They came for her when he was asleep. Caught him off guard, gave him the collar straight away, without a moment's notice. The searing pain blinded him momentarily. He heard the squealing of the door opening and her weak scream echoing through the chamber. By the time the haze cleared and he came to his senses, she was gone, dragged away by two krogan.
Garrus was once again left alone in the cramped cage, the bars confining him like an animal. The silence that followed was deafening, pressing in on the turian from all sides.
Minutes stretched into eternity without her comforting presence, and his mind began to spiral into the abyss of fear for her. Thoughts of futility of his situation grew more insistent, lurking in the dark corners of his mind.
This is how it always happens here, Garrus reminded himself. This is how they break you down, piece by piece, until you are nothing but a shell of your former self, a husk devoid of spirit and fight.
He wondered why they were not using him more often. If he had to guess, he'd say this facility was mostly for biotic slaves. The batarian leader probably still hoped to negotiate a ransom for him. Other than that, they had no use for a turian.
It made sense the rats were hungry for his human though. If this place was indeed for bio handling and training, the rules were tighter. Asari didn't like others messing with their slaves. It was their turf. Since most of the strong biotics were usually male, it meant lesser inflow of females and fewer opportunities for rape.
He hoped that Theia wouldn't let them touch the human until she was done. After that, all bets were off. And he saw the female was deteriorating fast. Whatever drugs they were giving her, those were the wrong ones. They were making her sicker. Soon, she might not be able to even stand, let alone manipulate dark matter. She will become useless to the asari, and the rats will come for her. They will take her away from him one last time, and she will never return.
Garrus was running out of time. Up until now, he had played by their rules. For one thing, they were giving him the collar at any opportunity. But he was also afraid they might separate him from her if he tried something drastic. So all the turian could do until recently was observe and bide his time. But then they made a crucial mistake—they let him out of the cage...
The sound in the hall made him alert. He strained his hearing in hope. Were they bringing her back? It was too soon; it hadn't been more than half an hour.
Frustration washed over him as Garrus recognized the stench of the limping rat. He was alone. Why was he here? The turian watched the slaver enter the holding area with a slightly hesitant gait.
The batarian's four eyes shifted warily as he scanned the room. He limped closer to the crate, hunger etched on his features, but was disappointed to find just one pair of eyes staring back at him.
He came for her, Garrus knew it in his gut.
The slaver halted, his weight shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, posture radiating impatience. It was clear he couldn't wait any longer and was prepared to ignore his orders or consequences. The need had consumed any lingering fear of the asari's wrath.
So it was to be today then, the turian thought. He would finally deliver on the silent promise he had made to the limping scum when he had tried to violate her, his filthy hands roaming her human body without consent, when he had grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head into the concrete floor... Garrus was going to kill him, plain and simple.
The thought made the turian calm and relaxed, a sense of clarity washing over him amidst the chaos. It was a certain sensation, something true and tangible to hold on to. He allowed the realization to settle within him, the tension leaving his body.
The batarian noticed the sudden shift, the way turian's shoulders dropped and his mandibles stilled. This unexpected change alarmed the slaver and provoked his curiosity at the same time, four eyes narrowing as he studied the prisoner.
Knowing full well the limp was watching him intently, Garrus moved deeper into the crate. He sat against the wall, legs stretched out, and visibly relaxed, his head tilting back to rest against the metal as he let out a slow, steadying breath.
The batarian smirked and moved towards the cage to see him better. "I told you, you should have tasted her when you had a chance, you know…" he told Garrus with a dodgy smile.
"What are you talking about?" the turian asked, involving him further into conversation.
"They are shipping her out tomorrow. She has a buyer."
Garrus's heart skipped a beat. Tomorrow? Fuck. This was bad. His mind raced feverishly.
The batarian sneered, feeling he had gained the upper hand in their exchange. "Make sure you will say your goodbyes properly."
The rat was enjoying this way too much.
Calm down and stay on course, Garrus told himself. This doesn't change much. Only that you needed to hurry. All the more reasons to play it right.
"Who?" he asked, his voice measured and seemingly calm.
"How should I know? Some turian hot shot…" the batarian shrugged, his expression indifferent.
A turian? Can this really be? Was Balak telling the truth after all?
Garrus wondered if 'hot shot' meant what he thought it meant.
"Someone in high command…" he muttered, more to himself, subvocals buzzing with disbelief.
