A broken woman is before Liara, and it breaks her too. Her brow furrows as she tries to stave off the burning in her eyes when tears well up.
The remnant itself is deceased in spirit.
Liara approaches tentatively, cautious of her every thought and move. She kneels, taking the shattered soul's leathery hand, pressing lips to scabbed knuckles. No reaction. The eyes are lifeless, fixated on the floor. Shame crosses them for but a second before they empty again. The weary injured marine waiting beside Jane is struggling to hold on, too.
"Siame..." Liara croaks, clearing her throat to rid the rasp of her voice. She falls apart when Jane hides her face in her hands.
"I don't want to be a hero anymore."
[2178 CE, The Raid on Torfan]
God dammit, she's leading the same green Ensigns again. Why are her superiors punishing her like this? Her eyes dart about in a scan of their outpost as hundreds of marines prep for the ensuing assault on the batarian pirates' underground base, before settling back on the nervous men, shifting uncomfortably seemingly over her mood—or rather, the importance and magnitude of this mission. That would make more sense.
Jane bites back a sigh as she rises from her chair and jerks her head towards their crate of rifles. "Make sure they're battle-ready."
"We've already checked them three times," one of the Ensigns pipes up innocently.
A pointed look and crossed arms sends them all scrambling to check the rifles.
Tuning into comms, Jane listens to the idle chatter of the other officers, all of whom are waiting for Major Kyle's orders to organize and proceed. She searches desperately for the N7 unit, but she hasn't seem them in camp for a couple hours at the very least. Maybe they'd left to scout ahead and gather more intel, to see if the batarians have clued in on the Alliance's entry of this moon and preparations here?
They'd be incredibly careless otherwise, with how the unlicensed comm-buoy had been shot down in space—presumably belonging to the pirates.
"No way they don't know we're here," Jane mutters to herself, her gaze snapping over to dust furiously kicked up as some makos drive over to position on the other side of camp.
What is Major Kyle waiting for? The longer they waste time here, the more opportunities the pirates have to launch a counter assault and catch them by surprise. Jane prays they aren't going to be declaring themselves in the misguided pursuit of honorable combat and adherence to the laws of war, for barbaric criminals no less. This stalling bodes ill will, nestling the devil's advocate within her thoughts once more. Is the Alliance negotiating with the pirates, because they really have been funding and arming these batarians all along? Is it just politics, and their presence here nothing more than for show, for the reports and the news?
"Lieutenant-Commander?" One of the Ensigns calls out to her, breaking her free and saving her from her thoughts before they spiral out of control.
"Yes, Peterson?" Jane twists towards him, glancing over as the rifles are placed back in the crate. There's not even an order from the higher ups to arm themselves.
"Our weapons are battle-ready, ma'am. Any further orders?"
Teeth nibble on the inside of her lip, and she turns back to observe the state of their camp. She shakes her head and shrugs. "Nope. At ease, just relax and kill time so you don't go crazy waiting to death, here." She sighs in frustration. "If you greens think of anything good, help me out here, would ya?"
Silence, for a moment. The other Ensigns belay anxiously. "Y-yes, Lieutenant-Commander."
No doubt an odd request, to be sure—but she doesn't care about the formalities right now. She impatiently shifts her weight from leg to leg. The dreadful feeling pooling her stomach grows exponentially when Major Kyle finally graces the officers' comm-line, and she gestures with her hand for the Ensigns to remain quiet as she listens carefully.
"We've received a report that the N7 have made contact with the pirates in their base," Major Kyle updates.
Jane bites back a groan—so they had left, and worst of all, they get all the action!
"Command wants us to stay on standby until they finish negotiations. That is all. Kyle, out."
"Someone shoot me," Jane grumbles, catching her unit off guard as they stare at her with wide eyes, wary if she's losing her mind. She feels like she already has. She spins around, trying to curb her frown and maintain some level of professionalism. "Great news, boys, our dreams of being glorified statues have come true. Top down just wants us to wait some more."
Silence again. It makes her want to scream. The Ensigns chipper together with that same uneasy energy, them not knowing what else to say or do clear on display.
