HOLOCAUST

CHAPTER TWENTY:

BEATING THE DRUMS OF WAR

June 18, 2186

1629 hours.

Flux, Upper Wards, Shalta Ward, The Citadel.

The Reaper War.

Mechanic Peta'Tasi vas Nedas.

The music pulsed in a constant rhythm, never ceasing, as seemed to be the theme for most of these establishments, Peta observed.

He took another long, drawn out sip of his luke-warm water, the substance having since long warmed up in his present atmosphere. He had barely touched it, simply learning to deal with the scenery around him; dancers moving around on the dance floor, bartenders handing out drinks and the quasar machines dishing out their loud cacophonies, the sounds of cheering audiences echoing from the upper level. Overall, Flux was much nicer than Afterlife, and definitively better than Eternity on Illium. Not that it mattered; both of those were likely ruins now; one conquered by Cerberus, the other smoldering ruins due to Reaper siege warfare. The whole galaxy is awash with blood, and I'm just sitting here, all safe and cozy on the Citadel.

The husk of the man once known as Peta of Clan Yala, Crew of the Rayya, hopeless lover and mechanic, was a bitter, pathetic shell of a man. He no longer had a clan, no ship, no lover, and his trade gave him no comfort. He had been exiled by his people, cast out after committing a horrible crime, his clan name and ship torn from his name, making Tasi and Nedas respectively; he was noone, and belonged to nowhere. And the very person he loved the most was likely trying to forget this existence, or had found battle with the Reapers. For all he knew, his people were no more, destroyed by the Reaper fleets.

She hates me, and she has all the best reasons to do so. His crime had been trying to kill her husband (or who was going to be), but his rage had consumed him, and he had accidentally attacked her instead; it had been evidence enough to have him cast out.

Worst thing about it? He held no bitterness against his exilers. Against his the man who married his love. For he deserved every bit of it. I'm just surprised noone's called me 'suit-rat' or tried to use my people's racial stereotype to make profit out of me. Maybe they're more worried about the war going on around us than they are of some quarian stealing from them. Good. Last thing I need is to be bothered.

Sure, he got the occassional sneer, but what did he care? They weren't bothering him and they'd didn't approach him, so why give them attention? If he were honest, there was nothing in this galaxy that could faze him anymore. Nothing could make him angry, lustful, passionate or remotely happy. His moral compass was all screwed up, and he couldn't see straight without seeing people from his past. Couldn't look at any beautiful, youthful young human woman without seeing...her...

He visibly grimaced behind his mask, deciding to wash away his sorrows with a long, good sip of his drink. He let the cool liquid drift down his throat and ease his mind, before removing the induction port from his vocalizer and closing it, placing the straw back in the drink and pushing it away slightly. Crossing his arms on the table, he picked up the datapad he had on the table infront of him and stole a quick glance; simply a rapid scan of the contents once more to affirm what he had read. So Rodgers wants me to fix one of the quasars here? Was that because Doran asked, or is he playing the good samaritan?

Again with the questions. Keelah Peta, who cares? You're getting paid. Seems good enough.

Yeah, 52 credits per task seemed like an okay deal. Well, not really. I know for a fact he's giving me a lower wage because I'm a quarian, but I just don't care. Its enough to keep me occupied. He had a basic apartment down in the lower wards (as he definitely could not hope to afford an apartment on the Presidium. That's where all the rich folk went to live) and had a basic job as a mechanic at Max's Work Shop neighbouring Flux, luckily.

Concentrate. Quasar machine, fix, get paid, head home, cause no trouble. Peta had long since learnt that if you don't start trouble, you won't receive trouble as greatly. It had turned him into a very moderate person; an isolationist, along with deciding that his personal, continued existence was torture in itself; a punishment he inflicted upon himself, with his people's help.

His omni-tool suddenly beeped, and he immediately knew who it was, and the intent. But he thought it was better to face the music before it got any worse. He had long since become indifferent towards any outside emotion; emotion had been what got him in his predicament to begin with.

He opened the message, seeing it was coming from Max Rodgers, his employer. Opening the link, he watched the human's face appear, his grissled face lacking any character or attraction. Anger had taken over his daily emotion, ever since Reaper warfare disrupted his trade routes and began destroying his freighters. He was running low on supplies, and there was only so much you could find in the Citadel's reserves. But now he just looked frustrated, tired.

"Doran hasn't called to thank me yet," Max immediately declared, frowning, "Which I guess means that machine isn't fixed yet. What is taking you so long?"

Peta replied pensively, sighing as he did, "Took a moment to fetch myself a drink. Got thirsty." Deception is the key to one's downfall. I also learnt that lesson well.

Max growled, shaking his head, "Listen quarian, you got this job out of necessity. I'm short on staff, but I'm quickly starting to hire some more out of the refugees in that camp in the Shalta Ward. So if you're not careful, you will find yourself on the street. Don't take advantage of my generosity. Now get up there and fix that machine, Peta. When I call again, the job better be done."

He simply nodded, cutting the connection as he took a final sip of his drink, coming to stand as he pushed his chair in. Standing, he placed his credit chit on the table, not caring if someone stole it or Doran got it or not. It didn't matter to him. What's the point of making amends of a stereotype when they continued to perputuate despite your efforts to stuff the flames? None. Might as well leave the flames be; don't fuel them. He made his way towards the steps leading to the upper level of the club, where the quasar machines were located; the galaxy's little gambling land.

He got the job done very quickly; he was good at that. Quarians were excellent at their trade, be it engineering or mechanics, leadership or combat, when they learnt a trade, they stuck to it; it became their life, they had nothing else to live for but the continuation of the Fleet. So noone was surprised when a quarian mechanic turned up to fix a quasar machine, and it was done in five minutes. Just a defensive mechanism. Someone must have tried to use a cheating device on this, and the machine went into standby mode. By the looks of it, the coding was salarian. Who else could design a cheating device of this magnitude? The coding had no signature, so he didn't bother trying to identify who sent it. Despite the cheating, he couldn't even be bothered sending a tip to C-Sec; he just didn't see the point. Besides, those racist morons would just pin it all on him anyway; say he designed it and tried to blame it on someone else. Political and racial equality. I'm definitely living a dream. I really feel equal.

Packing up, he quickly acquired all his tools once more and moved down the steps towards the entrance, giving a brief nod in the human bouncer's direction as he headed out, moving down the steps outside on his way back to the shop, ignoring the world around him. What an average day. Whole worlds under siege, homeworlds falling, entire militaries crippled, the apocalypse raining down on us, and I'm having just an average day. Puts my life into perspective, doesn't it?

The shop itself was pretty empty today; only Max was there to greet him, and he waved him off pretty quickly so he could concentrate on the screen infront of him; a Battlespace report of the carnage of on Irune flooding the screen. Max regarded it with composure, but seemed to be moved by the images, and Peta swore he saw the man flinch from an image on the screen as the quarian put the tools away. With the tools put away, he turned back to Max, crossing his arms over the table surface, "Any other clients want anything done, ?"

The man ignored him, eyes fixated on the screen. Peta rolled his eyes, speaking again, "Sir? Anything else?"

"Shut up!" Max shouted back, barely taking his eyes off the news report, "Are you seeing any of this shit? Look! Poor, gas-sucking bastards."

Peta sighed as he looked over the counter, watching the news report. Text scrolled past the bottom in human English, and his translator said it read 'Lenos fallen. Irune burns. Reaper blockade prevents evacuation and aid. Protectorate begs Hierarchy for help.' But it wasn't the words anyone would pay attention to. It was the images.

The news reporter present during the battle, Diana Allers, stood in the middle of a street, hiding behind concrete as she faced the camera, her human, flowing black hair mattled and pitted with dried white blood, that of volus', her terrifed eyes shining through the haze of cuts that permeated her once beautiful face. Gunfire could be heard, followed by screaming that could only belong to volus, accompanied by the screeches of Reaper husk hordes overruning whatever 'existing' volus checkpoints were left. The volus military was practically non-existent, with the Protectorate having relied solely on turian backing; backing that wasn't present. Flames rose up into the sky, reaching up to meet their makers as the hulk of a Reaper destroyer skulked across the landscape, knocking aside a building without any effort as it fired beams of death into the streets below, likely killing entire throngs of people. It was butchery. Complete slaughter.

