The End of Dawn Chapter 1: The End, a mass effect fanfic

If you're reading this and haven't read The Fall of Normandy, I suggest you head there now and read it. You'll be super out of the loop otherwise.ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

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ＴＨＥㅤ ＥＮＤㅤ ＯＦㅤ ＤＡＷＮ

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PROLOGUE

2-2-2184

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Birds sang.

A tree from a window filtered an artificial light, its shadow stretching across the room and slowly dancing over a chair and the single occupant sitting upon it.

The dweller had not moved and their eyes were adrift in a comatose. Luminous pupils lost in entropic torment. They glowed and stared at the pastels that made up the short walls, but they were blind. It was a nominal figure, frail and gaunted. One that hardly moved, save for the slight rise and steady fall of a chest.

The clothes, once taught across a body, hung loose at parts from the food they hardly ate.

Two blurring months of an unwinding despair. A litany of investigation and interrogation alike. Conference after meeting after call of the events that transpired on and over that fated planet.

But it was finally over. The calls stopped. Meetings finished. Conferences done. The Alliance and Citadel Coalition had their ducks lined up. And, as a reward, bestowed those survived by the Normandy to pay their empty respects in a ceremony starved of substance to vacant caskets.

They were released from voluntary captivity. The detainment was finally over. They could all disband and go their separate ways now and move on.

A stir of the mind. One that hitched on that paper-thin maxim. Moving on.

An acrid and scalding laugh came out as a caustic whisper and they let it grow and fester inside their chest.

Move on. Move on, move on, move on. Hands clamped down on the armrests and they lilted a song of sticky leather.

From what should they move from? The Normandy was the fulcrum of their existence. Through every lens, their entire purpose. Its shadow loomed larger than the vessel itself. A pall over every achievement that came and the possibilities that were supposed to be laid ahead of them.

Warriors back to tend their gardens. The flowers and petals smiled up their peaceful existence, but the mountains that made the horizon still burned and blackened. Alight and ablaze to bleach the galaxy clean of life, the world at large still ignorant to the provident reaping that approached.

An omni-tool rang. An arm bent up to read the caller ID, the twiggy shadows camouflaging the pattern of their sleeves.

They accepted the call and the arm fell back, eyes back to maintain their blind gaze to the corner across from them.

"Hey, Tali."

She took a steady breath, one that barely had any composure in it, and sighed. "Hi, Garrus."

"Look. We— ...Liara wants us to get together. You should come along."

There was a long pause over the phone and Garrus wondered if he'd been disconnected. But he could hear the subtle chirping of birds on the line. "...Tali?"

"—Where to?"

Garrus himself took a breath. "There's a sit-down place a couple blocks from you. Ever heard of Fauner's?"

"No."

"It's a good place. Liara said to meet in four hours."

Tali glanced at her clock. "So at five."

"Yeah."

The quarian inhaled and agreed despite her not wanting to. "I'll be there."

"Want me to pick you up?"

"No."

"Okay," He murmured, "Just call if you need anything."

She didn't say goodbye and ended the call. Left again to wither under the mercy of her mind. A purgatory with which she could hardly escape inside this little room. If not for the pilgrimage, she might have surrendered to it fully.

Tears came again, as they always did now.

She should have followed that man down that elevator and joined him in his demise. But she didn't.

And now he was dead.

And she was here.

Caught in the limbo of 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏.

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Three hours passed since his call. Yet Tali now remained immobilized to the bed and had hardly moved since. What food she'd eaten had, again, barely made it past her chapped lips. Over half the op-aid remained, tube uneaten and discarded on the nightstand. Her eyes burned and were marred in a red bloodshot as she stared at the ceiling that had absorbed her vision for hours.

She couldn't find the motivation to move even within the confines of her room. Eating was a chore, even more than it already was. How was she going to clothe herself in a convincing enough facade to rise from bed, prepare, and leave for this senseless get-together?

It wasn't about motivation though, she knew. She said she was going to be there. So she was going to make an appearance. Doing anything else would only fuel their persistent and growing worry for her. And she didn't need them prying anymore than they already were.

Her sigh carried the weight of her dead world. She coerced her body upright and swung her legs out to meet the floor, eyes refusing to meet her own gaze as she passed the mirror.

She slithered out from her room, took the stairs, and made her way past the foyer.

