Chapter 7: Cataclysm

Six hours later...

Location: Exodus Cluster; Hephaestus System; Cabeiri

Khasic Khalk woke with a start as though from a nightmare, and butted his head against a ceiling he could have sworn was not there a moment ago. For a few seconds he pawed and flailed in confusion, exerting his limbs and mind like he haven't used them for days – matching quite well to his dreams where he hung endlessly in what felt like a void of nothingness.

It passed quickly, replaced by a forced calm as he tried to figure out what had just happened. He was down in the armory, preparing like the rest of his squad for what came next – just in case they could apprehend the pirate vessel through a boarding action if circumstances allowed.

Then blackness enveloped him, and every bit as soon he appeared here. Khasic spent a moment examining his talons and found belatedly he wore his matte black combat armor, with helmet lying on the floor, knocked onto it when he flailed about.

Carefully he retrieved the item and gave it a check before he rose to examine his surroundings. A small space that was barely a cabin, though larger than his quarters. It held the bed he lay on just a moment ago, and a table in the middle complete with a single package of food and drink. Past it was an airlock complete with a warning ordering him to make sure his suit is sealed before going through.

Khasic frowned and put a finger to his earpiece, worried if that before was all a dream and he forgot something crucial. "Command, do you read me?" he queried, and was perplexed by the lack of answer.

One more try was placed before he switched channel in attempt to restore communication.

This did not seem right.

"Command, Corporal Khasic here." he paused, "I require instructions."

Silence.

"Anyone?" he switched channel again, "Is there anyone there?"

Nothing.

Anxiousness crossed his features, and he suddenly felt incredibly claustrophobic in this small space.

That is, until he looked to the airlock and decided there was only one way to find out. So Khasic passed the table, ignoring its contents, while he secured his helmet before cycling through. The airlock at the very least obeyed his press of buttons and opened up, letting him pass into the little chamber beyond. He kept an eye on his HUD as the door shut behind him, followed by the equalization of atmosphere with the outside.

In a moment, the other airlock opened and ushered him out to a vast and barren landscape that stretched in every direction. Khasic, confused as to why he was here rather than on his ship, spent a moment walking around his little abode; a living module prepared for him that he was certain did not exist in the inventory. And apparently, he was all alone. There was no ship, no shuttle, and not another soul for seemingly miles around.

He had not the faintest idea of had happened for the situation to be like this, and panicked with the thought of having been abandoned here... maybe left to be watched for cruel amusement on how long he could survive... and stay reasonably sane.

"Hey, you're kidding me right?" Khasic asked to thin air, staring outward with some hollow desperation, "What happened while I was out? What happened at all?!" and grit his teeth before he cried out in anger; "What the hell am I doing here?"

"Being my guest. Of course." a voice greeted him, polite in tune.

Khasic felt little reason to be assured and span to stare at where that voice came from, and blinked as he came to look over at piece of flattened hill, and the slight silvery figure who sat on it in meditation, facing toward the rising sun. It seemed artistic, with apparent noble features and a long flowing mane more alien than most things he had ever seen.

That is, until it became apparent what the creature is. He checked his sides for a weapon but found none. "You're... a dôji."

"Yes I am," the figure rose and brushed some dust off its clothes, inclining its head by a fraction as though in mirth, "there is no need to be so guarded. I have no intention to do you any bodily harm... and the crew you serve with is quite safe."

Khasic frowned. "What happened?" he said much louder than was initially intended, but the lack of weapon in the face of a synthetic greatly unsettled him.

"Simply put," the being simply looked at him, its eyes alight with interest like a scientist scanning a fascinating specimen, "your ship entered into our new home system. We did not want you to run away with the knowledge of our whereabouts and restrained your thoughts."

"Forced us to stop thinking?" he asked in disbelief, the absurdity of it would make him deny it instantly was it not for the obvious gap in his memories and that bottomless void in his 'dream'.

It hummed in approval, "Not trying to refute it? You are more open-minded than your profile indicate. I am pleased."

"How could I with this blankness in my mind?" Khasic huffed, not sure what to feel about a synthetic being impressed about him. "And what happens now?"

"Eventually, the crew will be released so they can go home... once we are done altering their memories that is, along with the databanks on your ship. By helping me though, you could accelerate that process."

"Accelerate?"

"Yes. I require your assistance in a matter. If you agree to it, we will drastically shorten your stay in our space."

"I will reveal no sensitive information."

"Keep it. I will not force you to say anything you do not wish to divulge. It has nothing to do with what I need you for."

It rather rankled him, the idea of aiding a synthetic. But he was still a turian, and thus would prioritize the group he is supposed to protect as if his duty rather than his own preferences. The dôji's placating statement however eased his nerves.

At least for now.

"Fine." he crossed his arms, "I'll help you, but only for the sake of my charges."

"I would like it no other way~" the dôji purred approvingly, and seemed to relax just a bit more as it filtered its gauntlets together in front of itself. "That said, I believe proper introduction is in order."

"I am Milieu." it continued with a slight tilt of its head, "Grand Aspect of the Dôji nation. Leader of the triumvirate at its peak."

It sounded strange for a synthetic force to have a supreme leader, but it was enough to make Khasic stiffen considerably, just like the time when he was at his graduation ceremony some ten years back, when he was addressed by the Primarch himself who had come to oversee the event. "I... I am Corporal Khasic Khalk of Digeris."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Keep a civil tone for your crew's sake, Khasic forced himself to follow suit;"Er... Honored to meet you...Grand Aspect."

