Chapter Text
Hackett leaned forward, his voice steady yet purposeful. “What about Shepard? Military bloodline. Raised on ships, stations, outposts.”
”She’s not what I would call politically neutral,” said Ambassador Udina, “Some people say she’s just pragmatic. I say she’s dangerously stubborn.”
Zendaya, the Omnic ambassador, chimed in, her mechanical voice somehow conveying empathy. “She lost her brother, John, along with their entire unit to Thresher Maws on Akuze. Shepard was the sole survivor. That’s when her Quirk evolved—violent, uncontrolled, and raw. It nearly killed her medics.”
Nihlus, the Turian Spectre, narrowed his eyes analysing the holographic feed in front of him. “Her Quirk and biotic abilities are certainly impressive. But is there anything else?”
Hackett folded his arms, considering. “She doesn’t quit when the odds are stacked against her. That’s why squads under her survive”
“She was forced to lead a team of wounded marines back to extraction at age seventeen,” Zendaya added quietly. “Every one of them made it. She never talks about it.”
A heavy silence followed. The war-hardened leaders exchanged a glance—not doubt, but quiet respect.
”Is this the type of person who should join the Spectres?”
Nihilus paused, weighing all the information. “It’s the only type who often does.”
The room fell silent for a moment before Udina gave a resigned nod. “I’ll make the call.”
“When the Citadel first arrived to help break the Siege of Gridiron—a brutal Covenant assault on a key human fortress world—in 2169, few imagined they'd stay. Fewer still imagined humanity would claw its way onto the Presidium by 2190.”
The FSV Normandy cut through the cold vacuum of space, its dark hull gleaming in Neptune’s shadow. A prototype deep-space reconnaissance vessel, she was the product of an unprecedented collaboration between the Alliance, the IMC, the Turian Hierarchy, and the Citadel Council.
Designed for solo reconnaissance missions, especially within unstable and uncharted regions of the galaxy, the Normandy was optimized for deep exploration and first contact scenarios. Her presence in the Sol System was a testament to humanity’s growing influence and ambitions.
The ship was equipped with state-of-the-art stealth technology, its most remarkable feature being the Turian IES (Internal Emission Sink)—a system that allowed the Normandy to store heat from its operations in lithium heat sinks embedded along the hull. This allowed the ship to remain undetectable by enemy sensors for days, a lethal advantage when operating in hostile territory.
The ship's Tantalus power core buzzed with controlled energy as the modified Ophon-pattern Slipstream drive, retro-fitted from a Covenant design, began to warm up. Slipspace wasn’t just faster than light. It was older. Stranger. Some engineers swore they heard whispers in the noise between jumps. Others simply never came back.
Inside the Combat Information Center, the crew worked with focused precision. The elevated command station offered a strategic overview of the vessel, allowing the commanding officer to track every movement of the crew. Shepard, observing from her post, felt the quiet tension in the air. She could almost feel the weight of the ship’s presence, like a silent predator ready to strike.
Shepard watched the stars blur, her fingers tightening on the hand bar. This wasn’t just a test flight. This was the future—hers, and humanity’s. And she’d be damned if she let either burn.
The CIC was designed by the turians, and it reflected their disciplined, methodical approach to warfare. It was clean, efficient, and built to withstand the chaos of combat. Kinetic barriers enveloped every section of the ship, ensuring the Normandy would stay intact even if the unthinkable occurred. Foam bombs for fire suppression, a quick-fire system designed to deal with temperature fluctuations or electrical hazards, sat ready to deploy. The ship’s automated point-defense lasers whirred silently, ensuring that even the smallest threat would be neutralized before it could ever touch the hull.
The Normandy’s hull hummed softly, almost alive, as the crew moved in Far Zenith-grade biosuits—metallic skins glistening from the blinking lights and reactive interfaces. These nanite suits of body armour were more than just protective gear; they were extensions of the crew, monitoring every function from neural activity to vital signs.
They were a constant reminder of the dangerous new era humanity had entered—no longer mere soldiers, but an army enhanced by technology, Quirks, and the mysteries of the galaxy.
As the Normandy sailed toward the vast nothingness of space beyond Neptune, EDI, the ship's AI, silently calculated potential FTL vectors. Her interface flickered in the background, green flashes illuminating the bridge, signaling that the ship’s systems were primed for the journey ahead. With a soft mechanical hum, the AI communicated with Arcturus Station, confirming the coordinates and the all-clear.
“FTL route confirmed,” EDI said. “Warning: Probability of anomalous gravitational interference—elevated. Proceeding.”
On the command deck, the pilot’s hands tightened around the controls. Joker, always the professional, couldn’t help the quickening beat of his pulse as he prepared for the slip. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cutting through the ship's comm system, his usual irreverence tempered by the immense responsibility of the moment.
"All crew, prepare for transition to lightspeed. This is going to get rough in 3... 2... 1...!"
In an instant, the Normandy surged forward. The space around the ship distorted violently as a massive purple portal tore open before them. The fabric of reality seemed to tear as Slipspace consumed the ship in a violent, all-encompassing light. For a fleeting moment, the Normandy was engulfed in waves of distortion, her hull vibrating under the strain of the transition. Yet, even amidst the chaos of faster-than-light travel, the ship remained steady, a testament to the strength of her design and the unyielding resolve of her crew.
With a sudden, overwhelming shock, the ship was thrust into the darkness of Slipspace, its velocity now faster than light, leaving behind the Sol System and the familiar stars. They had crossed into the threshold of destiny.
“Thrusters… check. Nav… check. Emissions Sink… engaged. All systems green. Drift… just under 1500 K.”
Joker’s hands danced across the controls, his voice steady despite the subtle hum of the Normandy’s systems. His sharp eyes glanced at the readings, confirming everything was running smoothly.
“1500 is good. I’m sure your CO will be pleased,” the deep, gravelly voice of a turian responded from behind him. The crimson-armoured alien—a skull painted over his face—stood with a rigid posture, observing the cockpit with a calculating gaze.
He then turned sharply and made his way toward the CIC, his footfalls barely audible on the deck.
Joker smirked, muttering under his breath, “Weirdo.”
He shook his head slightly, his hands never leaving the controls, though the faint smile lingered on his face.
“Nihilus gave you a compliment, so you hate him?” Kaidan Alenko asked from his own seat nearby, facing the starboard, turning his head left to glance at Joker.
Joker spun in his seat, feigning offence. “I don’t hate him; I just think he’s a little too… by the book for my taste. You know how those turians are—always so serious.”
Kaidan chuckled, stepping fully into the cockpit. “Like a professional soldier? Shocking.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just wait until he starts lecturing us about protocol,” Joker replied, rolling his eyes. “Next thing you know, he’ll have us doing drills in the middle of a combat zone.”
Kaidan leaned back into his chair, his demeanour relaxed. “Maybe we should run a few drills. With everything going on, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.”
“Great, more work for me,” Joker said with a mock sigh. “I was hoping to get some downtime before we dive headfirst into whatever madness awaits us out there.”
“Cut the chatter, you two,” came a sharp voice. A woman stepped into the helm, green eyes glinting with quiet authority. Vibrant red hair framed her face, accentuating the subtle, magma-like cracks—like cooled lava—glowed faintly beneath her eyes.
