HOLOCAUST
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX:
PLAYED BY BOTH SIDES
August 7, 2186
1119 hours.
War Room, The New Order Headquarters, Dyuko District, Omega.
Second War for Omega.
General Oleg Petrovsky, Colonel Connor Amish, Colonel Kirk Farland, Colonel Mitchell Wchest, Colonel Heather Colwood.
The sting of defeat hung heavy in the air, but not once did it ever feel that it was suffocating.
On the contrary, they were on the cusp of victory.
He overlooked the courtyard outside New Order HQ from where he stood on the balcony six stories above the ground, clad in his white Cerberus officer's uniform, the subtle ping the only trace left of the fact that he had just deactivated his omni-tool, having checked it for status updates on Colwood's forces, which were currently entangled with the UGC in the Rubicon quadrant, engaging them in what amounted to jabs and bug bite engagements. Standing behind him, silent as the grave and utterly without movement were two Shadow Force troopers, their oddly cool, but intimidating, cobalt gaze pointed directly ahead, Saber rifles primed in an alert carry position. The two troopers, Hendricks and Nguyen, were the only ones of their unit to still be present with the Apex: the rest of their company, the 9th Shadow Force company, known colloquially as the 'Greywolves', were deployed in the Rubicon quadrant with the vast majority of Farland and Amish's forces to prepare for Operation Invincible. Of course, two Shadow Force troopers were all he needed for bodyguards.
The courtyard, filled with Wchest's troops, had been heavily fortified for a while now, the motorpool gathering outside the headquarters building quite impressive in its sheer size. The barricades and defensive perimeter would be nigh impenetrable to any suicidal attempt to charge it, and anti-air defenses were established with a hundred yard circumference of the area, with a combination of surface-to-air missile batteries, intermediate range pulse laser turrets and Scutum close-in weapon systems (typically used on warships) providing enough anti-aircraft coverage to keep away bombers or artillery. The heart of Omega was well defended, and he had spared no expense in ensuring that was so.
Truly, victory was within his grasp. Despite their initial setbacks, he had many things going in his favour: despite the costly destruction of two regiments of his own troops, he had no doubt he had sustained heavy casualties on the UGC in return, which was costly enough given they were already outnumbered to begin with: while his reconnaissance had failed to give him an accurate estimate of UGC numbers, so he was essentially having to assume their numerical position: Petrovsky strongly disliked operating off of estimates, always preferring to role his dice when he had the numbers laid out for him. Perfect intelligence was the cornerstone of any great victory. Without it, you were fighting blind. Luckily, he had other tricks up his sleeve, ones that didn't involve estimates or approximations, but facts.
In just three days, the Cerberus Fifth and Ninth fleets would arrive, and smash the UGC blockade, not to mention bring a fresh supply of troops to bolster what they had lost: with two fleets, that would be at least 8 to 9,000 reinforcements, and that wasn't counting the supplies and equipment that came with it. And geth or no geth, the UGC fleet would break under the strain of so many ships. Petrovsky knew Cerberus would be straining their resources to the limit: he knew Cerberus had to be running numerous operations across the galaxy. Despite having an almost inexhaustible amount of troops and resources (which even Petrovsky had to both marvel at and question, given the organization's prior size), Cerberus was not infinite: they would run out of troops eventually. Still, Omega was a significant asset to the Illusive Man, one the leader of Cerberus could not simply abandon, even if the risk of diverting resources was greater than simply leaving his best general to his own devices.
Thirdly, if the reinforcements didn't pan out, then there was Project Adversity to consider: as much as he disliked the idea of utilizing the abominable creatures as supersoldiers, preferring to stick to the tried-and-true trooper with a rifle. Still, if push came to shove and Shepard somehow managed to defeat Operation Invincible, he had no doubt that Project Adversity would produce the means from which he would be able to crush Aria's little raiding party once and for all. He had shown Aria clemency the last time he had defeated her: he had allowed her to leave. He had known that she would return someday to reclaim her station, and he had done everything to prepare for that moment...unfortunately, he had failed to take the UGC into account. After all, who would have expected the Great Commander Shepard, a man of moral fibre and a shining paragon of galactic hope, to join forces with the likes of a pirate queen and her band of criminals and mercenaries? It was an alliance made in fandom, one would think.
But he would not show Aria mercy again. Once he defeated her again, he would make sure she couldn't come back. Aria was a persistent woman: she would never accept defeat, would never capitulate. She would simply leave, assemble another army, and return: no matter how feeble her attempts each time, she would return. No...the only way to permanently ensure the safety of Omega was to remove the tumor that constantly kept sprouting up. Aria was a cancer upon the station, and that cancer needed to be purged.
He had recently spoken with the Illusive Man via QEC, informing him of his progress. Suffice to say the man was pleased, even if it was sometimes difficult tell his commander-in-chief's demeanour at the best of times. Construction on the Titan project had been accelerated nonetheless, the UGC's focus on Omega having forced the project's schedule to be pushed ahead. Titan was to be Cerberus' most gargantuan project: a space station rivalling Omega in size. Once completed, the station would be named 'Fort Atlantis', and would serve as Cerberus' official base of operations within the northwestern sector of the galaxy, as well as the headquarters of Cerberus' military arm.
Petrovsky had managed to procure copies of the plans for himself, and marvelled at the spec: it was truly a modern technological marvel, a show of Cerberus' nearly unrivalled mastery of the technological sciences. Using technology recovered from the Collector Base's ruins in the galactic core, the station had mass effect fields so powerful, it could effectively orbit a black hole. Its kinetic barriers utilized a modified variant of the cyclonic barrier tech invented by Tali'Shepard, except enhanced to encapsulate an entire space station, with shields measured to be so powerful as to be capable of absorbing several nuclear strikes.
And it got better: Titan's defenses were close to impregnable. Its outer defenses would be equipped with the same M-306 Hellfire-class anti-ship particle artillery that Omega had, except with twice the amount: Petrovsky had been given several prototypes to test on his station, and their devastating effectiveness had proven to the Illusive Man that they were a worthy expenditure: as such, he had ordered twenty be installed as part of Titan's primary defensive shield, although they would utilize a more well protected power source (having learnt an important lesson from the Omega debacle) and personal shields, as well as having better rotation to increase reaction time. Accompanying the M-306 ASPAs were to be a series of ship-to-ship missile units, mainly the Pilum-class missile pods and the Cerberus designed Achilles-class ballistic rocket systems. In terms of armor, the entire station would be encased in a triple layer of Silaris-A super armor, using a modular hull design that allowed destroyed plates to be easily replaced, even during battle.
Titan would also possess the best sensor and communication systems Cerberus had to offer, possessing a central comm buoy that, should all comm buoys in the area be destroyed, would be able to communicate at superluminal speeds, allowing it to reach as far as three clusters in distance. Its sensors alone could detect an incoming fleet from systems away, which would come in useful for detecting the telltale blip of heat a Normandy-class stealth frigate gave off when they activated their IES. Once Titan was completed, the eventual goal would be to move it into the galactic core: a place where not even the Reapers could reach it easily.
Ingenius. A final bastion, and the first. Unfortunately though, the schedule for the station's construction was moving at a sluggish pace at best: barely half of the station's superstructure had been laid even with thousands of workers committed to the effort, and the Illusive Man had dedicated the entire Eighth Fleet just to protect it. If the war was going as well as he claimed, then Titan should have advanced far further into the schedule by now...to the point where interiors were being built. But that clearly wasn't the case. What was going on out there that Petrovsky was not aware of?
Perhaps it is a lie. More likely the war is not going as well as the Illusive Man would have me believe. Would have us all believe. The Reapers were, after all, a nearly indomitable foe: their fleets numbered in the hundreds of thousands, each ship a fortress in and of itself, wielding firepower capable of decimating entire battlegroups by themselves. Their numbers darkened the skies of entire worlds, their armies of billions of husks swarming over in overwhelming hordes. Petrovsky had no delusions: a protracted war with such a foe was going to be impossible. There was simply no way to win a war with the Reapers conventionally, yet Petrovsky knew the Illusive Man must have had a plan for this eventuality. Cerberus had always been about thinking ahead, planning for the future and preparing for it ahead of time.
So what's the plan? Holding Omega helps us only against the UGC, who you think would be our allies in this time. Instead, we fight them, and they fight us, all the while the Reapers wear us both down. This continued conflict between us is ridiculous...all those men and women of the UGC, dying at the hands of my soldiers...when it is they who I should be commanding. It should be Reaper troops I'm fighting, not my fellow organics.
It seemed like an unwinnable scenario in the end. Petrovsky had been given command of the greatest anti-Reaper task force in the galaxy...and yet only had access to a small portion of it. What was the rest of them doing? Why was his communication with them so limited? It appeared Cerberus' militarization was far from complete: there was a disorganization in the ranks, one that came with an organization run by a single figurehead trying to imitate the military precision of its Alliance counterpart. Cerberus may have militarized, but its organizational skills hadn't kept up.
I cannot command an army if I'm not allowed to communicate with it, especially when the Illusive Man insists on intervening personally.
Sometimes he wished his mysterious leader would simply leave the military matters to him. That's what he recruited him for. He was a General, and the Illusive Man represented the more political side of the organization. This kind of behaviour was detrimental to Cerberus' cause, but he never dared mention that to the man himself. The Illusive Man's patience during these times was noticeably withering.
The pressure is becoming too much. Something is eating away at him, it is plain to see. He does not even try to hide it. He tries to show strength, yet all I see is a continuing weakness that is tearing away at him, inside and out. He is going to break. Something needs to be done to save Cerberus before he drives it into the ground. I need my army.
But something could be done about that later. First, he needed to win this little war with Aria. A goal that, unlike everything else, didn't seem that far out of reach.
Taking a final inhale, he clasped his hands behind his back, pivoted in place and began to walk back inside, heading back for Operations to resume his supervision of his lieutenants. Hendricks and Nguyen wordlessly followed, the only indication of their vigil the sound of their boots tapping against the deck as they followed, the occassional creaking of their armor barely heard in the silent humming of the walls around them. The clicking of his own boots on the steel floor echoed loudly, signalling his approach to those waiting for him.
The walk back to Operations was a short one, requiring only a simple walk along a small, 61 meter long corridor: he frequented this corridor because he enjoyed the breath of fresh air that awaited him everytime on the balcony: a place where he could escape the streams of data, combat reports and static-filled communications between battlefield units. He needed a clear head to think, and it was when he was out on that balcony that the best strategies came to mind.
The lighting of the corridor was a dim hue, so entering Operations was an assault upon his senses, bright light and noise invading his sight and hearing the moment the door opened into the room. His eyes adjusted quickly as he moved across the upper catwalk, descending a pair of stairs, his guards hot on his heels, barely missing a beat, light reflecting off their abyssal-coloured armor. The room was a storm of activity: Cerberus personnel rushed about, clad in their ironed and straightened uniforms, both of the scientific and military divisions. He could see from a quick at the war room that only Colonels Farland and Wchest were present at their stations, with Amish and Colwood likely off performing other duties. The war table was deactivated, its blue glow absent from the room. A set of datapads were set out across its surface as Farland carefully read through them, while Wchest was loudly arguing with one of his subordinates over omni-tool, face red with anger. Laced around the perimeter of the room, largely on the very catwalk Petrovsky had descended from, were at least ten guards: eight assault troopers and two dragoons. Some were patrolling, while others stood guard, eyes scanning the room ponderously.
Completing his descent into the Operations center, the General approached his two colonels at the war table, ready to return to work. His approach, accompanied by the stand-outish forms of two black Shadow Force troopers following him, was enough to draw Wchest's attention, who uttered one final line to his subordinate before closing his omni-tool and snapping a salute.
Petrovsky spared him a brief salute in return, before nodding, "Colonel Wchest, I trust you aren't having trouble keeping your men in line."
The colonel shook his head, "Just a disagreement on resource allocation. He believes the distribution of D-09s to the perimeter has left a gap in our outer perimeter that the UGC could exploit. I just told him that such precautions are, in themselves, unnecessary: these defenses are only continegencies, after all."
"Indeed," the General replied, "But I believe you should heed his advice nonetheless, Colonel. Remember the Tuhi district."
Wchest's face drained as he nodded slowly, "Of...of course, general. Of course. We won't make that mistake again. I'll have nine D-09s redeployed to the outer perimeter."
"Good. And if the UGC don't attack, the Talons most definitely will," Petrovsky added ontop of his previous point, moving over to join Farland at the war table, who had now noticed his commander's arrival and turned from his work, arms crossed, "Kandros is likely to grow bolder now the UGC in play," he tapped a few times on the war table's display, watching it hum to life before him. Blue light licked at the sides of the table, bright blue particles coming to quickly form the streets of the Busamir district, near Aria's bunker. He turned to Farland, eyebrows raised, "Where is Colwood? I wish to speak to her about our skirmishes in the Busamir district."
Farland shrugged, hand smoothing over his hair, "She disappeared a few minutes ago. She said she was taking a shuttle to the front. Said she couldn't command attacks without physically being present."
The General sighed, slightly annoyed that his directive had been summarily ignored. Disorganization indeed. Still, he could understand her logic: Colwood had always been of the old school pre-19th century military philosophy that a general should always lead from the front. Of course, there was a good reason why such a philosophy was rendered obsolete, due to the inherent importance of commanding officers and their finite existence: the higher you got up the command chain, the further from the front you got. Petrovsky remembered when he once commanded units into battle personally, and now he commanded them from the comfort of a holo table. As such, Colwood's decision was dangerous, but one he would let slide.
"Foolish of her, but understandable," Petrovsky stated, "If she does not return within the hour, I want you to order her to return: with my full authority."
Farland nodded, "Understood, sir. I'll pass it on."
"What about Amish? Anything from him?"
Wchest nodded, having turned and joined the three of them at the table, "He's outside. Had some requisitions to deal with. Send his men weren't being properly equipped. Confusion up the chain, he called it."
He's not wrong. "Best make sure your own men are properly equipped too, Wchest. Same goes for you, Farland. We command the finest, most battle-hardened Ceberus corps in the entire organization. I will not have this army fall into disarray because of miscommunications, inadequate supplies and arrogant leadership. Keep them in line and get them what they need to do their job. I will accept nothing less than quality from you, gentlemen."
Both Wchest and Farland saluted simultaneously, "Understood sir, we'll get it done."
I hope so. Unacceptable behaviour. If this was the Alliance, these men would have been demoted already. Unreliable conduct.
Before the General could so much as open his mouth to speak again, the noise in the room was drowned out by a much louder sound.
Klaxons blared across the chamber, loudly and screaming their alert to the room's occupants. Every one fell silent as they were draped in a dull red glow, strobe lights sending flurries of crimson dancing across the walls. The klaxons continued to howl just as loudly, every single person in the room having stopped what they were doing to listen to the alarms, shocked at the sound and what it could entail.
He waited a moment for someone to explain the situation, and he soon got what he mentally requested. Footsteps echoed down the stairs as one of his adjutants ran down the stairs, rushing up to him, snapping a salute as he practically slid to a halt, "General, sir! We have a problem."
The klaxons continued to screech as a testament to his statement of the obvious.
"Evidently, lieutenant," Petrovsky pointed out, taking note of the trooper's rank, "Are we under attack?"
"No, sir. Nothing on the UGC," the lieutenant replied, handing him a datapad as he stood rigid, as if afraid the slighest movement would offend his commanding officer, "We just got a ping from one of the sensor grids in the mining sector. The silent alarms near the main reactor were triggered."
That both surprised and amused Petrovsky. On the one hand, he hadn't expected such an action to occur so early into the war, but on the other, he had been fully prepared for such an eventuality. He had known that Aria would eventually resort to trying to disable the forcefields, and that information pertaining to that goal would bring them to the reactor in their attempt.
He had silent alarms and sensor grids established around the reactor to prepare for this very occurance. He knew that the forcefields were vital to the policing and keeping of order within Omega's streets, not to mention the tactical advantages they granted his troops in being able to move freely to where uprisings were occurring or enemy forces were gathering. Without them, defending Omega would be much more difficult, and the Talons likely would have won by now. Those forcefields were vital to the station's future, so he had put safeguards in place to make sure they remained active, which meant keeping an eye on their central power source: the best way to disable them.
Installing them hadn't been easy: after all, adjutants ruled the mining sector ever since its abandonment, and thus he had been forced to send a squad of Shadow Force units to place the sensors and rig the silent alarms so that they alerted New Order HQ the moment they detected a breach. The unit completed the mission without incident, as he knew they would: their success rate was unmatched by any other unit within Cerberus.
Because of this, it came as no surprise to him that the silent alarm had been triggered, only that it happened so soon. Shepard is quick. It is more than likely our skirmishes with the UGC in the Busamir district are just a distraction from his real goal: an attempt to keep us busy while he sneaks in and cripples our defense network from within. No matter.
He nodded, motioning to the vidscreen behind them on the wall, "Reroute camera feeds to the main viewscreen. I wan to see the intruders," he handed the datapad back as he turned to the viewscreen, his adjutant working at his omni-tool to bring up the camera footage, "And turn off those alarms."
