Hera rushed forward, her fist cocked to strike at Javik's throat. She let the punch fly – only to have it stopped an inch from its target. Garrus locked his arm over hers and held it in place.

"Let. Me. Go. Garrus. Now!" she hissed.

He looked into her eyes, unblinking. "No, Hera." He stepped forward, forcing her back toward the doorway. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Not now. His time will come, but we're on his ship, surrounded by his soldiers."

Hera tried to break free, but his grip was too strong. He held her gaze as her jaw clenched, brow furrowed, clearly struggling inside. Finally, she relaxed her arm just enough to pull back. She looked up at him. "How could she - ?" Then her commander's mask came up again, hardening her face. "Fine," she said. "You deal with him. Get us out of here."

She turned and stormed from the room. Garrus sighed as he watched her go. Goddammit, Liara, he thought. Do you have any idea what you're doing to her?

Javik came up to stand with Garrus at the hatchway. "What was that all about?"

Garrus turned to the prothean, fixing him with his eye. "It's personal. None of your business."

"Good. Domestics are . . . trouble."

You've really missed out, Javik, thought Garrus. You've been a soldier – without any other life - for over 50,000 years. No wonder you went insane. Garrus paused, realizing . . . If I hadn't met Hera, well, I might've turned out the same.

"So tell me more about this plan," he asked, his cop instincts kicking in. Keep him talking. "You've created an army. The ship is, uh, changing. What's the next step?"

"I continue my experiments. The hanar obtain resources for me – knowledge, credits, genetic material."

Garrus looked at Javik. "What kind of genetic material?"

"Some . . . lesser species."

There are prisoners here. Great.

"And the cocoons I saw on our way in – part of your experiments?"

"Yes."

"Those are turning into protheans?"

"No. Not yet. I'm breaking down their bodies into raw genetic material. I hope to grow them into a hybrid species, which can then breed with the collectors."

Garrus felt a cold knot in his stomachs. Those things – those are people. And they're still alive . . . as they . . . dissolve. He fought the urge to be sick. Be cool, Garrus. You can't help them now. But you can stop it from happening again.

"With each successive generation," Javik continued, "my children (Garrus shuddered at the use of the word) will become more and more prothean, until at last, we will stand again. And then the galaxy will never be the same."

Hera's feet carried her forward, striding through the rotting corridors. She had no idea where she was going, and she didn't care. She was just filled with a desire to simply run, to move, to get away, to go anywhere. But no matter how far or how fast she went, she could feel Liara just behind her, haunting her. Cackling, even. Hera's cheeks burned red, but her eyes were dry and hard.

"What the fuck, Li?!" Hera muttered as she stalked through a sphincter-like opening into another area of the ship. "What are you thinking?!"

"Oh, Shepard." She heard Liara's voice inside her head. "Surely you know what I am thinking. The galaxy is changing, and so am I. I do not expect a short-lived species like yours to understand, but Javik and I understand that we must shift with the tides. What you and I shared was . . . fun, but now it is time to let go."

Hera felt an ache in her chest, as if she had been stabbed with a rusty blade. Still, she kept her jaw clenched, her defenses up. "Fine. That's what I expected, anyway," she muttered. "But this? It's . . . sick, Liara! It's wrong! You're a goddamn scientist! You know better than this. How could you help him?"

She imagined Liara's face twist in a smirk. "Well, you know I have always been fascinated with the protheans, Shepard. Perhaps Javik awakened something . . . perverse . . . in me."

Hera's hands balled into fists. "Guess you've been looking for something new for a while," she hissed.

"Oh, no, Shepard," said Liara, her tone mock-innocent. "You were always enough for me." Her voice changed harshly. "Until you weren't."

"And Garrus wonders why I'm out here instead of with you," said Hera, her teeth clenched. "You don't want me around anyway."

"Is that why you left?" asked Liara. "Is that why even when you're sleeping in our bed, you're light years away? Admit it; you were the one who turned away from me. Can you blame me for looking elsewhere? Can you blame me for finding something . . . better?"

"NO!" Hera roared. She pulled back a fist and let it fly into the wall before her, again and again. "No, goddammit, no!"

She didn't stop until her hand was bloody and raw. She leaned against the putrid wall, feeling it give a bit with her weight. Her eyes and throat burned as she turned and slid down to the floor. "Goddammit," she whispered, her breath hitching. "Godddammit. How am I supposed to do this?"