"I am here in Lenos where the heaviest of the fighting seems to be!" Allers reported, covering her head as dust blew into her face from a nearby explosion. Reporters like her recovered though, used to having to risk their lives to report news during a battle. Who would tell it? The volus? There would be none left. Hell, if it wasn't for the Reapers concentrating on Irune, all the comm buoys in that cluster would be gone and noone would know what was going on on Irune, "Reaper forces have totally destroyed the volus militia and are butchering people in the streets! The Hierarchy seems unable to respond, with the volus left to fight the Reapers alone! The volus bombing fleet and main navy seems to have completely abandoned Irune; they cannot be found!"

"Christ, help them..." Max almost sobbed. Peta turned to him, but the human quickly noticed and rapidly got rid of any tears he shed, sniffing. Peta sighed, and turned away, moving over to the candy machine in the back; it was still broken, and needed fixing for a while, he just never got around to it. Besides, he had no lost love for the volus; he lost count of the amount of times they tried to buy him or sell him into whatever fucked up situation they could think of. So when he heard Allers scream on the TV, and Max shout, "Holy fucking shit!" he barely acknowledged it, choosing to instead skulk away, concentrate on working. Was Allers dead? Why should he care? He didn't know her, and didn't particularly want to. The faster the Reapers took the Citadel and killed him, the better he would feel, honestly.

He sighed as he grabbed hold of the access hatch to the candy machine and unscrewed it, placing it to the side as he hit the flashlight attachment on his helmet to see inside. He spotted the problem almost immediately; a misplaced wire. We work in a mechanics shop, and the manager can't even spot this fault? The places I find work in...Getting out, he turned off his flashlight as he moved to the back and switched the power off; he didn't want to electricute himself. Going back, he held the two wires together and strung them back together, using a heating program on his omni-tool to fuse them back together. With all that said and done, he pulled out and shouted out to Max, "Its fixed! Turned out to be misplaced wire!" And you're a shit mechanic. But I'll keep that to myself. Farba'tulut, how did I end up under the wing of such incompetence? Shouldn't a professional be running this store?

"Yeah, whatever," Max waved off, "Leave it to fucking quarians to be careless. People dying all over the galaxy and you're more concerned over fixing a damn candy machine. Kids are more interested in their omni-tools than that piece of shit anyway!"

People die in war, and this is the biggest war of them all. Should I weep tears for every death? If I did that, I would dry out. He chose to simply not respond however, scratching the back of his suited neck as he placed his tool box down, growling as he saw that Max had the heater at full bore. Is this human seeking to warm us to death? He raised his omni-tool and turned the thing off completely, shaking his head as he finished placing his tools away. This man doesn't think, I swear it to the ancestors. Keelah.

With a drawn out sigh, he collapsed in one of the nearby, hardwood chairs in the staff room, bringing out his omni-tool and searching his FanFiction alerts list; it was a human idea combined with that of many literate asari minds, and they eventually came together to build an extranet version of the original . Now species across the galaxy could post their favourite fanfics, and Peta liked delving into his favourites.

Then he saw it.

(New Chapter) Sailing the Galactic Winds: Prophetic Utopia.

He grimaced, and quickly moved to delete the update, as well as unfollow the author and the story. No, he could not go through that again. Not another Fleet and Flotilla fanfic. It reminded him too much of...of...

He skipped those thoughts, instead turning to an update more to his liking. A fanfic for a game called Gears of Halo Theft Auto 6: Salvation Army Edition. A game apparently worked on by companies Rockstar, 343 and Epic Games, and was one of humanity's favourite games, and became a commercial hit in the galactic gaming industry until the Reapers arrived and everything fell apart.

(New Chapter) Marcus Chief Robs A Bank: The Untold Idiocy.

When Marcus Chief, a supersoldier that leaves wielding unbelievably brutal weapons, decides he needs more money, he decides to rob a bank. How? But doing what he does best; killing innocent people and blowing shit up. He doesn't need a reason, and neither do I. Here's the Untold Idiocy; untold for a reason. Might add Reapers to spice things up.

The mention of Reapers put him off. How could people make fun of things like that? What place did he live in where it was okay to make light of the deaths of thousands, millions, of people? The Reapers weren't a joke; they were a conjured nightmare. In the end, he gave up and was closing his omni-tool when he heard Max speak, obviously speaking to someone. No, multiple people, by his words, "Can I do something for you gentlemen?"

"Just gentlemen?" Came a female voice that sounded hardened, experienced, and most of all, like a veteran, "I think you're being a bit sexist, sir."

"Sexist?" Max blurted out, shaking his head erratically, having completely forgotten about Peta as said quarian leaned in to listen to the conversation, "No! No no no! Not sexist! Just didn't see ya, that's all!"

"I'm just yanking your chain, Rodgers," the woman replied, and from where he was standing, he saw two, armoured elbows lean against the counter, "I would never be so petty as to call a man sexist when he merely didn't notice me. I leave that kind of bitching and moaning to modern feminists, and oh lord, do they spew some bullshit, I'll sympathsize."

"Well's that good," Rodgers replied, visibly gulping, "Again, what can I do for you?"

Peta watched as one human came into full few, vindicator battle rifle strapped to his back and head-to-toe in blue and white medium battle armor and wearing a featureless helmet that stared at Max with two, lifeless blue eyes for visors. He recognized them instantly. Blue Suns mercenaries. But what are they doing here, at our shop, let alone on the Citadel with weapons?

"Straight to business. Very well," she replied, her elbows disappearing as she leaned back, "I'll be blunt as well. I've heard a quarian works here."

He nodded, "W-what? Quarian? No! I don't hire quarians! I mean, why would I? They're scum! No ma'am, I would not-"

"Two things you should know Rodgers," the woman cut him off, her voice lowering dangerously, "One, I seriously have a problem with bullshitters, especially when I saw the quarian, myself, walk down this hall, converse with you, fix a candy machine, and enter your store. Two, I don't care if he's scum or truly is nothing more than a low life oxygen thief, but racism is racism, and, if you ask me, just as bad as sexism, wouldn't you say?"

Max's eyes widened into saucers, "Me!? Sexist? Hell no! I respect women! Would never-I am not racist! I just-yes, okay! The quarian works here! Do you want him dead? Is that it? Do you have a contract to kill him? Because go right ahead! By all means! I don't want him! He's incompetent! A fool!"

Oh really? I'm the fool? You bloody bosh'tet, Rodgers.

"Oh, so now you sell out your own employee?" the woman tsked, "You disappoint me more and more, Rodgers. Admitting the quarian was here was enough, but you had to sell him out? And incompetent? What does that make you? More useless that a fat blind and deaf man?" she growled, "I watched him while he fixed that machine and how he informed you of its completion. You could almost say it was patronizing. You run this store out of luck, Rodgers. I think the quarian is more useful than you. Besides, I've heard more than positive feedback from his clients. A matter of fact, my boss was very impressed by how he fixed his shuttle's engines. He's on the Citadel right now, actually."

"Wait..." Max replied, stuttering, "Mas...Massani is here? Right now?"

"Right now, yes," she replied drolly, "In a few seconds, maybe not. Commander Massani is a very busy man. But that is not the topic at hand here," she stated, "The quarian."

He nodded, "What...what about him? Do you want him de-"

"No we do not want him dead, you idiot!" she snapped, almost causing Max to lose his footing. There was no sound for a bit, and Peta leaned around the corner, managing to finally get a good look at the woman in question...and the squad of Blue Suns mercs, ranging from batarians to turians to humans surrounding her.

She had long, flowing raven black hair, that was cut perfectly to stop just below her neck, and she had a Revenant LMG strapped to her back, with a carnifex heavy pistol on her hip. She wore the same medium armor they all did, but her kinetic barrier, from what he could tell, was far more advance; at least military grade; the stuff Alliance and Turian Marines used in combat situations. Top of the grade stuff, even for a mercenary. She looked beautiful, though...for a human.

