II: TENDER OFFER
Freedom's Progress
Year: 2185 CE
A wan light was just beginning to burgeon over the blocky horizon of Freedom's Progress, wiping out the array of stars above. The coming dawn. With it came a pale breeze that surged over the edges of the right-angled ravines and into the thickly encrusted canyons laser-scalpeled according to some mandated equation.
Freedom's Progress was the answer to a question on what a colony would look like if it had been placed inside a quarry. Modular buildings and yellow-painted ramps formed a snarl of pathways among massive stone bricks that could easily eclipse a Mako tank in size. The limestone-like slabs formed pillars and ridges upon which determined how the colony flowed through the etched crevasses and gorges that formed the overall map of the colony, towering above all the inorganic layering and the dictating the urban sprawl.
It was an intriguing concept, but slightly ruined because of the fact that having a colony inside a box canyon meant that whistling winds could plague the structures and lower the temperature of the surrounding area quite dramatically. The residents here most likely had to bundle up just to get from point to point.
The light continued to crack over the lip of the canyon.
Behind her mask, Tali silently yawned.
It had been quite the eventful night for her and she still was not sure about how she was supposed to take in everything. Fatigue threatened to knock her upside the head, so she found an empty bench, one that had not yet been blown to smithereens by a wayward rocket, and set herself upon it with a grateful groan.
With her legs finally being given a rest, Tali was able to freely survey the area.
The cargo docks for Freedom's Progress were not at all like the massive machine hubs that she had seen on the Citadel before. On this colony, which did not even contain a tenth of the Citadel's population, the docks here were a series of wide-open areas, surrounded by more of the prefabs that had a number assigned to each individual building. Barely large enough to accept a full-size freighter. Tali surmised that any cargo to this colony had to be ferried down via shuttlecraft.
Over by the ramp that led up to building 79—the security station—a YMIR mech smoldered. That had been the result of a few well-placed shots to its torso; armor-piercing rounds had made mincemeat of its external plating to demolish the sensitive electronics underneath. Some of the mech's more delicate components had combusted as a result of the authoritative drama, resulting in the charred collection of acrid junk that she now looked at.
Out of habit, Tali had taken out her pistol and began performing a stress test on the components. She had not been expecting to use any of her weaponry while on-planet, but she had also not expected to have stumbled upon a colony that had all of its human colonists completely missing. As if they had all up and left for some unknown reason.
But the why and how for the humans' disappearance had not been at the forefront of Tali's mind when she had first arrived here—she had actually come to Freedom's Progress to retrieve a fellow quarian who had come here on his Pilgrimage. The flotilla kept careful tabs on all of its pilgrims, as there were dangerously few quarians in the galaxy, so when the captains had noticed that one of their pilgrims had failed to regularly check in, combined with the distress signal they soon discovered that had been detected from Freedom's Progress, they had decided to send Tali and a squad out to retrieve the pilgrim, a young man by the name of Veetor, by any means necessary.
The mission had gone badly right at the start. Veetor, as it turned out, was alive but traumatized by whatever had happened on the colony. He had holed himself up in building 79 and had programmed the colony's mechs to attack anything on sight. This had slowed down the pace of Tali's incursion dramatically as they had no choice but to fight their way through, shooting down LOKI and FENRIS mechs, not to mention a swarm of rocket drones that seemed to pop up at the most unwanted of times. Tali and her team had spent several hours trudging through building after building, slowly getting worn down by the various mechs that were programmed to shoot first and not ask questions later.
On top of all that, one of Tali's men, a fellow called Prazza, who had becoming more and more insubordinate over the course of their time on the colony, finally disobeyed Tali's orders and had mounted a charge to get to Veetor. He was just desperate to get the mission over and done with, to the point where he had abandoned all caution.
That was when the YMIR, which had been lying in wait as an ambush, had torn Veetor and his squad to shreds.
In the aftermath, there had only been two other survivors from Tali's original team, both badly wounded. Tali could see them sitting by the draped corpses of their cohorts by the ramp to building 25, right next to where Veetor was shivering. The younger quarian had apparently seen things on this planet that had scarred him beyond belief. Tali had not been able to get anything intelligible out of the man, so she had resorted to administering a mild sedative just to get him to stop rambling incoherently.
The body-bagged quarians across the ashdust plain were already starting to haunt her mind. Tali had to force herself to look away. She would need to write letters to their families or closest kin, letting them know what had happened here. A knot twisted in her stomach at the thought of having to write her condolences. She had no idea what she was going to say. She was never good at expressing her sympathies. Whatever she wrote always felt so hollow and false, like she knew she could not bring comfort to the people who had just lost their kin.
Tali checked her omni-tool. She had initiated the autopiloting function on her shuttle, which was now skimming over the colony to land at the docks and was about seven minutes out. Once it landed, she would help get Veetor on board and would then assist with handling the dead. Then, it was back to the flotilla.
She dug out a stimulant tab from a pocket in her suit. Carefully, she slotted the tab in the port just under her helmet's jaw. She chewed the tab thoughtfully, praying for the last-minute energy rush to stave off the fatigue, which was beginning to dig into the back of her eyes. Her adrenaline reserves had been expended after spending several hours blowing up mech after mech and suffering through the terrible losses that her team had garnered. Maybe Tali would have died had she not received some assistance from the most unlikely of people.
She couldn't fall asleep. Not now. Not after he'd found her.
Here, of all places. Perhaps the very reason she was still alive. Just as before.
There was shuffling sound and a shadow briefly fell upon her as someone blocked the nearby glare of a LED lamp.
"Mind if I sit next to you?" a calm, male voice intoned.
Tali looked up, already nodding. The light fell upon her again as John Shepard, the first human Spectre, commander of the SSV Normandy, and Tali's former captain, lowered himself on the bench beside her. He was clean shaven, though his cheeks were dark with what would soon be stubble, and the hair atop his head was finely contoured to match the shape of his skull. He had studious eyes, the kind that could convince anyone that he would be providing them with his undivided attention, should they be engaged in conversation.
He had also been killed in action two years ago, along with the Normandy. She had watched the ship blow up all that time ago with her own eyes, presumably with the human inside.
Yet… he was sitting right next to her. Still dressed in the same pristine and shining N7 armor that he had been wearing when they had first met in that alleyway on the Citadel. And he had showed up on Freedom's Progress, out of the blue, ready to lend a hand once more. Like he had never left. Like his sole purpose was tied to helping those in need.