"Private sector…" the slaver corrected. "He is willing to pay a lot of credits for those eyes of hers," his voice dropped to a hungry tone as he thought about the human. "It's a real shame, though… I thought she would stay longer." He gave the turian a knowing look and the most predatory of smiles. "Tonight will be fun though."
It took everything he got not to flinch at the rat's words. Concentrate.
Garrus spoke as nonchalantly as he could, "You won't fool me with all that talk…"
It worked—the batarian looked at him with questioning eyes, smile still on his yellowish face.
"She is sick, you know. Weak," Garrus explained. "She won't have it in her to fight you. How the hell are you planning to get it up?"
The smile was leaving the rat's smug face slowly, but steadily. The batarian's expression told Garrus everything he needed to know. His words clearly stroke a nerve, just as he had hoped they would. Good. The turian's mandibles twitched ever so slightly in a sign of satisfaction.
"What the fuck do you know, slave? You better shut up—"
"I know what I saw," Garrus cut him off. "Take it from someone who knows how to properly fuck a female. How to make her squirm and beg for more. You are not the one for the job."
He was speaking slowly to make his words sink in. And they did.
"Shut up, filth!"
One step closer.
The rat's face grew paler with rage. But now that Garrus found his target, he kept slamming at it again and again. No misses, straight hits.
"Can you even get it up, if she doesn't scream or resist? Not sure you'd know what to do with someone as sweet as that human…"
"I'm warning you!" The batarian was getting too rattled, too enraged to think clearly.
Another step.
"You pathetic limp, you will never make her soft body squirm. Might make her laugh though…" Oh, that one really stung. That's it! Keep at it. "I know impotence when I see it. She will see it too…"
"That's it!" The rat was shaking with fury, spitting every word. Foam was forming at the corner of his mouth.
Two more angry steps.
"You fucking piece of turian shit! You are going to regret it…" He raised the arm with the omni-tool.
In a split second, the turian was at the front side of the cage. His body slammed against it with its full might, muscled arm darting between the bars and finding the slaver's throat.
The four eyes opened wide, and the limp shrieked in terror. His fleshy mouth twisted apart to take a breath, but failed—the turian was crushing his windpipe. The batarian's body smashed against the metal bars, dragged in by Garrus's powerful grip. The hand reaching for the omni-tool was stopped in its tracks, as the turian grabbed it so hard he heard the sound of breaking bone.
The slaver tried to shriek once more, but there was no breath left in his lungs. Garrus saw his face suddenly struck with the realization of what was to come next. The air around them filled with a foul smell as the scumbag soiled himself. The turian didn't even blink. His hands were tightening their grip on their prey. Sharp talons dug deep into soft flesh, ripping it with too much ease.
He pulled the batarian closer to look him in the face during these final moments of his pointless, disgraceful life. The slaver's legs scraped against the floor as the turian's predator blue eyes watched him calmly, showing no mercy.
The rat uttered one last desperate whimper and went completely still. Garrus observed him for another moment with a cold stare, then examined the dead body for weapons. He had none on him. Fuck. The turian went for the omni-tool.
There were footsteps in the hallway. They must have heard the screams. Hurry up!
He twisted the dead man's arm, only to discover the batarian hadn't entered the activation codes for the collar. Garrus couldn't take it off without them. Fuck! This was bad, really bad. He didn't count on the rat to be such an idiot.
Balak and the two krogan guards rushed into the room, weapons primed and at the ready. They saw the turian holding the dead body of the slaver through the bars.
"You son of a whore!" Balak's expression changed from shock to rage, as his hand darted to the omni-tool.
A jolt of searing pain went through Garrus's body. He released the dead slaver and gripped viciously at the rods for leverage as waves of agony washed over him. The torture never ending, he soon fell on his side, desperately panting and gasping for air.
"Check if he is still alive!" he heard distant voices.
"He's dead, boss. The spikehead crushed his throat."
"Fuck! Get him out. And you…"
The leader came closer to the bars, looking at the squirming turian rolling on the floor, eyes wild with pain, arms trying to grab at something, anything, finding empty space. Balak watched him with fire that promised retaliation.
"You will learn your fucking place… or die, you filthy piece of shit." His eyes glinted with malice as he smirked. "Let's see how tough you really are…"
Garrus saw with what was left of his peripheral vision that the slaver lowered the arm with the omni-tool, clearly having no intention of turning it off, and made a couple of steps back. Turian's mind went into a full-blown panic, as his hands reached for the collar in desperate attempt to rip it off.