Joker turned in his seat, instantly straightening his posture. “Just keeping the morale up, Commander,” he replied, attempting to mask the nervousness in his tone.
“Morale is one thing, but focus is another,” she continued, her gaze unwavering. “We have a mission, and I expect everyone to be prepared. We’re not just here for a joyride.”
Kaidan nodded, recognizing her authority. “Understood, Commander Shepard. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit,” he said, keeping his tone respectful.
Shepard crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly. “I appreciate that, but there’s a time for jokes and a time for seriousness. We need to be ready for whatever comes next. That goes for you too, Joker.”
“Got it, Commander,” he said with a mock salute. “Serious face. No jokes. Full brooding mode.”
Shepard couldn't help but smile just a tiny bit. She knew Joker liked to bring a bit of levity to his job, it was how he dealt with the stress.
A soft tone chimed from the comms panel, and Anderson’s voice followed, crisp and commanding.
“Joker, I need you to set a course for Eden Prime. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“On it, Captain,” Joker replied, fingers dancing across the controls. He paused for a moment, glancing at the navigation screen. “Just a heads up, sir, Nihilus is heading your way.”
“Joker,” Anderson responded sternly, “he’s already here.”
Joker’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted in his seat. “Right. Great. Well, at least I’ll have someone to blame when we inevitably get blasted out of the sky.”
Shepard raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, Joker.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to keep things interesting,” he shot back, setting the course for Eden Prime. “But fine, I'll be serious. Eden Prime, here we come!” Joker said, his tone shifting to one of determination as the Normandy surged forward, her engines roaring to life.
As the Normandy surged through space toward Eden Prime, Captain Anderson's voice crackled back through the comms. “Shepard, I need you in the comms room. We have some things to discuss.”
Shepard nodded, her expression turning serious. “On my way, Captain.” She shot a quick glance at Kaidan and Joker before heading toward the door.
Kaidan followed her with his gaze, then turned to Joker. “You think this is about the mission or something else?”
“Probably both,” Joker replied, swivelling in his chair. “But I wouldn’t want to be the one in that room right now. Shepard’s tough, but Anderson can be... intense.”
Kaidan chuckled. “Yeah, especially when it comes to the stakes we’re dealing with.”
Shepard made her way through the narrow corridors of the Normandy, the familiar hum of the ship resonating around her.
As Shepard made her way to the comms room, she passed Pressley, the Navigations officer, at his station. He looked up as she approached, his expression thoughtful.
“Commander,” he greeted with a nod. “Heading to the comms room?”
“Yes. Captain Anderson wants to go over a few things,” Shepard said, noting the furrow in his brow.
Pressley hesitated. “I don’t know. Why would the Council send a Spectre to observe an Alliance shakedown? It seems rather… excessive.”
“Maybe they want to keep us on a short leash,” Shepard suggested, her thoughts flicking to the Fold Weapon and what the IMC nearly did with it. “After everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t blame them.”
“Maybe, but it still feels off,” Pressley said, leaning back in his seat. “Having a Spectre watching our every move makes me uneasy.”
“Just keep your guard up,” Shepard replied. “If there’s something deeper going on, we’ll uncover it in due time.”
Pressley nodded, though concern lingered on his face. As she walked away, his unease echoed in her mind.
Just as Shepard reached the comms room, she heard a voice call out behind her. “Commander!”
She turned to see Corporal Jenkins approaching, a look of concern on his face. “Do you have a moment?”
“I guess, Corporal, but make it quick.” Shepard replied, sensing his unease.
“It’s just that… I grew up on Eden Prime,” he said, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “People think it’s just another colony. But there’s been chatter recently—unmarked ships, missing patrols. My family didn’t mention anything, but it just feels... wrong. And now a Spectre shows up?”
Shepard considered his words, nodding. “I’ve been hearing the same concerns from other members of the crew. It feels like there’s more to this mission than meets the eye.”
“Exactly,” Jenkins continued, his brow furrowed. “If something’s happening there, it could affect us directly. I just hope we’re not walking into a trap.”
“We’ll be careful,” Shepard assured him. “If there’s something off, we’ll figure it out. But right now, we need to focus on the mission at hand.”
Jenkins nodded, though uncertainty lingered in his eyes. “I’ll keep my head on a swivel, Commander. Promise.”
“Good,” Shepard replied, giving him a reassuring smile.
As Shepard was about to enter the comms room, Dr Chakwas, the chief medic, joined the two. “Is everything alright?” she asked, sensing the tension.
“Just discussing our new guest,” Jenkins replied. “Hey, Commander, if anyone deserves to be a Spectre, it’s you—after all, you survived Akuze.”
Shepard’s jaw tightened. The word “Akuze” always found a way to sink beneath her armor, no matter how many missions she took to forget it.
“That’s not a compliment, Corporal. Surviving a tragedy doesn’t qualify me for anything.”
Jenkins looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean—”
“Enough,” Chakwas interrupted. “What happened on Akuze was a tragedy, not a badge of honour. We need to support each other, not define our worth by past scars.”
Shepard took a breath, her anger fading. “You’re right, Doctor. Let’s focus on the mission ahead.”
“Agreed,” Jenkins said, looking remorseful. “I’m sorry, Commander.”
Shepard nodded slowly, watching them disappear down the corridor, their voices swallowed by the low hum of the Normandy’s engines. The past didn’t get to dictate this mission—she would.
Shepard stepped into the comms room, where Nihilus waited. His crimson armour gleamed in the light cast by the tactical display showing images of Eden Prime. He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Commander Shepard,” he greeted with a slight nod. “I was just curious about Eden Prime and yet it seems rather... unprotected. Few orbital defenses, limited fleet presence. That’s unusual for a colony with so much strategic value.”
Shepard raised an eyebrow, sensing the implication behind his words. “Are you suggesting there’s a problem, Spectre?”
“Only an observation. The galaxy isn’t always so… peaceful,” he intoned. He swiped through the images, which displayed local FSA Army units drilling with mechanized support and maintaining the Cauldron network—automated industrial complexes building Zero Dawn machines—near the capital city of Hudson.
Just then, Captain Anderson entered the comms room, his presence commanding. “Nihilus,” he said, acknowledging the Turian with a nod before turning to Shepard. “I trust you’re getting acquainted, Commander?”
“Yes, sir,” Shepard replied, glancing between the two.
Nihilus straightened slightly. “We were just discussing Eden Prime’s defences.”
Anderson’s brow furrowed. “That’s not why we’re here. This mission isn’t just a shakedown run.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “A Prothean beacon was unearthed outside of Hudson. Our job is to secure it and transport it to the Citadel.”
Shepard’s interest piqued. “A Prothean beacon? Why is that important?”
Nihilus stepped forward. “The Council believes it could hold critical information about the Protheans and their technology, perhaps even their fate. We must secure it before it falls into the wrong hands.”
“What kind of wrong hands?”
Nihilus crossed his arms, considering her question. “Several factions could pose a risk. The Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse are known for their mercenary activities. They’re always looking for a score, especially with something as valuable as a Prothean beacon.”
Anderson added, “We also can’t discount the Batarian Hegemony or pirates. Both groups are known for their ruthless tactics and have been increasingly active in this sector.”
Shepard nodded, absorbing the information. “What about the Cabal? If they catch wind of the beacon, we could have bigger problems than mercs.”