He was still wearing that slight smile that was welcoming yet sly, like he was holding onto a secret. Tali could not decide if she hated that smile or not.
Well… she knew she could never truly admit that she hated it.
She tore her eyes away from the man and leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees so tight that they could have popped her kneecaps. Blankly looking across the flat ground, which had been littered with charred mech parts, she could only shake her head like she was trying to clear a fog that had settled within her vision.
"I can't think of anything else to say," she murmured aloud. The quarian then slowly appraised Shepard, whose smile had thankfully vanished into a thoughtful line. "It's like I'm dreaming, you being back."
Shepard chuckled politely and mimicked Tali's posture—an unconscious reaction? "Believe me, I'm feeling the same way, right about now."
Something was wedged in Tali's throat. A laugh or a sob, she could not tell.
"Two years…" she croaked out, noting to her annoyance that her fingers were starting to fidget, probably because of the tab she had just taken. "Two years. Undone just like that."
She waved a hand in the air, as though she was casting aside those years like seeds into the wind. If only she had that power.
She turned her head to look at Shepard. Uncomprehending. "How… is this possible, Shepard? I don't know if I'm going crazy. That maybe I didn't see what really happened to you all that time ago. You… you were dead. They gave you a funeral and everything. I couldn't—"
There was a gentle pressure that her suit inhibited as Shepard's hand gently held Tali's shaking one. Immediately, the trembling ceased. But her heart was still fluttering from a sensation that was not solely attributed to nerves.
"What would be the answer you would want to hear, Tali?" Shepard's voice was gentle. Soothing. "Would it be better if I hadn't died but had kept you and everyone else in the dark? Or that I had and was only just brought back after all this time?"
Tali's fingers instinctively clutched around Shepard's hand. For reassurance, she had to tell herself. Nothing more.
"I don't know," was her honest answer. She gave a pathetic laugh. "I just… don't have the mental capacity to answer that question, Shepard."
The human's fingers slid out of her grip, but not before they departed with a calming pat to the back of her hand.
More, Tali silently pleaded.
Shepard lifted his hands above his armored legs before he placed them back down. "I was told that… millions of credits on R&D had been spent just to bring me back. I saw the medical reports of what they had to work with when I had arrived at the lab. Or, what was left of me. There was nothing there, Tali. Just an empty shell. You would have been just as surprised as I was if you even knew the extent of the damage."
"And yet… you're here."
A pause, and then Shepard gave a thoughtful nod. "And yet, I'm here."
Tali then flicked a finger over towards the next clearing to the right of building 79, where two humans, one dressed in a rather revealing white bodysuit, and the other a dark-skinned man in a black security uniform were privately chatting amongst themselves. The trappings they had chosen to don themselves with all had the same yellow insignia adorning them: the paramilitary outfit of Cerberus. Memories of tiptoeing through disused and shattered research stations and black box outposts with corpses of test subjects scattered everywhere, all with that same insignia emblazoned on every wall, caused a bad taste to reach the quarian's mouth.
"So, they're your handlers, then?" Tali asked.
Shepard's brow scrunched and he gave a ponderous blink. "I've been told otherwise. They're saying that they work for me instead of the other way around. I'll believe it when I see it, though. Knives in the back are common in this line of work. I'm no stranger to an ambush."
"Just… please be careful with them, Shepard. I know they brought you back, but Cerberus can't be trusted."
"I'm telling myself that every day, Tali. Don't worry."
Keelah, this was so overwhelming! How many times had she enacted this very scenario in her dreams? That Shepard could just… waltz in through a door one day and act like the past two years had never happened?
And as it so happened, that was what that man had done just today. He had practically barged in through a doorway and asked how he could be of service to Tali. As though as he was only wired to think of others first and not himself.
Qualities of a true quarian… Tali absentmindedly thought. I just wish he could see me as I see him. But that will never happen.
Still, a festering flame of hope had clung to life ever since Shepard's face had floated into the light of that lone lamp earlier today. It was only growing within her, refusing to be extinguished. Though her only worry was that it could grow too large if she continued to fuel that hope, that perhaps misplaced hope, for something that might as well be a lost cause. Even though she had the power to nip that in the bud right here… she couldn't. She needed that hope right now, more than anything.
Her eyes flicked over at his face. She wondered if he could notice where her eyes glowed behind her mask.
An impulsive thought suddenly raced through her, like she was struck by lightning. It was of throwing all caution to the winds, the consequences be damned, and just leaping upon the commander to give him a hug with all of her strength. It would at least make up for her poor conversation skills.
But of course, that would never do. Such a move lacked all decorum that was expected of someone in her position. From someone of her race.
Shepard had noticed that the conversation had trailed off and tilted his head, looking at the woman next to him. "Still don't know what to say?" he teased.
Her response was automatic, her fatigue finally blotting out that outer layer of inhibitions: "Just wondering if I should have punched you or kissed you when I first saw you today."
It took a second for Tali to realize what she had just said. Something cold dropped into her veins and every part of her body became rigid like wood. Her face then proceeded to flush until she was sure she was crimson underneath the suit, which was only made the more apparent by how quickly her heart was now thundering.
No… no… she thought. I did not just say that. What is he going to think of me for just blurting that out?!
The quarian sat in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity of embarrassment, even if it was only two seconds in realtime. To her relief, Shepard just smiled and looked away, breaking eye contact.
"I'd imagine I'm going to get a similar reaction from the rest of the crew when I see them again," he said. "God, I can already imagine what Garrus is going to do. I'm not looking forward to his punch. Or his kiss. Ugh. He might even do both, that damnable turian."
The thought of Garrus kissing Shepard was so absurd that Tali could not help but erupt in laughter. That felt good—the heat of her mortification was already warping away. Her limbs were feeling looser. What a relief.
Shepard then touched his forehead and made an exaggerated motion like he had just remembered something. "What have I been doing, Tali? There's been a gap of two years and not once have I asked you what you've been up to."
Truthfully, Tali had not noticed. Today's events had left them both scatterbrained, it seemed.
"You don't need to apologize—it's been a long night and we—"
"No, no," Shepard made a cutting motion with his hand. "My abrupt awakening notwithstanding, I've been told practically nothing as to what's happened. You're the first friendly face I've seen, Tali. And I'm glad that I got to see you so soon after… well, after everything."
Electricity surged through Tali at the mere mention of Shepard admitting his elation, but he was still talking.
"You remember our conversations in the drive core, right? How I had so many questions for you back then? I think I have a few more for you." He gave a smile that Tali interpreted as apologetic. "I… I mean… what have you been up to? How have you been?" He waved his hands as he was trying to think of more things to ask.