She calmed down, putting on a fake smile, "I apologize, I think I...lost my cool for a second. Allow us to start again," she saw Max moving to speak again, raising her hand to silence him, "With you shutting up this time. Now, we don't want the quarian dead. We don't want him harmed. Nothing like that. What we want is for you to call to him, and bring him out."

Peta gulped, eyes widening. What do they want with me?

"What?" Max asked, looking around at them, "What could you want with a quarian mechanic? He's barely worth the credits I pay him."

"Tsk tsk, that racism again," she replied, turning to a turian at her side, "Yulus, I think its time we showed him we aren't running a galactic KKK here. Break a finger; how much is up to you. Repairable, beyond repair, I don't care, just make it hurt."

The turian nodded, and was moving forward when Max almost screamed out, "PETA! GET OUT HERE NOW, PEOPLE TO SEE YOU!"

"And so the words come out. Motivation, it really purifies the soul," she smiled, whorling and meeting Peta's eyes dead on. As if seeing his surprise, she laughed, shaking her head, "What? You thought I couldn't see you eavesdropping? I noticed your shadow falling on that wall to the left. I knew you were there the whole time."

"If you knew he was there, then why not tell him to come out of hiding!" Max snapped, clearly angry as he backed away from the turian, "Why the threats!"

She shrugged, "I was finding myself amusement. Besides, you have to admit Yulus, his scream was quite unmanly."

"Quite," the turian responded with his gravelly tone, "Almost pathetic."

"Puberty must be taking its time," one human jested, "Nice and slow, making sure its got the sound right before it matures."

"Screw you!" Max cursed, "You're not on Omega! You don't rule this place! You can't just intimidate me! I'll call C-Sec!"

"Go ahead," the woman replied, almost daring him with her piercing glare, "Massani will just call them off. A nice bribe goes a long way."

"You can't-" Max just looked at her, flabbergasted, "Bribery? Bribing C-Sec? This is not 21st Century Earth! You cannot just bribe Citadel police officers! They are incorruptible men and women who cannot-"

"You are a pathetic little rodent, Max. Do not think that advancements in technology means advancement in morality. Bribery never changes, it simply moves with the times," she replied, "How the fuck do you think I'm carrying this light machine gun on my back? Its not because I flashed my best smile and tickled them. They didn't just let us waltz through. C-Sec is in our pocket, Rodgers. Palin isn't in control anymore, so you'd best wake up. The new Executor is just another corrupt politician, and he's quite content to nibble on the credits we give him, just so long as he's content to let us do our business. So go ahead, call them. I guarantee the Executor will call them when they hear my men are involved."

"You cannot do-"

"Shut your mouth, you little insect!" she growled, finally losing her temper, "I grow sick of your sycophancy! Either shut up or disappear! Either one will make me happy!" She turned to Peta, who now stood in the open, letting her temper die down alittle, waving him forward, "Come forward, quarian, and tell us your name and profession."

He nodded, approaching with disinterest as he clasped his hands behind his back, enabling an incineration program on his omni-tool incase things went south, "Peta. Peta'Yal-," quickly remembering he no longer owned that name, he spoke his true, new name, "Peta'Tasi vas Nedas. I am a mechanic."

"And quite a savant at it, I hear," she replied, smiling, "We are the Blue Suns, as you probably already know, and my boss, Mr. Massani, has taken quite an interest in you."

"I thought Santiago ran the Suns?" Peta found himself asking, confused.

The woman smiled slightly, nodding, "It hasn't been that way for a...year. Massani and Santiago had a...falling out. In the end, it was one Santiago lost. Massani rules us now, and he's done a better job than that coward anyway. Santiago was piss weak, and he was only grinding us into the ground with his cowardice and paranoia. Massani has united us, given us a cause. We fight for something now; we are mercenaries of the UGC now."

"The UGC?" Max suddenly asked, snorting, "You mean the United Galactic Confederacy? What a joke! Its doomed to fail! The Reapers are too powerful!"

"Your negative criticism will be kindly noted and binned," she dryly replied, turning back to Peta, "Along with the Eclipse, Blood Pack, Grim Skulls and pretty much every mercenary conglomerate you can think of. They all serve the UGC now; and Massani is a former associate of the UGC's defacto commander."

Shepard. Peta had heard over the news about the UGC; the galaxy's last hope. A desperate union that sought to unite all the powers of the galaxy into one, solid fighting force to battle the Reapers; the final bastion when it came to the final battle. And who was the mastermind behind its creation? None other than the husband of the person he loves.

Loved. Past tense. She's not yours anymore. Never was. Shaking his head, he nodded, crossing his arms as he took on a more serious tone with the woman, "I've told you my name, but you haven't told me yours."

"The man picks up fast," she replied, nodding as if in an attempt at a bow, "First Lieutenant Jentha Renmark, Mr. Tasi."

He winced at that, holding back a sigh. Does she realize she just called me 'Mr. Noone?' No, I think not.

He nodded courteously, "It is...nice to meet you, but I still don't understand what you'd want with me. Yes, you think I'm a great mechanic, but why do you care? You're mercenaries. You have no use for me."

"You're not a mercenary, no," Jentha replied, nodding, "But you are a great mechanic, and the UGC is recruiting all it can. Why should Shepard bear all the labour? I told Massani we should recruit too; strengthen our forces, fortify the battlements, correct?" Seeing his nod, she smiled, continuing, "Which is why I'm here. You're not a mercenary, you're a mechanic. But given the time, we can make both work in tandem."

Peta considered her words a moment before frowning, eyes widening as he gulped, "And...what exactly are you saying? You want me to help the UGC, or..."

"We want you to join our ranks, to put it bluntly. I want you to," she stated, motioning to the shop, "Better than staying here with this wimp for a manager. At least with us you'll make a difference. We'll make you a proper soldier, weapons training, pain resistance, first aid, everything. We'll harden you, and make you an asset. The Eclipse shouldn't have all the machinists, and who's better than a salarian other than a quarian? Don't expect to get paid though; as of now, the Blue Suns are going paramilitary. The only pay we get is survival."

Before Peta could even get a word in, Max decided to run his mouth again, "The Blue Suns? None of you are getting paid? You expect me to believe all of you went white knight and decided to play guardians of the galaxy, did you?"

"Who said you needed convincing?" Jentha remarked, raising an eyebrow at him, "Who said what you thought mattered? And I never said the Blue Suns were happy about it; not getting paid for their contracts is something we despise, including myself, but unlike my subordinates, I know why it needs to be done. Others had to be convinced, and others to just suck it up. So no, we haven't gone 'white knight.' We're the same old assholes, just with one thing to agree on."

And what would that be? Peta didn't even realize he had said that thought out loud until Jentha turned to him with a grim shake of the head.

"That no amount of credits in the galaxy is worth losing this war. There will be no spoils, no riches, and certainly no grateful Council member giving us the keys to the galactic kingdom for helping save us all: the only reward we'll get is the promise of living, if we make it that far. If not? Well, we'll fight as hard as we can to make sure the others do. That's what this war is about, Peta'Yala vas Rayya. This isn't a pissing contest between mercenary companies, this isn't about petty grudges. This is survival. So you willing to cash in, or pass away?"

He widened his eyes in shock at her words. How in ancestors does she know my name?

Before he could ask, she answered, "I have my sources, and Massani knows what he knows, its not up to me to question it. The important question is, are you in, or are you out? I cannot exaggerate how much a mistake the latter would be."

Peta seemed to think it over, Max crossing his arms as he looked skeptically over at his squire of mechanics. On one hand, this is an opportunity to contribute to the war effort; plus, being a soldier and able to fight back will be a real bonus if they decided to redeploy me or if the Reapers attacked the Citadel. On the other hand though...there was a reason I didn't join the MFM back home! I'm a mechanic, not a killer! These hands...they are unbloodied, weak. Hell, just killing one person took all the willpower I could muster, and all the deception I could conjure. Can I really pick up a gun and become a soldier? Can you even train a man to kill when the very thought of the deed makes me shiver and cringe?

