mother in the here and now. The child grunted as her father's heavier body was slowly driving her towards the edge of the front cabin, but she refused to let go of her father, no matter how badly her shoulders were straining in their sockets. Roahn shut her eyes, the blue partition of her helmet now emitting no more of her light. She cried out as she yanked hard on Shepard's arm, desperately trying to pull him back up.

Roahn.

Clarity returning in an awesome wave, Shepard leaned forward and grasped the side of the truck, righting himself in an instant. Roahn fell back onto the seat, groaning, but relieved.

Torn as he watched his frightened daughter catch her breath back, Shepard felt an unspeakable anger take hold of his very soul. For all the hurt that he had put Roahn through, for all the unfair things that had happened to his girl in her life, this had to end. For her sake, this had to end.

In the midst of the lull in the firing—when the Legionnaire had finally run out of thermal clips to use—a fighting-mad Shepard poked his head back out, after he had commanded micro-syringes in his armor to allow him a tiny burst of adrenaline, and sent another concussive burst flying straight at his enemy. The projectile slammed against the Legionnaire's left shin and cracked the plating there, creating a micro-shockwave that billowed snow and water in all directions. Temporarily unbalanced, the Legionnaire sank to his feet, but with a terrifying scream of denial, an anodized nano-blade materialized from a slit near the cyborg's wrist, faintly glowing red near the edges. The blade now fully revealed, the Legionnaire slashed at Shepard, cutting a thin line down the armor of the Lynx as Shepard had to lean back to narrowly avoid the blow.

This bastard's insane, Shepard thought.

"We're almost there!" Liara cried, and Shepard whirled to face forwards as the massive edifice of the Reichstag came into view beyond a partition of trees.

Between them and the building was an ocean of color, a literal horde of faces and voices all waving together beautifully crafted signs as they chanted in a spectrum of languages. The protestors were cordoned off by a light blockade of Chimera police cruisers and fortunately the road leading up to the Reichstag was clear, so that was the route that seemed natural for Liara to take. The massive Lynx seemed to groan as the wheels cranked to the right ever so slightly putting the truck on course for the building's entrance.

There was still the matter of the Legionnaire, however.

A sequence of thuds in rapid fashion just directly overhead indicated that the cyborg was now milling about on the roof of the front cabin. That was confirmed when a jet-black blade unexpectedly speared its way down, puncturing the roof with a hideous shriek. The blade actually went as far as to poke a hole in the armrest of Shepard's seat, causing a poof of stuffing to poke out.

"Shepard!" the Legionnaire roared from above.

"Yeah, I'm here," Shepard grimaced.

Something was tugging at his arm and he looked down to find Roahn offering a large yellow shotgun for him, taken from the rear arsenal. "Use this, dad," she said, her eyes wide and pleading.

Immediately Shepard swapped his weapons and gave his daughter an affectionate pat on the head. "Good girl," he praised. "Cover your ears."

Roahn scarcely had a moment to spare from the time she deactivated her auditory sensors to the moment when her father opened fire directly into the ceiling, creating a choking haze of smoke to filter about the cabin. Intentionally deaf, Roahn could only watch as Shepard calmly displaced a volley after volley into the roof, the weapon savagely bucking in his hands, spitting flame in a savage inferno. She studied her father's face. Despite the overwhelming noise, Shepard did not flinch once. His jaw was set. His eyes were locked up top. He was fearless, for the emotion had found terror in residing within his body.

Now he could demonstrate where his true self had been hiding for all those years.

The roof of the Lynx had been turned into Swiss cheese by now and at least Shepard was able to see through the holes that the Legionnaire was nowhere in sight. He must have blown him off with one of the bursts a while back.

"Slow down," he told Liara as they neared the steps of the Reichstag. Their truck had to shunt a few police cruisers aside to make it to the road in front of the building—a small price to pay considering the amount damage accumulated so far.

The crowd thrummed with energy as they moved forward for a closer look. Eager cries sporadically erupted as random individuals began to recognize the people exiting from both Lynx, becoming more and more ecstatic as they perceived their idols standing in their midst. The crowd ignored the thundering of gunships and the distant wail of sirens. All they could see was the Normandy crew in all their glory. Their heroes had returned to Earth.

Shepard disregarded the cacophony from the mass of people as he first moved to examine his daughter. "You all right?" he asked her.

Roahn coughed but gave him a thumbs up.

