It is the waiting march of the grim, the fearful, the hopeful, the dutiful and the morbidly inclined. It is the line of those who voluntarily came, those who forced themselves to come, and those compelled to participate. No one wanted to be there. All wanted the truth to set them free. At least there is some comfort in knowing that you're a biological bomb waiting to go off. You have time to write a will, not spread it to other people and live the rest of your life like you were dying.

Pelona told herself this, perhaps just to ease the unhealthy, gnawing emotions if only little.

The Asari pathologist knew that she herself was one of the paranoid, seeing the line of emotionless doctors waiting to get their lumbar puncture. There just had to be a better way of testing for disease. Here they all were, goddess knew who was infected, who was not, and who was infected with something else altogether. A stray cough could aerosolize something dangerous and she knew she heard at least one cough back there. The particles in that would be quickly breathed in by nearly everyone within the room. Or how about that one Salarian over there rubbing an itchy eye? What microscopic, beastly pathogen might be hiding in his eye or hand? And now he's touching someone's shoulder to ask a question?

She told herself to stop this or her sanity would go kaput.

"Dr. Sivini?" an electronic voice asked. She turned around to find Spectre Jima gazing at her, the proper syringe for lumbar punctures in her hand.

"I'm going to need to test you soon, regardless of whether or not you ate the plants." the Quarian informed.

"Yes. Yes of course. I'll wait...till everyone is gone." Pelona answered, her paranoia of infection flaring at the sight of the line again. She did understand then need for precaution, though.

"Very well." Jima answered numbly. She was wondering how her away teams were doing.

--

Harrvok felt his shoulder becoming raw after such prolonged periods of sustained fire in the tunnels. He wondered why the hellhounds never stopped coming seeing there was literally a morbid blanket of them running down at least a twenty foot length running into the cave. The Turian battle medic immediately concluded two things. One, it had been too long since he had fired a rifle. Two, judging by the heat monitor, he was dangerously close to overheating his weapon.

"Come on, come on...stop coming already!"

Lucas was aware of another two things. One, the number of the hounds attacking was starting to taper off but that did not make the situation any less terrifying. Two, he was no longer using his pistol, the weapon having dropped from his hand in the chaos. Instead, he was thrusting and slashing his terrifyingly keen combat blade with his right hand while using his left to deal quick abrupt blows. Thank God for combat armor.

Chroso was also aware of yet another two things. First, he was terrified out of his mind and fired his pistol automatically and erratically at anything that appeared deadly. A rational part of his mind told him this was bad as he might accidentally hurt one of his comrades but the rest of his brain screamed to him that he was in mortal danger. Kill everything! They're the ones that dragged him here in the first place. Second, he was in a bind. Literally. He wasn't sure if it was because his nerves had locked up on him. He literally felt pinned.

"Rrrrgggh!" Lucas snarled as he found himself set upon by a hellhound. The creature reared up, front claws coming at him while its deadly jaws opened to strike. The commando caught one of the claws coming at him with his left hand. He jabbed the deadly straight point of his blade into the creature's throat before throwing the dying animal to the ground. Everything became silent.

"I-I think that's it." Lucas panted, suddenly wondering what to do about the dripping gore on his survival knife.

"Everyone all right? I'm starting to analyze the information the labs sent us. These creatures could be infected with it so did any of you get a breech in your armor?" Harrvok asked. He was immediately dismayed at the scratch marks on Lucas' protection. Lucas immediately sensed this.

"I don't feel any pain. I don't recall getting bit or scratched through the armor."

"That could be just adrenaline. Run a more thorough diagnostic." Harrvok instructed. Lucas readily complied. His stomach tightened just a bit as he waited for his omni-tool to give him the news. They all heard it beep in a few moments.

"Haha, nothing breeched the armor. I'm good." Lucas announced.

"Well...as far as we know. How about you Chroso?" the Turian asked.

"Other than scared out of my wits, nearly turned into lunch, doing things I shouldn't be doing at my age and losing all the love I had for my life's volition? I'm just great." the Salarian snapped sarcastically before becoming more thoughtful.