He licked his lips and lowered his voice an octave. "Have you found anyone yet? I… what I meant was… are you with someone?"
The questioned triggered such a monumental incongruency in Tali's brain that she could not help but give a violent start. With anyone? Her? Truth be told, she had not given any man aboard the flotilla a second glance when she had rejoined her people after Shepard's (supposed) death. A few brave souls had asked to perform the usual courting routines, of course, but Tali had flatly rejected all of them. It was as if she was able to see right through them all, quarian after quarian, and found them all to be quite dull. There was just no spark, nothing that made them stand out from the pack.
Tali belted out a singular laugh before she had to cover her vocabulator, wincing unseen behind her mask. Composing herself, she gave a singular shake of her head. "N-No, Shepard. There hasn't been anyone."
"Hmm." Shepard's face was an inscrutable mask. His gaze floated away from her eyes, lost in thought. Tali wondered if he was judging her from that response, but swiftly remembered that the human was too polite to presume in such a manner.
Reaching a hand out, Tali's jaw worked before she was finally allowed to get words out. "And… what about you, Shepard? Have you… found anyone?"
Now Shepard laughed harder than Tali and that familiar twinkle in his eyes returned. "Tali, I just woke up less than twenty-four hours ago. If, for some reason, I do have someone, there would be no one more surprised than me."
"Oh," Tali said, fighting the urge to knock her fist upon the side of her helmet for being such an idiot. "Oh, right."
She smiled anyway.
Ibiza, Earth
Year: 2187 AE
11 months after the end of the Reaper War
The manor was comprised of nearly three dozen rooms, though many shared duplicate purposes, as there were only so many functions that a room could inhabit within a house. As a result, it was rare to even come across someone who claimed to have stepped foot inside every single one of them.
The exterior of the place exuded lavishness. White-faced stucco and hard right angles in keeping with the most current fashions. A wrought-iron fence, imported from Italy, ringed the entire perimeter, which was also complete with enough security cameras to rival Citadel Tower. A six-car garage butted out from the main foundation near a fountained roundabout. A landing pad where a VTOL currently sat added to the ludicrousness of the extravagance on display. At the back was an Olympic-size swimming pool, with lanes cordoned with blue floaters. Across the property stood glass sculptures from a famous Chilean artist, who had been commissioned these works specifically for this mansion.
The interior was no different. Floor-to-ceiling windows were commonplace, as were balconies that boasted sublime views of the Mediterranean. In the opposite direction, one could also gain an unobstructed view of Sa Talaiassa, the tallest point on the pine-brushed island.
The place also boasted its own spa, a movie theater, and a salon. Anything that one could think of to gain a little R&R, they could find in this house. A movie theater, conference rooms, a nightclub, and a bowling alley rounded out the list of accoutrements exclusive to the property.
All of that meant little to the quarian that was currently striding down one of the many marble-floored hallways bolstered by expansive arrays of oil paintings, some of which were by the most famous artists the planet had ever known. On the other hand, the paintings were not arranged according to their style, so one could witness a three-series of fresco, followed by an inexplicable smattering of gouache, and even abstract or surrealism mixed in for good measure. There was no narrative to comprehend here. No overarching theme to digest. It was just a collection haphazardly scattered amongst a gallery that was, at the very least, large enough to house it.
The paintings themselves had lost their luster to the quarian long ago, though he had hardly harbored an interest in art to begin with. His interests lay elsewhere, far from the subjective triteness of the art world.
The quarian wore heavy boots that produced thick clacks as he walked upon the polished marble. He passed through gateways of exquisite metal and stone sculptures—an infection of Renaissance amongst the modern. He did not cut the same mold as many of his other fellow quarians—he was tall and slender, thin even for someone of his race. His visor was the tawny color of a summer bisque, a warm saffron. Various lenses encrusted around the edge of his visor, almost appearing like he had multiple eyes, which allowed him visibility in a wealth of different wavelengths. The fabric headcovering he wore was expansive and almost baggy around his helmet, a deep gray like gathering storm clouds upon the horizon, slashed with deep maroon bars.
His name was Qual'Lhmarl. Though, in his profession, most people simply referred to him as "the auditor" for the mansion's owner.
Qual was quite good at his job, which involved a great deal of improvisation and experimentation. The pistol he wore at his side was his primary tool at achieving both, which was a fastidiously maintained revolver made over a hundred years ago—a gift for his hard work. Qual had modified the grip so that it could fit his three-fingered hands (it had been made for someone with five) and he had gunsmithed the weapon with a new chrome hammer, a removable compensator, and tuned the action to comply with performance regulations. The pistol shot rare .357 rounds that were in short supply after being made obsolete quite a while ago, but Qual had amassed a stockpile of such ammo over the years.
The picture windows afforded lush views of the Ibiza landscape as he walked past them. If he stepped outside, he would immediately be treated to a blast of heat, courtesy of the dry Mediterranean climate. Had he not been wearing a helmet, he would have been able to smell the ever-surrounding sea, plus the combined brew of pine and agave that practically infested the island. The gardens of the manor, in particular, had been cultivated with palm trees, cacti, and a grove of olive trees. Swaths of sedimentary limestone and sandstone marked breaches and ridges among the coastline and the interior of the island. Apparently, this location on Earth closely mimicked a typical Rannochian environment, though Qual had no firsthand experience to make the comparison himself.
He found the conference room and pushed one half of the double doors aside. The meeting had already started. That was fine—Qual had no role in the actual discussion. But he did have carte blanche to walk into any room on the property. Auditing was only a cover for what he was truly hired to do.
Right away, he could tell that the mood was particularly frosty. He spotted where Hamilton Haas-Mase was sitting, his employer, and stood behind him, hands folded behind his back and chin level, cutting an intimidating impression.
Across a long darkwood table made by Ligne Roset, all sequined in dark Caraceni suits, a literal staff of businessmen and lawyers sat with consoles all flipped up in front of them. Haas-Mase had one of his own, angled in such a fashion that Qual was able to see what was on it.
Haas-Mase was flanked by executives and lawyers of his own, men that could adequately steer him and his corporation through these troubling waters.
Haas-Mase looked behind him to confirm Qual's presence and provided a brief nod. Hamilton Haas-Mase came from a line of executives that had ended up making so much money that they scarcely knew what to do with that, before he had ever been born, he had enough capital to set him up for life twice over. He was tall, with gray hair, and a combed mustache. He wore gold-framed Oxtec bifocals, which gave him a filter of augmented reality upon the lightly treated lenses. He was never without his cane—the result of a childhood illness that even modern medicine could not fully conquer.
