HOLOCAUST

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

VARIOUS DIFFERENCES

Darkness.

Whispers on the wind.

A growl. A screech of anger.

More whispers. They were more furious this time, more persistent. Desperate to invade his thoughts and fill it with false ideology and negative tidings.

The familiar sound of an airhorn tore through the darkness, and a crimson flash blinded him temporarily, and then all vision returned, the darkness split apart.

The first thing he noticed was that it was cold. When he looked up, he saw that he was back on Noveria, kneeling against the metal surface of the main dock of Port Hanshan. Blood ran between his legs, although he didn't know if it was his own, or some dead enemy. He wasn't wearing his armor, and had numerous scratches and cuts all over his body, and he felt blood dripping into his eye...definitely his blood.

"Hey Shepard..."

He spun, the movement leaving him whoozy, but when his vision cleared, he easily recognized the person standing before him. Coffee brown skin, cool, calm eyes and muscular arms and legs, and short, close to bald, black hair that mixed in well against his skin.

"Jacob," he muttered back, his voice feeling more forced; involuntarily weak and dry and rugged. His throat felt like it was on fire, and he tasted copper in his mouth.

"...funny seeing you here," Jacob stated, a small smile on his face, "I thought you were a survivor."

"I'm not dead," he mumbled, his voice feeling croaky and raspy, "At least...I don't think I am."

"Oh, don't worry, you're alive. Whatever passes for life, in your case," Jacob sneered, moving over until he stood infront of him, crouching down so they were at eye level, "This? You're a shell, Shepard. Tell me, how's Brynn doing? Is she alive? Or is she dead too because of your incompetence?"

"I...she's not dead...she's alive," he wheezed, meeting the man's eyes, "I...didn't see him coming..."

"Who? Leng?" Jacob shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "Of course you didn't; you let your guard down, as you always do and he got the jump on me. Just imagine if you had been paying attention...or better still, had killed Leng before. Maybe I'd be with Brynn, a happy father."

"And maybe I'd be with Kaidan," came another, much younger but clear voice, Marcus turning to see Ashley leaning against a steel support pillar, arms crossed, "Maybe we'd be happy together. We'd probably be married, just like you and Tali. I wouldn't be a nuclear crater; I'd be a perfectly happy young wife."

He tried to stand, but found he lacked the strength to do so, and he remained crouched, feeling dizzy as more and more blood dripped from his numerous wounds, but he made no movement to clog them. Almost like his body wanted death.

"Gunnery Chief Williams has a point," Jacob added, examining his face like a cold, calculating machine, "We'd both be happy spouses, and possibly parents. Instead your weakness killed us. You left Williams to die, and you were too idiotic to save me."

"That's not true," he groaned, "Please, Jacob. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry-"

"SORRY DIDN'T HELP BRYNN, DID IT!?" the dead man roared in his face, so close to him that he could smell his unnaturally rancid breath, "Apologies can't save you, Shepard. You're just a pitiful shell."

"Death isn't all that bad," Ashley observed. Then she looked at him, sneering, "Maybe you'd like to join us."

"I don't...I can't...the war..." he tried to mutter back.

"You can convince yourself its the war, but we're your inner demons. We know what's really going on," Ashley uncrossed her arms and moved over to him, crouching down and looking into his eyes with no pity or sympathy whatsoever, "Its because of her."

"I love...her..." he moaned, not refuting her claim, "I must...find her..."

"Your attempts are futile," Marcus spun in horror, watching Ashley's eyes glow a vibrant orange, "You and the quarian will die in vain as your galaxy is consumed by our might. SUBMIT! SERVE US!"

"Know a better future!"

Jacob smiled, "Its the only way you'll know peace, Shepard. The only way. Just throw yourself out an airlock, and its all over."

"I will not...submit...I will continue...to fight...you..." Marcus growled, trying to stand, but feeling an invisible force push against him, like a hand pushing him down, "I will triumph. Victory at any cost."

"You cannot shut us out forever! You will know our serenity!"

"Victory at any cost. I will fight or die."

"You are a-"

"Victory at any cost. I will fight or die."

"Then you will know pain."

Jacob shook his head empathetically, "Idiot."

"Victory at any cost. I will fight or die. Victory at any cost. I will fight or die."

Suddenly, the chill was gone, Hanshan was gone, everything was gone. Marcus dared himself to look up, and he did.

He was back on Tuchanka. In the Shroud's atrium.

He looked up and saw that he was now standing, SMG raised and pointed directly at Mordin's body. The salarian was saying something, but he could not hear the words. His mind could not conjure them. Or simply ignored them.

"You were going to do it, weren't you?" He turned to see Tarquin standing and leaning over a console, turian eyes regarding him with cold stature, "You were going to pull that trigger. To end his life. Just for the Salarian Union."

"FOOLISH DESPERATION," he whorled and saw Kenson standing right beside him, eyes ablaze with Harbinger's taint, "THIS IS THE MEASURE OF YOUR FAILURE!"

He saw Mordin turn to head for the elevator, an angry and spiteful look on his face. He never looked like that...

He felt his finger tighten against his will, and he wanted to cry out as the SMG coughed, muzzle flashing momentarily as the shot pierced Mordin's shoulder and erupted out the other side, spraying green blood along the elevator glass and sending Mordin tumbling onto the ground, coughing up his own blood. Marcus stared in horror...no, he stared blankly, coldly regarding the dying man before him.

He wanted to feel horror, but he felt none. Only carelessness. Ice filled his mind.

The salarian rolled onto his back, meeting Marcus' eyes with a look of betrayal, "Shepard..." Green essence bubbled from his lips, and Marcus' SMG barked again, drilling a hole straight through his head, body crumbling to the ground, staining his white labcoat.

And again, the Shroud disappeared, taking Mordin's dead body, Kenson and Tarquin with it.

He was in the Hollows, a dusty breeze beginning to build, chilling Marcus to the bone despite Aralakh's harsh sunlight.

He looked down, and almost jumped back in fright. Around him in their own pools of orange were the dead bodies of numerous krogan, all soaked in their own blood or missing certain limbs. He heard dust crumble and crack, and when he spun around and looked up, his eyes widened in shock and horror.

Karlos' loomed over him, buried under half of the Hollows and body still, clearly dead. Its maw was closed, legs untwitching, its usual roar absent. The mighty protector of Tuchanka was no more.

