As I Wait Beyond the Traverse

Chapter Two: Contemplating the Binary Moon

Note: The rating for this chapter is M for non-explicit adult themes, and violence.

The mandibles at the sides of Garrus's mouth flared in contentment as he leaned against the safety of the metallic wall. He slid his body down to a crouch as he carelessly dropped another heat sink to the small piles which littered around his feet. Garrus felt a sense of satisfaction in his last kill. He considered it a perfect headshot when he saw the bullet instantly killed the human male mercenary as the shot pierced him clean between the eyes. Garrus had always been talented with firearms. Throughout his career, Garrus had been a top marksman during his years in the military and as an investigative officer at C-Sec. Not only did he have remarkable precision, he also had consistent headshot accuracy. Being turian also had its benefits as they were gifted with superior eye sight. However, Garrus took his skills a step further when he commissioned a custom targeting Kuwashii visor. The translucent blue visor which he adorned over his left eye granted him additional perks such as the ability to track his targets with up to one hundred times magnification, and a biofeedback monitor which detected heart-rate and breathing pattern fluctuations.

Garrus felt a false sense of security as his fingers stumbled to insert a fresh heat sink into his sniper rifle. Garrus had become more than familiar with the M-92 Mantis sniper rifle in the time he spent defending his location across the bridge. As he had no other weapons with him, he felt betrothed to the Mantis when he first held her in his hands and arms. While Garrus demanded carnage, she grew to rely and trust in him. In return, Garrus became loyal as she began to carnally lust for him. There was comfort as Garrus ran his hands over the familiarity of her slender pale skinned body. He became intimate with the cold arch at her center which led her barrel and the scope which stood overhead. He tantalized her metallic figure as he gently pressed his fingers on her secret revealing divots. Although Garrus was in the safety of the arms of the Mantis, he understood that she would eventually possess his life. In spite of his situation, Garrus longed for another. However, time felt infinite since he last saw her. There was no longer a possibility to apologize for his absence as she had been asleep for two years.

Through his scope, he watched.

Somber lighting and Omega's stale air were not enough to keep anyone from being consumed in another round of Skyllian Five. The room glowed in excitement as laughter resounded from four members of Garrus' squad as they surrounded a small table with cards in hand. At a distance, the others listened while they were preoccupied in other interests ranging from reading to firearm maintenance. Those missing from the room were taking turns patrolling the vicinity for potential threats from thugs and other mercenaries. Nobody complained because everyone understood that relaxation was ephemeral. It was rare for the group to be able to feel at ease in a location for longer than a few days. As the squad regularly eliminated criminals on Omega, a strong feeling of hate became fervent amongst the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack mercenary groups. This often resulted in the mercenaries who were eager to avenge their fallen. With the patrols, the squad was able to keep each other safe by eliminating their hunters with the risk of retaliation from the mercenaries, or forewarn others to escape to another safe location.

Grundan Krul was relaxing on the floor in the darkest corner while the Skyllian Five chatter grew louder. As he reclined against the side of a black couch his hands firmly gripped the latest issue of Fornax.

He smirked to himself and shouted, "Hah! There's a turian and human copulation special in this month's Fornax!"

Adjacent to him, Mierin, Monteague, and Garrus exchanged awkward looks as they continued to methodically polish and clean their firearms.

With his hands concentrated on disassembling his sniper rifle, Monteague ignored the interruption and asked, "Hey Sensat, anything interesting in the news?"

"Just the usual," Sensat responded as he lounged nearby on a black leather sofa. "Endless political skirmishes, attempts of fraud, unsolved murders, medical breakthroughs for …"

"Hey, wait a moment. Go back to the one you just skimmed past," Garrus interrupted as he held a soiled polishing cloth, "The one with the picture of the frigate."

"Hmm, let's see," hummed Sensat as the citrus glow of his omnitool highlighted the multiple ridges of his batarian nose and face. "It's from the Citadel NewsNet. Last week there was an event which was held at the Citadel's Presidium to commemorate the second anniversary of the Normandy crash."

"Does the article mention anything about the event?"

"Not much. It was about three hours. Highlights include speeches from Admiral Hackett, and the Hannah Shepard, mother of the deceased Commander Shepard of the Normandy. Only one of the surviving members of the Normandy was in attendance."

"Wonder who might that be…"

"Archangel, you knew members of the Normandy's crew?" Sensat curiously asked.