The place wasn't far from here. Only some blocks away.

The sliding doors widened and she passed through, the sounds of the Citadel coming out to meet her. She took a left. Crossed two streets. Eyes still heavy and swollen. In a gradual decay, the ward slowly began to look much like the squalor of Omega. Against what should've been better judgment, she continued down this path, absently placing one foot over another.

Undesirables were strewn about every passing alleyway. They kept to themselves mostly. Digging through refuse or lost in a haze of illicit spice. A dilapidated spat reserved for the dregs of society. One where pointless parties raged and for crime to go unnoticed. Abandoned buildings flanked the broken street. Music deafened the space. The base was overwhelming and drowned the mid and treble. People loitered about and a scattered theater of eyes stared as she walked. She made no effort to shrink away from the figures and kept moving.

As she passed by every person who crossed her path, they would follow her with their dispassionate stares because of how out of place it was to see a quarian.

She was about to slip through a group of three, but a batarian rose up his hand and stopped her path.

"What are you doing here, suit?"

She stared at the offending arm and stepped back slightly, but didn't say anything.

He looked her up and down and smiled his razored teeth. "Damn. You're pretty. Love the look."

Ignoring the barrier he'd stuck out, she attempted to sidestep, only to find her way barred once more.

The batarian's leer grew, as though he were playing his part on a theatrical cue. One shit-hole the same as the next. It was amazing what ran through these people's minds.

"Whoa. We're just enjoying the view. No need to suck the damn fun out of it."

She yanked his hand down and pushed past him. So infuriated by her reluctance to even dignify him with a reply, he smashed his bottle down and it shattered to pieces at his feet. The batarian reached out to twist her around. And as soon as that hand touched her shoulder, the man had unknowingly catalyzed an outlet for her to misguide all her anger, anguish, and frustration she'd packed for two months.

She let him whirl her around. Then she took the arm and decided to imbue him with an elbow that no longer worked. Without even lauding the man a moment to process his arm hanging at the wrong angle, she pulled from her back, her concealed handgun, and smashed the mag-well across his face. He crumpled down like a folded sheet of paper.

A turian charged her, but her pistol barked twice and he dropped to the street with hardly a pained gasp.

The last batarian, a mix of intoxication and fear, recoiled at the sight of the handgun trained on his head.

"Go for it. Make my day." She intoned quietly.

"Please—d-don't shoot," he stammered frightfully, shielding all four of his eyes with clammy hands. Tali, with a dispassionate stare, fished for a small parcel of medi-gel to toss toward the turian's feet.

"Your friend's bleeding out."

As the baked batarian stumbled to his knees and went for the parcel, muffling a cry while he tried to administer treatment, Tali surveyed the growing congregation of onlookers coming out to meet the commotion.

Her aim lingered a little while longer until she decided it was finally time to withdraw.

For the briefest of moments, she felt graced by a dark thrill and took pleasure in their suffering.

She felt like a monster.

Perhaps she was becoming one without his light to keep her from the dark that lurked.

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Garrus tapped at the wooden finish of the bar inattentively while holding his Krolus Heineken in the other. He took another, rather large, gulp and lightly placed the ice-cold bottle back on the counter before turning his attention to the vid placed before the congregation of other drinkers.

He came early, as always, to events like this, cheerless or joyful. It was routine, and not even the death of Shepard, as he saw it, could change that. He'd still been wearing his formalware since the funeral. His visor was missing since the occasion made the headpiece an awkward accessory to his outfit. Hearing heavy footsteps come up from behind him, he turned around to see Wrex approach.

"Garrus." Wrex greeted as he sat down by him.

"Wrex." He greeted emptily. He took another swig of beer.

"Ryncol. Neat. Two limes." Wrex thumbed the counter for the salarian bartender to which he motioned back to prepare it.

A minute passed by and neither of them said anything.

When the bartender handed the krogan his drink, he snatched it, dumped whatever was in the mug to his open mouth (including the two limes) before setting it back down on the counter.

"Another." he said.

"Right away."

"So," Wrex faced Garrus, "What should we talk about?"

"Not sure, Wrex," The turian gave another glance at the vid above them both and shook his head, "Not sure."

"Nothing to say? You're always full of words."

"Forgive me if I'm not today."

Wrex gave a solemn nod and realized that the jest did feel a bit out of place.