He gave her another pat upon the back of Roahn's hand. "She would be proud of you today," Shepard assured the girl. Roahn's eyes lidded upward in a soft smile of relief—a gesture that Shepard returned wholeheartedly. After patting his daughter's hand one last time, he spoke into his omni-tool to address the team. "I want this to get done as quickly as possible. We're going to need two sweep teams to find—"

All sound in the nearby vicinity seemed to inexplicitly dampen as though a void had infiltrated Shepard's eardrums. Something was terribly wrong. The hair on the back of his neck was sticking up and his joints were aching as massive amounts of warning chemicals were dumped into his bloodstream.

Danger.

From a gap between the cabin and the main body of the Lynx, the gigantic figure of the Legionnaire had burst out of hiding, searing a path through the drifting snow as he flipped through the air. The steel-gray granite steps leading to the Reichstag cracked like glass as the Legionnaire landed upon them in a kneeling pose, steam wafting from the damaged chassis. There was a cantankerous clanking noise followed by a wretched series of whirs and drilling noises as the cyborg stood up to his full height, towering over everyone in sight. Some people screamed at the sight of the monstrosity. Others, like Shepard, were frozen in place out of some nameless fear.

The Legionnaire shunted his arms downward, bringing out his nano-blades to their full length. Angled diagonally downward, the tips of the swords nearly brushed the ground as sparks dribbled from the slots in the Legionnaire's armor. Tilting his head upward, the cyborg vibrated with a thrumming laugh—a noise that encapsulated malevolence and damnation in its purest form. Standing between Shepard and the Reichstag, the cyborg beheld the congregation before him, captivated by the terror he brought to the masses as he stood over them.

"We're… not done yet," the Legionnaire seethed as his optics narrowed. "Your victory has not been attained yet, Shepard! No matter how this ends, I will be complete!"

Chips of stone sprayed in a deadly arc as metal and glass moved as one, shredding precious flakes of snow from the fine hail.

In the freezing air, silence reigned supreme.

---

A/N: I was skeptical if I would have enough material to release this chapter in two parts instead of keeping it a single chapter like it was in my outline. I guess now I know. Funny how things work out that way, isn't it?

By the way, after I had submitted the last chapter two weeks ago, you guys helped push Cenotaph over 10,000 views and over 100 reviews at about the same time! You did it! Look, when I start a story, I have no idea how people are genuinely going to respond to it. I don't write to chase a trend or to reuse old storylines that other authors have done first (and possibly better). I write because I want to share the ideas that I come up with and... it's hard to put into words just how happy you all have made me with your support and interest in Cenotaph. Maybe it's the holiday season making this gruff curmudgeon of an author a little more emotional than normal, but I'm just glad that I've been able to share this journey with you and that I get to add something to the wonderful universe of Mass Effect. All of you, give yourselves a pat on the back, because you don't get enough credit. It's the audience that has helped make Cenotaph what it is. I just put words on a page but you give them meaning.

When the end of Cenotaph rolls around, I hope to see you there.

(On a potentially disappointing note: the upcoming winter holidays will most likely delay the next chapter by a couple days. I need to relax too, you know? I know it seems cruel of me to announce such a thing after the above cliffhanger, but rest assured that it'll all be worth it in the end.)

(A little piece of trivia: the Tomahawk and the Raccoon are actually real vehicles, but never made it past the concept stages and thus were never released to the public. They just looked futuristic enough that I felt that I could include them in this story.)

Playlist:

Tempelhofer Infiltration: "Exfiltrate the Hotzone" by Ludvig Forssell from the video game Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

Sniper/Onwards to the Reichstag: "Camp Omega" by Ludvig Forssell from the video game Metal Gear Solid V: Ground Zeroes

Chimera Battle Montage: "Guitar Suite" by Hans Zimmer and Bryce Jacobs from the film Rush (The Complete Score Album)

Legionnaire Boards Tomahawk/Tomahawk Chase: "The Prowler" by Daniel Pemberton from the film Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Legionnaire Commandeers Raccoon: "Nurburgring 1976 (insert)" by Hans Zimmer and Lorne Balfe from the film Rush (The Complete Score Album)

Legionnaire on the Truck/Shepard Trades Punches: "Alpha Ceph Theme" by Borislov Slavov from the video game Crysis 3

The Final Battle Begins: "Entombed (Cinematic - Unreleased Track)" by Neal Acree from the video game StarCraft II: Legacy of the Void