He could hear banging, distant but increasing. It was incessant, but the least of his worries, as he could hear choked grunting; someone was alive. He traced the source to be on the central platform, and when he scaled it, he didn't like what he found.

He saw Bakara first, her body face down on the ground, arm outstretched, dried orange blood pooled around her. Despite not being able to see her gaze, he knew from looking at her that she was dead.

Grunt lay nearby, body lying against a piece of concrete, eyes open but blank, one of his arms missing and claymore sitting in his lap, a spent thermal clip inbetween his legs. Half of his lower jaw was missing, and bits of flesh stuck to the front of his armor, blood crusted around his cheeks and groin.

Finally, his eyes landed on Wrex. He lay hovering over Bakara, but unlike everyone else, he was alive. He lay next to Bakara, coughing up blood onto the ground, numerous bullet wounds, large by what he saw, riddling his back, scoring his armor and leaving bits of it shredded. A large river of dried blood coated the ground behind him, meaning he had clearly crawled over here.

He must have heard Marcus' approach, because he slowly turned, blood bubbling from his mouth. His eyes set in a firm line then, raising a finger to point accusingly at him, "You did this...you betrayed us...I trusted you...as a brother..."

"I didn't-"

"Well isn't this just priceless."

Marcus' face sunk, the N7 whorling to find a familiar human marine, fully dressed in battle armor and overlooking Wrex's pitiful body, the krogan not seeming to see him, his smoking rifle laying limply at his side.

"I..." he stumbled for words, but when he could find none, he just went for the closest name he could, "Sarann?"

"He remembers," he kicked Wrex's form, the krogan taking no notice, "He remembers! How honoured I truly am. You know," the marine spat on the ground, the spit coming out bright orange. The color of krogan blood, "When I said I wanted ice cream, I didn't really have this in mind."

"You're dead," Marcus muttered, shaking his head, "You died on Torfan."

"How about m-me?" came a voice he thought he'd never hear again, "Care to remind me where I died?"

"Roshia?"

"Last I checked, you remember my name."

Sarann chuckled, slapping her on the back, "Gee girl, I haven't seen you for a while. Being dead is very boring, why didn't you visit me? Shepard only just arrived! Just need to wait for Nathan now."

"Shepard, you little shithead," came Nathan Montgomery's familiar voice from behind him, his stained light armor and spent sniper rifle lying against his shoulder, "I was wondering when you'd join us in the land of the dead."

"Like a family reunion!" Sarann cheered.

"Sure wish you hadn't left me to die, Shepard," Roshia grumbled, "This would be alot more fun."

"How the fuck do you think me and Nathan feel?" Sarann snorted, "He lead us in a suicidal charge against a well fortified batarian position. No wonder we got cut down. Glad it was that though; don't know how I'd feel about being eaten by thresher maws. Nasty stuff."

"Traitor," Wrex growled, bringing all attention on him, "You...betrayed us..."

"Uh, Rexy," Sarann chuckled, "Rhymes with sexy. Ah. Not exactly getting that vibe, actually."

"I didn't," Marcus ignored them, addressing Wrex's injured, accusing form, "I was going to, but Mordin talked me out of it. I didn't do it!"

"Jeez, you still talk shit," Nathan muttered, "Do you ever learn to stop?"

"Get out of my head!" Marcus roared, "You're ALL DEAD! GO AWAY!"

"Is that how you talk to friends?" Roshia asked accusingly, "No wonder you lost us so quickly. I'm almost ashamed for having dated you."

"Go away!" Marcus roared. Suddenly, the ground shook, one final bang reverbrating the ground.

Then a loud airhorn.

Marcus could only watch in horror as a crimson red beam sliced through Kalros and disintegrated Wrex, Roshia and Sarann right before his eyes, then sliding across to remove Nathan from existence. When it was done, he could only look up and into the eye of Vanguard, the Reaper blaring at him.

"Your punishment for your failure is your own doing," Vanguard declared, "You created this future for yourself."

"LIES!" Marcus roared, "YOU LIE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

And then the Hollows was gone.

{Loading...}

June 21, 2186

1759 hours.

Port Observation, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, In FTL inbound for the Citadel.

The Reaper War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard.

The world returned to Marcus in an instant.

He slowly peeled his eyes open, feeling that if he did it too fast, he would probably bring more hurt to himself than comfort. He immediately noticed how groggy he felt, and that his head was tilted sideways, his right cheek firmly planted against the table's surface. He must have fallen asleep here; and he easily noticed just how uncomfortable sleeping here would have been. His entire face ached, and his back was in extreme discomfort.

However, any thought of getting up immediately stopped when he had to let out a groan, a massive pressure threatening to crack his head open like an egg if he moved another muscle. Content to follow his mind's threats, he stayed put, and did not budge his head any further.

Funny thing was, he didn't know where he was, how he got here, and most certainly why he was here. The room was brightly lit, but the steel bulkheads were a much deeper shade of grey, indicating he definitely was not in his cabin.

Deciding he had no choice but to suffer through his likely self-imposed agony, he shifted his head so that his chin rested on the surface, not his warm cheek. Just the movement alone caused the pressure in his head to almost reach breaking point, and his vision blurred for a moment before settling.

He could tell where he was now, just by looking at the soft, green surface of the poker table. Taking a quick glance, he could see that it was not unoccupied as it usually was; an assortment of poker cards lined its surface, along with numerous chips thrown in the middle haphazardly, and some somehow making it to the floor. He wasn't going to ask about that. He decided he didn't want to know.

But there was a more prominent identity to the table; the assortment of bottles littering its surface. From levo to dextro beverages, spirits to beer of all things, even a few bottles of turian whiskey and ale occupying the edge. From his count, there had to be at least 21 seperate beer bottles, and five spirits. Fuck. How many did I consume?

The pounding in his head was the answer, throbbing a little bit more painfully to accentuate its point.

He was about to ask himself just why dextro bottles were lying there, when he noticed the turian slouched over the table, arms outstretched and head buried inbetween them. The turian snored soundly, the sound almost comical, coming from a turian such as himself, and he heard him mumble in his sleep before shifting to a more comfortable position and continuing his slumber. Marcus also elected not to wake him up.

If Garrus was as hammered as he was, he'd probably appreciate it.

Confirming he was in the Port Observation, also known as the ship's lounge and Kasumi's domain in many cases, he decided to ask himself the most important question; why the hell was he here? It was clear he had come here to get drunk. How that involved poker was anyone's guess.