"Please, no need to strain yourself. Simply call me by my name."

"Of course... Milieu." Khasic was glad his helmet concealed his grimace at how the dôji now dictated the flow of their conversation. He was right in the palm of its hand and had no idea how to break out of it, though he admitted there is no other choice but to do as said. "And what is it you need of me, a dissection?"

Milieu smiled wryly, "If that was the case, why bring you to the far end of nowhere on this barren rock of a planet instead of a hospital?"

He embarrassedly agreed. "Aye, stupid question, had to be asked."

"Not an issue. But a moot point. I already know all about your physiology from knowledge gleamed from our first proper alien guests."

Khasic was bewildered and blinked, "Wait, what?"

"Garrus Vakarian, Saren Arterius, Nihlus Kryhk. Along with their charges, Liara T'Soni, and Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, of course." Milieu provided with a shrug, "Who else could I mean?"

"You really did experiment on them, didn't you?"

"Merely treatmen after a most unfortunate encounter they had before Aspect Sophia found them. However... we're digressing. You will not remember anything of our conversation here once this is over anyway."

That for sure reminded the turian of what would follow this experiment, and made him wonder. If the dôji are going to erase his memories of this meeting, why bother lying? Nevertheless, there was nothing in it to prolong this any further. So he crossed his arms and nodded.

Milieu brushed a claw through his flowing mane and nodded in return before he started to approach. But instead of coming at him, the dôji instead paced past him and to the module, where he opened a part of the wall to reveal a screen that instantly lit.

"Got something to show me?" Khasic frowned.

No confirmation was provided, only an instruction; "Please, watch closely."

Minutes passed as he watched the footage set into motion – one that easily could have taken place in some epic movie. Khasic watched intently as an insane situation took place on the outer hull of an enormous ship, focused on the feud between a synthetic as bizarre as it was hideous, and an incredibly savage-looking dôji, each of them fully determined to rip the other to pieces. Like titans they clashed, but it was nothing compared to when another figure entered the scene and received due focus.

"Saren." Milieu informed helpfully in a hushed tone.

Some surprise came from the time when the barbaric dôji's arm transformed into a weapon that very clearly out-massed the gauntlet used. Khasic had thrown a glance at his host and wondered if they could all do the same. But nothing compared to when the situation changed, when suddenly the shown dôji's body came apart and pulled Saren bodily into its unbelievable expanding frame.

In no more than a few moments the synthetic, the fellow turian locked away inside it, transformed into a much larger figure, a much more frightening frame. A skeletal shape with vague turian characteristics and extremely exaggerated proportions in a few ways – as if emphasizing the importance of some body parts over the others.

Consequently, the battle turned for all the more brutal where the newly transformed dôji started to really tear the other machine together in a messy fashion – at the same time arguing animatedly with Saren over how to go about it.

At that point, Milieu stopped the recording. "You can probably guess what the experiment is about by now."

"That... transformation."

"Just so." the silvery dôji confirmed, "I don't like to imply it, but our father left us with quite a few questions for which we had no choice but figure out ourselves. One of the most significant being about our full-body transformation, the so-called ICON mode."

"And... there you have it."

"Insufficient. I researched that ability for centuries, Khasic, and need to experience it for myself. As you could plainly see, it is clear the ICON mode requires a compliant organic to deploy. Which is where you come in."

Milieu leaned a little closer; "I need you to have me deploy it."

"... Er, well..." Khasic swallowed as apprehensive fear bolted down his spine, "Give me a moment."

"..."

Khasic felt unexpectedly bad for letting his own nervousness take hold. Despite his will to go through this, the thought of joining with a dôji in that manner was enough to make him think twice.

There were simply too many unknowns compared to, say, the dissection he asked about earlier.

Shame colored his features even though it shouldn't as the other, Milieu, decided to give him that time to collect his thoughts and strode back to where he previously sat. It took it seemingly well, but there was an undercurrent of slight disappointment that was palpable in the air.

It really wanted to do this now, and with it just within reach the dôji had become excited and ever a little impatient beneath that dignified exterior.

Collecting his thoughts, Khasic leaned on the module's wall and sank to the ground. Seconds turning into minutes as he tried to come to terms with this show of anxiety. And what soon occurred to him was the faint memory of when he was a kid. Like many others in those youthful years he always wanted to climb into something as cool as a mecha. But this was very different from his childhood dream, if only because the mecha in this case was a synthetic, a machine aware of itself and backed by unknown and unquantified science.

For a child it might be exciting, but for an adult it was really frightening.

He had no idea what to expect.

And belatedly, he held that thought and spoke up loud and clear; "What can I expect?"

"I do not know, does it matter?" Milieu replied somewhat icily, "Did you not decide to follow through with the experiment for the sake of your crew?"

Damn. Damn it, but it's right... Khasic realized as though he had forgotten it. Ultimately it did not matter what he thought of things, only that the longer he tarried here, the longer the others would remain stuck in that same limbo he had been in. Focusing on that abyss he felt leave him as he woke was thus what got him to rise again and pace toward the dôji who had resumed watching the sunrise. "So what I need to do is... reach for your back?"