A year was not a long time for a man who'd almost lived a thousand years. But that's how long he knew Shepard. A firecracker going off if one were to try and draw a comparison. But John's spark was a bright one. It would leave an impression on Wrex. A legacy that he would take and share in what might be some misguided hope to change the world for the better. It was a damn shame to have lost him so soon. The galaxy needed a thousand of him.

The two men sat in the midst of the world's indifference. The vid screen played and the patrons drank. The music was light and tappy. Conversations interposed with laughter. A busy atmosphere. One Liara had picked as if it could coax and wax what was left of the Normandy's auric camaraderie that once bellied its walls.

The bartender handed Wrex his second round. He took it and, like the last, knocked his head back and took it all in one go.

"Another. A bigger cup."

"Of course."

Garrus's stare remained transfixed on the neck of his bottle. "What are you gonna do after this Wrex?"

"Go home. Maybe clean up my planet."

A wary stare came from the turian. "Why the jokes. Does it look like I'm in the mood to be hearing them?"

"I wasn't joking." Wrex said evenly. Garrus pulled his gaze back to his bottle. Wrex watched the poor runt and felt sadness touch his two old hearts.

Never in these thousand years had he ever expected to feel bad for a turian.

"Bartender," Wrex called, "Get my friend here something stronger than that nipple of pup's milk."

"Wrex." Garrus spat.

"What. You're mood's killing me."

"Keep it to yourself, then."

"It's not about me. It's about what that mood is gonna do to the girls. They can't afford to see you like this."

Garrus said nothing, but his stare turned hard and he tried to reign himself in again. "You know I'm a terrible drunk."

"Better than watching this. Last thing Shepard would want is you wallowing in emotional filth."

Garrus pushed the bottle away from him and relented by showing the bartender a hand to show his assent.

More moments of stoic silence. Wrex's third drink, three times as large as the last, was placed in front of him.

"Better."

"He didn't even die well." Garrus said aloud to himself. His hands clutched the empty air around him to stem his outrage.

Wrex held up his krogan ear. "What was that?"

"He died out in space." He said differently, speaking his thoughts, "Spirits, that is not how I expected this to end."

"At least he died fighting."

The salarian gave Garrus his drink and took away the hardly touched beer.

"What happens when a krogan dies from old age?"

"I don't think that happens." Wrex said with a grin.

A new patron passed through the doors and the subtle chime of a bell rang. They both turned to see who it was that entered and saw that it was Tali.

Wordlessly, they waved her over and she walked straight to them. She climbed atop the fixed and mounted stool to Garrus' left and drew her arms over the bartop.

Still no words or a single exchanged glance from her.

"Should I open a tab?" The salarian asked.

Tali gave the man what barely amounted to a nod. Garrus gave her a subtle, out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye, stare. Wrex leaned in to get a look out of the quarian as well.

Eyes drawing down the menu, she eventually found her choice and picked it. She held the menu out in front of the salarian and tapped her finger at the item.

"Whisky. Neat. Right away."

"I had to coax you to drink some soda with liquor in it and Tali's already diving in."

The turian stared at the bubbles floating through the ice in his drink and hung his head low, denying him his humor.

Fanning out his hand to dismiss the turian, Wrex drank deeply what smelled like gasoline and sighed at the taste.

"Another." Wrex ordered.

"Are you sure?" the bartender asked with a squint.

"If I'm sitting, I'm drinking."

"Another on the way."

Garrus took a shallow sip from his glass, set it back down, and swirled it absently in his hand because it was something to occupy his mind.

"Don't go overboard, Garrus." Tali murmured, tone barren, "We don't want a repeat of Thanksgiving."

What was supposed to come out as a joke went out instead as an ill-fated attempt to lighten the mood. It made them all glower instead. She wasn't even sure why it passed her lips. Even saying that was like pretending everything was okay. It felt cruel to even mention it. Like he was still here and with them. She clenched her teeth and pressed her lips together, her stare held resolutely forward. She could hear John's jolly laugh haunt her and it made her tense up and nail her eyes shut at the sound echoing inside.

Her whiskey was set in front of her.

She took the sealed glass and punctured its top with her straw. Garrus watched its contents get sucked down in one sweeping go.

She pulled it away from her face, its glass seat racking the wood top.

"Another. Please."

The salarian took it.

