The End of Dawn

by Narcrotic

John Shepard is gone. The Normandy destroyed. Her pilgrimage, a journey of self-discovery, hope, and love, comes to an end. Left to wander back to her origins, she finds her home now estranged, haunted by a specter of what was and could've been. It is the end of dawn, but amidst the echoes, heralds light on the horizon. The sequel to The Fall of Normandy. Mature content.

11. Chronicle of History

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A long time ago.

1-28-2183

[ SERPENT NEBULA | CITADEL | BACHJRET WARD ]

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Time.

It was measured in all sorts of ways.

Every sapient civilization worth their salt had a way of doing it. Each their own method of tracking its relentless march forward.

Seconds to a minute. Minutes toward an hour. Hours clustered to a day. A mosaic of temporal reckoning. A grand tapestry binding the cosmos together.

Each system was unique, each denotation slightly different, yet all serving the same purpose.

One undeniable truth, however, married them all together. The inescapable reality that time, ultimately, could only be spent. Whether budgeted with care or squandered recklessly, time would levy its tax on everyone and without remorse. No wage known to the inhabitants of the galaxy could ever accrue more. The ultimate finite resource, ticking away, indifferent to the desires of all.

But for Tali, she wished, desperately, for a way to spend it elsewhere. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but now.

But she couldn't.

Here and now, she'd spent her time running. Each torturous hour begat the next in a relentless and unforgiving cycle of fear and fatigue. Sleep seemed eternally out of reach. It could never claim her for any longer than a handful of minutes. Episodic at every chance and unsatisfying every time.

A consequence of Saren's endless chase of cinching his loose ends. And he was slowly, without reprieve, winning. One steady setback after another, she felt like stone besieged by waves, each crashing against her with the force of eons.

Her fight turned to flight. Her flight into a dire, all-consumptive, flee.

Every encounter with his goons brought her a tick closer to death. A tick closer to complete exhaustion. Her struggle for life had her prostrated.

Wounded. Bleeding. Worn at the fabric.

She wasn't naive to know this was steering her toward an inevitability. No matter how she might steer, no matter how desperately she tried to alter her course, it would all end with her dead and Saren, ultimately, satisfied.

She might be drained of strength. But her resolve had yet to even level off a drop toward Saren's war against her.

ɴᴏ ǫᴜᴀʀᴛᴇʀ.

She recalled vividly.

ɴᴏ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ.

Eyes that held determination and contempt.

ᴛʜᴇʏ sʜᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ.

A timeless adage woven into quarian spirit— she would fight these dogs that hunted her 'til her heart stopped.

It was the Zorah way. The quarian way.

It wasn't so much a whimper as it was a hilt of pain that suddenly bubbled from her lips. Head down now to stare emptily at her woven bandage and the blot of red that seeped in the dim crimson light of this empty and far-too-clean alley. Clotted and crusted rivers that had dribbled down her arm. An archipelago of dried blood that marred the sleeve of her realk.

Sickness in her stomach. Sickness in her body. Figuratively. Literally.

Desperation was her only remaining tool. Her only option. Her choices reflected as such.

No one had come to help her. And the only policing body on the Citadel rejected her. Outright. Didn't have a care of what she had to say no matter how loudly she'd shouted and pleaded.

Shoehorned to turning herself toward the underground, she took her chances and made one last daring and audacious attempt to trade this stupid disc for some protection and a chance to flee the Citadel. To find some hideaway on some back-water planet and wait out the next month to build up enough of a lead to have this traitorous Spectre (Keelah) drop his wanton commitment to exing her from the universe.

The Shadow Broker.

The name carried a musty weight. It didn't inspire much confidence.

Minutes to the dot, she rose to her feet and gave her gear one last once over while she waited for the people meeting her.

Sweat in her eyes, she blinked the salts away as best she could.

Silence reigned, broken only by the occasional whine of a passing air car. And then three figures. Silhouettes that entered through the door she'd been staring toward from her dark corner.

Safety off. Her shotgun answered her with an audible click from a hand holding its grip from behind her back.

They stepped underneath a light that bathed them red.

Skull paint on a turian. Two salarian men in gleaming gear.

Red flags everywhere.

"You Tali'Zorah?" Came a bi-toned rasp.

"Yes." She answered with a murmur, "Where's the Shadow Broker?"

The turian didn't answer. "The evidence," he breathed, "Where is it."

She cloaked herself deeper into the shadows, her gaze fixed on their gear and guns. "Where's Fist."

"They'll be here."

Despite the dark blanket she'd been covered under, he dared himself even closer and grasped her arm. It was an exploratory touch. Lustful.

She feigned weakness, but slapped his hand away with a swift and deliberate motion.

"Don't."

The turian gave her a gentle stare that was anything but. The salarians beside him remained impassive.

Tali took another step back, her body now entirely swathed in black.

"The deal's off. I asked to meet with them. Not you."

"Don't make this hard." The turian said with a soft sigh, tone gilded in false benevolence, "I can help you. More than the Shadow Broker or Fist ever could."

Tali felt her throat tighten when he closed even more space between them. His eyes pierced her face of glass.

"I got a thing for girls like you." He began, "I'm an easy man to please."

She let him ramble, grip on her shotgun hidden.

"Just don't cross me like my last girl. She tried to leave. Pilgrimage? I think." He stared straight into her soul, "Didn't let her go. Fucked the bitch before I—" He finished himself with a satiric grin, his hand-turned-gun aimed straight between her eyes. He imitated the recoil of a pistol discharging.

Tali couldn't muster the courage to say anything. But a deep, rumbling voice cut through the tension and answered the turian's vile taunt in her stead.

"I hope you enjoy the void for your sins."

A giant krogan, one dawned in red armor with a crimson head plate, stepped out from the dark and swung his fist so fast, the turian hardly had the time to blink, much less yelp in surprise before having his face look much like a coconut who'd been set against the broadside of a sledgehammer.

Tali lurched back and marveled at how a krogan had managed to ambush them all so silently.

The first salarian whirled around, pistol raised, but the krogan caught the sidearm with a gauntlet and pulled the man in close to kiss his helmet with a headplate cruising in at a 3500 Newton force. A confetti of glass from a broken visor, he was dead on contact. Body still in the krogan's clutches, the corpse had become an impromptu meat shield for the six futile pot shots the second salarian managed to squeeze off before the giant had crossed enough distance to get a hold of his neck and protracting it at an angle far beyond the constraints of bone and muscle.

Stunned to silence as chaos unfolded around her.

The krogan wasn't alone.

Out of the shadows, reinforcements emerged.

Three humans, clad in standard Alliance TA-50 armor, and a turian in Citadel security AFAD gear appeared.

A mere second later, dozens of C-sec officers, also in AFAD gear, along with what had to be an entire detachment of human Alliance soldiers, came in from both doors and secured the alleyway.

"No contact!" the first group called out.

"Clear!" the second group echoed, confirming the area was secure.

Amidst the organized assault, a human soldier with an 'N7' symbol etched across his chest plate approached Tali'Zorah. He stowed his rifle and closed the gap between them slowly, eyes looking her over with concern.

"Ma'am?"

"...Yes?"

"Are you Tali'Zorah nar Rayya?"

Tali, visibly shaken by what had transpired over the last minute, nodded both weakly and dumbly at him.

"It's over. You're safe." He assured.

She glanced around at the multitude of C-Sec and Alliance personnel swarming the alleyway. Flashing lights from the vehicles outside cast shadows that flickered. Grip still clutched tightly over her gun's pistol grip, she released it and let her hand fall.

It was over. It was all. Finally. Over. It settled into her slowly, like a distant echo. She couldn't say anything. She fumbled herself backward up against the wall and finally let her guard down. To just breathe. To just not think anymore, even if for only a moment.

The man stepped in next to her, waved off his team and a number of C-Sec agents to stay back and give the woman some space.

"How long have you been fighting?"

"Days." She murmured.

"You must've put up one hell of a fight."

"I tried." She sighed with a clenched jaw.

"Take your time, ma'am."

"You can... just call me Tali." She whispered after closing her eyes.

Wow.

Closing her eyes for anything longer than a second. She hadn't done that for a long time. The metaphorical elcor above her finally had the courtesy to step off her shoulders.

He motioned for someone to approach with a care kit. He rummaged around the tote and handed her a sterilized bladder of chilled water.

"Here. We also have provisions if you're hungry. Eating was probably difficult."

She looked up at his offering and finally took it. A conveniently placed straw and everything. She drank deeply from the bladder and it parched her dry throat in a way she could hardly believe.

"Thank you." She muttered between sips, "You haven't a clue how much of a miracle you are."

"I wish we could've gotten to you sooner. I'm sorry we didn't."