"Understood, Lieutenant-Commander."
Jane huffs as she spins on her post and crosses her arms again, ever so dutifully waiting for orders to move out. She sinks back into her mantra of thoughts and memories, a small smile pulling at her lips as she idly sings 99 bottles of beer inside of her head, joined by another voice conjured from years prior when she closes her eyes, thinking of the shy scientist balled up in the frigate's hallway.
Ain't no way Liara was telling the truth. Her ass had to be sore.
Hours pass. Jane is struggling not to outright hide in one of the tents and call up Liara on a proxy line to mask her frequency and location. She tries not to make any overt moves on the Ensigns in her unit when they've finally found the comfort to openly talk without their uncertainty and fear that she's going to reprimand them for it. She gets it, yeah, she's been on the receiving end of some barky superiors in the past. It's her job right now to maintain focus and to ensure she'll be able to whip them into focus if need be—but with the current pace of things, they're all going to fall asleep waiting on these god damn negotiations.
What the hell are the N7 doing? The Alliance can't sincerely be drafting up favorable terms for pirates, right? They should be eradicated mercilessly—they would be, if she had her say.
Finally, something piques her interest when it catches her eye: a vehicle in the distance, a mako by the looks of it. Jane almost bows her head in shame and embarrassment over the double strike now, first for not having noticed the N7 marines had long since left... And taken transportation with them. She sighs and plunks in a chair, disappointment crashing over her. What a dull mission. No action, no word for Major Kyle or Alliance Command to do anything but be sitting ducks.
Worst of all, the pirates are about to benefit whatever fucking bullshit deal has been struck. Of course they're going to take one—take the easy way out.
Her muscles tense before her brain catches up to process new information.
The mako cannon is lighting up—and the barrel is pointed at camp.
"Get down!" Jane shouts in panic as she dives over towards the Ensigns.
A thunderous roar splits the air when the cannon fires, following a hail of screams when one of the tents is eradicated from existence. The comms-line shrieks to life as Major Kyle issues orders to return fire, and the other officers belaying the order to their respective units. Jane makes a mad dash to grab the handles on the back of suits for some of her own unit, dragging them backwards in a desperate bid to throw them into cover behind a boulder.
"Lieutenant-!"
"Stay here!" Jane growls at the two she'd taken. "Only get your weapons when it's clear to do so, understand?! We're not going to be able to shoot that mako down without heavier firepower!"
"U-understood!"
Scrambling to the other three, she dives as more dust and screams kick up in the air. The other makos in their camp rev to life—and she curses them. Nobody is going to know which one to fire at. She engages her end of the comms and desperately tries to tell the other officers this, but the chaos has erupted, and soon her heart plummets to her stomach when she sees why.
There is a horde approaching from the distance, a sea of varrens charging ahead of their masters.
"Fuck..." Jane seethes between clenched teeth, crawling towards the crate of rifles. She throws them unceremoniously so that it hits the Ensigns, and they cradle their weapons as if that alone will save them. When the enemy mako seems to drive past their camp, she rushes up into standing and signals for her unit to regroup behind the border, listening as the Major orders for the units to focus fire on the main force approaching them now.
"All of you," Jane hastily scans, pointing her rifle towards a couple of other makos not yet boarded. "Haul ass, we're getting in one. Move!"
Charging for the vehicles, her scrambled brain screams for answers. What the hell happened to the N7 operatives? Why didn't they send any reports that there were pirates on the move—that the pirates had even zeroed in on the location of their camp?! There's no way the Alliance will lose an all-out battle here, but one look is enough to tell that there's been one too many unnecessary deaths on their end. A familiar rage courses through her blood, each pound of her feet fueled by the insatiable thirst to personally end every single fucking batarian and clean up the pollution of the breaths they take.
"Of fucking course," she seethes under her breath. "Of fucking course these cowards resort to this. They know they'll lose otherwise if they don't cheat their way through it all."