She closed her eyes and just let herself breathe for a full minute. In her mind she was pulling on her armor – helmet, visor, breastplate, gauntlets, suneate, kôgake. With each piece, she felt her temper recede. She was a gorram marine, for fuck's sake, and she would not be taken so low – not even by her heart. She walled off her feelings about Liara and her role in all this. That would wait. Javik had to be dealt with now.

Hera got to her feet and appraised her surroundings with clear eyes.

This was an area of the Collector ship she had never seen before. The corridor glistened with a dark red glow, as if it had fever sweats. Strange pustules – almost like warts – dotted the walls, the floor, the ceiling. She heard a wet, sucking sound, like sluggish fluid being pumped through too small a pipe.

She made her way further down the tunnel, pistol held in her bloody hand while her other shoulder throbbed with pain. Jesus, I'm a mess, she thought. Well, maybe while Garrus is getting intel out of Javik, I can put the parts of me that still work to use. Let's see what the hell else is going on in this floating asylum.

Hera came out of the passageway into a junction of six tunnels, one of which was blocked by a sticky, web-like substance stretched across its mouth. Doesn't look too inviting. Time to crash somebody's party.

She activated her omni-blade and sliced through the membrane. It was tougher than it looked.

The dimly-lit tunnel led downward. Life support? Crew quarters? Hera mused. She added infrared to her visor's filter, adjusting the parameters to compensate for the heat emanating from the walls. There was some sort of mass up ahead putting off a lot of heat.

She turned a bend and found herself overlooking a gigantic . . . pool? Lake was more like it. But the liquid . . . it was . . . well, it looked like soup. Chunky and thick. It rippled, like it was being stirred somehow, from underneath. Just below her, a shape rose into view. It was the body of a Salarian, partially decayed.

It opened its eyes, then lifted the remains of its hand to reach for her.

Shepard involuntarily stepped back, then looked again at the lake. It was full of bodies. And some were clearly still living, swimming in a sea of blood and waste and . . . each other. Holy Fuck.

Hera caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned, bringing her weapon up. Several Collectors were coming down the corridor. None of them had guns, but they were armed with something that ended in a cruel-looking claw.

She fired, twice, and two of her assailants dropped to the floor. The others did not slow. Her breathing quickening, Hera backed against the wall, firing again. She felt something touch her foot and glanced down. A long pink tendril had snaked out of the wall and curled around her boot. The hell? More Collectors were now advancing from the other direction as well. She aimed her weapon towards them, but before she could fire, another tendril from the wall had wrapped around her wrist with surprising strength. More and more of them sprang from the wall, tightening around her limbs and her body. She struggled against their hold, but although they were flexible, she might as well have been struggling against iron. Behind her, the wall was opening like a wound.

The Collectors were almost upon her when she was pulled into the wall with a slurping sound. The ship sealed itself behind her, as if she had never existed.

"So," said Garrus. "Say you actually accomplish this and the protheans are reborn – what comes next? Go live in peace, isolated? Or mingle again with the galactic community? We know what is was like the last cycle – you enslaved all the other races, like you've done to the collectors and the hanar."

"Primitives. They need guidance. I am giving it to them."

"What about me, Javik? Am I a primitive, too?"

"No. Well, perhaps, but you have more potential than they."

"Wow. Thanks."

"You are welcome. Your people need not fear. Nor the humans or the asari."

"But everybody else?"

"They will need to be judged."

"Uh-huh. And you think you should be the one judging because . . . ?"

"Because our destiny was stolen from us."

"Look, Javik, I understand. But you had your chance. The Reapers destroyed you. And it's not fair – but there it is."

"And then I was given a chance to return, and revenge the injustice that was done against my people. I wanted to offer you a chance to right this wrong. I thought, of all people, you, Garrus, and Shepard would understand." Javik sighed. "I knew it was a slim chance. But if you would not join me, I knew you would try to stop me . . . and I cannot have that, either."

"In that case, I think I must be going," Garrus edged toward the doorway.

"I think not."

A dozen Collectors entered the room, armed with the same pincer-like weapons that Hera had seen.

Garrus turned back to Javik as the guards advanced. "I may be an old man, Javik, but I still know crazy when I see it. You're a warrior, not a tyrant. You're better than this. See reason."

"At least, my friend, you will contribute in some small way." Javik gestured to the Collectors. "Part of you will be reborn."

The nearest guard pointed his pincer-weapon at Garrus, and a long needle emerged, tipped with blue fluid. It jabbed and sank into the Turian's flesh.

Garrus felt his muscles slacken immediately, and he fell to the floor. He was still completely conscious, however, and heard Javik tell the Collectors, "Add him to the next batch."