Another deep sip and she finally had the break she needed before addressing what they were likely after.

"Bold assumption that you're here for something."

He got straight to business. "Sources indicate you have information confirming Saren's involvement on Eden Prime."

"I do," Tali said with another nod, slower this time. "...Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"Lieutenant Commander John Shepard. Systems Alliance." He extended a hand to shake with hers.

She took the hand in hers and shook.

"You're bleeding." John said as he pointed to her red blotched bandage, "We should get that looked at."

What an abrupt change in circumstances. Just hours ago, she'd been rejected by nearly everyone on the Citadel. Now, it seemed, everyone was bending over backward to ensure her safety. The humans, in particular, would be leaving a very favorable impression, thanks first to Dr. Michel and now this kind gentleman.

"I'm okay. I swear it. It can wait for a moment more."

Shepard glanced back at the krogan, his two marines, then the turian C-sec agent. His expression grew serious.

"...Can I count on your help?"

Tali looked at John and smiled. "Yes."

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"Play it again, please."

"Eden Prime was a major victory. The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the conduit."

"And one step closer for the return of the reapers."

After the audio had played across the council chambers, everyone had remained deathly quiet.

"Thank you, Miss Zorah." Councilor Valern said with a hushed sigh, "You've been most helpful."

"Of course, sir." Tali said meekly.

Shepard, who'd been standing next to her the whole time, only glanced her way.

He certainly made up for her lack of self-confidence. Which she'd been lacking a lot lately, considering her circumstances. That and it wasn't every day Tali got to speak to the Citadel's most important figures personally about matters made galactic.

"The proof is irrefutable." Sparatus announced, "Saren will be stripped of his Spectre status effective immediately and efforts will be made to apprehend him to answer for his crimes."

"I recognize the other voice speaking with Saren." Tevos mentioned, "It belongs to Matriarch Benezia."

"She may have been affiliated with the strike on Eden Prime." Shepard observed.

Tevos agreed. "Benezia is a powerful biotic and her following numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. A formidable ally for Saren."

"I'm more interested in the reapers." Valern chimed in, "What do we know about them?"

Tali piped up when several pairs of eyes stared at her for an answer.

"Only from what I've extracted from the geth's memory core." She said as she looked over her omni-tool again, "The description labels them as sentient machines spanning heights numbered in kilometers... and were responsible for committing complete genocide to the Prothean empire and its peoples."

"Troubling." Valern said simply.

Tali nodded and continued. "But they vanished soon after. The geth revere them as gods... and that Saren is the 'prophet' for their return."

"Fascinating." The salarian councilor mused, "I've never considered synthetics capable of such things."

Tevos was inclined to agree with Valern. "While it is surprising the geth have done so; we have to remember they are the only race of synthetics of which we know exist today. And a basis or study for their culture, if one could join the two, remains... clinically absent."

"This is asinine." Sparatus argued, "This prophesying is a front for Saren's true motive. A means to possibly control the geth? Maybe. But nothing more."

Tali listened to them talk with rapt interest. This was about as interesting as it got to interstellar politics.

Of the two times Tali had ever come across CS-PAN (Council Space - Public Affairs Network), it was a wasteland of tedium. A channel perpetually embroiled in the most mind-numbing minutiae of interstellar law. An endless stream of representatives of each ward droning on, 'discussing' in excruciating detail, the possible appropriation of towing fees for the offense of overstepping into another ward's population boundary. Or the scintillating topic of the newest tax to foist against their own constituents. Or an equally riveting debate on what kind of tariff they'd need to impose against Illium. The kind of dialogue that made one wonder if these bureaucrats had ever experienced an adrenaline rush.

The politicians seemed to relish their convoluted arguments, all while the viewers at home—if there were any—likely struggled to keep their eyes open. Watching paint dry was just as exhilarating.

The names of the bills and appropriations were just as awful.

"Inter-Ward Vehicle Impoundment and Boundary Enforcement Fee Reallocation Proposal" or "Interstellar Commerce and Tariff Adjustment Act 342-B" were long enough to induce a fucking coma.

CS-PAN was the antidote to insomnia. But not today. This'd be the day to watch it.

"Regardless of the circumstances, Saren must be brought to justice and stopped before he can achieve his goals," Tevos said before looking both Valern and Sparatus in the eye, "Whether that be the conduit or not."

"What do we do from here?" Anderson said aloud to get them back on track.

The asari councilor glanced to Sparatus and gave him a look that he was not in the mood to be receiving.

It was far too often Tevos did that during interstellar affairs, whether it was on the podium in front of thousands, or in a room discussing simple things like council tariffs or expediting a contract about his own damn health insurance.

Right now, the look she was giving him was telling him to shut the hell up and just let the humans have their Spectre.

And while Sparatus would readily admit the humans had an admirable military doctrine, they had gained so much already. Faster than anyone to date since the Council's birth!

Then this happened.

The raid on Eden Prime.

With Saren behind it all.

Tragic and pointless waste of life.

But Ambassador Udina's attempts were about as transparent as the glass of water on his podium.

Udina was funneling a tragedy to push in favor of promoting an agenda.

His agenda. Playing a simple card of 'Never let a crisis go to waste.'

And make no mistake. His fellow cohorts saw through his attempts of diplomatic harassment and endless politicking too. But the difference between Sparatus, and the other two council members, was that they didn't care.

Sparatus knew all the same how this was going to end. Tevos would be in favor and Valern would quickly follow. But he was going to argue the point regardless out of principle, whether or not his decision was in the minority.

"No. It's too soon. Inducting another Spectre within minutes of another Spectre's acquittal due to inexcusable war crimes is not, under any circumstance, sensible."

Tevos' stare remained leveled and calm. Sparatus was the opposite.

"What is your decision, Councilor?" Tevos said, bypassing his principled complaint.

Spirits. Political ramification was going to be the end of this old turian. Sparatus downed whatever remained in his glass of water.

Fuck it.

Whatever.

Sparatus relented with a sigh and tossed his hand up to give his vote.

Tevos held her head high. "John Shepard. Step forward."

Tali stepped aside to give John the room he needed and smiled.

She was standing next to what would soon be a newly appointed Spectre.

And it was all because of her.

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Three hours later.

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This chapter was finally at its end. Tali had yet to fully grasp that. Not for the entirety of her time with Shepard and his growing company of misfits had it ever truly set in that she was no longer running from Saren. No longer being hunted like prey by a Spectre hell-bent on his lust for armageddon.

The constant adrenaline since had made her numb, and its lack of presence left a strange emptiness in its wake. She wasn't complaining.

Weak, weary, and tired, Tali stood. Arms drooped loosely over the dock's guard rail as she took in the view.

Even now, three steady hours in, it was still settling. Here she was. History made galactic, her being its catalyst. A newly made Spectre. The first of a species. Wow.

Now a deadly adventure awaited. And the Normandy beckoned for her inclusion as she stared on.

She was a beautiful ship. It whispered of human and turian ingenuity at its finest. Elegance. The precision of its construction. The sheer audacity of its technological prowess—all of it left her in awe.

Her impression of John's kind soared. What could be better than people who combined impeccable manners with kick-ass ships and state-of-the-art technology clipped to their belts?

Nothing really.

Even before she'd left the flotilla, humans had a way of always infiltrating a discussion. They were advanced. Sophisticated. And undeniably intelligent.

Yet, they were also known for their aggression. Their dangerous tendencies. And their entitled, ax'kahvah behavior.

At times, they even came across as incredibly naive. But the thing that struck Tali the most was their uncanny resemblance to quarians.

Save for the two extra little digits at the ends of their limbs and the lack of faysakt, humans looked remarkably similar to her.

As she stood there, taking in the awe-inspiring sight of the Normandy, Tali couldn't help but reflect on these thoughts. Humans, with all their flaws and virtues, had managed to build something extraordinary (with the turians). And now there was an opportunity to be a part of it.

So wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed John approach. He took a spot beside her and admired the view much like she had been.

"She's the most advanced ship the Alliance has." He said as his way of greeting, "Fastest too."

Snapped from her trance, she imbued him with only a glance and was a tad surprised he'd come out all this way to see her.

"…I can imagine," Was her delayed reply, "The engines alone nearly make up half her mass. She's incredible."

A comfortable silence as two newly met strangers stared on.

"It sure is a sight." John said with a sigh that eased out. It came without an echo in the grand space.

"Yes. It is."

Glimpsing at Garrus and Wrex entering the aerobridge with their gear, he set his hands together and realized, after everything these past few days, how tired he was.

Exhaustion from an exhaustive week.