Garrus watched her closely, noting the sudden catch in her breath. It was hard to tell whether it was some stifled cough or the rise of a single, suppressed sob. The sight of her, being so visibly shattered, was a heartrending thing to witness. Though she sat beside him, it felt as if she were miles away, lost in the cloudy brine of grief. From the moment John had been lost to the void, it was as though Tali's had died out there with him. He was staring down a shell, a vessel holding vacuum.

There always used to be liveliness in those eyes. Even through that translucent glass, you could see her emotions clearly and candidly. But the nimbus inside her otherworldly gaze dimmed under the forceful current of tragedy's gust. The vibrancy was cut and only held within them a vacant and distant chill. Forlorness. One steeped in desolation.

The glass that made her face was a window to her soul. But now it reflected nothing but the barrenness that claimed her.

Another glass arrived and it was gone as fast as the first. Then she asked for a third and it came quickly. Only for her to down that too.

"Tali, slow down."

He might as well have been an apparition because she didn't acknowledge him.

Her eyes were shrouded by watching elevator doors close on John to seal his fate and entwine himself to the depths of space. Her head was held down lower, realk stretched. Her false memory had her reaching out to him with an outstretched hand to caress his face. To pull him to safety. To hold and endure with him for yet another day. A sobbed plea for the universe to change this ending and to turn this one into a forgotten dream.

"I'm sorry." She whispered soundlessly to the ether in this happy little bar and its unaware congregants. She slipped down from the seat back to her feet and bit back what would only be the torture of more unbidden tears. She could not suffer this charade any longer. She couldn't do this anymore. She had to go. She had to leave.

She turned around and pushed herself through the door to run from her ghosts. In a surprised gaze, Garrus and Wrex watched her leave the doors of Fauner's and into the street.

Garrus got up and made his way to her, drink abandoned. Wrex stayed back, his crimson eyes staring on, his face stoic and impassive. But inside, even he had felt the touch of austerity befall him.

The salarian bartender, unimpressed he had two unpaid tabs open, was placated when Wrex threw up a hand. "Don't worry. I'll pay if they don't come back."

The turian made his way outside and immediately pulled himself to a halt. The street was filled with the passing of cars and people walking busily by. He pulled his hands up atop his head and growled in both frustration and anger at how easily he'd just lost her in the traffic and crowds.

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From a window Tali didn't look from, you could see Garrus turning and looking and seeking for the quarian's silhouette in the ceaseless hustle and bustle of Kithoi.

A dryness left her muted voice. "Yovaan Hotel."

The self-driving taxi accelerated and the turian disappeared from view, Tali none the wiser he'd been searching for her.

The steady thrum and warmth of her three glasses taken on an empty stomach began to warp her chest and dull her mind. Her head fell back on the headrest, eyes fixed to the drooping headliner in a tepid lull and felt herself surrender to the numbness.

She felt her omni-tool ring. She ignored it. She could feel a flurry of texts running her way. All of them a variety of different sounds to let her know each of them were trying to get a hold of her. Again, she ignored it.

To be around them now was an oppressive torture. To look upon the faces of those she loved only reminded her of the dead one she loved most.

The taxi arrived, its wheels turning into the roundabout to let out its languid passenger. The door opened and she pulled herself out, her heavy feet carrying her through the entrance, into the foyer, and up the stairs to the second level to room B-12.

She keyed the door and it switched open, but she did not enter. Hand still on that handle, her visor kissed its wooded frame, her face paling from the exsanguinated death that encroached her.

A fanged and clenched frown was born and tears puddled her glass.

She yanked herself upright and inhaled, eyes fastened upward to stem the tears and madness.

She opened the door and stepped inside and forced it to close behind her. Her back lined the entryway and another choked sob bubbled out. Even under its influence, her dizzy and drunken stupor fell short of what she had hoped it would promise.

She finally worked up enough courage to bring up her OT and to view the missed calls and texts she'd intentionally ignored. She swiped away the calls. And viewed the first of seven texts.

It was from Garrus. The next one was also from him. The third was from Liara. She swiped away the rest and tapped a punctual reply.

'ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ.' And sent it to all of them.

She sat at the edge of her bed. Eventually, she lay on it. Steadying from the dizziness, she succumbed to sleep. Though, even in her dreams, the agony couldn't be escaped.

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Music Theme: The Right to Destroy Myself by Okada