HOLOCAUST

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE:

NEVER SETTLE FOR ENOUGH

July 8, 2186

1611 hours.

Shuttle Bay, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, Migrant Fleet, In Orbit over Haestrom, Dholen System, Far Rim Cluster.

Second Morning War.

Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian, Second Lieutenant James Vega, Second Lieutenant Imogen Keeling, General Kal'Reegar vas Normandy.

"Is that all you got, Scars?" the marine asked, a grin peeling across his sweaty face, "For a species of militarists, you have some pretty weak punches."

Garrus did not rise to the bait. His brief life in the turian marines trained him to not fall for an enemy taunt; they appealed to one's weakness to antagonism, and Garrus was far from weak. Instead, he let Vega's taunt fly over his head, beady eyes focusing on the human's face, mandibles twitching ever so slightly. What Garrus did appeal to was turian examination; analyze your enemy, associate their strengths with weaknesses, and deconstruct the threat rapidly and efficiently, as ruthlessly as possible. That was the turian way.

Garrus wasn't a very good turian, but he liked to think he did that quite well.

Currently, James stood infront of him, having assumed a fighting stance. He was shirtless, with only a pair of shorts saving Garrus from witnessing human nudity. Intricate tattooes aligned his upper torso, but none of it was as complete or elaborate as those on Jack. His olive skin glistened with sweat, which was not surprising, given that they had been sparring for a solid two hours. Several, lightly-colored bruises covered his chest, although he doubt James acknowledged them as anything but bug bites.

Garrus thankfully didn't have to deal with sweat, since turians lacked sweat glands to begin with. He also had similiar dress however, with a distinctive lack of a shirt covering his torso. He had taken off his eye piece, which was currently resting on a nearby crate, allowing both his eyes to see freely. He had assumed a basic turian combat position; not all that dissimiliar from a human one. One arm was held up infront of him, the other at his side in reserve, to give his opponent the illusion of weakness on his flank. One leg was held behind, allowing him the momentum to catch an enemy charge if need be.

Both of them stood in the middle of the shuttle bay, allowing them plenty of room to go about their exercise. It had been a spur of the moment thing; Garrus knew there was only so many times one could calibrate the ship's weaponry, or polish one's sniper rifle, or disassemble one's assault rifle. He had alot of built-up stress to work out; stress from the war.

James wasn't of a similiar mind, but he welcomed the fight, nonetheless. Garrus had no doubt the marine could beat the turian into a pulp if he so wanted; aside from Marcus, he was one of the most heavily-built humans he had ever seen. Thick bundles of muscle encroached around his arms and legs, and his chest looked tightened and firm. He was a tank, by all meanings of the word, and the armor he wore on the field did nothing to hide this; it only amplified it.

"You getting tired, Vega?" Garrus shot back, electing to fight fire with fire, "You humans with your sweat glands. I'm not even damp."

James just chuckled, "I'm sure you can get tired though."

"True," the turian bit back, solidfying his position, "But it seems you already are." To tell the truth, Garrus was getting slightly tired, but he wasn't going to let James know just how much. They had been going at this for two hours; there could be no doubt that both parties were tired, it was just a matter of how much.

James twitched, and Garrus knew an attack was coming; the human had a slight flinch about him, and it always gave away his intent. It was why Garrus was able to accurately predict where the attacks would come, and when.

A left hook swung towards Garrus' jaw, and the turian quickly brought up his left arm to counter it, feeling the bulk of the human's arm clash with his. Without waiting, he brought up his right and swung at Vega's face, hooking him just under his own jaw. The human grunted at the impact, and immediately disengaged, backing away sufficiently to recover. And like a hawk, Garrus was on him.

Never let the enemy recover. If they're tired, make sure they're exhausted. If they want out, make sure they leave in a body bag. Add pressure, crack them. His drill instructor's words poured into his mind, Garrus swinging strike after strike into the bulky human marine, and each time the strikes sent James reeling back, who was unable to counter the ferocity and speed of the attacks.

One punch slammed into Vega's midsection, but like so many of the other strikes to that region, James barely acknowledged it, and did the unexpected; in moments, Garrus was reeling back, a huge pounding in his head.

Humans love to use their heads...usually not for thinking. The thought made Garrus grin, and he ignored the pounding in his head long enough to strafe to the left, and James charged forward, a punch leading his advance. Garrus cleanly missed it, kicking the human in the shin as he moved past. The blow caused James to choke back a loud cry, now driven to one knee.

Before he could grab James in a submission hold, the marine reached up and sent an elbow launching into Garrus' gut. All the air was forced from his lungs at once, and he stumbled backwards slightly, giving James enough time to get back on his feet.

From his position, Garrus could see their spectators; Keeling and Kal'Reegar sat on a pair of crates near the shuttle. Keeling was standing, arms folded over her unarmoured chest, only a sweatshirt and pants complimenting her form. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her eyes watched the match unwaveringly. Kal sat on her left, legs hanging off the edge of the crate, hands clasped infront of him as he watched as well.

James thought speed and strength would allow him to win quick and easy; only just on his feet, and the marine was already throwing in a whirlwind of punches and kicks, desperately trying to whittle down Garrus' defenses in anyway he could.

Only the first punch got Garrus; clipped him across the mandible, causing him to hiss slightly at the small flare of pain, but he ignored it and quickly moved further backwards, avoiding Vega's elaborate display of martial artism. After Vega's final kick, Garrus was able to identify a small opening; he had overextended himself on the last kick, and as quick as the marine would be to compensate, Garrus was quicker.

A swift side kick slammed into Vega's stomach, and this time, the marine was launched backwards, the weight of the blow causing him to stumble. Now free to move again, the turian step-dragged back to the middle of the 'arena,' smirking at James as he cracked his neck.

"Back to square one," Garrus chuckled, "We don't seem to be going anywhere, Vega."

"Quick boasting, Garry," came an all too familiar voice from behind him, the turian turning to watch as Kasumi jumped ontop of a crate, hugging her legs in a fetal position, her hood pulled down and the thief giving a mock salute, "Oh, far be it from me to interrupt your little punch out."

"What have I said-" he cut himself short, ducking under James' next punch and quickly pinning the human's momentum against his leg, sending the marine toppling forwards. But James was well-trained, and he turned the fall into a combat roll, coming back up into a stance as he swerved around, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. He finished what he was saying to the thief, this time keeping his gaze firmly on James, "What have I said about that nickname? Or any of your nicknames? You know I hate it."

"Well, duh. That's why it's fun," the thief giggled, shaking her head, "Besides, I call Tali fishbowl and buckethead, and she got used to those nicknames. She doesn't even seem to mind it now. Trust me, give it time. It'll stick."

"Garry, maybe..." the turian grunted, shifting back as James went back on the offensive, using his conversation with Kasumi to steal an advance on Garrus' position, but the turian was having none of it. Surprising the human, he broke off his retreat and suddenly met the man's forward motion, sending a knee flying into Vega's chest. The human wheezed from the blow, with Garrus quickly following up with a straight punch to the face, causing him to stumble further back. Garrus just shook his head, taking time to breathe, "...but not...not..."

"Garbear?" Kasumi finished for him, and upon seeing Garrus' little nod, a large smirk crossed her face, followed by a mock look of sympathy, "Aw...does it bother you that much, sweetie?"

"Eh...sweetie?" Garrus grimaced, the word giving him worse shudders than a damn husk on a battlefield, "I think I prefer Garbear."

"Oh, you do?"

"Wait...I didn't mean-"

Before Garrus could finish his sentence, James recovered from the turian's attack and shot back up, striking out with a hard punch to the jaw. This time, the turian did not see it coming, and the blow hit him square in the right mandible, causing him to reel backwards as the strike hit dead center. Garrus felt his vision blur slightly as he stumbled, fumbling to keep himself standing after the blow. Discomfort welled up in that part of his face; a fiery pain that quickly dumbed down to a simple, but infuriatingly dull ache. The turian growled as he turned back to James, the marine looking on with a smug grin as he reassumed a battle stance.

James proceed wordlessly, lashing out with a series of small jabs at the turian's face. Garrus swatted them aside effortlessly, managing to focus all his attention on the marine, allowing him to ignore the pain welling up in his face. He had no doubt he'd have a bruise soon to show for it. Have to keep my guard up. I can't let James, let alone the actual enemy, exploit a weakness like that in battle.

James reached forward in an attempt to brute force his way through Garrus' guard, attempting to bash his way in using a series of hard, but quick, punches towards the chest. Garrus was no amateur however, and simply strafed to the side, utilizing Vega's forward momentum against him so that Garrus could reach up with a roundhouse kick to the back of the man's head.

A loud grunt could be heard, and James doubled forward, almost losing his stance. He managed to stabilize himself, but not before Garrus was upon him again, slamming a fist into the crevice of the man's back, before sending another across the side of his jaw; payback for the blow James managed to get through before. The human stumbled again from the twin attacks and, winded and tired, he was helpless as Garrus moved forward and rammed his foot into the back of his knee, driving him to the ground.

Wasting no time in neutralizing his adversary, Garrus quickly reached out and wrapped one arm around Vega's neck, the other holding his head as the turian leaned in, smugness laced in his tone, "Ready to give up, Vega?" He made to sure his sleeper hold to show the marine that this really was a no choice situation; the fight was over.

"I yield, Scars," the marine managed to grumble, much to the turian's ever inflating ego. Releasing the hold, he stepped back, slapping his hands together in a human gesture he had learnt from Marcus known as 'dusting your hands off.' He watched as the soldier stood up, his breathing heavy as he reached behind himself and grabbed a towel that had been hanging from his pants, using it to pat down his face and soak up the sweat that had collected there.

"That was some damn good sparring, Scars," the human complimented, running a hand through his hair. It was then that Garrus felt the exhaustion hit him as well, adrenaline rush wearing off and allowing him to breathe more heavily. He wasted no time in moving over to a crate to retrieve a bottle of water, even as James continued, "Turian military teach you to fight like that?"

"For the most part," he replied, turning to the crate holding the water bottles, only to find two missing. Looking up, he saw Kasumi sitting next to the bottle pack, holding out two of them. She grinned at him, Garrus taking the time to appreciate her uncovered head; raven black hair, smooth complexion, unique facial appearance that humans seemed to call of 'asian' ethnicity. After a moment, he returned to reality and he took the two bottles offered, giving her a weak smile before turning back to Vega.

He tossed one bottle to the marine, who snatched it from the air easily, unscrewing the top and bringing it to his lips to allow liquid heaven to pour into his mouth. Garrus did the same, prying open his mandibles and allowing himself to relish the ice cold liquid pouring down his parched throat. After a moment, he gulped down his mouthful, and continued, leaning against the crate behind him, "Alot of it was self-training during my days on Omega. And there was also the backup martial arts training that Marcus gave me during the Eden Prime War. I know one turian martial art, one human martial art from Marcus, and another human martial art I learnt by myself."

"Really? What were they?" It was Kasumi who asked this time, still situated on her self-proclaimed nest, "My people had many martial arts. Was it Karate? Kung Fu? Kenpo? Aikido?"

"Well, the one Marcus taught me was called Krav Maga," Garrus stated, taking another sip of his drink, "The one I researched independently was called Karate, yes. But I think I prefer your Krav Maga. Much more brutal, but effective...and straight to the point. I took a look at your Kung Fu, however..."

"Ah, that shit's too fancy. Too stylish. Not enough actual self-defense training involved," James dismissed.

"Sounds like Garry's kind of thing," the japanese thief remarked.

