Need.
Purpose.
It reverberated through his body, rushed through him like a flood, purged him of weakness and fear, made him move forth, fast and steady, set on his course.
No hesitation, no faltering.
His steps were fast and even, each one precisely measured, hitting the once polished – now ash-coved – floor of the Council chamber with the ever steady click and clack of his armoured boots.
The walls were scorched where shots had missed, the floor strewn with flakes of blackened ash and smouldering fragments of the once great hall. Here and there a slain c-sec officer lay, along with the odd downed Geth.
Unimportant.
He moved up the stairs, his mandibles, one now of metal, clacked against his mouth as he stalked forth, an angry growl escaping him as the six Geth on his back followed in twin columns, tools that couldn't fully comprehend the glory of the ascension they'd never be part of.
They stank.
Oil and metal, filthy and simple in their construction, rudimentary and pathetic.
But not as pathetic as flesh.
The scorching of the c-sec officers was barely an improvement, they still reeked of their flesh...of weakness and fear, of imperfection...flaws, hundreds upon hundreds of flaws...the stench filled his nostrils, assaulted his senses.
It was maddening.
His claws clicked against one another as his arms hung limply by his sides, wanting to tear and shred, to rip apart that filthy flesh of those that had befouled the Citadel...even to rip his own flesh off, to rid himself of what little weakness remained.
He ignored it.
All that was important was the need, the purpose...
Forward.
Forward.
Forward.
It was all that mattered, all that ever mattered.
Each step was a relief.
Each step a comfort.
Each step made the tension within him ease, removing a pebble of the mountain pushing down upon his shoulder.
A snarl escaped through his fangs, an explosion of rage as his lungs breathed in deeply.
Even the air was filth...a smudge filtering into his lungs...a pathetic thing his pathetic body needed...
But not as much as he needed...control.
Ahead he saw it, the empty podium for the Council, the controls he needed...and his eyes widened in glee as he bared his fangs in a hiss.
His strides widened, his body quivering, tense...needing.
He reached the summit, steps quickening even as the Geth came to a stop, letting him alone move up the small bridge he'd walked on a hundred times before, to reach the round platform he so many years ago had knelt upon...
But never had he leapt from it, never had he flown over the pathetic little garden below.
Never had he come down upon the podium with a crash, the podium of the Council.
It felt like heresy, making him grimace.
I am still loyal...loyal to what they stand for...protection...I will...
Irrelevant.
The need pushed his jab of hesitation aside, turning the grimace into a grin as his hands moved towards the middle-most console, the glow of it such a tranquil thing, promising peace, calm, an end...
I have to see him, I must...see him...
A quick tap of controls...and the wall behind the podium soundlessly sank down, revealing a large window with black reinforcements of steel running through it in a criss-cross pattern. And behind it...the Citadel's arms stretching out like the petals of a flower, the purple haze of the star Widow lazily drifting through the black space outside, intermingling with the orange blossoms of exploding ships in a distant battle.
All irrelevant to the beauty, of the majesty...of Sovereign.
The giant god drifted forth so lazily, great arms opening wide, purple and black carapace shining from the lights of the Citadel, yellow eyes boring down on Saren, demanding his obedience even as it moved to grip the Citadel tower...
I'm yours...
Saren felt as if someone had ripped his very being from his body as it sunk to its knees, its arms extending out to its sides...in worship.
Irrelevant.
With a jolt Saren came to his feet, something within him shaking, as if his soul had been tossed back into his crude body like a broken toy.
He swayed where he stood, blinking lazily as a numbness spread over his skull, making him...confused? He was supposed...to do something?
I...save galaxy by...
It was all so...hazy.
And before him Sovereign glared down at him...
Pain!
Saren jerked where he stood, biting down hard as he struggled with the sudden agony shooting through his skull, feeling as if a curved barb had cut into it and was pulling it in two...
Need...I need...
Saren wasn't sure what he needed any more, only that it had to be filled...his hand, feeling so distant as he numbly looked at it...moved down to the satchel he wore, freeing the small item he'd received...Sovereign's gift...
It was a five-sided black cone that neatly fit into his palm, five curved leaf-like protrusions shooting out of it and upwards, open like a flower...
Need...
Saren stared at the thing...and wasn't sure what he did as he moved it towards the glowing console next to him...
A spark of energy between the strange item and the console...and there was a hum of power within the thing in his hand...
He frowned, staring at it, he couldn't...make sense of it.
It was difficult...to think.
Need...
It drove into him like a spike...and Saren's mouth opened wide in a soundless gasp as all breath was driven from his lungs.
It hurt...
Raising the thing before him, holding it out for Sovereign...Saren's fingers came to press against the petals of the little item...and watched them slowly close before him even as the arms of the distant Citadel moved inwards to close.