Shortly after he gave the order, the klaxons stopped their grating tone and the red lighting dimmed and returned to normal, the strobe lights ceasing their dance. At that very moment, he watched as the first of the camera feeds showed up, this one from Camera B, near the central elevator shaft that led into the main reactor proper. The footage was sketchy, but there was no denying the forms of combatants riding an old, worn out elevator as it descended into the bowels of Omega's beating heart. He could make out Shepard, including the unmistakable dark blue form of Aria T'Loak. Surrounding them must have been the majority of Shepard's squad, with the tallest of them being a quite intimidating geth prime wielding an equally belligerent looking cannon of some sort.
The screen switched to Camera C as it followed their progress, audio silent as they watched Shepard giving out orders to his unit, motioning them forward. The quarian was at his side, the turian and the hooded human not far behind. An odd looking, triangle-headed alien he couldn't identify walked beside the towering geth prime, whilst several other human marines, one of them an N7, fell into the middle. Aria, alongside another asari and a humanoid-looking synthetic, moved forward on the left, brandishing their weapons in a sweeping pattern. However, who he found standing to the right was what caught him by surprise.
Nyreen Kandros.
He never would have thought Shepard would be foolish enough to bring along not just himself and Aria, but also the leader of the Talons: effectively endangering the three main leaders of their invasion force. Nyreen's willingness to follow Aria was also an unexpected development, given the obvious animosity between the two, and the disparity in their ideology. Although with the presence of Shepard likely acting as a mediator, perhaps it wasn't entirely incomprehensible. Still, this provided an opportunity of paramount significance: All three leaders, including Shepard's entire squad, alone and seperated from the rest of their army. Petrovsky found that perhaps his luck was getting even better.
"How close are they to the reactor?" Petrovsky queried, unclasping his hands as he crossed his arms, "Rough estimate."
"Best guess would place them nearest the secondary operations chamber," his adjutant replied sharply, omni-tool at hand to give him the information he needed, "Which is roughly...4, 500 meters from the reactor itself."
The General nodded, turning to his colonels behind him, "That is too close. Regardless, as surprising as this development may be, we've prepared for this. We knew they may try this eventually, now we need only prepare our response," he spoke to his adjutant once more, but did not look at him, simply turning to look back at the viewscreen as Camera C continued to show the squad's progress, now stooped by an argument appearing to brew between Nyreen and Aria...again, "The forcefield we put in place...is it ready?"
The lieutenant took a moment to search for the relevant information, eyes darting across the holographic interface wrapped around his arm. Finally, he gave a decisive nod, lowering his arm, "Yes, sir. Techs state that while not at full power, the forcefield can draw enough energy to last at least several hours before needing to recharge."
He nodded, deeming that sufficient, "That will suit my needs. When they enter the secondary operations chamber...spring the trap," he turned and focused his attention on Wchest, "How many RAMPARTs can you spare?"
Wchest took a moment to think, pondering the General's question, before providing his answer, "I can spare about a hundred, but that's all. The rest I need to defend the Apex."
"Send sixty down to the reactor chamber via the maintenance elevator," Petrovsky ordered, barely eying the viewscreen on the wall beside them, as if trying to look into Shepard's eyes themselves. It appeared the argument had calmed down now, with Shepard having stepped in and calmed them down. The squad was now proceeding ahead, straight into the gaping jaws of Cerberus' victory, entirely oblivious, "If Shepard doesn't see reason, then you have my permission to send them in. Ensure nobody survives, including Aria T'Loak, but only once I give the order."
Wchest nodded, bringing up his omni-tool, "I'll have them sent down immediately."
Nodding his affirmation, he turned his full attention back to the war table, tapping at its interface to bring up comms with Colonel Colwood and Amish. As soon as he was convinced a secure connection was established, he spoke, "This is General Petrovsky to forces currently engaged in the Busamir district. As of this moment, all forces currently preparing for Operation Invincible are to suspend all operations and prepare to pull out. I want the Greywolves company prepared for dust off in 10 and returned to New Order HQ for briefing."
"Understood," Colwood replied, straight and to the point.
"Pulling out?" Amish asked, the only one to question his orders, "Why? We have them!"
"I'm cancelling Operation Invincible," Petrovsky declared, "It appears Shepard has other plans. Amish, you will have your troops provide a support screen while Colwood's regiments withdraw. You are to engage the UGC only as long as it takes for Colwood to pull back, and then you will do the same."
There was an audible sigh over the line, followed by blind acceptance, "Yes sir. I'll inform the Greywolves of their new orders. Amish out."
"Was that really necessary sir?" Wchest asked after the line was cut, leaning over the table as he tried to gain Petrovsky's attention, "Shepard and his squad are being dealt with as we speak. We should press the attack, while we have the chance."
"We had the chance at Tuhi as well colonel, and we were soundly defeated. Amish will stand to remember that well," Petrovsky reminded Wchest, causing the colonel to visibly deflate, "Besides, our withdrawal is a feint. We want the UGC to believe that they've gained the upperhand. After our forces have retreated, I will have the forcefields deactivated in that area...letting them believe Shepard's plan was successful. And once they begin to advance...I will reactivate the forcefields."
"Cutting them off," Farland noted, picking up on Petrovsky's plan, "...from each other. Allowing us to deal with them piecemeal, instead as one force."
"And without Shepard, Aria or even Kandros, they'll fall apart," Wchest finished, a grin on his lips. The colonel turned to Petrovsky, suddenly far more confident now that he knew what his general was up to, standing up much straighter, "That's brilliant."
"Don't get too cocky, colonel," Petrovsky ordered, waving a hand, "Their pawns may fall into place, but we must worry about ours also. Still..." he imagined his chessboard, and the king on the enemy side that was now readily exposed, "...their king rests in a vulnerable position. Its time for a checkmate."
He watched the camera feed, which now switched Camera D...the secondary operations chamber: their destination. They wandered into the room, spreading out to search the room. Once they were sure they were in position, the squad proceeded into the center, believing they had found what they needed to complete their task; the key to their ultimate victory.
It was one Petrovsky had already denied them.
As the last squad member stepped over the threshold, the General wasted no time in giving the order.
"Activate the field."
{Loading...}
August 7, 2186
1117 hours.
Secondary Operations Chamber, Main Reactor, Dark Zone, Omega.
Second War for Omega, Operation: Light Prophet.
Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian, Chief Engineer Tali'Shepard vas Normandy, Major Kaidan Alenko, Second Lieutenant James Vega, Second Lieutenant Imogen Keeling, Master Thief Kasumi Goto, EDI, Soldier Javik, Moses, Shadow Broker Liara T'Soni, General Nyreen Kandros, Ruler of the Terminus Aria T'Loak.
"-been a complete mess right from the very beginning!" Nyreen spat, hand arriving mere inches from Aria's face. Marcus thought she might hit the asari for her smug grin, the turian looking more and more infuriated by the pirate queen's calm carelessness with every passing second. She bristled with anger, so tense that she could snap. The squad gave her a wide berth, choosing not to get involved with the explosion of fury that was General Nyreen Kandros.
Its not like he hadn't expected this: ever since their narrow escape from the hands of an adjutant horde, there had been a brewing rage festering between the turian and the self-proclaimed ruler of the Terminus. She was visibly shaken, her encounter with her worst fears having set alight a fire inside her that she was determined to aim straight at Aria, who she viewed to be the source of her torment. After all, had Aria not entered the game to conquer Omega, Nyreen might not be down in the mining sector at all...hence not having to fight for her life against monsters made flesh. As it was, everybody could feel the atmosphere beginning to heat up between the two, and Marcus thought that she would finally explode in the silence of their elevator descent. Surprisingly, Nyreen had held back, even then.
Marcus had thought that perhaps Nyreen had calmed down, biting her tongue for the sake of the mission. Brief glimpses of her demeanour only cemented this belief, as she had stopped shaking as much, her position was more rigid and professional, and she seemed to have returned to her self-determined, empowered self.
Then Aria, as always, had to open her fucking mouth. All it had taken was one comment, one single spiteful comment, and all the defenses the turian had built, all the self-restraint, had collapsed. That rage festered once more, spreading like wildfire throughout her body: she was pissed off, had a chip on her shoulder, and Aria had finally knocked aside the few remaining bricks to peek inside.
"So Nyreen, tell me, when your squad was ripped apart...did they scream, or did they simply freeze in fear? I can certainly see where you got your cowardice from."
He had no idea what possessed her to make such a comment. It was almost as if Aria was looking for a reaction at this point. A high school bully who wanted to see the weird kid get all flustered and annoyed simply to humiliate him.
But Nyreen wasn't some high school weird kid. She was the general of a resistance group, and she had finally had enough.
Aria just laughed, swatting aside Nyreen's accusatory hand with one hand as easily as if she was swatting an annoying fly out of the air, "Oh, save me the melodramatics, dear. You and I both know this is a hell of our dual making."
Nyreen flared, and for a moment, Marcus thought she might summon her biotics. Thankfully for them all, she did not, her eyes doing all the talking as she let all her hatred for the woman before her be encased in her steely gaze, "Fuck you. You hateful, unredeeming, self-absorbed bitch. You just couldn't roll over! And now we're stuck down here! We almost died because of this stupid plan!"
Aria showed no sign of backing down, her grin only widening, no doubt prodding at Nyreen's last iota of restraint...if that broke, Marcus wasn't sure he could stop the ensuing fight, "Yes, emphasis on the almost, Nyreen. We almost died. And I think you misremember: it was Shepard and his brain trust that came up with this plan. I simply endorsed it."
The turian didn't seem at all deterred by the fact, one that even Marcus had to admit was true. Her anger was directed solely at her nemesis, and she wasn't going to allow Aria to deflect the blame, no matter the truth behind it, "Do you ever take responsibility for anything!? Aria T'Loak can never do any wrong, is that right!? Is that what you would have your followers believe? That you're infallible? I'm sorry Aria, but you lost this station in the first place. Petrovsky outsmarted you. You should have stayed on the Citadel. Nobody wants you here."
"On the contrary," Aria returned, taking as much as she got, "Omega wants me."
Despite her anger, that gave Nyreen something to laugh at, the turian turning around to stop herself from hitting the asari, "If you honestly believe that...I'm lost for words, Aria. I knew you were pathetic, but this really does solidify my picture of you. You think Omega will just magically let you take the reins again, is that it? Is that how you picture yourself? Rising the golden steps to your throne at Afterlife, Petrovsky dead at your feet?"
Aria just shrugged, crossing her arms, "Golden? Now there's an idea. As for Petrovsky, I was picturing his head as an ornament. I might even get it taxidermied...you know, for aesthetics. I do love my trophies, and I'll need one to replace Patriarch."
Nyreen turned around, squinting her eyes in disgust, repulsed by the person before her, "You really make me sick, Aria. Taxidermied heads? What did I ever see in you?" she backed away, momentarily shocked, "You're just a monster. I almost wish I was fighting for Petrovsky."
The asari's grin died slightly, worrying Marcus. He saw a hint of anger in her eyes, "Careful, Nyreen. I heard a wiff of treason there."
Nyreen shook her head, waving a dismissive hand, "Oh, don't be so naive. I was never loyal to you: I'm using you to do what's best for Omega. This alliance of ours, its of convenience. If I genuinely thought Cerberus was what was best for Omega, I would switch sides in a heartbeat. Luckily for you, Cerberus isn't what's best for Omega," she fixed Aria with a look of befuddlement, now genuinely confused, "Did you really think this would be like old times? Where I would follow your lead?"
Aria slowly shook her head, her stare now venomous, amusement all but melting from her face, "Oh no, Nyreen, we're clearly far past that. No...you've fallen much farther than I had anticipated."
Nyreen was incredulous, approaching Aria slowly but with purpose, "I'm sorry...I've fallen? Who's the one talking about taxidermied heads? About golden steps? About a fucking throne?" the turian then laughed, seemingly out of nowhere, as if some small amusement had suddenly come to mind, "Of course, how silly of me. How could I be surprised? You haven't fallen. You've always been scraping the bottom of the barrel, Aria. You're an animal. You can only go so far with fear."
As the argument played out before them, Marcus turned to Tali, who was already looking at him. He saw her look, even behind the visor: one eye wider than the other, indicating a raised eyebrow. Her head was cocked to one side, before she motioned it towards the arguing pair. What she was asking was clear.
Do something about this.
Marcus sighed, turning to walk towards them as requested, knowing that this argument was now significantly dragging down their progress. Even with the adjutants off their trail, time was of the essence, and they were wasting it. It was a good thing he chose to interrupt at this moment then: Aria had stepped forward now, her smug indifference replaced with a growing rage, and he had no doubt that biotic fisticuffs would soon be exchanged if he didn't step in now.
Idiots. Both of them. Can't put aside their damn differences just for the mission.
"-pathetic, Nyreen!" Aria snapped, shoving the turian, who barely moved due to her armor absorbing the meek blow, despite the aggressiveness behind it, "You freeze up whenever an adjutant appears! You shrivel up whenever a civilian is in danger! So busy playing white knight! How about you grow up, Nyreen? This is how the real world works!"
"If I have to change the real world, then so be it," the turian snapped, face now inches from Aria as she let out a low, animalistic growl, "I dare you to try and stop me. I don't think Sata will let you. She respects me more as a parent than she ever respected you. She hates the very sight of you. Your own daughter thinks you are a piece of shit. Tell me, how does that feel?"
"Shut the fuck up," Aria spat, spittle erupting from her lips, "One more word from your mouth, and I'll make you regret it."
"Is this the loyalty you command, Aria?" Nyreen mocked, dangerously batting around the lion's den. Marcus increased his approach, almost entering a jog, "Threaten anyone who questions you? I'm disappointed. No wonder Sata despises you."
He saw Aria crack. He saw the biotic fist that had been building up this entire time, biotic glow flowing around her hand. Teeth gritted and a snarl hissing through her lips, she raised the fist, prepared to descend upon the turian with all the fury she could muster. Nyreen hadn't even bothered trying to defend herself...almost as if she was unaware that Aria would be so audacious as to strike her in anger. Or...
...she wanted to prove a point.
Marcus' arm lashed out, hand clenching around Aria's wrist just before it completed its swing. Her punch halted mid air as her gaze whipped to face him, glaring daggers at him through his visor. He glared back carelessly, letting her know that he couldn't give any less of a shit about her anger towards him. He held firm, refusing to let go of her arm until she agreed to withdraw. In the seconds it took for Aria to back down, the look on Nyreen's face was telling.
Entirely impassive. She wasn't in shock, she wasn't even glaring at her. She simply looked...exasperated. She had made no snap movement to defend herself, she simply stared back at the asari, as if trying to look through her. As if she was transparent.
It was the look of disappointment.
Aria finally tried pulling back, and he let her, letting go of her wrist. He must have grabbed it harder than he thought, as there was visible bruising along the underside of her wrist that showed up as darker, bluish tinges along her skin. She ignored it, stepping back in anger, but making no further hostile movements towards the general.
"I've had it up to here..." he raised a hand in the air for emphasis, "...with this spat between you. Now, I don't give a fuck about whatever differences you've had in the past. I simply don't care. The mission is what is important to me, and we've wasted precious time because you two seem incapable of maturing enough to complete it."
The two women said nothing, simply glaring at each other. He stepped between them, breaking their line of sight, as he turned to Aria, pointing an accusing finger, "You have got to grow the fuck up. You have been constantly antagonizing Nyreen ever since this mission began, and I'm sick of it. You're like a child. If you want this station to be yours after this war is over, I suggest you do some soul searching fast, because I'm seriously considering just nuking this stupid fucking asteroid."
Aria's glare dissipated at that, but only a little. She had heard this threat before from him, and she knew better than to argue with him. She had long found out that when he made a threat, he kept it: he was by no means bluffing. He now turned to Nyreen, sparing her no expense with his own barrage, "And I expect better of you, Nyreen. You're constantly letting Aria get to you, and its compromising the mission. I get that adjutants terrify you, but you know what? The Reapers terrify me. You don't see me freezing in fear every time one shows up. You need to conquer that fear, because there is no room on this mission for those who can't do their job."
Nyreen gulped, shaking her head, "You have no id-"
"Don't give me the speech about damn loss. I've lost more than you could possibly imagine," Marcus snapped, practically barking at her in anger, "I've lost too many friends to this damn war to even begin counting. Jacob. Mordin. Thane. Legion. All of them I considered to be friends, and every single one of them dead. I've watched good soldiers under my command die. I had to flee my own damn homeworld as I watched the Reapers slaughtering people in the streets. I've watched worlds burn, I've stayed up late at night reading reports upon reports upon reports of casualties," his gaze softened, but only slightly, not allowing the steel in his voice to dissipate, "We've all suffered, we've all lost things we care about, and we've all seen horrible shit. But that doesn't mean we get to just...cower. Hide. Run away. Because as much as we all have nightmares, there are those whose duty is to fight those nightmares. To kill them. That's our job: we kill nightmares. We're just the lucky ones who are equipped with that ability. So will you kill your nightmares Nyreen, or continue to run away? Because that's what Omega really needs. Someone to fight the nightmares that they never could."
Nyreen was lost for words. She simply stared back at Marcus, not in anger, not in sadness, not in shock...but she was entirely speechless. Backing down, Marcus looked between them, backing away, "The two of you are going to have make a choice. I don't care whether you both reconcile or not. Your relationship doesn't concern me. What does concern me is your ability to work together to beat Petrovsky. Can you do that? Even if its just for one day? Maybe even a week?"
