"Brother..." The Voice of Desolas' nightmares called out to him, with it the tendrils of shadow coiled around his mind again.

"It wasn't my fault!" Desolas screamed at his brother's image, desperation and fear clinging to his face. "There was nothing I could do!"

"You let them win brother." Saren's corpse accused, his brothers features twisted in a rotting figure of disappointment, "You should have obliterated them from the beginning. You should have killed them all on sight."

"I couldn't Saren! There are rules! I can't...!" Desolas protested, before halting. But he could, and he had. Before they fought over the skies of the now scorched soil of Shanxi, he had let his patrol attack a new vessel without cause or proof.

"Why did I?" the disturbed general muttered to himself, temporarily forgetting the undead illusion of his beloved brother, "I should have known better..."

The tendrils did not like the course of the general's thoughts, they had no use for a questioning puppet. With increased vigor they dug deeper, forcing the general's focus back onto the dream.

"You let me die for nothing!" The maggot covered face of Saren screamed, "I died so you could kill them!"

Desolas struggled to look away, but the tendrils would not release him. "I killed them!" Desolas screamed back in sobbing dispair, "I burned their world, I killed their people! Their children! I took all that I could from them! Isn't that enough!?" he questioned his brother's tormenting spirit.

"They live my brother. These primitives are like Varren, they have spread to many worlds and so many still live. Kill them all." Saren's specter commanded.

"General?"

"Kill them all Desolas."the enraged shadow commanded.

"General wake up!" the new voice was forcing the dream to fade, but couldn't block out Saren's commands.

"Kill Them All!"

With a jump and a panicked yell, General Desolas flung himself out of bed, skittering away from the soft sheets as if they were covered in blood. This had not been the first time the general had suffered from such a dream... and he doubted that it would be the last.

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Normally punching a C-Sec officer wasn't an advisable action for anyone, much less a duct dwelling 'suit rat'. Aerin's opinion about it had been changing for the last tenday. It was better than the increasingly common other option. A projectile to the head.

It had been a month after Invictus, and the 'accident' rate for the Quarians on the Citadel had been increasing on a daily basis. What was worse was that those who were aware of the situation had discovered the new security regulations preventing Quarians from finding easy transport off of the Citadel. The new regulations required an isolated interrogation and through background check to even be allowed in the docks, much less board a ship. Many Quarians had resorted to paying smugglers an arm and a leg to leave the bastion of society, even then, many were turned in to Turian C-Sec members for the abnormally large 'finders fee' that was provided.

After his fight in the Purgatory bar, Aerin quickly found himself high up on the C-Sec hate list. Several times a day, C-Sec would narrow his location down and attempt an arrest. Each time to disastrous results. With each subsequent defeat, the security forces made his capture and incarceration a higher priority. Within ten cycles the entire force was looking for him and had been briefed on his description, abilities, and contacts. "It almost made it a challenge..." Aerin had sarcastically thought when he found out.

Thus fighting C-Sec officers and lots of roof running had become the new sports of choice for the mechanical hybrid. When word of the Shadow Broker's bounty became public knowledge, anyone not Quarian started taking shots at his mechanized gluts. Even with the increased difficulty, Aerin kept up his usual work of defending the slum dwelling Quarians. Dealing with Turians had always been difficult, many times the militaristic race would abuse their positions of power over lesser races.

For the third time in the citadel's daylight cycle, Aerin found himself slamming aside a C-Sec officer bullying a Quarian. This time an elder maiden on an open street of the Zakara ward slums. As a sign of their status she wore a suit colored with the royal combination of red, yellow and blue. Elder Quarians were a rarity, a byproduct from the lifestyles of the Quarian race. Many Quarians couldn't live the hundred planetary cycles they once had when they had been on Rannoch. Most Quarians died before they could reach sixty cycles. Thus Aerin's reaction was more violent than usual. He might not follow many of his people's choices but he would still respect his elders.

When he struck, Aerin's voice had been cold and unforgiving. "Arms, overload lance." he commanded.

When an overload application was normally used omni-gel would be loaded with a large electrical charge, formed into a brittle capsule and be launched at an enemy, where it would shatter and release the charge. More complex versions of the overload programs would use nanites to guide the capsules into fragile electrical systems to short out machinery or weapons. Instead of the usual electrical charge forming in his hand, the blast of searing blue lightning leapt from the robotic Quarian's hands at the Turian tormentor.

The poor boshtet flew fifty feet from where he had been standing, the beyond lethal blast of energy ending his life upon impact. The combination of thuds and bangs as he tumbled into several waste receptacles and a wall was plenty of warning to his teammates that the less than routine shakedown had turned into something else. The slum street cleared in an instant, the downtrodden people knew to run away at the sign of trouble.