Garrus just rolled his eyes, not even turning to face her, "The turian one I learned was a martial art called taesavar, which is standard among all turian military, standard and Blackwatch. Not as elaborate as human martial arts, to be sure, and not as quick as the salarian erat, but it gets the job done in melee combat. I used some of it during our fight, but most of the techniques I used were human."

"I'd say we're starting to rub off on you, Scars," James grinned, moving back over to his crate as he picked up his singlet and put it back on, followed by his dog tags.

Garrus just shook his head, chuckling, "Its a very unhealthy transformation, I'll grant you. I'm being poisoned by primitive culture."

"I'd be careful who's culture you call 'primitive', Mr. Vakarian," Kasumi drawled, crossing her arms as she glared playfully at him, "I could arrange to 'misalign' some of your calibrations. And I do know how much you love those calibrations of yours."

"And our martial arts, apparently," Keeling snarkily added, speaking up for the first time during their two hour session.

"You all ganging up on me, now?" Garrus asked, still grinning as he squeezed the last drops of his water into his mouth, listening to the crunch of the plastic under his taloned grip, "Typical primitives."

"No need to fear these bosh'tets with me around, sir," Kal declared, leaping down from his crate to land tactfully on his feet, moving towards the center of the shuttle bay with a determined step, "Although I'd like to see how I fair against you, sir. My hand-to-hand's gone all to shit; haven't had much use for it against geth. I wouldn't mind getting the shit beaten out of me."

Garrus regarded the quarian marine as he tossed his now empty bottle onto the crate beside him, moving forwards with determination in his step. He had gathered his breathing sufficiently now, and he felt rested enough to actually fight again. It took alot to exhaust a turian, anyway, "Sure, why not? Although you don't have to call me sir, you know. We fought beside each other against the Collectors. You've earned the right to at least a first name basis."

"Not good with first names. Just ask Mrs. Shepard...sir," Kal replied, assuming a quarian battle stance; both hands up, but standing on their toes, allowing them better movement and making them lighter. Very smart. Garrus assumed his turian guard position, cracking his neck in preparation.

"Better work hard at it, then. I hate being called 'sir.' Makes me feel old," he complained. He didn't lie; it did make him feel old. Kal was a general, and to be called sir by someone like him; made Garrus feel like a damn primarch. And he most certainly did not want to feel like that.

"Old? You? Of course not, Vakarian. Right as rain, you are," Kasumi giggled, shaking her head as she crossed her legs again, pulling her hood up over her head to soak it in dark mystery once again, "Although...actually, when you say it like that...I think I am seeing a few wrinkles on that scalp of yours."

"Primitive."

"Garbear."

"Shamless thief."

"Space batman."

"Just who the hell is Batman?"

"Hiding under a rock too, apparently," the thief smirked.

"Whatever," the turian dismissed, waving a hand as he focused on Kal, "You humans are just unusual creatures."

"And distracting."

"What?"

"I said we're distracting."

"How so?"

"How? Like that."

"Like wha-"

He wheezed as a pair of blows connected with his sternum, followed by one to the face, opposite to the one James scored. He stumbled, taken by surprise by the first salvo, and recovering his balance long enough for a foot to hit him in the ribs, driving all the air from his lungs in an instant. Garrus regained his composure immediately; a byproduct of his turian inability to show weakness. Looking up, he watched as Kal retreated, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The quarian just looked at him, and Garrus looked right back.

The quarian's eyes squinted.

Wait...is he...grinning?

Oh, now it's on, Reegar.

"Humans 1, Turians: 0," Kasumi clapped her hands loudly like an overly excited child, grinning from ear to ear as she bounced up and down on her crate, Garrus shooting her an unamused scowl. She just poked her tongue out at him, taking no notice, "Distraction is the key, Sweetie Garbear."

Great. Now she's combining nicknames into deformed hybrids. I love and hate that woman sometimes.

"So Reegar, what was that about wanting a beating?" Garrus teased, narrowing his eyes at the combat-ready quarian.

"That's if you're capable of it...sir," Kal returned in kind, step-dragging along the floor as he moved around Garrus' form, eyes focused totally on him. Garrus just followed his movements, unwilling to be encircled by the marine.

"Maybe you don't know what I'm capable of, Reegar..." he shot back, unwilling to be one-upped.

"We aren't going to find out by just standing here," the quarian steadfastly replied, and within moments, shot forward, dealing a trio of punches. Garrus snapped out his own arms to block the attacks, managing to do so with little to no pain on his side. Only the dull thump of two arms connecting was heard, and the resounding vibrations that followed the impacts could be felt.

Garrus didn't bother replying verbally, preferring to talk with his fists. He slashed forward with an uppercut, planning to follow up with a side kick to push Kal back. But the quarian was faster, and danced backwards to avoid the uppercut, keeping out of the turian's range. With his battle scenario ruined, Garrus ceased all movement and just stood there, orbitting Kal, with the quarian never failing to keep his eyes pinned on him.

He's not like James. Vega fights like a krogan; thinks his strength will be the sole victor. Makes him easy to deal with. But Kal...damn it, should be obvious. He's a quarian; they've evolved to think with their heads and use tactics over brute strength. Their suits force them to. Going to have to think around that.

With this in mind, he step-dragged forward, just close enough for Kal to hit him if he decided to strike. But, ever the patient one, he did not budge, deciding against seizing the opportunity to attack. Garrus had to admire that. He's thinking tactically. He's got all the time in the world; he'll harass me, wear me down, and then reserve all his strength for when I'm exhausted and vulnerable.

Only one way to combat that: don't give him the chance.

The two of them sparred for hours; trading blows, beating the living hell out of each other, exchanging banter. Their audience just watched, and steadily, although they hardly noticed, began to grow. Cortez joined James where Keeling was standing, the pilot having finished his routine check of the shuttle's engines and, while on break, deciding to watch the battle before him.

Ken and Gabby, accompanied by a grumbling Goldstein, had chosen to watch the fight as well, as all three of them had just finished their own shifts. Madi had managed to slip inside as well, after Kasumi 'accidentally' told her that the thief's boyfriend and Madi's husband were sparring. The quarian had shot down to the shuttle bay at FTL speed without even a second thought. Joker had managed to limp down to the bay as well; Chakwas and Michel's new medical treatments had made the pilot's bones slightly stronger, allowing him limited mobility. He still needed EDI to help him around, snarkily calling her his 'mobility assistance mech,' which is why she had also accompanied him to the bay in her new form. The AI had been working recently to find a way to synthesize and build Eva's original 'skin,' allowing EDI to look human, just like Eva had before the fire had burnt away all the skin. Although that progress would be slow; Huerta Memorial were still processing the cloned tissue structure needed to forge it, and would likely take weeks.

Even Javik, grumpy and as 'superior' as he was, and decided to join the ever growing audience, leaning against the armoury bench with crossed arms as he watched from afar, a look of impression on his four eyed face.

Eventually, the fight ended in a stalemate; Garrus had failed to defeat Kal, but similarly, Kal had not been able to break past the turian's defenses. In the end, they called it quits, both of them exhausted, acknowledged each other's skill, and shook hands on it. Breaking apart, Kal moved over to where Madi stood, her arms crossed and glaring at him. Garrus moved over to his own crate, retrieving a second water bottle and draining it ludicrously quick. As he finished it, he looked over to Kal, allowing himself a chuckle as he watched Madi fussing over him, while the marine attempted to insert an induction port into his own bottle.

"What are you laughing about?" Kasumi asked, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

He just shook his head, reaching over to grab his shirt, deciding he was done sparring for the day, "Nothing."

The thief wasn't convinced, "Mmmm...hmphh..." she mumbled, shaking her head as she leaped down from her position ontop of the crate, "Well, if this is all done, I'm just going to retreat to the Lounge. You know, grab a drink, open a good book, relax...not much call for thievery on a ship, after all."

In the time she took to finish her sentence, Garrus and put his shirt back on, retrieved another water bottle, and cracked his neck. Finally, he turned to her as she began to walk away, "Mind if I join you?"

She stopped, turning to him with a frown, "What, join me reading? What are you going to do, watch me reading? That sounds terribly boring."

"I might learn something," he grinned knowingly at her.

Kasumi just crossed her arms, not impressed, "I know what you're doing, Garry. Stop it."

The turian didn't even acknowledge the perversion of his name this time, simply shrugging, his grin remaining, "And...what am I doing?"

"Stop, Garry," she snapped back in reply, turning back as she moved back towards the elevator, "Purge those bad thoughts."

"Well, I am trying..." the turian attempted to justify, but his eyes quickly wondered downwards until they looked upon a certain target. When he saw it, his eyes remained fixated, watching it swing from side to side as the thief moved away, "And...now I'm not trying..."

He 'admired' the 'view' for several more seconds before his view was broken by the elevator doors sliding shut, causing Kasumi to disappear. Sighing, he tore his eyes away, grabbing the remainder of his stuff as he made ready to return to the main gun battery.

A voice off to his side, just as he cleared the armoury, caused him to stop, "This crew...all of you...it appears I have much more to learn about this cycle."

The turian turned with a sigh, nodding to the prothean who stood to his side, arms hanging at his side as he approached Garrus.

"What, learned something new today?" Garrus drawled, not in the mood to trade insults with Javik. I'm not going to put up with his shit today. "You're such primitives." Yes, we get it. You don't like us! You don't need to remind us every single time you walk by!

"All these races cooperating," Javik noted, looking genuinely impressed, "It was something the Empire could not achieve. You are all individuals, with your own unique culture and military, yet you work together when the time calls for it. There is no sense of hostility here. During the Empire, only my people were dominant. There was no Council, no joint-species coalition. The other races either accepted our leadership and were assimilated, or challenged us. They either vanquished us and took our place, or were utterly destroyed or subjugated. It was survival of the fittest."

Garrus just snorted, smiling slightly, "Guess I'm glad we didn't have a species like yours during this cycle. Don't think I'd appreciate the asari ruling us like subjects or prized slaves."

"It seems that has proved to be your saving grace, turian," the prothean acknowledged, sighing as he rubbed the top of his scalp, "When my people waged war with the Reapers, we did not fight as a unifed force with the other races. We did not utilize different tactics or strategies. We did not work together. By the time of our war, there was only protheans. The Empire recognized only protheans, and there existed no other species. All others came to know themselves as prothean. Any doubts they had were gone, and they accepted what they were. We all used the same tactics, the same strategies. And the Reapers exploited this. Used it against us."

"Let me hazard a guess," the turian began in reply, pretending to rack his brain for said guess. After a few moments, he turned fully to the prothean, and spoke, "You were unable to adapt?"

"Precisely, turian. Once they knew our tactics and battle plans, my people were doomed. All our major military assets were defeated, indoctrinated or destroyed within the first few decades of the conflict. What was left was only desperate pockets of resistance. Some races tried to bargain with the Reapers in rebellion against us; like the Densorin. They were harvested first. Others that fought beside us until the end...did just that. Nothing remains of them now, I assume."

"Before we found you, ancient history assumed the protheans were the only species, let alone the only spacefaring species, in the galaxy during your cycle. There was no mention of other races. Yet again, evidence of your people's existence is scarce at best, let alone evidence of others."

"So I see," Javik stated, coming to stand inches from the turian marksman, "But it appears my people didn't fail entirely. After all, the asari may not be the dominant race, but appear to be the most advanced. Just as we intended."

That got Garrus' eyes to widen, "You intended for the asari to be the most advanced species? Why?"

"I only heard rumors. Remember, when I was born, the war with the Reapers was already in full swing. I don't remember what the Empire was like before," the prothean quickly placated, nodding. He looked at the ground for a moment, contemplating what he wanted to say, before looking back up, "But when the Empire was flourishing, my people...our scientists, our top researchers...watched over all the primitive species. All of which now seem to be part of your galactic community, save for some."