He was every bit the sort of person that Qual felt he should hate with all of his being. Yet he could not. Too much history with the man had colored his impressions. Circumstances could certainly change one's mind in a heartbeat.
On one of the portable tablets, Qual got a glimpse of a slide deck that was introducing the overviews of two different companies. The quarian recognized the logos: SolBanc and Ryke/Saaven. The deck was full of the usual business jargon that pertained to financial summaries per fiscal year, M&A criteria, potential deal targets, KPIs, and so on. Standard stuff for a corporate merger, even if Qual professed no interest for the politicking that came behind the scenes of such a reorg.
One of Haas-Mase's lawyers had stood and had punched in a code upon a wired holoprojector that had been crudely placed upon the table. Instantly, the lens of the projector brightened and the slide deck was thrown up into the air over the table, showcasing a table of metrics that seemed to sprawl down endlessly. Qual's eyes hurt just from looking at it. If this was what these people did all day, then he was glad to not have their job.
"I assume that your lunches had been satisfactory." The lawyer had a soft accent and he clasped his hands together as he spoke to the men opposite Haas-Mase across the table. "From this moment forward, assume the proceedings for the merger between the corporate entities known as the SolBanc Corporation and the Ryke/Saaven Financial Group AG have commenced at long last. This is to be the first of ten meetings with regards to this reorganization. With the expectation that everything continues as planned, we can expect the formal announcement of the merger to be made at the end of the year. So for now, just for the record, let me introduce the CEO of SolBanc: Hamilton Haas-Mase—"
The man rose up from his chair without making a sound caused by his stiffness. He made a slight acknowledgement towards the Ryke/Saaven folks before he sat back down again.
The lawyer proceeded to introduce the rest of the SolBanc executives before he proceeded to the R/S side of the table. Qual was not mentioned at all during this part of the conversation.
He did not care. He was not an employee of SolBanc, so it would make no sense for him to be called out as a valid member in these proceedings. He was here simply because Haas-Mase preferred him to be close by at all times.
Truthfully, Qual had known about the merger for quite some time. Haas-Mase had a bad tendency to spill company matters during casual chit-chat with him (Qual being the quieter one in those discussions). SolBanc, one of the richest and most powerful Earth-based investment banks, had been hit particularly hard as a result of the Reaper War, as had most corporations that were planetside. The bank had suffered catastrophic losses in both its employees and the properties it had been renting in some of the most expensive real estate markets on the planet. It was just bad luck—the Reapers had just so happened to land on or destroy most of the of the regional headquarters that spanned the globe throughout the fighting on the planet. The cherry on top was that its main HQ had been based in London, which was little more than a burned-out wasteland at this point. By the time the Reapers had been finally destroyed, nearly all of SolBanc's physical assets were gone, reduced to rubble.
It was why this meeting was being carried out here, at Haas-Mase's residence, instead of a SolBanc office, for there were no SolBanc offices to utilize. At least they could still have a measure of privacy afforded here, away from the cameras and paparazzi.
The idea for the merger had not been accepted readily by Haas-Mase, but he had little choice if he was to keep what was remaining of SolBanc alive. The company still controlled significant financial stakes that local governments, gigantic conglomerates, and even the Alliance had come to rely on. Haas-Mase knew that if SolBanc were to fold overnight, the entire galactic financial market would be adversely affected. This meeting between the two corporations had been facilitated by the Alliance, in fact, but the government was keen on maintaining an arm's-length relationship, not keen on courting any controversy from the financial pundits. More like they were loath to admit that they had let SolBanc's widespread control in the market now possess severe chance of compromising the financial integrity of the galaxy's largest financial trading partners.
Put simply, it was in everyone's best interest to keep the lights on at SolBanc.
Unfortunately, Qual knew, that left Ryke/Saaven in quite the fortuitous negotiating position. They had been handpicked by the Alliance's mediators to be the company to merge with SolBanc (though everyone knew it was an acquisition) and knew that SolBanc would be desperate for a lifeline of any sort. The ball was in their court on this one, and Ryke/Saaven was no stranger to mergers. As a financial group based in Geneva, they had coordinated hundreds upon hundreds of similar deals in the past. To them, SolBanc would just be the latest victim in a long line of unfortunate circumstances.
Putting on airs, Qual thought. Fattening the livestock before the slaughter.
One of the Ryke/Saaven executives, whose name Qual had already forgot, extended a hand in the direction of Haas-Mase. "Please. When you're ready."
Haas-Mase instead gestured to his CFO, a man new in his position as the last CFO had been blown to bits from a Reaper barrage somewhere in Oslo. The executive stood, smoothed his dark blue suit, and walked to a small podium that had been placed near the table.
The conference room lights dimmed in short order and the CFO leaned forward, towards where a microphone was embedded in the podium. A singular light from above created a small corona about his person. "Welcome, everyone. I've been asked to provide a high-level overview of the financial structure and from our extranet trading businesses, to basically outline how the new structure will work in the coming months. If you can please take a look at the slide deck before you…"
The CFO worked a hidden remote as he went through slide after slide. Hypermedia, embedded video clips, lofty financial projections—it was a very slick presentation complete with animations that seamlessly blended the images and graphs from one to another. The executive put on a confident air as he stuck to his pitch with no pauses or technical hiccups, and for his performance, the R/S people were sitting in rapt attention.
"I know the phrase 'too big to fail' has been treated with a rather black stigma since the turn of the millennium," the CFO said as he came to a slide with several segmented circle charts, "but I do want to emphasize the significance of SolBank's goal to maintain thoughtful trading with regards to financial tranches. Under the Borvos Act, SolBank has limited its trades of CDOs and CDSs to 5% of its total collateral. Add to that, we have seen positive returns on all of our government loans garnered from the last financial crisis, to which we have covered nearly 65% in ten years from what was originally a thirty-year loan. To that end, we have diversified into a more multiline insurance structure in which life, health, and retirement solution packages are now being offered through our services, to which purchasing customers have found them to be quite competitive in their field. And even taking into account the losses incurred from the recent hostilities, it's safe to say that SolBanc has indeed secured its position as truly being 'too big to fail.'"
The combination of metrics and corporate-speak was enough for Qual to roll his eyes. The lengths that these people went to maintain a veneer of corporate correctness was just stifling. It was as if Qual was not the only one in this room that was masked.