Three more officers ran to the scene, two more Turians and a Batarian. The Avian pair drew guns and held position, stereotypical and routine. The Batarian didn't bother with the usual 'surrender peacefully bit', instead drawing his sidearm and opening fire the moment he aimed his pistol. The bullet struck the metallic tissue of Aerin's shoulder, doing no more damage than a bug bite to flesh. Aerin grabbed the elder carefully, and ducked behind a corner, preparing for another fight.

"It's that Quarian Freak!" The Batarian exclaimed to his Turian partners, "The Commander wants him brought in for Questioning!"

Aerin looked at the elder with concern, fighting and defending her would be impossible, "Run, now!" he told her. The unnamed elder took his warning and took off down the slum streets, hobbling as fast as she could muster. Another Quarian quickly ran to, and escorted her away.

"Armor." Aerin'Zorah commanded, calling out the glowing amber plates, "Left arm, Rifle. Right Arm, Blade."

Two streams of nanite infused omni-gel poured out of Aerin's prosthesis. Once above his forearms, the streams quickly reformed into weapons. On Aerin's right arm, a giant sword made of the pale orange omni-tool materials. The Blade was thin almost transparent, and long, its 'hilt' encasing the arm while its blade extended out three more feet. On the left arm, a long tube like mechanism formed. Attached by a canister covered gauntlet, the whole contraption left the appearance of a smaller defensive gun like you would see on a shuttle or drop-ship. No doubt, it the material was anything other than omni-gel the weight would be enormous.

Weapons and armor ready, Aerin faced his attackers. The look on their faces swiftly changed from triumph to shock and horror. The large barrel gun that was pointed at them may have had something to do with their sudden discomfort.

"Open fire!" The Batarian called out in a panic.

As had become the norm, the officers unleashed an ineffective assault on the Quarian's quadruple layered armor. The armor showed no wear or drain from the three streams of semi-automatic fire from the C-Sec standard firearms. The mass accelerator rounds ricocheted, useless, against Aerin's protection. The moment the officer's pistols overheated, Aerin squeezed his left hand, activating his gun.

With a loud boom a ball of omni-gel erupted from the barrel, splattering the assaulting trio. The gel hardened, having been default set to create a duracrete patch. The omni-gel stone substitute formed a temporary, but inescapable prison for the attackers.

"Left arm, rifle off." Aerin commanded, dismissing the synthetic grenade launcher. With a practiced move Aerin loudly cracked his neck arms and fingers. The sound being generated from speakers, not his actual limbs. It was the rogue Quarian's favorite way to unnerve an interrogation target. With ease he laid the point of his blade-arm over the top right eye of the Batarian. The Captive began to noticeably shiver and sweat, the quad eyes of Batarians were known to be several magnitudes more sensitive than most species.

"I take it your the one in charge?" Aerin asked, with obviously false cheer.

"I won't tell you a thing suit rat!" the captive claimed with conviction.

Aerin rubbed the chin of his face mask, forcing his body language to show disappointment, "Aw, but that means I'm just going to have to hurt you!" He said, poking the targeted eye with the tip.

The Batarian leader screamed, spitting curses in several languages including a few that the translation program on Aerin's omni-tools couldn't interpret. "You know you have three more eyes to go right? Is your measly pay-check worth the cost its going to take to heal you if I make you blind?"

Less known was the fact that most Batarians had a racial fear of blindness, the phenomenon wasn't that well understood but that didn't mean that Aerin wasn't willing to use it against his prisoner. There would only be so long before another C-Sec patrol investigated, either because they noticed a lack of officers or someone called in the screams. Either way Aerin was tired of running without knowing why, before he left there would be answers or dead C-Sec officers.

The Batarian kept his mouth shut, instead screaming more expletives and insults. "Right arm, Incinerate Charge." The blade arm was instantly lit ablaze, the transparent material converting to a burning hate filled red. The Batarian went silent, his three remaining eyes following the flaming edge with soul encompassing terror.

One of the Turian pair had to open his mandibles before the Batarian could break entirely, "Don't say anything to this terrorist!" he yelled. Behind his mask, Aerin glared. With an impatient brutality he rammed the blade into the Turian's face, silencing him forever and filling the still cleared street with the smell of scorched flesh.

"I assume that you will keep your mouth shut?" Aerin asked the surviving Turian with disdain. The officer nodded, having known his position.

"Now then," Aerin said, turning back to the still trembling Batarian, "I am going to ask you a few questions. Some I already know the Answer to. If I find out your lying, I will burn out one of your eyes. Understand?" He questioned coldly. The Prisoner only nodded.

"Now, why are C-Sec officers hunting down Quarians?"

"Palaven High Command has sent orders across the galaxy." The Batarian officer explained, "All trained Turians, both active and inactive are to hunt for any signs of Quarians with plantigrade legs."