Aria moved to speak, but he held up one hand to silence her, unholstering his rifle in the process, which he had let hang limply at his side, magnetized to his right thigh, "I don't need an answer, but you two do. Make a decision amongst yourselves. Make a decision to set aside whatever differences you may have for the greater good. Because no matter what hatred you have for each other, you can both agree on one thing: Omega."
Aria and Nyreen looked at each other, ever silent, but said nothing. He turned around, motioning forward as his team got the message and began to form up without a word. Tali was at this side in an instant, Garrus and Kasumi not far behind. He felt her presence beside him, and turned on instinct, seeing her smile at him behind her visor. He smiled back, briefly gripping her shoulder in reassurance before he dropped his smile, returning to full Shepard mode, "Okay, move out, stay frosty. I don't want any more surprises. No more adjutants sneaking up on us. If there are any here, I want to know about it ahead of time. Advance."
His speech must have worked: Nyreen and Aria were deathly silent, almost unnervingly so. They kept distance between other: Nyreen to the far left, Aria on the far right. Neither seemed assured of their 'victory' in the argument however, both of them sullen and not very talkative. His guess is that any verbal agreement to end hostilities between them was not on the cards yet, but their more subtle agreement had been enough for now. He was just glad that they weren't shouting at each other anymore. The last thing he needed right now was noise.
Despite this sector being powered down, the area surrounding the central reactor's operations was lit by emergency lighting, a dull crimson haze barely illuminating the walls, but doing just enough to give them a clear view of where they needed to go. He could read the lettering on the walls enough to get a general sense of their direction now: one wall, in white krogan lettering, said 'secondary operations chamber' with what looked to be an arrow pointing further down the corridor. He knew it said this because the krogan lettering had faded and worn out, black lettering, this being in the more easily translatable turian language, having been crudely painted over the top of it. Likely a relic from Tanculus' reign just over a thousand years ago.
The corridor itself seemed to stretch on forever, but in actuality, the secondary operations chamber was less than 300 meters ahead of them. The hall itself was lined with inactive piping and maintenance terminals, their surfaces plainly glowing in the red light, but otherwise remaining silent in their abandonment. It was an entirely unremarkable area: were it not for Nyreen and Aria's guidance, they likely would have gotten lost in this maze of corridors, unable to distinguish one from the other.
They managed to close the distance quite quickly, in fact. At their pace, they had crossed the first 100 meters in less than a minute, the squad not exactly jogging, but hardly out for a stroll either. Aria and Nyreen remained quiet for the rest of the trip, only speaking up with the ocassional grunt of acknowledgement when asked a question or when giving directions. It was clear that both of them were deep in thought, complimenting what Marcus had said to them. That was good.
I hope they stew real hard on it. Their bickering has done nothing but hinder our cause. I need them focused and fighting Petrovsky, not each other. To think these two women, not even a day ago, had worked together to save Marcus' life, and now he had argued them into oblivion due to them about to imminently try and kill each other. It was utterly ridiculous. It wasn't like he didn't understand their points: he agreed with Nyreen that Aria was a criminal without a single likeable bone in her body, but he also knew that he needed Aria to hold onto Omega for the war effort. But he couldn't let his sympathy for their plights get in the way of the mission. His loyalty was to the galaxy at large, not to the Talons, nor Aria's mercenary band.
After a few more minutes of walking, the squad exited the corridor and arrived in the secondary operations chamber. He immediately ordered his squad to spread out, covering the entirety of the circular room, weapons scanning for hostile elements, wherever they may have lurked.
The first thing he noticed was the cavernous complex that rose around them, stretching out for what must have been kilometers. The chamber wasn't shielded by a ceiling, giving them an unfiltered, unobstructed view of the numerous cooling rods above them. Electricity snapped and crackled along their blue lines, the rods surging with coolant as they pumped into the reactor, keeping enough of a mix to ensure a meltdown did not occur. Only one of the cooling rods was visible from where they were, passing directly over them, but the sound of electric snaps was enough to draw attention to it, the sounds loud and thunderous.
The chamber itself was circular in shape, and at least 20 meters in width. Numerous deactivated consoles circled around the middle, the energy sapped from them to power the force fields. Marcus knew that past here would be the central control center, and from there, they would siphon all the power from the forcefields, disabling them. It was here that would prove the damnation of Petrovsky's operation. From here...the Cerberus regime would be brought to its knees.
Having fully spread out, the squad had secured the chamber, confident that no adjutants or Cerberus soldiers were present. Those in the middle lowered their weapons, whilst some stayed on the outer edge to make sure they weren't snuck up on or ambushed. Aria must have had a burst of pride surge through her at seeing her goal across the gangway, because her steps seemed to increase in vigour, the pirate queen heading straight to the middle of the chamber. She was grinning from ear to ear, her previous thoughts discarded.
Nyreen took note of this, but didn't react as harshly as he thought she would, "Why are you grinning, Aria?"
Aria didn't turn to the turian, but simply kept grinning, shotgun holstered as she held up her arms in a wide arc, reminding Marcus all too much of her introduction to him in Afterlife a year go, "We're almost there. When those forcefields come down...this war finally begins."
Nyreen snorted, having pulled out her SMG, "For some of us, this war began seven months ago."
Aria just chuckled, shaking her head, "Ah, babe, that wasn't war. That was just warm-up."
Marcus decided to step in, before Nyreen could make a snappy comment that could anger Aria again. He was at least somewhat relieved to see their exchange hadn't been as aggressive, the two simply exchanging passive-aggressive banter at best, "Okay, let's cut to the chase. The primary operations center shouldn't be far now. Everybody, fall in."
They did so, the squad moving to join Marcus and Aria as they prepared to push on. Aria was just reaching the stairs while Javik followed up the rear, his rifle finished scanning the area behind them as he moved to join them.
Then, suddenly, their world was enveloped in orange light.
Aria stopped in her tracks the moment the bright field lit up, blocking her path. The asari had stopped mere inches from touching it, the pirate queen now backing up slightly, as her eyes locked up and down the field, finding that it stretched up at least ten meters, ensuring they could not surmount it. The triumphant grin fell from her lips, "What the fuck?"
Marcus, fearing the worst, slowly lowered his rifle and turned in a full semi-circle, confirming his worst fears. They were entirely surrounded by the field, which wrapped around the entire circumference of the operations chamber, reaching from the deck into the air as far as it could muster. The field hissed and popped as superheated hardlight was focused into long, winding sheet. His squad looked just as shocked, but that shock quickly turned into a dread realization, with Marcus' heart missing a few beats.
It was a force field.
Why the hell would they have a force field down here? And what triggered it? We must have tripped an alert system when we crossed the threshold, but if that's the case, why did it wait until we were all ins-
It waited until they were all inside.
Marcus' teeth clenched, uttering the name of the one person he knew was responsible, "Petrovsky."
"No!" Aria snapped, tearing out her shotgun as she quickly unloaded a shell into the field. The plasma sheet did not yield, consuming the fragmented shell as it impacted the field, vaporizing it upon impact with barely a ripple. That didn't deter the asari, who emptied two more shells before giving up, each one touching the field and disappearing instantly, leaving no visible damage of any kind. She snarled, but did not dare hit it out of anger, having seen the consequences of what happened when organic matter came into contact with it. She did not wish to become a pile of ash.
Nothing happened for the next few minutes, the only sound being Aria's frantic, curse-filled speech, the electric thunder of the cooling rod above, and the crackling cackles of the field that had so easily entrapped them. Marcus knew this had been a trap: it was too perfect, too well timed. He knew for certain Petrovsky was behind it. What he wanted to know was how. How did Petrovsky know about their operation? And how did he manage to set up a forcefield so quickly? The only possible answer to the latter is that he hadn't set it up in response, but as a contingency: which suggested the Cerberus general had prepared for this.
He's truly covered all bases. He must have predicted we'd try this.
Five more minutes passed before the group heard a dull clang. They snapped around to see that somekind of spherical object had fallen from the air to land at their feet. At first the N7 had thought it was a grenade, but after checking its appearance, and the fact that a few seconds had passed after it was supposed to have detonated, he concluded this wasn't the case. Instead, the sphere was quickly wrapped in cobalt, grid-like illumination, and it suddenly shot up into the air, as if picked up by some invisible opponent. It hovered in the air, and in that moment, Marcus knew what it was: a portable QEC transmitter. Cerberus must have dropped it from above.
The sphere's generators spun to life, blue particles shooting out in the thousands as they quickly snapped back into the form of a familiar Cerberus commander. Black beard, crisp white and gold uniform, rigid posture and parade rest.
Petrovsky wasted no time in addressing Marcus, no hint of a smile on the general's features. Even in his apparent victory, having successful lured his enemy into a trap of his making, the general took no pleasure in it. He wasn't smug. It was one of the things Marcus found himself respecting in the man, "I commend you, Shepard. Your plan of attack was impeccable, even if it was for nothing."
Aria roared, having heard Petrovsky's voice. Marcus turned to watch as she fired at the hologram, only for her shell to pass harmlessly through the field emitter, the particles temporarily disturbed and distorting his torso, before forming back together, almost like a swarm of angry bees. Petrovsky looked indifferent, "Come now, Aria. I'm not actually there."
"Maybe you should be, you piece of shit," Aria snapped, storming up the hologram as she lowered her shotgun, realizing how futile her attempts to kill the general would be, "Stop hiding and face me. Or are all human generals such cowards?"
Petrovsky shook his head, "How puerile of you. I'm not stupid, Aria. I know you could kill me in hand-to-hand combat if you so wished. My skill doesn't lie with my combat skills, however," he turned to Marcus, noting the N7's much more somber look, "Don't look so shocked, captain. As one tactician to another, you must appreciate how obvious my decision had to have been. I knew the reactor would be the hard target should any invading force make an attack. I gave you no choice but to take this route."
He winced, realizing the general was right. He should have known better. They told me not to underestimate him, and here I am, paying for that very mistake. How the fuck could I have possibly thought I'd outsmarted him? This guy seems to know my moves before I make them. Feeling calmer than Aria was at the moment, he stepped infront of the asari, blocking her view of the General, "I have to admit, Petrovsky, this was clever. I honestly thought we'd won."
The human commander turned away from Marcus, looking up at the cooling rod as if he was actually there, "A great victory is when you have the enemy believe they've won. That's when they're at their most vulnerable."
"Sun Tzu," Marcus uttered.
"Correct," Petrovsky replied, the barest hint of a smile on his lips, "You know, you may have made a good general yourself, captain. Unfortunate you've chosen to ally yourself with Aria. A tactical error on your part. She always was a bad apple."
"I will fucking gut you, Petrovsky," the asari in question barked, now pacing along the circumference of the field as she walked in circles, desperately looking for a weakness that didn't exist, "When I get out of here, and we bring those forcefields down, you're finished! I promise you that!"
The general sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to face the aimless pirate queen, "Unfortunately for you, I've made sure that won't be happening today. You're trapped, all of you. This field won't go down unless I say so, and with you all trapped inside, I would think a surrender was in order."
"S-surrender!?" Aria roared, sending a biotic fist flying into an inactive console, smashing it in an explosion of sparks and broken circuits, "I will never fucking surrender! Its not over until your next of kin can't identify you!"
"I love your bravado, I really do," Petrovsky admitted, "It reminds me of my comrades back in the Russian military, full of life and unquenchable spirit. But one day, you must have the good sense to know when you're beaten. Today is that day, Aria."
"No..."
"Its over."
"...no...!"
"You cannot win. I have all the pieces in my court. If I so will it, I can simply leave you down there to rot."
"NO!" Aria snapped, glaring at Petrovsky, "A hundred times, NO! I will not just roll over and surrender! Not when I'm so fucking close to choking the life out of you!"
There was a look of anguish on Petrovsky's face, like the general regretted what he had to do. Marcus could only watch as Aria mentally broke down in front of them, lashing out with her fists at an enemy that wasn't there, enraged at the idea that she may have finally been defeated. Even Nyreen looked forlornly at the asari, as if understanding her frustration, and sympathsizing with it. Perhaps in that moment, the two women had finally found something to agree on.
He could see Tali was on her omni-tool, coordinating with EDI and Moses to find a way to breach the forcefield's firewall so that they could bring it down. After a few moments, Tali sighed, deactivating her omni-tool. She looked to EDI and Moses, with the former shaking her head while Moses tried its best to mimmick the response. The quarian turned to Marcus.
She shook her head.
He felt like he'd been shot. When even his brilliant quarian engineer couldn't crack something...
He turned to Petrovsky, refusing to allow despair to cross into his gaze, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Petrovsky, but we're not surrendering," This surprised none of his squad, who had expected such a reaction. He felt Tali's presence at his side, her shotgun at the ready. He didn't need to look at her to know she would have his back no matter what, even if they ended up dying down here, "This isn't over. You may think you've won, but I can promise you, this isn't over yet. This war will not end with me. Even if we die down here, my men will keep on fighting."
The general nodded, "I understand. You've made your choice, and I respect it. However, I believe it to be a disservice to allow you to die by starvation. The Great Commander Shepard, killed by a lack of food and drink? I think not. No, you deserve to go out like a warrior," the general continued. This surprised Marcus, but only served to heighten his thoughts on the man. Despite Shepard being his enemy, he highly respected him, enough that he was willing to allow him a warrior's death, even in his refusal to surrender, "You will die here Shepard, have no illusions. But at least you shall die fighting."
He gripped his rifle tighter, nodding to his squad, who all nodded back, "Do what you must, Petrovsky. Send what you must. I held against 10,000 batarians on Elysium. With a squad at my back, perhaps I can finish off your army."
Petrovsky was momentarily stunned. Then that damn ghost of a smile again, "If any man could do it, it would be you, Shepard. It has been an honor to call you my foe," he turned to a man behind him that was just out of sight, nodding as he gave them his orders, "Send in the RAMPARTs, Colonel Wchest. All of them...yes, I mean every single one of them." He then turned back to Marcus, but before he could utter another word, Aria had stepped in, shoving the N7 aside as she bristled with desperation and fury mixed into one.
"That is the most pathetic fucking thing I've ever heard," she glared daggers at the man, her fists beginning to glow with radiant dark energy.
"Mutual respect between warriors has always been seeded in human history, Aria," Petrovsky plainly stated, showing nothing but a brusque disregard for what she had to say, "Its not something I expect you to understand. My only regret is that it had to come to this."
Marcus bit his lower lip, shrugging, "And its a pity you had to be on the Illusive Man's side. We could have used someone with your brains in the UGC."
To his surprise, unlike the last time he had made such a statement, Petrovsky seemed to falter, as if reconsidering Marcus' proposal. Instead, he simply nodded forlornly, "Unfortunately, our fates did not align. Goodbye captain," he turned to Aria one last time, "And to you, Aria. And you too, Kandros. May you have the fight that you yearn for." Petrovsky's holographic form then evaporated as he began to walk away, the particles receding until there were none left, the sphere's blue light dimming to nothing. It then shot up into the air, enveloped by the darkness above, as if summoned back by its Cerberus handler. Just like that, Petrovsky was no longer with them.
After a few moments of stewing in their supposed defeat, Aria whirled on him, and taken completely by surprise, Marcus was unable to do anything when he felt her fist connect with his helmet, the force of the blow no doubt brusing her own knuckles, but causing his head to snap back regardless, dazed from the strike that he hadn't seen coming. She certainly gave it her all that's for sure: the blow had been enough that his jaw now ached, pulsing angrily. It was only due to his helmet that he did not rub the affected area.
Almost upon instinct, Aria felt herself unable to begin her rant as she felt a foot connect with her solar plexus, sending her reeling back as the air exploded from her lungs. Tali stepped forward after her counterattack, glaring angrily at the asari. Quarians had fierce kicks, females in particular, and the kick itself had landed firmly on Aria's chest, which left her whoozing and gasping for air, although there was no sympathy for her to garner upon.
She stepped up, fury still in her eyes even as Marcus stood up to meet her, the N7 ignoring Tali's attempts to check on him as he fixed his gaze firmly on her.
"I thought you were a bigger man than that, Shepard!" Aria hissed through her pain, still having not fully recovered from Tali's powerful kick, her voice raspy as it drew upon air, "Watching you give up like that...was disgusting. Absolutely pitiful. I've never seen such a sad thing in my life!"
After a second or so, he shook his head, raising his rifle as he steadied it against his shoulder, "Who said anything about giving up?"
To her credit, Aria didn't let her shock show visually, but he could tell from her change in tone that she hadn't expected that, "But you...what...I'm sorry, what the fuck do you mean by that shit? I saw you lap up Petrovsky's words like a dog."
He shrugged flippantly, turning to address the forcefield that was blocking their passage, just transparent enough to tease them with a view of their objective, whilst keeping it just out of their reach, "I needed Petrovsky to think we'd been defeated. I needed him to believe we had been sapped, and I needed him to see how angry you were. Now he's left thinking he's won and that our deaths are imminent. He has no idea that we plan on living."
James spoke up next, raising one eyebrow, "So, loco...do we actually have a plan for getting out of here? In case you hadn't noticed, we're surrounded by a giant friggin' forcefield."
And that's when Marcus' triumphant moment came to a standstill. Right...of course. That little hurdle.
