To Do Lists
Warning: Graphic depictions of death.
The knife was a rescue knife.
It was ugly for a knife, big and sturdy with a modified sheepsfoot blade and a safety-cutting hook on the hilt. The knife was standard-issue for Alliance rescue workers and medics in case of omni-tool power failure. When not in use, it could fold in on itself and slide into a cargo pocket or clip onto a utility belt. The blunt-nosed blade wasn't meant to stab things, let alone stab through cloth and flesh. Its blade was meant to slice accident victims from safety harnesses and cut through the inner sheath of armor to reach wounds for treatment.
Yet it sank into the chest of the scientist with only a minor application of force. Toombs wiped the back of his hand across of his mouth as he watched the scientist, Dr. Ewing, clutch futilely at the knife's thick hilt and collapse. He managed to find purchase and pull it enough to make the wound bleed. The doctor wheezed, spraying foaming blood, before his lung filled up enough to drown him. All the while Toombs watched and waited, not paying attention to how much time passed before the doctor died. He convulsed, hands reaching out to Toombs for help: the final panic for air before the body stilled, blood bubbling from the mouth. The pupils dilated, and the bowels relaxed.
Toombs waited years for this day. He'd prepared for years for this day. His hands shook with elation.
"One down." His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Calm and hoarse, but weak. Weak like they made him. Well, he wasn't weak anymore. He could finally defend himself against the monsters. Toombs felt high, giddy… empowered.
He liked the feeling. He was ready to take on the enemy and do what needed to be done.
The screaming in his head still hadn't stopped. The roaring. He could still smell the ozone, the iron, the mass accelerator vapor. He could still see the thresher maws attacking, the worms jumping from the ground to drag his platoon under. He could still feel the doctors' hands on him, the needles beneath his skin. The screaming in his head was as loud as it ever was.
But there were other scientists to take care of, and he knew each by face and name and knew how to find them.
Maybe then. He could hope, right?
He spit on the body of his first tormentor. "That was for the First Year, Dr. Ewing."
Toombs stepped over the body of Dr. Ewing's lab assistant then stopped and looked down at him. He didn't remember seeing this one before, but: "You worked for the wrong people." Anyone he caught working for Cerberus was dead.
Maybe the screams would stop. They had to eventually. Right?
"The base is cleared out, boss."
Toombs looked up mouth twisting unpleasantly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're sure?"
"Yeah. We checked. No operatives left. They're all dead." The lights on his armor flickered, the sign of a shield generator that was dangerously low or had been overtaxed. The merc didn't seem to notice. The solar-powered generator would recharge after they left the bunker.
Toombs nodded once then calmly pulled his pistol and shot the man in the head. "Good job." The man slid down the wall, blood streaking behind him. The armor lights went out.
He took care of the rest of the team, and then contacted his information broker.
"I need a new team. Cerberus was better armed than we realized."
His hands still shook, but maybe he could sleep tonight.
Yeah.
Sleep sounded nice.
Shepard shook her head as she went through her To Do List. Garrus was right. Dr. Michel knew nothing about the Cerberus group. She checked off her task and made a new task: Get more information on Cerberus group.
Like it was that easy. She stood from her desk and paced.
If Cerberus hadn't gone to ground after the raid on their base, then they definitely would if she used her Spectre status to poke around Alliance records. And the Alliance would say I'm abusing my powers of authority, especially if this group is black enough to have Sleepers in the right places.
And the Council may very well back them up.
Just because it's a human group.
The mission was to find Saren and stop him from using whatever the Conduit was. To find out what the Reapers were. And they were no closer to the Reapers or Saren than they had been at Feros. The turian had one hell of a head start.
She stepped back to her desk and added another task: Eliminate crime bosses for Helena Blake. Shepard resumed her pacing, boots stomping harder on the deck. Adding a termination contract to her To Do List rankled. She had yet to confront Wrex about Blake. Shepard was sure that confronting the krogan would lead to either weapons drawn or an all-out brawl. Wrestling a krogan certainly wasn't on her To Do List. Ever. Wrex was an asset to the team. His battle knowledge and contacts were essential if they were going to find Saren. She'd speak to him once she cooled off, if she ever did. She'd learned the hard way that things said in the heat of an argument never helped either party.
The last words she said to Gerry Guthmiller bubbled up in her memory. They hadn't been kind. And time hadn't erased the pain behind the breakup. Or maybe his death months ago was supposed to mean more than it did. Swallowing, she forced the memory away. You couldn't change the past. The only thing you could do was press on and change the future.
Fuck the past.
The memory of the skinny slave girl, Talitha, rose to the surface of her thoughts. Shepard came to an abrupt stop then shifted directions, pace increasing. The girl had huddled away from humans, dark eyes glazed over in fear and malnourishment, and blew her brains out when Shepard had tried to help her. Shepard shuddered. She'd failed that girl. Her failure gnawed away at her confidence. What the hell was she doing if she couldn't save at least one frightened girl? A girl who had spent the last thirteen years being treated like an animal…
Her hands still shook, and she closed her eyes to clear her thoughts. She wasn't failing anyone else. She couldn't fail anyone else.
Fuck the past.
She was rounding the conference table once again when the door to her quarters hissed open.
A smile tugged at her lips. "Liara."
Carrying two mugs, Liara entered with a smile. She was a refreshing sight. She had taken it upon herself to make sure Shepard took a break at least once a day. Liara called it Shepard's Daily Break.
"Shepard." She set the cups on the table. "Don't let this one get cold."
"I'll try." Shepard rounded the table again, her stomach churning with anxiety and frustration, then went to her desk to grab her datapad. She wondered if she should confess her doubts to Liara, but thought better of it. It wouldn't do a damn thing. Only make Liara worry.
"You're pacing," Liara noted, drawing Shepard's attention. Maybe she was tenser than she thought.
"I'm working in an enclosed space."
"Is this a 'marine thing' again?" Liara sipped from her mug, half-lidded eyes watching.
Shepard abruptly sat in one of the chairs around the conference table. "No. It's just a restless Shepard thing." She grabbed the N7 mug, frowning when she realized Liara brought hot tea. "The hell's this?"
"Gunnery Chief Williams suggested it."
"Tea?"
This had better not be… Shepard took a tentative sip. Mint. "I'm going to kill her."
"What?" Liara looked up, surprised.
Shepard's only response was to grumble, "Troll."
"Is it not soothing?" The asari seemed stymied. Unfortunately she hadn't been present when Ash and Shepard were puking up their agave mojitos the other night. So she smiled at Liara to put her at ease. After all, she hadn't done anything wrong.
"Soothing isn't the word I'd use." She took another sip and made a face. Her taste buds told her the flavor was soothing, her memory told her what it tasted like as vomit. She set the mug down.
"I could—"
Shepard cut her off with a wave of her hand. "It's alright." She gestured with her datapad. "I've got mission planning to do anyway. We could use your biotics if you're up for it."
Liara's complexion around her cheeks changed colors to a darker blue. She was blushing. Shepard thought it was cute, but didn't press the subject. Instead she took a sip of the mint tea, forced herself to swallow it, and went over combat basics.
Trivia/Geekery/Weapon Pr0nz: The rescue knife described is based on the 915 Triage. It is not made to be used like Toombs did. Knife safety, responsibility, sharp, stabbity, blah, blah, blah...