The agony disappeared, replaced by...relief...wonderful, full, relief. Saren's eyes closed, a small smile appearing on his lips as he felt...blissfully adrift.
A click...and he knew the petals of his tool had closed...as the Citadel's arms had.
He knew what it meant.
They were all doomed...and Sovereign was pleased.
His smile widened.
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Choice.
It all came down to choice, Michael knew that now.
It was...a relief.
Saren had chosen to do what he thought was right, so had Michael, the Council had chosen to do nearly nothing, each one that had followed Michael for his mad chase after the rogue Spectre had chosen to do so...choice...it was what it all came down to.
Yes, he had chosen to kill for credits, for the thrill. He had chosen the most horrid and cruel things there was, chosen to visit such horrors upon others for his own gain. He had chosen to do what he had done at Elysium...and however much he wanted to he could not change that.
Yet Tali had shown him something else...his choices after that...all coming down to a choice after Elysium...a choice that had brought him to the outside of the Citadel tower, a choice he'd never want to change.
It wasn't about being a good man, or about repentance, neither was attainable, not really, it was about making your choice...and living or dying by it.
He had chosen to always train, to always study, to sacrifice living his own life for the sake of others, to assume command even when he feared failing again. For he believed he knew the consequences of failure better then anyone, for he believed that he'd do his utmost to never repeat it.
He had chosen to spare some people, to kill others, for he believed in justice...as well as redemption.
He had chosen to hunt Saren, to confront his visions, for he believed he had to.
He had chosen to leave Ashley to die...for he believed in doing what was right for the mission and the lives of others...even if it caused him pain.
He had chosen to let Tali guard Garrus, despite needing her, for he believed in the Marine adage of never to leave a man behind.
By God...Michael was proud over his choices.
The Geth had sabotaged the elevator to stall him, Michael had expected no less. He had also expected the intense opposition now in his path as he moved up the Citadel tower in a pace that would have made his drill-instructor stare in awe.
It was a beautiful sight.
Despite the danger the closed Citadel implied it was wondrous to behold, so many lights of orange, purple and white flickering around him, the city of the Citadel still alight with life...beautiful in its frailty. How many people was it? How many saw the fight taking place at the tower and shook with fear? Choosing to do nothing?
Yet Michael could not blame them, or rather, he chose not to.
Many no doubt saw him through binoculars and the like...staring in wonder at the strange sigh of a lone human taking on an army of Geth... If he survived they would probably call him a hero...yet when it came down to it he was simply one person...making a choice. A choice to charge.
Ahead of him the black shape of Sovereign rose, majestic and uncaring of the tiny human climbing the Citadel tower, the massive Reaper's claws held onto the tower, a cancer at the very heart of the great display of light, a taint.
Michael didn't have time to look at it more closely though, to think about it, his concentration focused on his immediate path.
His breathing was heavy, shields at half, weapons both in hands and on his back hissing, close to overheating, legs aching, body bruised, armour cracked.
He endured though.
Ahead the curves of the tower made for a wall to his left, to his right it opened up into a rising path onto some sort of platform he couldn't quite make out. And in the centre...there were two sources of cover. One a dozen feet ahead of him, yet another wide frame that held up a large antenna above...the other to the left of it, further away...a low bundle of thick cables...
...behind which three Geth troopers stood, firing intensely towards Michael as he came at them.
He didn't fire back, there wasn't time to stop, to shoot accurate shots enough to kill them, nor could he let his already warm assault rifle overheat by firing a larger burst.
He had to keep moving, had to keep advancing.
He moved left, dodging a flurry of shots, then kicked off against the wall, sending him hurtling to the right, a single shot striking his shield as the others passed him by.
No left exists, centre will damage my shields too much...right it is then.
He kept running, placing the cover of the antenna's frame between himself and the Geth as he ran, letting his shields build up just a little bit as he kept running...right up the rise.
A series of stutters as the Geth called out in warning...and Michael found himself running up atop a small platform, a sheer drop right ahead of him, followed by a continuing of the platform ahead.
He leapt, spun to the left mid-air...and fired.
Below him the three Geth, now staying behind a cover Michael was above, looked up, rifles moving to track him...
The first fell instantly, neck and head exploding into tiny fragments.
The second twitched, chest-plate snapping...before something in its spine snapped and sent the machine tumbling to the floor.
The third stumbled backwards, into the wall, then fell over its useless cover, chest breaking apart.
His rifle beeped out, overheating...and he put it back behind his back even as his feet struck the floor on the next platform.
Too fast!
He fell forward, hearing a hiss as a ruddy blast of a Geth sniper shot through the air above him.