"That's the part where a little brainstorming comes in," he stated, "I needed Petrovsky off our backs, but I didn't actually have time to think of a plan. So...I'm open to ideas."
"Well, we better think fast," Kaidan piped up, "Because from what the General said, we're about to have a whole army of RAMPARTs descending on us soon enough."
Marcus looked around the room at everyone present, eyes meeting each of theirs as he sought solutions. So far though, everyone seemed to be deep in thought, trying to formulate their own plans of escape. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to yield any fruit, and he could hardly blame them. After all, they were surrounded by a force field, with the only way to escape its clutches being on the other side of it. Suffice to say, they were running a little low on brainstormed ideas on that front.
He found himself analyzing the field ever so slightly, scrutinizing it for even the tiniest weakness in its structure. He ruled out locating the emitters and destroying them: it was obvious that the person who designed it had been smart enough to keep this in mind, thus building the emitters so that they would appear on the opposite side from what they were keeping in: and if it was meant to be a two-way field, like the ones in operation all over Omega, then the emitters would be built into the terrain itself. As was the case for them, this field was built to keep them in, and thus the emitters were on the outside...out of reach. So he quickly ruled that out.
They certainly couldn't scale it: he had seen what had come from even touching the field, having witnessed krogan soldiers incinerated at the point of contact. He expected nothing less from reverse-engineered Collector technology, especially when Cerberus was using it. The only other option was to attempt to jump over it or find the highest point of the room and try and circumvent it. Garrus seemed to be the most obvious candidate, given his variant of the Terminus armor had a built-in medium-burst thruster pack. Unfortunately, even his pack didn't have enough thrust to get over the field, and there were no high points to speak of, with the tallest object being a meter tall console.
That left them one option: break the field, or disrupt it long enough to open a hole. Again, that was impossible, as the UGC had tested such measures. The field's energy was so potent and powerful that the sheet was practically forming hardlight: a nearly impenetrable substance. Not even a Reaper's thanix cannon was going to breach this field. Even if he had remembered to bring his cumbersome M-920 Cain, he doubted detonating a low yield, one ton nuclear warhead in such a confined space was a good idea (especially considering the explosive blast of such a warhead was enough to level an entire street of buildings, so firing point blank in an area less than the size of a house was an even worse idea).
Three options, none of them feasible.
"We can't jump over it, we can't break through it and we can't destroy it," Marcus announced, having finished his analysis in less than a minute, turning back to his squad, "I certainly hope you guys have some ideas, because I'm all out."
"Captain!" Javik shouted, rifle snapping up as he assumed a combat posture, taking a knee behind one of the consoles as he waved a hand in the direction of the area they had come from, having been trained in several Alliance military hand signals by Marcus, "Twenty enemy mechs, closing from the rear!"
Sure enough, the squad turned and saw what Javik had signalled at. Advancing in columns of two, with ten per column, RAMPART mechs stalked forward, wielding M-22 Eviscerator shotungs in their hands, four red optics glowing seemingly with fury. Their glistening red and black armor flashed brilliantly in the glow of the field they were approaching, likely to be intensified once they activated their holographic tech armor. They emitted high-pitched electronic howls, their built-in function designed to instill fear into their enemies: a psychological warfare tactic. Had they been basic militia grunts, it might have worked. The mechs continued their approach towards the plasma sheet, not halting their advance. It was then that Marcus remembered that the RAMPARTs, being designed as Omega's law enforcement and crowd control rapid response units, had specifically designed armor with heat resistant plating, also reverse-engineered from Collector tech. This meant that the RAMPARTs could literally walk right through the field, with no adverse effects.
"It looks like we're out of time!" Garrus barked, sprinting over to the nearest available cover as he lowered his sniper rifle ontop of the edge of his cover, bracing it against his shoulder. Moses stood in the middle, deploying his Stalker-class combat drone and his Sapper-class sentry gun before holstering his Spitfire and readying his Type-55 Minotaur pulse cannon: the mainstay of the geth prime.
"Mark?" Tali asked, bringing his attention to her, "What are your orders?"
He nodded, readying his rifle as he lifted it and held it upwards, "Garrus has the right idea. Everybody take defensive positions and get ready to hold this area. How are we doing for ammo?"
Garrus did a quick check of his chest, mandibles falling slightly, "I...not much, Marcus. I've only got about six to eight clips left."
Tali checked herself, "I've only got...ten."
"Ten over here, Loco," James replied.
"Fifteen, but I can make them last," Keeling announced, taking position next to Javik.
Finally, Marcus checked his own ammo, finding he himself only had six clips left. In other words, they were now trapped with nowhere to go, had an army of RAMPART mechs surrounding them, and were dangerously low on ammo. The situation could not possibly get any worse at this point, he was sure of it. All they needed now was for the adjutant horde to break through and their deaths would be complete...
He went prone, lowering his jaw so it was planted firmly against the cold exterior of his pulse rifle. Tali dove into cover beside Kasumi, summoning Chiktika and watching as her combat drone hovered in position next to her head, chirping in electronic tones.
"We're in a bad position, low on ammunition, and we can't retreat," Marcus declared, "No matter, we hold this position. Moses, you've got the center. Garrus, watch right. Keeling, watch left. Don't let any enemy breach that perimeter, understood?"
"Understood!" shouted his entire squad in unison.
Nyreen was crouched next to a discarded crate, the object looking rusted and hardly trustworthy as cover, but the turian had little choice given their already limited options. In the end, Aria, aside from Moses, was the only one left standing in the open, the asari looking vexxed as she simply stared incredulously at the captain.
"That's it?" the asari grunted, waving her arms around exasperatingly, "All that talk about not 'giving up', and here you are, giving up."
He had no time for her semantics. He didn't need her to emphasize how fucked they were, he could tell that for himself, "Look around you, Aria. There's nowhere to go. I've entertained every possible solution I can think of to get out of here, and one of them will work. So unless you're willing to be shot dead while looking like a deer caught in headlights, I'd recommend finding some cover."
The first RAMPART mech drifted through the sheet, ripples erupting across the sheet as it licked at the mech's armor, harmlessly peeling away from the robot's presence. Having successfully parted the shield, the mech began to increase its pace from 'marching' to 'running', but Marcus didn't give it a chance. He opened fire, tapping his trigger, and watched as a pulse rifle burst slammed into its head, breaking the glass casing of its optics and blowing circuits out through the back of its ruptured head. He fired another burst, this one right down the center of its shotgun, causing the weapon to explode violently in its hands, raining bits of destroyed gun casing everywhere and leaving the mech defenseless. One final burst tore through its head again, causing it to simply fall back, hitting the ground with a thud as sparks continued to spew from its mangled head.
The second RAMPART mech was met with much the same fate, Garrus' sniper rifle coughing off one, high velocity round. Being a much more powerful weapon, this round blew the mech's head clean off, causing the mech to stutter for a few moments as it aimlessly spun around, now without guidance or the ability to see. Moses put it down moments later, a single volley from its Minotaur destroying its upper torso, leaving its legs to collapse to the ground in a heap of twisted metal and machinery.
The other RAMPARTs caught on quickly, and did not enter the field in single file. They spread out, surrounding the field from all sides, before closing in. They activated their tech armor at the same time, giving them an added layer of protection as they proceeded to step through the field all at once: six mechs on the left, another six on the right, and the last six up front. Marcus wasted no time in opening fire.
"Fire at will!" Marcus snapped, finger clamping down on the trigger for his rifle as he let loose with everything he had, his squad following suit. The staccato beat of assault rifles, shotguns, pistols and SMGs boomed across the room as they fired at whatever RAMPART mech fell into their crosshairs. Tracers shot across the field, slamming into their targets with varying degrees of precision. Marcus was switching between targets rapidly, never stopping to ensure one mech was down before he turned to focus on the other, determined to do as much damage as possible to all their aggressors.
He hadn't failed to notice that Aria was still doing nothing, electing to remain at the back whilst she watched the battle take place. Nyreen, on the other hand, was busy picking up a RAMPART with her biotics, tossing it back through the field whilst emptying an entire clip of her SMG into another mech. The tech armor on it absorbed the entire magazine, but fizzled out of existence the moment she finished, allowing the turian to whip out her pistol and finish the job with four shots straight into its optics. She quickly whipped up a small biotic field to deflect a shotgun blast from a third mech, only for a second shell to slap into her shielded torso, causing her kinetic barriers to flare up angrily to absorb it. She dropped back into cover, the ex-Cabal maintaining an aura of calm around herself.
His pulse rifle hissed, and he watched silently as the empty clip popped out, right before he slotted a new one into place, sealing the magazine. That's five clips left. Got to make 'em count.
He watched Tali cry out as her shields failed, the small fragment of a shotgun shell piercing the side of her arm, dribbles of red blood weeping out of the cut. Tali quickly applied a small dab of medi-gel to the affected area and sealed it off: she would get a small cold, nothing more. Picking up her shotgun she returned to her duties, only lowering her weapon long enough to lash out with her omni-tool, an electromagnetic pulse hitting another mech and causing its tech armor to pop, allowing Moses to blast it away with a single shot from his Minotaur.
"No..." he heard Aria begin to mutter over the chaos of combat, the N7 not bothering to turn to face her as he just kept on firing, the rifle kicking against his shoulder and numbing it, "...never. I won't...no...I won't go out like this..."
"Then fucking shoot something!" he finally snapped, still not turning towards her, "Don't just stand there, Aria! Shit, Keeling, to your left!"
"Got it!" the N7 in question spun and countered the mech behind her with an omni-blade, watching hers clash against the swing of the mech's own blade, having been moments from decapitating her from behind. The mech was strong, gradually beginning to overwhelm her, but not before Javik swung around and fired point blank into the mech's chest, particle beam blasting out through the back of it. A smoking hole in its chest, the mech's blade evaporated, the RAMPART collapsing to the ground, steam pouring from its smoking torso. Keeling gave the prothean a nod of thanks, before returning to her defensive work.
Aria still wasn't doing anything, and he was beginning to get annoyed at her, the spectre forced to replace another clip with a second one. Four left.
Luckily for Aria, the twenty or so mechs sent towards them weren't much of a threat. His squad held firm, and despite the limited ammo, they soon found themselves with room to breathe as the last mech collapsed in a heap of broken metal. All twenty or so mechs were destroyed, their corpses littering the chamber they were trapped inside.
"Be ready," he ordered, standing up as he surveyed the situation, "There will be more where that came from, and I doubt Petrovsky's going to leave us alone very long. If you've got injuries, tend to them. If you need a drink or something to eat, make it so. And if you need to assume a new position, then get to it. We don't have long."
He turned to Tali, his posture slouching slightly as his gaze softened, "Are you okay? How's that cut? Anymore injuries?"
She shook her head, "Just a small cut, nothing to fret over. As for any injuries..." she did a quick once over, but after a moment, she shrugged, "Nothing I can see. My suit isn't registering any further breaches."
"Good," he replied calmly, nodding. Assured with her safety, he pivoted on the spot, his gaze steeled once more as he moved over to Aria, pissed off with her disposition. She had done nothing to help them fight back the mechs: she had just stood there, doing absolutely nothing. And he needed to know why.
Aria wasn't even facing him, too busy looking over the field in front of her. Her shotgun was holstered, her body shaking as she got more and more agitated. Nyreen had seen this and moved to join them, but Aria held up a hand, having apparently heard them approaching, motioning for them to halt, "No, I refuse to give up. I'm not going out like this!"
"And what the fuck are you going to do about it?" he barked, halting just meters from her. He noticed Keeling joining them, eager to speak with her commander. He motioned for her to hold for one moment, before turning his attention back to Aria, "Listen Aria, more of those mechs are coming, and I can't afford to have you hesitating. Now, are you going to-"
"Are you not fucking listening!?" Aria suddenly shouted, biotically shoving him back. It was a light burst of energy, and so he barely moved an inch from where he was, but it was clear Aria was no longer as collected as she had been: she was quickly losing it, and that made her dangerous. Keeling had noticed this and taken it as a threat, raising her rifle in an instant to aim at Aria. The asari paid her no mind, "I will NOT GO OUT LIKE THIS!"
He could tell she was summoning her biotics: her body had that subtle blue aura about her, one that was intensifying with every moment. Liquid fire raced up her body, wrapping her in a sheet of brilliant dark energy. Even her eyes glowed as she increased the amount of energy flowing through her body until it practically danced off her fingertips. He thought she was about to snap, and made to raise his own rifle in case she decided to lash out at those around her.
A howl of defiance, and the asari charged.
But not towards them.
Towards the field.
Nyreen's eyes shot open wide, and for a second, he thought he heard her cry out in concern, "Aria! Don't-"
What happened next completely shattered all their expectations. Instead of slamming head first into the barrier, she instead halted her momentum and lashed out with both her hands, as if trying to grip it. Her hands glowed so brilliantly it looked as though she might explode from the concentration of biotics, but what happened next completely blew them away, leaving them shocked at what they were witnessing.
Instead of Aria's hands being vaporized into ash, inevitably leading to the asari crying out in pain as her appendages were incinerated, the orange field parted away from her hands, as if she was digging a hole on a beach, and the sand parted at her intrusion. The asari growled and hissed in pain as it no doubt took enormous exertion for her to pull off this feat, focusing every iota of biotic energy she had. Having made a small hole, her hands began to pry outwards, as if trying to pull away more and more of the orange plasma, like it was made of paper.
And to their continued consternation, it was working.
He had no doubt that Petrovsky was watching them, and if he was, Marcus could imagine that his expression was much the same as theirs at this very moment.
"I...will not...fucking...die...here..." Aria panted, quickly out of breath, her energy beginning to sap as she collapsed to one knee, the effort taking its toll. But she kept persisting, pulling more and more of the field away as the gap continued to grow, and grow...and grow. Aria might as well have been a street light for how much she was glowing right now, the energy almost blinding in its intensity.
"I...cannot...abide...rotting here...not...today..." she continued, muttering more to herself than she was to anyone else, uncaring if they heard her or not, "I...am...Omega...and the...one rule...the...one...r-r-rulleee..."
...don't fuck with Aria.
"Shepard-Captain," Moses announced, breaking him from his gaze as he turned to look up at the prime, "Additional hostile threats inbound. We estimate their numbers to be roughly forty individual combat units."
"Forty?" he replied, exasperated. Nothing the geth's nod, he turned to his squad. There was simply no way they had the kind of ammo to win a fight like that. And he just knew that Petrovsky would just keep sending in more and more, in ever increasing numbers, until they were all dead. He might just get fed up and employ gas to get rid of them...
Forty...if we can just hold out long enough...
He wouldn't lie: the situation was looking entirely hopeless. And even if they relied solely on their biotics after running out of ammo, they would fatigue eventually...everything had an expiry date.
I just need a sign...anything...to get us through this.
Someone must have heard his prayer.
He spun back around as Aria shouted to him, albeit weakly, "S-s-Shepard...I...you need to..."
He didn't need her to finish, for he could see for himself what she had done. There was now a hole large enough for an entire person to dive through if they were desperate enough, allowing them access to the outside. Of course, with Aria weakening every second, there wouldn't be enough time for the whole squad to get through. No, there was only enough time for a couple...two people at most.
He knew what he had to do.
He jogged up to Aria, nodding to her, "I don't how you knew you could do this, Aria, but whatever the case, you may have just ended up saving our lives."
Aria didn't bother to look at him, now so exhausted that she could barely raise her head to look at him, "I...didn't...I...made...a desperate...guess..." she shook her head lightly, looking ready to pass out, "Just...hurry the fuck up...I can't...hold this...forever..."
Her hands slipped slightly. The gap got smaller.
"Go Marcus," he heard Garrus say behind him, "We'll bunker down here, give them a real fight. Just like we did at the Collector Base."
He turned to the turian and gripped his shoulder tightly, "I leave you in command then," he turned to Keeling, nodding at her, "Keeling, you're with me. I'll need at least one other person to help me get there."
The N7 wasted no time in accepting his orders, rushing over to join him. He motioned her through, watching as his fellow special ops operative dove through the hole in a dive, just barely avoiding having her legs come into contact with the exposed rim of the gap. She arrived out on the other side in a roll, landing in a crouched position. She quickly raised her rifle and scanned the area, making sure no mechs were awaiting them. Assured by her success, he turned to the hole, knowing it was his turn.
He ran, sprinting up to the hole, and at the last moment, he ducked into a roll.
For the briefest moment, he felt the field graze his armor, sizzling as it made contact, incinerating a sheet of armoured steel.
And then he was on the other side, landing in an unceremonious heap on the ground, his weapon sliding from his grip and onto the floor. He quickly rolled over and checked himself for missing appendages and, once satisfied he was okay, stood up, picking up his rifle in the process.
Aria didn't last long after. With Marcus through the gap, she allowed Nyreen to pull her back, hands slipping. The field snapped back to cover the gap in an instant, like it was never there in the first place. Aria fell to the ground, coughing and heaving as she was finally allowed to breathe, having held her breath for the last few moments. Her biotic light died off, reduced to nothing but a glimmer on her skin. It was clear Aria was now out of this fight for a while, completely spent, at least for the moment.
His eyes met Tali's through the field, and he saw the look in her eyes, even through the distortion of the barrier that seperated them.
She gave him a thumbs up, before ducking behind her cover again. She had faith in him.
He wouldn't let her down. He wouldn't let any of them down.