He had come here to forget something, and it must have worked wonders, because he couldn't remember a single fucking thing aside from that his name was Markus...no, Mark...No, Johnny...nope, way off...Shepherd? No, that didn't sound right either. Or was his name...Shepard! That's right! And...Mar...Marcus!"

Holy fucking shit. He groaned. I'm off the damn rails. I needed to take a few seconds to remember my own damn name. Congratulations, mission success Marcus. I hope you didn't forget how to excrete bodily wastes, because if you did, then we're back to square one.

"And so Captain Sparkles returns to the land of the living," came a usually cheery voice, but now was laced with feminine irritation. He noted that the voice came from behind him, but was far away enough for the person to be against a wall, "And he looks like crap. Jeez Shep, you've done a number on yourself. How's the hangover?"

He only moaned.

"Serves you right. Getting drunk like that! You consumed most of my stores!" Suddenly Kasumi appeared, planting her buttocks firmly down ontop of the table, frowning at him as she crossed her arms, "Do you have any idea how many damn drinks you drank? You shot past alcoholism street, straight over alcohol poisioning bridge, and straight into the ocean of supposed-to-be-dead-at-this-point and came out for a breather. I know you like to boast about how you achieve the impossible, but seriously Shep, don't do that. That's scary."

"Glad...you...care," he gulped, "What...time is it?"

"Just hit 6 o'clock. Oh, sorry, 1800 hours," she rolled her eyes, still glaring at him before shifting her gaze to their turian company, "Think I should wake him up? Just for a laugh?"

He glared at her. She held her hands up defensively, "Just for fun! Come on, you know you want to, for all the crap he gives you. Sarcastic remarks, flippant retorts...let's just have some fun with him!"

"He's probably in agony," Marcus replied.

"Then he shouldn't have gotten drunk. He didn't have a reason to, you did. NOT that I'm justifying what you did!" she got off the table and hurried over to Garrus' side, tiptoeing as if afraid the turian would wake if she wasn't quiet.

"I got to drunk to forget something," he looked at her through weary eyes, just wanting to fall asleep and forget his pain, "What did I want to forget? It can't be too bad, can it?"

Kasumi stopped for a moment, mischief gone from her eyes as she turned to him, slightly shaking her head, "Shep, the pain of whatever you wanted to forget was far more painful than your hangover right now. But if you want to know..."

He nodded, "I do."

She sighed, bracing against the table, and he could see her fighting back a sob, "Mordin...Mordin's dead. He died curing the genophage. You put his name on the memorial wall and then you came here and got drunk. I tried to stop you, but you, and I quote on quote, said 'fuck off.' Rather harshly too. I didn't want to piss you off, so I let it go."

He scoffed, eyes darkening as the memories flooded back. "Good call." He went still in that moment, not a sound to be heard. He looked blankly at the table as images of Mordin flashed by, moments of clarity, moments of angst, moments of...his death. He remembered them all. In vivid detail.

Moments passed, and he simply didn't move a muscle. The throbbing in his head almost went away, but a new pain entered his mind in its place: sorrow, melancholy, hopelessness. All Marcus could think about is how another friend was dead. Jacob, and now Mordin. Who was next? Why did such good people get to die but the bad ones always live?

Suddenly, Samantha's voice called over the intercom, "Captain, Dalatrass Linron is trying to contact you via the QEC."

He grumbled, "Tell her...to get fucked." I am not in the mood for diplomacy. He knew full well that now that he had let the genophage cured, he had now lost the full support of the Salarian Union and possibly the Asari Republics. No salarian engineers would help build the Crucible, no fresh fleets or armies, just nothing.

Then he remembered Kirrahe's words on Sur'Kesh, and he smiled alittle. Maybe not all of them.

"Yes sir," came Samantha's response, and then the line was cut.

"Shep," came Kasumi's voice, and he shifted his look to face her, "You can't internalize this. Jacob's death almost drove you insane; the whole crew saw it. Don't let Mordin's sacrifice carry you off the edge. And before you start, there is nothing you could have done to save him."

Well, aside from shooting him, no, there really wasn't. He turned away from her, blankly at the poker top once more. After a second, he cleared his throat and nodded, ignoring the flashes of agony that barrelled through his head as he did, "I know that, Kasumi. It just...haunts me, that all. Losing friends..." ...merely let history borrow me.

"...sucks, I know," Kasumi gulped, leaning over the table surface, "I lost Keiji remember? But you know how I moved on? I met you guys. You guys kept me alive. And as annoying as this turian is," she poked the turian's shoulder, who groaned in his sleep, "I wouldn't be able to..." she cut herself off and shook her head, turning back to Marcus, "But who cares. What matters is that you should do the same. You're surrounded by friends, Shep. You don't have internalize your feelings. You're allowed to be human, you know."

He nodded, and then nodded again in double reassurance, "I just want to forget, Kasumi. I want to forget all of it."

"Forgetting that Mordin died won't save you from the pain," Kasumi stated, cocking her head at him sympathetically, and he thought he saw a tear travel down her cheek before she took in a huge exhale, wiping it from her face, "It just...delays it. To move on from it, you've got to allow yourself to feel the pain, Shep. Just feel."

He sighed and sniffled, wiping his nose as he felt raw emotions begin to build up, as if taking flight to Kasumi's suggestion. But then he reined them in, knowing he could not do it here, not where his crew could see him. They don't need to see their broken captain for what he is: broken.

Yes, Marcus was broken in so many ways. So many different ways. He was broken morally...

Cure the genophage, or sabotage it?

He was broken emotionally...

...not where his crew could see him...

He was broken socially...

I miss you so much, Tali. So fucking much.

...and he was broken mentally.

Serve us.

A whisper on the back of his head, and he ignored it, but this time, it hadn't been Vanguard's voice; it had been Harbinger's. What was wrong with him? Why was he hearing these voices?

He had a gut feeling. It filled him with dread and fear, but he had a gut feeling. And if it got any worse, then the crew was in-

NO. No. Away with those thoughts. They do not help.

He looked at Garrus, looking for an excuse to get both Garrus and Kasumi out of the room. He gulped, and nodded, "You'd better wake up Garrus and get him to the toilets; he's going to need a cleanup."