Being inducted into the Spectres was not the triumph he'd envisioned. Never, during this ordeal from the start, was it something he was ecstatic about being a part of. Powers bestowed to a Spectre came with a burden of responsibility few could manage. The challenges they faced were staggering. Often impossible. Consequences that could potentiate something far-reaching and irrevocable. Things that could alter the galaxy at large.

For better or worse, it did happen.

So what then? Could he ever make a decision that would determine the fate of thousands if such a time arose? What if it were only a hundred? What if it were only fifty? Could he condemn fifty souls to save countless others? Could he do it if it were a million? The scale alone was almost paralyzing to contemplate.

In the end, he didn't know. He was hoping he never would.

"We're getting ready for dust off in an hour." John told her quietly, "If you have any second guesses, now's the time to take them into consideration."

And there she realized, she didn't have to do this. She could turn away now, go back to her pilgrimage, and put it all behind her.

The elevator was right there. Doors open and ready to take her back.

The impulse didn't come.

"How dangerous do you think it'll be?" Tali bothered to ask, facing him.

Shepard frowned and shrugged. "Depends on how long we'll be doing this. Hell, maybe this'll only last a week and we can all get on with our lives. Or maybe it won't."

She nodded and panned back to the Normandy again.

"You don't have to go, Tali." He warned with a thin smile that betrayed his vexed worries, "You're not obligated to. And I can't guarantee anyone's safety."

A small and silent repertoire of knocks on the rail and he stared back out again toward the Citadel's vista.

"Just keep in mind that no one will think any differently of you. You did more than most." He tossed his stare back at her, "Hell. You might have just single-handedly saved the entire galaxy."

Tali couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the thought.

"Those reapers do sound pretty bad." She joked.

"Yeah." He stood and stepped back, "I'll let you have the deck to yourself. Think it over. Thoroughly."

Turning toward the aerobridge, Her gaze peeled away from the ship to him.

Another surge of determination welled. That chance to be a part of something greater grew. A chance to make a measurable difference in the galaxy was here.

When she told John Shepard that she was willing to set aside everything to join him, she wasn't throwing out an empty promise. Her convictions were genuine. She was committed to seeing this through to the end.

"Shepard."

He stopped and turned slightly to face her.

"...Need an engineer?"

He smiled.

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Present time.

5-12-2184

[ FAR RIM | IL-MA SYSTEM | PRIMERAH | MFS EVENT HORIZON ]

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Three corvettes descended toward the ancient ruins of Basin Si and her capital, Tolas Veyah.

A lost city.

A bygone tomb.

A place of ruined beauty.

Three ships glistening under the sweltering glow of a red sun, the parade was granted entrance through a gleaming sea of scarlet clouds. A broken blanket that stretched over the cardinal skies of what remained.

Fleeting flecks of rain crest the windshield and race upward and across glass. The winds howled. And the engines continued their roar.

"Integer on five. Pop grid seven four four. Pull formation. Confirm four space, Howit-2."

Shuddering from intense chop.

"Howit-2 is four space locked," A woman's voice bled through static-laced comms, "Forecast is pulling green. Formation is... dissolved. See you on the far side."

"Affirm, Howit-2. Issue receipt to call: confirm four space, Howit-3."

"Howit-3 is locked on four space." Came another pilot's report, "We're screening green. Falling out of formation. Pop grid seven seven one. Pulling descent."

"Full copy. Expected GST at eight point five. Final dispensation bound."

Falling beneath the dark flocks of billowing clouds, the three ships parted— each banking off toward their assigned zone.

Within Tali's transport was a loud quiet. Only the cabin spoke, its words metal and clangy. Sentences behind a constant backdrop of an engine and her six thrusters carrying them to their landing zone.

Boutades of turbulence. The men and women jostled and fumbled inside their restraints.

Across from Tali sat Juel, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His gaze was distant, almost vacant, as the rough ride shook him. His expression mirrored her own: empty and desolate. It was a look that had settled over her features so often that she wondered if it had become a permanent part of her.

Still coming to terms with the true end of John's life from his final parting message, she decided to replay, in excruciating detail, their beginning instead. A recollection that had consumed her for most of the ride. Eyes closed now. Head back. Engines a distant lullaby. Thoughts slipping to remember that harrowing memory again. A film stuck on repeat. The clarity of a bittersweet nightmare.

Minutes passed in silent reflection.

"Out-clear. Peak at five point five five zero seconds," the co-pilot reported, "Gleam absent. Op-ready. Vizpop secure. Four space's looking clean."

"Intel on zone still on pos. Descent... is... called."

With a decisive lever pull, the engines eased their thrust, and the corvette began an even steeper dive downward. The change in momentum was immediate. A shift that everyone felt in the pit of their stomachs.

The Event Horizon's co-pilot turned to Kal and spoke up, his voice strained but clear, "Landing zone's looking good. We'll be there soon."

Kal gave him a thumbs-up in acknowledgment, understanding that his gesture was more likely to be noticed than his voice. "Understood."

They rapidly approached barren terrain and undulating dunes. An interplay of light and shadow. Boulders both baked by sun and cooled by shade. The distant horizon, a craggy and jagged outline of a dead and decaying cityscape distorted by heat warping the air in blurry waves.

Flaring on the final phase of its descent, her thrusters howled and the transport slowed. Landing gear extending out to meet the coarse sand and hard packed rock of Primerah, they finally clutched earth.

"Touch down. Contact final."

A thumbs up from the pilot to Kal while they both worked through exit procedure. Flicks and buttons. Knobs and switches.

A chorus of unbuckling restraints, The STU and her sister expeditionaries, along with the mission's scientists, began their disembarkation.

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A monstrous wall of swept sand and dust approached. A lonely and singular figure in the fore of the expanse, an M29-Grizzly, affectionately named the BustleBoy by her crew, forged their path ahead along a decrepit road under centuries of relentless undoing.

Only remnants of infrastructure remained in the outskirts of Basin Si. A sun-baked column here. A felled pillar there. Only the residue of skeletal remains. Everything here that once stood now reduced to history.

Darkness yawned out from the morbid storm, its walled body swallowing the sun. The transport soon fell under its massive shadow.

The Grizzly bounced from a crater in the road and the crew within were tossed around in their restraints like a gaggle of idiots.

"Oh, gawd, my head."
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ"Ugh!"
"You're giving me a headache, Haldo!"
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ"My nose is literally bleeding."

"Gah. Sorry. Sorry."

No one heard the driver's apology.

Juel forced a groan. Five-point harnesses didn't do much other than keep you from slamming into anyone else. He didn't want to complain, but he couldn't help but remember how far of a cry it was from, say, some of the old hoverdynes they used back when he was in the marines.

Kal brought up his radio, eyes set toward the windshield, hand against the driver's headrest.

"Ayghur-1. Open and broad. Radio check. Issue receipt to call."

"Howit-1. Full."

"Howit-2. Full."

"Howit-3. Four space breached by storm. Fractioned signal. Perceptible strain."

"Ielsima-1. Full."

"Tawnee-1. Full."

Three corvettes and their other two transports gave him their reports.

"Affirm all. Reporting full. That windstorm east of here is—" Kal sighed when another vicious tremor rumbled across the car. Kal's head made an audible thunk against the b-pillar.

"—Do you want me to drive?"

"Naw naw I got it, boss. I swear."

A glare from Kal and he resumed, "—Howit-1's forecast is in. You're giving us bad news. Iron deposition is looking dense."

The pilot answered. "I know. I am. She's looking mighty ugly. I'll keep churning checks, but I'm only seeing her picking up speed and sticking around until we need to leave."

"Understood."

No one would get to see the grandeur of this dead city from within. She would only be admired from afar before the windborne sands would take them.

Damn.

A voice was thoroughly rinsed with static now.

"T his is How it-3... Signal is s ub…—three. Str ain is tasked. Iss ue re-ce-ipt to ca ll."

"We read you. Expect imminent blackout. Recall in one hour. Good luck out there, Howit team."

"Affirm, Ayg hur-1. K eep the san—d out your filters. Howit-3: outcal ed."

Radio silence. Kal hung his receiver and kept his eyes ahead as they drove. From her spot in this far too cramped carrier, Tali craned down to get a speck of windshield that revealed enough to know that they would soon meet the city's wall.

"See it?" Juel murmured to her, trying to get a look himself and failing.

"Yeah." Voice the same timber as his. Eyes empty but focused.

It was tall.

Tall.

A megalith by definition. A soundless sentinel that watched. It was an imposing sight, but it wasn't invincible. Giant swathes had surrendered to entropy's compulsory march toward decay—gaps large enough to easily berth the BustleBoy through.