Rolling with the impact Michael's hand found his sniper rifle, the weapon clicking into readiness in his hands as he came up on one knee, scope tracking the dying light of the enemy blast.
The Geth in the scope almost looked...surprised.
A thump of the rifle against his shoulder...and the machine's head exploded even as the weapon in Michael's hands overheated.
How many times have I switched weapons? Michael had lost count, the sniper rifle clicked into place behind his back as his hand darted down, pulling his pistol free as a flurry of shots arched forth, forcing him to jump down behind a low wall adorned with several round antennas even as his comm crackled into life.
Huh?
Michael didn't want to stop, didn't have time...but his struggling shields, hissing weapons and beeping comm demanded otherwise.
"This is Commander Shepard, identify." Michael risked a glance over the wall, finding a near dozen Geth at the top of a rise, covering behind a low wall, then ducked back down as they fired another volley towards him.
Not advancing, just holding, keeping me back...screw that.
"Commander Shepard, this is Admiral Hackett, fifth fleet."
Michael sagged with relief at the words, smiling under his visor he rolled up to aim over the cover, putting a solid shot in the face of a Geth before the storm of enemy shots forced him back down. "Admiral! It's been too long! What are you up to!"
There was a pause, then the admiral's voice, steady as always: "I have arrived through a Relay with the Fifth Fleet, we're ready to engage."
"Great news...wait...ready to engage?" Michael asked, the antenna above him coming apart in scorched pieces as the Geth concentrated their fire upon his position, making him slide to the right of his low wall.
"The Geth are rapidly destroying the Citadel fleet, the Council is upon their flagship, the Destiny's Ascension...but we see that the Citadel is closed, and Sovereign is apparently a monster..."
Michael blinked, then smirked even as he jumped up, pushing the antenna in front of him forward as his three consecutive shots tore at the cover in front of the Geth, one flying piece of the wall striking one, making it stumble back, its shoulder torn open. "So! Do I look like an admiral! Listen, I'm kind of in the middle of..." He bit back a curse as the antenna broke apart, making him jump back into cover as the Geth opened up.
"Commander, you are the one who has faced Saren before, who knows of Sovereign." Hackett's voice was steady, calm, set. "Fifth fleet is at your command."
The briefest of pauses...and Michael blinked.
Another choice.
But what of mine?
Behind his cover...assaulted by a barrage of Geth pulse shots...Michael found himself slid to sit down.
Sovereign's powerful, he's also about to activate the Citadel...top priority. Yet the Citadel fleet...how many lives is that? And the Council...important...but...just three people...
Another shot smashed into his cover, reminding him all too clearly of how he'd gotten into his position.
Three...idiot people...
Fuck them.
"Admiral Hackett, Sovereign's a top priority, I want you to..." He found his words dying in his mouth.
Vigil's words echoed within him, a whisper he couldn't ignore: "Our leadership was concentrated to the Citadel and died in the first attack, as must have happened thousands of times before."
But...they're...I can't risk...if we lose this battle we won't win the war following...
"There was chaos...all others cut off from one another, not knowing what to do, there were no instructions, no order, only death..."
Yet if we do lose it...don't we need them? Not to mention the thousands upon Destiny's Ascension...
They're not that important, they're not the leaders we need...or...
Michael's shoulders slumped even as a piece of the wall to his left blew apart.
Dammit...I hate choosing to do the right thing...damn tiring work...
He chuckled.
The price of freedom eh?
"...engage Sovereign after you have saved the Destiny's Ascension, engage, give them hell! No one's sacrificed!" I am not Saren...
The tiniest of chuckles, the first sign of emotion in the admiral Michael had spoken to through comms for what felt like ages now: "Engaging, Commander, Fifth fleet at full thrust." A small pause. "And what of Sovereign? We cannot penetrate the Citadel's arms and engage it."
Rolling to the right Michael came up on one knee, pistol twitching in his hands four times...and two Geth fell with keening cries, their corpses drifting upwards in the low gravity even as the remaining opened up at his new position.
This is taking too long...I need to reach the Council chamber...and Saren.
Michael's hand moved, holstering his pistol before moving to free his shotgun, now fully cooled down...and he smiled.
Close quarters it is...
"Don't worry Admiral..." Michael's free hand shot up from the cover, gripping one of the antenna's and jerking it off it's arm even as he flew to his feet...and leapt over his cover as the Geth above opened up.
Their shots tore into the round antenna before him, tearing holes in it as he moved it left and right. Some shots still struck his kinetic barrier, making it glow blue...but many others whizzed through the metal only to miss him because of his concealing shield as he came charging up the slope.
Ahead the Geth pulled back in alarm as he came rushing straight at them, shotgun charging up to the max behind his shredded shield.
"...I'll get it open."
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Thanks to Abydos Jackson for everything.