A large hologram projected from Sensat's omitool allowing Garrus to take a closer look at the article. His eyes glossed over the headline image of the aging Admiral Hackett dressed in his iconic broad-shouldered navy and gold uniform. He spoke behind a gunmetal grey podium which was embellished with a large triangular Systems Alliance symbol at the center. Behind him sat a tearful dark haired woman who Garrus assumed was Hannah Shepard. Like the Admiral, she was dressed in her Alliance uniform. As Garrus continued scanning down the page, he felt his fingers go numb at the sight of the other image. It was a profile of a dark haired male Alliance soldier bending slightly to lay a bouquet of white flowers at the foot of a golden statuesque replica of the Normandy. Should have known it was you, Alenko, Garrus thought to himself.

"No," Garrus bluntly lied as he continued polishing his sniper rifle.

"Hah, Shepard was Crazy," Monteague laughed, "Being the first human Spectre and all, I'll give her credit for one thing though. It's nice to see that she wasn't like the other Alliance types. I'm glad that she was willing to work with other races to further her goals, but seriously though, that Reapers shit she stirred is getting old. It's probably some story to keep kids in school and off Red Sand."

Grundan Krul lowered his Fornax magazine and snorted, "She's probably on Red Sand herself! No way can Reapers exist. Another machine race? Only one we know of is the geth, and I've fought the geth a few times. It wasn't pretty."

"Not going to believe a word Shepard or the Citadel council says until I see these Reapers with my own eyes," Mierin added.

"I agree. I could care less about Shepard or the Normandy. For all we know she might not even be dead! No body was found," Sensat said as he nodded in agreement, "It's probably some fabrication created between the Citadel politicians and the Alliance Military."

"She couldn't be that bad," Garrus said while he slightly cringed as he began reassembling his sniper rifle, "It's a big galaxy out there. There might be a possibility that Reapers exist."

After all the fighting Garrus, Shepard, and the Normandy's crew had done to keep the Citadel from being destroyed by a reaper, the council shrugged them off and continued claiming that the geth were at fault. Garrus knew that the Reapers were coming. He saw one at the Citadel, and witnessed the immense destruction they could do. The only question was when they would arrive. The longer it took for the people to realize the threat, the less prepared they would be. If the direct Reaper attack on the Citadel was not enough to convince the council, what would it take for them to speak the truth?

"Never took you as someone who believed in the Reapers, Archangel," Sidonis interrupted as he wearily stepped through the doorway, "Speaking of which, could I speak to you for a moment? In private."

Garrus stood up from his chair in relief. He did not know how much disrespect he could take from the comments his squad mates made towards his former commander.

As Garrus followed Sidonis out the room, he couldn't help but notice his uneasy breathing. Something was wrong.

"Hey, Sidonis you all right?" Garrus questioned.

"Yeah, don't worry about me," Sidonis answered as his eyes focused on the ground, "Combination of stress and the lack of sleep. Lack of appetite too. It's near the anniversary of when my bondmate got killed by the Blue Suns merc."

While Sidonis walked, his matte black alloy armor muted any chance the light could reflect from it. With his gloved hand brushing the elbow of his left arm.

Sidonis cleared his throat and started, "Archangel, I got a tip from an asari researcher while I was on patrol just now. She said that she knows of someone who is going to unleash some sort of virus on Omega. She believes that it's something that targets Batarians and Turians. Mentioned that she's willing to work out a plan with us, but she wants to meet you in private first."

"Sure, I'm fine with that."

"Great, let me forward you the time and location of the meeting place," Sidonis stuttered, "She said to meet tomorrow at midnight in the alley behind the Elcor Café that's located in the Soka district south of here."

"Thanks for the message, Sidonis," Garrus nodded, "If we're going to rid Omega of its evils, we'll need all the help we can get."

An empty heat sink falls to the floor.

The room was silent without the squad. Though the ghosts of its former self lingered, they constantly teased his memory. While Garrus followed no religion, but he could not help but be reminded of the spirits the turian elders of his home planet, Palaven, often called upon. The spirits of the room and his squad spoke to him through the splatters of dried blood on the floor and walls. The table which once provoked smiles and amusement lay on its side as winning card hands and multicolored chips scattered between the debris in room. At the far corner, one of the black couches pinned open a wrinkled copy of a Fornax magazine. The torn pages spread haphazardly across the floor as they a layer of dried dark orange colored blood revealed broken snapshots of an intimate scene. It was of a naked scarlet haired human female lavishing her wet pink tongue over the throat of a dark skinned male turian. While near the entrance of the room lay shards from several bottles of brown glass and empty heat sinks were left astray. A translucent residue which once flowed from the bottles seeped through to the other side of the door. It left behind the foul stench of cheap batarian liquor, the best the squad could afford with their minimal salary.