He looked at Jentha, who patiently waited. He nodded, ignoring the tapping of Max's foot as he waited impatiently. But that was Peta'Yala. The coward, the rodent who aided Cerberus and the Shadow Broker in attacking his home, massacring dozens of innocent people and proud marines. The man who managed the courage to approach the lion in his den, attempting to kill him, only to get banished. He is dead. He died in the exile he deserved.

Who am I now? Peta'Tasi vas Nedas; Peta Noone, Crew of Nowhere. Indifferent, emotionless, incapable of caring, and shielded against what Yala failed to shield himself from. I am Peta'Yala without the weakness, without the needs to tie me down, without the unnecessary pandering. His hands were bloodied, and I have received their taint...

...only question is, should I do something about that taint, or just mope around about it as Rodgers' little errand boy, or fight back and redeem myself?

Gain the redemption Yala failed to achieve.

Finally, he reached a decision, and he met Jentha's gaze.

He nodded.

"I will join your ranks," Peta hesitantly replied, keeping his voice steady, "I will put my skills to use and gain some new ones."

"Perfect," Jentha declared, smiling, "Thank you. Well Peta, if you'll come with us, we'll show you to-"

"What!?" He heard Max roar, "You...you bitch! You stupid fucking whore! You can't just take my only worker away from me, and a quarian at that! I need him! You come in here, and think that pretty face will you get you off the hook? Well I'll tell you what, you-"

"Yulus," Jentha growled, and in a whorl, it was over in a second, and Max screamed.

Peta only looked on in shock before Jentha tore his gaze away, wrapping her arm around his shoulders as she began to lead him away, smiling as she spoke to him, "You won't regret this choice, Peta. For better or worse, we'll make you a soldier. And when we do, you'll thank us, because it'll have kept you alive."

Then I'll regret the choice then, won't I? Peta bitterly thought, turning towards Max to see he was alive, only now he had a knife straight through his hand and oozing blood, the man cradling his hand as he roared in agony. Turning away, he continued to walk forward, towards a new future. For better or worse. I'll regret this choice because the last thing I want is to be alive.

Or maybe this'll be the one way ticket I need to death.

Only time would tell for Peta'Tasi vas Nedas.

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June 18, 2186

1706 hours.

The Arena, Liveship Bakara, Migrant Fleet, Hector System, Scorpius Cluster.

The Reaper War.

Admiral Shala'Raan vas Tonbay, Admiral Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib, Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh, Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema, Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Machina, General Kal'Reegar vas Machina, Lieutenant Colonel Madi'Reegar vas Machina, Captain Reeta'Pel vas Bakara.

If the Migrant Fleet was ever overcrowded, it was at that moment.

Tali wanted to rub her sore eyes, but with a mask in the way, that was pretty much a fruitless thought anyway. Instead she could only sit down, straighten her posture and keep her air of aurthority and power; if anyone saw the husk inside, they might just scream and run for the airlock. And that was no exaggeration.

Tali looked like shit. She felt like shit. The ancestors must have felt how shitty she felt. The people serving under her felt like shit because she felt like shit. At this moment, she was a shit mother. Pretty much everything related to 'Tali'Shepard' was shit at the moment.

The quarian admiral not only suffered from a lack of sleep due to her work load, but with the admirals and the Conclave beating the drums of war with the geth, she was becoming frantic to just delay them. As Chief of the Admiralty Board, the other admirals along with the Conclave had to wait for her consent. Yes, they could appeal to the democratic side and get everyone to vote for war, but they needed the entire Admiralty Board's consent to actually mobilize the forces. So far, Gerrel, Xen and even Shala, to her immense disappointment and shock, had agreed to mobilize. Apparently Koris had agreed at one point, but with Tali suddenly agreeing with his side, he decided to switch sides and fight against assembly of the Flotilla's military assets. But it was a losing battle, for both of them.

They had few political allies in the Conclave, and while Tali did have most of her friends on her side, they were a small minority in a fleet of 17 million; and most of those millions wanted their home back; and all they saw were the promises Gerrel and Xen made them.

It enraged her. Gerrel promised them victory, and Xen showed them the tools of that victory; armaments, armor, prototype weaponry like arc pistols, arc projectors, arc cannons, Adas anti-synthetic rifles, and other types of weaponry. Keelah, they wanted to weaponize the liveships! The liveships! The audacity of those admirals! They wanted to turn the life source of their people, the very things keeping them alive, into dreadnoughts! It not only violated the Treaty of Farixen, but it promoted the weaponization of their civilian ships! And it wasn't just their liveships! Every ship was to be converted into corvettes, fighters, frigates, cruisers, you name it! Gerrel wanted the whole fleet to become his personal war machine; and Xen wanted to enslave the geth. And Shala was just going along for the ride.

I have to stop them. I can't let them do this. They don't know it, but I've spoken with the geth! They are open for peace! We attack them now, and we'll be vulnerable when the Reapers turn their attention to us! And they will come for us eventually! Even now the borders of Council Space are getting smaller and smaller as the Reapers press forward...and soon, nowhere will be safe! Not even Rannoch, if we manage to take it at all! This idea is madness! I have to stop them! For the galaxy! For Junior! For Marcus!

She stopped herself, inwardly sighing as she shifted in her seat, shutting out the headache-inducing noise of the Bakara's Arena. The liveship was very much the sister ship of the Rayya, with literally no changes in its interior and exterior design except for the clans that inhabited it or the amount of hull patches. Just like with all three of the liveships, they all looked the same in overall architecture. And they're the only ships left in the Flotilla that are purely quarian in design.

And they'll all be heavily-armoured war machines soon if I don't put a stop to this. Me and Koris both.

Which is why they were now here, in this room. To settle this argument once and for all.

Traditionally, if a decision was stonewalled by one stubborn chief of the admiralty, and the talks were unable to continue because of that one person, the Conclave invoked the Right of Final Debate, one that the said admiral had to accept. If he or she didn't accept, they were forcibly removed from their position and replaced. If they did, the Admiral would then explain their reasons in the Arena of a chosen liveship, before the Conclave and their people. If this swayed anyone, the talks would continue. If it didn't, and the admiral was outvoted, his or her rule would be overruled and the vote would carry. It was a safeguard that worked for her people well over the years, and stopped political delaying. And right now, she was in the Right of Final Debate. One she, and Koris, had gladly accepted.

Now the room was crowded with quarians of every stripe, and from all over the Fleet. Captains and their commanders, engineers and waste dumpers, mechanics and medical officers, navigators and pilots, marines and generals. Most of her own crew was here, except Igra, who she had wanted to stay behind on the Machina as acting captain to keep things running. She also wanted her looking after Junior; this was no place for a child, especially when yelling would soon ensue.

Every admiral was here, as well. Shala was seated just below her, hands folded in her lap and looking nervous. Koris sat next to Tali of course, arms crossed and looking confident. Wish I had his confidence. I'm too tired for such...determination. Gerrel sat on her left, talking animatedly with Xen, no doubt talking about what they'd do once they won the vote. They know they'll win, but I'll do my damnest to make sure they're disappointed.

Tali had stayed awake for entire nights formulating ideas with her subordinates, consulting them for advice on the intricacies of Migrant Fleet politics, and looking for any loophole to exploit, any opening she could use to halt this war in its tracks. We cannot lead our people down this path! Its self-destructive, meaningless...but again, how can we deny our people the goal we crave so much? To stand on the homeworld? How can anyone of our people ignore that temptation? I'm having a hard time myself, despite my promise to Legion and its promise to me...

"This conclave is brought to order!" shouted one quarian above all, and Tali was suddenly brought to look up, her vision fuzzy for a moment as she got her bearings. I...just want to sleep...so badly...But she couldn't, not while the threat of war with the geth was prominent. She couldn't let her child down, couldn't betray Marcus like that...He needs me, even if he isn't with me now. I'll find him, but only when this war is averted. The thought brought a small smile to her face, even as she stood and every other quarian did, the conclave bringing everything to order. And Junior will get to meet his father...