Upon boarding the mako, she issues two to commandeer the steering and radar, while another mans the cannons. She pulls the straps down from the ceiling to hook to the suit handles as she leaves one of the door hatches open, and presses the button for the footholds to spring from the floor. One look, and she hardens over the fear of the remaining Ensign by her side, seemingly feeling cursed to be the one that'll be out in the open with her. She reaches across to rest a hand on his shoulder, before gesturing for him to lock his feet in while she hooks the ceiling handle on his suit.
"We need to cut their line of vision from our corps," Jane yells over her shoulder, at the driver. "Facilitate all the mako's power into the shields and turn off the guns until we're able to get behind the varrens. We'll drive across to kick up the dust and mask our side."
"We're heading into the enemy ranks?!" Bennett exasperates in fear, looking over his shoulder at her. "Lieutenant-Commander, that's a sui-"
"The pirates can't aim worth to save their fucking lives, now divert all power to the shields and get driving or we'll take more heavy losses. Move!"
With a rough jolt, her and the marine beside her lurch from the sudden force and speed. They race along the sidelines of their army, and Jane ignores the panicked comms as the officers from the other units attempt to organize some measure of retaliation. She doesn't feel any steadier than them, her hare-brained idea borne of of a hail mary rather than any sort of proven tactics. She hopes to god, hell even Liara's goddess, that this might work somehow. The venomous snake baring fangs within her mind, ripping into her as to whether she's doing the smart thing, fights not to be silenced. She can't. This is ridiculous. That the only tactics she remembers reading about from all those stupid books dad thrust on her is pathetic itself. She should be regurgitating strategies from class, not old world wars fought on earth.
Still, perhaps like how aircraft would mask the positions of warships at sea, maybe... Just maybe this will help earn precious minutes for the Alliance to reorganize themselves proper.
The Ensigns at the pilot seat yells when they're about to turn. Jane braces herself as she hears the subtle plinking of the shields deflecting the incoming barrage. Her throat tightens as they race behind the wave of varren, taking aim with her rifle as some try to turn and chase the mako.
"Delegate some power to the guns, start firing the varren down!"
"Aye aye!"
For a moment, she notices how there is no sound coming from beside her, glancing over at the marine aiming but too frozen to pull the trigger at the varrens. She grits her teeth and renews her focus in the battle herself, firing down and grinning viciously over the hail of yelping from varrens struck down.
"Lieute- Shepard! We're about to clear the field, what are your orders?!"
"Keep driving ahead until we're out of range and safe from fire, we need to see where the enemy is going next first."
"Radar shows they're still moving forward towards our forces, ma'am."
"Then they'll be walking into a firing squad by the time they clear that wall of dust. What about the enemy mako?" Jane forces down another varren, whooping with cheer over actually nailing a shot she's calculated—this will have been the most difficult she's pulled off to date. For now. Another wave of vindictive pride threatens to overtake her, the only thing grounding her from flying too far away with her ego is that of the terrified marine who has yet to even warm his rifle.
"Enemy mako looks like it's disabled, ma'am!"
"Good, then we'll beeline straight for their base. We need to find out what happened to the N7 unit."
"B-but what about our forces?"
"The Alliance will be more than capable to handle this rabble, get to the base now," Jane growls, tossing a glare over her shoulder when Bennett appears to be hesitating with her orders. "You became a marine to protect, didn't you? That includes those stranded with the enemy, Bennett."
"But there's no way we can take on an entire base-"
"We don't know how many pirates are on Torfan, this could very well be their whole force."
"What is the Major saying?" Peterson asks.
Anger brews as Jane struggles with ideas on how to make this unit fall in line. "I'm your superior here, you follow my orders."
"And suicide for nothing?" The Ensign beside her balks.
Jane unhooks the strap on her suit as the mako slows to a halt, presumably clear of enemy fire. She undoes the footholds and marches over to the wheel, pulling on the lip of Bennett's suit. "Get out, all of you. I'll fucking drive there myself. There are marines stranded out there and I'm not going to fucking abandon them. Major Kyle will have this battle here under control with the other units."
"Why don't we just fight with them until we can all collectively go to the base together?" Peterson protests.