"I seem to be stuck, though."

"Stuck?" Lucas asked curiously.

"Yeah, what' do you mean?" Harrvok inquired.

"As in I can't move." Chroso jerked trying to move towards them but bounced back to his original position from an unknown force. The two soldiers were rather perplexed. That's when Lucas noticed the problem.

"That's because there's a root in your way." the soldier pointed.

"But how is it stuck to me? It's just right across my armor, is it sticky or something?" Chroso asked. Before anyone could offer suggestions, they heard a movement.

Harrvok immediately reacted and faced the proper direction, assault rifle shouldered and ready. The dead body of one of the hellhounds jerked as if being dragged across the ground. Lucas squinted, not understanding how that was happening as he retrieved his pistol. How could a perfect dead animal move like that on its back? Was something dragging it?

"Um...guys...look at the root next to it..." Chroso gulped.

One of the plant roots next to the animal not only appeared to growing next to it, it literally, if slowly, moved out of its place to coil itself around the creature. The men noticed more blood flows appearing on the dead creature.

"Its...it's growing roots into the body." Harrvok suddenly realized. An epiphany slugged them all on the back of the head like a heavy lead pipe landing. They all looked back at a very petrified Chroso.

"We better get you detached from that thing." Lucas stated urgently.

--

Humans have a saying that goes along the lines of "Out of the frying pan, into the fire." For Julland and his team, it was out of Mako, past the guns and mercs, past the combat drones, out of the smoke and into a firestorm. It started the moment all four of them simultaneously were unveiled from the smoke.

All of them had the instinct to immediately search for cover once arriving out of the fumes. However, even battle hardened Julland was surprised by how quick the mercenaries were firing on them. It was as if they did not even have a chance to step out of the darkness of the smoke.

The Turian commander was desperately trying to get his bearings around the room. There were plenty of counters and other obstacles in the area. The entire room seem to lead to a single circular raised area which seemed to be the center of command. In fact, it appeared as if the place was a large circle. The problem was that there were plenty of mercenaries with equally available firepower to rain chaos on them. Julland wished the tactical analyzer on his left eye wasn't fried. It could have certainly helped in this situation. His back to a counter, he was vaguely aware of bullets flying above and beside him while he tried to figure out where his other teammates were.

Shanata and Filara were not far, a couple feet to his side also crouching behind a counter. It seem like there was nothing but a constant hail of firing coming their way. Honestly, how could those mercs keep the fire up like that? Julland also caught a glimpse of Dalora lighting herself up with a biotic barrier before rushing further up. He prayed Dalora knew what she was doing because his confidence was dwindling rapidly with each passing second. He couldn't believe it. He and his whole team were essentially pinned down and he had no clue what to do. Somewhere in his mind, the voice of an old drill sergeant was explaining everything his tactical reasoning was telling him.

"Stay pinned down too long and you're dead. Fall back in a situation like this and you're probably dead. You can't retreat too far so that means you'll be dead. You can't call for help so you might as well be dead. Even if help were to come and Dr. Jima thinks she can set her foot in firefight like this without training she'll be dead. Any way to make yourself undead?"

The Turian felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead as he ground his teeth.

"Good luck with that answer, but you better come up with it quickly or you'll all be dead."

--

Pelona slowly felt herself calming down as she sat in a chair. There was still quite a line to go so she had awhile before the test would start. The Asari pathologist let herself sigh as she clasped nervously her hands in her lap. It had been a harrowing few days but at least things were starting to be resolved. Yes, she still was not sure what to do with those who would be infected with it. She hoped, prayed that no one on staff would have it. She did not know how likely that would be but something told her that more than a few people would be getting a death sentence as she watched them file by. As for herself? Pelona was a little more than certain she was not infected. That was more than just denial. The plants had it and she had not eaten the plants. She was certain of it. All of the food rations she had consumed came in their own packages with their own eating utensils.