This went on for about an hour, with both sides launching into preprepared presentations and spiels about financial figures and tangents about the future of the markets. Questions were traded, answers were provided (mostly convincingly).
And all the while, Qual stood behind Haas-Mase's chair, not moving.
Once the holoimages were deactivated, the meeting took a turn when the head lawyer at the Ryke/Saaven end appraised Haas-Mase. "An informative first session. Think that might be it for the broad strokes. Unless there's anything else to add that you feel might be pertinent to our preliminary discussion, Mr. Haas-Mase?"
The mustached man gave a thin smile and shook his head. "We wouldn't want to keep you past dinner. The island's a beautiful place and I know you've undoubtedly made appointments over in Sant Antoni. Anything we need to cover can be dealt with at a later time. A later session."
The lawyer returned the same smile as he clicked an old-fashioned pen in his hand. "It's the calm before the storm right now, as far as the paperwork's concerned. The both of us will certainly have our heads down when the audit finally commences."
Qual could not see from his position, but he knew that Haas-Mase's smile had cooled.
"The audit?"
"A formality," the lawyer assured. "Both companies are obliged to ensure that the proper due diligence is performed, as far as M&A is concerned. We have that responsibility to our shareholders that we provide that guarantee that this merger is performed in good faith."
Haas-Mase glanced around the table at his people, found an array of frozen faces. "I was under the impression that SolBanc had already been through a thorough audit of its kind. It was one of the conditions for going forward with these proceedings, if I recall."
"You were, but consider this to be a move made out of extreme caution. With all of the financial regulation out there and the aftereffects of the war coming into play, I think you can understand our need for a comprehensive accounting. There's a saying in our line of work: 'Fools rush in.' There's a reason why old companies like America Online, Time Warner, Citicorp, and Travelers Group send a shiver down every accountant's spine. There used to a be a time, could you imagine, where multi-billion credit write-offs were not even a concept. And considering that the both of our firms are in quite the precarious position, we need to do all we can to avoid taking a place upon that list of M&A failures."
"The sentiment is shared on both sides of the table," Haas-Mase said. "Which is why you have, on your console, copies of our audits and inventories performed over the last decade, in the name of transparency."
The lawyer's smiled turned dark. "I think you would understand if Ryke/Saaven would prefer to have a second opinion."
"It is entirely within your right."
There was an undeniable tinge of irritation in Haas-Mase's voice. It seemed like he was doing everything in his power to prevent from leaning back in his chair while looking extremely dissatisfied.
This switch in mood was undoubtedly detected by the R/S lawyer and he gently slid his console aside so that he could steeple his hands in front of him. "I'll be quite frank, Mr. Haas-Mase," he said. "The general attitude of Ryke/Saaven towards this merger—"
"Acquisition," Haas-Mase interrupted. "Technically. Let's not call a cat a dog here."
A flash of annoyance came across the lawyer's face. "Fine. The point is that Ryke/Saaven does not see the acquisition of SolBanc as a necessary investment. Do recall that this was practically foisted upon us by the Alliance, all because they were unwilling to finance a bailout toward your firm."
Haas-Mase took a careful breath. "Oh, I recall just fine. I was in the room when the conversations happened, you know." He almost added, "I'm the CEO," but that was never a good line to command attention with.
"The Alliance would rather keep its hands clear of this particular affair," the lawyer continued, "probably for good reason, as bailouts court nothing but bad publicity for all involved, not to mention they aren't very liquid right about now—hardly anyone is, in fact. But they do have a stake in ensuring that this mer—apologies, this acquisition makes it through without a hitch. Which is why they have agreed to lend provisional support to Ryke/Saaven for the duration of these conversations."
This was news to Haas-Mase and it seemed to contradict the lawyer's earlier statement that the Alliance would remain relatively uninvolved. Had there been some sort of secret backroom deal that he was not aware of?
What was really going on, here?
"I'm afraid I don't follow," Haas-Mase frowned. "I was under the impression that the terms to SolBanc would be quite generous when conducting this acquisition."
"You haven't seen the side letter, I take it?"
"What side letter?"
The lawyer's mouth twisted maliciously into a look that nearly approximated smugness. They then reached for their portable console screen and sent a q-text over to Haas-Mase's machine, which chimed upon receiving the electronic mail.
Haas-Mase tapped the glass screen and opened the file. Attached was a one-page document emblazoned with the Ryke/Saaven logo and was titled "Side Letter Agreement." There were a list of provisions bulleted underneath the paragraph that attached the side letter to the primary contract, but Haas-Mase did not read through it just yet, his blood boiling.
He asked, "Why wasn't I informed of this document?"
"It did not require all parties to agree upon it. Run it through your people, it will legally hold up. But the Alliance was keen to sweeten this deal to the point they were willing to make the terms more amenable in our favor."
And there it is, Qual thought. The carbon matrix imbibed in his skull buzzed with anticipation.
It seemed that Haas-Mase was about to clench a fist in midair but was able to suppress the notion. "Out of curiosity, if the topic of conversation had not steered to this point, would you have mentioned the existence of this side letter at all?"
"Inevitably, throughout the duration of these talks," the lawyer smoothly assured, "there would have been a more natural point in time in which to divulge this document."
"I see. Well, seeing as it's already spoiled, might as well perform a brief rundown of its contents. In fact, I insist."
The lawyer looked like he was about to stall with Haas-Mase's request, probably in order to make his reservation at some fancy restaurant on the island, but he gave a look of concession, one that indicated quite clearly that nothing was to be lost from doing so.
"And before you start," Haas-Mase interjected, "I'd prefer it if you would speak plainly."
"Very well. Plainly, then. The side letter essentially gives Ryke/Saaven the authorization to control certain aspects of the acquisition process, which includes a thorough investigation into SolBanc to determine its true net worth. The investigation, in particular, is to be initiated to reveal the total damages that had been incurred from the Reaper War and to confirm the firm's complete financial structure."
"Your second opinion, I take it. Anything else?"
Folding his hands together upon the table, the lawyer gave a thin shrug. "The advantageous bits. Basically, the side letter gives Ryke/Saaven the power to pull out of the acquisition process with no financial penalty on the account that it discovers inconsistencies of a financial nature during the course of its audit of SolBanc."
"Inconsistencies."
"Fraud, mainly. Or false disclosure of certain instruments. Basically anything that can be construed as an action that SolBanc has taken in bad faith. And especially any doctored financial results—that would give Ryke/Saaven just cause to basically rip up the contract and leave SolBanc rushing to find a new buyer. But this provision also extends to other circumstances as well."