They drove off the beaten path and climbed, her six wheels scrubbing loose sandbanks for purchase. Cresting the barrow, the driver slowed her to a stop at the wall's broken threshold and took in the sobering view. It spanned out as far as the eye could see.

A metropolis long past its prime. Scorched and withered by a long-gone war and the erosion of time.

Wordlessly, the quarians beheld the tableau and something stirred their torpid hearts. As they gazed out at the expanse, an allegorical fog descended. An emotion one could never fully understand, nor fully explain.

This was a place where their forebears had once lived. Where they had thrived. And ultimately, where they had all died.

The light over the city soon dimmed. A soundless wave of darkness swept over the sprawl from the coming storm, and they drove down to enter the ruins.

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---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Dust.

Sand.

A whipping torrent of grains that rained and thrashed.

Trudging onward into this windblown oblivion with howling in their ears and visions across their eyes, they maintained their single file while they clung onto a cord stretched taut between them, a lifeline in this blindingly mad storm.

The BustleBoy had become a liability in these narrow, labyrinthine streets. They could hardly make out anything past a meter. One dead end after another, they soon abandoned the vehicle entirely and made headway on foot.

Eighth in the procession, Mala'Tok vas Neema's realk was suddenly snatched away by the winds and tossed about like a toy. A moment of clarity in the wind and the entire team all stared dumbly at the woman's clothes as it twirled higher and higher away until it was gone entirely.

Mala muttered a lowly "Welp."

Tali didn't need to be told. She cinched her belts tighter to avoid something as embarrassing as that. As did everyone else.

"Alright. Who's naked." Kal breathed roughly.

"Me. That'd be me." Mala groaned.

A few clicks of laughter over the radio.

Tali managed only a meager smile. It was a quick curve and it hardly touched her face. Her mind was elsewhere. Another plane, really. The gusts and current that battered against her did little to distract or diffuse the pain of John's final parting.

"𝗜 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂."

His voice echoed and her eyes dimmed as she heard it. Soon enough, another realk lost its holder. It flew past her, its erratic flight catching her attention as it sailed over her shoulder.

"Keelah, this isn't a strip club." Kal said gruffly, somehow managing to catch the garment flying past him, "Folks: Secure your clothes."

"Sorry." Tori'Lazalah garbled.

He stuffed the realk into his dump pouch. "You're lucky, Tori. I have it. You can get it when we get inside. Just a couple blocks more, everyone. We're almost there."

Stumbling and struggling, the quarians pressed on.

Finally, a vague outline of a structure began to emerge through the haze. A block-like menhir in the shifting sands.

Relief mingled with exhaustion; they were almost there.

"Moraah, Pilah," Kal called to summon his ordnance specialists, "Get us in." He pointed to the large hinges that anchored the entrance.

The demolition team moved to secure shaped charges against the door while the rest of the group took a moment to catch their breath.

Tali adjusted her belts again, the weight of her sand-laden realk nearly unbearable. She longed now to be back inside and away from this abrasive storm.

After a headcount twice over to ensure no one was missing, Kal finally gave the signal to level it.

The charges detonated with a controlled explosion, and the door buckled and fell inward with a resounding crash.

"Sora. Maal. Dyavo. Line-in on me. Prep for sanitizing breach."

Marines first, adventurers second. The marines readied themselves into a combat stack with the rest of them waiting outside.

Kal leveled his rifle and detached the cord fastened to his carabiner. With his self-selected team assembled and ready, they pushed the corner and entered the abandoned building.

Tali counted the minutes that passed by and the pounds she took on just from all the sand massing in her pockets.

Wow. Being out here really sucked.

"Anything of yours break yet?" Juel asked to break the monotony.

She shook her head. "Nope."

"Lucky. My candy got sand in it. Ruined." He dropped his bar of turian chocolate and watched it blow away.

"Bye-bye." Juel mumbled with a crestfallen wave to give his lost treat a farewell. He watched the chocolate's brief flight before turning to face what he could of Tali's barely discernable silhouette. "…How're you feeling?"

"Distracted." Tali answered truthfully, "Better this than staying on the ship." She added dryly.

He figured she'd say something like that.

Kal stepped out from the door and waved the rest of the group in. "Okay people. It's clear. Move in one at a time. Check your things and then we do another head count." Kal uttered over comms.

Everyone stood from their kneel and, one by one, with sand cascading off their gear, entered the hold.

When she passed the broken door's breadth, she let herself move in a slight twirl to take in everything that encircled her.

A foyer. A vast and eerily silent space save for the winds that howled just outside the door. Broken tiles crunched underfoot, and a grand staircase lay ahead, its steps crumbled and worn.

What had once adorned the walls now hung tattered and forlorn. The dullness of their colors a consequence of their age. Motes of dust float and dance with the beams of light from mounted torches on guns and helmets.

This was a quarian building. Architecture designed by people long dead. Her people hadn't built one in centuries. That realization hit her with a mix of pride and melancholy over the fact they'd made it this far living the way they did. She soon wondered if this had been a shelter at some point for refugees running from the geth. She shrugged mentally and decided it wasn't worth dwelling over.

After they had taken stock, they formed up and had their team leaders report to Kal.

No one was missing, thankfully. The last thing they needed was to find out some poor soul got lost out there. Because it'd be impossible to find them.

Ayguhr-1 was now officially at their objective: the heart of the Tolas Veyah's military of sciences precinct. If everything went according to plan, the remaining two groups would arrive over the next two to four hours—accounting for the delay this storm had brought.

Four volunteers already working to seal the entrance to keep the sand at bay with a tarp, Kal rounded up everyone's attention.

"Alright. Yasil," Kal called out to his recently promoted lead to first, "Sanitation sweep the remaining floors. Victer; back them up."

"Copy," Yasil dropped her pack and got a bead on her team. "First, let's move."

"Third squad: stay on your feet." Victer ordered, "Drop your gear, check your breach, and fall in."

Kal slung his rifle and reached for a three hundred year old broom parked sadly in its corner. Giving the poor thing a museful look, he scanned his sand-trodden batch and found the person he wanted and tossed it his way.

"Juel. Clean up, will ya?"

Juel gave Tali a suffering look and grumbled when he set his eyes to the frayed bristles.

"Oh. Swell."

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

First and third finished their sweep of the sector and, to everyone's surprise, discovered an entire facility underground that led much deeper than anyone would have anticipated.

As far as anyone could tell, there was an entire arcology beneath them.

Good news mounting, two hours had passed since and the remaining two groups—Ielsima and Tawnee—had finally rendezvoused with Ayghur-1.

Even better still, the other two groups managed to find their way to the precinct without having to ditch their rides like they did.

Now split into over a dozen groups, the expeditionaries began their search for anything that might prove valuable.

Room to room. Top to bottom. Shelves and cabinets and drawers, the quarians scoured this subterranean sanctuary.

A growing pile of artifacts and keepsakes had begun to pile their headquarters.

None of it, however, appeared to bring them any closer to what they'd come all this way for.

On their sixth round, Tali and Juel traversed even deeper within the dead tomb, their steps a quiet echo and the thrush of their ears louder than the breaths they took.

They approached their eighth room this trip and marked the door with a strip of duct tape set diagonally.

"Green. Orange. Red. Some black too." Tali hinted quietly with an apathetic drawl, handing back the roll for Juel to accept.

"Hm." Juel tried to churn the gears in his head as he set off to search every cabinet in this space, "A lot of colors for an animal."

He leafed through the first of over a dozen bins. Nothing but garbage. "A lizard."

She shook her head, eyes skimming a cabinet's junk. "Nope."

"A monkey."

"Definitely not."

"…Fish?"

"A toucan." Tali answered, picking out something that caught her eye. Trash. She put it back.

"A what now?"

"Bird native to earth. Big beak," Tali explained, tone detached, "A nickname some of the crew tried giving Garrus. Never caught on."

Juel guffawed and stared dumbly at her, contents of a third drawer in his hands. "Now, how was I supposed to know that?"

She blinked several times and smacked her tongue, a listless shrug following.

Silence save for the sound of shuffling things. He stopped after a minute or so and finally glanced her way, worry and concern written over his face.

"…Tali?"

"Mm."

A hesitant lull.

"How're you feeling?"

Her hands stalled her roused combing, and she stopped moving. Felled eyes in ice.

"Better." Was her answer as she resumed her aimless search, "—Focused."

She never graced him with a glance, back facing him the entire time.

His stare lingered and he glowered from what was plainly a lie. It was an answer that told him not to force a conversation.

He supposed if he'd found Serah's parting words through a message like that…

Well. He wouldn't be all that keen on holding a conversation either. It was a wonder how he managed to get a word from her at all these last few weeks.