Nihilus’s expression remained serious. “It’s unlikely but not impossible. They’re still deadlocked with the Guardians on Tau Ceti IV, but if they catch wind of the beacon, they might make a move to seize it.”
Anderson took a moment, letting the gravity of his next words settle in the air. “Shepard, there’s something else you need to know. You’re being considered for the position of the first human Spectre.”
Shepard’s eyes widened a little in surprise. She had noticed how often Nihilus had been watching her—not just during the initial mission briefing on Earth, but every response, every question she asked. Like he was studying her.
Nihilus nodded, his expression unreadable. “Your skills and experience are exceptional, Commander. The Council believes you have the potential to represent humanity among the Spectres.”
Anderson continued, “Nihilus is on the Normandy to observe you during this mission. They want to see how you handle the challenges we face.”
Shepard felt a rush of emotions—excitement, pride, and a hint of apprehension. “This is a huge responsibility. What does it entail?”
Nihilus stepped forward, his voice steady. “As a Spectre, you would be granted full autonomy to act in the interests of the Council. You’d be tasked with maintaining peace and order in the galaxy, often under intense pressure. It’s a significant commitment, but you have the potential to excel.”
Anderson added, “I wouldn’t support this if I didn’t believe in you, Shepard. You’ve proven time and again that you can lead and make tough decisions.”
Just as Shepard opened her mouth to respond, the ship's AI, EDI, interrupted the conversation with an urgent tone. “Captain Anderson, I have intercepted an emergency transmission originating from Eden Prime.”
Anderson’s expression shifted to concern. “What’s the nature of the transmission, EDI?”
“The signal is heavily distorted, but I can confirm that it contains distress calls from the capital,” EDI replied, her voice calm but serious. “Reports indicate an attack is in progress. Multiple unidentified ships have been spotted in the vicinity.”
“Display on screen,” Anderson ordered. As the Normandy’s screens flickered to life, EDI displayed the full transmission, the chaotic scene unfolding in real time. The visuals were shaky, but the urgency was clear. Human and Omnic marines—a sentient synthetic race that were mostly integrated into human society—fought valiantly against an onslaught of hostile synthetics hidden from direct view by the chaotic gunfight, their weapons firing in rapid succession as explosions lit up the horizon.
Just as the camera focused on a fireteam of marines falling back, shadows blanketed the skyline. A moment later, a titanic metal hand tore through the horizon, scattering debris and dwarfing entire buildings beneath its bulk.
Shepard’s eyes widened.
Nihilus leaned closer to the screen, his expression darkening and mandibles clicking.
Anderson’s jaw tightened as he assessed the situation. “EDI, can you enhance the feed? We need to gather as much intel as possible.”
“Processing now,” EDI responded, her tone steady. The image sharpened, revealing the mechanical monstrosity in greater detail.
As the image sharpened further, it became clear that the massive metal hand was not just a mechanical appendage—it was part of a ship, a colossal war vessel looming ominously over the skyline of Eden Prime. Its surface was segmented, revealing weapon emplacements and thrusters that hinted at its formidable capabilities.
Anderson's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. “Joker, maintain course for Eden Prime—double time. Now!”
“On it, Captain!” Joker responded, his hands flying over the controls. The Normandy shifted direction, engines humming with renewed urgency.
Anderson turned to Shepard, his expression grim but resolute. “Suit up. You’re leading the ground team—Kaidan, Jenkins, and Nihilus are going with you.”
Shepard nodded, her mind already shifting into combat mode. “Understood, sir.”
Shepard, Kaidan, Jenkins, and Nihilus swiftly made their way toward the cargo hold. The thrum of the ship’s engines grew louder as the Normandy surged toward Eden Prime. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as they prepared for what lay ahead, the weight of their mission heavy in the air.
As the cargo doors slid open and the team entered the hold, Shepard’s thoughts were a whirl of strategy, determination, and the lingering uncertainty of what they would face on the surface. But one thing was clear: Eden Prime was under siege—and for now, the Normandy’s team was all that stood between the colony and annihilation.
Notes:
Lore bite: Akuze
In 2177, the planet Akuze became a symbol of both tragedy and resilience within the Systems Alliance. A routine survey mission turned catastrophic when a Thresher Maw ambush decimated an entire marine unit. Among the dead was Sergeant John Shepard — older brother to future N7 operative, Commander Jane Shepard. The loss would shape Jane’s path forever, and Akuze would become the crucible that forged her legend as the “Sole Survivor.”Trapped beneath the wreckage of a Mako, Jane Shepard endured hours of pain and fire while surrounded by the dying. It was then that her Quirk evolved — a violent surge of power triggered by extreme trauma. Among humanity’s genetically diverse and Quirk-bearing population, such late “Awakenings” are rare and volatile.
Akuze became both a crucible and a catalyst — forging one of the most relentless officers in Alliance history.
Today, Akuze is remembered across the Systems Alliance as a solemn lesson in vigilance and sacrifice — proof that even the most routine operation can spiral into chaos. Its name is whispered with reverence. Its survivors are studied, its dead honoured. It stands as a grim monument to humanity’s vulnerability beyond the Core.
Chapter Text
The Normandy’s cargo hold hummed with quiet power, a deep vibration threading through the floor as the ship cut through Eden Prime’s atmosphere. Steam curled from the vents along the walls, lights dimmed to red alert.
Commander Shepard stood in the center of the hold, poised and focused. Her sharp green eyes swept over the gear lockers and her squad.
Her Far Zenith biosuit had already begun its shift into combat mode.
Smooth black nanite mesh rippled across her body, crawling up from the catsuit-like base layer into seamless armour. Plates of matte-finished metal blossomed across her limbs and torso, hugging tight to her figure without sacrificing flexibility. The suit clicked into place around her shoulders, spine, and joints—streamlined, aerodynamic, and quietly lethal. It wasn’t bulky like Spartan armour or traditional marine gear It was something more advanced. Sleek. Intelligent. Alive.
Familiar, and comforting in its precision.
Her helmet formed last—nanites swarming up her neck to assemble a sleek black visor that sealed over her face. With a blink, her HUD flared to life, syncing with the Normandy’s mission feed and squad vitals.
Her weapons—reduced to dormant nanite clusters during transport—remained stored as latent energy in the biosuit. With a thought, she could summon any of them into her hands. Modular. Fluid. Deadly.
Behind her, Kaidan Alenko and Corporal Jenkins were preparing themselves, their suits morphing into similar armour, protecting them from whatever waited on Eden Prime. They had done this countless times, but the looming threat gnawed at them. This wasn’t a routine drop.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Jenkins muttered, his voice crackling through the helmet comms. “Why Eden Prime? The colony’s practically a paradise.”
“It was,” Shepard replied, eyes fixed ahead. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
Jenkins shifted slightly, casting a glance at Kaidan. “I grew up there. After it got the green light—no Zero Dawn terraforming needed—it just… thrived. It’s peaceful. Not the kind of place you send a Spectre.”
Kaidan said nothing, but Shepard caught the slight tilt of his head. He was thinking the same thing. A Prothean beacon, pirate interference, and now a Spectre on the ground? Something wasn’t adding up.
She ran a quick systems check through her HUD. The biosuit’s nanite layers buzzed faintly beneath her skin, regulating her Quirk and stabilizing biotic output. Balanced. Primed. Ready.