Afraid that if he stared a second longer he would reconsider leaving his squad, he quickly spun around again to face their approach. Keeling was waiting for him, stoically positioned in an unflinching combat stance.
"Ready to go on your word, sir," she stated.
He tapped her shoulder, feeling himself breathe in deeply. The reactor's control center wasn't that far away, he noted, being only a couple hundred meters or so. Victory was within their reach: so close, yet, in an instant, could be so far away. He needed to make sure they got there, and he needed to be careful this time. Petrovsky had caught them offguard with his trap the first time, but now he was ready. Marcus would not fall for the same trap twice.
He motioned his hand forward, his hand signal for her to advance, "Forward. Get to that control room, no matter what. Our team is counting on us."
The area ahead of them was a series of catwalks interlaced with each other, with a second cooling rod directly over it, more electricity oozing along its structure, bright flashes of light lancing and ionizing the area around it, the scent of ozone reaching his olfactory filters and causing him to wrinkle his nose. Ahead of these catwalks was the control center itself, located on the second level, accessed by a stairway leading directly to it. He could discern no visible hostiles ahead of them, so Marcus and Keeling proceeded with caution, unwilling to fall into a second trap.
They slowly inched forward, but not so slow as to be sluggish. Their pace was reasonable, each of them covering the other's back as they checked for ambushes, remaining vigilant the entire length of the trip. Their boots clicked as they impacted the decking of the catwalk, the pair slipping past a pair of unattended crates, checking behind it for any attackers, before moving on. They did this what felt like six times, checking every crate or potential piece of cover they came across. They were taking no chances.
A voice crackled in his comm, one he recognized as Nyreen's, "How much closer are you, Shepard? We're really feeling the heat back here," there was several gunshots, "We're holding for now, but those RAMPARTs are really starting to choke us. Some of your squad have already run out of ammo."
Shit. We've got to go faster. He nodded to Keeling, who was privy to the conversation and increased her pace alongside his, "We'll be there soon, Nyreen. Just hold on. How's Aria doing?"
The turian sighed, "Strangely enough, she's already helping us fight back. I think the idea of you guys reaching the control center in lieu of being trapped here with us has given her a boost of confidence. She's still unable to use her biotics, though."
I'm not surprised. The strain probably almost killed her.
"Keep me posted," he stated.
"Wait!" Nyreen suddenly shouted, sounding alerted. After a few seconds, she spoke up again, "Damn, Petrovsky must know you've escaped! You've got mechs inbound for your position!"
Sure enough, Marcus felt a dull impact on his back as his kinetic barriers absorbed the stray buckshot of a shotgun, the pellets pelting harmlessly off his invisible kevlar. He turned around in an instant, watching three RAMPARTs approaching them at a jog, their tech armor giving them a glow almost as intense as that of the force field. Their electronic war cries signalled across the area, just as the other two mechs opened fire.
He knew he couldn't waste time fighting them: he needed to get to that control center before his squad was overwhelmed.
Luckily for him, Keeling seemed to sense his urgency. As he turned to her, she was already holding a hand out to him, signalling for him to stop. He stared at her, blinking slightly, as she spoke, "I'll hold this position while you get to the control center. I'll keep them off your back, sir."
He looked at her for a second, "You don't have to do this, Lieutenant."
"Call me Keeling sir," she insisted, shocking him with her sudden breach in professionalism. As if to amend this fact, she spoke again, "And with all due respect sir, you need to get your ass to that control room before its too late. I'll be waiting here, cleaning up scrap metal."
More shotgun shells hammered their position, and in response, Keeling stood up, firing off several shots from her valkyrie, before lowering again. She turned to face him, her gaze firm and without a doubt, "Sir..."
He nodded, standing up as he fired off several shots of his own from his pulse rifle, "Give 'em hell, Keeling."
"That's why I'm an N7, sir," she reciprocated, quickly priming a grenade, "Good luck." She then tossed it over her head.
Marcus didn't wait to see the outcome. Turning on his heel, he threw caution to the wind as he pelted towards the control room at full speed, sprinting with all the energy he could muster. He felt some shells trail behind him for a moment, but that all ended when he heard Keeling's grenade explode, feeling a brief heat on the back of his neck before it dissipated, replaced with the sounds of Keeling's rifle barking, followed by the groans and coughs of broken sheets of metal being torn from their structure.
The sounds of the firefight behind him were dying as he got further away from the skirmish zone. He sighed with relief as he finally reached the final steps leading into the control center. Taking a long inhale and exhale, making sure to regulate his breathing, he swapped his rifle for his loaded pistol, and steadily began to rise up the steps. One by one he ascended them, getting closer and closer, until he finally reached the door. With a swipe of his hand, the green haptic interface beeped, disappeared, and the door slid open with a groan, the ancient hydraulics complaining as its old infrastructure were used.
The room wasn't as dark as he was expecting it: if anything, it was actually quite lively. There were consoles all over the relatively large room, with all of them emitting holographic projections of important information and statistics regarding the reactor they were monitoring. They were no chairs to speak of, although given the people who built this place likely had no use for such comforts it wasn't all that surprising. Ancient krogan lettering aligned the walls, faded and once again painted over by the more modern turian writing: all it did was confirm where he was.
He had made it. This was the control room.
He looked to his left to see a solitary door. It was powered down, its haptic interface deactivated. From the turian words above it, he could see that the door led to the core, but it was clear that this door had not been active for centuries due to the flakes of paint that were peeling off the door itself, revealing the rusted, plain grey steel underneath. He ignored that however: he didn't need to access the reactor directly to do what he needed to do.
He turned to his right, and found just what he needed: a particularly large looking console hooked up to what seemed to be a supercomputer of some sort, hanging from the ceiling. Ascending the small stairway that flanked the left and rightside of the room to the console, he found a long, six-meter wide observation window that allowed him to see the chamber beyond, and it was impossible for him to not notice the giant, blazing orange field in the background. Flashes of gunfire could be seen erupting near it, likely from Keeling and her engagement with the mechs trying to stop them.
He spared it only one glance before turning to his final objective: the console itself. Its primary viewscreen displayed the turian insignia for the station itself, as well as the clearly marked word 'reactor' in the top left. Inside, the glass casing of the supercomputer housed a red hologram of the reactor: a tall, cylindrical looking object which seemed to condense towards the tip. It was because of this that he knew what he needed to do next.
He quickly established comms with EDI as he approached the console, setting his pistol down next to it. Once the crackling cleared up, he knew a connection was established, "Okay EDI, I'm in the control center. I need you to walk me through this."
Shit. Never considered I would have to do this myself. This should be interesting...
To his surprise however, it was not EDI's voice that responded to him. This voice was not at all electronic, far more worn out and out of breath, and spoke with a sort of desperation and anger that he could only associate with Aria, "Change...of plans, Shepard. The reactor...there isn't enough time. You need to...overload...the reactor. Its the...fastest solution."
He frowned, quickly moving his hands away from the terminal, "Aria, the plan is to reroute power from the forcefields. If I overload-"
"Which there...isn't enough...fucking time to...do," she wheezed, the sound of a shotgun's boom sounding over her voice and temporarily muting her out, "We're...going to be overrun. Rerouting power will take...too long...overloading the reactor...is faster...and will...achieve the same...result..."
Before he could respond, he heard the sound of beeping originating from his left. He recognized the sound, and turned around just in time to watch as Petrovsky's holographic form appeared before him once again, having redeployed his portable QEC emitter the moment he realized what Marcus was about to do. The general walked through the railing and stood next to the console, fixing Marcus with a firm gaze. It was one he hadn't seen in the general's eyes before: one that demonstrated a desperation he wasn't used to.
"Don't do this, captain," he stated immediately, quick and to the point, "There's more at stake here. If you overload the reactor...power to several districts will be cut off. Not all of them, but life support will fail in those areas, and most of them have civilian populations. Overloading the reactor will destroy these crucial systems...it may even open airlocks. Captain...if you do this, thousands of innocent people will die. The forcefields will be disabled, but you'll have sacrificed civilians in the process."
He nodded as he turned back to the console infront of him. He considered the general's words for a moment, before reaching back up to tap his comm, "Aria, did you hear all of that?"
Her response was immediate, "Yes...and I don't care. Shut. It. Down."
"This is the kind of woman you're allied with," Petrovsky mournfully reproached, "She's willing to sacrifice thousands of innocents just to damage me. To wound me."
Nyreen was next to speak up, overriding Aria, "Shepard, we can hold them off! Stick to the original plan and reroute power from the forcefields! Siphon them back to the mining sector! You don't have to kill innocent people to do it!"
"There's...no fucking...time!" Aria barked, taking over once more, "We're getting swarmed by mechs every passing minute! Overload the reactor now! Its the fastest option!"
"But innocents will perish!" Nyreen returned.
"It doesn't matter! Just as long as Petrovsky feels it!" Aria returned, unwilling to back down, "Thousands will die, but that's war! Would you rather us die here!?"
"Even if you do drop the forcefields..." the General beside him continued, ever the constant presence at his side as he turned and walked towards the observation window, turning away from Marcus and his dilemma, "The adjutants down here will be released. They will swarm my forces and overwhelm them, but the entire station will fall. And how long do you see your forces lasting against them? Release them, and we all lose."
Keep the forcefields up, the UGC will be stuck here for months. Drop them, and we can finally storm Cerberus HQ, but the adjutants will be released and everyone will die. Either way, the UGC is going to be defeated. No, there has to be another way...I won't overload the reactor. I can't.
"He's just trying to confuse you!" was the asari's response, clearly infuriated with Marcus' perceived inability to decide, "Hit the fucking overload...now."
Petrovsky had joined his side again, his arms now crossed, "She'll never change, you know. She's always been this self-centered. She cares only for getting her station back, regardless of whether she has to do it by climbing atop the ashes of innocents. She would purge this entire station if it got her what she wanted. She doesn't care who gets hurt. No matter who wins this battle, Omega loses."
He's got a point.
The General wasn't finished, "And don't you think it interesting that she waited until this very moment to tell you to overload the reactor? She could have voiced these concerns the moment you escaped my trap. Instead, she waited until you were here, poised with indecision, forced into making a quick decision. Almost as if...she was counting on you to make a split second decision," Marcus head snapped up to meet Petrovsky's gaze, and in that moment, he knew the general had gotten to him. And Petrovsky knew this, "She knows exactly what she's doing, Shepard. She's wanted this the entire time. Don't you see? She's hoping she can pressure you into overloading the reactor by making you think its the only option you have left. She wants those districts to lose power."
He shook his head, Marcus unwilling to acknowledge the obviousness of what was laid before him, "No. Aria may be a monster, but she doesn't go out of her way to kill innocent people. They're just collateral."
"No, of course not," he responded, although he knew what was to come next, "But what does she have to gain by venting those districts? By them losing power? It isn't just innocent people who would die. Come now Shepard, the answer is obvious."
He closed his eyes, and sighed. Cerberus forces would be caught in it too. She's hoping she can inflict massive casualties on Petrovsky's troops, weakening them for when we make our assault.
It was all beginning to add up. Aria's sudden decision to join them on this mission. Aria somehow believing that overloading the reactor will be faster and instead of telling him this information where it would be relevant, she waited until he was in a position to make a snap decision. She had thought of that solution too quickly...no, she had to have been planning it the entire time. And the idea of adjutants being released onto the station? She doesn't seem to care about that either. Almost like she's hoping the combination of these two things will grant her smug victory.
Petrovsky's words from just moments ago flooded back into his mind as he finally hesitated at this crucial moment.
"She's always been this self-centered. She cares only for getting her station back, regardless of whether she has to do it by climbing atop the ashes of innocents."
"What are you fucking waiting for!?" Aria roared, suddenly full of life, "We're running out of time! We're almost out of ammunition! Damn it, Nyreen's been hit!" there was the sound of a scuffle, followed by Aria's voice speaking up once more, "There, I've applied some medi-gel, but we can't last much longer! Overload the fucking reactor, Shepard!"
"Don't..." Nyreen intervened, "Reroute...power..."
"Come now, this shouldn't be so difficult. Perhaps something is holding you back, Shepard," Petrovsky piped up, moving forward until he was mere inches from the N7, "Perhaps you're starting to think this galaxy would be better off without her."
Willing to sacrifice civilians just so she can deal a blow to Cerberus forces...willing to unleash adjutants upon the population, just to overwhelm Cerberus forces...she's crazy, insane...utterly without a care as to who gets hurt...
So yeah...maybe I am.
He couldn't let Petrovsky get to him, but there was a cold reasoning to the general's words. He made sense. Everything Aria had done up to this point was callous, but calculated. Crude, but effective. Done to inflict the worst possible harm upon her enemy, without a care as to who is caught in her crosshairs. She was uncontrollable. Totally unreasonable.
How could I possibly let her take this station?
And there it was. That fateful question. He had asked it, and now he had to mentally answer it. Thing is, he already knew the answer.
I can't. I won't.
After a few more moments, he spoke again, clearing his throat, but not speaking to Petrovsky, "EDI...I need your help. How do I...how do I reroute power from the forcefields."
This unsurprisingly pissed off Aria. "You fucking fool-"
He silenced her, cutting off her side of the comms so she couldn't interrupt again, "EDI, please."
His AI companion was quick to respond, this time speaking through his omni-tool, "There is no need, Shepard. One moment."
Suddenly, the console seemed to gain a mind of its own, activating menus and going through numerous sub-routines and programs. He then realized that EDI must have hacked Omega's mainframe and was already in the system, making it a simple process for the AI to locate the relevant system subfiles and begin searching through them. He nodded, unmuting Aria, "EDI's hacking the reactor's mainframe now. She'll reroute-"
"Which will take too fucking long," Aria snapped, unwilling to listen to speak his mind, "You've doomed us all, you moron."
"You...did the...right thing," Nyreen winced, ignoring the pirate queen's rhetoric, "You've...just saved thousands of lives."
"Perhaps not," Petrovsky spoke up once more, Marcus realizing the general was still standing there, his holographic form having not moved an inch, "You still haven't addressed the problem of the adjutants. Those forcefields are the last barrier between us...and the horrors down there. I implore you to reconsider. Abandon this effort. Abandon Aria. She does not deserve your loyalty!"
Shit. Forgot about that. He turned to the console, considering options on how to deal with this. Thinking, he turned to the console, knowing EDI could hear him, even as the console continued to perform a blur of numerous tasks. It was beginning to beep, indicating that the AI had somewhat begun the siphoning process. This seemed to worry Petrovsky, but he ignored the Cerberus general, focusing all his attention on their new predicament, "EDI, could you vent the lower levels? Would that deal with the adjutants?"
"Yes, but just as General Petrovsky observed, the adjutants can survive in a vacuum. Its likely that enough would survive to come into contact with a ship. The chance of doing so is exponentially high. The risk of adjutants spreading to other worlds would be too great."
And they would spread like wildfire. He was beginning to lose hope, the spectre slouching against the terminal, before the AI spoke up once more.
"However, I found a solution I think you would find applicable," EDI declared, peaking his interest as he stood up suddenly, "Omega's reactor uses a set of primary and secondary cooling rods to introduce coolant into its centrifuge so as to stop it from entering a meltdown phase. However, if I was to retract the secondary cooling rods, the mixture would release enormous amounts of gamma radiation. If I retracted all of the secondary cooling rods for just a few minutes at most, I could navigate the radiation throughout the entirety of the mining sector. Given the highest concentrations of it, every adjutant would be destroyed. None would survive. I could then vent the area of the radiation, whilst reinserting the cooling rods. The adjutant threat will have been successfully eliminated. There will be no threat to us, as we are located within the reactor core: I would vent the radiation only into the Dark Zone."
He blinked, considering the option. Petrovsky seemed lost for words...or he was gone. Either way, the general was silent.
His silence was all that Marcus needed to confirm that this was the right solution.
He nodded, "Do it, EDI. How long will the process take?"
The AI calculated for a few moments, "A few minutes. Approximately four minutes and twelve seconds."
He sighed, realizing his squad was going to have to hold on a bit longer. "Do it," he ordered, switching to his squad comms, "EDI's going to pump radiation into the Dark Zone to kill the adjutants, and then she's going to reroute power from the forcefields. You guys need to hold on just for a few more minutes until she's done."
"Understood, Marcus," Garrus spoke up. After a few more seconds, he spoke again, apparently sensing Marcus' concern, "You did the right thing. We'll be fine."
I wish I had your confidence. A few minutes can be an eternity for a squad without ammo and surrounded by enemies.
"Indeed."
He turned to see that Petrovsky had not left, but was simply standing by the window, looking out over the black expanse outside. His hands were clasped behind his back again, seemingly contemplating his coming defeat. Marcus seriously doubted that though, as this man likely had contingencies upon contingencies, and didn't seem like the kind of man who would roll over and accept defeat. Not until he was absolutely sure victory was beyond his grasp.
Marcus joined him by the window, watching as EDI began retracting the secondary cooling rods, his eyes tracking one as it pulled back, the lightning that lit up its form having died off. He crossed his arms, watching out of the corner of his eye as Petrovsky turned to him, "You know this isn't over yet, Shepard. You may disable my forcefields, but I still have some rooks left to defend the king."