Garrus's vision blurred as he reached into his supply crate. He knew that he did not have much longer to live, but before he would die he was intent on bringing as many mercenaries as he could with him. Though the throbbing of his headache momentarily subsided, he searched for his bottle of pain killers only to throw an empty bottle back into the crate. His supplies had been dwindling as there were only five medi-gels and enough ammunition to last until Omega's daybreak. Garrus was becoming careless. For his standards, one headshot out of ten kills was not worthy of praise. Being deadlocked across the bridge was a decision made by the foolish. However, Garrus had no one but himself to blame for his situation.

He slammed his fist against the wall.

The scent of blood and burning flesh often lingered in Omega's atmosphere. Though the daily death toll is unknown, the amount of visitors and immigrants docking onto Omega never ceased in number. In a land without law, citizens and visitors would often abide by the one rule of minding one's business. However, if someone were to encounter a problem, they would often solve it through the quickest method of pointing a gun towards their head. It was such a frequent occurrence that people would casually ignore anyone lying on the ground. Though that person may still be breathing, they would not dare to interfere in fear of repercussions done by the killer.

Garrus approached the decaying bridge as he felt an ominous slither run down his back. He quickened his strides while avoiding the rusted filaments which complicated his path. Something did not feel right as he came across the scent of freshly spilt blood and burnt flesh. While he scanned the area with his visor he felt his gut clench. This can't be happening, he thought. He was unable to detect a faint life sign on the second level of the squad's temporary home. As one foot silently stepped in front of the other, he could not help but imagine the possible scenarios which may have happened. If the squad was attacked, it was routine for the squad to relay information through their private transmissions. Where was the patrol group? Of all the members in the squad, they would be the first to relay the information on the attack. Perhaps, someone or something attacked leaving them no time to pass the message. What happened to the transmissions?

With the flashlight of his omnitool guiding the path, Garrus readied his sniper rifle as he entered the poorly lit foyer. Garrus braced himself as he walked through the maze of broken furniture. The row of sofas and couches which once posed as an extravagant seating area were now overturned and destroyed by multiple trails of bullet holes. While the shelves were strewn in the area they revealed little of its content.

"No…" Garrus whispered under his breath.

There was a severely burnt krogan body lying against the couch. The fresh odor of burning flesh reeked from the mass of its body. Its face was unrecognizable as it was charred and disfigured beyond recognition while the remnants of the heat from the flame discolored and melded the metallic armor onto krogan's skin. Although Garrus avoided looking directly at the body, he could not help but notice its extended arm. His eyes widened in realization of the shotgun the krogran's hand gripped onto. It was the M-300 Claymore. No one in the squad but Vortash possessed that shotgun.

As Garrus made his way to the stairs, the glimmering trail of blood that pooled down the steps caught his attention. As his flashlight revealed that the blood came from a body of a human male which rested against the wall. Judging from the smear of crimson on the wall, the assailant riddled his back with bullets and threw the body to the side. As Garrus reached the top of the stairs, he caught eye of glowing omni-tool coming from the arm of wounded batarian's body. As with the human, he also seemed to have been shot from behind. Garrus sighed as he watched the batarian peacefully hung his head to his chest as he leaned against the doorway. Did he die while attempting to encrypt the lock on the door? Garrus shook his head and thought, Monteague? Erash? How did this happen?

Forcing himself forward, Garrus braced himself in anticipation of the nightmares which may unveil in the foreboding room. A sour and bitter scent of batarian alcohol welcomed Garrus as he reluctantly shined his flashlight into the place he and his squad had currently resided. His light gently reflected off the glossy playing cards and round gambling chips which littered the floor while the once luxurious couches and sofas were left astray on its sides. At a distance, Garrus noticed a figure hunched over in the shadows. The curiosity of his ingrained C-Sec investigative training enticed him, though the realization that it may be another squad member caused unease. As Garrus trudged towards the body he ignored the shards of glass which crackled under his boots only to be stopped by a soft lump under his foot. The red glove revealed its three fingered hand which rested upon a page of empty magazine text. Its maroon eyes blankly stared at Garrus as a pool of orange blood from his krogan body soaked through the erotic pages beneath it. Garrus's hands shook in reaction to the sight of Grundan Krul's inanimate body.