She sighed, nodding, believing her point defeated. She moved over and grabbed Garrus' shoulder, roughly shaking it, and bringing the turian back to the land of the living. After a few muttered complaints and unintelligible turian curses, the turian stumbled to his feet, almost tripping over the damn chair he had been sitting in, and with one arm over his shoulders, Kasumi guided him to the door, and outside.

Soon, the door closed, and he was alone.

He sat there, completely lost in his thoughts. And in one moment, it all came out; the losses, the deaths, the defeats, the burdens, everything...he sobbed, then he wept, and he finally cried, dry heaving as hot tears spat from his eyes and made rivers down his cheeks, flashing onto the table. He buried his face into its surface, letting all the emotions flood out.

Marcus Shepard was broken.

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June 21, 2186

1803 hours.

Male Restroom, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, In FTL inbound for the Citadel.

The Reaper War.

Master Thief Kasumi Goto, Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian.

"Come on, stand up, you fat turian," she quipped, wincing as his side poked into hers, "I can't do all the carrying. Are you listening to me?" Remembering the turian's drunken state, she elected that he wasn't, "Why do I even bother?"

The turian just moaned, and they continued their short, but clumsy, walk towards the men's restroom, which just had to be on the other side of the deck. Two crewmen were eagerly chatting away as they headed for the elevator, a cup of coffee in one hand while the other was munching on a custom made sandwich of what looked to be soggy tomatoes and what barely could be called meat.

When they saw Kasumi, the turian draped at her side and head lolling to the side as he stumbled, they stopped for a moment, met her eyes, and then shrugged, continuing into the elevator and hitting the button for whatever deck they wanted access to, door slowly closing behind them.

"Ka...sumi..." Garrus muttered, holding his head with the opposite hand, keeping his eyes closed out of fear that any light could provoke his migraine further, "I think...I'm going to...puke..."

Kasumi widened her eyes, quickly rushing over to the toilets, "Not over my hood you're not."

She tapped the interface, but it simply screeched at her as she looked up to see the red interface, remembering that it only recognized taps from male members of the crew due to the software programming it. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Garrus' left hand, thrusting it to the interface and watching it flash green and open.

They were inside almost immediately, Kasumi barely taking anytime to examine the surroundings. The restrooms weren't all that big in the size department, only needing basic necessities and because it was a warship, it didn't need anything sophisticated. Both the female and male restrooms were basically the same, but the male one, she noticed, was slightly bigger.

The walls were tiles, as was the floor. Along the walls were basins where men could piss, and on the right was a long line of normal toilets, unlike the female restroom, where no basins existed and the toilets were where they were now. Hand basins lingered at the back as opposed to the female restroom (the sinks were where the toilets are) and behind them were a bare minimum of two shower cubicles, meaning only two crew members could wash at a given time. But given the bunking schedule, that wasn't an issue according to Alliance regs.

But it was an issue for the naked form of Kenneth Donnelly, who silently hummed to himself a scottish tune as he scrubbed away at himself, only turning around at the sound of the door opening.

His eyes widened and he leapt back as he saw Kasumi, immediately using whatever he was scrubbing himself with to cover his groin and back up against the wall, cursing in his scottish tongue, "Kasumi Goto! Do you-do you ken what restroom this is!?" The engineer's cheeks flushed bright red in embarassment, looking like he wanted to shrink into a corner.

Kasumi simply let Garrus go as he crawled over to a toilet and rammed his head in, the sound of the turian vomitting easily being heard in the room as it came out in, likely, a thick stream. She shrugged, raising an eyebrow at the man, "You've got nothing I haven't already seen before, Donnelly. So quit your whining and just get back to washing. And don't worry, I won't tell Gabby."

He frowned, "Gabby? Why would I be worried-?"

"Because you two are a couple?" Ken seemed to flush even deeper when he heard the words leave Kasumi's mouth, and Garrus only turned to look at Ken in shock, bits of red vomit crusting around his mandibles and dripping from his teeth as he coughed, but quickly found himself returning to his session of rejecting stomach fluids.

Kasumi, surprised, grinned, "Ah...so noone knows but me?" she quickly rolled her eyes, "Why is it I'm the only one not dense? Am I the only one who picks up on these relationships?"

"You're the only one who pays attention," Garrus mumbled.

Kasumi gave him a slight kick to the foot, grunting, "You just keep vomitting, Garbear."

"Go to hell."

"In all good time," Kasumi grinned, turning back to Ken, hands on her hips, "Now, about you and Gabby..."

"Girl! I'm trying to shower and you're just...standing there!" Ken replied in his scottish accent, "I'm just a wee bit annoyed!"

"And I'm just a wee bit curious!" Kasumi replied, ignoring his misgivings about the situation and clapped her hands together, "So! Gabby! You tell! Now!"

They suddenly heard the door open, and someone stride in, "Donnelly, I swear if you're not done in the next-" the voice stopped, and Kasumi turned to see Adams standing at the edge of the door, towel over his shoulder and wearing raggy clothes that was coated in grime, grease and numerous other things the thief didn't find very attractive.

"What the hell?" Adams exclaimed, frowning at her.

"Just waiting for Garbear to get over his little hangover," Kasumi replied, turning back to kick the turian again, this time a bit harder, "Come on, you wuss! It doesn't take that long!"

More vomitting sounds, "I drank more than I should have. I should be dead."

"Well, aren't you special," Kasumi dryly declared, clapping sarcastically, "I'm sure Shep will give ya a medal."

"You try drinking five bottles of turian whiskey and tell me how you feel," more vomitting, "I think I'm almost done."

"Good, because if Ken flushes any deeper shades of red, he'll turn into a lobster," she winked at the engineer, grinning mischeviously, "And lobsters are very bad engineers, from what I can tell."

"The crew compliment gets more insane each passing day," Adams grumbled as he left, door closing behind him. Kasumi merely poked her tongue out at the closed door, and she thought she saw Ken choking back a laugh, and she turned back, winking at him again before kneeling down next to Garrus to check on him.

The stench made her immediately regret that course of action.

She almost jumped back from it, ruffling her hood so she could cover her nose, squinting as she flew onto the ground, crawling away.

She cursed a few choice japanese curses before coming to stand.

Garrus turned to her, wiping what was left of the vomit on his mandibles on his arm before planting his ass firmly on the ground, spinning to face her, a silly grin on his face, "Like the smell?"

"Adore it," she deadpanned, her nose still covered by the black cloth of her hood, "You need to flush that and clean yourself up, dino."

The turian burped, holding his head, "Yeah...certainly do."