"Plantigrade?" Aerin asked, the word not translating well.

"Legs that flex towards the back, sometimes with a knob of bone in the front over the joint. Like the Asari!"

Aerin looked at the other Turian, "Why is Palaven searching for deformed Quarians?" when the Turian hesitated Aerin gestured to the squirming Batarian, whom was still under threat of flaming eye poke, "You better tell me or your buddy here will lose another eye." Aerin warned.

"For mercy's sake tell him!" The Batarian squawked in a panic.

The Turian lowered his head in shame, "High Command believes that there is a terrorist cell of Quarians who are responsible for Invictus. They were shown having different leg structures than what Quarians normally have. However the Council is pissed that there was an order to kill Quarian refugees on Invictus. It was a wartime instruction to prevent the terrorists from escaping, but thanks to politics the Turians are facing a lot of heat for it. If one of the terrorist Quarians could be captured then it would take a lot of pressure off of Palaven."

"And none of your people want to admit that it could have just been Asari wearing the suits, and claiming to be Quarians?" Aerin asked snidely, with a touch of scorn in his voice. "I guess having double jointed robotic legs are gonna suck somewhere down the line..." He thought to himself, with a roll of the eyes.

Surprisingly, the Turian actually looked shamefaced. "I don't know. I'm a good Turian, I just follow orders." he said with a lack of enthusiasm.

"What about you?" Aerin questioned, "Why are the C-Sec higher ups turning a blind eye to this?"

"The Turian Hierarchy is paying a bounty for any Quarians that can be captured for questioning. Many of the captains and commanders have been given orders from Councilor Sparatus to hand over any 'questionable or suspicious' Quarians we find." The Batarian answered honestly, "When we do, we get a bonus to our pay cycle without question, so many have started hunting Quarians in the slums for the pay raise."

"Why exactly is C-Sec hunting me?"

"You pissed off the son of some high up official when you started the bar fight in Purgatory. When you kept kicking our asses you got higher up the threat scale. Eventually Councilor Sparatus got word of you. So now orders are to bring you in for being suspected of involvement in the Invictus Tragedy."

"Good for me." Aerin replied, "Now last question. Answer in the right way and I won't have to gouge out your eyes."

"Yeah, sure! Whatever!"

"Where are the Quarian prisoners being held?" Aerin held the sword directly at eye level for emphasis.

"Docking bay twenty in the Presidium!" The captive yelled, right before Aerin drove the blade into his skull. The blade pierced the skull in the center of the four eyes, missing each entirely.

The surviving Turian screamed in panic, "You said you wouldn't hurt him!"

"I said I wouldn't gouge his eyes out, I didn't." Aerin replied, decapitating his final captive.

Aerin looked at his victims with a small amount of pity. "For what it's worth, I am sorry." He explained, "I just can't risk you warning your buddies of what I'm about to do."

Aerin reached for his ever present bottle of potent spirits. Constantly the self modified Quarian found himself taking a drag from the bottle to dull the stress of his situation. Killing was always optional, so far Aerin's C-Sec foes had been easily disabled with overloads or bound with flash forged omni-gel shackles. This had been the first time in a long time that he had to take a life.

The bitter liquid washed down his throat as always, but this time, it would not cleanse his mouth of the ashen taste.

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"Her ribs were broken, there are scores of marks from claws grabbing her arms. In several places along her body, puncture marks showed just where she had been bitten by one of those things." Matriarch Lidanya listened to the medical report with vigilent interest. Lidanya was known to be a patient and calculating leader of the Citadel defensive fleet, one capable of outsmarting the best Turian admirals on her worst days.

When the battered and limping vessel of an Asari Justicar neared the Citadel her dreadnaught, the Impil Doun, had been the one to intercept. Aboard the crippled Justicar ship had been three of the Invictus-strain Rachni, a lot of bullet holes and a near dead Justicar who was severely lucky to not have been infected by her attackers. Ship-to-ship assault teams had quickly inspected the ship for more of the hell spawned beasts while an emergency medical team had swiftly begun working on their comatose patient.

When the ship was confirmed to be clear of any threats or signs of other Rachni, the technicians were finally allowed on board to inspect for any recoverable data. The point of origin was fairly obvious, even without the clue of rachni, the ship's auto pilot had been set to head to the citadel with great haste. The Justicar's choice had been rash, there were hundreds of reports every galactic cycle of auto-pilots crashing when activating a relay. Judging from the intensity of her wounds, the Justicar may not have had a choice. Reports and audio logs from the Justicar had been rendered useless by her attackers, the monsters having stepped on or smashed the data-log during the struggle in the cockpit. The technicians were able to recover one piece of valuable data, a name.

Samara.