"...and have sustained us for this season. Keelah Se'lai," she heard the conclave member finish, and everyone was seated once more. The quarian member, Tali saw, stood on the podium at the forefront of the Arena, standing where the Chief Admiral would usually stand, "I now bring the Right of Final Debate to its introduction. I ask that the speakers of both sides present their points, beginning with those that represent the offended consensus."

On her left, Gerrel sprung up like an unleashed spring, the quarian coming to stand tall and proud, hands clasped behind his back as he nodded at the conclave member, "Thank you, Speaker Ulum'Shiya vas Bakara. I present my case, before you and the people of the Flotilla as one," he shot a look at Tali, one she promptly ignored as he turned back, the admiral having no doubt that he was grinning smugly behind his mask. No, don't think of him that way. He is not a villain; he merely wants what's best for his people. What he thinks is best, however, doesn't necessarily mean it coincides with yours. Remember that, Tali.

"I would like to say just what a monumental moment awaits the quarian people," Gerrel opened, shooting his gaze across the crowd assembled, "This is a troubling time for all of us, but just like the Exile we inhibit, we shall fight through it, together. We have a big decision to make. One that will change our people for better...or worse," he said that as he met Koris' eyes, shaking his head as he turned back, holding his arms out wide, almost shouting, "We give you the tools for victory! The weapons needed to take our homeworld back! In one swift invasion, we can destroy the geth, and win back what is ours! But, alas, there are others who would decide to hang back and remain in exile," he nodded, letting his arms drop, "That's the choice. Freedom and a land to call ours again, or remain floating around, waiting to fade away. I rest my case." And with that, Gerrel sat back down.

Tali growled inwardly, wanting to claw at her mask. Damn it, he's basically dangled our homeworld infront of them and told them take it or remain in the naughty corner. How could anyone resist that, especially our people? That's going to be hard to beat.

"Thank you, Admiral Gerrel," the speaker stated, turning to her, "Admiral Shepard, please rise and state your case."

She did just that, coming to stand, straightening her back and standing just as proud as Gerrel had, showing no weakness in her stance. No sign of her sleepiness. When this is over...definitely hitting the bunk. Eight hours of uninterrupted, blissful sleep is what I need. The ultimate medicine.

She came to stand, clearing her throat as she faced the crowd, "I do not pretend that the choice I standby is one met with much discontent. I admit I knew this when I went for the decision. But I'm convinced it is for the best," she held up a hand to silence any objections, speaking with absolute clarity and devotion, "War now is foolish. Yes, there is a great enemy, but they lie around us, not on Rannoch or behind the Perseus Veil. The Reapers are the greater threat here, not the geth."

"With all due respect-" one quarian began, only to be silenced by the speaker.

"You will not be heard until all cases have been made," the speaker declared, and the quarian silenced, allowing Tali to continue, facing the crowd with pure determination in her voice, unwilling to back down.

"While we sit here, bickering and clawing at each other on whether we should reclaim our world or not, a much greater war is waging out there," she pointed to nowhere in particular, but just the general direction of outside, "Out there, worlds are burning. I've read the reports; Khar'Shan, Earth and Palaven have fallen, Irune, Dekunna and Kahje are under siege, and people are dying by the millions. The Reapers are the real threat here, not the geth," she gulped, sighing as she spoke, "The geth do not want to wipe us out, but the Reapers...their goal is to wipe out anything remotely organic. This Fleet promised to help the galaxy when the war came, and yet here we are, doing the exact opposite!"

"No, we made a promise to Marcus Shepard," Gerrel interjected, turning to the speaker, "If I may say speaker, I do think Admiral Shepard has allowed personal bias from her husband to cloud her judgment."

"Your objection has been ignored. Interrupt again Gerrel, and you will be expelled," the speaker turned back to Tali, eyes widening, "Is there anything else you would like to add?"

"Yes," she began to conclude, eyes scanning along the crowd, "Do not choose this path, I beg you. All our history, all our knowledge, all our culture...don't throw it away in a war we can't win. Consolidate our forces, our strength, and save it for the Reapers. We cannot beat them alone. And even if we do beat the geth...we will still have the Reapers to contend with. Please, think about that."

"Thank you," the speaker stated, and Tali sat, the conclave member turning to Koris, "Admiral Koris, please rise and state your case."

The man she had once known as a pacifist, cowardly suit-wetter stood, now the man she respected the most out of this Admiralty Board, and her most powerful ally, "Thank you speaker, and may I say, that what Admiral Shepard has said has been completely true, but she did not emphasize enough what this war will do to us," Koris leaned on the railing, eying everyone he could, "If we go down this path, if we choose to send our fleet into Veil, there will be nothing but death, for our side. The geth are superior to us in every way, they think faster and they will do anything to survive! Just like in the Morning War, they will fight back against the thought of their destruction! Please, think of what you're doing! Think of the losses, of the people who's lives will be thrown aside pointlessly!" His words said, he came to sit, and the speaker nodded, quickly turning to the final admiral.

"Admiral Xen, rise and state your case," the speaker ordered.

And then came the woman Tali hated the most; that...psycho bosh'tet. If there was anyone who was seriously messed up in the mind, there was Xen. Her obsessions with 're-enslaving' the geth, as she put it, could not be matched. It was practically obsessive compulsive, if a bit worse. Any opportunity to dissect a geth and examine its internal workings was one she'd take full advantage of, and she had even once dissected her childhood toys in an effort to discover how they worked. She had even had the audacity to openly announce to Tali, during her trial a year ago, that she planned to make use out of Rael's death on the Alarei. Something that unbelievably pissed her off. She had never been a fan of Xen...

...and Xen had never been a fan of her.

"I've listened to the three of you speak your cases, especially to Koris and Shepard's attempts to make us consider peace and make us focus on the Reaper War," she shook her head, arms crossing under her breasts, "But I can tell you this is not a war we'll lose! Do you know why? Because I have given us the tools for victory, as Gerrel has stated. What tools you may ask? What about state of the art weaponry specifically designed to cripple entire geth companies? Geth fleets? That is right, with the weapons and armaments I have designed with my best scientists, we will retake the homeworld of our ancestors, and the empire we once owned will rise again! And this time, the geth will be ours! We will rule them again, as they always should have been," she turned to Tali, the quarian aware that she was likely smirking smugly behind that mask of hers, "And when it is all over, with the geth at our side, we will have a much stronger stance in terms of fighting the Reapers. As well as a place to hide our civilians. The facts are there, you only have to open your eyes and see them."

"Thank you, Admiral. You may be seated," the speaker stated, and when Xen calmly sat back down next to Gerrel, the speaker turned to the rest of the crowd, "You have heard their words, their thoughts, their feelings. Now it is up to the people to decide. Choose our future, choose our path, and may the ancestors favor your choices. The vote begins now."

Tali only sat and watched as her people went into their typical social mode; debating and arguing about what they should choose. Tali could only look down at Shala, shocked that she had chosen not to make her own case. The fact that the speaker totally ignored her meant that Shala must have abstained from the vote entirely. Too much of a coward to stand with us? Tali thought bitterly.

For the next few minutes, the room was just loud noise as her people debated and decided the future of the quarian race. It was hard for her to just sit there, totally helpless in the course of the decision. She wanted to scold herself for not bringing up the idea of peace with the geth, and that she knew it was possible because she had met one...one that talked. But she knew that if she had brought that up, it would only incite anger and she'd likely find herself exiled, or the debate acellerated. At least this gave them something to think about before jumping to conclusions.

I'm effectively the chief admiral of the entire Migrant Fleet's military power, and I can only sit and watch the Conclave and our people bicker. I hate feeling this helpless! I wish Marcus was here...he'd put things right. He'd know just what to say to make them think. She sighed, cradling her hand as she examined the ring on her finger. Keelah, I miss you. Where are you? Fighting Reapers no doubt. You never could ignore a fight. She smiled at that, sniffing as she looked back up, silently waiting, deciding to let her thoughts wonder on her unionmate...soft, comforting thoughts...