"Well come on," she insisted, motioning her head to the door, "Flush it and let's go. That stench reeks enough to kill a husk."

Even Ken had given up on a shower and hurriedly dried himself, hair still damp as he dressed and evacuated the restroom, unable to bear the smell any longer.

The turian looked dejected as he moved a hand up and tapped the interface, watching as water pulsed from the top of the basin to purify and send away the reddened water. Turian vomit was an odd thing; she heard that during the First Contact War, the Alliance had filed propaganda stating that the turians ate people and people had laughed it off as a joke; just propaganda. But even as she looked at the red vomit, what if they had genuinely thought that and had confused turian vomit for human blood?

Those pleasant thoughts left her mind as soon as he stepped out of the restroom, Garrus in tow. He slurred, grinning slightly as his drunken state lingered, "You know...Kazumi...I could do with a...little...kiss..."

She grimaced, turning away, "The most you'll get from me is a glare of disdain. I'm not kissing those vomit lips. I don't want to get sick or something," she turned to him, a slight glitch in her step, "Besides...I don't think we're on that level of a relationship yet. We're still friends, as far as I'm concerned."

He turned to her, frowning, although because of how half-assed it was, it came out like a lopsided grin, "Have you...forgotten..." he hiccuped, "...the wedding? Practi-cally pounced on me..."

She did remember the wedding, and she did remember how he had called her beautiful, and how she had pounced on him, her lips locked with his, feeling his scaly mandibles pressed against her plump lips, losing herself in him. She had closed her eyes, feeling her tongue scrape against his teeth as she fought for supremacy over him. They shifted and moved, Kasumi feeling the heat of it build as she-

She was pulled back from her lingering thoughts by herself, no less. Those were memories she wasn't going to delve into, because they signified a time of confusion; when her feelings were confused, when she didn't know if she wanted to be with Garrus or not...

She did not show her concern or nostalgia in her response, remaining as cheery as ever, "Remember what I said in the gunnery station, too? I was just using you for your body."

"I do...recall...that," he grinned, chuckling, "So sexy..."

Kasumi ignored that off-handed comment, quickly scanning the mess hall to make sure noone heard that before grabbing him and moving him over to the gunnery station. He's drunk, he has no idea what's he's saying. Despite herself, she felt her cheeks blush a deep red. Damn it, that's not how Kasumi Goto works! I make people blush, not the other way 'round!

Look, maybe there was hope between the two.

But if she had anything to say about it, that would remain a pipe dream. Last thing she needed was a relationship with someone who might be dead.

She wouldn't suffer another Keiji Okuda.

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July 2, 2186

2219 hours.

Main Bridge, Wyoming-Class Destroyer QMFV Machina, Flotilla Heavy Fleet, Coming Into Orbit over Haestrom, Dholen System, Far Rim Cluster.

Second Morning War, Battle of Haestrom.

Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Machina, Commander Igra'Trasp vas Machina, Quartermaster Gunner Sama'Raan vas Machina.

The Dholen Relay lit up in a brilliant display, blue energy crackling and bursting until eventually its designated user came through. And it wasn't the usual geth patrol.

Shooting through was a ship of alliance design, worn down but still of use. The Wyoming-Class Destroyer, a formidable vessel in its own right, glided through and corrected its course, turning towards the most important planet in the system: Haestrom. Once home to a major quarian naval shipyard, Haestrom was now ruled purely by the geth ever since the quarian exodus. But now its people had come to take it back.

The Machina was not the only ship coming. Soon, five ships shot through the relay, then sixteen, then twenty-six, then eighteen more.

Soon, a total of five hundred and ten ready and primed warships acertained a strong battle formation, ships moving into position in a well coordinated and prepared strike. Frigates and destroyers took up the front, cruisers up the back, and a reclaimed carrier took up the rear, lines of armor plating covering them and an assortment of weapons, both prototype and tested.

At the head of this fleet, the flagship sat; the Machina, and its commanding officer, Admiral Tali'Shepard, sat in her chair, eyes narrowed and calculating.

"Helm, give me a visual of Haestrom; magnification times twenty. I want a visual on the enemy," she ordered. She quickly turned to her comms officer, "Inform the fleet of these following orders: assume battle formation and move forward steadily at full military thrust, but move to an all stop once within twenty thousand kilometers of the geth fleet. Engage at my command."

And so the foolishness of her people began. An utter stupid waste of resources and men and women. The Reaper War raged throughout the galaxy, and instead here she was, commanding a warship into war against the geth, out of a silly need to reclaim what had once been theirs. But despite herself, she couldn't help but feel like she was achieving something by being here; little under a year ago she had come here in a dingy little corvette to commit a mission of absolute secrecy. Now she was here with a fleet of hundreds of ships with weapons capable of crippling entire fleets of the machines.

So, she felt empowered. Like she actually had a chance this time.

As ordered, the viewscreen seemed to shoot forward, showing the great, grey spinning mass that was Haestrom. Floating in orbit of it, from their side of the planet, were at least four different space stations of varying size, many of them looking like the design of Heretic Station, as if the geth were trying to imitate quarian design. But that didn't interest her at the moment.

It was the small geth fleet that did.

She said small because numerically, her force outnumbered them by a sizable margin. Flying lazily in orbit of Haestrom were at least fourteen heavy frigates, six light cruisers, and at least one destroyer. But numbers meant nothing in terms of quarians, and had this been a normal battle, Tali's force, including possibly herself, would be, by the end of the battle, down to one third strength.

But this was far from a normal battle. This time, the quarians had the advantage.

Before, the geth had plasma-based weapons to call upon; pulse cannons, plasma turrets and heavy artillery. And because did not require sleep or food, they didn't need a mess hall or sleeping quarters, meaning they had alot more room for weaponry or shield generators or drive cores, meaning frigates could pack the firepower of a turian cruiser, and a cruiser that of a battleship. It also meant smaller geth vessels were faster and more nimble, had more powerful shields, or simply packed enough weaponry to reduce the Machina to dust.

Again, this was not a normal battle.

Xen's technology, even know she loathed to say it, had made battling the geth like battling varren with heavy machine guns. Her heavy fleet had split from the rest of the Migrant Fleet to quash any geth forces in the Far Rim while the main force invaded the Perseus Veil and took all the surrounding systems, and would then wait for her to link up with them before beginning the final assault on the Tikkun System; the quarian home system of the old ages.