"You're lucky I'm not going to write you up for disobeying your fucking superior here," Jane seethes, shoving Bennett when she overpowers and pulls him out of his seat. Part of her feels childish. The other part burns, flabbergasted over how the Ensigns are so quick to surrender to the what ifs of her strategy. "Now get out. If you want to collectively go to the base together, you're free to regroup with the other units and come back later to the corpses of the N7."
Who's to say they aren't corpses already? The enemy has commandeered an Alliance vehicle. The comms are still in disarray, with Major Kyle struggling to regain control over the army's cohesion. The most terrifying what if here, to her, is if the Alliance loses—and the batarians win.
Fuck that.
She'll take down their base of operations even if it ends up being the fucking thing that takes her too.
Hesitation agitates her as the Ensigns struggle with their own decisions, each sharing looks of uncertainty. She groans and marches to the hatch, shoving out the one that hadn't fired beside her. She closes the hatch and makes the decision for the others before she storms to the wheel. "There. Now all of you can blame me if shit goes tits up. You won't get in trouble."
If they make it out of this.
The snake is collecting venom. A war erupts within herself and she shuts off the comm-line from the Alliance the moment other officers began to scream and yell for Major Kyle, asking for what his orders are as more reports of units being struck down flood in. She takes the wheel and delegates all power to the mako's propulsion system and it's shields.
"Get down from the cannon, we're going to dive the base and rush in as soon as we get there," Jane orders, pushing the pedal in and flooring it as soon as she works up the gear shifts. She glances over when Peterson takes the radar seat again, studying it as some dots ignite at the furthest edges of the screen. "Good," she murmurs. "We're far away from the enemy forces. We'll be able to take down their base before reinforcements can arrive."
"We'll be trapped inside the base when their reinforcements arrive," Bennett quietly remarks.
Silence hangs over the cockpit. Jane doesn't confirm or deny anything. Impulse dictates her headstrong ways, delaying the fear of reality as it threatens to snake over her hands and nestle a quiver in her muscles. She can't afford to hesitate. She tells herself if she does, this entire operation will fail, and they can't afford that.
She can't afford that.
"Elysium remembers," she mutters back. "I'm not going to rest until I take away everything from the batarians, no matter the cost."
Peterson inhales sharply. He folds his hands and bows his head, whispering something to himself. She catches bits of a prayer. Structures come up in the distance, rapidly growing larger as she races for it. This is it. The war is won before it's begun, she tells herself.
But who's won? The snake asks.
"Check your rifles," Jane orders. "As soon as I stop, open the hatch and find cover. We don't know what we're headi-"
She slams on the brakes when a lone body rushes out the bunker doors, adorned with a red stripe running down his arm. One N7 marine, when she remembers six. She sharply turns and reaches over to pull Bennett in, sliding out of the seat to shove him in to pilot. "Stay here, I'm going to get him. Switch power to the guns and provide us with suppressive fire if any batarians leave that bunker."
The sounds of aye ayes filter out to the noise of adrenaline as she rushes over to open the hatch, sprinting for the marine. She aims her rifle the moment the bunker doors begin to open again, but the N7 marine deftly pivots and fires down the batarian chasing after him. She locks into position to provide cover fire as he rushes past her for the mako, cheering with bloodlust when guns rip into the bunker doors as they open again to flood with more batarians. Soon, a hand is pulling on her shoulder, the commands drowning to the shockwave of the mako cannon's firing. She's dragged towards the vehicle and just catches herself from giving the N7 operative an indignant look, confused as to why there seems to be panic in his eyes. They hop into the mako and he tears his helmet off as he rushes over to Bennett.
"Get us out of here, fast. We need to rendezvous with the main force. Major Kyle-"
"The camp is already under attack," Jane interrupts, coming up to him with concern when he appears even more confused. "What happened in there? What were you guys supposed to negotiate?"
"Fuck negotiations," is all the N7 seethes. "They ended the moment they blew a new hole in Jones' head. You say the camp's under attack?" His gaze glosses back to the bunker. "Then we need to destroy their base."
"Shouldn't we head back to reinforce the army?" Peterson asks, and Jane feels a small measure of relief when the N7 operative sternly shakes his head.
Finally, someone willing to do something about the batarians.