"See you in an hour… or ten." He heard the batarian's crackle as the bastard was out of his sight.
His tortured mind didn't even register the sound of retreating footsteps. Garrus was left alone in his crate, face to face with despair. Each jolt of electricity surging through his neck sent agonizing waves through his body, intensifying his torment with every pulse.
With every ounce of strength left in his turian body, he concentrated on trying to pry the collar from his neck. His claws dug deep into his hide as he pulled and tugged, but it refused to budge. Desperately, he tried to slip his claws between the metal and his scaly hide to lessen the intensity of the painful shocks. Too tight.
The waves continued, relentless. Every passing moment was an eternity. His body convulsed violently as the electrical currents raced through his nerves. His strength was slipping away, limbs began to lose control, twitching and jerking, talons scraping deep. The brain grew foggy, and he could no longer distinguish one excruciating sensation from another. The smell of his own blood and burning flesh filled his nostrils, as he prayed for it all to end.
Another pulse made her cry out in pain.
Her eyes snapped open, but it wasn't the training room she saw. Memories. They surged in her consciousness all wrong somehow—twisted and distorted, yet so real. Her heart pounded, each frantic beat swallowed by the fog in her mind. Amidst it all the asari's presence was like a needle, threading through her thoughts, pulling them tight until reality frayed.
Terror gripped her, and biotics surged in response to it, fierce and uncontrolled, flaring in jagged bursts. Her hands shook, crackling with power she couldn't control. She was drowning in the haze, lost in the nightmare.
"Fear makes strong biotics," the asari's voice coiled in her mind, soft and venomous.
"Strike."
Her hand moved on its own, biotic energy exploding from her fingers. She lashed out, desperate for the images to stop—but they wouldn't. She didn't know if she hit anything. The room blurred, shadows darting, whispers clawing at her ears.
"Don't hold back."
A sharp sting pierced her neck, and searing pain followed, flooding her veins with fire. Her body jerked, trembling violently. The pain only grew, stretching her to the breaking point. Muscles screamed in protest, metallic taste filled her mouth. She wanted to stop, wanted to scream, but the voice held her, commanding every move, owning every thought. The fear of disobeying—of being consumed by her nightmares—kept her trapped in this hellish cycle of compliance and agony.
"Again."
She struck out again, her power surging with the last of her strength. This time she knew it hit something solid, a dark shape she could barely discern through her tear-blurred eyes. The impact resonated through her body, a sickening thud followed by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor.
The scream that came after was raw, guttural, and definitely not her own. Krogan roar. It pierced the fog in her brain, momentarily cutting through the asari's influence.
Seconds later it faded, replaced by a gurgling sound that chilled her to the bone. The coppery scent of blood—or maybe just a memory of that smell?—filled her nostrils. Was it real? Was any of this real?
Then suddenly, it stopped.
She fell to the floor with a dull thud, her body crumpling like a rag doll.
Her mind was her own again, free from the torturous grip that had held it hostage. Her eyes were no longer looking inwards, deep into the recesses of her memories. They were peering straight ahead, taking in the horrific scene before her.
Blood pooled across the concrete floor, its deep brown seeping into every crevice. Dismembered krogan bodies lay contorted in unnatural angles, alien features twisted in agony of the last moments of their existence.
Her head was reeling, eyes darted from one gruesome sight to another. These weren't humans, but the horror of what she'd done transcended species. It was too much for her to bear. A wave of nausea washed over, turning her stomach upside down. She vomited violently, spasms going through her weak body and causing immense pain. Each heave felt like a knife twisting in her gut, but she couldn't stop the convulsions.
The asari's voice cut through the air and filled the room with rage. Theia shrieked at the krogan guards, slamming one against the wall with her biotics.
Fragments of conversation pierced her foggy brain. A biotic sold... a buyer waiting. The words held no meaning. Her body felt hollow, drained of all energy. She just wanted the darkness, longed for it. Unconsciousness promised reprieve—a quiet place where pain couldn't follow.
"What the fuck do you mean 'prepare for shipping?' I am not done with her yet!"
A flare of a biotic blast rippled through the air behind her.
"It was never about you having your fun. He just wanted to know if she's that good."
"You don't tell me what I do with my biotics…"
"She's not yours, Theia. Besides, you are getting nowhere with her…"
"That's a load of crap! She is making progress!"