Milieu slowly turned just enough to see him from the corner of its eyes, lips curving into a smile, "Apparently, yes." as he gracefully brushed his long mane past his shoulder, exposing his back to the turian. An irrelevant gesture considering what would happen, but one that invited him to enter the dôji's personal bubble.

Awkwardly, he was glad for the lack of audience as he crouched down behind the dôji and extended his wide open palm for the synthetic's back, veering the limb up and down as he basically followed Saren's example – as much as that thought made him a little ill.

At first nothing seemed to happen, and Milieu tensed up, eyes squeezed shut as though the turian had gone out of his way to tease it with the lack of physical contact. Khasic narrowed his gaze and speculatively reached a tiny bit closer when the dôji finally and abruptly went rigid.

I can feel it!

Khasic neither thought nor said that, but rather felt like Milieu uttered it the instant before its body suddenly split wide and open, rapidly becoming unrecognizable from its prior form as it transformed and expanded, quickly swallowing him up before he could even think about pulling away, wincing as a mess of cables shot in from nowhere and thrust into his body, piercing his armor to reach the flesh underneath. He expected much pain, yet felt none of that as he was encased within the synthetic's newly formulated but wholly transparent cockpit that allowed him a commanding view of the landscape as the ICON, the result of their union, rose from the sands, implied to be truly gargantuan.

/:Dôji/Organic Synchronization Complete: 21%:/

No. He felt it. The moment those cables went into him, he sensed the expanding dôji becoming an extension of his body. An enormous extension that was entirely alien yet with great immediate familiarity – as though he had been born with it. Milieu's ICON mode seemed to be an immensely vast stylized serpent, no, dragon, with four arms – two situated where the 'chest' was, while two more were possessed by a more standard upper body positioned atop the 'head' – in which the cockpit apparently was.

Yet, even that felt somehow wrong. Somewhere along the way he mixed something up as his anxiety that exploded with the onrushing transformation and mutated into awe and wonder that twisted themselves even further into base temptation fueled by elation without end. The contemplation whether they were two bodies working as one became nil. The contemplation if the dôji became an extension of his own body became nil. Rather it all sensated like an ascension to something greater than he ever was.

/:Dôji/Organic Synchronization Rate Update: 15%:/

Milieu was excited about the completion of their union, and chattered away about it before he noted, somewhat worriedly, about the synchronization values that seemed to quickly change for the worse. Khasic should have noticed it as well, but bluntly ignored it in that rampant elation that was only his. Milieu's words drowned in it as he took in and felt the strength of the ICON, the newfound strength of his.

Powerful!

Almighty!

Godlike!

Khasic felt great. That he could tear this whole world apart with his bare hands. And like he was just reborn into this great new god, let out a scream of proclamation in a wave of pure fury, like a birth cry!

It reverberated through and was immeasurably strengthened by Milieu's expanded frame, and as it came out sent a torrent of sound that mass scattered the region, instantly shattering it. It vaporized the habitation module in an instant, blew away the desert, and even pulverized nearby mountains - soon enough leaving the terrain around them wholly disfigured and scarref, turned into a vast crater. Much to the evident shock of the dôji he now controlled.

"Khasic!" Milieu hissed at him, "What are you doing?!"

Overwhelmed and drunk on the enormous well of power the turian now veritably bathed himself in, Khasic merely raised his arms, staring triumphantly at what he had accomplished with uncontrollably shameless glee. And to his delight it seemed to only grow more, and more, and more!

"Khasic!"

"Silence!" Khasic commanded, grinning like a madman as he looked up at the sky, and could suddenly see the worlds beyond this feeble atmosphere. He could see every star in the sky. Every system. Every galaxy. The whole of creation flowed into his mind and he drunkenly took in more of it, becoming ever more convinced of his divinity as he saw worlds beyond imagining where no one had ever gone before. He saw black holes, folds in space, individual mass relays. For an instant he even peered at Palaven but instantly looked past it before he could even look close to a city.

/:Dôji/Organic Synchronization Rate Update: 6%:/

Milieu cried out, "Stop it!"

Without even knowing, blood started to seep from his head, as though he took in more information than his brain could possibly contain. At first he merely ignored this like it was unworthy of attention, even as irritation turned to pain.

And to agony.

/:Dôji/Organic Synchronization Rate Update: 2%:/

Unable to properly comprehend what exactly happened to him, Khasic growled and hissed and writhed. The bleeding only becoming worse as he continued to look outward, continued to look over what is supposed to be his realm, while clawing and thrashing at what used to be desert, scoured to the bedrock.

He screeched and hissed vehemently, overcome, and lashed out at an imaginary threat that was any other than his corrupted self. Khasic opened his mouth, the fanged maw of the ICON, and started to funnel energy into it that quickly shaped into an orb – already with more amassed energy than any dôji has ever harnessed, yet increased the yield explosively by several orders of magnitude every passing second.

"Stop it!" Milieu screamed with a complete loss of composure. This had gone far too wrong, "Please, control yourself!"

Heedless of its call, Khasic directed the ICON's maw at the sky, until the tissue damage finally proved too much for the turian to withstand and made him curl into a startled ball crying with rage, causing the surrounding machine to double up and strike its head into the ground.

/:Dôji/Organic Synchronization Rate Update: 0.5% - Failure Imminent:/

And accidentally discharged the cannon.