After a few minutes, the talks began to finally die down, until there was no noise at all, just the thrum of the liveship's engines reverbrating through the bulkheads. All attention landed on the speaker, who had reassumed her position on the podium, standing as tall and proud as she had before, seemingly uncaring as to whether the vote swayed. How can she not? This vote could destroy or save our people...how could one be so indifferent?

Tali only watched with rapt attention, as did Koris beside her, Gerrel, Xen, Shala, and practically everyone else. Tali felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up, smiling at Kal and Madi as they sat in the podium above her, nodding reassuringly. They had her back. She could trust them to stick by her. With a weak nod, she turned back, wringing her hands subconsciously as her eyes, and everyone else's, landed on the speaker's form, who showed no sign of being fazed by this.

"The vote has been cast. The vote is over, and a decision shall be made," the speaker declared loudly, her voice echoing throughout the Arena as she stood, her omni-tool open before her, "With these words, our people will decide on an invasion of the Perseus Veil, or to give up this venture and fight for the UGC in their fight against the Reapers."

She gulped, feeling her throat go dry. This is it...I've either failed or succeeded...

"Those who voted to fight for the UGC and against the Reapers," the speaker began, "Are 1,292."

Tali felt her jaw drop, followed by her heart sinking. No...

Koris slumped back, taken back by pure frustration as he held his visor, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. A hand found her shoulder again, but she ignored it, not wanting reassurance, for there was none that could save their race. Only one thousand quarians had any common sense...but why am I surprised? How could I be surprised?

No, it wasn't out of surprise. No, she had failed the person she loved the most. I failed you Marcus. Legion...I'm so sorry, I tried to make peace possible but they wouldn't...listen...I'm so, so sorry...Keelah, no...please let this be a nightmare...

Even as the speaker spoke, Tali shut out the words, not wanting to hear them; she already knew which way the vote swayed. It was obvious to everyone in the room; Gerrel looked triumphant, Xen looked smug, Shala sagged in body posture, shaking her head and cheers were heard all over the room. They cheer for our deaths...idiots, morons...!

"Those who voted to retake the Perseus Veil and the homeworld," the speaker finished, "16,998,708." The majority of the quarian race. Higher than three quarters...more like four fifths, five sixths, six sevenths...

The speaker nodded, turning to the crowd, "The decision has been made. As of now, the Conclave will declare a state of active war with the geth. In the next few days, preparations for mobilization of all military resources will be made, and all will listen to Admiral Gerrel's and Xen's suggestions. Manufacturing will increase-"

"No need for that," Xen spoke up, "All prototype weapons have been mass-produced already. They need only be deployed and outfitted to our ships and marines."

The speaker nodded, "Then so be it. The ancestors will be proud, for we shall retake our homeworld, and teach the geth a lesson that began 300 centuries ago. And then," she turned to Tali, "shall we join the UGC, and fight against the Reapers."

By then, it'll be too late. We'll be sending piles of molten scraps and dead bodies. The quarian race will not survive this war. And as the room cheered, Tali could only bite back sobs. Now, it was only a matter of choosing a side.

The answer was obvious. She had already chosen a side, they day she was born.

And that only made her weep harder. Marcus, save me...save my people...

...save them from themselves...

{Loading...}

June 19, 2186

1425 hours.

Administrator's Office, Port Hanshan, Aleusk Continent, Noveria.

The Reaper War.

Second Lieutenant Jacob Taylor, Administrator Lorik Qu'in, Scientist Brynn Cole.

"What do you mean you want us to leave?" Jacob asked, incredulous as he met the turian's eyes, "We can't do that, and you know it! I've already told you why I'm here, so why are you suddenly having a change of heart?"

"If you know that I know why you're here then we shouldn't even be having this conversation!" Lorik retorted from his position behind his desk, ignoring the terminal on his desk as if it were some kind of pest, "You're a danger to the people in this port and I want you gone! I can't have fugitives endangering the security of this port, its that simple."

Jacob snorted, "If it were that simple, you'd have kicked us out by now. You've got ERCS guards, why not get them to do it? Or is it because you can't stand the thought of casting us out and leaving us to die? You know who wants us dead the most, and sending us out there will kill us. There must be someway to fix this."

"There isn't, I'm sorry," Lorik sighed, shaking his head as he looked out the window, noting that the blizzard outside had picked up significantly. He turned back to Jacob, the turian's hands clasping into his lap, "Now please leave; don't make this any harder than it already is. I don't want to use force, but I will if you won't leave. This people rely on me to protect them, and every moment you spend here is another moment they are in danger!"

"Please," Brynn spoke from the side, licking her lips as she came to lean over the desk alongside Jacob, squeezing his hand assuringly, "We'll do anything. Jacob's a skilled biotic and soldier; he could help with security. And me and the other scientists could really pull our weight. We'll make our presence...tolerable."

"'Tolerable?'" Lorik questioned, shaking his head as his mandibles twitched, "I'm throwing you out because Cerberus could send a fleet here to take this port just to kill you, not because you're intolerable. Those human racist scum-suckers will do anything to get their hands on you, and if that means killing civilians? No problem."

"I know!" Jacob growled, slamming his hand into the table, "Because I used to work for them! Hell, I even spoke to the Illusive Man himself, for Christ's sake! I know what they're like! I know they'll every single person in this fucking port if they know we're here, but that's why Cole is asking you to let me take care of security. We not only get to stay, but I'll be able to give your men the know-how on how to kill Cerberus. I know how they think, and that'll be invaluable, yes?"

"Yes, but those aren't 'my men', they're ERCS. Which means if any of them die, that's on me as their client, not them," he growled, sighing as he leaned back, "And I don't care. There's not a single thing that could convince me to let you stay any longer than you already have. Cerberus will be breathing down my neck by the time I'm done arguing with you, so I'm going to kindly ask you to leave one more time. Now."

"I served with Commander Shepard," Jacob spat, "If anyone can protect this port from Cerberus, it's me."

The turian looked flabbergasted, his calm expression ruined by sudden clarity as he met the human's eyes, leaning forward, "Wait, you served with who?"

"Commander Shepard. You know, big time war hero," Jacob elaborated, but Lorik held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Yes, of course I know. I helped the man when he came here three years ago during the Eden Prime War. Came to stop Benezia. I wasn't Administrator then, just the manager of Synthetic Insights and the victim of that time's administrator," Lorik explained, smiling, "And you say you're one of his crew? I haven't seen you before, but I'm willing to believe you."

Jacob gulped. Wait, he was here three years ago during that whole Benezia thing at Peak 15? Good thing he can't recognize me. Jacob had been there all those years ago, before he met Shepard of course. He had served Cerberus then, and had been sent to spy on Shepard, but had failed, so he had returned empty handed. The next time he met the man, it was after he had woken up from a two-year long death. But if Lorik knows Shepard, then that could be helpful.

Jacob gulped, about to speak again, but Brynn got there first, speaking up with a shaky voice, hand letting go of his, "Wait...does that mean you'll let us stay?"

Lorik looked at her, carefully regarding her, looking for any crack in her ficade. Finally, he let the air blow out through his nostrils as he heavily sighed, nodding, "Yes, very well; I couldn't very well expel one of the men who served with Commander Shepard. You can stay."

Jacob let out a loud sigh of relief as he stayed braced against the desk, nodding as he met the turian's eyes, "Thank you, Administrator Qu'in. Brynn was correct in saying we'll pull our weight. You won't regret letting us stay."

"I just hope you keep your promise in training the men outside," Lorik stated, raising an eyebrow.

"I will," Jacob stated, "A matter of fact, I'll begin right now. Who's the head of the garrison here?"

"Captain Maeko Matsuo," Lorik declared, "You'll find her at the Main Dock outside. She's quite the hardass, so don't try pulling jokes with her. She'll get you acquainted with the troops. As for you, Miss Cole..."