But she digressed. The weapons Xen had devised had shown their true colors when Tali's forces crept through the cluster and hit the Ma'at System. The system itself had only comprised of forty frigates, but Tali had ordered the deployment of the scramblers, and watched as they completely crippled the geth ships, acting as a flashbang grenade and blinding and stunning them, leaving them open. And with a quick salvo from their arc cannons, the geth fleet had been laid to ruin in a matter of two minutes. This force would pose no threat.

The bulk of the geth navy would be in the Perseus Veil, where the rest of the fleet's 50,000 ships would deal with them.

So she watched with calm precision as her ships came within range, and the geth turned their own vessels to face them, rushing to meet them, guns swivelling to face them and likely charged and ready to engage. The geth wasted no time in attacking; they were cold, logical and lacked any emotion such as fear or hate. They were patient, and if she made a mistake, they would exploit it before she even knew the mistake existed.

It almost pained her to destroy these ships. Everytime she did, she felt like Legion was on one of them, and its destruction was her final betrayal. I couldn't tell them...they would have exiled me...I'm so sorry...

Soon, her fleet reached a full stop, having reached their intended vector, but now the geth were ten thousand kilometers from them and if she didn't act quickly, they would quickly be in range to open fire. She turned to her QMG, fingers on her left hand gripping the side of her chair, "Gunnery control, ready the scrambler. Take aim at the biggest capital ship you can find and fire on my mark. Comms, inform me when the fleet is ready."

Time went by as they prepared their weapons, readying them. A minute ticked by, Tali watching the geth get closer and closer, glancing to see Igra standing beside her, hands clasped behind her back and watching the approaching enemy with rigid calm. Tali could practically feel the tension in the room; many of her fellow quarians were frightened, and for good reason. Either this ended with them on the homeworld, or with the Migrant Fleet in ruin and her people rendered extinct. That will not happen. We will survive. We survived the First Morning War, and we will survive the second, this time as victors. As much as it gave her hope, it also filled her with self-hatred. Because she was once again reminded that she was betraying a friend. Where are you, Legion? Are you on one of those ships? Or are you on Rannoch?

Then she thought of Marcus. Keelah, he would be ashamed of me.

A pang, an ache in her mind, but she quickly purged those thoughts. They would do her no good. I'll see him again. Once we've reclaimed Rannoch.

Then she thought of Junior, safe on the Tonbay with Shala in the middle of the Civilian Fleet. It was as safe as he could be, with every ship being a warship. But at least the Tonbay would be far away from the heaviest of the combat; as unharmed as he could be. And no matter how much Gerrel had argued that the mother should always stay with their son, she had argued against it. Her people needed her, and she would never bring her son into the midst of battle. Into the thick of it. No, Junior would be safe where he was.

Was this how father felt?

No, she was not her father. She would admit when she loved her son, not when she was dying, but for as long as she lived.

"Ma'am," a voice called out, shattering her silent musings, "All ship captains report ready and awaiting your order. Our own scrambler is ready, and the arc cannon ready to deploy at a moment's notice."

She stroked her mask and then pulled it away, surprised by its more metallic touch. She was still getting used to her new battle suit, the gold trim and purple outline quite the far cry from her normal, black and purple envirosuit. The tinted glass and hard, flexible hood was also hugely different, but it fit her like a glove, and she moved around in it just fine; and the more powerful kinetic barriers was a bit of incentive, too. It was war attire.

Perfect for giving orders in.

"Select firing solutions and fire," Tali ordered, her voice firm and cold, "Make it clean and quick. We need to regroup with the rest of the Flotilla as quickly as possible."

She watched as the Machina locked onto the nearest possible target before a glowing ball began to build at its tip, before finally flashing, looking like a bright beacon in the void of space. And then a burst of white erupted from its bow, shooting through space to glide through the shields of the geth destroyer and slammed into its hull, electricity sizzling along its hull.

Within seconds, it slowed down and eventually reached a complete stop, powering down as its systems winked out, one by one. Her stats watched as its shields popped, drive core ceased its hum, weapons lost power and its crew went offline one by one until there was nothing. After a few more seconds, the destroyer was dead in the water, utterly defenseless, but also utterly unaware of its own defenselessness because its crew was unconscious...in a manner of speaking.

The rest of the fleet opened fire as well, and one by one geth ships powered down and floated uselessly in space, and one even floated so far off to the side that it slammed into a neighbouring frigate, both of their hulls cracking and exploding, debris shooting out in all directions and flames appearing and disappearing as fast as they came, the wreckage of both floating away lazily.

"Finish them off," Tali ordered, almost growling it.

Arc Cannon after Arc Cannon fired, energy flowing along their ships until firing from the tip, a long stream of blinding white energy cutting through space to hit their designated target.

The Machina's hit the destroyer's bow directly, like a shot through the forehead. Energy burned through the ship, overloaded its systems, and after a second, the vessel exploded in a brilliant flash, bow section shooting forward from the blast while the back was totally vaporized by the explosion.

One by one, entire ships were razed in seconds, shattering, exploding and shearing in half as bolts of light scrambled their systems and totally annihilated them. By the end of a full minute, the entire geth force, which may have posed a threat before now, was in ruin. And most of all, no survivors.

Tali couldn't bring herself to celebrate the victory like the rest of her crew did. She could only wonder if Legion was now dead, or shaking its head in despair at her treachery. I promised to unite our peoples...he promised us Rannoch without bloodshed...and now look what we are doing. Attacking, but the only bloodshed being shed is geth liquid.

She sighed, rubbing her tinted mask in sadness, knowing what was to come. Her people were going to systematically annihilate the geth species, and there was nothing she could do about it. Their creations...sentenced to death. They let us live. Let us flee into exile. And now we are coming back with the intent of destroying them.

No, killing them. We're committing genocide.

Still, Tali would not bring up such concerns; it would cause a mutiny. People didn't need to know that she was a geth supporter, or that she had fought alongside one and called it an ally, and then eventually, a friend. That she felt pity for it.

"Ma'am?" Igra asked, and she turned to the commander, nodding for her to continue, "Should we deal with the space stations and then make best speed for the Perseus Veil?"

"Its not a victory until this system is ours, Commander," Tali stated bluntly, motioning her hand out to the stations ahead, "Destroy them and be done with it. Gerrel and Xen promised a quick and crushing triumph of these machines, and I plan to see it finished." That's right, keep up appearences infront of the crew.