In the tiny moment before it all turned white, Khasic blinked as the blinding headache brought a tiny modicum of sense back to him, and thought in a growing sense of regret and confusion:

What... was I doing?

When Milieu came to again after what immediately followed, he dimly found himself fall through the vacuum of space like he had been flung away right before he to his confusion impacted a sandy surface like a meteor, into which he blacked out again for another instant he rapidly blinked away as he recovered from the strike, only to shoot an arm to grab onto nearby rock in surprise as he found the gravity far weaker than he remembered.

Indeed, the surrounding terrain was entirely black and rocky unlike Cabeiri's orange tinge. Combined with the general lack of atmosphere he drowsily came to the inevitable conclusion that he was no longer on Cabeiri.

In actuality, he realized as data memorized about this system rolled in; this is Cabeiri's second moon.

"How did I get here?" Milieu numbly asked no one in particular, idly aware of an approaching spacecraft, the 'Diomedes', as he looked around before he finally craned his neck to look up at the planet he was supposed to be on.

What he saw, made the Grand Aspect collapse to his knees in shock, a motion made agonizingly slow by the weakness of this moon's gravity. He could only stare at the damage caused in Cabeiri's largely orange visage, stained now by a blackened crater of such size one could plainly see from the outermost orbit. And so deep the shadows cast at the planet's current angle in relation to its star allowed no bottom to be perceived.

If there was any pit to be found. As deep as it seemed to be, that blast from before might as well had blown a hole clean through the planet. The debris thrown into orbit by this... cataclysm... could already be seen in an early stage of gathering into an asteroid belt, granting the ruined planet an additional set of satellites.

"No..." Milieu whimpered as both guilt and terror washed over him. Realizing that this could easily had been Earth's or Eden Prime's fate is the circumstances were different or excitement about his experiment took priority before any precaution. The implications sank to his gut like a hundred ton boulder.

Universal Milieu.

That was shown to be the name of his ICON. It was wondrous at first, but now, how he feared it. Feared its capacity for destruction, and potential for mass murder... both of his own beloved people and others. But most of all he feared how the incredible power of that form could be abused. And how terribly it could fail if the organic he combined with could not measure up to the requirements he was ignorant of until a moment ago.

Several gauntlets fell on him as minor dôji launched from the 'Diomedes' arrived, their eyes full of tears and desperate relief as they hurried to get the apparently wounded Grand Aspect back to the ship. Milieu did not move, but instead reached out and brought two of them into a very close and tight hug. Holding them as if to assure himself he had not hurt anyone else in that terrible rampage.

And for the first time in ages much to the surprise of those around, Milieu surrendered to the grief and buried his face into the hair of the one he held the closest as he openly wept.

Thirty minutes later...

Location: Exodus Cluster; Utopia System; Tenjo

Jin was bored today, and that mood had persisted every one of the last twenty hours... Even during work hours where his position as one of the Grand Aspects' dedicated communication dôji and aides should have kept him busy. Not so today it seemed.

So he at one point planned to venture down to the dedicated factory producing those brand new Kalki-Class fighters. A small portion of its crew happened to be Sons of Service who were famed as incredibly fun-loving back in the Northern Dome on Earth. No doubt he could enjoy some of their antics with the right persuasion.

An hour of that would have cured his boredom easily.

That whole plan was derailed however, in a good way, when Grand Aspect Vice who he serve the most, happened to come across Pardonner who looked to get rid of a bottle of liquor Désir himself left behind in his cabin – undoubtedly from yet another failed seduction.

Vice, eager to try the new locally made stuff, relieved him of the liquor.

And so long as the liquor is strong enough, combined with Vice it meant a whole ton of brutal fun that tended to branch into more frisky avenues.

Jin had as his duty required - but with much additional hope - followed his superior to a largely empty mess hall, where Vice finally kicked back, uncorked the bottle and took a healthy swig. Jin simply sat himself at the opposite side of the chosen table and watched with anticipation as portions of the liquid poured down Vice's gullet, and made him tipsy in no more than two swallows, much to Jin's astonishment.

Usually Vice chugged down whole bottles' worth of liquid regardless of potency, since most beverages are too watery to him. But this... this was different.

And now, hoping that his superior would grow drunk enough with what remained of the liquor to let loose, he slowly repositioned himself precisely for the purpose of making himself into a target, and nodded along as his superior rambled drunkenly.

"Honestly," Vice waved a claw, showing off rows of sharp teeth, one of the things that characterize the Grand Aspect so during one of his famous sneers, "I could grow so much stronger if I had more incompetents around me, you get my drift?"

"Very much my lord." Jin agreed, leaning on the table.

"But no, surrounding me instead are nothing but hyper-competent people." Vice growled and took a last deep sip before he slammed the empty bottle on the table, glass ready to break with the pressure his claws exerted on it. "It's a bloody conspiracy, I tell ye."

The minor dôji was about to offer a comment in return, when much to his exasperation an Engrave was inserted into his mind, holding a piece of information that subsequently left him for a moment agape.

Vice raised an eyebrow at him, long since learned of com dôji body language indicative of newly arrived Engraves, and ordered lazily: "Read it up for me..."

"Um, it would seem Milieu's experiment has gone awry..."

"How much awry?"