He shrugged, "You do what you have to, Petrovsky. Just know that today, we're going to make this day the hardest and longest day of your life. Its going to be bloody, its going to be relentless, and we're not going to let up," he now fully turned to the general, "Today is the day Omega is liberated."
Petrovsky simply gave a solemn nod, turning away from the window as he faced Marcus in full, "Whatever our differences, I believe you did the honourable thing by choosing to ignore Aria. Its not too late for you. Abandon her. Surely you must know she cannot be allowed to rule Omega again. Not after what she's done."
You're right. And she won't. But he could address that later. "This will end Petrovsky, but I'm not joining your side. Cerberus has done too much to undermine our war effort with the Reapers. This war must end, and I will not step aside and allow Cerberus to have the tools to continue to throttle my objectives."
"Very well then," Petrovsky gave one final, brisk nod, one of respect between peers. Marcus couldn't help but return it in kind, bowing his head ever so slightly, "I will see you on the battlefield." And with that, his hologram evaporated, the tiny spherical ball racing away from where he had previously stood and up into one of the vents in the ceiling, vanishing without a trace.
He must have stood there for a while, staring at the spot where Petrovsky had stood, because EDI's voice soon broke his train of thought, "Captain, it is done. I am venting the atmosphere in the Dark Zone now. You may proceed to reroute power."
He steeled himself, fists clenching as he turned from the window and approached the console. He saw one simple command on its glass surface, blinking at him with a red button that said 'reroute'. He knew there was no turning back from this: once he pressed this button, the war for Omega would begin its climatic final battle.
No turning back now. This is it.
He didn't hesitate. Reaching up a hand, he pressed a single finger against the command, and watched it wink away, a status bar showing up. A blue line began to fill it up as the rerouting progress begun, and Marcus couldn't tear himself away from it.
With just a touch of a button...the beginning of the end had begun.
We're coming for you, Petrovsky.
{Loading...}
He had no idea where he was. Everything was a blur: a simple darkness enveloping his vision, inescapable in its ubiquity, and completely enveloping in its totality. He tried to move his head, but found he was unable to do so. Even his eyes seemed fixed into looking directly ahead of him. He felt no pain, no feeling in his body...nothing. He felt numb all over, as if he wasn't corporeal at all, but was simply a wandering spirit. No form. No shape. No purpose.
That soon began to change. He could feel light beginning to blast through the dark, impacting upon his eyes and making him want to blink, but he found he couldn't even do that. He could only stare as the light assaulted his eyes, burning his retinas as more of the darkness peeled away. Feeling was returning to his limbs, one by one, and he found that he could finally blink. Desperate for a reprieve from the burning light, he closed his eyes.
The burning went away. He opened them again.
The darkness was gone now, wrapping tossed away as he found himself situated in a tightly packed room. His eyes ran a quick assessment of his surroundings: the floor was carpetted, but the carpet itself was a dull grey, with nothing remarkable adorning it. The walls were a plain blue, with the odd black stripe. A pair of four featureless windows aligned the back wall, but the curtains were drawn down, stopping him from seeing what lay behind them. Halogen lighting lined the ceiling, which was coloured the same dull grey as the carpet. There was a single door at the back, with its haptic interface turned green. Light streamed into the room through an open set of windows to the left, and he could hear chatter outside, accompanied by the sounds of moving vehicles and passing aircraft.
His memory was hazy, so he didn't immediately recognize where he was. It also took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone: he sat in the middle of a large column of other men and women, all of them sitting as he was, their backs turned to him. As he turned around, he saw more lined up behind him...there had to be about 20 other people in here with him, all of them seated. They sat on the carpet like children lining up for assembly at school: legs crossed, hands on their legs, staring straight ahead. Not a single one of them, not even the women, had a lock of hair on their bald heads, each of them possessing a buzz cut. All of them wore blue and black fatigues; as unremarkable as the room they were in. Noting the uniformity of the people around him, he didn't need to look at himself to know he was likely in the same state.
There was only one person standing in the room: this one stood with an air of authority. He wore a black and blue uniform, but this one had his rank and name imprinted on his left breast, wearing a simple cap over his head, although it was clear he had more hair on his head than they all did. His hands were clasped behind his back, although it looked like he had only just turned up, given the fact that his eyes were scanning them one by one, indicating he hadn't been in here any longer than a few seconds. His skin was a darkened ever so slightly, with slight stubble spreading from his chin right to the back of his jaw.
Something on the wall caught his eye, and he finally looked at it. In that moment, he knew where he was.
A black insignia was painted into the wall just near the curtained windows. It was a black 'A' shape, seperated down the top, with a pair of lightning bolts flanking the sides of a small Gladius, its handle pointed upwards. Above and below it, written around in a circular formation, were the words:
'Systems Alliance Marine Corps. Fort Leopold.'
Of course he knew where he was. This was the day he was inducted into the Alliance military.
The dark-skinned Alliance officer spoke up, breaking the silence, "I will now introduce you to your drill instructors!"
He noticed some of the new recruits he sat with flinch as a man began to shout orders from behind the closed door to their left: despite being so loud, the muffled sound didn't carry well through the door, and it came off as unintelligible gibberish. A moment later after the shouting stopped, the door shot open, with four more men in Alliance uniforms, each wearing a cap, marching through, their arms moving in an exaggerated sway as they, like a pack of robots with pre-programmed scripts, moved into position without a hint of emotion on their faces. Three of them stopped at the back, pivotting to face them before their hands, tightened into fists, rested at their sides. The fourth officer stopped infront of them, and turned to address the group before him. It was the dark-skinned officer however, who he had now identified as 'Major Matthis Cornwall', who spoke up, "Your senior drill instructor is Gunnery Sergeant Eddard Ellison..."
The man infront stepped forward, indicating he was the one being identified. He stared directly ahead, almost like he was dead inside, with his cap slightly cocked to the side. He had a small goatee, but no other apparent facial hair. His hair remained in a buzz cut, right to the point where he looked bald. He was stocky, but not muscular. He was light skinned, with a small scar along the area under his jaw.
Cornwall continued, "...he is the first marine in your chain of command. I will now have your drill instructors reaffirm their commitment to you, and the Marine Corps, by administering the Drill Instructor's pledge." He then stepped to the side, turning his back to the recruits as he stood firmly infront of Ellison's point of view, mere inches from him. His feet firmly set side-by-side, he snapped up his right arm, holding it in the air with a flat palm pointed vertically. Ellison did the same with his own right arm, as did the three as-of-yet-unnamed instructors behind him.
Cornwall's voice was raised, uttering the creed as the instructors returned his words in kind, "These recruits are entrusted to my care! I will train them to the best of my ability! I will develop them into smartly disciplined, physically fit, basically trained Marines, thoroughly indoctrinated in the love of the Corps and Earth. I will demand of them, and demonstrate by my own example, the highest standards of personal conduct, morality and professional skill!"
As soon as it started, it was over. They all lowered their hands, with Cornwall exchanging a final word with Ellison, "It is your job as drill instructor to turn these recruits into Systems Alliance marines."
Ellison snapped a crisp salute, "Aye sir!"
Cornwall didn't so much as nod as he twisted on the spot and marched out, heading towards the wall so that he could observe from afar. He had now left them at the mercy of Drill Instructor Ellison, and Ellison himself certainly didn't waste time getting to the point.
"SIT UP STRAIGHT AND LOOK AT ME!" Ellison barked, and every recruit in the room immediately followed his orders, their backs straightening, even his. He fixed Ellison with a glare, but bit his tongue, knowing that if he drew attention to himself, he might get noticed. And he wasn't, strictly speaking, legally allowed to even be here.
"My name is Gunnery Sergeant Ellison!" he continued, his voice reaching an octave that he reckoned a lot of marines wouldn't be able to consistently hold. He began to pace back and forth, his voice only seeming to get louder and louder as it boomed across the room, "And I am your senior drill instructor! I am assisted in my duties by Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Peters, Drill Instructor Sergeant Harnell and Drill Instructor Sergeant Courbis!" as he said their name, each of the drill instructors stepped forward, acknowledging their identities. He couldn't help but look over each and everyone of them, wanting to know every single aspect of the men that were soon going to be commanding his life for the next few months. It was only now that he realized that the instructor on the left was a female, her boyish hair and flat chest confusing him for a moment.
"OUR MISSION...!" he roared, capturing his attention once more. If he could give Ellison credit, it was that he knew how to draw attention, "...is to turn each one of you into a Systems Alliance marine." As he said this, the other three instructors turned and marched away, their purpose apparently fullfilled for this morning. He didn't watch them leave, his attention now completely focused on Ellison.
"A marine is characterized as one who possesses the highest of military virtues! He obeys orders, respects his seniors, and strives constantly to be the best at everything he or she does. Discipline and spirit are the hallmarks of a marine! Each one of you can become a marine if you develop discipline and spirit."
He didn't realize Ellison was going to be a SAMC infomercial.
"WE WILL GIVE EVERY EFFORT TO TRAIN YOU!" he spat, having now ceased his pacing to stand infront of them all, "Even after some of you have given up on yourselves! STARTING NOW, you will treat ME, and your fellow MARINES, with the highest respect! We have earned our place in the marines! And we expect nothing less than THAT from YOU! We will treat you as we do the other marines...with firmness, fairness, dignity, and compassion! Physical, or verbal, abuse by any marine or recruit will NOT BE TOLERATED! If anyone should abuse or mistreat you, I expect you to report any such incidents to me, or one of my drill instructors. Furthermore, if you feel that I have mistreated you, you will report it to Major Cornwall. My drill instructors will be with you EVERY DAY, EVERYWHERE that you go! I've told you what you and my drill instructors will do. FROM YOU, WE DEMAND THE FOLLOWING!"
The recruits sat in silence, some of them looking terrified while others sat straight and unflinching, like they had expected this. He was one of them. His father had prepared him for this...in more ways than one. Let's just say he was no stranger to yelling and physical violence.
"You must give 100 percent of yourself at all times! Obey our orders quickly, willingly and without question! Treat every marine and recruit with courtesy and respect! YOU WILL NOT physically abuse or threaten another marine or recruit! Be completely honest in everything that you do! A marine never lies, or cheats! Respect the rights and properties of others! A marine never steals! You must WORK HARD to strengthen YOUR BODY, YOUR SPIRIT AND YOUR MIND! Be proud of yourself in that uniform you wear! And ABOVE ALL ELSE, NEVER QUIT OR GIVE UP! For we, OFFER YOU, the challenge of recruit training, and the opportunity to earn the title of Systems Alliance marine!"
For some reason, he suddenly felt sleepy as Ellison's speech came to an end. Every marine in the room moved to stand up, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could feel an itch in his eyes, just behind the socket, where he couldn't reach. It began to burn, and he soon realized that the light that had so dispassionately consumed him before was now beginning to take hold again, enveloping him in a mist of white. Words from Ellison's speech resonated within his mind.
...a marine never lies, or cheats...
...a marine never steals...
...be proud of that uniform you wear...
...oppurtunity to earn the title of Systems Alliance marine...
Oh, how ironic.
The white consumed him in a blinding flash, and he once again found himself deposited somewhere else.
This time, he needn't have bothered trying to figure out where he was. This wasn't a memory he was trying to squash. This was one he took great pleasure in. One he remembered fondly, and with sentimentality. But it was also one he looked upon bitterly.
There was a sudden weight on all of his limbs, and he knew why. Looking down, he could see the Alliance marine BDU he had been wearing was now covered in a set of HYPERION-82L light combat armor, a more lightweight variant on the HYPERION-82 medium combat armor designed with infiltrator's in mind. He was covered head to toe in the protective alloy, helmet fastened tightly over his head. His M-8 Avenger was holstered on his back, the marine favouring his Kessler pistol. The weapon was equipped with a polonium shaving block: his favourite. The concentration of polonium in each pellet made the pistol into an utterly lethal weapon. Once it penetrated the skin, the dosage was high enough to prove immediately fatal to the victim. Death was all but assured.
He felt himself moving forward, tapping at the haptic interface of the door infront of him. He watched it part with a whir, the marine stepping through the threshold.
It was then he noticed a drop of blood splash onto the deck infront of him. Looking down, he saw that he was absolutely soaked in blood, most of it red but with the ocassional dried patch of orange: krogan blood. It was clear he had killed many before he had reached this ship, as the blood was practically slipping off of him from every crevice. Bits of brain and stringy sinew hung from cracks in his armor, and he saw a few scuff marks across his chestplate that indicated a scuffle. The combat knife that he usually kept on his hip was missing, indicating he had either forgotten it or, as was more likely, he had left it in the corpse of an enemy he had used it on. Considering he had abandoned it, it must have been wedged in deep.
He swivelled around as he heard a loud roar, turning to see a krogan charging him from the left, shotgun grasped in his meaty talons. He wore red and black armor, the image of a white skull ontop of a closed fist painted onto his breastplate.
Blood Pack.
The krogan did not speak or make an attempt to communicate with him. He simply charged.
The marine grinned, licking his lips. He did not appear afraid of the creature, even though most marines would be pissing themselves with fear at the sight of the gargantuan lizard tanking towards them, hands so large they could envelop a human skull. But he was no regular marine. In fact, he wasn't even your usual combatant.
He raised his pistol, popping off a few shots at the krogan that was charging him. The krogan growled as the bullets hit true, the arrogant alien having disposed with having kinetic barriers, believing his tankish nature and regenerative ability sufficient to survive this battle. His mistake.
Orange blood spurted across the floor from each round and the soldier, now satisfied his slugs had hit his target, quickly side stepped, turning his body so it was perpendicular to the krogan that was charging him. The krogan barrelled past, totally unprepared for this development, and tried to cease his momentum. Instead, he slammed into the wall at the end of the corridor, the sound echoing across the empty hall.
He turned, facing the krogan once more as he steadied himself, raising his pistol again. The krogan whirled around, recovering in an instant, as he let out a cacophonus war cry. He then charged forward again, this time raising his Savage model shotgun, teeth bared in an animalistic growl. He snarled right back, taking aim with his pistol.
Then the krogan was consumed by a bright flash as the wall next to him exploded outwards, raining shards of twisted, flaming metal and ruined bearings. The krogan was showered in the flaming hot sheets, crying out as he was thrown violently against the opposite wall, shotgun slipping from his grip. The sound of him impacting the wall was thunderous, before he thudded back down on the deck. The marine stumbled back from the blast, visor tinting to shield himself from the visual splendor. After a moment he turned back, observing the event with a non-chalant shrug. The entire wall had been blown away, ragged tears and smoking debris lying around the blast site, allowing him a clear view into the hangar that he had just left to get here. Fires licked at the hallway, fire alarms wailing as sprinklers quickly kicked in, a fine spray of cold water washing over him and dousing the fires. He watched as the wet blood on his form was washed away, cascading down to congregate around him in a orangey-red pool.
He was sad to see it go.
He turned to observe his handiwork, having since remembered the shuttle he had not-so-subtlely 'landed' on the Blood Pack ship. The shuttle had been laden with explosives, and he imagined the fireworks display must have been glorious to observe from the planet below. He had thought all the explosives had detonated when he tore his path through the hangar bay doors, but apparently one of them hadn't gone off. Lucky him.
The krogan was stirring on the ground, weakened through a combination of the concussive nature of the blast and the highly lethal dose of polonium that was running its course through his system. As he approached, he noticed that it probably didn't help that the krogan had a jagged piece of metal sticking out of his left thigh, blood trickling down and ocassionally spurting from it whenever the krogan tried to apply any weight to it. The krogan showed little to no pain, demonstrating that he was in a blood rage state: entirely incapable of feeling pain.
"Human..." the krogan groaned, beady eyes peeling up to look at him, teeth still gritted in a snarl.
He smirked. "Filth."
He raised his weapon and fired twice, straight into the krogan's neck. Blood spurted from the open wound, gushing down his chest and staining his scarred red and black armor. He watched the fallen mercenary squirm, the krogan unable to regenerate quickly enough as the cells that facilitated that process were being rapidly killed off by the polonium radiation in his system. He could only watch with sadistic glee as he proceeded to empty more and more bullets into the krogan's sternum, almost laughing as the krogan cried out from every shot, more and more radiation unleashing itself on his nervous system.
Then his pistol screamed out, red hot steam pouring from the barrel as the trigger locked up. He had overheated the weapon.
Sighing with some exasperation, the marine turned from the stricken Blood Pack merc to head down the hallway, finding his path now obscured by a vorcha fireteam. The ugly animals screeched and howled at him, their razor sharp canines baring themselves in a hiss. Their beady, bloodshot eyes screamed wanton murder, their scythe-like claws itching to sink into the human's flesh.
Holstering his pistol, he rushed forward, wanting desperately to introduce himself to his new guests.
The first vorcha raised his rifle, a batarian Terminator model, and fired. The shot went wide, missing the marine by a mile, but that didn't deter his compatriots. They all snapped up their own weapons, a shotgun and another rifle respectively, buckshot and slugs snapping through the air to slap into his kinetic barrier, ripples of blue shielding him as the bullets were stopped dead in their tracks.
He was rapidly closing distance with the first vorcha. The creature angrily swung its rifle at him like a club, trying to bludgeon him. That was its mistake.
He dove under the swing, watching the rifle pass harmlessly over his head. Straightening himself, he found himself face-to-face with the vorcha's hissing maw. It screeched at him, and he watched as its mouth parted to reveal its sharpened teeth, its breath blasting upon his visor in a thick film, saliva and spittle impacting upon its surface.