Haas-Mase ground his teeth. "Do tell."
"No doubt you're aware of Ryke/Saaven's proclivity to avoid controversy. As a matter of fact, the corporation is known as being particularly skilled at staying on the right side of public opinion. As best as they can—they are a finance company, which doesn't elicit much sympathy from the public. Regardless, the company prefers to make this acquisition a textbook example of its kind, which extends to the conduct of all parties involved."
"Meaning?"
The lawyer spread his hands. "Meaning that, for the duration of the acquisition talks, SolBanc and its employees are expects to adhere to a certain pattern of behavior concurrent to Ryke/Saaven's. What it means is that Ryke/Saaven is entitled to also pull the deal should any negative stories or revelations pertaining to any one SolBanc individual be published in the media. Ryke/Saaven does not want to hear that the conduct of the firm and the people it will be inheriting are a magnet for bad press. They would rather disengage from that altogether."
Qual thought that sounded rather ridiculous. Ryke/Saaven was just being petty with the terms of their contract and they very well knew it. They were flexing a whole new level of control upon their acquired target, perhaps as a way to humiliate them?
Though, the more he considered, Qual had to admit the provision made a certain kind of sense. He had known of business deals that had fallen through due to incidents not solely related to a firm's financial performance. Mergers had been delayed or cancelled outright in the past over the most trivial of things: employees slinging sexual harassment allegations at one another, executives caught doing drugs in public places, VPs getting questioned on making donations to troublesome political parties. The list was longer than Qual thought at first glance, which he had to begrudgingly concede made Ryke/Saaven's position a little more understandable.
Haas-Mase, however, was still in the glowering phase.
"So you would throw the whole deal in the trash if, for example, a VP of SolBanc was caught in an extramarital affair, screwing around with a Citadel stripper, that somehow leaked to the trades?" Haas-Mase asked with no small amount of sarcasm.
"More than a fair chance that would be the case. Ryke/Saaven is not a firm that likes to wait for coincidences to strike," the lawyer said. "Why do you ask? Something like that hopefully isn't happening right now at SolBanc?"
"No," Haas-Mase snorted. He turned in his chair and looked across the gridded window to view the warm waters of the Mediterranean just miles down the hill. "Nothing of the sort."
From the second story of the house, Haas-Mase and Qual looked down upon the pebbled driveway, watching the Ryke/Saaven folks enter into their luxurious rideshares. The sun exuded a ragged corolla off to the west, slashes of clouds dividing the light into deep orange bars.
As the vehicles pulled away, Haas-Mase made a grunt and momentarily glanced at Qual. "So. What did you think?"
A rasping noise uttered from Qual's vocabulator. "I think that Ryke/Saaven is being particularly bearish on the whole deal. Unsurprising, given that the markets are still in a state of flux."
"Hmm," Haas-Mase murmured and begin walking down the corridor, Qual at his side, the slender quarian looking almost branch-like as he moved. The human's cane creaked as he set his weight upon it. "They're intimating that they know more than they're letting on. This could be troubling."
"They have no proof, merely suppositions."
"Regardless, we'll need to keep things on a tight leash from here on out. Lay low so that we don't risk generating headlines. Shouldn't be too difficult."
Qual gave a cough. "You do realize that the terms of the side letter most likely extend to individuals beyond SolBanc, right? Are you going to try to keep him on a leash as well?"
Qual was referring to Haas-Mase's deadbeat son, François, who was, in the quarian's opinion, an absolute burnout. François was in his thirties, jobless and lacking a degree after flunking out of Oxford and Heidelberg in quick succession. He had a tendency to formulate designer drug habits, stayed up late amongst the seedy European nightlife, and showed absolutely no intention of deviating from his antics.
But mostly, Qual just thought that François was an asshole.
He knew that Haas-Mase had desperately tried to get François on the straight-and-narrow more than once, to little success. The son simply did not have a head for business, much less the patience. And Haas-Mase had not yet mustered the strength to kick his son out of the house to force him to fend for himself. He would always make excuses for François, trying to blame his indecisions on making him homeless on the shaky job market or by imagining this would not be what the man's late mother would have wanted for him. In the end, it was probably a good thing that François had not followed his footsteps into the family business. Qual figured that the son would have looked for a way to commit fraud on his first day on the job, just to evade the inevitable bureaucracy.
Haas-Mase's face turned cold and he slowed his gait down as they wandered into the main stairhall, which featured a ringed circuit of steps barricaded by black marble and gold inlays. "No stone unturned, Qual. We're not going to give Ryke/Saaven any reason to back out of this if I can help it. I'll speak with François when he returns from… wherever he is right now. You don't happen to know where he headed off to last night, do you?"
Twin gleams of mercury glanced upward through Qual's visor as he thought for a moment.
"Believe it was Berlin, this time. Something about a bar's grand re-opening. Didn't catch the details."
Other that he's probably getting blind drunk, high, or acquiring yet another STD from sleeping with the wrong hooker.
"When you see him next," Haas-Mase turned and glared at Qual, "send him my way. I'll need to break the news that his galivanting is to be put on hold for the remainder of the year."
"Oh, he'll be quite understanding, I'm certain."
"I won't give him a choice in the matter."
"Good," Qual let his hand brush the grip of the pistol strapped to his thigh. "Gives you a chance to impress upon him what that means when he disobeys you again."
Haas-Mase noted the usage of "when" and not "if" in the quarian's sentence. The father in him thought that he should issue a reprimand, but history had continuously proven him wrong when it came to his son. He knew of his blind spots and that it did no good to deny them.
"Perhaps you're on to something," he said lowly. "Maybe I should have beaten him more as a child."
Zurich, Earth
The alarm was merciless as it ripped Tali from sleep.
Blearily, her eyes cracked open and revealed a world turned sideways. She rolled over onto her back, the cheap mattress below her refusing to yield to her body contours. Her lower back had developed a crick in it during the night, providing her with an incentive to stay where she was.
Eventually, the constant ringing of her omni-tool's alarm was too much—she had set it up to light a virtual touchpoint upon the far side of the bed. She could not disable it from just her tool, she needed to actually get up and touch the point of floating light.
Using an arm to prop herself up, Tali groaned as her tormented back strained in protest. Her hand barely sank into the mattress, just a thin sheeting below bunching around her fingers. She never slept under the sheets. Always over them.