"Progress my ass! You can't fucking control her, she is too unstable—"
"Too powerful, you mean. I just need to find the right combination of drugs."
"It's been days. Look at her, she is done."
"You just want to get yourself a fat paycheck…"
"Damn right I do! The turian fuck is ready to pay a lot of credits for that whore. And what are you doing? Aside from trying my patience… and occupying my space?"
"Fuck you Balak! That's not the deal we made."
"You'll get over it… when I tell you how much she is worth to him."
Too loud. The clatter of their voices was too loud. Then came the sound of footsteps. She felt a hand on her head, caressing her almost tenderly.
"Now, now, kitten. Lighten up. Things are about to get way more interesting."
Another pinch of the collar.
The world swirled around her in a dizzying haze, her senses numbing. She felt relief—the sedative meant they were done with her.
"Take her to the cell."
More footsteps, heavier, bulkier this time. Someone's arms grabbed her, but it didn't hurt anymore. They lifted her up.
"You are a fucking asshole, Balak!"
"Yeah, yeah…"
The voices trailed off. The grip on her body was rough, indifferent. But they were carrying her back, and that was all that mattered.
Would he be there? Was he waiting for her? Would he take her in his arms again? It was all she wanted. To feel his warmth and his touch. He numbed her pain. She needed him.
They threw her on the floor. She barely felt it. Then came a squealing sound of the door, and the voice told her, "Get inside."
She saw the open cage and tried to do as she was told, but was too slow and weak.
"Hurry up, human!"
They shoved her in forcefully and impatiently. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. So loud…
She sat for a moment, catching her breath. Unfocused eyes searched the crate unable to spot the turian right away before finally founding him lying against the far wall. Something was wrong. His body was moving, yet staying completely still. And the sound. The strange buzzing sound of something she knew. Something terrible.
She moved in close and saw what was happening. The collar was the source of it. It was sending shock waves through his body, causing him to convulse. A trail of blue blood snaked its way from the turian's neck, covering his chest, his hands, and the floor beneath him. He had wounded himself, talons digging deep into flesh, tearing at his throat, trying to escape the pain. Had they just left him like this? How long had he been lying here?
Panic surged through her, sharpening her mind.
"No, no, no!" she cried out, her voice hoarse and breaking as she crawled closer and climbed on top of the turian. Her trembling hands found his, now barely moving, more twitching than scratching. With a strength born of desperation, she pulled his arms away from his throat, pinning them down with her knees. The ease with which she managed this sent a chill through her—he wasn't fighting back at all.
The sound of his talons weakly scraping against the metal floor frayed her nerves.
"What do I do?" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
He didn't respond, couldn't respond. His usually alert eyes were open but vacant and glassy, staring blankly at nothing.
"Please!" she sobbed, her heart breaking at the sight of him. "Stay with me!"
She pressed her small palms to his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. There was too much blood. The smell of it was just sickening.
The collar continued its merciless assault, sending waves of agony through his body, and she suddenly knew what she had to do. His neck was sleek with blue, making it easy for her thin human fingers to slip between the metal and his throat, absorbing all the jolts of pain with her hands.
That hurt. A lot. Even through the numbing sedative they had given her. She cried out weakly and fell on his chest. But it must have eased his pain a little, as his talons stopped scraping and he uttered a low moaning sound, almost human. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths—the first moment of relief in god knows how long. She bit her lower lip, but kept her hands where they were, taking most of the pain.
As awareness returned to him slowly, his eyes regained focus. Large arms jerked suddenly, freeing themselves from under her knees. He grasped her hands tightly, painfully, trying to pull them away from the collar as if realizing what she was doing. But she resisted his pull, clinging to the warm metal with stubborn determination.
"It's ok," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm ok."
He made a strange, incomprehensible trill. His eyes locked onto hers for a brief, intense moment before closing shut. Large hands fell limply to his sides, body going slack.
Yet his chest continued its steady rise and fall, every breath shallow but constant.
The sedative's effects were fading, and she felt each jolt of pain more acutely now. Still, she held on, shaking with shockwaves, taking his pain.
"It's ok. You can rest now."
She felt his breathing steadying and laid on top of him, pressing her cheek to the turian chest, feeling the weak rhythm of his heart. She could do it as long as he needed her to, she thought. He did the same for her. They shared everything else. They could share this as well.
Her hands were going numb with pain, the muscles up her arms and shoulders started to convulse.
Excruciating moments came and went, until the collar beeped and shut off completely.