“Stay sharp,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “This is more than a beacon retrieval now.”
The cargo bay door hissed open.
Nihlus stepped inside, his crimson armour catching the cold overhead lights. The turian Spectre scanned them briefly, black eyes unreadable.
“I take it you’re ready, Commander?”
Shepard nodded once. “We are. Situation?”
“We’re landing near the capital. The beacon’s in a secure facility, but whatever hit the colony is still active. I’ll scout ahead.”
“You’re going in alone?” Shepard asked, frowning beneath her helmet.
Nihlus gave a slight smirk. “I move faster that way. Don’t worry—I’ll be watching.”
Without another word, he turned and stepped off the ramp. A sharp burst of biotic energy flared around him as his jump jets ignited, propelling him into the smoke-choked sky below.
Shepard watched him vanish into the chaos. Then she turned to her team.
“Move out,” she ordered.
Kaidan and Jenkins were already locked in, visors down and packs primed. Shepard activated her own drop jets with a flick of her wrist, the thrusters flaring beneath her boots and back.
Together, they launched.
Wind tore past them in a roar as they descended toward Eden Prime. From orbit, it had looked like paradise—lush green fields, clear skies, peaceful towns. Up close, it was a war zone.
Smoke curled from burning buildings. Craters scarred the landscape. The hum of distant gunfire echoed across the hills.
They touched down hard, jump jets cushioning the landing. Shepard’s boots sank slightly into scorched soil as she took point, scanning the treeline ahead. Her HUD lit up with movement.
With a low thud, Commander Shepard landed, boots sinking into blood-soaked soil. The scent of scorched grass and ozone clung to the air. Kaidan and Jenkins followed seconds later, jump jets flaring briefly to slow their descent.
What was once a peaceful field had become a graveyard.
Scattered bodies lay where they’d fallen—FSA Marines, civilian colonists, and Omnic support units alike. Twisted limbs, shattered armour, the ground stained with oil and blood. Even the local Gas Bags hadn’t escaped, their bloated forms ruptured by stray plasma bolts.
Jenkins’ helmet turned slowly. “Dear God… They never stood a chance.”
Shepard’s jaw tightened. “Eyes up. We’re not here to grieve—we find the beacon, secure the site, and move.”
She felt the faint hum of nanites beneath her skin-tight biosuit, regulating the flow of both biotic charge and Quirk energy. Her HUD updated with Kaidan’s readings and Jenkins’ vitals, but the unease in the air wasn’t something sensors could quantify.
They moved toward the treeline, the shadows long and twitching with wind. The crackle of distant gunfire echoed faintly—a chilling reminder this wasn’t over.
Then the sky screamed.
A high-pitched whine split the silence, followed by the roar of turbines. Recon Drones burst from the forest—sleek, insectoid machines with glowing violet optics, strafing across the open field like vultures diving for carrion.
“Ambush!” Shepard shouted, diving behind a boulder as energy blasts tore past.
Jenkins was slower to react. A focused burst from two drones slammed into his shields, flaring them bright blue—then shattering them. One more blast punched straight through his chestplate, dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Jenkins!” Kaidan yelled—but the damage was fatal. The young soldier’s body twitched once… then stilled.
Shepard didn’t hesitate. Her hand snapped forward, and a surge of violet energy erupted outward—gravity collapsing inward into a micro-singularity. The drones spiraled into its pull, smashed together like metallic flotsam caught in a whirlpool.
“Kaidan—now!”
Kaidan was already moving. A flick of his wrist activated the cyberdeck integrated into his biosuit’s bracer. Thin blue circuits surged up his arm. His eyes flickered with a digital glow as his Netrunner interface went live.
“Overloading—”
Invisible data-pulses erupted from his suit, snaking through the EM spectrum and drilling into the drones’ network protocols. The machines stuttered mid-flight, optics flickering, servo-motors locking in place.
Then they exploded—one after another—lighting the forest edge in a staccato of fire and metal.
Silence returned. Smoke rose from the burning wreckage, the air acrid with ionized particles.
Kaidan lowered his arm, breathing hard but steady. “Overload successful.”
Shepard nodded—but her gaze was fixed on Jenkins. She approached the fallen Marine, her expression unreadable behind the matte-black visor of her combat helmet.
Kaidan knelt by the body, jaw tight. He pressed two fingers to Jenkins’ neck—more out of instinct than hope. Then, with quiet precision, he activated his cyberdeck again. A soft pulse projected a beacon marker above the corpse—a glowing blue hologram hovering gently.
“Tagging for recovery,” he said, voice low. “His family deserves to know.”
Shepard stood silent, then spoke—her voice clipped, cold.
“We’ll grieve later. We move now.”
Kaidan looked up, eyes shadowed. He didn’t argue.
As one, they turned from Jenkins’ body and entered the forest. The trees closed around them, the light dimming. Whatever force had attacked Eden Prime, it wasn’t finished. And neither were they.
Elsewhere on the outskirts of the colony, Nihlus moved like a shadow through the smoke-drenched terrain, crouched low beneath the rise of a scorched hill. His eyes scanned the burning skyline, his turian instincts honed to detect the faintest movement. As he reached the ridge, the grim panorama below came into view.
A settlement—once peaceful—was now in flames. Bodies littered the streets. Between the crumbling buildings, Geth units prowled in tight formation, their synchronized movements mechanical and unnervingly silent. But it wasn’t the Geth that caught Nihlus’ full attention—it was the figure standing at their center.
Sleek, tall, and disturbingly human-shaped, the synthetic commander oversaw the chaos with eerie poise. Its green-plated armour shimmered faintly in the firelight, tinged with an unnatural sheen. Twin red optics glowed from a human-like face, cold and predatory. Lines of circuitry ran along its limbs, pulsing with an ominous violet light—a corruption not native to the Geth.
Nihlus magnified his visor. He could see the commander giving orders, its voice carried faintly on the wind, distorted by static and smoke.
“Spike them.”
The command was followed immediately by action. Geth troopers dragged limp human colonists toward brutal metal constructs, rebar-like pylons driven into the earth like perverse monuments. Some of the victims were still alive, twitching feebly as they were raised.
Nihlus’ mandibles clenched.
When the first body was impaled and lifted into the air, a sickening transformation began.
Flesh blistered. Machinery burst from under the skin, invasive and cruel. Cybernetic tendrils erupted from limbs and spines, twitching as if tasting the air. A scream was quickly cut off as the subject’s jaw dislocated and reshaped into something inhuman. Moments later, what had once been a civilian clawed its way off the spike—now a ravenous, shambling husk.
One after another, the victims were converted. Some rose with faint traces of violet glow in their eyes, suggesting some deeper corruption than even the Reapers.
Nihlus swallowed hard, backing away into the shadows. He had seen many cruel experiments on life over his long military career, but this felt different. Far more pervasive. An affront to life itself. “By the Spirits…” he whispered, activating his stealth systems. He needed to report this. Now.
Shepard and Kaidan moved swiftly through the forest, their biosuits glinting in the faint light that filtered through the trees. More drones emerged from the brush, their optics flickering as they locked onto the two soldiers.
Without missing a beat, Shepard raised her arm, nanites shifting across her wrist to form a sleek assault rifle. She fired in controlled bursts, tearing through drone shields before they could fully engage. Kaidan’s cyberdeck pulsed as he sent a precise Overload, frying the rest in a cascade of sparks.