"They'll be fine," the N7 states, leaning over to study the radar. "We're the only ones here."
"The other N7s," Bennett begins to ask, trailing off.
Jane bites down on her tongue when she sees rage contort the remaining N7's features. His eyes glaze as he looks over at Bennett. "I'm the only one left—and I intend to make it out of here alive." He looks back at the radar, then up at the bunker. "Those doors are the only way in, but there can't be much left to guard it after how many we killed the moment they opened fire on us." He straightens and faces Jane as he slams his helmet back on, flipping open the visor to communicate. "If your unit can provide me a distraction, I can use the explosives in their armory and blow this place sky high. I'll communicate with you over radio how much time you've got to get out once I get the ticker going."
"Understood," Jane nods resolutely. "You can count on us for that. Bennett, drive us up to the doors."
"...Aye aye, ma'am."
The stink of fear becomes stronger the closer they get, and even Jane is beginning to feel threads pulling apart as uncertainty worms in. Provide a distraction. The N7 doesn't think they can kill a skeleton crew. He's confident in his own survival, but not her unit. She keeps it to herself, to try and keep some form of solidarity and confidence in her troop so that they don't just turn tail and retreat.
She keeps it to herself that these Ensigns aren't going to stay in the Alliance after this mission, now that their romanticized notion of the military has been eradicated.
Probably like the main force at camp.
Upon creeping closer to the bunker, the N7 opens the hatch and opens fire when the doors open to retaliate against them. Every shot is final, finding a home in batarian heads with unrivaled precision. It spurs her on to do better, to focus, to try and evict the doubts within her own mind, to still the subtle quiver burrowing first in the fronts of her shoulders, working down to her elbows.
They communicate through hand gestures as they infiltrate the bunker. Jane takes a look at the three Ensigns tailing her, hyper-vigilant and extra paranoid over every shadow in every corner. They follow the N7's lead up until the hallway splits into two corridors, and he motions for them to take the other way as he wordlessly delves into his own chosen corridor.
Eyes expectantly fall on her and she feels it buzzing on her back. She waves forward and forces her legs to move, trying to keep her breathing under control as she ignores the beads of sweat trickling down her face. Her throat closes, her heart hammers at the base of it. Confidence is nowhere to be found when she knows it's just her and three other greens, rather than the armada she's always strolled in with when the Alliance boarded enemy ships.
"Lieutenant-Commander, that N7 said to provide a distraction," Peterson whispers uneasily.
"Yes he did," Jane murmurs, trying to force some levity in her tone as she quickly steals a glance over at him. "Congratulations, you have functioning ears."
"He doesn't think we'll make it out of here alive," the quiet Ensign of the three mutters bitterly. "We've got functioning brains too, Shepard."
"That's Lieutenant-Commander to you."
"Who cares, when we're being set up to die?"
"We're not going to die," Jane hisses through clenched teeth. "Now shut up before you give our position away and keep your eyes sharp."
Stalking forth, Jane presses herself to the wall as they approach a corner. She looks around it and immediately ducks her head back into cover, closing her eyes as she tries to temper her panicked inhale into a long calm breath instead. She can't afford to show any fear in front of her charges. How is she supposed to lead a flock of frightened sheep when she is one herself? Another peek, studying enemy numbers and positions in the spacious room ahead, before ducking out of view. She cautiously removes her helmet so as to make as little noise as possible, dropping her voice as she turns to the Ensigns.
"I counted five, two are checking red sand crates at the furthest left corner of the room. Three on the right. I'll take the two on the left, you guys take on the three on the right. I'll move forward as soon as I tag mine, so if you miss your shots then just give me cover fire, understood?"
There's a slight delay in their sync. "Understood, ma'am."
"Whatever you do, don't shoot me in the ass, yeah? Remember, pissed off asari warping guts and all. Way scarier than these four-eyed freaks, believe me."
Peterson is the only one that gives an uneasy chortle, silencing when Jane cuts a sharp hand across the air. She stifles the proud smile tugging at her lips as she turns towards the corner. Not the damn time. She braces the stock of her rifle against her shoulder, steeling herself with a deep breath in.