"What? Like the raloi and the yahg?" the turian asked, cocking his head, as he leaned against the console beside him, now fully interested in what Javik had to say, "You watched over them too?"

"The raloi were still senseless apes at that time; driven by instinct, not reason," the prothean dictated, "As for the yahg, they were still microbes; little more than barely living bacteria. There wasn't much to observe. Your races however..."

Garrus was more than curious. Liara will freak when she learns Javik talked to me, before her... "Do tell. What was my species like?" They don't go that far back in history classes...and I never attended my biology studies...

A grin spread across Javik's lips, "Your species were hunters, like mine. My species used our sensory ability to hunt down prey and to absorb the knowledge of the terrain and of our prey's capabilities. Your people lacked these sensory abilities, but you were effective; brutal, more crude. The way you hunted down your prey; my people were quick and clean, you preferred quick and bloody. You trapped your target, closed in, and tore their belly open in order to bleed your prey out."

Garrus just gulped, chuckling slightly as he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well...guess that explains the talons, doesn't it?" I can't believe my people were once on all fours, running around Palaven, tearing shatha open with our bare hands. Now that I think about it though, it does explain why my species became so militaristic.

"Humans were quite similar, however, they had evolved further than your species when my people set up our observation posts on Agevar," Javik declared.

Garrus frowned, "Agevar? I haven't heard of that planet."

Javik scoffed, shaking his head, "Of course you haven't, turian. Agevar was my people's name for what you now call Mars. Agevar was the name of one of my people's greatest generals; the one who conquered the Thoi'han."

"Moving on..." the turian tried to urge along, not wanting to hear anymore on that front. Protheans conquered this, protheans conquered that...god, the protheans were total assholes.

"Humans were...unique. Smart," Javik began, looking almost unable to find a good enough way to explain what he wanted to say, "They were one of the first of the primitive species to design man-made weapons. They also walked on two feet, and were, in some way, intelligent, for lack of a better term. More than I can say for the salarians and asari. The salarians still ate flies, and the asari were still learning how to use their biotics and worshipping Ardat-Yakshi."

"Okay then. So long story short, we were all primitives. Got it," Garrus drawled, rolling his eyes as he stood up, making towards the elevator, "Thanks for the info."

"If there is one thing I can say for this cycle, turian," Javik began, speaking as Garrus stopped, turning to address the prothean one final time, "It is that your people have a better chance than mine did. The Reapers caught us offguard; you've known about them for three years. Your cycle...your cycle is the first to still have the Citadel. To still have a chance."

"Thanks," Garrus smiled, nodding, "And no matter, your people, and those before them, will be avenged. We're going to destroy the Reapers. End the cycle."

Javik did not give him a response, he simply turned around, moving over to one of the storage lockers where his particle rifle was kept; likely to work on it. Garrus just turned around and entered the elevator, hitting the button for Deck 3. And as the elevator began its ascent, Garrus could only lean against the back wall, narrowing his eyes in deep thought.

If even the pessimistic prothean is telling us we can win...

...then our chances must be better than I thought.

{Loading...}

Darkness. Always darkness.

He feels his eyes open, but he still cannot see anything.

There is a rustle on the wind. He can feel it blowing against his face; its bite is cold and icy. He winces away from it.

He opens his mouth to speak, to yell out...but he hears nothing come out.

He lifts one foot, taking a step forward.

And like a match that is lit, everything explodes in a bright haze of light.

Details he can make out in seconds as the darkness is instantly vaporized. Blank, hollow trees; their bark rotted and sap falling through holes in their dark skin. Branches snapped and swinging to and fro. The wind whistles through their hollow bodies. Some have leaves, others don't.

The ground is dusty and foreboding; dead and unwelcoming. It is non-descript; only the odd pebble or snapped branch to mar its surface.

He looks around; trees, nothing but the same, dead trees for what looked to be miles; an endless forest, unforgiving in its existence. All he could see was the same bland trees, the same dusty ground, the same damn pebbles.

The wind blows past his face again, and once again, he winces from the icy bite.

He looks up, but the sky offers no reprieve. As if blanketed by evil, grey clouds slither by, bleeding across the atmosphere like a cancer; infirming upon the forest its dark dominion. No light penetrates their cloudy commerce; only darkness. Blank, inky darkness...

He does not fail to notice the lack of sound. Only the wind and rustle of trees exchanges their greeting, with all other sound non-existent; dead silentium.

He looks down upon himself, turning his hands over to look at them; he appears to be fine. He is in his officer's uniform, which appears to be straightened out and prestine clean. His hands appear unmarred from the terrain he inhabits. He brings them up to touch his face, and he is happy to know that he can feel it. He feels normal.

But the cold; the bloody cold...

It creeps into his bones, conquers his greatest defense; all warmth retreats. Only the cold. All feels is the cold. It subjugates him. Controls him. It is what he is.

For moments, he does not move. He simply looks around, confused; cold. He does not know what to do or where he is. One moment he is on the Normandy, and the next...he is here...

A scream. He hears it. His head snaps up, scanning the terrain, watching the perpetrator come into focus.

She runs, terrified, her movements stiff and rigid. He does not know what she is; her form is inky and black, body seemingly made of gaseous spectres, striding through the air as if she rules it. As if she is a part of it.

Her mouth opens to scream again, but when she does, it is not what he should hear. A blank hole opens where her mouth should be, extending to unnatural diameters as she let's out the sound of a thunderously loud airhorn; her body radiates a brilliant crimson glow, irradiating the entire area around her.

SHEPARD.

He cradled his head, hands pressing firmly against his ears. He must keep the voices out. He must.

SERVE US.

SERVE US OR PERISH.

The inky shadow fell to the ground, red blood exploding across the dust to enrich it. He wrenched open his eyes, still trying to shut out the damning airhorn...and then he saw it.

The shadows creeped away, and in their place...the body of a female quarian.

Shala'Raan.

No...

NO...

"Shepard-Commander?"

He spun around, turning to face the stationary form of a familiar geth. There was a large hole straight through its abdomenal area, and a Widow sniper rifle collapsed on its back, a geth pulse rifle accompanying its side. Its glowing optics looked down on him, looking condescending...almost pitiful.

"Shepard-Commander, help us."

His lips quivered as he watched it. There was something wrong; the air felt more suffocating, his lungs began to constrict as he looked at the geth, and he felt something rising.

"Legion..."

"Shepard-Commander, we require assistance!"

He watched in cold, isolated horror as white liquid began to pour from the hole in its chest. Eventually, more orifices began to leak the unmistakable liquid, and as he watched, more holes appeared in its body; all leaking the same liquid.

The glow in its optics began to stutter, flickering.

"Sheparrrrddddd-Command-Command-Commandeeeeeeeerrrrrrr...heelp usss..."

Legion's light flickered one last time, and died.

It fell onto its knees, white essence pouring from its body to soak the ground beneath its kneeling form. It looked at him one final time.

"...do we deserve death?"

And then the sky above lit up with fire.

As Legion's form collapsed, he looked up to watch as the sky caught on fire. Flames danced across the sky, seemingly igniting the clouds and sending brilliant bursts of fiery destruction rampaging across the air, feeding through the wind. He squinted at the brillance of it. He figured he had seen enough.

What he saw pour through the sky made him open his mouth, and scream.

Ships. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. All of them, falling. Burning. Exploding. Bits of wreckage rained down around him. They rained from the sky, lighting up the atmosphere, imploding upon the ground as they impacted. When they hit the ground, they did not cause a tremor or a bang; they exploded in absolute silence.

Bodies fell from the sky; he could identify them without trouble. Quarians, suitless and suited, hitting the ground with enough force to reduce bones to shattered glass. Then they started coming in pieces; legs, arms, heads, and torsos...blood fountaining through the air in thick rivulets. He found his body quickly drenched in it, the feeling horrifying warm...relieving him of the dark cold that plagued his body. It leaked into his mouth, the coppery taste causing him to spit it out in geysers. He closed his eyes as it drenched his face, dampened his uniform, slid across his skin...

SHEPARD.

He continued to scream, his horror screeching across the stars.

SHEPARD. YOU HAVE FAILED. SERVE US.

SERVE US.

SERVE US!

"Had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong."

Mordin...

"Do you think me and Brynn could join the Normandy?"

Of course, Jacob. Of course...

"Ha...that assassin should be embarassed. A...terminally ill drell...managed to stop him from...reaching his target."

You did good, Thane...

"W-w-why?"

He turned, still drenched in the blood of millions. Watching as ships continued to pour from the sky.

He wrenched open his eyes and froze.

She lay across the ground, her suit torn open across her chest to show the exposed skin of her stomach, now sheared and bloodied. Her intestines were spilled across the ground, leaking out from her opened chest, red blood having drained and stained her grey skin. No more blood pumped out for her heart had stopped pumping it hours ago. Her arms were splayed out across the ground, unmoving. One of her legs were snapped, with a bone having torn through the knee of the other, jutting out like a flagpole. Her veil was torn and ripped, but what truly made him weep was her face.

Cold, synthetic and pitiless eyes looked back at him, glowing bright blue. Cybernetics ran across her once beautiful face, her skin twisted and torn where piping and circuitry had been buried into her face by force. Not a shred of her remained...only the bland face of a husk looked back at him.

Tali opened her mouth to speak again, and what horrified him the most...

...was that the voice was exactly the same.

"...this is you. All you. You could have saved us...you liar..."

No...

"You chose the geth over my people..."

He was finally allowed to speak, coughing out red, quarian blood as he did, "What? Tali, I would never-"

"Shepard-Commander, my people only defended ourselves. Do we deserve death?"

He turned around, looking at Legion's dead body, its optics turned to face him at an unnatural angle.

"What? I don't understand...please don't..."

IT IS OVER, SHEPARD. SUBMIT YOURSELF TO US AND BE SPARED.

"No! I will not you take her from me!"

You already have.

And as he looked on, he remained rooted to the spot and helpless as the person once known as Tali'Shepard vas Normandy stood up, snarled, and leapt towards him, sinking her teeth deep into his throat.

He screamed, the sound tainted with the gurgling of blood as it fountained from his mouth.

SERVE US.

{Loading...}

July 8, 2186

1901 hours.

The Shepards' Quarters, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, Migrant Fleet, In Orbit over Haestrom, Dholen System, Far Rim Cluster.

Second Morning War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Normandy, Junior.

The world returns to him in an instant.

There is no dramatic erection of his body; he does not bolt up right, breathing heavily scanning the room with wide eyes. He does not scream, or call out someone's name. He does not beg.

His eyes shoot open, the world snapping into crystal clarity around him immediately. His body is drenched in a cold sweat, beads of it coating his body and soaking into the bed sheets. He breathes lightly, but no more loudly than normal. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils, containing himself, telling his mind that what he had experienced was not reality, but simply another nightmare. Another dirty, horrible trick of the subconscious.

But despite these reassurances, he could still here whispers in the back of his mind, but they were fading away.

...serve us...

...submit...

...be spared...

...serve us...

And like a windy breeze bringing itself upon conclusion, the whispers evaporated, vacating his mind. It was only then that he realized he was gripping the sheets more tightly. Looking down, he saw that he was close to ripping the fabric in half, the blood drained from his knuckles as he clenched the bed so tightly, his skin turning a deathly shade of bright white. He relaxed his grip, letting blood flow back into his hand, letting the sheets collapse like feathers back to the mattress. It was then that he felt something stir beside him. Realizing who it was, he closed his eyes in exasperation, cursing himself mentally even as they spoke.