Sixth drawer now along this wall. Worthless papers and useless books, Juel perused through what he could to see if it was worth keeping. Worthwhile or not, he treated each artifact with the respect he believed they all deserved. He was handling treasure. Items and things produced by trades long since lost to the quarians.

Metal and glass. Paper and books. It was amazing how much of a time capsule this facility was. Time had yet to age most of anything here the deeper they ventured.

Another drawer. More ruffling. But then, something caught his eye and it surprised him. Grasping the little stick, he rose it up to get a better view of the thing.

"Found something."

Tali looked up and found Juel at the far side of the room through a floating grid of cubbies. "What?"

"A credit chit. Nice."

He was rewarded with an eye roll.

Bad joke or not, an uninvited thought struck him.

Whoever owned this had hopes and dreams. A family to which they belonged. Loved ones whom they cherished. A life that was likely, by most metrics, better than his. At least until their end.

His smile, small as it was, soon fell when he remembered again that everything around them was a reminder of all the ghosts they were surrounded by.

Solemnly, with care, he pocketed the chit. Not because it held monetary value, but as a keepsake for the past they were gradually unearthing.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Six arduous hours passed before it was finally time to rest.

A mountainous array of junk had been congregated in every corner and set in orderly rows within this giant anteroom the quarians holed up in. Anything and everything that might hold even the slightest inkling of usefulness was gathered for the science team to make sense of. Hopefully, somewhere in this pile, they would find what they'd come all this way for.

Long past seventh shift, the quarians slowly succumbed to sleep with only a few remaining awake to keep watch and to continue working.

Tali, however, was neither asleep, nor working. She was tired. But sleep refused to claim her.

Juel, long since abandoned to his snoring, was left behind. She slipped into the shadows to find herself solace in solitude for the first time in months. She wanted time for herself. To be aimless. To be without the burden of someone's company and feign her habitual charade.

So off she went to wander through hallways and corridors. To navigate passageways and catwalks, each one blending into the next in a disorienting maze. The silence in the hallows was oppressive and punctuated only by the soft echo of her steps.

The similarity to Illos was unmistakable. Though visually distinct, the atmosphere, being surrounded by ancient walls and tangled paths, drew undeniable comparisons. Here, too, she was surrounded by the remnants of a once-thriving world, now reduced to ruin.

She crossed a junction and soon, her steps slowed, the echoes withering.

Then she stopped. A full halt. She became a statue carved by sorrow.

Paralyzed eyes. She was frozen to time.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

"𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

𝘋𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.
𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴,
𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥.
𝘈 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯,
𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴,
𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

It was here. Her façade dissolved and, hand to heart, a delicate sob, belatedly, choked out.

It all mocked her at length. And in this empty and abandoned place, she wept a bitter and soundless bawl, eyes shut, tears ruefully bleeding, while the quietude, piercing and torturous, continued to deafen her.

A fraught gasp. One that quaked. It shook as she tried to compose what spilled and split.

Back against a wall, her clothes rasped her descent to the floor to pack herself into a squat, head hung low and arms draped over her knees as she tried to stitch her cavitated heart from an inchmeal cancer eating her maimed soul.

"Stop." She muttered a plea to the universe, words caught in another grieving cry, "𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆. Just. Stop."

No matter how she begged. No matter how she prayed, the universe denied her appeals.

A lonely quarian in the midst of dead ruins. Body and mind lost to that familiar sea of torment.

Stone and metal her only companion, they watched her suffer, an indifferent gaze their only offering to the pain they witnessed.

One minute to the next. Time meant nothing now.

She summoned what was left of her resolve and sucked in a sharp breath. Chaffed gloves, she stood again and went deeper into the catacomb.

Noticeable differences in the decay. Tears still vibrant and wet, she soon began to see the ravages of war.

Bullet holes.

Warped walls. Scorched doors. And death.

She sniffled and pressed on, flashlight illuminating an ancient struggle.

Hand dressed up to caress pocks and dents, she soon crossed by what were, undoubtedly, remains.

Breath hitched, her light stilled over a felled body, clothes hung taught over dry and broken bones.

A tilt of her flashlight to see deeper into the hall. Her eyes danced over a graveyard. It was as far as the light could reach.

Quarian and geth alike. All broken in all manner of ways.

Feelings set aside, she took one timid step over the other and continued on until she noticed that, unlike all the doors from earlier today, these were up-armored and mechanized. Barriers really.

Another sniffle as her sinus drained, she noticed one of them was cracked open. Enough so she could get a peek inside.

"Tali."

It made her jump slightly. It was Kal over comms.

"Hello, Kal." Came her hushed voice from her as she peered in to see what little she could through the crack.

Interesting.

From what little she could make out, the rooms looked a lot different than any of the ones they'd seen before. She gave the door a bit of a pry and was surprised to see it shift a bit.

"…You're missing." He said carefully, "Respectfully: where are you, ma'am?"

"Taking a walk."

It was an elusive answer, she knew.

"Alone." He added.

"Alone." She affirmed. Flashlight clipped to her belt, she began to search the floor for anything that might be useful enough to pry open the door.

There was a break of radio silence and it went on long enough for her to know he was sighing out his frustration. She was breaking rules. Being alone and all that.

"…How far out are you?"

"Not anywhere we've been." She intoned, finding an abandoned rifle next to a defunct geth. By its calcified joints and browning metal, she crouched down and searched for the inscribed label that should've been on its left pectoral.

And right where Tali expected it to be, it read:

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

ＳＭ: ９４６３-３５-３３ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ＵＮＩＴ: １２８１A

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ [ᴍɪɴɪsᴛʀʏ ᴏꜰ sᴄɪᴇɴᴄᴇs: ᴄᴇʟʟ １８]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

丂:刀:ﾑ [ﾉ刀ﾉ尺 のｷ 丂ﾉᄃﾚ]

𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐇

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

She sighed when she couldn't read any more of the inscribing.

It was a wonder she was even able to read any of it. Past the rust and chipped paint, was a warped hole in its chest.

Whether the gun she was holding in her hands was responsible for that, she could only guess.

"It's not safe out there. You know that."

"I know. "

"Did you set a breadcrumb at least?"

"I did. Tagged for Octal-Morah-Jagdahl."

"…Got it. Just—…be careful."

"I will, Kal. Don't worry."

He cut the channel and there was silence again.

Barrel shroud jammed into its crevice, she applied leverage. The door gave and budged open wide enough for her frame.

Discarding the makeshift tool, she whittled through the tight threshold and made it across.

A glower from Tali as she saw more skeletal remains. Three distinct sets held together only by their clothes.

Of them, one was distinctly smaller than the rest.

Bones to a child. She didn't have to draw any strong conclusions as to what happened here.

A pregnant pause as it all settled. Pounding dread soon took. And it gnawed her heart.

"Keelah."

Reverently, she knelt, hand set along the remains of one. There was a small scatter of long settled dust.

She wondered who they were. What their names had been. Or the kinds of dreams and hopes they had before the end came.

She wished she could offer them some kind of tribute. To pay her respects. A way to honor their memory.

But she didn't say anything. Nothing came to mind.

Pressed lips, she only hoped their death, however tragic, had been quick.

She finally took in what was around her.

An office it seemed. Her search began and she started to pilfer through the items to piece together the purpose of this small space.

Drawers and cabinets. A locker and shelves before her eyes landed on a plaque set upon the only desk in the center of this space.

'Major Dieel'Larma' its weathered print said, 'RDD Administrator.'

She didn't know what that was. Sounded important.

She eventually sat in the Major's chair and webbed her hands together before giving the bones beside a distant look.

She wondered if that was him in that corner among the others. A morbid and twisted thought as she stared into the hollowed sockets of each of their skulls.

She severed her stare.

"I'm sorry." She murmured on impulse. A glance upward above them and she saw a safe, its door bolted to the wall. Her brows furrowed when she realized something was etched across its surface.

She stood now and crossed a few meters' worth of distance before trying to make out what it said.

In simple Khellish, it read something profound.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

'𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴.'

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

A chill swept her. A sobering wave at the unintended, but poetic, encapsulation of biformity. Death or Life, they were both destined and banished to roam the stars.

Secrets locked away and with no electricity to speak of, she'd have to come back next morning and satisfy her curiosity to what it all held.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

The next day.

5-13-2184

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

"Well." Kal managed to say before putting his hands on his hips, "You've certainly found something."

"We're talking about all the bones right?" Juel interrupted, gaping at the quarian remains, "Because I think that's way more interesting than the safe."

"Interesting sure. But they aren't particularly useful to us." Kal retorted.

Juel gave it a precarious knock. "What makes us think we'll even find something in it?"

"Well," Tali started with a leery glance, "typically, people use them to put important things in it."