She's going to make it out of this alive. She is.
"Let's go," she murmurs, charging forward and training her aim on the first batarian that falls in line with her sights. She holds her breath and squeezes the trigger, training her aim on the next batarian rather than confirming the kill. She knows it, feels it in her bones, she's confident in her aim now.
Except the first batarian isn't dead.
Upon killing her second mark, she reacts too slowly and the first fires a shot. Her shields absorb the impact, recoiling her, causing her to miss again. She slams herself against the wall and crouches, firing a series at the batarian as the other Ensigns rush up to handle their targets. When the smoke clears, and the blood pools, the group approach the deathly silent room, where Jane swears her inner thoughts are loud enough for the others to hear. She stands over the corpse of what should have been her first mark, before glancing at one of her hands. Her finger quake a little. She stuffs it back on to grip her rifle as she turns to the others.
"Good work. We'll hold this position. They'll likely have heard us exchange fire and will come to investigate."
"Come from which direction?" Peterson inquires, looking with uncertainty around the room for what they can use for cover.
"Maybe we can pull the crates over in a corner and make ourselves a little barricade?" Bennett suggests.
"All they'll need to do is lob a grenade over then," Jane says, heading over to one of the corners. "Split up, each of you takes a corner. We'll all have eyes then."
"Aye aye, ma'am."
As they settle in, more doubts crawl in as the snake poisons every thought. Jane struggles, a part of her tearing herself apart for being no different than the Ensigns, another part trying to get into the N7's head to figure out what exactly is the plan at play for their unit here. And then it hits her.
They never actually exchanged frequencies.
There is no way for their unit to know when the explosives have been armed, and the ticker is going. Upon that, Jane bolts into standing, rushing down one of the corridors without another word. She hears the footsteps and calls of her unit behind her, heading towards the footsteps and foreign language shouted ahead of her. Right now, the bloody N7 is the most fucking dangerous of them all in this goddamn bunker. She needs eyes on him.
She needs to give him a piece of her fucking mind for actually sacrificing their goddamn unit like that. These are green marines. They've barely started serving. Fuck that if they're little else good for more than just meatbags.
Fuck that if she's little else good for being more than food herself.
Jane brazenly opens fire the second targets come into sight. She doesn't bother with clean kills. She clamors over two batarians caught in the gut—a horrible way to go.
Good.
Fury broils upon hearing one of the Ensigns offer a merciful end as the singular shot echoes. These pirates wouldn't accept even a civilian surrendering, wouldn't offer a merciful end. They don't deserve one, for fuck's sake. Why does nobody fucking see that? The Alliance is too blinded in their ways of honor and law. Look what good honor and law have done for the main army at camp? She'd just join the bodies there, and Major Kyle was last reported as MIA on the comms.
More batarians, more struck down without thought. She doesn't know where she's heading. She doesn't know this base like the N7—whom already apparently is aware of where the armoury is. When she stumbles upon a hallway of a few corpses, she follows it down. Gunfire erupts behind her, along with rallied cries. She looks over her shoulder, uncertain whether she should go back to the Ensigns or not, up until she hears Peterson yell out in pain. She doubles back and presses against the wall until she nears the yelling, crouching as she comes up to one of the corners. Her throat tightens again as a hand comes into view, stretching, straining, and she grabs it to pull it over to her as soon as she realizes it's Peterson crawling for safety.
"Fuck," she hisses, white noise beginning it's buzz in her ears as she rolls the Ensign over to analyze his wound. She frantically rips off the suit's clasps to tear the torso piece off, cussing over the crimson splotch drenching the man's uniform. Hit in the lung by the sounds of his wheezing, another bad way to go. He was probably the sorry sob that offered a merciful end too. Jane glares at him as he tries to talk, barking at him. "Don't fucking talk, save your breath." She reaches behind her to unhook the med-kit off her hip, opening the canister and dumping the contents over his wound. His mouth is moving again, his voice too wispy to hear over the firefight around the corner. He tries to fight her from applying it, pushing off excess gel as she smears it over his wound. "Stop, you idiot! You're going to die if this doesn't get treated!" She hollers over her shoulder. "Bennett! Hurry the fuck up over there and kill them already, Peterson needs aid!"