Without thinking, he plunged his fist directly into its mouth.
The vorcha coughed and spluttered, choking as it felt its mouth suddenly invaded by the gigantic thick arm of its human attacker. As a reflex, it bit down, but its teeth didn't meet flesh like it should have, instead biting down on plastic and steel. Such was the force of its jaw clamping down that he saw its teeth popping out and breaking, the vorcha screaming in pain. However, with his fist in its throat, the sound was more of a squeal.
He felt around for a familiar appendage, and found it at the very back of its mouth. With a smirk of glee, he yanked.
Violet blood spat onto his visor as he tore out the creature's tongue, the vorcha mercenary suddenly falling silent and letting out a set of muted, strangled gurgles. He laughed maniacally, and proceeded to toss the ripped tongue aside, before raising a single fist and hitting the vorcha in the head with the full force of his swing.
The other two vorcha were slow to take advantage of the human's vulnerability, so he saw opportunity in theirs. His hand fumbled at the wicked looking knife at the vorcha's hip, which looked to have a hooked tip that curved around at the end, and he ripped it out, before kicking the now speechless merc aside. He ducked under a shotgun blast, feeling the chatter of the third vorcha's rifle beating uselessly against his now fully recharged shields.
He loved this. The violence. The killing. The blood, the viscera, the action. But most of all, he enjoyed killing alien scum. They were inferior. Filth.
Parasites. And he would kill them all.
Knife in hand, he whipped out his pistol in the other, the weapon now having cooled down enough for the trigger lock to release. Taking aim at the third vorcha, he fired three rounds straight into its abdomen. They all battered against its shields uselessly, but they had done the job he had sought to accomplish.
The barriers of the merc popped as they were shattered. He aimed the pistol further up and fired directly into its skull. It took an additional two shots after that, as vorcha skin was notoriously tough, and their skulls even tougher. Eventually though, he watched with satisfaction as its head blew open, more violet-coloured blood and bits of brain exploding across the deck, more of it dribbling down its torso as it collapsed dead.
That left one vorcha. He turned to his target, shrugging off a shotgun blast. He stalked towards his target, savouring the thrill of the hunt. Pure ecstasy coursed through his veins. There was a sort of...pleasure..to be derived from this. He had slaughtered these scum in the droves back down on that planet, and now he was on the precipice of his greatest kill yet. If he could just gain control of the ship...well, that moon did look to be in need of redecorating.
He felt compelled to descend upon the Blood Pack merc. Its venomous screeches went through one ear and out the other, this marine feeling absolutely no sympathy for it or fear of it whatsoever. He was focused on the kill. The need to spill blood. Alien blood.
The merc's shotgun beeped angrily as it overheated, trigger locking down. The vorcha snapped in anger, clawed hand bashing the top of the weapon as if willing it to work again. Now was his chance.
Too busy focusing on getting its weapon working again, he lunged forward, and buried the wicked looking knife in his hand handle-deep into its neck. It gave way like it was nothing, the serrated blade likely having hit a tender and weak spot on the vorcha's otherwise bulletproof skin. It sunk deep, blood gushing from the gaping wound, and the marine giggled like a schoolgirl. The vorcha stopped moving, bloodshot eyes fixing his human killer with a cold, dead stare.
He sliced the blade across, watching it tear open a long, six inch gash. Tendons and veins were ripped open with it, the blade doing enormous damage on its way out. A tidal wave of violet liquid flooded from the wound, the vorcha gasping for air as its oesophagus was ruptured. It fell to its knees, dropping the shotgun it had been so viciously bashing, claws scraping at the gash on its throat.
The marine waited, patiently observing the vorcha's slow, painful death. It fell on its side, blood still pumping from the wound, but now getting slower as the alien's heart began to pump more slowly. His observation was broken by the strangled cries from behind him.
He turned, finding his eyes locking onto the vorcha whose tongue he had ripped out earlier. It crawled pathetically across the ground, fumbling for a weapon, what's left of its teeth stained bright purple from its missing appendage. He frowned, irritated by the whimpering savage's feeble attempts to kill his aggressor, and at the fact that his enjoyment of the other vorcha's death had been interrupted.
Raising his pistol, he fired twice. The vorcha fell still, two holes bored through the side of its head.
He turned, ready to continue his enjoyment, only to find an itch behind his eyes. He sighed, realizing what was about to happen, but savouring the last moments of the bloodbath around him before it was all whisked away. He remembered this day fondly, and with bitterness. It was the day he became something.
Then the flash was upon him.
He was not expecting where he appeared next: these weird assortment of memories began to confuse him. He found himself wearing the same armor he had just moments before, this time much less blood-soaked and worn. His armor was the blue and black of the Alliance in color, but had a pair of gouges scraped into his armoured arm, each one looking like a tally of something. The gouges looked recent, like he had only just applied them.
A tally of kills. A kill count. Eighteen, to be exact.
He was wielding a hooked blade in his left hand...the same one he had taken from that vorcha. It was drenched in blood, but he immediately noticed that it wasn't dripping violet, but instead was stained red: the blood was thick and chunky, clinging onto the polished steel like glue. It coloured the blade intensely, leaving no inch of it untouched. His armor had some dried blood on it as well, but nowhere near as intensely as it had been on the Blood Pack ship.
He wasn't wearing a helmet this time: instead, he had a Kuwashii tactical visor fitted over his right eye, giving him calculated information on accuracy and real-time combat information. His hair had grown significantly, although most of it was tied in a ponytail behind his head to remain within Alliance regs. He was clean shaven, just as he was now, with green eyes staring intently at his victim.
His victim.
This room had definitely seen combat. The door on the left had been blasted open, the doors twisted from their hinges and heavily scarred, likely from a breaching charge. The room itself was small, so the doors themselves had impacted the wall and sat almost perfectly against it. The desk infront of him was overturned, datapads and terminal tossed onto the ground carelessly, the chair overturned and facing the plain wall. He had no idea where this was, but he had an idea from the corpses that littered the room.
Batarians. At least two of them looked to be armoured, their forms wrapped in what looked to be Type IV Mercenary medium combat armor. Each one laid flat on the floor, a bullet placed through each one of their heads, blood crusting around their lifeless skulls, four eyes gazing up at the ceiling with blank stares. Around them were at least five unarmed, unarmoured batarians, likely workers, who had also been gunned down, their bodies also riddled with bullets. One of them was slumped against the desk, a hand print having smudged blood across it, likely from when he had been trying to escape...judging by the long, thin cut along his throat, and the dried blood crusted around his neck, he hadn't gotten far.
His victim sat in another chair, next to what looked to be a water cooler. The batarian's hands were tied to the arms of the chair with what looked to be zip ties: probably an improvization of his own doing. They were enough to keep the strong alien tied down, his legs also tied to the chair while his head was the only appendage allowed free movement, the batarian's black, beady eyes pearing back at him...
...in fear.
He just loved that look, especially coming from a batarian. It filled him with power to know that a batarian, one of the most arrogant, repugnant and ugly species in the galaxy, was wetting himself in fear at the sight of a human standing over him, entirely at his mercy. There was a kind of smug enticement to be garnered from that, the kind that demanded acknowledgement.
Apparently his victim had been getting plenty of that.
It was only now that he realized the batarian was essentially...well, naked. He still swore clothing, but it had been ripped and torn, bits of loose cloth hanging from his skin, the batarian's slick, green skin visible underneath. It was here that he could see they had no nipples, or at least the males didn't. The only clothing the batarian really still had was his pants, because as torn as those were, it was nothing compared to the ruin that whatever the batarian had been wearing as a shirt. And then...there was the blood.
The batarian was soaked red, and it didn't take a genius to see why. It wept from cuts all over the alien's body, leaking out slowly but steadily. There were bruises from where he'd been beaten, cuts and even burns from where he'd likely been tortured. He even saw bits of muscle as sliced flaps of skin hung loosely from where they'd almost been sliced off, like bits of leftover cheese. The batarian's chest was simply a mess. His face wasn't any better. Part of his upper lip had been physically ripped off, revealing nothing but the upper tips of his teeth underneath. More skin flaps hung loosely from his cheeks had been torn asunder, and his two left eyes had been beaten so badly that bruises had fused them shut. He had numerous teeth missing, and the marine soon found them on the floor, broken and snapped.
Drool dripped down his lower lip, draining his mouth profusely. The batarian whimpered pathetically, his remaining eyes following the marine in a haze as he wondered what new torture awaited him next. He looked to have been crying, and the distinct smell of urine hung over the room, causing him to wrinkle his nose in disgust.
Moving over to the water cooler, he grabbed one of the available spare plastic cups and filling it halfway with cool water. He turned, leaning against the cooler behind him, taking an idle sip from it as he watched the batarian with rapt interest. He noticed the alien's eyes trailing the cup, and smiled devilishly, holding it up, "Oh, you don't get to have water. I earned this drink. All you've done is weep and cry like a baby. You broke so very easily. Too easily, in fact. I feel cheated."
A groan was his reply.
"Hush now," he snapped, finishing off his drink before tossing the empty cup aside, brandishing his knife once again as he flashed it infront of the creature. He flinched, remaining eyes widening in uncontainable trepidation, "Or you'll get the blade again."
"Why...?" the batarian whispered.
He snickered, his fist a flash as he once again slammed it into the batarian's face, knocking even more teeth out and badly bruising that side. The prisoner coughed and spluttered, a choking sound being heard as he started to choke on something. Noticing this, and not wanting his prisoner to expire so soon, he slapped him on the back of the head, once. The batarian's choking ceased immediately, a blur of white shooting from his mouth as the obstruction was violently ejected. It ricocheted off the desk, landing next to one of the dead batarians nearby. Another shard of tooth.
He grabbed the back of his head, yanking it back so that he could stare straight down into his victim's eyes, "Because it pleases me to see you in pain. You blinks are a blight on society. You reek. You are ugly. A bunch of four-eyed freaks. And yet you persist on living. Its my job to ensure you stop living."
The batarian offered no objection, although he doubted it was because he has adopting his line of thinking. Oh no. But this batarian was yet to know the full extent of pain, and he found himself readying the blade for one more slice, descending towards his pants, ready to bring the blade down and castr-
"Lieutenant, STAND DOWN THIS INSTANT!"
He spun at the barked order, knife hanging limply at his side as he turned to take in his new arrival.
There, standing in the doorway, was a human soldier clad in jet black armor, red and white stripes lining the arms right down to the gauntlets. His helmet was reminiscent of the old astronaut helmets of 21st century Earth, except smaller, the visor itself just as black as the armor it was equipped with to hide the identity of the user. He held a single M-7 Lancer assault rifle in his hands, now held in one hand and hanging limply at his side. The man's posture screamed military veterancy, his stance fixed in a permanent readiness while his helmet scanned the room upon entering it, taking in every single finite detail. He stood tall, easily towering over him by half a meter.
He was wearing HYPERION-107 Infiltration Armor: a rare set of armor designed for a very select group of people. The insignia of those people was stamped firmly on the leftside of the man's breastplate.
N7.
Even though his helmet was tinted and he couldn't see the man's expression, he could tell he was glaring daggers at him. His voice was laced with horror, visibly shocked by what the marine had done and what was capable of. He had surveyed the room, seen the bodies, and now he had seen the bruised and skinned batarian prisoner that he had been toying with mere moments before. He saw the bloodied knife, and what he had almost done with it.
"You better have a damn good explanation for this," he rasped, an idle finger tapping idly at the trigger of his rifle. He was not happy.
He smiled, despite himself, "Why, I was just having fun with our enemy. That's what they are right? Our enemy?"
Before the man could reply, his radio crackled, a voice coming through, "Two-Four-Alpha, what's your status Alec? We've dealt with the eastside of the manufacturing facility and are moving on. We've seen no sign of Leng, over."
Alec Ryder glared at the marine known as Leng, tearing him apart with his eyes, "This is Two-Four Alpha to Seven-Six Charlie, I've found Leng. Got everything canned and handled, over."
"Solid copy, Seven-Six. Proceeding with the mission. Break."
"Copy that," Ryder then turned off his comms, turning back to Leng. The marine was still grinning, having now turned back to his batarian prisoner. He had never felt such ecstasy before...just the feeling of tearing this weak vessel of flesh had brought him euphoria beyond imagining. He needed to continue his work. He was almost done...if he could just make this batarian beg for a quick death...
He had apparently been stepping back towards the batarian, because Ryder now raised his rifle...but not at the batarian. At Leng.
"I will not ask you again, soldier," he barked, closing distance with Leng until the barrel of his weapon brushed his ear, "Drop the knife, or I will drop you. Last chance."
"This scum is the enemy," Leng snarled, turning to glare at Ryder down the barrel, "Surely you would not choose him over your own-"
It all happened in a split second. The barrel wasn't there, and then it was again. In the brief second it took for Leng to spit vehemence at his CO, Ryder had turned his rifle, taken aim at the wreck of a prisoner and pulled the trigger. A high speed burst broke through his skull, red viscera consuming the wall behind him in thick rivlets. And just like that, the gun whirled back to his face, barrel smoking.
Ryder glared him down, "The hostile has been eliminated, and its time for you to move on, N5."
Leng just laughed, "You have more sympathy for an alien then you do your own people. You make me sick."
"Your actions have proven to me today that I am not the one who is morally repugnant," the N7 replied, "You were brought here because you showed promise. I read your file, about what happened on Entiyon specifically. You did well, but now you're overstaying your welcome. The brass said you were reckless...they were right. When this mission is over..." he didn't finish that thought, motioning to the doorway, "As you were, N5. Proceed with the mission and complete it. That's an order. But I'll be keeping an eye on you."
Leng sheathed the knife, reaching over and picking up the Kessler pistol he had left near the water cooler. He knew what would happen next...he would continue the mission, he'd successfully complete it, and Alec Ryder would try to tarnish his name by having disb-
He didn't remember what happened next.
Ryder grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall. The man's hand now clenched around his throat, gripping it firmly and seemingly driving the air from Leng's lungs. He dropped his pistol, suddenly gripped by confusion at this unexpected memory. He didn't remember this. This couldn't have happened, he'd remember if-
But then Ryder reached up to the sides of his helmet, unlatching it. Pulling it up and over his head, he tossed the helmet away, and the face hidden behind it smirked at him through a set of heavy stubble. But it wasn't Ryder's face that grinned at him, Leng noting as his smile fell and heart sunk.
Marcus Shepard raised his fist, and let it come crashing down on the N5's face.
And then it flashed, and the room he was in once again melted away.
His vision snapped back into focus as he found himself dumped in some kind of apartment. He immediately noted that the weight on his body had lifted, because he no longer had his armor on. He wore nothing but a blue and black sleeveless shirt with the Marine Corps insignia on his left breast, a pair of blue shorts and his black combat boots. He was positioned in front of his queen-sized bed, the white sheets peeled back to reveal purple blood stains, soaking into the mattress. The pillows were tossed and ripped, likely from a struggle. His bedside lamp was shattered, glass littering the carpet. The curtains were pulled down, the only source of light coming from the single light fixture in the middle of the room. He saw a small bathroom to the right, the door closed and locked, with a small and modest kitchen just near the back of the property. It was a small apartment: about as average as they came.
He noticed that his shirt was also stained, but the blue and black colors made it difficult to spot initially. This blood was also purple, but when he opened his mouth to frown, he felt additional liquid crusted around his lip area and face. Reaching up, he dabbed at the liquid, pulling away to reveal a mixture of orange, purple and red blood, staining his fingers in a disgusting congealment. Just the smell alone made him want to retch.
It seemed every one of his memories involved him covered in blood.
The next thing he noticed was the massive sniper rifle folded out on the bed infront of him. It lay in multiple pieces, pulled from a duffel bag and laid out as he likely prepared to assemble it. From the model, he had to guess it was a Naginata sniper rifle: a weapon that packed a hell of a punch, and was designed to leave a mess of the target's extremities. Anti-materiel for a reason. As he looked down at the disasembled weapon, only one goal popped up into his mind.
Kill Ambassador Goyle. Then wipe out the Council.
Now he knew where he was. These were his last moments as a free man. Where he had been cast aside by the Alliance after Elysium, having a hero they could 'get behind'. His deeds on Entiyon were forgotten, his record blacklisted and reduced to an attache on the Citadel. They were preparing to wipe their hands clean of him. His CO had said as much when he came to confront him, informing Leng that-
Ah yes, his CO. That's where the red blood must have come from.
He gave a quick glance at the bathroom, remembering that his CO's body lay in the bathtub, crimson liquid leaking into the sink, his head ducked neatly between his legs from where Leng had brutally detached it from his body. The man had been assigned to oversee him during his stay on the Citadel. He couldn't even remember his name. It just wasn't relevant to him, only what he represented. He had taken care of that issue.
More memories came rushing into the thick of his mind. The krogan ambassador he'd murdered. The asari acolyte he had...taken...on this very bed, before slitting her throat and tossing her body into the Presidium lake. The C-Sec tactical response team that had been sent to take him in, only for them to be wiped out as his superior N7 training allowed him to dispatch them without effort.
He knew what came next. The Alliance and the Council had more than likely caught onto his actions by now. They needed to bring him in. And the only way to bring in an N7...