A silent pause between three.

"…Guess I'll take it out of the wall, then?"

A sway of the hand from Kal.

"I'd imagine the safe's just a door over a concrete hole." Juel observed, "All it might take is hammering out the rods holding it in place."

"Do what you need to." Kal said, turning on his heel, "In the meantime, I'll have the others searching for more rooms like these."

"Have fun."

"And keep your new friends company, will you? Looks like it's been ages since they've had guests." Kal thumbed the bones and walked out.

"Oh. Sure." Juel scoffed before turning to Tali, "Well. You ready?"

She gave him a gesture as his invitation to begin.

"Here goes." He set the drill bit against the first screw and started.

Tali frowned at the squealing sound of metal.

"So?" Juel asked to start some small talk through a private channel since the drill was too loud.

"So, what?"

"Heard you left camp last night."

"Who told you?"

He stopped drilling for all of a second to give her a tick of the head and lazy eye, "Who do you think?"

An indifferent shrug with an indifferent look. "I don't know what to say."

"Kal's not gonna tell you because he doesn't think it's his place."

"Technically it is."

He pressed into the drill as he gave her a face. "Tali."

Their eyes met. There was enough in that stare of his that told her that she was wrong. And as much as she hated the political aura that she had, it continued, for better or worse, to follow her.

She gave him an open show of hands to show her assent over the issue. "I won't do it again."

"No, that's—" He stopped drilling and guilt crept, "That's not…"

Deathly silence. He couldn't find the courage to face her. "Tali, I understand why you're doing what you do. I get it."

Tightly wrapped chest, teeth grazed on her lower lip, her eyes fell downward. "I wanted to be alone, Juel." She said timidly, "Is that so much to ask for."

Juel didn't say anything, face turning pensive. For as much as she was breaching protocol, he realized that her pilgrimage had netted more danger than any one mission ever would.

She could take care of herself.

He resumed.

Irony how pilgrims, in many ways, had more freedoms to enjoy than what they did now. Granted, the largest caveat to it was that they were tethered to military operations—with unit security on the line. But the point still felt like it could stand. At least for her.

"No. It's not." He uttered.

Silence and a drill that continued to squeal as it bore out metal. The second pin popped after a minute and he moved on to the third.

"This is coming along a lot faster than I expected. What do you think is in here?"

"I won't even hazard a guess." Tali answered, "I'm tempering expectations."

"Fair enough."

Another minute and another bolt. Soon enough, the safe's face began to hang slightly enough to reveal what was hiding inside. A flashlight to peer in its depths with Juel's eye trying to scan its contents.

"What do you see?"

"Uhm. Hm."

"What?"

"OSDs." Juel murmured quietly, "Stacks of paper. Notebooks."

"Anything else?"

His eye settled on something else. "…A camera?"

"Really?"

"It's what it looks like."

He pulled away and reached for the drill again so he could finish. "One more. Get the bag ready."

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Mid-day.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

---

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

The PROGs were known for their scientific excellence.

Their sciences were among the best on Rannoch. But their acclaim didn't stop at the borders of their home planet. Their reputation of intellectual prowess often rivaled the capacities of their salarian and asari counterparts.

Their contributions were recognized across the galaxy. Their works had established them as the premier minds in the field of robotics and virtual intelligence. It was an esteemed position to have in the scientific community centuries ago.

Jointed collaborations with many of the Citadel's members was commonplace. The technological marvels that powered the galaxy today were, in many ways, the enduring legacy of the PROGs' spirit.

This broad collaboration and exchange of knowledge naturally extended to the creation of the geth.

Make no mistake, the geth was a multinational effort. While the quarians may have invented and coined the term 'geth,' their efforts were far from isolated. Galactic governments across the galaxy, recognizing the potential and usefulness of advanced robotics, eagerly participated in and contributed to their development. Every major player in the galaxy had a stake in the project, ensuring that the geth would be a technological marvel everyone wanted them to be.

Everyone had a finger in the pie, so to speak.

All the benefits without any of the responsibility, however.

Well.

Shit hit the fan, as it so commonly did in the Milky Way.

No one was there to help, save for some volunteers, a handful of Spectres with hearts, and a few Justicars answering the code's call.

Regardless of the thing that ended it all, this widespread collaboration, overseen by PROGs best, led to the development of sophisticated algorithms that became the backbone of geth intelligence.

PROGOS.

Not the fanciest name in the world for the software the geth were built off of, but it's what stuck.

This facility, as the team had recently come to discover, was where a large swathe of the software was conceived. Not on Rannoch, but here, in the depths of Tolas Veyah.

Neural Commands.

Adaptive Heuristic Matrices.

Synchronized Feedback Loops.

Foundational algorithms that dictated the hierarchical command structure the geth operated within. Each line of code spoke to the precision and sophistication the PROGs' were known for.

All in all, it was quite a discovery to see all this. Material classified to only a select few and they were combing it over nearly three hundred years later.

But it wasn't just algorithms they discovered. The architectural blueprints of the geth's core systems were here as well.

Quantum neural nexuses. Distributed processing grids. Primary data assimilation cores.

These blueprints detailed the last half of the geth's operational capabilities—a complex web of connections and computational arrays that, essentially, made them tick.

An entire library of acronyms. A dense forest of technical jargon, and Pirahn'Roh vas Noriah, the team's lead linguist, had access to it all. Right at his fingertips.

Yet, the data still wasn't immediately useful.

The only thing leaving them high and dry back home, as per Admiral Rael and his decryption cabinet indicated, was the herculean task of decrypting the vast repository Tali had brought back from Pilgrimage.

It was literally easier to risk lives in the Perseus Veil to search for stuff jotted in notebooks or information saved to decrepit OSDs instead.

But even here, PROG encryption was intricate. Even now, the stuff was hard to crack.

But, Pirahn figured, it was probably easier breaking their stuff as opposed to whatever the geth that aided Saren were using.

He let the computer work and decided to casually flip through the textbooks Tali and Juel had salvaged.

Then to a notebook with its obnoxious penmanship.

Oof. It was terrible.

He set that aside and read printouts instead. At the top of one, it read:

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𝗚𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗘𝗛 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗬ㅤ

𝗠𝗔𝗝𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗘𝗔𝗟'𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗔ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ [ MINISTRY OF SCIENCES]

ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜ • ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴍᴇɴᴛ • ᴅᴇᴘʟᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ
ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴅɪᴠɪsᴏɴ

[CELL 14 | GROUP 1]

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He didn't read much past the header. The terminology there was… beyond him.

"You get around to the camera thing yet?" Juel asked as he stopped by.

"No." Pirahn intoned, glancing toward the thing sitting beside him.

"Why not?"

"Didn't think there'd be anything particularly useful on it." He said with a shrug, "So."

"Sure, but there might be something interesting, no?"

"Alright," He conceded, "Let me spin it up."

"Share us a screen." Juel said, stepping back to give the man some room to project the desktop.

A quick press of a button that brought a holo to life. The holographic screen materialized, casting a soft blue glow that illuminated the immediate area. Curiosity took hold of headquarters. Several heads dotted about the space turned to watch, Tali included.

Using the compatible cable provided by Korah'Belter vas Swahn, their lead IT tech, he slot the camera's chip in and watched it load.

Pictures started to populate the screen, each image gradually coming into focus. The foyer fell deathly silent, chatter and activity fading into an almost reverent quiet.

The first of them were mundane. Snapshots of machinery and equipment that held little interest. But then, as Pirahn scrolled further, they took on a more personal turn. Family photos of a time long since passed. Ones that captured moments of joy and normalcy that seemed almost alien in their simplicity.

Smiling faces. Gatherings around tables. Children playing.

Pirahn's eyes lingered on one particular photo, a candid shot of a family gathered in a sunlit garden.

The scene was idyllic, almost surreal. A mother and her child, faces lit and happy, completely unaware of the future that awaited them.

"That's… a video." Juel whispered, turning away for all of a second to look at Pirahn, "Play it."

A press of a button and it all began to move.

Laughter. Light and joyful, filled the ruins in a haunted warmth.

"Millie, look at the camera, sweetheart," called a voice off-screen. Her father must've been the one filming.

Millie shook her head playfully with her radiant smile.

Those standing next to Tali took a step back, stunned by the sheer vividness of the scene. But she stood firm, eyes fixed to the unfolding memory.

The mother's hair, black and raven, cascaded over her shoulder and caught the golden rays, diffusing them into an ambient glow as she kissed Millie's cheek.

"Tell daddy you love him, sweetie." The mother urged gently.

"Wove you." A bashful and embarrassed smile, the girl tried to hide her face in mom's shoulder.