"Trying, Shepard!" Comes the growl back. "Could use some aid here too!"
"Fuck!" Jane groans, pulling Peterson's hand over the wound and ignoring his pained cry. "Put pressure on that wound, be right back!" She grabs her rifle and dashes around the corner, firing blindly as she rushes to dive behind cover of another red sand crate. She looks for Bennett and the other Ensign in the room—cursing herself that she still can't remember his name or even looking at his shoulder for it—before electing to throw a grenade over at the small group of batarians that had taken cover on the opposite end. She hears Bennett's panicked cry before the marine dives away, and she dips back into cover until the grenade explodes. The gunfire stops, and another pained cry reverberates somewhere. She hears two footsteps rush towards her and takes her knife out her boot, rising from her cover to meet the one. The tip of her knife nearly sinks into Bennett's throat, both soldiers panicking as they quickly step away from each other.
Pride suffocates the acknowledgement of her rookie mistake, instead rushing back towards Peterson upon confirming the batarians are dead.
"He's been hit in the lung, you two need to take him back to the mako and work to keep him stabilized there," Jane orders.
"What about you?" Bennett asks.
"I'm going to find our N7. We didn't exchange frequencies."
"Because he doesn't care whether we live or die," the unnamed Ensign spits, and Jane throws a glare over at his shoulder to read his patch.
"The mission's success comes first, Garcia. That's what it means to be a marine. Now take Peterson and get the fuck out of here."
Bennett rounds the corner and kneels by Peterson's side. Dread pools in Jane's stomach once again when there's a lack of urgency to fucking move. She grits her teeth upon noticing that Peterson's hands aren't over his wound, that his chest isn't rising and falling, that his eyes are glassy and perpetually open. She turns away and ignores the way her hair stands on the back of her neck. She tries to temper her sharp inhale into a long calm breath, stealing another glance as she lifts her fingers off her rifle to stare at the back of her hand. They're shaking more.
She's never had anyone die under her command—it's her fault for abandoning her unit without communicating with them. It's her fault for not running back fast enough. It's her fault for not deciding sooner. Rookie mistakes. She's no different than the woman she was on Elysium.
"Lieutenant-Commander, we need to find the N7," Bennett quietly says, his voice taut.
"Yeah..." Jane murmurs. She sighs and shakes her head as she forces her feet to move, stepping over Peterson's body after breaking the chain of his dog tags and securing it in her hip compartment. "Let's go."
"Fuck that," Garcia laughs bitterly, "I'm not going to die with you."
Jane looks over her shoulder. Within a second, hundreds of thoughts and emotions race by her—but she's left drained and empty in the end. She shrugs dejectedly in defeat.
"Alright."
Bennett's head whips towards her in surprise and anger over Garcia, his sheen eyes burning bright with unshed tears. "But-"
"You can leave too, Bennett. I won't write either of you up. You're both Ensigns, you shouldn't even be here right now. It's my fault that you are. Go on. You have families to go home to, yeah?"
Garcia takes off without another word—seizing the opportunity, it seems, before she changes her mind. Bennett appears torn, uncertain, looking off where Garcia's gone, taking a step towards that path. Then he turns around, his eyes hardening over the corpse of his friend, before snapping at attention as he faces Jane. "Where you go, I go, Lieutenant-Commander."
Somehow, somewhere, a grin erupts on Jane's face. She slips her helmet's visor up before reaching over to give a friendly punch to Bennett's shoulder. "You fuckin' sap. Alright then, let's go finish this mission and blow this place sky high."
If they still had time to find the N7 and figure out just how many precious seconds they all had left, anyways.
They rush down the corridor again until Jane stumbles on the corpses she had earlier, blindly picking a hallway and praying with every fibre of her being, to any god or goddess that exists, that she's picked the right one. Time feels like it's slowed to a halt the longer they run without any signs. It isn't until they enter another chamber where more batarian bodies are strewn about, and Jane idly admires the precision of the N7's execution as they charge on.