As if to answer, a hologram snapped on in the middle of the mess hall. "And now for afternoon special report." the fair-looking dôji news anchor featured declared, drawing their attention from one another. "We just received a message from the Hephaestus System, a very recent acquisition dedicated to the increase of the flow of resources. But apparently according to this a highly irregular celestial event took place less than an hour ago that according to long range sensory readings identified as a small-scale supernova." - "Experts are confused as to the event, but assure both the miners and their families at home that the star is stable, and that there is no need for concern. More on this after the break."

Jin's brows arced, "... That much."

Vice's face contorted with exasperated disbelief, "For fuck's sake. Has emergency session been called for?"

"Aye, sir... Ultimo did. All are to attend in fifteen minutes."

Without another word, Vice stomped out.

Jin on the other hand filed away his wants for now and dutifully followed to take his usual position outside the meeting chamber, reasonably convinced that for today, the universe was most definitely not on his side.

Location: Utopia System; Eden Prime; Oinari Village

"Supernova?" Lyta Lyle questioned as he watched the news, "How very strange..."

"Why is it so strange?" Balak huffed from his chosen chair, "That sort of thing happens often enough for most outposts to include sensors probing for 'em, so they can warn ahead and evacuate colonies."

"Good to know, but doesn't lesser the oddity of it. After all, a supernova-strength explosion just happened... yet they said the star's still fine."

As that little tidbit sank back in, he came to agree on the strangeness, "Huh."

For all the oddity in their stellar neighborhood though, more immediately local matters demanded his attention as he looked to the batarian he just a couple of hours ago saddled with homework.

Balak really took his time, an excuse to not work, reading intently from one of the two data pads purchased from Pi, a meager salesman from downtown and one of the Sons of Milieu – a rather small group known for their emphasis on formality, diplomacy and willingness to accept great responsibility. Mildly put Lyta Lyle was surprised to discover said ancestry, as he initially assumed and even now still thought it'd make more sense if he was a Son of Jealousy.

Curtly put, the data pads – basic and simple of make – respectively contain a summarized outline of human and dôji history, and some sparse footage of their conflict waged against the kurozu respectively. The culmination of an amateur project produced and circulated by a group of librarians after it became very clear there had been alien contact, along with the gleamed knowledge that life out there abhorred synthetics rather strongly. It was intended for the benefit of aliens.

But with all that happened after, the already few prototypes were diminished by abandonment during the evacuation. Now only a few existed, and Pi by some slump of fate wound up having two copies in his possession.

Lyta Lyle bought both in the hope that they might help the aliens in his custody broaden their horizon, but did not expect them to turn for the better instantly. But he had to admit Balak has improved a great deal since his arrival. Javik, not so much after the reveal.

For now he left the prothean to his own devices, to give him time to wake up and cool off, but knew he will have to go check up on him sooner or later.

A knock on the entrance soon brought the dôji from his thoughts and into the adjoining hallway to curiously greet whoever had decided to come. "I'm coming. I'm coming." Lyta Lyle called before he opened the door, "Is there anyth-?" only to pause as he came face to face with those outside.

To the left stood a very nervous Pi, with a very ancient-looking med-kit in the palms of his gauntlets. Where he had gotten it from was anyone's guess. Next to him was a wholly more unfamiliar face who still drew some form of recognition.

"I-I heard of what happened," Pi shakily announced as a whole layer of pink caked his cheeks, "and came as fast as work allowed. Sorry I could not come any earlier."

Lyta Lyle blinked at the shopkeeper and the box he carried, "Oh, um, no problem. Where did you get that?"

"Er, I picked it up back on Earth."

"And you are aware how old those supplies might be?"

"Yeah, b-but it's hermetically sealed and meds tend to function well beyond the subscribed expiration date."

"Well, I appreciate the good-will... and the meds." he nodded, projecting some gratefulness before he turned to the other. "And you are... you were the one who hit Javik, right?"

The stranger – his pompadour a fair imitation of Rage's extremely large one – fidgeted awkwardly. Pi was quick to come to his rescue; "Um, this is Kolan. I met him while he was searching for you. Poor bloke wanted to apologize for his impulsiveness."

"Yeah," Kolan started haltingly, "exactly that."

Lyta Lyle frowned, but nodded in acceptance. "Okay, feel free to come in. I'll go see if he's capable of accepting visitors."

Javik idly wished he continued being unconscious in this merciful dark as he rubbed his forehead, wrought by an intense migraine ever since he woke from his enforced slumber all of one hour ago. And it has not lessened in intensity for all that time.

Right now he tried – against his better judgment – to go back to sleep in the hope it might just dull the pain. Not once did it occur to try and ask Lyta Lyle to help alleviate it, his common sense simply did not allow it. One should never show weakness to a synthetic... as all machines in his experience prey on such frailty. The effort somewhat marred by how hard it was to brush his hands against something that did not give insight to the synthetic that used to live here before he and that batarian.

Whatever he touched, there came an undercurrent of love, the kind that could only exist between a child and its parents. Javik blanched at every sensation of it, sickened and disgusted to know there are machines who can feel that way...

A prevailing thought within a corner of his mind was to enact the earlier plan of heading on down to the facility and find himself a weapon. And he tried to formulate a plan to accomplish this without the notice of his host when the world popped to him a case of 'speak of the devil' as the door was opened. "Javik... you awake?"