"Love you too." Dad said. A bare hand entered the frame and caressed Millie's cheek. The touch was tender. The kind only a father could give.

An involuntary smile tugged at Tali's lips. It was all heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Wave bye-bye," Mom said softly, guiding Millie's hand to and fro. The video flickered and vanished, leaving nothingness where light had been.

Motes of dust and wordless air, they all felt the territory they'd crossed was sacred.

"…Are there more?" Someone asked from the growing crowd.

Pirahn, tacitly, found another. One dated much later than the last.

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289 years ago.

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8/8/1895 CE

MONTH OF QAR'TEL. EIGHTH DAY. YR 2197, CITADEL FOUNDING

[ FAR RIM | IL-MA SYSTEM | GORMEH PEOPLE'S DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC | CITY OF BASIN SI | ARCH CAPITAL TOLAS VEYAH ]

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Basin Si was doomed. Destined to be chronicled to history. Its walls within may have been cleansed of geth at the beginning of this tragic war, but it was only biding time. They were finally here again to finish what they started. To take what remained of this war torn metropolis and sanitize everything within its walls with a beating heart.

Dieeal used to care. It tore at his fabric. He worried about the future of his people. His city. His work. His job. His house. His money.

He no longer cared about any of those things.

Priorities existed in a hierarchy, you see. Represented commonly as a pyramid, the tip usually represented goals of luxury. And that, without the foundations below to support it, you would have no base to be striving for such trivialities.

Inasmuch, the foundations of his life had been so uprooted, Dieel's only concern now was keeping his family alive.

Months of confusion and devastation. The uprising raged, but they were losing. Rannoch was already lost entirely. And her sister planets were soon succumbing to the ravages of a war the likes of which no one could have imagined.

But it wasn't really a war. It was a conflict of complete maelstrom. Mayhem that defied the nomenclature of warfare. There was no front line to this mess. The battlefield was everywhere and nowhere. A dispersed calamity without boundary or strategy.

Rannoch's nations were dead, dying, and falling—and it left the quarian people in complete disarray. Civil unrest. Civil skirmishes. Ultimately, civil wars. It was here and there. It was everywhere. A unified society fractured to shards fighting both themselves and the encroaching darkness.

Hundreds of nations gone. Erased.

Only four remained to speak of. The nations of Gera and Ramoh. The republics of Gormeh and Moranah.

The hastily drawn coalition was soon, inescapably, overwhelmed. Two of the countries joined the growing cemetery of silence, leaving only the republics of Gormeh and Moranah to continue their efforts alone.

With what little remained, civilian and military alike, brave and selfless souls cobbled together the remnants of their fleets into flotillas to ferry those still stuck in the Veil to escape assured death.

It was a failing exodus. Every trip back to the Veil to rescue more was suicide.

The tumbling remains of escaping and returning ships shuttling refugees was a sight to behold. Thousands of ships. Dead and broken. Millions of bodies. Men and women and their children in the dead of space. Aggregations floating endlessly in a void-borne hell. Billions more stretched across every planetary body the quarians called home. Dead and dying from murder, war, genocide, and famine.

Dieeal blinked away the imagined images of the carnage reports and turned to see that Millie wouldn't stop crying.

So Yima, his wife, did her best to try and console their daughter.

"Shh, Millie. It's okay," She cooed, arms wrapped around her to ease the addled child, "Don't be scared."

Another explosion rumbled in the far distance and the glassware shook ever so slightly.

"Dieeal...?" Yima muttered, her eyes wet with barely held back tears.

Millie's sobs continued.

Again, another explosion. It tremored from somewhere far off, but it was enough to disturb their plates on the table. A loaf of bread from their hardly eaten meal tumbled to the floor.

Time was up. The cleanse was, inexorably, here.

Dieeal stared on, through the window, into the darkness of the night and nodded, with a thin-lipped frown, at the immensity of it all.

"We can't stay here." He said simply, "We need to move to the precinct. We'll be safer there."

"But… we're supposed to be safe now," Yima hissed with a tear dripping from her eye, "The evacuation fleets won't be here until two days' time!"

"I know." Was all he could manage before urging them up with a hand and consoling them both, "We have to go. Come on."

Bug out bags already prepped by their front door, he put his on and knelt down to help Millie.

"Like we've practiced, sweetie. Okay?"

She mumbled something unintelligible and slipped on her pack.

Two hands on his wife's shoulders. "You stay right behind me."

"Okay."

He opened the door and they met the fray. Volunteer guardsmen running toward battle with only the clothes on their back and a rifle in hand.

An armored carrier sped by as well as several interceptors from local law enforcement.

"Major," Corporal Tile'Ray, the guard posted outside his dwelling, saw Dieeal and his family descending the steps. "Was just about to get you. Come on."

They hurried down the street, family and his guard interposed between families scrambling about, searching for perceived safety.

"Has anyone told you anything?" Dieeal squeezed in as a woman nearly blindsided him when they crossed a street.

"It's not good." Tile said between a worried exchange of stares, "They're closing on the city in every direction."

"How many?"

Another explosion in the distance. They all stopped when its blinding light singed their eyes. A mushroom of black smoke rose to the sky and a boom of sound and pressure encapsulated the air. Frantic screams abound, Dieeal reached for Millie's hand and grimaced.

A part of him, a deep and lightless part, wondered why he was even running to where he was. Flee as he might, there would be no rock unturned on this planet by the time they were done. Each step he took felt… hopeless.

But he wasn't a man without a purpose. He had to find a way out of this nightmare. They had to survive.

"Tile." Dieeal growled, spinning the soldier around to get his focus, "How. Many."

He gave the Major a look that he didn't want to see. "Thousands. Tens of thousands."

Locked eyes, Dieeal's ice-like stare simmered off into the distance. "…We need to move."

Their pace turned into a run. Several blocks crossed with Dieeal carrying his daughter to maintain their pace. At last, they arrived. Filtering through the crowds of panicked people barred from crossing the bridge to enter the precinct, he hardly noticed the loudspeaker barking out its repetitive call of order to those crowding the entrance.

"ＤＩＳＰＥＲＳＥ. 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑺𝑨𝑭𝑬 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬. 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑰𝑵 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑺. ＤＩＳＰＥＲＳＥ. 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑺𝑨𝑭𝑬 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬—"

One of the guards caught Dieeal, his family, and Tile, and ushered them over with an open hand.

"Let 'em through!" He called out to the gatekeeper. Without resistance, they passed the posts, and only then, did he set Millie back down to her feet.

Dozens of soldiers marched with law enforcement prepping a defense line and keeping those crowding the bridge at bay.

"Go, Major," Tile said, backtracking already in a steady skip, "I'm needed out here."

Dieeal didn't argue. The separated. Family in tow, they crossed an unusually empty foyer before taking the lift down that would bring him to his office.

"Please tell me you know what's going on." Yima stammered.

He turned to her but didn't answer the question. "You need to go to my office," He ordered, "You need to stay there until I'm back. There's a gun under my d—"

There was a deep rumble throughout the building. The lights above flickered and Millie whimpered.

"It's okay," Dieeal lied, smile present and forced as he bent down to give her a hug, "—It's okay."

"No," She mumbled, "it's not."

He didn't say anything and stood, leveling his gaze back toward his wife. "Under my desk, Yima."

"Where are you going?"

"The armory to get a rifle and gear."

"And then?" She was dreading his answer.

What then.

That had been the focus of his existence since the beginning of the end. And it was drawing nearer. Closer. Like it had now for billions.

He felt as if his story was approaching its conclusion. It was an abyss. A wall at every corner closing in.

He wondered if he'd never hear the laughter of his daughter again. Or feel the calming embrace of his wife. He wondered if those moments were forevermore behind him.

There was no clear path forward. For anyone. He would have to make one. Nothing mattered to him save for the safety of his family at any cost.

"There's a lift that we need to take. It's on the same floor as my office. We're going to find us a truck at the depot." He answered, "We're going to leave the city."

They finally arrived at the floor his wife and daughter needed to exit from.

"Dieeal, that—" Yima's hands were fraught with tension and she pulled Millie closer, "That's not going to get us off-world."

"No, it won't. But we can't stay here." He stared down the hallway's length where people were urgently moving about the space, "Go. Now. Stay there. I'll be back in just a few moments."

A kiss that felt final. Yima squeezed as much passion as she could inside their locked lips before she parted. A fleeting look from his daughter as they separated, Millie's face an empty and distant look to her father as the lift's doors closed again.

He felt himself choke into a bitter and desperate sob. But his resolve clamped down and he found his center. He could not afford to break down. Not now.

Palmtop computer in hand, he patched himself into the facility's tac-net to see if he could get a bead on what was going on up above.