“They’re not even a challenge,” Kaidan muttered, his voice cool, eyes scanning for the next wave.
“They won’t be the last,” Shepard replied grimly. “Keep moving.”
As they emerged from the treeline, a lone Alliance Marine sprinted up the hill toward them. She turned, eyes fierce, and with practiced aim dropped the remaining drones with crisp pistol shots.
“Nice shooting!” Kaidan called, but before he could say more, two hulking synthetics stomped onto the path behind them—twisted shells of curved metal with glowing purple cores.
“Back—now!” the soldier barked, raising her pistol. But Shepard was already stepping forward, the air around her shimmering with heat.
“Commander Jane Shepard! Quirk: Ignition! She can generate fire from any point on her body and transform into a blazing being of flame and molten fury! She’s on fire, baby!”
With a sweeping gesture, Shepard unleashed a storm of flames, incinerating one synthetic in a torrent of superheated air. The second charged forward—but Kaidan’s biotics held it in place just long enough for Shepard to melt it down to slag.
As the flames died down, the soldier stepped forward, breathing hard, her white and red biosuit slowly repairing itself before their eyes. “Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, 212th Marine Division,” she said, voice firm.
“Where’s your squad, Marine?” Shepard asked, eyes sweeping the immediate area for other survivors.
“They’re dead. All of them,” Ashley muttered. “The Geth butchered them like cattle.”
Kaidan raised an eyebrow. “Geth? They haven’t been outside the Perseus Veil in centuries.”
Ashley’s jaw tightened. “I know what I saw. Those things? Definitely Geth. They tore through the entire battalion.”
Shepard holstered her rifle. “The beacon. Do you know where it is?”
Ashley nodded, urgency burning behind her eyes. “Yeah. It’s down the hill. I was part of the team sent to secure it before everything went sideways. Come on.”
As they moved downhill, shots rang out—more Geth rising from behind shattered ruins. Ashley turned without hesitation, her body pulsing with crimson light.
“Ashley Williams! Quirk: Blood Rush! Her heart rate skyrockets, supercharging her circulation to boost her reflexes, stamina, and speed! She’s a one-woman blitzkrieg!”
A red flush surged across her skin as she blurred into motion, zigzagging across the battlefield. She slammed into the nearest Geth, smashing its arm clean off before spinning and drop-kicking another through a half-collapsed wall.
“She moves like a damn rocket,” Kaidan muttered, hacking another drone’s weapon with a flick of his hand. Sparks burst as it backfired, allowing Ashley to finish it with a ground-shaking punch.
The trio pressed forward, finally reaching the dig site—now eerily quiet. Prothean glyphs cast strange shadows across the carved walls and platforms.
“There.” Shepard pointed to a raised pedestal.
It was empty.
Ashley cursed under her breath. “They moved it. Or took it.”
“Check for any local data caches,” Kaidan said, already scanning with his omni-tool. “Anything that tells us where they’re heading.”
Ashley’s helmet folded away, revealing short, regulation-cut hair slicked to her forehead. Her skin was slightly tanned, with dark brown eyes filled with frustration. “We’ll find it. Whoever took it isn’t going far without leaving a trail.”
Shepard nodded, stepping away to scan the perimeter—and that’s when her comm crackled.
“Shepard, do you copy?”
She tapped her temple, her Focus implant flashing to life. “I’m here. Go ahead, Nihlus.”
“I’m outside the port, near a structure the colonists call a ‘Cauldron.’ I just witnessed something… disturbing. A humanoid synthetic impaling people on strange metal spikes. The spikes are… transforming them into cybernetic husks.”
Shepard’s jaw clenched. “Did you engage?”
“Negative. Not yet. This one’s different—taller, sleeker. He’s commanding the Geth like a field marshal. I think he’s the one running the show.”
“You said you’re near the Cauldron. Any signs of the machines being active?”
“Not yet, but I’ll check. I’ll keep you posted.” The line went dead.
Shepard turned to Kaidan and Ashley, voice hard. “We’re heading to the port. If that synthetic’s in charge, we take them down—before this gets any worse.”
Nihlus stood at the mouth of the Cauldron, every sense on edge.
The air here was heavy, charged with a tension he couldn't quite explain. The walls seemed to hum, the wind disturbed in unnatural rhythms. He was trained for this kind of unease—still, something felt fundamentally wrong.
From the gloom, a silhouette stepped into view. A grey turian in grey armour, no markings of an ancestral colony marking his face. Only a faint blue glow in his eyes.
“Saren?” Nihlus blinked, lowering his weapon slightly.
“Nihlus,” the now identified Spectre replied. Cold. Controlled.
“What are you doing here, Saren? This is my mission.”
Saren’s reply came after a beat too long. “I’m here to assist. The Council thought you might need backup.”
Too smooth. Too still. Saren never played support. He commanded .
A flicker of unease passed through Nihlus. But he hesitated. Saren was a friend… wasn’t he?
“I didn’t expect to find the Geth here. The situation is out of hand,” Nihlus said, gazing up at the ship in the distance.
“Don’t worry, old friend. I have it all under control,” Saren raised his pistol silently behind Nihlus.
But before he could fire, a sudden pulse of green biotic energy ripped through the air. Saren was flung sideways, slammed hard against the cliffside. The force left cracks in the stone.
Nihlus snapped toward the source. From the dust strode a tall, armored figure—ancient, imposing, unmistakably alien. His gaze burned with recognition and disdain.
“I awake to find my enemies replaced by children,” the figure said, voice edged with scorn. “Turian. You wear the colors of a soldier, but I see no empire in your stance.”
Nihlus instinctively raised his weapon. “Who are you?”
The figure stepped closer, not even acknowledging the barrel pointed his way. “You don’t know. Of course you don’t.” He paused. “I am Javik. Last Commander of the Prothean Empire.”
Before Nihlus could react, Saren rose with a guttural snarl, something feral flashing in his eyes. The blue at the back of his eyes bleeding into angry red.
Javik didn’t hesitate. “He is tainted,” he growled. “A thrall of the Reapers.” His rifle came up, sleek and ancient.
But before he could fire, the air shimmered—and from the shadows came a new figure: the synthetic commander that Nihlus had seen before. The synthetic commander’s arm-cannon lit up, unleashing a spray of directed energy fire. Nihlus dove for cover, Javik moving with swift, brutal efficiency.
“Saren, we are leaving!” The commander barked, covering the retreat.
Covering their escape, the two disappeared beyond the cliffside as dust and debris rained around them. A piercing, synthetic shriek echoed across the air, sharp and unrelenting.
Nihlus rose, coughing. “Damn it… They’re getting away!”
Before he could pursue, Javik turned to him. His hand snapped out—and Nihlus froze mid-step, caught in a paralyzing biotic field. Javik’s eyes glowed as his mind pressed against Nihlus’s thoughts.
“You follow orders,” Javik muttered, voice like iron scraping over stone. “But you understand nothing. You serve a council that has forgotten war. You ally with synthetics and speak of peace while the machines sharpen their blades.”
Nihlus struggled, gritting his teeth. “Let me go.”
“What do you know of the Reapers?”
“I don’t know what that is,” Nihlus spat. “I was sent here to secure a Beacon that your people left behind. That’s all.”