Quick as could be done, Javik closed his eyes and acted as though he was still out of it – though not without a certain degree of attentiveness, listening intently. Unfortunately the act backfired as a claw brushed against the bruised area on his face, slightly cracked from the earlier slap, and winced powerfully enough to burst out of bed and onto his feet, livid with anger – headache be damned. "Do you delight in the prickling of organic wounds, machine?!"

"I got nothing but sympathy for you, Javik. But I do not appreciate being lied to." Lyta Lyle crossed its arms and replied soberly, radiating annoyance from every inch of its slender figure before it softened in tune with a change of subject, "That said, you have visitors."

Javik eyed it suspiciously, "Am I supposed to be paraded about now?"

The dôji narrowed its eyes, "Javik. I know you probably don't have enough trust for us to even fill a spoon, but we are not your enemy."

"How true that is remain to be seen."

"We may be synthetics, but we aren't of those you fought – whoever they were."

"All synthetics turn on their creators at first opportunity."

"Don't you ever wonder... if some synthetics struggle against organics only because you refuse to treat them as anything but tools gone rampant?"

Javik blistered and fumed, "Synthetics are-" but could not finish his tirade before another dôji invited itself to the door, looking between them in a show of concern.

"Is there a problem here?" the newly arrived one whom he recognized as the clerk from earlier stumbled in, its massive mane flowing with incredible fluidity despite the frequent clumsiness of the body attached to it.

But for all that, Javik found himself curious as to why the shopkeeper had come.

Lyta Lyle shrugged, "There is no problem here. Just my guest being more obstinate than the gargants outside. Javik, Pi here was nice enough to bring some medicine. It would be a load off our chests if you took a leap of faith and let him treat you."

Javik stared at Pi, who smiled reassuringly as it held up a small white-colored box embellished with a red cross - whatever meaning attached to the embellishment eluding him. His host had let an undercurrent in its tone indicate that if he did not let himself be treated, they would hold him down then do it. Not about to be held like some rabid animal he sat himself back on the bed, "... A leap of faith it is." he growled.

"Excellent," the kimono-clad dôji approved and walked out past Pi, but not before he put his gauntlet to the voluminously maned synthetic's shoulder, "he's all yours."

Pi smiled brightly as though the proximity thrilled it before it nodded and hurried to the bed and put its box down next to him. A shrill hiss leaving it as the dôji unsealed and opened the thing up, revealing a set of spotless supplies unrecognizable to his eyes. One of the tool within resembled a pen, only with a wide and blunt front end that lit up green as Pi picked up and triggered it. "A little warning up front," was noted as it took position in front of him and leaned to very nearly meet him face to face, closer than he felt immediately comfortable with, "I'm embarrassed to admit, but I never received medical training."

Javik felt an alarm loud enough to shake aliens from their beds on the opposite side of the galaxy go off as he realized he just entrusted himself to a possible quack. Well meaning amateurs could easily do far more damage than good. Yet he held his position as the 'pen' was brought up against the angry bruise on the side of his face and waved it around just an inch off his skin.

"Hold still." Pi instructed softly. "Do you feel the pain going away?"

At first he felt no different, but then indeed felt the bruised area start to numb along with much of his face. "Yes," he confirmed, "in what way does it...?"

"I don't understand much of the science behind it, but what it does is partially deactivate localized sections your nervous system." it helpfully explained as it put the tool away and took up another one.

Javik narrowed his eyes, "And why don't you know?"

"It's human technology I found and picked up during the time I served as a miner." Pi explained as he put the new tool to use in a manner identical to the last one – the effect unknown as he had completely lost feeling in half his head. The numbing sensation was admittedly far better than being in constant agony, but left him somewhat drowsy.

"Human?"

It briefly mulled the topic over as if wondering what to say, but the matter was taken from its hands as yet another presence invited itself into the room – much more slowly than the preceding ones. "Um, can I have a moment?" the new dôji nervously asked.

He only needed see the newcomer out the corner of his eyes before he abruptly snapped around and away from the dôji treating him, recognizing the synthetic who was the whole reason he suffered from a bruised cheek and migraine. "You!"

Pi raised a gauntlet between them, "E-excuse me." in neat interjection before anything exploded from the abruptly tense atmosphere. "You probably hate Kolan here right now, I can understand. But please hear him out."

"And why should I hear it out?" Javik put an emphasis on the 'it' that made both dôji wince, "Why is it here?!"

"To s-say I'm sorry." the newly arrived dôji interceded awkwardly, fidgeting even as it crossed the arms behind its back. "It's... not like I want to be a friend of yours... And I still strongly disliked your accusations... but..."

Someplace behind Kolan, Lyta Lyle resurfaced and quietly snickered something about a 'tsundere', whatever that is.

Ignoring the farmer's remark, the Son of Rage continued. "... I went too far, okay?! I should not had hit you... at least not without knowing the context behind your... anger."

Javik simply stared, of all things he did not expect an apology. It was most certainly not a heartfelt one, but nevertheless an apology. It was dizzying and absurd for these synthetics, these dôji, to be so much akin to organics on the emotional spectrum. To clothe themselves, to cultivate crops, even to seek mates. So much did not make a lick of sense to his mind and instincts that both screamed with experience built up from an entire life at war to not trust things like these. That it is all a trick. A deception. That much was what he told himself.