Distant gunfire propels them to push past screaming muscles, and she slows to a halt when the sounds suddenly stop. She aims her rifle as she waits, holding her breath to listen what's ahead. On a limb, she decides to take a risk to announce herself.
"Friendly! It's Lieutenant-Commander Shepard!"
Silence. Excruciating seconds tick by, but at least they aren't being fired at. She exchanges glances with Bennett before motioning for them to stalk forward, their weapons trained and trigger fingers ready. They entire the next spacious chamber where crates upon crates of weaponry reside, and she studies the carnage of bodies in here. All pirates. She creeps and peeks over the corner, tension flooding out her body upon recognizing the marine's N7 armor. She can't help but frown as she approaches the man, who's kneeling and seemingly creating something on his omni-tool.
"You could have at least acknowledged us or said you're alive," she grumbles.
"And give my position away to the enemy?" He hisses quietly, shooting a look over at her. "Now stay quiet and keep an eye on my flank, rookie."
Man, what an asshole. Are all N7 like this? Her romanticized notion of the Alliance was destroyed a long time ago, and now her romanticized notions of the N7 elite are being chucked right into a dumpster fire. She suppresses her indignant grunt as she turns around to keep watch. She rolls her eyes when she notices Bennett smirking at her. Another asshole that seems to have figured it out, it seems. She can't resist the temptation.
"I'll write you up for sassing your superior," she idly warns.
"I am your superior," the N7 cuts coldly.
"Wasn't talking to you." She clears her throat subtly, but ensures there's every bit of just-as-subtle snark in her tone. "Respectfully, Sir."
"Stay quiet," the N7 reminds.
Jane bites back a sigh. She looks over and sneers at Bennett as she points her tongue out him. She looks away and smiles with pride when she wrings out a poorly stifled chuckle out the marine.
The N7 shoots up into standing, and starts sprinting down on the hallways. "Move it! We've got five minutes to clear out of here!"
"Five fucking minutes?!"
"Better run faster if you want to keep those pretty legs, sweetheart!"
Oh.
Oh.
Jane is going to conspire and figure out a way to knock this asshole's teeth out his mouth, mark her words. Or thoughts. Whatever. A new surge of adrenaline courses through her—mostly disgruntled anger when the N7 suddenly feels quite comfortable displaying just how much of a chauvinist he is as he sneers sweetheart and honey and dear at her whenever she begins to gas out. It's fuel for the fire. She will clock this man out and she doesn't give a flying fuck if she gets another rep on her record for it.
"You're begging for it," she seethes under her breath, her glare settled on the back of his stupid ass fucking bobbing head the whole time.
Any resistance they meet along the way is made short work of by the N7's unparalleled aim, and she absolutely refuses to admire it any longer. They make it to the entrance of the bunker, and the moment they're outside, she's marching towards him with her fist ready even as her brain seems to scream that there's something amiss. She ignores Bennett calling out after her, and is just about to throw her punch as the N7 turns towards her.
She stops and freezes upon noticing the fear in his eyes, the dread in his voice.
"Where's the mako?"
"Th-the mako...?" Jane sputters, her brain somehow both empty and screaming with millions of thoughts. The mako is gone. Why?
Garcia.
Garcia took the mako, didn't he?
"Move," the N7 whispers shakily, pivoting sharply to go behind Jane and Bennett, shoving them with desperation. "Move! Run, fucking run!"
Fire erupts in her legs, an exhaustion overpowering her will and fear. She feels hands on her shoulder, and the world starts to spin, a lump thundering in her throat as she tries to help her fellow marines by pulling or pushing them forward. She yelps when the N7 lifts her and throws her over his shoulder, abandoning all weaponry to haul ass as he continuously screams at Bennett to move faster.
All she can see is the barren dusty sands ahead of them, the base behind. In the distance, hundreds of bodies lay waste in the plains, pirate and soldier alike. Some are still crawling about, staining the earth with their blood. There's fighting happening at the camp too, it appears. The final thing she sees in her jumbled view of bouncing around is the N7 enabling his omni-tool, and the screen is counting down the seconds.
She closes her eyes when it hits zero.
And the cold sterile darkness consumes her.