"Marcus?"

He knew what was going to follow. No, I don't want to address...the nightmares. Not even with her. I can't...I don't want to...I need to ignore them. I can't let them win. I can't let them...control me. Dominate me. I must fight it. For her sake. For all of them.

He stroked her back, turning towards her as he pushed her against him under the sheets, "I'm fine, Tali."

"Don't lie to me. I thought we swore to each other never to lie," she scorned, reaching up a three-fingered hand to grab his chin and turn him to face her, eyes narrowed and scanning his expression. He made a concealed effort to hide his thoughts from her, but as per usual, it was doomed to failure, and she recognized the look of indecision on his face before he managed to hide it, "You are not fine. You're sweating, Marcus. You never sweat unless you have a bad dream. What was it?"

"It's...it's nothing. Seriously," he insisted. You were huskified...and you ripped my throat out...and the sky...oh my god, the sky...

"Do we deserve death?"

Even now, Legion's words haunted him. They seemed almost prophetic. When the geth had voiced them, they seemed like words from memory, not ones he was just hearing. Almost like he had...he had heard the geth say them before.

"Damn it, you bosh'tet, I am your wife. We will lie here until you damn well tell me what is wrong," his wife persisted, a look of anger crossing her face, "EDI told me that this isn't the first time. She made it an obligation to tell me in secret that you've had these dreams at least a dozen times, always waking up like this. So don't tell me there's nothing wrong."

"They are only dreams, damn it," he snapped, regretting his action almost immediately. He sighed, rubbing his face as he tapped his forehead to her own, adopting a more delicate tone as he continued, "Look Tali, they are nothing to worry about. I just have...these visions. They don't affect my duties, and they won't effect how I talk to you. Can we just drop it?"

"Like the vision you got on Eden Prime all those years ago?" the quarian frowned, confused. Marcus, realizing the potential for this to cover his tracks, merely nodded, doing it more hesitantly to make it look more believable. This did not allay her frown though, only causing her to cock her head further into the pillow in befuddlement, "I thought you said that vision doesn't effect you anymore? That you stopped getting it after Sovereign was destroyed?"

He shrugged, breathing in through his nostrils again as he flopped his head back down on the pillow, looking up through the ceiling observation window out into the stars around them, "I did, for a time. But ever since the Reapers attacked Earth...the vision came back, Tali. And now it won't leave me alone." In truth, these nightmares...they were much different from the vision he got from the beacon. In reality, Tali was right; he had stopped having that vision upon Sovereign's destruction; he guessed that subconsciously, his brain must have realized that the source of the vision's "issues" had been dealt with, and that the vision was no longer required. Since then, it had not plagued him; gone to another part of his brain, or likely deleted by the Cipher that still occupied his mind.

These visions were different, these nightmares...and they were far worse. All they held was death, destruction and hopelessness...Reaper taunts, and visions of those he failed to save. Those he failed to protect. Dead friends. His failure to save Jacob, Tarquin, Mordin and Thane's sacrifices...and Legion's words. Those damn words.

"Do we deserve death?"

And the horrible truth of them that began to eat away at his mind; a horrifying epiphany that not only scared him, but made him begin to doubt himself. There was a connection between them all; a pattern, a rhythm. And the more he thought about it, the more it began to make sense; the constant Reaper taunts, the visions of friends and people dying...all to generate a sense of hopelessness. To wither down his defenses.

It was all too terrifyingly familiar.

How could I tell her that? It would only make her worried. I can't let her know that I could be...compromised. That the Reapers may have...begun to break me. No, I can't let her know. And who knows? Maybe I'll last long enough to see this war end...to see the Reapers destroyed...to be freed of them...

...serve us...

Leave me, alone. I will never serve you.

...all of them do...you are powerless to resist...

Not as powerless as you think.

Finally, he replied, turning his head slightly to face her, seeing the quarian propping her head up on one elbow, looking down on him, "I love you, Tali. I know...I know dealing with this, with me, has been rough. Having to put up with my shit...I just want you to know how much I appreciate you being so patient with me."

Tali just scoffed, lying back down, lying her head down on his chest, one arm splayed across his abdomen, hand running along his lines of defined muscle absentmindedly, "You were so patient with me when I was doing research for us...being together, so I figured it was the least I could do. Besides, when I married you, I knew what I was getting into; all part of the deal, you see. I'm with you, till the end."

He smiled, rubbing her shoulder, kissing her ontop of the head, breathing in her scent, "You were with me from the beginning, after all. One of the originals. You, Garrus, Liara, Kaidan, Joker, Chakwas, Adams...all we need is Wrex to complete the set. You guys never abandoned me; not once. Sure, Liara had her hassle with the Shadow Broker, and Adams had trust issues with Cerberus...but in the end, you still believed in me. All of you. You stuck by my side no matter how rough it got."

Tali just chuckled slightly, shaking her head, "Keelah, please don't get sentimental, Marcus. You make yourself look old, and as a result, I look old to. I don't really want to think about me having wrinkles and being unable to hold a shotgun."

He smiled warmly at that, but it was...uncertain. She didn't miss it, and she looked up, her chin placed on his chest, arms folded under her body, "I know that look; what is it, Marcus? What are you thinking about?"

He sighed, stroking her cheek as he wandered mentally, deep in thought. Eventually, he came to a conclusion he had been looking for a long time, "You know, Tali. I've been thinking about that; getting old. Can you...can you really see yourself growing old with me?"

Her eyes widened, and she slapped his chest, albeit lightly, "What kind of question is that? Of course I'm willing to grow old with you!"

"Tali, stop-"

"No, you let me finish," she insisted, waving off his interruption as she poked a finger at him, "When I first met you, I thought you were an angel from the ancestors. I was shot in the arm, scared and on the run. Fist's thugs would have raped me and killed me if you hadn't turned up and gunned them all down. You rescued me, and even after all that, let me join your crew. You treated me like an equal, like one of your own. You gave me a spectre shotgun, taught me hand-to-hand combat, and to top it all off, you made me what I am today. And then, when all was said and done, you told me you had feelings for me. ME! The naive little quarian on her pilgrimage trapped in a suit, when you could have had Liara, or Ashley! You chose me!"

He just listened, not bothering to interrupt as he just lay back and listened to Tali's rant.

"And then, before we know it, Saren's dead, Sovereign's destroyed and we defeated the geth! I could have gone back to the Fleet! With the data you gave me, I could have had any position I wanted! But I chose to stick with you. Right up until you...died," the memory was still sour on everyone's mind, but she shook it away, the memory no longer affecting her like it had, "I return to the Fleet, join the Neema, and for two years, I tried to move on; but I never could. You know why? Because I had bonded to you; my body, my soul, decided it wanted to be with you forever. I was the Heroine of the Citadel, Marcus! Or at least one of them! I could have had any man I wanted, any position I wanted! Instead, I chose you. And when you returned, when you were shown to be alive, and you rescued me again on Haestrom, I knew I wanted to be with you. And then...that...that night before the Collector Base..."

He nodded, smiling slightly as he squeezed her hand, "Still one of the best memories I've ever had."

She smiled back, her smile having just as much warmth, "And then we got married...and Mordin, with his serum, allowing us to have a child..." it was then that, like two simultaneously thinking processors, they both turned to Junior, sleeping on the makeshift crib beside them, thankfully having not awoken, "I have to believe all these things happened for a reason, Marcus. That your God, or my ancestors...they wanted us to be together. We are a union of one. We are Shepard."

She finally took a deep breath, leaning in until her face hovered just above his, "So when you ask if I want to grow old with you, Marcus, the answer should be obvious. I will be by your side no matter what happens; if we get seperated, I will always find you, or you me. If someone hurts you, I'll kill them. If you get captured, I'll save you. No matter what happens, we'll fight through it, together. We're unionmates; it's what we do. You're my soulmate. Will I grow old with you? Yes, I will grow old with you. Even if I have to battle Harbinger with my bare fists, I will make it happen."

He smiled, feeling a single, solitary tear streak down his cheek as he brought her down, kissing her full on the lips. They stayed like that, eyes closed, lips locked, for a several seconds before parting, and he just shook his head, weakly laughing, "Damn, Tali. All I asked was a simple question, not a fucking speech..."

Tali just giggled, eventually breaking out into laughter. Marcus eventually began to laugh too, the two of them locked together, laughing their hearts out, occassionally breaking their amusement to kiss or cuddle. It made Marcus almost completely forget about the dreams.

And the whispers. It's almost like they had disappeared.

"Ni se'miel, Marcus," Tali whispered, reaching down and sucking on his lower lip for a moment, before parting.

He frowned up at her, "That didn't translate very well. What does it mean?"

She laughed, hugging herself tightly to him, "It means 'I love you'."

"Ah, does it?" he grinned, and noting her nod, he pulled her closer, "Well, in that case..." he moves until his head is beside hers, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, "Ni se'miel, Tali."

Before either of them could advance any further, the worst sound in the entire world sounded through the cabin; the sound of a baby crying. No, wailing.

Both of them visibly cringed, husband and wife, father and mother, turning to the crib on the left of their bed, watching through the caged wooden supports as Junior cried and cried, tears drifting down his face as his arms and legs jerked everywhere in a torturous tantrum, letting his parents know of his discontent.

Easy to forget we're parents now. Marcus mused, as he collapsed backward. Tali stood up, straddling him, the covers falling to reveal her usually naked body; unfortunately for Marcus, and fortunately for Junior's mental state, Marcus had introduced Tali to the word of 'clothing' seven or eight months ago, meaning Tali rarely came to bed naked now unless Junior wasn't present; instead, she wore a pair of black knickers and a matching bra. Even though Kasumi had insisted that bras were necessary for a girl to be 'girly,' Tali had insisted that she found the thing uncomfortable to wear, but eventually gave in for Junior and Marcus' sake; their son didn't have to see his mother's naked chest, and Marcus wasn't totally deprived of his wife's...assets, for lack of a better term.

She crossed her arms, glaring down at him, "You know it's your turn, right?"

He grimaced again, groaning as he held his hands to his face. Fuck. Forgot all about that...

"Can't we just get a babysitter?" Marcus pleaded, pouting as he looked up at her. The quarian simply raised an eyebrow, and he elaborated, rubbing the back of his neck, "Kasumi, maybe?"

"Kasumi? I don't want my son learning how to steal before he's even walked yet."

"Yeesh. Harsh way to think of your sister, Tali."

"But true."

"Yes, definitely true. How about...Garrus?"

"Really?"

"What's wrong with him?"

Tali rolled her eyes, "Garrus would just place him on his console and continue calibrating his guns."

"Uh...um...damn, you do have a point?"

"Any more bright ideas for babysitters?"

"Uh..." he racked his brain for ideas, eventually landing on one as he looked up sheepishly at her, "...Javik?"

She just chortled, unable to contain herself. Even Marcus managed a grin, finding the suggestion slightly hilarious.

"What, so you want our child to grow up thinking his parents are primitives?" she laughed, shaking her head. Eventually, she contained herself, looking defiantly down upon him with a look of seriousness, "Marcus, you can't hide from it. You're Junior's father, and as parents, we must share responsibility. You know this."

"I know, I know," he placated, sighing as he moved to sit up, "Just me being lazy. I'll look after him. Although that's a bit hard with you...uh...you know...stradling me."

She nodded, giving him a quick kiss as he sat up, wearing nothing but boxers. She moved to get off of him, sinking back below the covers of the bed as she hummed in content. He simply glared at her, knowing she had made the sound to tease him. Turning away, he got up and was making his way towards the crib when the overhead PA suddenly connected, Joker's voice speaking through the comm.