Kolan's apology drove an uncertainty from underneath his reflexive hatred to these people since the revelation. Uncertainty as to their endgame, their whole reason for keeping up such an elaborate facade. The only way it could make sense is if they intended to use him and that batarian to project proof of their 'benign' intentions, and drive the species of this galaxy into a false sense of security.

But that brought up another question. Why bother with such a roundabout solution? Synthetics enjoy considerable advantages over organics. His people came to the conclusion during the devastating Metacon War that the only way to defeat synthetics is to unite every species against them – yet they still lost after centuries of endless conflict. Never mind the pyrrhic victory that crippled their synthetic enemy from all avenues of recovery, as ultimately the machines still got the final laugh.

These dôji could simply overwhelm the galaxy, and easily if it is divided, especially if there are no species in this cycle as decisive as his own.

"Don't think too hard Javik," Lyta Lyle interrupted his thoughts as he brushed past the Son of Rage with a knowing smile at Javik's blank expression. "You'll blow a fuse. Pi, the nightstand if you will."

"Ah?" Pi pulled away and looked to the small piece of furniture before he took to reposition it where the farmer evidently wanted it; in front of the alien that was the center of their attention. "Aye, anything else?" he inquired, eager to please.

"Nothing else at the moment."

Javik grimaced as much as his numb face could at the two dôji and the nightstand, questioning until a tantalizing scent filtrated into his nostrils. The scent of roasted fish, confirmed as Lyta Lyle put the platter it carried onto the nightstand. Both the aroma and the look of what he pointed out an interest for earlier made his lips run dry in an instant.

Everything about it seemed right, and what's more... it raised a nostalgic air from the depths of his memories that seemed hazy in its clarity – stronger than it was when he first looked over the menu and found that specific food item.

Kolan stared, lips pressed into a thin line. It had expected some manner of answer and was left wanting. Lyta Lyle patted it on the shoulder in a friendly manner, "Give him some time. I don't think he has eaten once in the last fifty thousand years."

"I don't mind waiting in that case." Pi conceded, more than happy to follow the farmer's line of thought. "Right, Kolan?"

The pompadour-maned dôji took this – still watching him as he reached out for the fish – and finally nodded, "I guess so."

Lyta Lyle grinned at them both, "Great. I got some good drinks you might like to try – to help pass the time."

A chorus of interest rang from them both. Javik on his part ignored all three of the conversing synthetics as he tentatively plucked the fish from its platter without a single thought to the utensils. Every motion deliberately cautious as if it would burst into flames and disintegrate if he mishandled it.

Within him, the nostalgia grew all the stronger as he scented the roasted fish further. Brought it up. And when the sensation became too much for him to bear, he bit down on the morsel and felt it's flavor fill his mouth – upon which an astonishing discovery was made.

It... tastes the same...

And like a dam had been broken, his eyes flooded with tears that quickly came to stream down to and drip from his chin.

It... tastes the same...

None of his attention was on the dôji wide-eyed from surprise about his odd reaction. Instead, a memory associated with the type of food played out across his gaze. And for a fleeting moment he was no longer there, in that room. Instead he was on the grounds of a disaster.

Fifty thousand years ago...

Javik spluttered as he woke in agony, pain slamming across his chest and back as he tried to rise only to feel his arms and legs give out. And in his agony reached out to make sense of things – only able to remember as far as when his ship came under attack, and became so damaged he had ordered an evacuation. Together with all else, he had made a beeline for the closest escape pod, entered it last, and disengaged it from the vessel that for so many years had been his command. Yet the pod just barely left the ship before it was suddenly thrown wildly out of control. He could not take what happened and blacked out.

Barely coherent in mind, he tried to probe his surroundings and found the drop pod not far away - almost completely ruined from what was clearly a failed landing. Both inside and outside of it he could see bodies badly mangled and torn from the crash, protheans and aliens alike.

Having beheld this, he concluded he was beyond lucky to have survived. And deemed by the discovery of himself partly stripped and rolled up in healing bands that there had to be another survivor here, somewhere.

"Anyone else accounted for, speak up..." Javik keyed his headpiece and ordered. "We have no time to waste."

"Planet's uninhabited, Commander Javik." a familiar sing-song voice replied to his call as one of his alien crew hauled himself into view. Ideen, one of the near-extinct Synril. Javik never thought too highly of the species which peacefulness had quickly doomed it. "I have set a beacon, but you'll be stuck here for a few days at least."

Javik frowned at the usage of 'you', until he noticed the wounds that riddled the Synril engineer's abdomen. "... You're injured."

"And won't be alive for much longer. None of the meds we have can help me now." Ideen coughed up some blood as he sat nearby with something wrapped up in his hands, "But at least you'll live. Made pretty sure of it."

"There may still be time to stop the bleeding."

"Can't... used the last blood stoppers on you anyway."

"Why?" Javik worded in confusion, thinking back. Ideen was an excellent engineer, which was the whole reason why he picked the Synril during the year spent flitting about filling his chosen ship's crew with the best that the galaxy had to offer to heighten their chance of success over the following decade as they probed the enemy defenses for a weakness to exploit in countless reconnaissance runs and pin-point needle strikes. But Ideen for all his passion and expertise always consummately avoided participation in combat with such fury it was holy. He never thought the alien could ever put his life on the line for someone else. "... Why not save it for yourself?"