Garrus released a long exhale as he reluctantly returned his eyes to the hunched body. The figure had been seated on a chair while the flashlight exposed viscous red fluid which flowed from head that had lay upon the edge of the small round table. Under the man's chair lay a lone pistol which was within reach of his hands that hung at his sides. When Garrus caught sight of the other body across the table had mirrored the same pose, he had easily deducted that they had been the source of the scattered playing cards and chips. However, it was not until a closer inspection that the shadows disclosed themselves as Weaver and Sensat

Seeing little purpose of remaining in the ill fated room, Garrus return aimlessly into the foyer while asking himself how destruction of this extent may have occurred during his short absence.

Garrus's thoughts raced as he reassessed the area, It took me twenty minutes to get to the alley behind the café. I waited for her for thirty minutes? Forty minutes? An hour? She never showed up. What was I thinking?

He froze as he heard a stressed wheeze from a distance. Believing in the slight possibility of a survivor, Garrus made a quick scan of the room with the help of his visor only to find a faint sign of life hidden behind the stairs.

"Please," the voice pleaded upon the echoes of Garrus's incoming footsteps, "I don't have the data."

"Butler," Garrus hastened his approach as he saw the human male reclining against the back of the stairway, "Are you injured?"

As Garrus saw his comrade gripping his side in pain, he instinctively knelt to his side and pulled out a medi-gel only to be stopped by a red soaked hand which pressed against his own.

"No," Butler coughed as he revealed a steak of blood at the side of his mouth, "Save it. Don't waste it on a goner like me. You… will need it."

Restraining his emotions as he removed his helmet, Garrus asked, "Butler, what the hell happened?"

"The mercs. They had this planned. It happened too fast," Butler's voice stuttered in agony, "Even with our staggered patrol shifts, they managed storm us. Archangel, we were not match. They sabotaged our transmissions and came in with heavy weapons. M-451 Firestorms, missile launchers, shotguns..."

Unaware that it inaudible to humans, Garrus growled under his breath as he listened.

"They kept on asking for the data. What fucking data? We don't keep any!" tears flowed down Butler's blood stained face as he readjusted his back against the wall. "You… you don't want to know what they did to us. I saw it all. Archangel, they fucking emptied a Firestorm to his face. Have you ever heard a krogran wail? I..I heard him. I heard everyone. The sounds. The images. It.. it won't get out of my head. The others. They might be in the center room garage. I… I saw them run in, but no one… came out."

"It's all because of me, Butler," Garrus whispered, "I shouldn't have left the squad for that tip Sidonis gave me. She never showed up."

"Hey, it's not your fault."

"This wouldn't have happened if I stayed with the squad."

"No one could have anticipated this," Butler strained as he let out a blood-filled cough, "Archangel… I don't have much time. I'm sorry, but could you do me a favor?"

"Anything," Garrus responded.

"Could you contact my wife? Her name is Nalah. Tell her that… I can't come back," Butler pleaded as he placed a small cloth wrapped package in Garrus's hand.

"Butler… Leave it to me. I will," Garrus nodded.

"Thanks," Butler smiled, "For everything…"

A faint source of light seeped through the darkened doorway as Garrus made his way towards the garage. Though slow in pace, Garrus's footsteps resounded in the metallic hallway as remnants from the leaking gasoline and accumulated mold attempted to deter him. The garage and its held vehicles were owned and neglected by Rhi'hesh Shurta, a gang leader who Garrus and the squad had recently eliminated. He had an impressive collection which included four different models of the krogan Tomkah infantry vehicles which he had personally stolen from Tuchanka. While avoiding the rows of wires that lined the flooring, Garrus wandered between the parked utility vehicles as he scanned the area for possible survivors. His heart raced as his visor alerted him of life signs within five meters of his location. As he quickened his pace his flashlight and the heavy sent of blood exposed the location of two silhouettes that were leaning against the wheels of a Tomkah.

"Dammit! Stop bleeding," Ripper cried as she wrapped an arm around her profusely bleeding abdomen.

"Hey, Archangel," Melanis's sluggishly rose his head as he placed his blue stained hand on Ripper's knee in an attempt to comfort her.

"This is… all my fault," Garrus's voice flanged in remorse as he got down on his knees while reaching for his medi-gel, "How did this happen?"

"Archangel," Ripper refused the offer as she seethed in reaction to the stings of her wound, "We… we were patrolling and we heard gunshots coming from this location…"

"We rushed here right away," Melanis waved his hand in refusal as he continued with a heavy breath, "As you can see we were outnumbered, but somehow we managed to finish them off."