"Hey Marcus, got a call coming in from Admiral Hackett," the pilot announced, "Says he wants to speak with you over the QEC. Wants a status update about the quarian-geth situation."

We have been disconnected for quite a bit, I'll admit.

With a smug grin, he turns back to the bed, listening to Tali groan as she listens to the transmission. Still grinning, he makes his way over to the couch, retrieving his shirt and putting it on, followed by a pair of pants, "Copy that, Joker. Tell EDI I'll take the call in the War Room. It would also be helpful if the admirals were there. Make sure to leave Gerrel out of the call."

Joker's response was quick and to the point, "Already done. Joker out."

Quickly buckling up his pants, he turns back to his wife, still smirking, "Well, duty calls, sweetheart. Got to go."

Tali's response was muffled, and he only just made out what she was saying, the quarian admiral pressing her face firmly into her pillow. Junior just continued to wail, utterly persistent, "I hate you, Marcus. I love you, but I hate you."

"Love you too, Tali," he replied, snatching up his cap and placing it firmly over his head, "I've assembled the other admirals, but I'll tell them you couldn't make it. I'll see you later, then?"

His answer was a pillow lazily thrown in his direction, missing him by an inch, "Just go, you bosh'tet! Don't rub it in!"

He just chuckled, running up the steps and into the elevator before his wife got any more tactical ideas about how to neutralize her smug nemesis. Hitting the button for Deck 2, he simply stood back and sighed, readjusting his cap in the process.

Duty truly did call, unfortunately.

{Loading...}

July 9, 2186

0600 hours.

Cockpit, UT-46 Kodiak Civilian Shuttle, In Transit For Haestrom.

The Reaper War.

Private First Class Peta'Tasi vas Nedas.

The shuttle was moving at a sluggish pace, but it was moving fast enough. He predicted that he would reach Haestrom in one day if he kept going at this speed.

Of course, the shuttle he was using was really designed for FTL speed, and didn't even have a built-in FTL drive like the newer UT-47A Kodiak did (and even then, the UT-47A was strictly a military model, and couldn't be obtained by the civilian populace. (Even mercenary companies had failed to get their hands on it). This meant that his shuttle was stuck at FTS speeds, which were not nearly fast enough for proper travel, but it would do. But even still, FTS was still a considerable down grade from FTL, and his progress was slow. What would have taken a FTL-capable ship two days from the Citadel, was taking him three, and that wasn't even when using the mass relay network. This meant that his progress was slow, at best.

Luckily for him, he had managed to catch a ride with a freighter called the MSV Broken Arrow; an Athabasca-Class freighter of human design. Athabasca-Class freighters were quite similiar in design to the Kowloon-Class Modular Conveyors, who were extremely similiar in external structuring, but very different internally, performance wise and in purpose. Where the Kowloon-Class was designed for tanking or bulk cargo roles, the Athabasca-Class was far more flexible and could perform those roles, as well as operating as general cargo, multi-purpose, agricultural and reefer vessels. It also had thicker armor for dealing with pirate or mercenary raids, but lacked any form of proper armament.

The Kowloon-Class, designed and built by the human shipping company Broadstar Solar, did not have the greatest track record. Much like the Olympic-Class vessels of human history (with all but one of the ships finding itself on the bottom of Earth's oceans), the Kowloon-Class vessels had a history of defects; architectural flaws leading to easily avoidable hull breaches that kill entire crews, engine core leaks that lead to radiation poisoning, corrupted black boxes, faulty transmitters and so much more were just a list of things that went wrong with the Kowloon-Class during its brief five year use.

There was also the multitude of problems that occurred with Kowloon-Class vessels during the Eden Prime War that led to a superstitious stigma being placed upon them that they were cursed. The MSV Cornucopia was recovered by Alliance forces, for instance, and found that the entire crew had been turned into husks, prompting the marines to 'purge the crew.' The MSV Fedele had been used by a wanted salarian criminal named Doctor Saleon who dissected people and sold their organs. The MSV Majesty was raided by pirates and, because of its terrible black box software, noone could find out until many years later when the pirates revealed what they had done to it for publicity; they had raided it, killed the crew and sent it crashing planetside. The MSV Ontario was destroyed during a terrorist attack by biotic supremacists. The MSV Worthington was found with its crew all dead, having been killed by a mentally unstable captain. And the list went on.

And then a rival company, Galactic Railroads, developed the Athabasca-Class, which ended the Kowloon's brief reign. Confidence in the human shipping industry was restored with its commissioning, with at least fourteen ships having been built upon its launched, with an additional eighteen afterwards.

The MSV Broken Arrow, currently on a militarily financed supply run into the Voyager Cluster in an attempt to pull out UGC troops, was moving through the area, so he simply hitched a ride onboard Khalisah's shuttle. A shuttle of which he had to relieve from its...previous owner, largely through deception.

The freighter was part of a flotilla of ships heading into the cluster, extracting what was left of the UGC forces in the cluster after a disastrous campaign to hold the cluster against the Reapers. With the Voyager Cluster having fallen, it was time to pull out what allied forces were left.

When the ship entered the Voyager Cluster, he had departed on the shuttle, making best speed for Haestrom. And so here he was.

Peta sighed, the quarian lounging back in his seat, hands tucked behind his head as he stared aimlessly at the console infront of him. It glowed dimly, Peta having toned down the brightness to give him some darkness to think in. The intense, orange light made it hard to think; and it was extremely distracting.

Stealing Khalisah Al Jilani's shuttle wasn't his finest moment, nor was it his worse; but he had deemed it necessary the moment he realized what was happening behind the Veil. Khalisah had been his best shot, and he took it. Sure, it didn't help his people's already soured reputation, but at this point, Peta didn't particularly care. He hadn't been getting anywhere in his work with the Blue Suns; he belonged with his people, fighting for the homeworld. Even as an exile, they wouldn't turn away extra manpower, and Peta was more than willing.

As soon as he realized where Khalisah had been headed, he knew he had to take her shuttle; but first, he had to convince her he was in. So, they both boarded the Broken Arrow. The captain blatantly refused to take his ship into the Veil, but he was convinced to get them close enough for a one-day shuttle ride. But before Khalisah could join him, he took the shuttle and headed straight for the Veil. The freighter did not pursue; it didn't have the personnel, speed or armament for it, and it had other priorities that were more important than chasing down a quarian thief. He doubted Khalisah was at all happy; one, he stole her shuttle and, more importantly, or at least for her, she was denied her story. After all, the only reason she had been heading over there in the first place was for frontline information on the quarian-geth conflict.

Besides, Peta figured he was doing her a favor. Khalisah didn't seem like a war journalist, and getting anywhere near Rannoch with what was going on was definitely dangerous. He probably saved her life.

UGC intelligence reports dictated that the Migrant Fleet was currently situated in the Dholen System, licking its wounds after their swift victories were overturned by a staggering defeat when the quarians attempted to retake Rannoch. The geth had likely retaken most of the Perseus Veil at that point, but UGC info after that was sketchy at best; most of it was confusion at how a supposedly inevitable quarian victory could turn into a quarian withdrawal so fast. It made no difference to him; Peta knew exactly where he needed to go to meet up with his people.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he prepared for a nap. He had made sure to stock whatever dextro rations had been available on the Arrow, but the captain hadn't been able to spare much; alot of it was being saved for the turian and batarian forces fighting amongst UGC forces. But Peta was spared enough to survive his trip to Haestrom; at least 4 cases worth of nutrient paste and a few bottles of sterilized water.

Just as he was closing his eyes however, his console pinged. Opening on eye, he looked down to see that his sensors had just acknowledged that he had entered the Byon System, in the Sentry Omega Cluster.

Opening both eyes, he leaned forward as a new screen appeared on the console, with a stream of data taken from the extranet about the system streaming before his very eyes. Byon was a quadruple star system (meaning it contained four suns) with nine planets, four of them barely habitable: Fema, Nato, Uaso, Marco, Walto, Pero, Queto and Zeto. It also had two asteroid belts, and limited societal activity. Given that Sentry Omega was seated firmly in the Attican Traverse, this came as no surprise.

Even as he entered the system, his shuttle was already detecting a planet (well, more like a gas giant) within three hundred and eighty four thousand nine hundred and ninety-two kilometers of his shuttle. Marco, as it was called, was a Class III Gas Giant, meaning it was cloudless. The gas giant itself was a dull blue in color, and according to the sensors, temperatures within it were at least negative four hundred degrees celsius; seventy-two times colder than Noveria. And from the size of it, it was the size of four hundred Citadels.

The suns of the system varied; the main one was a hypergiant, while the next two were supergiants, and the fourth appeared to have degenerated into a red giant. It wouldn't be long before that red giant collapsed even further, and whether it went supernova, or collapsed into a black dwarf, was unknown. Peta left that bit up to the scientists to figure out. Either way, he didn't want to spend too much time in this system, in case he had just 'happened' to reach the system at the moment of its probable death.

His shuttle needed to pass through this system to reach the Hoc System, the most famous star system in the cluster due to the fact that he contained but one infamous planet: Virmire, the site of one of the most definitive and major engagements of the Eden Prime War, and one that many historians say turned the tide. After that, he would be one step closer to the Far Rim, and to his people.

And to Tali.

Yes, soon, he would be able to help his people, and to help the one he failed. The person he knew he loved, but needed to let go.

He leaned back once more, making sure to quickly make a few course corrections to ensure his shuttle didn't go crashing into any asteroids or planets on its way through the system, and closed his eyes, propping his feet up on the console, tapping his hip to make sure his Tempest SMG was still strapped to his hip before quickly dozzing off to sleep.

What sleep he got was largely restless and full of discomfort. He did not dream; all he got was the blackness of nothing to think about. The Reapers did not haunt him, warm thoughts of Tali didn't fill his mind, nor did any hopeful ideas about his welcome at home sprout into the four corners of his mind. All he had was uneventful sleep, but at least it was sleep. Not many got that during times such as this.

As soon as he was sleeping however, he found himself waking up, eyes droopy from being deprived of its rest surplus. His vision was blurry at best, but it quickly lessened when his console beeped again, rather loudly he might add.

Realizing that his shuttle would not leave him alone until he answered its demands, he sat forward, yawning loudly before turning to the console infront of him. Thanks to his tinted helmet and the lessened brightness on his terminal, it didn't hurt his eyes too much, and he was able to eye the chrono on the top of his screen.

10:12:46.

He frowned at that, but eventually squared his shoulders, deciding that four hours and twelve minutes was more than enough sleep. Quarians had grown used to having a lack of sleep, and as a result did not require as much of it as other species did, requiring only a maximum of three to satisfy themselves. It came with having to work almost restlessly to keep their ships intact. It made them intensely light sleepers, which is why the prospect of only getting four hours sleep (to most species, especially humans and asari, that was usually considered a 'restless night') did not bother Peta that much, but left him satisfied.

Looking down at his console to see what the fuss was all about however quickly killed any satisfaction he had, and left him panicking. The words on his terminal were crystal clear, radiating their urgency.

Evasive Maneuvers Required: Hostile Weapon Lock Acquired.

Keelah...

Was it Reapers? Had they invaded this system without anyone knowing? Or was he just a fool for not checking the news reports; had this cluster already been confirmed conquered without him knowing?

No, no that couldn't be it! To reach the Veil, I'd have to get through batarian and Alliance space, which I knew was already largely Reaper occupied. I made sure to go through every news report, every available UGC intelligence article...I made absolutely sure to only travel through clusters and/or systems that weren't occupied or conquered by the Reapers. So this is either recent...