...is with another N7.
He turned back to his rifle, getting ready to assemble it. Just as he picked up the heat sink, he heard the door crash open with a thunderous boom, the traditional wooden door splintering as it was kicked in with enormous force. Wood splinters rained across the carpet, the door swinging open violently as it slammed into the wall next to it, no door stopper to stop it from hitting it at full force.
He heard the back door smash open as well, but neglected to focus on it as he turned to focus on his intruder. They stepped through the doorway, their M-7C Brawler carbine already fixed on him, jet black armor glinting in the light, artificial sunlight from outside bursting into the room to illuminate them in an almost heavenly glow. They wore no helmet, their face completely uncovered, allowing him to see the woman's clean shaven head, sunset-coloured eyes, short black hair and dark skin. The insignia on her breast identified her as an N7, and he immediately knew that she was who they had sent after him.
"Systems Alliance marines, don't move!" she barked immediately, not moving from the doorway as she trained her weapon solely on him, "Step away from the bed and put your hands behind your head."
"First Lieutenant Susan Rizzi," he drawled, turning to face her, but not putting his hands up or moving an inch from the bed itself, simply dropping the heat sink down onto its padded surface, "I honestly thought they would send Captain Ryder to deal with me. A shame."
"Ryder's been discharged, you know that," Susan retorted, still not moving, "I'm not here for chit chat, Leng. I'm bringing you in."
"Are you now?" he smirked.
"Don't make this difficult, Leng," she spat, clearly disgusted at the man before her. He had no doubt that she wanted very desperately to empty her carbine straight into his face, but protocol restrained her from doing so, and N7s were perfect masters and mistresses of restraint, "What you've done...it can't even be quantified. I'd put a bullet in you know, but the Alliance wants you alive. Come quietly and this doesn't have to end in further bloodshed."
"I don't think so," Leng cooed, crossing his arms, "The Alliance will disavow me. I'll be made an example of. Those cowards are too busy sucking the Council's cock to even admit that they once heralded me as a hero."
"Leng, if you don't come with me..." Susan stated, ignoring his statement, "They're sending-"
The door to the lounge room blasted open, a blurred form erupting from its entrance to immediately point a turian-made Banshee assault rifle at him. He could immediately tell this new arrival wasn't human, as they had a pair of mandibles, black and white facepaint, and a beady, bird-like carapace. They wore black armor, and stood with a pose that came with years of combat experience. The turian didn't hesitate.
"You may stand down Lieutenant, this is Spectre business now," the turian ordered.
A Spectre? How cute. They really do deem me to be a threat.
"You said we'd handle this together, Kryik," Susan replied, identifying the turian by name, "He's a threat to Alliance security as much as he is a threat to you. We'll take him in together."
Nihlus Kryik sighed, mandibles twitching ever so slightly. Then, just like that, he relented, "Very well," he turned back to Leng, mandibles set in a firm line. He didn't glare at him, viewing the marine as simply another target to bring in, "This'll go two ways, human. Either you turn yourself in peacefully, and you walk away in cuffs. Or you try and fight, and you walk away bruised and beaten. Either way, you will come with us. Save yourself the humiliation."
Leng would never surrender to alien scum. Never.
"Just try it, bird," he snarled, turning his full attention to the turian, "Perhaps I'll be the one to toss you in a lake next. Perhaps you found that little asari I left as a token of my esteem? I hope you get sick and die from her rotting corpse. You'll never-"
He stuttered as he heard a loud bang, followed by a sting in the back of his neck. Reaching up to grab at the intruding presence, he pulled it away, wincing as it was torn from his skin. He looked down at it, and sneered.
A tranquilizer dart.
He whirled in an instant, glaring daggers at Susan, who had been the one to fire the shot. But that was perhaps the worst decision he could have made, his sudden movement only making the dizzying effect ten times worse. He tripped over himself as he fell, his head clipping the side of the head as he tumbled, hitting the ground on his stomach. He felt a foot land on his back, pinging him down.
It was three-toed, and armoured.
"You will pay for what you've done here, human. We will not forget this."
Leng just smiled. He hoped they wouldn't. The dark consumed him, and he was helpless to resist it.
Suddenly, it felt like he wasn't lying on his front anymore: rather, he could feel as if he was actually on his back. He willed his eyes to open, and they did not resist.
Now he definitely didn't remember this. He was in the captain's cabin on the Deliverance, standing at the threshold between the upper level and the lower level. Everything was exactly as he remembered it: not a thing was out of place. However, as he stood up to gain his bearings, he realized that he was no longer in any form of Alliance attire or armor. Instead, he wore the jet black and gold armor of his stature as an assassin within Cerberus, real-time data and information streaming infront of his eyes from his cybernetic eye implants. He groaned, standing up as he felt at his back for some kind of weapon, finding his trusty sword yielding to his grip as he unsheathed it by instinct.
He didn't know why he was here, why he had taken this particular memory to unsurface. All the others had a purpose. His introduction to his drill instructor. His work on Entiyon. His torture during Operation BUZZARD. His massacre and attempted assassination on the Citadel. What was special about this? Why had he chosen this particular mem-
Something stirred on the bed, catching his attention. He heard a moan, but it wasn't out of lust or passion...it was out of pain. Somebody was waking up, struggling on the comfortable film of the bed sheets they rested on, and were beginning to realize where they were. He focused all his attention on them, and felt his eyes widen in surprise...and joy.
The form on the bed didn't seem to notice him yet, too busy focusing on their right arm, which seemed to be hanging limply next to them. Taking advantage of this, he slowly advanced down the small steps into the main bedroom, his face glowing bright blue from the giant fish tank mounted in the leftmost wall. It was here that he noticed just what a complete mess the room was.
The wardrobe on the left was sprung open, clothes and armor scattered across the floor haphazardly. Bedsheets were flung across the small table on the far right, which was toppled over, one of its legs snapped off. The couch was potmarked with bullet holes, fluff and torn leather lying all over the place. The display case for ship models was shattered, bits of glass having showered all over the couch below it, the snapped spine of a Reaper ship model splayed across the floor, joined by numerous other, indescribable models of other well known vessels.
He didn't steady his advance, continuing to stalk his prey even as they were oblivious to his progression. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his shadowing falling over their struggling body, and in that moment, they fell still, finally having realized that he was upon them. They turned from the limb they had been so focused on, eyes meeting Leng's in an instant. They must have seen his sword.
Bright silver eyes met his behind their visor, and they froze in terror.
He only now noticed that the limb they had been focusing on...well, it was non-existent. Where the arm had met the elbow was now amputated, leaving a bloody stump where red blood ocassionally spurted out. It must have been recent, as his prey seemed to be in the early stages of shock, the pain having not fully registered yet. The amputated appendage lay on the floor, motionless three fingered hand lying completely still, soaked in the blood of its former handler.
There was a whimper, and his prey crawled back, recovering from their shock in time to begin reacting out of fear.
He had savoured this moment long enough. He knew this wasn't a memory, but that hardly mattered. It felt real, and that's all that mattered.
He crawled up onto the mattress, grabbing at his secondary combat knife: the same hooked blade he had commandeered all those years ago. He raised his arm and, quick as lightning, felt it descend and bite into flesh within seconds. The bitch screamed in pain as it ruptured her femoral artery, pinning her to the bed temporarily as it went through the calf of her right leg. More blood followed the injury, and he slowly advanced forward as the quarian ceased struggling.
"Ssssshhhhh..." he whispered, grinning from ear to ear, "Do not resist, you little suit-rat bitch. I'll make your death quicker if you just let me."
She continued to resist, her unmaimed leg raising to prepare a powerful kick to his face. He saw the attack coming from a mile away.
She didn't even see the blur his sword made as it sliced upwards, right through her left ankle. Such was the force of the amputation that her foot literally flew into the air, taking with it a gush of red mist, staining his face and allowing him to watch as it rolled onto the floor, the quarian's stump blowing hot red essence onto the bed sheets, soaking them completely.
There was a low groan, her voice hoarse as she lost her voice, having screamed her throat raw. He chuckled as he ripped the combat knife from her leg, watching more blood spurt out: due to the hooked blade, ripping it out did even more damage to the limb, tearing away tendons and popping veins on its brutal exit. Crawling ever so torturously forward, he found himself finally at head level with the quarian.
Her eyes had turned into slits, likely from the quarian becoming dizzy as her blood pressure decayed at an alarming rate from all the blood she had lost, not to mention the amount of suit ruptures allowing bacteria and germs to assault her body with a cyclone of sicknesses. She whimpered, her eyes locking with his, but having now lost the will to fight him as her defenses were beaten and broken.
He enjoyed his victory, sneering down at the alien whore as he fed on her trepidation, "I've waited a long time for this. To watch you mewl as I kill your suit-rat loving husband, before I kill you. I imagined many ways of killing you, but this...I'll take what I can get. Is there any last words you'd like to say? Perhaps...I told you so?"
The quarian said nothing. She just stared blankly at him.
He swore he heard weeping behind him, but he chose to ignore it, all his focus on the quarian before him.
He shrugged, sighing sarcastically, "Oh well. Guess I'll suffice for this."
He then drove the dagger straight into her chest, handle deep.
There was a jolt, her body shuddering at the sudden intrusion. A gasp, followed by silence, the quarian having slowly succumbed. He ripped the blade out, and descended again, hearing a crunch as her ribcage collapsed from the blow. There was a wheeze, followed by a cough, Leng watching as a smear suddenly appeared on the inside of her visor, followed by many more. She was coughing up blood...when he crushed her ribcage, one of them must have pierced a lung.
He grinned, and descended again. Another crunch, the quarian jolting again. Another stab, another crunch, but she had stopped moving. And another. And another. And another. And another.
She had long since stopped moving, and at his point, he left the dagger to rest inside her chest. The silver eyes behind her mask were wide open, but were gazing blinklessly at the ceiling. He was tempted to rip her mask off so that he could spit on her face, but he had somehow decided this was enough. To see his dagger buried in her chest, his archnemesis' wife dead before him.
He heard a rumble, the sound of sheets shifting...and then a thud.
He finally turned, frowning...only for his grin to widen even further.
Beside the desk, lying on the ground, was the one man he hated more than anything else. He must have been lying on the couch before, because he was now suddenly on the ground, hand pathetically grasping the carpet in front of him as if he had the intention to pull himself forward, the sheet that had been tossed on the table having fallen over him as he accidentally pulled on it.
He stepped off the bed, slowly approaching the man's crippled form. He was more of a mess than his late wife...One eye had popped, allowing him a clear view of what lay behind it, the liquid oozing down his cheek. The other eye was fused shut from bruising, while it looked like he had lost all his teeth. One of his arms was completely missing, his shirt was torn, allowing him to see a litany of cuts and bruises along his muscled abdomen. His legs hung limply behind him, indicating to Leng they were broken...a thought later confirmed by the white bone that was jutting out of the back of his thigh. He made no sound except the one that mattered to Leng the most. The one that was music to his ears.
He was weeping. Crying. He even swore he heard him muttering his late wife's name, as if that would bring her back.
"T-...li..." he muttered, coughing up a glob of blood and spitting it onto the carpet, moaning with an egregiously awful sounding rasp, "Don't...I...for you..."
He couldn't help but crouch behind the pathetic figure, nudging him with a boot, "You are truly disgusting, Shepard. I'll tell you this: your wife died just as I knew she would. Crying like a scared little schoolgirl. She fought rather pathetically in the end. I enjoyed driving my knife through her sternum, watching her cough up blood..."
He moaned again, but he did nothing to fight back. That had clearly been whipped out of him.
"Just..." he gargled, coughing.
"Just what?" Leng smirked, nudging him again, "What do you want, Shepard?"
"...kill me," he muttered, "Please..."
"Hmmmm...well, since you asked so nicely..." he grinned, gripping the back of Shepard's head and yanking it back, allowing him to look directly into the man's one remaining eye, "You'll join your bitch soon, Shepard. And when you do, remember that it was Kai Leng who sent you there. The Illusive Man sends his regards."
He let the man's head drop, pulling his hand back long enough for him to stand up fully, reared and ready. His ninjato was clenched firmly in his right hand, the nigh-unbreakable alloy glinting in the radiant lighting of the fish tank. There was wet blood still sliding down the edge, glowing sinisterly with the blue glow. He looked down, and gulped down the view of Shepard's broken and beaten body, his remaining eye pleading him for respite, his will finally destroyed.
He tasted copper on his tongue. That glistening white itch was beginning to fall behind his retinas again. He realized that he needed to do this now, before the moment was torn from him. He picked up his blade, readied it above his head and swung it downwards.
The last thing he saw was Shepard's head rolling under the bed, a geyser of blood erupting into Leng's face, obscuring his vision.
The bright white light consumed him once more, but this time, it was unyielding. It did not melt away to dump him into another memory or hypothetical scenario...instead, it remained where it was, burning his retinas, unable to close his eyes to the onslaught. He was confused, annoyed...the dream he had was so good, so surreal...it had felt real. Like he had killed Shepard and his quarian whore. He had felt good to chop his head off and stab his wife to death before his eyes. It soothed his soul, helping him to forget his previous def-
Of course.
By the time he had come to the conclusion that he was not entering another memory in his dream-like state, it was too late. The white light intensified, and then died, and Leng felt every nerve in his body roaring back to life, their previous numbness forgotten.
"Wait, I'm getting a spike in...Leng, he's waking up!"
And the assassin was waking up with a vengeance.
Like a live wire, he shot up from the bed, hand going with it. He immediately felt flesh fold underneath his fingertips, and he clenched down. There was a choking sound, a cough, a plea for him to stop. He turned to the sound, finding the face of the man he hated, the man he despised. Marcus Shepard continued to cough and splutter as Leng's grip began to close around his windpipe, the man offering little fight as his oesophagus was slowly crushed, air driven from his lungs, eyes nearly popping from his skull. The man's heavy stubble and black hair were unmistakable.
"Leng...stop...not...your enemy...," Shepard wheezed, "You're not...you've just woken up...you're on the...the..."
Leng ignored him, soaking in his surroundings. He immediately knew where he was: a medical bay, the sterile white walls and white lighting, combined with the rows of beds, giving away its purpose. Given that Shepard was squirming in his clenched hand, he had to assume he was on the Normandy, somehow taken prisoner. But then his eyes landed on the writing that adorned the adjacent wall.
CAW Deliverance SR-1.
Confused, he turned back to the man in his grip, and froze.
Gone was the heavy stubble, replaced by a limp looking goatee. Gone was his black hair, replaced by shining, bald head. His broad shoulders dissolved into meekhood, losing their strength. By the end, the man he had grasped under his death grip was not Shepard, but a much friendlier face.
He released Doctor Waycross, the doctor heaving as a burst of air was suddenly allowed to fill his lungs again. He fell back to his desk, hands coming around his throat as if to knead the raw skin there, of which there were likely to be bruises from Leng's cybernetically enhanced clamp. The assassin showed no sympathy towards the man, more disappointed that he had seen an apparition of Shepard rather than the real thing.
"Tell Captain Banes I am awake," Leng ordered, rolling himself up so that he sat on the edge of the base, facing Waycross. Nothing had been taken off of him, his armor remaining where it was, his sword lying against the desk. He picked it up and immediately sheathed it, finding that his range of movement wasn't restricted, and it didn't ache. Every one of the terrible injuries he had sustained...knitted back together through a combination of Waycross' medical expertise and his limited regenerative abilities.
Waycross turned to him, incredulous, eyes almost bulging out in pain as talking became an exercise in agony, "What is...wrong...with you!? I'm...you shouldn't...treat me...like this!"
Be happy I didn't snap your neck. But he didn't need to say that, simply grinning at Waycross, "Be gleeful, doc. Your medical professionalism has put me back together, and now I'm ready to return to my duties."
The doctor meekly nodded, Leng's venomous grin intimidating Waycross into turning away from him, worried about the consequences of further provoking the assassin. He tapped at his terminal, continuing to wheeze painfully, "Inform Captain Banes...that Leng...he's awake."
Leng grinned, and brought back the memory of that final dream. The one where he killed Shepard and his alien. Oh, how he wish he could do that. To finally kill the man who had atrophied his life. Had taken the destiny he rightfully deserved.
And he would. No matter what it took, he would. Shepard would pay, and he would make sure of that. He would never give up until he turned that dream into reality.
"The final battle for Omega. It was quite the fireworks display, from what I hear. 'Omega Liberation Day' is still celebrated on Alpha. I believe it just had its seventieth anniversary."
- Reia'Inas pav Earth.
"Alpha?"
Marcus L. Shepard.
"Omega's...changed. Quite a bit. You'd hardly recognize it."
- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.
"So tell us...we've all heard the legend. What exactly happened that fateful day?"
- Reia'Inas pav Earth.
"A whole lot and more."
- Marcus L. Shepard.
A/N:
...annnndddddddd you know what that means! ANOTHER MULTI-PART CHAPTER!
You'll all be happy to know that the next three chapters will mark the conclusion of the Omega arc...finally. However, only the first two will really cover the events of the DLC's ending, as the third part will be more of an "aftermath". After that...well, that's spoilers!
Shout out to Rob Sears for the FABT references in his recent chapter for the Quantum Error: Patriarch! Much appreciated!
Keelah Re'lai, troopers!