"Heh, it didn't go as planned," Ripper forced a smile as she soughed in pain.

"While we were fighting, Mierin went off and rigged this place. They shot at him while he was wiring this damn room," said Melanis as he turned his eyes towards the dark green stained wall at the far end of the garage, "Wish I could have done more for him before the mercs shot at my legs. I… can't even feel them now."

"This can't happening," Garrus shook his head as looked at Melanis's injuries.

"All that's left is to blow this place," Melanis's mandibles flared in ambition as he raised the cylindrical trigger that he gripped in his hand.

"Archangel… before you go," Ripper said closed her eyes as she leaned her head against Melanis's shoulder.

"Hey," Garrus harshly snapped, "I'm not running."

"You have to. I'm not going to let Mierin die in vain," Melanis growled, "The mercs will return any minute. They didn't march their way across the bridge, Archangel. They've been coming through this garage, and we're going to seal it. You're going to die either way if you stay any longer."

"Melanis," Garrus started, "If I'm going to die, I might as well take my time. You of all people should know that turians don't run from battles."

"I know," Melanis chuckled, "But this is no joke, Archangel. Don't throw your life away. You have to survive for the squad."

Tears rolled down Ripper's stained cheeks as she started, "Goodbye… Arch…"

"No," Garrus interrupted, "It's Garrus. Garrus Vakarian."

"Heh, so that's who you are. I would never have guessed that you were the turian who aided the infamous Shepard of the Normandy," said Melanis as he lowered the timbre of his voice, "Well then, Garrus, this is goodbye. On behalf of the squad… we appreciate everything you've done for us. Thank you for giving us the honor to serve you."

Ripper hummed in agreement.

"Likewise," responded Garrus as he stood up, "Everything we've accomplished wouldn't have been done without everyone's help."

The increasing shuffle of footsteps began echoing through the garage as the taunting of their voices became louder.

"Garrus," Melanis smugly replied, "Go. Run. Get out of here! I need to detonate this thing. They got my legs, and the next thing they'll go for is my fringe. Won't do us if the mercs come shooting it off."

"This isn't time for bad turian jokes," Garrus quipped as he put on his dark blue helmet before stepping towards the doorway.

"Heh, I know."

Sense of guilt flooded over Garrus as the door closed behind him. As he started down the stretch hallway, his thoughts raced as his legs steadily picked up his pace. His mind was still flustered by the sight of his squad as he repeatedly blamed himself over their deaths. Garrus's thoughts conflicted over the selfishness of his survival. The false meeting with the asari researcher was the only thing that stood between his life and his execution. Had I not gone, they would have been alive, Garrus accused himself as he sidestepped the overturned sofa in the foyer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he began to run.

The shouting became louder as numerous gunshots followed from the direction of the garage. As Garrus dodged and jumped over the large slabs of rusted metallic debris which spread across the bridge, he instinctively covered his helmeted head when he heard the explosion. Fighting against the urge to look back, Garrus's forced himself to move forwards.

Garrus ran for what he felt like miles. Despite the growing muscle cramps from the strenuous strides he took, his mind convinced him to continue. He was no longer running from danger, he ran in attempts to escape his thoughts. As he made his way through Omega's bazaar, the heavy scent of krogan herbs and spices burned his throat as he darted through the crowds who stared at him. While occasionally bumping into shoppers, Garrus continued unfazed by the curses they called out towards him.

Turning towards an alley, Garrus collapsed against an oversized inventory crate which vibrated to the rhythm of the booming electronic beats from the bar next door. While catching his breath, Garrus caught sight of an asari dancer on the opposite side of the alley as she embraced her moaning turian patron against the wall. While dim lights flickered above it exposed the asari's her tight lackluster outfit as it juxtaposed against the gleam of the turian's black armor.

Garrus turned away from the couple as he gasped in revelation, "Where was Sidonis?"

An onyx armored woman quickened her pace in the shadows.

A/N: How much description is too much? I will work out a balance as the story progresses. The last bit of this chapter with Garrus discovering the squad may have gone a bit overboard. Also, if you're wondering where Shepard is, she'll be making her debut in the next chapter.

I'd like to thank J.V for being beta for the first half of this chapter. All the help and guidance you've given me was much appreciated. Best of luck to you and your studies! Also I'd like the two readers who reviewed the previous chapter!

Now that I'm without a beta reader, if you are interested feel free to PM me. I would not mind being beta for your writing in return. The beta-ing could be... mutual (!)