A quick scan through the city cameras told him everything he expected.

He could see soldiers, civilians, and police alike trying to stall an inevitable. A sea of machines, both ground and air, coming to hunt their creators. Geth-controlled aircraft flew overhead, their army raining over the cityscape to eradicate its inhabitants.

He was running out of time. But his plan was very simple.

There was a military super-way underneath the city. A web of tunnels that lead to various parts of the surface. He could steal a transport with some supplies and escape the confines of the city that way.

No one would have the time to question a missing vehicle. His rank and authority was high enough that no one would be second-guessing whatever excuse he'd make if he ever had to use one.

The lift arrived and the doors opened. Swathes of soldiers and scientists working frantically to secure and bolster defenses.

He paid them no mind and pushed his way to the armory and reached the locker bay. When he secured himself his rifle and chest rig, klaxons blared and he stared warily at the PA.

"Defensive boundary is contact-active. Protocol Varal-7-9. Sector commanders, report to TOC for immediate order recourse. Surface engagement zones are fractioned-active. Civilian evacuation teams: you are disbanded. Re-append. Muster points Psi and Tagdahl dismissed. All units. Cleared for full-fire. Execute on point."

The geth were on the surface and above them now.

He was out of time.

He bolted into a borderline sprint, his boots pounding against the floor in a desperate cadence.

Then another deep and reverberating rumble disturbed the building. Lights, again, flicker wildly before stabilizing.

"Boundary is breached. Yara level is compromised."

His family was in Yara. He turned the corner and, by the grace of god, no one was in the elevator. It was there, still waiting for him patiently.

"Sir, it's not safe." A soldier warned, prepping her crew-served weapon.

Dieeal punched the key to take him back up and fixed the woman with a stare.

"Nowhere is safe." The doors closed and it ascended.

He screamed a hoarse cry and slammed a blanched fist against a panel, warping its surface.

"𝑭𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹, DAMNIT. 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑵!"

He could hear the sounds of pounding gunfire echoing above now. He spread his feet apart and brought his rifle to the ready.

Sweat beading his brow, heart slamming his chest, his dread pooled for every second he wasn't up there.

They were alone. Without him.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open with a mechanical whine. He stared down the depths of the hallway to see nothing but the sight of death. It littered the floor.

How was it, not five minutes ago, still safe?

Blood drenched tiles and flecks against walls, Dieeal's boots splashed through crimson, but he didn't slow his pace.

Against his better judgment, he screamed out.

"YIMA!"

He turned the corner and was paralyzed by surprise.

A geth staring him down. Blood-soaked pitchfork in hand.

There wasn't time to process anything other than three sharp prongs piercing his stomach just below his plate carrier. It pinned him against the wall and it forced a soundless cough.

He didn't even feel pain. Only shock.

It forced the fork deeper and Dieeal gasped as he brought the muzzle up to kiss its pectoral. Crushing the trigger, he let out a howling burst of lead.

Shell plating and ambulatory fluid scattered. Internals flew from its newly minted cavity and the machine dropped lifelessly to the floor. Rifle clattered against tile, Dieeal dropped to his knees, both hands holding what was lodged through him.

Tears welled in his eyes.

"Yima." His murmur was weak. He struggled to his feet, gun abandoned, and sauntered forward in a broken gait to his office.

What he saw when he entered was something a father and husband should never witness. His face wrenched into an appalled and quiet cry.

They were gone from the world.

A guttural scream erupted from pain and purblind rage as he wrenched himself free of the prongs. Blackness pressing, he collapsed, back set against the wall as he pulled their bodies into his embrace.

A blood-chilling cry of breath as he cradled both daughter and wife.

Agony bestowed to a parent and spouse. An end shared by billions across the Veil. His suffering was a banality from atrocity.

Ten minutes as the world continued to fall apart around him.

There was only one thing left to do. One last effort against his fight. If not for his family, then the ones that were still alive.

Palmtop in hand, he began a video.

"This is Major Dieeal'Larma," he grumbled, his voice strained and trembling. Blood seeped from deep wounds, a dark puddle spreading beneath him. "Facility of Sciences, Research, Development, and Deployment Administrator. Listen carefully..."

His vision blurred. Dark spots danced over his eyes as he fought to remain conscious.

"If you find this," he drew in a gasp, "my work since the start of the morning war was... trying to find a way to stop the geth. I've been... creating a repository of what I could in my safe."

His hands shook violently as he reached up, fingers slick with blood, fumbling with the safe's latch. The pain was excruciating, a stabbing agony that radiated from his wounds. He bit back a groan and focused.

"I will no longer be able to continue my work," he admitted, a tear traversing down his cheek through sweat and blood, "Bypass encryption using OSD seven five. File… Lira, Iota, Eltor."

His palmtop slipped from his weakening grasp and it clattered to the floor. He forced himself to pick it up, body protesting his every movement. With a final, grueling effort, he managed to open the safe above him before ending the recording and placing it inside with a nimble toss.

His vision narrowed to a tunnel. Darkness on the periphery. His strength was gone, his body cold and numb.

Dieeal's was at his end.

A gentle close and the safe sealed itself from the world. His hand fell limply to his side and he graced his wife with an everlasting stare, Millie in an eternal embrace.

"𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

Dieeal, in his final second, thought of that sunlit garden, and cast his final, parting, breath.

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Present time.

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5-13-2184

[ FAR RIM | IL-MA SYSTEM | PRIMERAH | CITY OF BASIN SI | ARCH CAPITAL TOLAS VEYAH ]

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The footage ended almost as abruptly as it came. Unshed tears at the cusp of falling, Tali's gaze stared through the stilled image.

Juel, himself, stared distantly off into nothingness. No one had a thing to say. Most stared distantly at the dark screen with their empty eyes before wandering their cold gaze to the floor.

A pyrrhic accomplishment.

They'd found what they were looking for.

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Codex Entryㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

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Citadel Security (C-Sec) Advanced Firearms And Detainment (AFAD) Gear Overview

Citadel Security, commonly known as C-Sec, is the premier law enforcement agency responsible for maintaining peace and order on the Citadel. To effectively counter high-risk situations and heavily armed threats, C-Sec developed the Advanced Firearms And Detainment (AFAD) division. AFAD operatives are equipped with state-of-the-art gear designed to handle everything from terrorist threats to organized crime within the Citadel's sprawling urban environment.

AFAD Gear Specifications

AFAD gear is a testament to cutting-edge military technology, blending the best aspects of personal protection, advanced weaponry, and tactical versatility. Each component of the gear is meticulously crafted to ensure maximum efficiency in high-stress scenarios.

1. Armor System AFAD operatives wear multi-layered kinetic and energy shielding armor. The outer layer consists of reinforced ablative plating, capable of withstanding direct hits from high-caliber firearms and directed energy weapons. Underneath, a kinetic barrier system provides additional protection against physical impacts and explosions. The armor is lightweight, allowing for enhanced mobility without sacrificing protection.

2. Tactical Helmet The AFAD tactical helmet is equipped with a heads-up display (HUD) that provides real-time information, including biometric data, enemy locations, and tactical maps. The helmet also features integrated communication systems, allowing seamless coordination with other C-Sec units. A retractable visor offers additional protection and can display augmented reality overlays for enhanced situational awareness.

3. Weapons and Attachments AFAD units are armed with a range of modular weapons, adaptable for various combat scenarios.

4. Tactical EquipmentAFAD operatives carry an array of tactical equipment to ensure they are prepared for any situation:

● A multifunctional device that provides hacking capabilities, medical support, and deployable combat drones.

● Non-lethal options such as electroshock batons, stun grenades, and restraint cuffs for subduing and capturing suspects.

● Including thermal breaching charges for rapid entry, and EMP grenades for disabling enemy electronics and shields.

5. Mobility EnhancementsThe AFAD armor includes kinetic assist modules to enhance physical capabilities. These modules increase the wearer's strength, speed, and agility, enabling rapid response and effective pursuit in urban environments. The boots are equipped with magnetic soles, allowing operatives to maintain stability in zero-gravity or low-gravity environments.

Training and Deployment

AFAD operatives undergo rigorous training, including advanced firearms handling, close-quarters combat, tactical driving, and hostage rescue scenarios. They are also trained in negotiation techniques and crisis management, ensuring they can de-escalate situations without the need for lethal force.

AFAD units are deployed in situations requiring high readiness and specialized intervention, such as counter-terrorism operations, high-risk warrant service, and protection of high-profile individuals. They are the tip of the spear for C-Sec's enforcement capabilities, ensuring the Citadel remains a safe haven for its diverse inhabitants.

AFAD embodies the pinnacle of C-Sec's commitment to maintaining order and safety on the Citadel.