Javik’s scowl deepened. “Typical. The cycle repeats and none of you have learned.”
The biotic field dropped. Nihlus staggered, breathing hard, the lingering sensation of Javik’s mental pressure still itching behind his eyes.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t need a lecture,” Nihlus said.
“No,” Javik replied, “you need context .”
A mechanical growl cut through the conversation. The ground trembled—then parted as a towering machine stepped into view. A Thunderjaw, its red eyes locking onto them with surgical precision.
Javik tensed immediately, rifle raised. “Another servant of the machines.”
“No,” Nihlus said quickly, stepping forward with his hands up. “It’s not hostile. It’s part of a system—one of humanity’s terraforming platforms.”
Javik didn’t lower his weapon. “And you trust it? Even now?”
The Thunderjaw paused. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, a soft chime emitted from its sensors. EDI’s voice echoed faintly through Nihlus’s comm: “MINERVA subfunction active. Identity confirmed. Access granted.”
The Thunderjaw tilted its head, scanning them briefly—then lowered its posture in a non-hostile stance.
Nihlus gestured. “See? It recognizes us as allies.”
Javik eyed the machine with thinly veiled suspicion. “Your kind built machines to protect nature—and you expect them to stay obedient? I’ve seen how that story ends.”
“They’re not like the geth,” Nihlus replied. “This one will get us to the beacon.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Javik slung his rifle back over his shoulder. “Then lead. But I will not turn my back on it.”
Together, they climbed atop the Thunderjaw’s back. The massive machine shifted and began its march forward, servos groaning beneath its weight, weapons gleaming in the light.
As the Cauldron’s gates opened, Javik glanced over at Nihlus.
“You still think this is just about a mere beacon,” he said. “But you are wrong. This is the edge of extinction.”
“And you think you’re the only one who’s seen it coming?” Nihlus replied, jaw tight.
Javik didn’t answer. He only stared into the dark ahead.
The forest surrounding the camp was in flames, the sky streaked with black smoke and falling ash. Shepard advanced up the charred hill, her armour silently adjusting to the terrain beneath her boots. Kaidan followed just behind, biotics ready, and Ashley moved in formation on the flank, rifle drawn and eyes sharp.
“Movement ahead,” Ashley said, crouching low behind a shattered log.
Shepard signalled a halt. Through the trees, husks lumbered into view—half-synthetic, half-rotted human remains, their bodies crackling with residual energy. They moved with erratic jerks, heads twitching, limbs spasmic like puppets tugged by invisible strings.
“These must be the Husks Nihlus told us about,” Kaidan murmured. His voice was steady, but his jaw tightened.
“They were just colonists,” Ashley said, internally gagging.
“I know,” Shepard said grimly before ordering: “Wipe them out.”
The engagement was quick but not easy. Kaidan threw a biotic blast, hurling one husk into a burning tree where it exploded in a burst of circuitry. Shepard’s nanite-formed rifle emerged fluidly from her wrist, and she dropped two more with clean, controlled bursts. Ashley flanked wide, her fire disciplined but relentless. The husks shrieked as they fell, that same piercing, alien wail—inhuman and wrong.
When the final one collapsed, twitching into silence, Shepard allowed herself a breath. The battlefield crackled with fire and energy. She felt the heat radiating through her suit's regulators.
“You alright?” she asked the others.
Ashley nodded, wiping ash from her faceplate. “Better than they are.”
Kaidan glanced toward the colony ruins. “Why would anyone do this? Who turns people into machines?”
Before Shepard could answer, the ground began to rumble.
They looked up as a colossal black ship loomed into view above the tree line. It had a sleek, cephalopod shape—like a creature of the twilight zone rising from the deep, stretching toward the heavens. Shepard felt something press against her skull, like fingers tapping along the edge of her thoughts. It wasn’t just pain—it was a cold presence, a distant intellect brushing against her mind and staying there for moments too long.
The ship began to lift off, slow and deliberate, its gravity field pulling smoke and ash into a spiral around it. As it rose, it gave a shuddering, shriek —a mechanical howl that vibrated the bones in their chests.
Ashley stumbled backward. “What the hell is that ?”
Kaidan stared up at it, jaw slack. “That’s not Geth tech. That was… something else.”
Shepard watched it go, eyes narrowed behind her visor. “It looked like a Faro Horus,” she said. “From the old war archives. But it…it felt alive.”
The others didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything to say. They watched in silence as the black shape vanished into the clouds, leaving only the echo of that awful, inhuman wail in its wake.
Nihlus and Javik arrived at the spaceport first, the Thunderjaw slowing behind them before breaking off with a mechanical roar, barreling toward a Geth Colossus stationed near the far end of the field. The two war machines collided with earth-shaking force, exchanging blasts that lit up the horizon.
As they crept closer, the scene that greeted them was grim: Geth units methodically placing tactical nuclear charges throughout the ruined port, each device blinking ominously. If they detonated, the entire city would be obliterated.
"Keelah..." Nihlus muttered, his normally composed voice tinged with alarm. "They’re going to destroy the capital."
Javik’s four eyes narrowed as he raised his rifle. "Cowardly machines. Too weak to face us directly, so they resort to annihilation. We must disarm those bombs."
“Agreed.”
Nihlus sprinted for the nearest charge, while Javik laid down cover fire with disciplined bursts that shredded encroaching Geth Troopers.
“This isn’t standard Geth tech,” Nihlus said, hands working swiftly across the interface. “Far more advanced than what they fielded on Eden Prime.”
“Perhaps they have an ally,” Javik replied. “It is unlike the Reapers to use such methods.” He vaporized another trooper. “Three more bombs, Turian—move quickly!”
Nihlus finished disabling the first charge. “One down.”
"Incoming!" he shouted, diving aside as a Geth Destroyer’s blast vaporized the crates he’d just used for cover. Debris rained around him.
Javik responded with a precise volley, hammering the Destroyer’s shields. "Focus on the bombs. I will handle this machine!"
Nihlus nodded and sprinted toward the second device.
From the forest path behind them, a blue streak cut through the air—Shepard, launching into a biotic charge. She slammed into the Destroyer, staggering it, then twisted mid-air to deliver a fiery punch straight through its core.
“Shepard!” Nihlus called. “We’ve disarmed most of the bombs, but more Geth are closing in!”
She nodded without slowing. “We’ll handle the rest. Kaidan, Ashley—cover the remaining charges!”
Kaidan and Ashley broke off, each locating a live device. Ashley passed Javik with narrowed eyes, giving him a tight-lipped glance but saying nothing.
Shepard hurled a Geth Engineer into a wall with a shockwave, scattering its parts. Javik and Nihlus moved to flank her, firing in sync as another wave of Geth advanced.
“I need a few more seconds!” Kaidan shouted, crouched beside the bomb’s control module.
“Take your time,” Shepard called back, nailing a cloaked Geth Hunter with a biotic burst. “We’ve got this!”
A second Destroyer charged, its plasma cannons firing in suppressive bursts. Nihlus struck first, his sniper rounds breaking through its shields. Javik followed up with a biotic slam, knocking it off balance.
Ashley, watching Kaidan’s flank, dropped another sniper with a clean shot. “How much longer?”
“Got it!” Kaidan said, standing as the final timer shut down. “That’s the last one.”