But why would the Reapers bother with weapon locks? Better yet, how could the shuttle even pick that up? Weapon locks are generated by the vessel's VI using an associative datalink between the corresponding IFFs of both ships, but that's only if the IFF is identifiable by the other VI; there is no way my VI should be able to identify a Reaper. And again, if so, WHY HASN'T IT FIRED YET? Why am I still alive!?

He quickly ordered the shuttle's basic VI to bring up information on the IFF of the ship targetting him, and within moments, the ship was identified.

He was simultaneously relieved and panicked. On the one hand, it was definitely not a Reaper signature. On the other, however...

...the ship was Cerberus. And by the looks of the IFF, a carrier.

Peta just sat there, frozen. He didn't know what to do. Sure, he knew there wasn't a Reaper about to blast his shuttle into tiny fragments, but on the other, he was being targetted by a ship that likely planned to blast his shuttle into tiny fragments regardless. That or, unlike a Reaper, it would choose to board his shuttle and capture him. And then what? Would they run tests on him? Or would they kill him once they realized he was a quarian?

Scratch that. They'll probably just kill me simply for the alien part, not just for being specifically quarian. Pro-human bosh'tets.

For moments, he simply sat there, gripping the console before him, no longer sure of his ability to reach Haestrom to help his people. Was he really going to die like this? Wandering through a system, ambushed and destroyed by a simple Cerberus carrier?

He ran through his options. Two of them were largely hypothetical; one was to sit here and just let the ship destroy him, or to sit here and get boarded and captured, or shoot on sight when they realize he was an alien. The third option was to make a run for it; but would that even work?

His shuttle was civilian, so it wasn't weighed down by weapons or armor; that, and it was a Kodiak; there was a reason Kodiak shuttles were adopted by the entire galaxy as their main mode of transportation because they simply excelled against all its rivals. If he made a break for it, he had a chance.

But that was just it; his shuttle was civilian. It had no way of defending itself, and it was likely that only missile or slug was needed to reduce him to a rapidly expanding ball of cosmic space dust and wreckage. Hell, even if it was a combat shuttle, he wouldn't be able to fight back; only the UT-47A's had proper weaponry, and even then, it would be like taking a plastic shovel and expecting to dig through the side of a mountain.

That left speed; sure, his shuttle could easily outrun that carrier. Even at full military speed, the carrier could in no way match the velocity of the smaller, lighter and much more nimble kodiak. But would it really need that speed? All it needed was one, precision shot; and firing solutions made that very easy for warships. It didn't even need to use a mass acellerator round; a simple guided missile was all that was needed to destroy his shuttle. One shot, and he was one the casualty list.

In the end, he decided to make a break for it anyway. It was better than just sitting here and waiting to die, and at least he would go out-

He paused, after a moment. Relaxing his grip on the console, he let his hands fall to his lap, and simply sat there, listening. After a few more moments, he frowned, looking down at his chrono.

10:16:46.

It had been three minutes since the weapons lock was registered by the VI, yet the Cerberus ship still hadn't fired. Why? It wasn't a matter of range; if the VI could register the weapons lock, than the ship had to be within optimal weapons range; you'd have to be within range to calculate a weapons lock or firing solution anyway.

So why hadn't they fired?

Perhaps they didn't see him as a threat?

No, this was Cerberus. If they went based off what they saw as a threat or not, they wouldn't have gunned down innocent civilians during their attack on the Citadel. It was clear the militarized terrorist faction didn't care for civilian casualties, so that option was out. There had to be a reason why they hadn't fired on him, though.

After a moment, and based on a simple hunch, he ran a simple area-based scan for nearby vessels or other entities giving off eezo power sources that weren't natural. He initially ran it over a radius of one hundred thousand kilometers, but when that came up negative, he steadily increased it and increased it.

Finally, at five million kilometers, the sensors pinged back. But to his surprise, the sensors reported back seven seperate power sources, not just one.

This got him to raise an eyebrow behind his mask as he regarded the sensor readings. If that's the case, why am I not getting seven seperate weapon locks? Why only the carrier? Unless, they've got weapon lock switched off, but the carrier doesn't...

But what were seven ships during in the Byon System? Yeah, the Sentry Omega Cluster had been the source of many colonization strategies, but they never had amounted to anything; the batarians hadn't tried to colonize it because to do so would force them onto the otherside of Alliance space, and would leave that cluster got off from the rest of the Hegemony. The Alliance and Council didn't colonize it due to two reasons: one, it was very close to geth space, and two, it acted as a gateway for mercenary companies and pirate gangs operating in the Terminus Systems to have access into the Traverse and Alliance space, which made colonizing anything in that cluster risky because they would be under constant threat from these organizations.

It was likely Cerberus used this reasoning as well, which meant the likelihood of Cerberus facilities in this region almost impractical. So why was it a battlegroup, or a task force more like, was sitting in this very system, defying all logic?

Were they perhaps planning an attack? What exactly was going on here?

Ever since his exile from the Fleet, Peta had developed a side of himself he never thought he would acknowledge; curiosity. He had always been a secluded, solitary man; a self-isolationist. He always came off as conservative and shy, and only when he had effectively orchestrated the attack on the Rayya a year ago did he realize he had a violent side as well. Only after stabbing Tali did he realize that violent side was a symbolization of his personal collapse; he was a man on the brink of collapse. By the time of his exile, it was too late to stop it.

Peta'Yala vas Huzzi had died long before his exile.

The new Peta was a very different person. Suffice to say, he took risks. He was more prone to violence, although his attack on Tali taught him how to direct that violent nature; to harness it and use it to hurt and possibly kill people who deserved it. It was honed even further when he joined the Blue Suns' ranks, the basic training helping him into becoming slightly more controlled. Peta would never claim to be a soldier, but he would certainly admit that he was a changed man. In cases, a twisted little abomination of what he once was.

But with his new found tendency for risks, came his new over abundance of curiosity. He had joined the Blue Suns because he was curious how it would help him personally aid the war effort and benefit the UGC. He was curious about the people around him, opened up to the world surrounding himself, and even acknowledged realities he had refused to acknowledge before.

The humans have a saying. "Curiosity killed the cat." In some cases, he would agree; curiosity in excessive degrees got people killed. Meddle in the wrong people's business, you could get hurt; worse case scenario, wind up dead. But sometimes, curiosity can save lives. Curiosity like investigating why seven Cerberus ships are lurking in a system that has attracted no marketable attention to it, and all but one of those ships has its weapon tracking turned off.

To that extent, the humans have a countersaying. A rejoinder.

"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

Perhaps stopping whatever plan Cerberus is concocting could bring Peta'Yala back.

Which is why, against all logic and sanity, he brought his shuttle around, and set a course taking him roughly six hundred thousand kilometers away from the task force. Time to figure out what exactly they are up to. If he was lucky, he might even tap into their transmissions; unlike the movies always made it out to be, warship communications weren't always encrypted, and Peta knew this. If the vessels believed they were within an area that had no life, they usually decided to do away with encryption and speak freely from ship to ship, allowing others to listen in. Controversially, the salarian STG had used this to take batarian or pirate ships unawares by tapping into these unencrypted transmissions, but he was no STG; he was a civilian shuttle, sitting in plain sight.

If they hadn't noticed him yet, they wouldn't now.

Within the space of a couple of minutes, he arrived at his preset coordinates, and opened his comm frequency to scan for any available transmissions. And to his luck, he picked up an unsecure link between the fleet. Before he opened it however, he regarded the ships infront of him.

From the looks of it, it was a Cerberus task force; most likely part of a larger fleet, although to what detachment, is unknown to him. From what he could tell, the carrier itself was being escorted four destroyers, and two light cruisers. There was no fighter pickets performing recon, and once again, they had not turned on their weapon lock. They hadn't even opened fire yet, even though he should be well within range of their sensors. Keelah, they shouldn't even need them. A visual scan could pick me up.

Yet they just continued to lazily drift through space, taking no notice of his existence. Their guns did not spiral to space him, no javelin torpedoes or mass acellerators sliced through the empty void to kill him. Its like he wasn't even there.

After a moment, he connected to their transmission, knowing that any effective VI would be able to detect the intrusion soon, so he decided to give it a quick look before disconnecting. This is some really lazy stuff. Open communications, letting me sit this close to them without firing and not so much as a warning shot. Are the crews of these ships drunk or something, or are they really confident that noone will find them way out here?

There was static for a moment before the communications cleared up, giving him clear access.

A female voice came over the comm, sounding inexperienced but attempting to enact a measure of calm that didn't suit her, "-copy that CAW Ronald Williams, this is the cruiser CAW John Pershing, requesting confirmation on that departure, over."

Peta frowned. Departure, hmmm? What would that be, you bosh'tets?

A more balanced voice, this one the gruff but demanding voice of a older man with a thick "German" accent, responded, "This is Ronald Williams, departure authorized by the Illusive Man himself, over. This shuttle came straight from the Deliverance. Mission of classified detail, over."

"If it is so classified, Rear Admiral, then why are we communicating over such a unsecured channel? And we'll need confirmation on that authorization, over."

Classified? Curiosity kills the cat indeed...

The carrier's captain was quick to reply, sounding like he wanted this over with, "Look around you, captain. We are in a unoccupied system. Anyone who wants to listen on this conversation is hundreds of thousands of light years away. As for confirmation, I'll send you the QEC history log. You'll see that the latest one was mapped to the Illusive Man's base. I'll also be sure to send you the mission debrief, if it'll satisfy your goddamn paranoia."

Peta silently listened, hoping upon all hope that the person operating sensors on any of those vessels did not look to their readouts to see a shuttle hovering nearby. It wouldn't end well for him. Yet again, he figured, he probably would never know when they found out; he'd simply see a flash of light before he died. What a way to go; listening in on the enemy.

A couple of minutes later, the cruiser captain responded, sounding clear and calm, "Yeah okay sir, you made your point. This all seems legitimate. But why are we deploying the shuttle here? We're faraway from the Veil."

That got Peta's eyes to widen. ...what? What could Cerberus want that lies beyond the Veil?

"Sure, we'll just park right outside the Veil. I'm sure the geth will really appreciate an organization such as ours snooping around their space," the rear admiral replied, voice oozing sarcasm, "Besides, we don't have the fuel to make a detour. We're scheduled for a refuel at Omega in two days, and I'd rather not piss off Petrovsky or the Illusive Man. So we'll deploy the shuttle here; FTS should get them there within the day."

The cruiser captain still didn't sound convinced, "I still think this mission is a waste of tactical resources. What does capturing one of Shepard's squadmates get us? Better to just kill the fuckers the next time they turn up."

"If I were you captain, I wouldn't question the chain of command. If it's above your pay grade, best to let it slide. Getting nosey about things that aren't your business is hazardous to your health," the admiral drawled, "Not quit your babbling. We need to make for the Hoc Relay as soon as possible. Is the shuttle cleared for launch or not, captain?"

The female captain sighed over the comms, but seemed to understand, "Well, the mission parameters fit, and like you said, its 'above my pay grade' to question it, so fuck it. The shuttle's cleared for departure. I just hope we're not held liable if it blows up or something."

"Good. I'll inform them immediately. Ronald Williams out," and with that, the transmission ended, leaving Peta to sit back and contemplate all he had just heard.

Shuttle. Classified. Mission. Beyond the Veil. Capturing one of Shepard's squadmates.

Capturing one of Shepard's squadmates.

Peta would admit it pridefully; that had been the one that truly got his attention. Hearing them mention a mission behind the Veil enticed him, but the thought of Shepard's squadmates being captured by Cerberus irked him. That, and not knowing who it was. For all he knew, Tali could be the one they wanted captured.