She wondered if some new regulation would come about from this. She could see it now. All Citadel Extreme Medical Situation Response would be forced to eat only the regulation issued food rations to prevent things like this from happening again.

But what about Harrvok? Truth be told, that was why she still felt such an...emptiness within her. Somehow the icy waters of fear had crept into that emptiness and now she could not help but wonder if he was safe. Why weren't they back yet? She told herself that it was scarcely late morning and that a search team may take more than a day. It sure looked like they would not be turning around until they got an answer. She hoped they had found what they were looking for and were in fact heading back as they spoke. She could only hope.

Jima personally could not let herself worry about her two away teams. Yes, it took every ounce of determination and will to pry herself from Harrvok's disturbing transmission and return here to take care of her duties as a doctor and test for infections. Yes, there was no telling exactly how Julland, Dalora, Shanata and Filara were doing. All they had were their health readouts and that was woefully inadequate to summarize any hostile situation. However, it was all she could go an and right now she was needed as a doctor to help here in the labs. Dr. Hiprotos approached her. He had become a bit more somber.

"Spectre Jima..."

"You may call me 'Doctor.' I see myself less as a special tactics soldier and more of a physician." Jima replied.

"Whatever you wish. Look, I just want to apologize for my outburst back there. I lost my cool and...well, I was afraid." the human doctor admitted.

"I understand, Dr. Hiprotos. I don't hold it against you."

"Just how did you keep calm during the Apollyon crisis?" Hiprotos asked.

"In all reality, I don't know. It was just focusing on one crisis after the other. My friend's were depending on me with their lives. I almost had no choice but to keep my cool. That doesn't mean I wasn't afraid, though. I have never been more frightened in my life." Jima explained.

"It's nice to know that even Spectres can feel afraid."

"That's because Spectres are just like everyone else. They were just chosen to be given some greater responsibility. All of us are like Spectres in our own right, so long as we do our duty above and beyond its call. You never know which of the small insignificant actions you make may save a life." Jima said.

"And which of our small insignificant ones may take a life, accidentally or no?" Hiprotos demanded, an eyebrow raised. Doctors knew that side of the equation too well.

"Just do what you can for the greater good." Jima murmured. She was preparing the needle for another test when the communications link next to her ear blared to life. It startled her.

"Spectre Jima, this one must report a problem!" Dolphos announced abruptly. Jima was immediately worried. She had never heard Dolphos' voice like that. This could not be good.

"What's wrong?" Jima asked.

"This one was watching the health readouts of Julland's team. One of the marines, Shanata, her health suddenly went red. She may be in critical condition." Jima felt something cold and hard hit her in the stomach.

"I'll be right over." Jima stated as calmly as she could before she turned to Dr. Hiprotos.

"One of my crew members is in trouble. I can't continue here, sorry." Jima said more urgently than apologetically before quickly exiting. Pelona, who had been sitting nearby, overheard what the Spectre had said. It did not help her anxieties either.

--

"Get it off, get it off!" Chroso flailed, desperately tugging at the apparently carnivorous plant. Harrvok was in front of the panicked Salarian also trying to pull the root off while Lucas was behind, pulling Chroso in the opposite direction.

"Chroso, has the root gotten into you?" Harrvok asked urgently over the rabble.

"Get it off!" Chroso screamed for the upteenth time.

"Hold still!" Lucas ordered before everyone heard steel whistling through the air. Chroso and Harrvok fell into a heap in one spot and the stump of the root fell in another. Everyone drew a relieved breath.

"Can't personally say I've seen a plant do something like that. Sure, there are Venus Fly Traps back at earth but that was just a bit too aggressive." Lucas murmured, examining what was left of the root, prodding the tissue with the tip of his blade.

"I don't see any blood but let me run a quick diagnostic." Harrvok ordered the Salarian after giving the amphibian a quick glance. The Turian battlefield medic was running the proper program on his omni-tool, activating Chroso's hardsuit internal sensors to do a more thorough checkup.

"G-good, cause the only thing I feel is madness." the amphibian spat, certain he had just about seen enough for twenty Salarian lifetimes.