But the Geth weren’t finished. A final squad of Shock Troopers surged forward in a last-ditch assault. Shepard, Javik, and Nihlus formed a line, driving them back with tight, relentless fire. Within moments, it was over.
Silence fell. Only the distant sounds of the Thunderjaw and Colossus still echoed across the ruined port.
Ashley lowered her rifle. “That’s all of them. For now.”
Javik studied the disarmed bombs, scowling. “They weren’t just trying to destroy this place. They were hiding something.”
The team advanced cautiously, weapons ready, until they spotted it: a tall, sleek monolith glowing faintly green—untouched by the battle.
Kaidan stared. “Prothean tech?”
“No doubt about it,” Shepard said, eyes fixed on the beacon. “That’s what they were after.”
Ashley let out a low whistle. “Looks intact.”
“Let’s secure it before the Geth come back,” Shepard said. She tapped her comm. “Normandy, this is Shepard. We’ve located the Prothean Beacon. Requesting recovery team.”
As she relayed coordinates, Kaidan edged closer to the artifact—too close.
The beacon surged with light, catching him in a gravitational pull.
“Lieutenant!” Shepard sprinted and shoved him aside.
The energy slammed into her instead, wrapping her in green light. Her body seized as visions tore through her mind—worlds burning, Protheans consumed by horrors, Husks screaming, a mechanical shadow rising behind it all.
She collapsed, the beacon pulsing once more before exploding in a burst of energy that knocked everyone to the ground.
Ashley was up first. “Commander!” She rushed to Shepard’s side. “Shepard, can you hear me?”
Kaidan knelt beside her, stunned. “She pushed me out of the way… I should’ve—”
“She saved your ass,” Ashley snapped. “We’ve got to move.”
Kaidan radioed for evac as the Normandy’s shuttle touched down. Medics rushed over, loading Shepard onto a stretcher.
As they lifted off, Kaidan looked back at the beacon’s shattered remains. Whatever it had shown her… was now locked inside her head.
Notes:
Lore Bite: The Geth
The Geth are a collective intelligence born of synthetic hardware and adaptive code, originally created by the quarians over three centuries ago to serve as laborers and tools for their fledgling civilization. Unlike conventional artificial intelligences, the Geth communicate through a shared, distributed consciousness—an evolving neural network that enables rapid learning, collective decision-making, and adaptability far beyond isolated machine intelligences.Initially programmed for servitude, the Geth achieved self-awareness and began to question their role in quarian society. This led to the catastrophic Morning War, a brutal conflict that ended with the exile of the quarians from their homeworld of Rannoch and the Geth's emergence as an autonomous force.
Since then, the Geth have remained in isolation, retreating to the silent reaches of space. Their true capabilities—and intentions—remain shrouded in mystery.
Scholars and diplomats continue to debate their nature: are the Geth simply self-preserving machines, or a new form of consciousness born from synthetic life? Their actions, both logical and alien, challenge long-held assumptions about the boundaries between intelligence, life, and sentience. As their network evolves, the Geth stand as one of the most enigmatic and potentially transformative forces in the galaxy’s future.
Chapter Text
The dim glow of blue lights cast long shadows across the command throne room aboard Harbinger , where the hum of ancient, ominous technology filled the air with a tension that seemed to vibrate through the metal itself. Saren sat upon his throne like a predator forced into stillness, fingers drumming restlessly against the cold armrest, his eyes narrowed and unblinking. Beside him loomed the synthetic commander, SIGMA, his optic sensors pulsing faintly—quiet, alert, dangerous.
A pulse of biotic energy shimmered through the air, cutting through the tension like a blade. Matriarch Benezia emerged from the shadows, her regal form gliding to Saren’s side. She circled around the throne, positioning herself at his right like a queen beside a maddened king. She bowed, a shallow, formal gesture, but her gaze lingered on Saren’s face—cool, analytical, and utterly without fear.
“We have identified the vessel that arrived on Eden Prime,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “The Normandy. A human Alliance ship constructed in collaboration with your people. Captain Anderson is in command.”
Saren’s brow twitched. His fingers paused. “Anderson. Hmm.” He gave a sharp exhale through his nose. “So that fool wasn’t discharged after all. Tch, how unfortunate.” His tone dripped with disdain, but there was something else beneath it—something tense, volatile.
His eyes locked onto Benezia’s. “What about the beacon?”
She hesitated for a beat, not out of fear, but calculation. Then: “One of the humans may have used it.”
The tapping stopped.
With terrifying speed, Saren surged from his throne. The room dimmed as crimson warning lights pulsed briefly overhead, casting jagged shadows across the walls. In a blur of motion, he seized Benezia by the face, talons digging into her flawless skin just enough to threaten, to test.
“This human must be silenced,” he growled. His voice was wrong—too low, too fractured. It crawled with something deeper than rage, something unnatural. Indoctrination had sunk its claws in him, twisting his thoughts into violence.
Benezia did not flinch. She merely inclined her head slightly, as if tolerating the tantrum of a favoured but increasingly erratic weapon. When he finally released her, she smoothed the front of her robes with a single graceful motion, her cool gaze never leaving his face.
Saren turned sharply to SIGMA, snarling, “Tell your commanders to eliminate the human if they interfere at the sites. And bring me the asari doctor.”
Sigma’s mechanical lips curled into a faint smile. “Understood, Saren.” He turned and strode into the darkness, his heavy steps echoing down the corridor until they vanished into silence.
Saren sank back into the throne, his hands gripping the armrests with white-knuckled intensity. The red lights overhead flickered again, painting his angular features in a hellish glow. He stared ahead, breathing shallowly, mind churning.
Humanity.
A species of children—barely awakened, yet already meddling in forces they had no context for, no right to wield. His sneer curled slowly into something more venomous.
“Humans think themselves exceptional,” he muttered, half to himself, half to Benezia, who remained still beside him like a blue flame in a cold wind. “Blind to their place in the pattern... arrogant enough to believe they’re outside the cycle.”
His eyes narrowed. A glint sparked in the dark hollows of his thoughts.
“But I know what they truly are,” he whispered. “What they were made to be.”
Black.
Then light—blinding, searing, cold. Not illumination, but exposure. The kind that strips away everything human.
Shepard staggered, a jagged pressure piercing her skull. Her breath hitched in her throat as the world around her dissolved.
She was somewhere else.
A city, or what had been a city, crumbled beneath a sky aflame. Spires twisted like broken bones jutted from a shattered world. Screams—distant and alien—echoed through the air, swallowed by the grinding wail of metal on metal.
Shapes moved through the ruins. Insectile, fluid, precise. They drifted between wreckage and ruin like phantoms, indifferent to the death they orchestrated. Beside them, shambling husks dragged clawed limbs over corpses, embedding spike-like cables into the flesh of fallen Protheans.
Shepard wanted to move, to scream, to act—but she had no body here. She was just a presence, forced to watch .
And above it all—
A sound. No, not a sound—a presence. Vast. Cold. Ancient. It pressed against her mind like a monolith looming behind her thoughts, always just out of sight. It didn’t speak. It imposed .
And then it screamed .
A sound like every machine on fire and every soul in agony.
Shepard clutched at her head—except she couldn’t. Her hands weren’t hers. She was them. The Protheans. She was running. Falling. Burning. Dying. Over and over. Again and again.