It made sense. Tali was his wife, and was essentially the closest thing to him. How better to kill his resolve and morale then to hold hostage his own wife? It would certainly shake the man up. Perhaps get him to let up on their operations...

It was the idea of Tali being in danger that really angered him. Here he was, looking to throw himself at the geth, when he had just stumbled upon a Cerberus plan to capture and hold the love of his life hostage; not only that, but considering Cerberus history, they would also likely torture her; maybe even experiment. Poke and cut...perhaps even dissect her...

Out of all the thoughts he despised the most, it was that. No, this was far more important. He couldn't do much against the geth, but this? He was clued in. He knew about something that noone else did. A diabolical scheme to capture and torture one of the most prestigious quarians in galactic history. Not only that, but he loved her. It didn't matter that she didn't return that love; he loved her, and that's what mattered. He would not allow Cerberus to hurt her.

He would kill to protect her.

In that instant, he decided; he was right here, and he could stop this. He wasn't going to Haestrom; he was going to follow this shuttle.

He was just a tiny shuttle, and with no weapons to boot; so he obviously couldn't take on the Cerberus task force in front of him. His only hope was to wait for the shuttle to depart the carrier, have the VI lock onto its signal, and then pursue it into the Veil. Wherever that shuttle was planning to spring a trap, he would spring it; and he would kill every single one of them when given the chance.

He steeled himself and waited; hands hovering over the console.

After six minutes of waiting, the rear admiral spoke again, "Attention all ships, shuttle is departing. Stand by...and shuttle is away."

Peta watched as a new IFF blimp appeared on sensors; this one of a small, Cerberus UT-47 Kodiak, Combat model. His target in sight, he immediately ordered the VI to track it, a small red dot appearing on his console, in the top right corner. With a slight smile, he keyed the thrusters, watching them roar to life once more in the void silence of space.

He didn't even bother to acknowledge the multiple VI warnings that the other ships were beginning to initiate weapons lock; they had finally noticed him. It was more than likely their sensors had been reprogrammed to look for a flare of mass effect field emissions, which would explain why they hadn't seen him; his shuttle's thrusters had been cold while he hovered there.

Yet again, they hadn't detected him while he was approaching either.

Just admit it Peta; stupid Cerberus bosh'tets simply weren't paying attention. They were too cocksure of their 'secrecy.'

His grin only broadened as he watched the Cerberus shuttle enter FTS, followed by his own mere moments later, his shuttle being enveloped by the cold serenity of hyperspeed. He lay back, tapping his Tempest SMG once more, and sighed.

I'm coming Tali, he mused, and this time, I'm going to set the record straight.

{Loading...}

July 8, 2186

2007 hours.

War Room, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, Migrant Fleet, In Orbit over Haestrom, Dholen System, Far Rim Cluster.

Second Morning War.

Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh, Admiral Shala'Raan vas Tonbay, Admiral Zaal'Koris oso Qwib Qwib.

The four occupants of the room were bathed in blue light, all of their bodies standing and reasonably close to the railing that seperated them from the main QEC projector. Marcus stood at the head of the group, infront of the center terminal, wearing his usual N7 shirt, pants and cap, feeling thoroughly enveloped in red, black and white stripes; the colors of the N7 Program. Behind him and on his right stood the quarian admirals, almost in single file, all of them attaining a modicum of professionalism as they stood; Shala and Koris stood straight with hands clasped behind their backs, while Xen was more laid back, arms crossed in her usual 'all attitude' demeanour.

The person who's image was being broadcasted to their QEC wasn't as laid back; even as old as he was, Fleet Admiral of the Navy Steven Hackett still held a posture of authority, experience and wisdom. His grizzled features remained hardened and undeterred, showing that even an enemy such as the Reapers could not break him. He wore the same uniform he always did; crisp, ironed navy blues, the bars of his rank displayed on his left breast and shoulderpads. A simple cap rested on his forehead, clean and immaculate. He stood tall, body straight and hands resting at his side. Overall, Hackett definitely was a gentle sign that the war hadn't changed everyone entirely.

Even with all that's going on, some of us can hold onto who we are, Marcus had mused as the particles had come together to form Hackett's holographic transmission, not at all like me.

"So all is calm on the Western Front," Hackett glumly, shaking his head in bemusement.

Marcus sighed, rubbing his head, "I wouldn't call it calm, sir. More like taking a breather. The war is still on, you can be sure of that."

Hackett just shook his head again, "It needs to stop. We've got greater things to worry about than losing allies because they wanted to start a war in the middle of a bigger war. The time for unity is now, not in several months while we wait for this to blow over. How soon can we expect a resolution to this, Shepard?"

"That depends on the admirals here, sir," Marcus replied, shooting a glare at the three quarian admirals beside him. Xen just snorted, Shala and Koris hanging their heads as Marcus turned back to Hackett, "Any more suicidal attacks, and this war will just drag on. I agree with you as much as anyone that we need a quick resolution to this, sir. I just don't see it ending soon."

"The Reapers are putting on the pressure, and even with the forces we've got, we can't hold forever," the admiral licked his lips, looking almost haunted. After a moment of hesitation, he looked up, eyes holding a hint of sadness, "Primarch Victus contacted me the other day. The last of the turian forces pulled out of the Apien Crest yesterday. As of now, both humanity and the turians are alive, but without a homeworld."

Marcus nodded grimly, knowing this would have happened eventually, "The Reapers are relentless. The rest of the Council races must be feeling the heat."

"The Reapers are breathing down their necks too, and knocking on more than a few doors," he stated simply, running a hand over his own features, "We believe Thessia will be the Reapers' next target, and the Dalatrasi have reported more than a Reaper scouts entering their territory. They're scared that after the attacks on Jaeto and Aegohr, that Sur'Kesh could be next. Irune has fallen but the volus are still putting up guerilla warfare, although given that they aren't very good combatants, its not working well. Dekuuna has just been attacked, which means the elcor are devoting all they have at the moment to evacuating their civilian populace. The hanar refuse to let the Reapers take Kahje, although its a losing fight, and they may have to pull out eventually if things get too hairy. What interests me the most is Heshtok."

"Don't recall it," Marcus frowned, not remembering that particular homeworld.

"It's the vorcha homeworld," Hackett elaborated, frowning himself, "The Reapers have attacked it, but from the looks of things, they're having a very hard time subjugating the local population. From the looks of it, the usual terror tactics that the Reapers use on other planets just doesn't work on the vorcha because they're too feral, primitive and immune to anger that burning capital cities just doesn't provoke a response from them. They know the terrain well and are using guerilla tactics against Reaper ground troops, and their immunity to disease means that any biological or chemical warfare the Reapers employ simply doesn't work. The Reapers have tried killing off their leadership like they did on Earth and Palaven, but the vorcha simply don't have any; they don't recognize any authority other than their own. The only thing that works against them is to threaten them with huskification, but even then, the vorcha just bomb their concentration and conversion camps. At this point, the Reapers have simply resorted to burning down the major cities and killing anything that moves. They've even withdrawn their ground troops."

The thought made Marcus widen his eyes in shock. Who would have thought that a species as stupid and idiotic as the vorcha, who can't even manufacuture toilet paper, would be the species to be the most successful in resisting an invasion by the greatest enemy this galaxy has ever known? "So you're saying that the vorcha are winning?"

Hackett shook his head, "No, I wouldn't call it that. The vorcha are resisting, but I wouldn't say they're making a difference. The vorcha have the numbers, immunity to disease and can occupation, but the Reapers are simply switching tactics. From the looks of it, the Reapers might just resort to bombing the planet from orbit, and the vorcha can't stop that because they lack a navy. And the Reapers might just round up any captured vorcha, indoctrinate them, and take them to another concentration camp to be converted into husks."

When the information hit him, Marcus just chuckled darkly, nodding his head, "Of course, forgot about that. The vorcha will do no better than the rest of us if the Crucible isn't completed."

"Exactly," Hackett confirmed, "The Reapers are also continuing to ignore Parnack. Seems you were right about the Reapers ignoring the less advanced races; if it doesn't have spaceflight, the Reapers will ignore them. Hard to think that the yahg might be leading the next cycle if we fail."

The spectre nodded, standing up fully as he let go of the terminal, "We can't think about things like that. Right now, we need to concentrate on winning this war. And to do that, we need to end this one."

Hackett nodded, sighing as he turned to the three quarian admirals themselves, "I'm not going to tell you what you did wrong, admirals. Humans were still playing around with gunpowder when your people were exiled, but I can say this: we need this war to be over, and soon. The war with the Reapers is simply more important."

Koris nodded in agreement, "For what it's worth admiral, myself and Tali'Shepard did not want this war. We tried to stop it. But it would seem some of us were all too eager to jump into conflict with the geth again."

Xen just scoffed, shaking her head, "In case you haven't noticed Koris, we need Rannoch. The Reapers have just made reclaiming the homeworld all the more important. We needed a place to shelter our civilians while the Migrant Fleet wages war, and where else would we do that? No turian or batarian world would have taken so many civilians, or any other dextro world. Rannoch was the only option."

"You didn't care about that!" Koris shot back, "You just wanted an excuse to use your new technology on the geth! You don't give a damn about our civilians!"

"And you've just been another bloody suit-wetter! Always cowering from the fight," Xen remarked, wiping her mask, "You'd have us run from the Reapers if you could."

"Enough, both of you," Shala snapped, sighing heavily as she crossed her own arms, "It's exactly this kind of bickering that got us into this war. That, and Han'Gerrel's damn warmongering," the elderly admiral nodded to Marcus, before turning back to Hackett, who had raised an eyebrow at the sudden example of quarian social politics, "Admiral, we agree that this war must end. But it must only end on our terms. We are in too deep to pull out of this conflict now and, while tough, the geth have proven anything but invincible. And like it or not, Xen is right. We need Rannoch. A place to house our civilians while we prep the Migrant Fleet for all-out war with the Reapers. And Rannoch is the only option for us."

Hackett nodded, stroking his chin. After a moment, he nodded and said something Marcus never thought he'd hear leaving his lips, "Yes, Admiral Raan, perhaps I can understand that. And to be honest, in your position, we'd do the same damn thing. Now's not the same for pettiness or mistrust. What we need to do is work this out. And with the geth destroyed, it would at least rob the Reapers of another ally."

Marcus shook his head, turning from the quarian admirals behind him as he braced against the terminal, gaining Hackett's attention, "Thing is sir, the geth don't need to be destroyed. I admit, the idea sounds ludicrous. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense to me."

The admiral just frowned, "What exactly are you getting at, Shepard?"

Marcus took note of the shaking heads beside him, even Koris looking bewildered. Sure, the man hadn't agreed with what they did with the geth, but peace with them? The idea sounded ludicrous to even Regrets, apparently. But this is my war now. They put their lives in my hands, as has Legion. This war is even won or lost by my hand. I control the fate of billions of lives, and I'll damn well do my best to save them.

We fight or we die.

Victory at any cost.

He hesitated, then looked back at Hackett, and stood straight. No, the cost here is too high.

Clearing his throat, he spoke, "Admiral, I believe that peace with the geth is in our best interests."

He could hear Shala sigh, and Xen chuckle silently to herself. Hackett, to his credit, didn't neither, simply standing there as he regarded Marcus. For a moment, there was no sound but the hum of the ship, the beep of the QEC's relay and the chatter of the crew in the War Room nearby. All of them were utterly silent, waiting for the man's response.