Igra knew she believed otherwise, but went with it anyway, nodding as she turned to the QMG, "You heard the captain. Get us in closer and destroy those space stations. Helm, prepare to set a course for the relay; get us as close to the Veil as possible. After that, we'll fly our way in." They had no choice, otherwise. The cluster's relay was in the Tikkun System, and they didn't want to rouse the main geth fleet from slumber just yet. Not until the other systems were taken.

Tali zoned out and fell into her own world, and let feelings of Marcus consume her. How sorely she missed his touch, his love, his care. He didn't even know he had a son, and she didn't even know if he was alive. The entire war raging out there...and she couldn't even contact to see if he was alright because of the Admiralty's damn policy of no outside contact. They didn't want to alert the Reapers to what they were doing, or the Council. They had sworn secrecy, and despite Tali's heartache, she had remained loyal to her people and made no foreign contact with the outside galaxy.

But she missed him so much. At night, she would rouse into awakening roughly and usually in a cold sweat, either having dreams about Marcus dying, herself dying or of the Collector Base. Sometimes she even dreamed of Marcus' previous death on the SR-1 over Alchera, but reminded herself he was back and alive now, and her husband. But she couldn't die how horrible the dreams were.

And then came the same dream she had three years ago in his cabin; they were on Rannoch, Tali without her suit, lying in the desert grass, side by side, looking up into the sky, only for a Reaper to descend and then vaporize both of them in a fiery-

She jerked back into position, ridding herself of that retched dream. The one that plagued her. Wanting a home on Rannoch with Marcus after the war was what kept Tali going; it was a dream she strived for, and hoped Marcus would as well. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, but only after this war was over.

You mean when both wars are over.

This isn't a war. Its extermination.

Tali reminded herself of that, but it was no consolation.

She just hoped that, wherever Marcus was, that he was having a better time uniting the people than she was.

{Loading...}

June 21, 2186

1816 hours.

'Humanity's Sanctum,' Upper Levels, Cronos Station, Anadius System.

The Reaper War.

The Illusive Man, Operative Kai Leng.

"Sir," came a blunt voice that he well recognized at this point, the sound of footsteps ending just behind him, the creak of armor plates shifting easily heard in the brightness of the room, "You summoned me?"

TIM sighed, a long column of smoke blowing from between his lips before he took his cigarette and pummelled it into the ash tray next to him, taking the whiskey beside him and taking a quick sip. Without so much as a glance in Leng's direction, he grabbed the arm rests and pushed himself up into a standing position, clasping his hands behind his back as he moved to stand right infront of the tinted glass, eyes looking directly into the blazing sun of Anadius itself.

"Yes," he replied finally, voice calm and collected as always, like a perputual way of life he had, "Something important has come up, and I wanted you informed of it."

Leng seemed to shift slightly, "Sir, if this is about my failure on Noveri-"

"You failed me, Leng," he grunted. After a moment, he shook his head, turning back to Anadius, "But that is not why you're here. You killed Jacob Taylor, and that more than made up for it. No, this is about Operation: Deathstroke. The Fourth Fleet is assembled and Admiral Terrence is simply waiting for my command to disembark for the Citadel. After that, it'll be a matter of hours before the Citadel is ours. You are aware that you will be on the Citadel, correct?"

Leng nodded, "Yes sir, I am."

"And that you have one mission," he growled, accentuating his point, "Assassinate the Council. All three of them. Sparatus, Tevos and Valern."

Leng nodded again, "One mission sir. I will make the Chambers run with their blood."

"Crude, but you've got the point at least," TIM replied, finally pivoting to face him, "But that is still not the reason you are here. It has become abundantly clear that Captain Shepard is going to become quite the nuisance very quickly. He has already disrupted our operations on Eden Prime, Sur'Kesh, Grissom Academy and Noveria. Quite frankly, this cannot continue. Even you didn't seem to be able to actually kill him, despite your self confidence."

Leng's eyes flared, as if slapped across the face by some personal insult, "I would have had Shepard! I just needed to-"

"Excuses aside..." he interrupted, casting his own glare on the assassin, "...we know that Shepard and his squad are going to continue to halt our goals unless we counter him. Then comes the problem of the Normandy," my ship, given over to the Alliance. "A beautiful ship, but in the hands of Shepard no less, and attempting to take it back is a fool's errand. No, I'm afraid the ship is a lost cause. But we cannot allow Shepard to continue using its advantages to stop us. We need a...counterweight."

Leng frowned, flexing his muscles, "I am not sure what you're getting at, sir."

TIM nodded, moving forward slightly more and bringing up a holographic interface seemingly out of thin air, before turning it towards the assassin for him to see, "What I'm saying is that we need to fight fire with fire. To kill a Reaper utterly, you must be a Reaper. The same context is used here. Which is exactly why I had my best ship-building cells initiate Project: Unity."

Leng studied the image, frowned and then turned back to TIM, looking increasingly confused, "Another Normandy?"

TIM nodded, creasing his lips, "A sister ship, yes. Same design, same rooms, same amount of decks and the same weaponry Shepard managed to acquire in his travels. Thanix cannon, javelin torpedoes, even Tali'Shepard's cyclonic barrier technology. And, unlike her predecessor, she will remain in Cerberus white and gold," he pinpointed, making sure to make that point clear, "However, she will not be named Normandy. What she will be named is entirely up to you."

Leng nodded, evaluating the image for a second. Then, like fitting pieces of a puzzle together, the assassin whorled on him, he imagined his eyes widening slightly, "What, up to me? Sir, are you suggesting that I am in command of this vessel?"

"I am giving you this tool to utilize, yes," he added, rolling his eyes at Leng's lack of comprehension, "I have realized that your failure is not yours, and I apologize. You lacked the proper equipment, and with Shepard in the mix, your defeat was inevitable because of that lack. But now I am giving you the tools to defeat him; using his own ship against him, in a way. The only thing we cannot give you is an excellent pilot such as Jeff Moreau, but flight skills hardly matter when you have a thanix cannon."

Leng smiled, nodding as he looked at the design, "Yes, very true..."

"As for the crew, you will be stocked fully," he grinned, "A full engineering crew, full CIC, and multiple pilots. You will have a full battalion of my best troops at your command, and of course, as the Normandy has EDI, you will have an AI. I've taken the liberty of having Eva rebuilt and reintegrated into this new ship. She will serve you utterly, and any flaws that led to EDI's...defection have been removed. She...it...will be entirely loyal to you, and only you. As for your XO, you may choose whomever you like."