"Because there ain't anywhere left for me to go, because despite our differences I respect you for accepting me when no one else would, and I believe you're the only one who might just sort out the mess out there." Ideen made his plenty heartfelt summary, ticking up with one crooked finger for each.

"... Years have passed, Ideen. We are no closer now than we were at the start."

"And what have your colleagues done to help the effort except throw lives into the fire?"

"It is what they must." Javik concluded, pragmatic, parhaps to a fault.

The Synril belatedly nodded, conceding the point. "Our work has not yielded much, but I believe in full confidence that if there are anyone who can find a way to end this horrid war, it would be you."

He was left momentarily speechless, and left them in silence that was only ended as the Synril almost doubled up in pain. "Stay with me Synril." he barked with unexpected softness, "We still need you..."

"Thank you for your concern, Commander." Ideen cleared his throat and pulled himself to sit closer before reaching out with what he held. Javik grimaced as he accepted the elongated oddity wrapped up in preservation foil, "Here... made this while you were out of it. Gonna be a long wait after all."

Tentatively, he unwrapped and foil and was surprised to find a couple of skewered fish, roasted perfectly. Disbelief coloring his voice as he turned to Ideen, "Even as wounded as you are, you decided to go fish and cook?"

"Your favorite food, is it not?" the other chuckled, though not without an episode where he whipped away to cough a flood of blood onto the ground before he continued like that was no more than an ignorable irritation, "I've found over the years that no matter the planet, fish always remain the same. Amazing isn't it?"

Javik was silent, unable to really believe. "I do not understand."

"It's to help you survive. And hope it conveys our message to you... for I think I speak for everyone when I say that we all believe in you – and want you to continue fighting for everyone's sake. To that end I would like you to promise us, the dead and the dying, something."

"... What is it?" the prothean asked breathlessly. "To notify your next of kin?" and instantly winced at his own choice of words.

"Most of us no longer have families to speak of." the other shook his head sadly as he rubbed his abdomen, almost as though trying to convince his life-blood to stay on the inside for at least a little longer, "No, what we want, is your promise to never give up."

It was a simple thing he supposed, but of unending strength on a level most fundamental. To never let the spirit waver, and not let defeat bring despair. To go forth with determination and no fear. "A promise I made at the beginning of our journey, and one I affirm readily to the end of my days."

A smile brightened Ideen's features, "We wish you the best of luck, Commander." and like that was all he needed to say and hear, the Synril nodded off as possibly the very last of his kind. Javik stared at from the fish and to the sky as he was rendered fully alone in this wasteland, only able now to wait for rescue. And as he took in that loneliness, along with the loss of all his subordinates he had come to recognize as not only comrades, but also friends, he finally brought up the fish and took a bite.

And like it was brought with the flavor itself, Javik hitched and broke down to mourn.

"You... were stronger than I, Ideen. Stronger than any of us. Pity I only saw that now..."

Now, the question was, much to his grief as he looked up and beyond the synthetics through eyes blurry with tears. Did he manage to live up to and fulfill the promise he made to Ideen and the rest of his late crew, or did he fail? Though he did as urged and finally found the weakness that enabled their victory, the cost of even it was beyond measure.

Unknown to the prothean however, as he was buried in his memories he accidentally spoke up of his eulogy and question, momentarily ignorant that he was in truth far from alone. What ultimately snapped him out of it was a proximity as his face was suddenly buried into a certain dôji's shoulder as it came and wrapped its arms around him.

"If it was not for your efforts," Lyta Lyle said so softly that the words barely could dance from its lips before they dispersed, "none of those who live today would have survived to this day – either they be organic or synthetic. Your present was lost, but your actions most likely saved the future."

Javik listened to the soothing voice as every instinct cried out for him to clear away and create a gap between them. Contrary to that primal will however, for an instant the desire for tender reassurance proved stronger. "Dôji..."

Lyta Lyle kindly smiled down at him, a gesture filled with warmth. "Congratulations on your victory... Commander Javik."

How very strange. In such a short amount of time since he regained consciousness, so many things happened in rapid succession he never thought to be possible. Synthetics who offer healing, support, apologies, comfort and reassurance. All of his training against persuasion for nothing as he wavered under the persistent saturation of simple generosity and kindness. So much of it that it could not possibly be real had he not lived through it himself.

Though suspiciousness still held a tight grip deep inside of him, for now Javik could not bring himself to care less if they are machines or not. It was so very strange, but he did not care at all. Not at all.

Author notes: Received the tenth volume of Karakuridôji Ultimo in the mail a few days ago, so I decided to write another chapter before I moved on to add to the other stories. That said, there were a few tear jerkers this chapter as the situation developed in this little corner of the galaxy. On the subject of Milieu, he is very much intended to be one of the - if not the most - overpowered individual in the setting (just like he was in the manga aside from Dunstan) However, his ICON is fundamentally different from the others in several ways. There are many risks involved, all of which will probably mean he won't let another organic get in close to him for a long time.

As for answer to comments:

wunwong: Indeed, there is a whole lot of unity of purpose behind it. But it also comes from the knowledge that an entire galaxy will come bearing down on them soon, so everything needs to be prepared fast. Though it needs to be noted that little of that speed would have been possible without the industrial might of Tenjo. I plan to elaborate on that point later.

Oh, and technically those aren't retirement homes. Those living there simply switched their occupation.