Finally, Hackett replied, pursing his lips, "Peace, Shepard? With the geth? You remember what they did to Eden Prime, remember? To Feros? And the galaxy will find it hard to forget the Battle of the Citadel, even with the recent attack by Cerberus. And now the quarians are at war with the geth, and you're proposing peace with them?"

"I'm not saying it will be easy. But for the sake of the entire galaxy, we have to try," the captain pleaded, beginning to pace, "We can sit here and debate what will and could happen all week long, Admiral. It'll get us nowhere. In the end, there is no other way to settle this. To put it morally, making peace between the quarians and the geth would not only get the quarians back their homeworld, but it would also end a misjudgment made three hundred years ago. Strategically, it would give us access to the most powerful military force in the galaxy. And trust me, Hackett, we'll need the geth in this war. Their technology far outmatches anything we've got. Even the Reapers, in some cases."

This got Hackett's attention, "How so?"

"How does directed energy weapons sound to you?" He asked, and the admiral simply nodded for him to continue. So he did, continuing to pace, gaining even the attention of the three admirals beside him, "The geth have plasma-based weapons. Now I don't know about you, but from the research done on the Reapers, they don't even have that kind of technology; what they use is a magneto-hydrodynamic mass acellerator that fires a superheated tungsten shell. That's powerful and all, but does it match up to superheated plasma? I've watched that vaporize entire quarian cruisers, Admiral. And that was just one energy projector. And they have cloaking tech."

Hackett simply shrugged, "Tactical cloaks been around for at least a decade, Shepard. Our special forces operatives have been utilizing it since our implementation into the wider galaxy. Why is this news?"

"Not just cloaks on soldiers, Admiral. Cloaking tech for warships," he corrected, noticing the glint in Hackett's eyes at hearing this, "I've seen it myself. Admiral Koris' ship crashed on Rannoch and I took my squad to rescue him from geth forces on the planet. During the planet, the geth were able to sneak up on us using a cloaked dropship. From what Legion told me, it uses the same technology as the standard tactical cloak, but used on ships. In theory, it could even be used on ground vehicles, like the Mako. And apparently, the entire geth navy possesses it."

Hackett contemplated this for a moment and nodded, scratching his neck as he pulled his hand back from his chin, "That sounds like it could be a game changer, sure, but that's not the problem, Shepard. The geth have built a reputation on being synthetic butcherers. And no human I know will be eager to get into alliance with our old enemies."

"They're not. Not really," Marcus stated simply, "The geth that we fought before now were a splinter faction. The geth had a schism, and a specific faction chose to join Sovereign. Those are the forces we fought, not the true geth. Trust me when I say this: the geth are not our enemy. Even now, they are our allies. They're simply being controlled by the Reapers, and we need to free them. You'll find them quite willingly to cooperate afterwards."

"I don't know where you're getting this information, Shepard, but I'm willing to trust in the fact that you know what you're doing. Won't make an alliance with the geth any easier, though. Especially with the quarians," he motioned to the admirals beside him, who all silently nodded their approval. Hackett sighed, rubbing his temples, and after a moment, turned back to Marcus, "But to be honest, I'm sick of underestimating your abilities, Shepard, and we certainly do need something to turn the tide; the geth might just be it. A united geth-quarian fleet would be a force to be reckoned with, I'm sure."

Marcus just smiled, "Do I really make it look that easy? I mean, I'm confident I can get this done, but...I didn't know I inspired such confidence in my abilities."

Hackett just scoffed, shaking his head, "Shepard, you held off an army of ten thousand with just a heavy machine gun and a knife. You survived a thresher maw attack against all odds. You took on the Council's best agent and killed him. You took the fight to the Collectors beyond a relay that noone returned from before and came out with the extinction of an entire race on your record. You scared the greatest broker in the galaxy into doing what you want, and stopped two attacks on the Citadel. And to top it off? Shepard, you helped cure a sterility plague one thousand years in the making, and got two species who despise each other to work together. So believe me when I say my belief in you is well founded."

Marcus was about to respond to that when he saw a shift in his peripherals. He turned to his right to see Koris and Shala looking at him in surprise, eyes wide behind their masks. It took him several seconds to realize it was shock that drove their expressions, and he chuckled. Hackett frowned, but Marcus was quick to explain.

"I hadn't told them about that," the spectre elaborated, and Hackett gave a nod of understanding.

"Keelah. You cured the genophage?" Koris said in what sounded like awe. He turned away, laughing half-heartedly to himself as he did.

Marcus' smile dropped and he shook his head, tone grim, "No, I only helped. A...a very dear friend of mine cured it. A brilliant salarian scientist named Mordin Solus. You may have seen him at the wedding."

"Ah, yes. Mordin and I had a lengthy discussion about my immune system. Said he was 'gathering data', whatever that was about," Shala observed, turning back to Marcus with crossed arms, "How is he?"

He looked at her with a firm line, the memory of his friend too painful to bear.

Had to be me. Someone else would have gotten it wrong. "He's dead. He...he created the cure, but the building we used to disperse it was damaged during our attack. He tried to fix it, but in the end, he...he sacrificed his life to cure it."

"I...I see," Shala stuttered, having not expected that response, "I'm...I'm sorry to hear that. He sounded like a brilliant man. A good man.

Should run tests on the seashells. "He was." A few seconds passed where he remained silent, staring down at the cold steel floor as memories of Mordin's time on the Normandy all the way up to his sacrifice flooded his mind. I haven't forgotten what I almost did, Mordin. I haven't forgotten that I would have shot you on the promise of a Dalatrass. I will never make that mistake again. Never.

He was about to return to speaking to Hackett when a high-pitched, electronic voice resonated into the room, one he recognized well.

"Shepard-Commander," Legion boomed into the room, gaining everyone's attention almost instantly, the geth coming to stand rigidly as it faced Marcus, optics glowing more dimly than normal, "We believe we may have located the Old Machine signal's origin."

He nodded, turning back to Hackett as he stood straight, snapping a quick salute, "Sorry sir, but we've got wrap this up. Legion may have just found the way to ending this war. I'll keep you updated."

Hackett nodded, returning the salute, "I won't keep you any longer, Shepard; we all need to get back to it. Hackett out." With that, he dropped his salute, hand falling to his side, particles collapsing inward as he did, causing Hackett's image to fade. Not long after, the holographic particles dissipated, and the QEC's emitters dimmed. With a sigh, he turned back to Legion, leaning back against it with crossed arms.

"So give it to me true Legion; you've actually found the source? How?"

The headflaps around Legion's optics moved and shifted for a few moments before the geth's response, the infiltrator looking back at him with its single, glowing oculus, "We have relayed this information inaccurately, and we apologize. Shepard-Commander, we wished to inform you that our software has hacked into the geth consensus with EDI, and using her cyberwarfare intrusion systems, we have located a way of finding the Old Machine signal's primary source location."

Some of his determination had sagged slightly at hearing that, as had those of the admirals he noticed. Legion had practically told them they could end the war by tomorrow. Seems like it's not going to be that way. But it's better than nothing. He nodded, sighing as he frowned, tightening his arms, "Okay Legion, hit me. What did you find?"

"We have approximated the location of a geth server hub located on Rannoch," the geth informed them, headflaps moving more erradically, likely in response to the data flow and collection, "This server hub is allocated Server Hub 02241-14511. Approximately ten million runtimes and programs are housed within the server hub. According to relevant data, the hub is seated in a superstructure in a canyon historical creator records refer to as 'Dalpash Canyon,' within the Uma'Waz subcontinent. The superstructure itself is lightly defended, and the server hub is decided to programs running fighter squadrons for Geth Fleet Detachment 677-144238992."

After a few seconds, he just shrugged, confused as ever, "And that means...what, exactly? We need the location of the Reaper signal Legion, not a server hub. How does this help us find the signal?"

"The hub houses critical information that is transmitted at light speed through our consensus," the geth replied humbly, looking to have taken no offense at Marcus' impatient tone, "EDI and our programs intercepted this transmission of data. Through it, we have been able to identify geographical locations being transmitted to geth ground and naval runtimes. While we were not able to decrypt this data, it has confirmed that this server hub contains geographical information for Rannoch, with the obvious acknowledgement that some of this information contains the whereabouts of the Old Machine signal."

He nodded, still frowning, "So, what you're saying is that through hacking the server, we can locate the signal?"

"Negative," Legion countered, shaking its head, "Geth servers cannot be hacked. This platform and EDI only intercepted information being transmitted through data transmissions. However, we cannot directly access the servers due to Reaper encoded firewalls and root access denial transfers. To learn the location of the signal, the superstructure holding the server must be breached and physically accessed."

His eyes widened as he nodded, reaching an epiphany, "You want me and my squad to accompany you down there and breach the facility, is that right? Give you direct access to the server hub to extract the information we need?"

"Y-yes," the geth replied, hesitating slightly.

This caused Marcus to stop for a moment, looking at the geth with shock in his eyes. Slowly, his mind caught up to him, and he realized just what the geth had done. Not only had it stuttered, but it had...

Legion never says 'yes.' That's...that's just not like the geth. Its always 'acknowledged' or 'affirmative.' Never just plain and simple 'yes'...

"Legion?" he asked quietly, ignoring the murmurs among the three admirals who also seemed to notice the geth's verbal hiccup, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Shepard-Commander. We are experiencing a...hardware malfunction," Legion replied, "We do not wish to alarm you. It is simply an issue with our verbal speech emulators. They appear to be..m-m-malfunctioning."

There it goes with 'yes' again. What is with that?

"Legion," he said again. He had gotten closer to Legion, and this time it was able to land a hand on its shoulder, which caused its optics to shoot up to face him, the geth almost looking...alarmed. Could a geth be alarmed? The geth seemed to calm down when it saw his face, so Marcus continued, "You just...you just said yes."

"Yes," it replied simply, persisting in its sudden new reinterpretation of the english language.

"Legion, you've never said that before. Why...why would you say that now? Is there something I should know?" he was worried, and from the looks of it, so were the admirals.

Yet again, they're always worried about Legion. Just not for him, more like of him.

The look Legion gave him sent shivers down his spine. Sure, anyone else looking at it would see blank optics. But he had seen how slow it looked up at him, the sudden hesitation as it spoke, no longer having an instant answer. When it spoke, its voice was lighter than usual; it still carried its electronic tinge, but it wasn't as intense or loud. It sounded hushed, and when it spoke, its headflaps did not move, as if subdued.

So for some reason or another, Marcus had seen worry in those optics.

"No data available."

"That's when Legion began to change, isn't it?"

- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.

"Indeed it was."

- Marcus Shepard.

"So was this when we went down to Rannoch and you...uh...saw what you saw?"

- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.

"You can say it, Tali. I saw history. Your history. I saw all of it, and the entire war on the geth. And my perspective changed entirely in that one instant. I took a walk through history."

- Marcus Shepard.

A/N:

You guessed it. Legion is experiencing some changes to his personality. So from now, do not attack me when he falls out of character, because trust me, it's intentional. Legion is stripping down all the things that make him part of a collective and is slowly becoming an individual. ;)

Not long to go before the Quarian-Geth arc is finished. I told you it wouldn't be long! But believe me when I say that the next chapter is going to be a big one. Its not your standard Geth Server mission; and if you paid attention to this chapter, you'll know what's coming. Also, after the Quarian-Geth arc is finished, I'm essentially going to be entering DLC territory; I'm leaving the Citadel DLC until after the Horizon mission for obvious reasons, but will address the Omega and Leviathan DLCs straight out the door (I've got some interesting things cooked up for those, especially in terms of Leviathan). But that's the future, and we're in the present!

Can't wait to see you guys next chapter!

Keelah Se'lai, troopers!