She swept her feet down and placed them upon the ground. Taking a moment, she sat at the edge of the bed, looking upon the thinly draped sliding glass door that led towards what was a paltry balcony. Through the gossamer fabric and the glass, she had an unobstructed view of the peachbricked apartment complex right across Clausiusstrasse, which was the unpronounceable name (to her tongue) of the street just three stories below.
It was already light outside. She had slept through the dawn and it was now solidly the morning. The faint scuffling of pedestrians over pavement could be determined just past the window, along with the rattle of wheels upon cobblestones. Somewhere in the distance, bike bells were ringing jollily.
Slowly, sadly, she rose up from the bed and walked over to the simmering holosphere that trembled right at the front of the bed. With a simple graze of her finger, the ball silently fragmented and exploded into shards of light that looked like frozen sugarglass before they seemed to evaporate in the chilly air.
The alarm vanished along with the hologram.
The apartment was only a studio, eighteen square meters, but after spending practically her whole life sharing a bunk no bigger than a storage closet with four other people, the place seemed gigantic. The bed had been placed on the far corner, close to the sliding balcony door, the sheets ruffled and standard. A standing closet was close by, just two meters away. Right across, near the foot of the bed, a dining table barely large enough for two people stood. Around the corner was a kitchen station, the cabinetry rigid and marked by hard right angles, all synthetic wood the color of a frozen tree. Going beyond the kitchen, the bathroom, with a singular white ivory bowl sink and a glass-walled shower. Standard fare for European living these days, even after the war and all.
Tali had bought none of the furniture—it had come with the apartment. The styling, a sort of Euro-Tri-Century Modern combination, was not really the sort of décor she favored, but she made no effort to change it. There were still items that she had taken from the Normandy scattered around the place, stacked in boxes near the front door. Eleven months later and she still had not fully unpacked.
She floated into the kitchen, as if in a trance, and opened the fridge, where several tubes of nutrient paste had been arranged. She selected one, not bothering to read the label, and placed it in the specialty microwave for half a minute.
The tube was piping hot by the time it was extricated from the microwave. Tali removed it and sat at the table with her breakfast. She inserted a primary induction port into the eating slot upon her helmet and began to consume the contents. Was it tasteless? Perhaps. Tali was not paying any attention to that. Food had started to become more and more bland with every passing day, she found. Nowadays, she just ate to live, never for her own enjoyment.
She disposed of the tube once she was done with it and returned to the standing closet, which was made out of particleboard that was cleverly disguised as cherrywood. She knelt down and opened one of the drawers.
Inside were an assortment of various visors in different shades of glass, tailored to her helmet size. Alongside them was a small pile of various headcovers, pieces of fabric that traditionally draped over the top of a quarian's helmet—a sehni.
Tali had collected the different visors and sehnis over the past several months. Venturing outside in her traditional getup made her a target to be mobbed by the press or the paparazzi. For the first three months after the war, she had not been able to traverse down the street without a crowd surrounding her. She had remembered suffering a panic attack with all of the flashing strobes and incessant questions being bombarded upon her. She had to duck inside a storefront and lock herself in a bathroom until the feelings of hopelessness and wrenching pain in her lungs subsided. Afterward, a friend had supplied her with an assortment of visors and sehnis (new, not used) that Tali could use to disguise herself with. They had helped immensely—no one had bothered her since.
Apparently, there were some advantages to being a quarian after all. Having one's face masked meant that it took very little to change one's appearance.
She selected a visor with a forest-green tinting and a sehni as black as stormshrouded mountains. With her wardrobe in hand, she trudged into the bathroom, whereupon she closed the door.
The bathroom was able to be sterilized. The rest of the apartment was not. Not that it mattered much to Tali, she rarely had any sort of desire to be out of her suit while in this place. In fact, the last time she had been out was right before the London assault, all that time ago.
Stop it. Stop thinking of that night.
Tali waited until she could hear the hum of the air recyclers spool up to their maximum settings. She then set her selected sehni and visor upon the edge of the sink. With her hands free, she depressed the catches on both sides of her purpled visor and lifted it off.
In the mirror, she could only see a blur of gray. She made no effort to look at herself. Quickly, to minimize contact with the outside, she applied the green visor with a series of satisfying clicks. Once that was complete and her enviro-suit was registering a clean seal and no insidious microbes had made it into her system, she then undid her purple-waved sehni and set it aside, fastening the black one into place.
She touched the door control to leave, but not after one last parting look in the mirror. Even though she had done this many times before, dressing up as… as someone else never failed to give her pause. It was like she had no idea who she was looking at.
Upon exiting the bathroom, Tali made one more trip to the closet. She placed her matching purple visor and sehni into the drawer from which her temporary disguise had been liberated, along with the solemn promise that she would reapply them as soon as she got back. They were part of her life, after all, and she could not fathom parting with them so willingly.
But she was not yet done with the closet. The only article that was mounted upon a hangar was a thick wool coat, the color of soot, with an asymmetric drawstring hem and concealed front zips. It had been Shepard's once—a Yamamoto coat. Tali slipped the jacket on, which was a size too big for her and nearly engulfed her arms completely. She did not care. It belonged to the man she loved. He would have wanted her to have such a thing.
Damn it. She was acting like he was dead. Tali bit her lip and gave a rueful shake of her head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She moved around the bed, giving the place a once-over to confirm that she was not leaving anything behind. She ignored the shadowed figure of the synthetic in the corner, the one who constantly glared at her with its shimmering ice optic, a ragged hole in its chest brimming with red and blue lights. It never spoke to her, always appearing at the oddest of times. When it had first made itself known to her, Tali had tried interrogating it, but received nothing but silence in return. These days, Tali just tried to pay as little attention to the apparition as possible, despite not knowing why she was seeing it in the first place.
Tali then exited the apartment, the door locking behind her. The revenant had left her presence by that point and harbored no intentions of following her. She walked towards the elevator, which was a singular lift that was helixed by a set of stairs that wrapped around the shaft. Tali slowly took the stairs, her hands shoved into the pockets of Shepard's coat. To her left, the elevator whirred as the brass box within surged up and down within the confines of its glass column.
Her landlord, an elderly man with a bad back, was on the ground floor, sweeping. Tali always found that odd that he insisted on performing manual labor himself when drones could do a better job in half the time. The human heard her coming, looked up, and his bearded face warmed into a kindly smile.
"Guten Morgen, Frau Raan," the landlord greeted. Tali's translator did not have the applicable language installed to translate the man's words to Khelish but the text instead popped up on the bottom of her visor like subtitles in a vid.