"No need," Brynn immediately stated, smiling, "I need to get over and inform the others and get set up in the Hotel. Then I'll see what work I can find."

Lorik scoffed, "There'll be plenty to go around, that's for sure. The war has trade in total flux, and everyone is afraid that the Reapers will eventually turn their attention to us. There'll be work galore, especially since trade has completely halted due to the Reapers cutting off trade routes."

Brynn nodded, "Then I'll have no trouble then."

Lorik smiled, nodding, "That is correct. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have alot of work to do and I'm sure, despite the war, that we'll have alot of new arrivals soon, and with them comes alot of paperwork. I hate being the administrator sometimes," he stopped himself as he picked up a datapad, reading its contents, and shaking his head as he looked at them again, still smiling, "Actually, no I don't. I hate being administrator all the time."

Jacob chuckled slightly as he took Brynn's hand and walked towards the entrance, "Thank you again, Qu'in," and with that, they tapped the holographic interface and moved through the door, hand in hand, continuing towards the door that would open into the port.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would, if I'm honest," Jacob admitted, kissing her on the cheek, "You could say it went fantastic. It feels like everyone has seen Shepard now; such a small galaxy. I guess it was lucky Lorik knew him, or that trump card probably wouldn't have worked."

Brynn laughed, lying her head on his shoulder, "Good to see you using words instead of fists to solve something for once."

Jacob snorted, "I don't use my fists! Are you calling me a brute?"

"Certainly am," Brynn giggled, "Besides, its a nice change, regardless. Words help too, you know."

"Yeah," he admitted, shaking his head, "Shepard definitely did rub off on me," just before they reached the door, he let his hand drift down her belly, letting it linger there, smiling, "And soon, I'll have some someone with me rubbing off on them."

His relationship with Brynn had been a steady fling that quickly grew. The united need to survive brought them together, a mutual hatred of Cerberus bonded them, and now they were one; in love, not quite married, but on the road there. And not only two days ago, he had discovered, along with the rest of the scientists in the group, that she was pregnant with his child. Things just got better for the couple.

But the idea of bringing up a child in the middle of a war and while being chased by Cerberus did fit well, and he was hoping Noveria would be a more permanent option; a place Cerberus wouldn't think to look. But if what Lorik said was right, and the Reapers were quickly spreading towards Noveria, then they might need to evacuate faster than he thought. But where would we go? The Citadel? The Illusive Man will know that's the best option for us. He'll know we're there before we're even in the Serpent Nebula.

But they wouldn't let that stop them. It had been a long time since Jacob had felt this complete, and the first time he had been in a relationship since Miranda. But that had been a mere fling; what he felt with Brynn...it felt real. Tangible. Believable. And most of all, lasting.

"He won't be born for months, you know that right?" Brynn clarified, looking up at him with curiosity in her eyes.

As they moved through the door out and into the main port, he responded, "Of course I do. And for the rec-"

The port shook as Jacob and Brynn froze to the spot, the sound of a huge explosion echoing throughout Hanshan. Suddenly, people were screaming and running as ERCS guards raced to investigate, an evacuation siren sounding throughout the port. Jacob could only widen his eyes as he reached for his carnifex, only to remember it wasn't there, having been confiscated earlier. He cursed, turning to Brynn, "Its Cerberus, they must have found us. I need you to get inside with Qu'in and stay safe. I'm going to find the others and get them over here."

"But you're unarmed!" Brynn cried out, "How will you-"

He kissed her on the lips, before pulling back and stroking her cheek, "I'll find a weapon. You just get to safety and stay there. If Cerberus comes, you run and hide again. I'll find you and then I'll help fight off Cerberus. Now go. Now." Not even turning to see if Brynn had done what he said, he immediately raced up the flight of stairs on his immediate right, moving up to a confused ERCS salarian, who gripped his avenger assault rifle with terror.

He moved up to him, the soldier shoving the barrel of the weapon into Jacob's chest, "Stay back! I'll shoot!"

"Hey, I'm a friendly!" he shouted back, holding out his hand, "Now if you're not going to use that, give it to someone who's going to put it to some use."

"Sure. Yeah. Whatever," the salarian guard tossed the rifle into the man's hands and quickly sprinted off in the direction of the main dock. Jacob only shook his head as he checked the thermal clip capacity. Seeing it was fully loaded, he quickly shouldered the weapon and moved off in the direction of the explosion; from the sounds of it, it came from the Northeast Entrance.

He didn't know how Cerberus found them, but he wasn't about to let them kill innocents to get to him.

This time, he was going to bite back.

{Loading...}

June 18, 2186

1755 hours.

Main Reception, Huerta Memorial Hospital, Shalta Ward, The Citadel.

The Reaper War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard.

He watched the skycars lazily drift by as he stood there, the tiny little forms of civilians and C-Sec and military alike moving about on the Presidium below, its pristine white background undisturbed and well kept; peaceful looking, tranquil even. It was a perfect picture of heaven; a white dot in a sea of red.

Marcus looked down upon it and regarded it with a thoughtful gaze, looking for any kind of distraction. The glass muffled the sounds from around the hospital, so all he saw could not be heard, not a peep of it. It was a good kind of solace; one he relished and enjoyed. He stood there with his cap removed and tucked under one arm, letting his mind be completely devoid of life as he lay down all his thoughts and burdens and took time to just...soak it all in. The serenity. The peace. All they see is this, and all I see is war...hopeless war. No wonder they're all so ignorant. So oblivious. They haven't experienced what's out there. They're shielded from it.

The only sound invading his thoughts was that coming from behind him; the chatter of patients and psychologists and doctors and nurses, the cries of wounded, the dribble of news reports flowing from the vidscreens lining the walls; fearmongering crap.

Taking a moment, he finally managed to recollect this thoughts, and thought about the present. He had recently talked with Kaidan again, who apparently still hadn't come to a decision on becoming a Spectre. Marcus could understand that; he only became one because necessity called for it; he needed to stop Saren, and he needed to become a spectre to do it. He didn't do it because he wanted the job; too much Council ass-kissing and paperwork. It was something Kaidan had confided in him, but Marcus had ultimately decided to encourage him to accept. After all, the galaxy needed more spectres. Now more than ever.

He had spoken with Thane as well, not that much could be said on that end. The drell assassin was bordering on the lines of death, and he knew it, and no matter how helpless he felt, he knew nothing could be done to save him. He just hoped the man met a peaceful one, and not one at the hands of the Reapers. A death that wasn't from a bullet wound or battlefield injury...just death by itself. If there was a death he'd choose...it would be of old age. With Tali. That'll be the day...

He turned to the left, glancing at Thane's spot, and smiled alittle. There he was, talking with his son, chatting about lord knows what. But they were talking, and that was something for Thane. Thane and Kolyat had always been on tense terms ever since Marcus helped them reunite, but they were slowly mending their relationship, and it seemed all past tensions had been let free. Nothing to worry about. As for Kolyat's newest girlfriend, Lia, she was off working; the amount of wounded coming in was getting bigger almost every day, and the poor quarian found no shortage of work.

His thoughts were violently taken away when a familiar, accented voice entered his ear, "May I stand with you, Captain?"

Marcus turned towards the prothean standing behind him, Javik's hands clasped behind his back and wearing his usual combat armor. Despite his time with the ancient warrior, Marcus was still getting used to seeing Javik; he was still so alien, so out of the norm. He'd seen all the aliens of the galaxy, and then Javik just appears, and everything changes. And by the looks everyone gaze, and he meant everyone, even Thane and Kolyat, even they were in awe...or disgust, he couldn't tell which to be honest.

He nodded, "Of course. Just enjoying the view...I guess."

Javik made no move to respond, simply staring out below as well, remaining ever silent as he joined Marcus in his musing.

Suddenly, he spoke, "I had a look around the Citadel."

Marcus nodded, turning to him, "Look any different from the Citadel in your cycle?"

Javik's face took on a more grim look as he regarded the human, and he could have sworn he saw sadness for a moment, "I never got to see the Citadel in my cycle. It had fallen long before I was born."