"Your fine, the root couldn't penetrate your armor." Harrvok announced with a weak smile.

"Well that's just spectacular news!" Chroso grumped sarcastically. Lucas was still investigating the root and was now studiously looking over Chroso's armor.

"It looks like the root grew tendrils that were searching for a weak point in your armor. Good thing we got that off you." Lucas observed, glancing at the snaking small branches still clinging to the edges of the Salarian's armor.

"Wonderful. Look, can I please just go home? So far I have done nothing to help you boys and frankly, if you want to get yourselves killed, I still want to live out the remainder of my estimated nine years. Preferably not ending as plant food. Please, let me turn back and go home." Chroso pleaded. Lucas was starting to feel sorry for him, especially with the heartfelt plea.

"All right, Chroso, I'll make you a deal..." Lucas started.

"Fine."

"Give us thirty more minutes. If we don't find anything, I'll send Harrvok back with you and I'll continue on by myself."

"You'll continue by yourself?" Harrvok asked skeptically, clearly not liking the idea.

"Sure. I'm used to working by myself in bad situations where I'm badly outnumbered." Lucas shrugged.

"Well here's my proposal. I agree with the thirty minutes, but we're going to have to modify the 'by yourself' part." Harrvok grumbled. Turian doctrine dictated that you never, never go in alone. You always went in with as many numbers as possible. Total knock out or nothing at all.

"Well we can't just sent Chroso back by himself. What if there are more hellhounds out there?" Lucas retorted.

"Guys, guys, as much as I'd like to go home, this is just wasting those thirty-"

"AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!"

A shrill, gut wrenching scream echoed through the cave system and pierced the noisy argument. Furthermore, all three realized it did not belong to any of the hellhounds. Besides feeling their stomachs leap into their throats, the hairs on their neck stood up. They all looked at each other.

"Eulias or Siera." Lucas said.

"Right." Harrvok nodded. With that, the two soldiers tore blindly on into the caves as fast as their feet could carry them, Chroso lingering behind them, realizing that it had only been twenty seconds into his thirty minutes.

--

"Shanata!" Julland hollered. It had happened too quickly. Shanata was fighting back, her assault rifle actually claiming two of the mercenaries. The intrepid marine was just beginning to get back behind cover after claiming her second kill when they all heard a gut wrenching crunch. It was the sound of armor breaking and flesh exploding inside it.

Shanata groaned, her assault rifle falling from her hands as she clutched a gaping wound on her midriff just below her lungs. Her eyes clenched shut in brain boiling pain, a scream too loud too ignore, so urgent that all the centuries of her military training could not override it.

"Filara, get her out of there!" Julland shouted since she was closer.

"Right!" Filara replied, rushing to help her downed comrade.

"I got you sister, just one-"

Somewhere in her mind, the Asari registered a grenade landing just a few feet in front of her. The explosion did the rest.

Dalora heard a scream behind her. Looking through the protective biotic barrier, she saw Filara lying on her back, her hands clutching her face while the front of her armor was a Picasso of scorch marks, shattered plating and bleeding wounds. She heard footsteps approaching. The mercenaries were moving in.

"Die!" Dalora screeched as two mercenaries rushed right in front of her to get to the Asari marines. Her shotgun roared, belching element zero hell. The one who took the brunt of it was blasted into eternity. The other was momentarily staggered. Dalora's pummeling shotgun took care of that.

Julland rushed up to his two fallen marines, first dragging a sadly gasping Shanata behind cover before doing the same for a whimpering Filara. Time slowed down just before he got into cover. Everything was going in slow motion. Blood was slowly spreading on the ground under Shanata. Filara was writhing in agony, too preoccupied with her misery to be of any help. Up front, in a cloud of flying ammo rounds, a wild eyed Dalora was blasting rushing mercenaries, three already dead at her feet. Her shotgun would overheat soon, she was resorting to beating them with her weapon. Her barrier could not last forever.

When the last piece on the board finds himself surrounded, how does he chose to die?