Tali had also been using a forged identity, thanks to a friend who had a penchant for shady activities, that had been based off a close family acquaintance. So far, the deceptions seemed to have worked. No aspiring interviewers had managed to track her down as of yet.
Absentmindedly, Tali nodded in her own form of greeting to her landlord, and she tiptoed past the spot where he had been sweeping, and stepped out into the chilly Zurich morning.
Unlike the neon glamor and endless hustle of the Citadel, or the various vids Tali had seen of the towering glass spires intertwined with the concrete ribbons of roads that defined many an Earth city, Zurich was, in comparison, quaint. Refined, even. A sort of callback to an older time in which there was a preset order to things and that the rush to catch up to the future was seen as unimportant.
The pavement was wet from an early morning rain. Tali walked south, down the street, the throb of the city a distant hum in her ears.
The sky was allowed to remain open with no skyscrapers chewing up the view. Not this close to the city center. It was a rarity that one could see a building taller than six stories around here. The streets were narrow, with one lane reserved for cars, but several lanes for bikes and pedestrians. There were also several winding alleys that warded away most wheeled vehicles, becoming narrower and steeper as they cut paths up and over the hilled terrain. Usually, the most reliable foot traffic in this part of the world would be from tourists, but that industry had waned somewhat sharply since the war. As it stood, the streets were quite empty, giving Tali the impression that she had the whole city at her leisure.
She passed by bike stands, unmarked banks, and glamorous watch shops. Franchised coffee shops, the polished white of boutique fashioners. A hotel nearby was replaying footage of the victory at London, with an announcer giving yet another tip to the audience to be ready for V-Day's annual celebration in just a few weeks. Her boots clacked upon the sidewalks, that wet smacking noise only achievable from trodding on rainsoaked asphalt.
Universitätstrasse was ahead, which would lead Tali to her destination. A tram clattered as it made its way along the embedded tracks in the road. All of the apartments and buildings here seemed to be disparate pieces of one continuous structure. Brick instead of smooth and treated glass. It was a very romantic way of clinging to the past, Tali had to admit. There was a subdued energy here. One that was structured and predictable. It provided a nice disparity against the places she had visited, somewhere that she could avoid the hecticness and chaos of worlds and space stations too absorbed with hustling and rising, always fearful that if they slowed down, they would lose themselves to the murk of satisfied conformity.
There was a chance to take stock of the passerby she chanced upon. The majority of them seemed to have settled back into the routine of their lives, or they were still carrying the weight of the fact that they had been so close to death, what with the Reapers nearly destroying everything as they knew it and all. They bore masks of pain and denial, but with a respectful reverence for the fragility of their lives. Tali sympathized with them. No one had come out of this without loss.
Tali walked until she had made it to a small pavilion. A domed structure, part of the university, was on her right. Neoclassical in shape, it acted as a definitive marker for where she was situated in relation to her end goal. She crossed the street, which led to a small park, where winding ribbons of concrete furrowed her towards a long building atop a small slope.
She entered the doorway and a nurse greeted her with a smile and a nod. The staff knew her by sight, despite her disguises.
Life, death, and refuge had all been intertwined in this building. Tali had found the hospital to be a second home in this city since arriving.
The elevator bay beckoned, but Tali only needed to go a story up. She found the stairwell and made her way up the steps. A starkly clean hallway with pale walls extended nearly the entire length of the building. She passed by several blockades of guards—Alliance soldiers—without any one of them stopping her to check her identity. Much like the employees of this hospital, the guards considered her to be a known entity. A VIP, in the loosest sense.
The door to the private suite opened to her, as always. Beyond, she was all alone. Except for the person who lay behind an array of private sheeting.
Tali walked up and gently parted the covering enough so that she could slip beyond it. Almost as if were an electrified force field. Once through, she looked upon the lone occupant that lay upon the bed.
The intubation machine pumped a slow and thick stream of air. A series of shuum-pops that managed to echo even in this confined space. With the tube inserted into the corner of his mouth, John Shepard looked less than dignified, but at least the nurses here had done their best to make him look presentable—they shaved his face every two days and made sure to give him a haircut so that he was not in danger of growing a mullet. The sheets crumpled just below his collarbone, a cold and disconnected body unaware as to what was going on around him.
Standing by the edge of the bed for a bit, Tali folded her arms together as she looked upon the still man.
Hello again, John.
She did not speak aloud. She hardly ever spoke while she was in this room.
From the first time she had seen Shepard like this, it was as if she had tumbled into a nightmare. Tali had spent the first four months alone in this very room, day and night, hardly daring to leave his side. Sometimes she had to be dragged away to eat or to even sleep. Back then, she had thought he would wake at any moment and wanted the first thing to see to be her.
Now, she felt it was enough by simply being there for him. Close by. If a coma allowed some extra sensory abilities while in such a state, she hoped that there would be a part of her that could penetrate that veil.
Tali walked forward and carefully caressed Shepard's forehead. He was a little greasy from his night's sleep. She walked over to the sink, stepping outside the safety of the curtain for a moment, wet a cloth, and moved back in. With the cloth, she wiped the man's brow and dried it with an unused towel after his wash.
She set the cloth aside and then made sure to tuck Shepard in until the sheets were up to his neck. Compulsively, she smoothed the bedding with a hand, trying to iron out any wrinkles.
He had looked after her for so long. Only fair that she return the favor.
With Shepard looking his best (as much as he could, in his position), Tali walked around the bed, to where a chair had been previously set. She lowered herself into it and reached over to a nearby cabinet, ignoring the quiet bleeping of the medical monitors in the background. She had left a copy of East of Eden here, downloaded to a tablet. It had been a story Shepard had recommended to her, long ago. She withdrew that very tablet from the drawer, crossed a leg, and set the device upon her lap.
And, in the eternal quiet of this particular room in this hospital upon such a city on Earth, the quarian began to read. She read, out of some vain hope that her presence would be needed should the best come to pass. And, if the worst showed its face instead, then she wanted to be here regardless.
All that she knew, was that she belonged here.
A/N: This chapter plus the next one is going to solidify the format for most of the story from here on out. I'm taking the pace of this fic a little more slower than usual at first, but it'll eventually speed up once more elements and twists are introduced. I'm aiming for this to be my most introspective fic thus far, so I'm very curious to see how the completed product winds up.
Playlist:
Freedom's Progress
"Carrie Kelly/Robin"
Christopher Drake
Batman: The Dark Knight Returns (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
Hospital Bed
"BETRAYAL"
Ludwig Goransson
Tenet (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)