Marcus' face twisted into the same grim expression that the prothean's gave, and he gulped as his throat felt suddenly very dry, "I'm...sorry, Javik. I didn't mean-"

"What does it matter?" Javik retorted, cutting him off as he nodded at the Presidium, "How can I mourn something I never saw? What is left of my people's mark on this place is gone, replaced by yours. As is the Inusannon's, and all the races before them. All gone, but yours remains. I must say..." the prothean gulped, seemingly in awe for a split second, "The legends my people spoke of this place...they were not legends. This is truly a place worthy of galactic leadership. A galactic fortress."

A Reaper designed death trap who can no longer spring. Marcus agreed, leaning his forehead against the glass, "It truly is a massive place. When I first saw it three years ago...I was blown away, to be honest. Hadn't seen anything quite as big since Jump Zero...that's an Alliance Space Station. Or was."

"It no longer exists?" Javik asked, curious.

"It was in orbit of Earth when the Reapers invaded," Marcus stated, shaking his head as he slowly sighed, "So no."

Javik, again, took no notice of his answer and looked back through the glass nodding, "Looking at this Citadel...it reminded me of one thing."

He slowly turned to face the prothean, his eyes unblinkingly gazing into Javik's, "And what would that be?"

"That these people are but insects," the warrior coldly replied, "And it is the duty of soldiers to protect them. It is our duty. The insects believe they are safe, and that's because soldiers make them feel safe. What your 'Council' needs to do is to remove the soldiers, take away the security...let them know what it is really like."

Marcus rubbed his temples, sighing as he shook his head, "If you do that, you invite anarchy. That's not good for public order. Tends to incite violence, revolution...we really don't need that in a damn war of survival."

Javik shrugged, "If anarchy is what you get from lack of security, then it is the fault of the insects for not learning the discipline to remain calm. In the Empire, security wasn't provided, we built it for ourselves. There were no insects...only soldiers. Every scientist, every civilian, every politician...they wielded the knowledge of how to kill and how to survive. There was no weaklings. In the Empire, security was absolute because we were absolute."

Marcus shook his head, turning away, "We don't tend to arm our civilians. Makes us violent. That's the last thing we want."

"You want peace," Javik sighed, arms folding across his armoured chest, "Another delusion you must cast aside. War is a constant of nature; it is inhabited in every species, even the most senile, the most weak. It is an inherit trait. Peace is a solution to that nature, a way to keep it chained...and when that solution fails, we follow it with more war. It is a circular chain, one the Empire refused to uphold...the Empire embraced war, made it its mantra, made it our soul. And it preserved us. Gave us liberty."

"Yeah, well the Empire is gone," Marcus growled, not even turning to the prothean, "And your 'liberty' and 'absolute security' and embracement of war didn't save you from the Reapers."

"No it did not," Javik calmly replied, "But it will only make you fall faster."

"That's where you're wrong," Marcus stated, coming within inches of the man's face as he pointed out the glass, "You see, if it hadn't been for me, we wouldn't even be on the Citadel. That's one thing we did better than the protheans; we managed to keep the Citadel. We've still got the mass relays, communication, and I bet we've killed more Reapers so far than in the past six cycles combined. Maybe even more. We've got many species willing to unite and fight as one, and when they do, we will destroy the Reapers. We've got a head start on the Crucible, and we've got assets the protheans never had. So no," he concluded, breathing almost ragged from his passionate speech, "We will win faster."

Javik seemed to freeze for a second, regarding the captain, before a small smile creased his mouth, "Excellent." He then turned to look through the window once more, like nothing had happened.

Marcus just frowned, confused and baffled by the prothean's attitude, "What?"

"Your reaction was excellent," Javik stated, "I was expecting guilt, moral dilemma, a need to fight politely; you did not. You responded as a warrior should: to gain victory by any means possible, no matter the collateral damage, and you have the will to fight dirty."

Marcus rolled his eyes, jamming a finger into the prothean's chest, "Who said I'd accept collateral damage? Fighting dirty will be necessary to win this war, I'll admit, but collateral damage is unacceptable, accidental or otherwise. We do not sacrifice innocent lives for the sake of the mission, Javik."

Javik snorted, shaking his head, "Moral weakness. If you are not willing to sacrifice all to defeat the enemy, then the war is lost. The Reapers do not possess your worries. They do not have civilians or worlds to protect. Only their will to conquer, destroy and mutilate keeps them going, and that is enough. If you do not meet them tactic to tactic, then you will falter, wither and die."

"No, if we do, we'll lose everything we stand for," Marcus snapped, shaking his head, "But being a prothean, I don't expect you to understand how a galaxy works when there is morals in the equation. We don't live under a dictatorship Javik; we are free to make choices, including military choices, and if I think civilian deaths are unnecessary and out of line, then they are. You do not call the shots."

"Maybe I should," Javik snapped back, eyes glowing with fury as he moved forward and jabbed his own finger into the man's chest, "Because it seems this galaxy's will is pathetic. If you are not willing to make the hard decisions, then you have no right to survive. Toss away your morals, your interests, loved ones and everything you stand for and become the soldier. They will only weigh you down."

...loved ones...For some reason, that sent him over the edge, the spectre grabbing the prothean by the neck, lifting him up and slamming his back against the glass, secretly glad it didn't crack, "How dare you assume you can tell me what to do and how to fight my war! Their war! Your people had their chance! You had your chance to fight it your way, and now its our turn. If you don't like how we fight, then you can crawl back to Eden Prime and hide, but if you're going to follow me, you better understand that you serve under me, not with me," he released his tension on Javik's neck, letting go of him as he backed away, greatly aware that people all around were watching. He fixed his gaze with the prothean's once more, sighing, but a tinge of fire still present in his eyes, "Get with the program, Javik. You are not a commander anymore. You're the commanded. Follow my orders, or stay the fuck off my ship, but do not question me again. Are we understood?"

"You are making a mistake," Javik persisted, but after a second, he nodded, showing no sign of noticing the red hold marks that wrapped around the front of his neck, "But you have made yourself clear. Fight your war the way you wish to fight it, and I will follow it. But know that I do it because you order me to, not because I agree with it. War is won by tossing away the rules, not keeping them."

Marcus shook his head, not even bothering to respond as he moved back over to the window, refusing to look at the prothean, "Just leave, Javik."

All he heard was the sounds of Javik's footsteps as he walked away as he concentrated once again on watching the skycars fly by. But despite his current irritation at Javik's constant preaching, he knew the prothean was speaking a wiff of truth.

I can't pretend that winning this war can be done by playing by the rules. We fight or we die. I said it myself in that very room on Earth a couple of weeks ago. How can I continue to be ignorant of such things?

But there was one thing that had set him off...

...loved ones...

Marcus knew that all the rules needed to go to win, which meant the need to ignore the ones he loved. And there was one person he loved more than anything in this galaxy, and could he really ignore her? Could he...sacrifice her when the time came?

Marcus was scared. Because he knew the answer.

It was becoming more and more like the one he didn't want.

"So the first worst day of the war? I'm sure you don't mean...Tuchanka, do you?"

- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.

"Tuchanka? There was a day before that. On Noveria..."

- Marcus Shepard.

A/N:

Yes, I've been gone a while. But alot of things have been going on, and I've been busy, being on holidays and all.

Next chapter might be a long while; I'll be working on Chapter 1 for my new Dragon Age fanfic I began recently, and playing a bit of Batman: Arkham City. So yeah...that, and a few of my friends want to do some nerf wars, so that's another two days gone. Hey, don't judge me!

Also, I might be changing my author name to DarkRequiem7. Actually, not might, I will be. So just be prepared for when you see the author name become 'DarkRequiem7'.

So, next up is the two-parter Noveria, and then following will/might be another interim, followed by a two-parter Tuchanka. After that...well, I think I've told you enough. Hahaha.

And yes, Peta is back! What, you thought I was done with him? Oh no, I'm not quite done with him. He'll have a major role in this story, especially in the Quarian-Geth arc.

Keelah Se'lai, troopers!