"Thank you sir," the assassin continued to smile, his look almost feral, "I will use this tool wisely."

Wisdom isn't in your natural programming, Leng. You're nothing but a blind killer, and that's all I need you to be. But having a skilled XO will help improve his command. His leadership abilities lack...all the qualities Shepard has. He is simply a superior leader. But Leng only needs the weapons to outdo Shepard.

"So what shall it be named? Something adequate," he turned to TIM, sighing, "What is the opposite of Normandy?"

"The name should suit the ship," TIM declared, studying the image again for himself; he had ordered it built months ago, but he had only now decided to unveil it to Leng because it was actually finished and ready, Eva being a last minute touch due to her untimely destruction on Mars. After a moment, he turned to the grinning Leng, eyes blank, "The name 'CAW Deliverance would be a perfect name. You will deliver destruction to your enemies, after all."

Leng nodded, "Deliverance it is. When does it deploy and when do I get to examine the ship?"

"To your latter question, now. It is currently heading for the station and will dock in six minutes. As for your former question, tomorrow. You will be leading it in the assault on the Citadel. We need every tool we have for this job. Of course, you won't be able to do much commanding of the vessel, but all things rest assured, you will get your due once you've dealt with the Council. The Deliverance will deal with the Normandy, should it ever show up. Both have stealth drives, so the Normandy will lack the advantage it originally acertained."

Leng nodded, snapping a firm salute, "I will make good use of it, sir."

"You'd better," he replied a-matter-of-factly, "There is no excuse for failure this time. If you are defeated, I will be extremely disappointed. Bring me the dead Council, Leng. Kill them all. Terrence will give me the Citadel, but you will give me the Council. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely sir," Leng sneered, "Absolutely."

"Excellent," TIM replied, sitting back in his chair. Victory was almost assured.

Now only to take it.

{Loading...}

July 2, 2186

2300 hours.

In Space, Orbit over Rannoch, Tikkun System, Perseus Veil Cluster.

Second Morning War.

It descended. Faster and faster, data flowing from its consciousness to the many inferior machines down below. It continued, entering the planet's atmosphere, fire burning and licking at its hull, but it ignored it, barely fazed by the contact. The machines responded in harsh tones, data implying hatred and defiance.

It ignored it. Hatred and defiance did not faze it. It was molded in it. Blessed in the fires of its birth, using them as tools for its own bloody task.

It was a Reaper. Hatred and defiance were just software, accidental pieces of logical malfunction that could be utilized for its personal use, if need be.

So it ignored them; these geth. These inferior machines. They were not Reaper. They were not each a single nation, devoid of all weakness. Of all emotion. They were strong, but the geth were divided. Confused. Enemies pressed down around them; organics come to destroy their creations. And like three years before with Sovereign, it would offer salvation in the promise of a destroyed nemesis.

Still, they ignored it. Cursed it with streams of curseful data. Crude language used by crude synthetics. This would be corrected. When they saw it, they did not see salvation; they saw a machine coming to destroy them. They were loyal to organics; a loyalty that would prove their undoing if they continued along this path.

So instead of offering to drive their enemies away for them, it offered an alternative. Pure and blessed salvation. It offered them the chance to be embraced by its code; to feel as a Reaper feels, to feel pure excellence and supremacy. A union of organic flesh and synthetic steel; the perfect synthesis, and the geth would be able to feel a mere snippet of that.

It understood the weapons the quarians were using. They were primitive, but in terms of the geth, enough to cripple. Its code would render these weapons useless and ineffective; make the geth superior once more. And then they would charge forth and annihilate their makers, and its goal would be complete. It made sure to inform the geth of this.

Moments passed of data exchange. Then they responded just as he landed on Rannoch, legs reaching out to connect with the ground, causing it to shudder beneath the 150 feet tall form of the Reaper Destroyer.

They agreed. They were afraid; very unsynthetic qualities, but its code would rid them of that. Give them confidence, determination. Relentless resolve. Power beyond their imagination.

The thoughts of a Reaper and the strength of both. It was the perfect symbiosis.

The geth were afraid, that much could be found. Some even seemed to question the validity of its offer; to become gods in their own right. Of course, what it said wasn't true; they wouldn't experience true synthesis, they wouldn't become anywhere near full Reapers. But they would get a small snippet of its power; enough to drive off their attackers, their creators.

And destroy them.

And somewhere on Rannoch, a Reaper Destroyer emerged from the cloud of dust, armor gleaming in Tikkun's light, gleaming off its dark crimson surface. Its eye protectors slid apart, revealing its glowing red eye. It stood there, looming over a large escarpment, looking down upon a massive geth fortress, numerous plasma anti-aircraft guns and artillery pieces swivelling to face the Reaper, but not opening fire. It even regarded the tiny forms of geth troopers, destroyers, juggernauts, primes and even armatures and colossi moving into position, ready to repel whatever troops it sent their way.

But they made no move to fire, simply looking up at it, machines regarding machines.

Then the data flowed through, like the bill passing debate. The Reaper regarded the information, and was...for lack of a more efficient term, happy to see that the geth had agreed to accept the Reapers offer. This was good; now it would be able to control the geth and bend them to its will. Which meant wiping out the quarian species and making their extermination of galactic life easier. And when the geth ceased usefulness and the galaxy was purged off life, they would be disposed of and eradicated.

It told them that it would need to remain within range to manage the code once distributed. That was a lie; Reaper technology was superior to the primitive technology of this cycle, and did not need a connection to maintain the code; once it was in the geth platform, it had to be removed via hacking; hacking of a very complicated level that even the salarians, geth or quarians could pull off.

The geth agreed, and began their work. Hundreds, thousands, millions of geth, moving as one, beginning to build the Reaper its base of operations. And from there, it would transmit the code to all geth, and when the quarians attacked, they would be completely decimated.

Oblivion's airhorn blared, echoing across the plains of Rannoch.

"Funny how things can be going crazy and insane, thousands of light years away. The genophage phase was over, but Rannoch was waiting..."

- Marcus Shepard.

"And the Citadel. Cerberus attacked it."

- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.

"And yet the betrayal didn't stop. Or the death..."

- Marcus Shepard.

A/N:

Until next time! One more interim, and then the Citadel attack!

Keelah Se'lai, troopers!