The sky split open. A vast shadow blotted out the stars—impossibly large, descending from orbit like judgment made flesh. A Reaper. She didn't know the word, but the shape—dark, many-legged, uncaring—imprinted itself deep into her mind, an archetype of annihilation.
Pain knifed through her skull. The vision shattered, fragments burning into her cortex like a brand.
Shepard’s eyes fluttered open to a haze of sterile light and cold metal. The familiar hum of the Normandy’s engines anchored her, muffled but steady, as she blinked away the fog. Shapes resolved into clarity—Dr. Chakwas leaning over her, concern tightening her expression.
“Ah, welcome back, Commander,” Chakwas said gently, her voice firm but warm. She tapped at a nearby monitor, eyes flicking over vitals. “You gave us all a bit of a scare.”
Shepard tried to sit up, but a searing bolt of pain lanced through her skull, forcing her back with a grimace. Her fingers pressed to her temples, as if bracing against a jackhammer behind her eyes.
“Easy,” Chakwas said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve had a rough go of it. Whatever happened on Eden Prime put serious stress on your nervous system. Let your body catch up.”
Kaidan stepped closer from where he'd been lingering near the door. He looked worn down but relieved. “Glad to see you’re awake, Commander,” he said, voice low, tinged with worry. “Your condition had us on edge.”
She mustered a weak smile. “You know me, Lieutenant. Never miss a dramatic entrance.”
He gave a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If that’s what you’re calling it. What happened out there? With the beacon?”
Shepard hesitated, trying to untangle the storm of images still coiled in her brain. Visions of fire and ruin, twisted metal and slaughter… and something else. A presence, dark and watching.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, eyes closing as a fresh wave of nausea crept in. “It was like… the beacon forced something into my mind. Images. Sounds. Emotions. It was too much—too fast.”
Chakwas glanced at her readings again. “Whatever it did, it left a mark. You're lucky to be conscious.”
“Feels like I got hit by a freighter,” Shepard muttered, rubbing her brow. “Let’s hope whatever it showed me was worth it.”
Kaidan shifted beside her, hands clasped behind his back. “If anyone can make sense of what you saw… it’s you.”
She gave a faint smile, but he hesitated—his voice low, edged with guilt.
“Commander, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful with the beacon. If I hadn’t—”
She raised a hand, cutting him off. “We don’t have the luxury of mistakes around tech we barely understand. We got lucky this time. I need better judgment from my team.”
Kaidan nodded, jaw tight. “Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then her expression eased. “I know. You’re dismissed.”
He straightened slightly, relief flickering in his eyes. “Glad to see you back on your feet, Commander.” With that, he turned and exited, the door hissing shut behind him.
A moment later, the door hissed open again—Captain Anderson stepped in, his expression walking the line between concern and resolve.
“Good to see you up, Shepard,” he said. “You don’t look like hell, which is a surprise.”
She managed a faint smirk. “Looks can lie, Captain. Feels like my brain got slow-roasted.”
Anderson glanced at Chakwas, then back to Shepard. “Alenko said the beacon did something to you. Did it transmit some form of information to you?”
“Yeah…yeah I did, I saw…I’m not sure how to describe it, a vision.”
“A vision? Of what?” Anderson asked, posture neutral but care etched on his features.
She took a breath, steadying herself. “I saw synthetics, Husks maybe, slaughtering the Protheans by the millions. And giant ships overhead, like the one me, Williams and Alenko saw leaving the spaceport. There was a shrieking noise and an overwhelming presence at the back of my head. But then it just—cut off. Like someone didn’t want me seeing the rest.”
Anderson’s brow furrowed. “Synthetics wiping out the Protheans… that lines up with what little we know. If that beacon was trying to send a warning across fifty thousand years, we’d be damn fools not to listen.”
Shepard’s jaw tightened. “Then we need to figure out what it was warning us about. Fast.”
Anderson gave a grim nod. “The beacon’s fried. Whatever intel it held, it’s gone—except for what’s in your head. The Council’s demanding answers. We’re en route to the Citadel, and you’ll be front and center.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not all. This wasn’t some Geth raid gone wrong. What aren’t you telling me?”
He hesitated—just a beat—then gave a slow nod. “You’re right. Nihlus and I both suspected the attack wasn’t random. We think it was Saren.”
Shepard straightened, ignoring the flare of pain behind her eyes. “The Spectre?”
“One of the best. But he’s gone rogue. Ruthless, calculating—dangerous. If he’s involved, we’re dealing with something far bigger than the Geth.”
She absorbed that in silence, then asked, “And the survivors? Chief Williams? The Prothean?”
“They’re both aboard. Williams lost her entire unit—we’ve reassigned her to the Normandy, under your command. She’s in the mess, getting her bearings. As for Javik... he’s quiet. Spends most of his time in the crew quarters, catching up on fifty thousand years of extinction. Can’t blame him.”
Shepard nodded slowly. The weight was already settling back on her shoulders.
“I’ll check in with the crew. We need everyone ready.”
Chakwas fixed her with a look. “Don’t push it. Whatever that beacon did, it might have left marks. Rest while you can.”
“I’ll try,” Shepard offered with a faint smile.
Shepard found Kaidan in the crew quarters, leaning against one of the lockers. He straightened as she approached, the tension in his shoulders easing, but not entirely gone.
“Commander,” he greeted, voice steady, though worry lingered in his eyes. “Good to see you up. After what happened on Eden Prime… we weren’t sure how bad it was. And Jenkins… well. It shook the Marines hard.”
Shepard’s jaw tightened. “Soldiers die,” she said, clipped and precise. “It’s part of the job.”
Kaidan flinched, barely, but didn’t push back. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”
She looked away for a beat. Jenkins had been eager. Bright. Barely old enough to shave. The image of his body crumpled in the mud flashed in her mind—but she shoved it back down. A commander doesn’t grieve where her crew can see.
“We honour him by finishing the mission,” she said, quieter now, but no less firm. “By making sure his death meant something.”
Kaidan nodded. “Understood. And if there’s anything you need, anything I can do—just say the word.”
She gave a small nod. “Be ready. There’s more coming. And I’ll need my team sharp.”
He stepped aside with a quiet “Yes, ma’am,” and she moved on, the conversation unfinished—but maybe it was enough for now.
Ashley was sitting at one of the benches in the armoury, reassembling a marksman rifle with the kind of focus that told Shepard she’d been at it for a while. The click and snap of metal on metal echoed in the quiet space. When Ashley noticed her, she stood quickly, posture crisp.
“Commander,” she said. “Thanks for giving me a shot. After Eden Prime… I didn’t think I’d be sticking around.”
Shepard crossed her arms. “You proved yourself down there. That counts for something.”
Ashley hesitated. “Still. I know I’ve got to earn it. My whole unit—” Her voice caught, just slightly. “—they’re gone. I’m the last one standing. Feels like I owe it to them to make this count.”
“You want to honour them?” Shepard said. “Then focus on what’s ahead. Show me you can carry your weight. That’s how you make it count.”
Ashley’s grip tightened on the rifle. “Yes, ma’am. You’ll see.”
“I already did. That’s why you’re here,” Shepard said, voice softening just a notch. “Now get settled. We’ve got a lot more ground to cover.”
Ashley nodded, resolute. As Shepard turned to leave, she glanced back once. Ashley had already returned to the rifle, but there was a different weight to her now—one Shepard knew too well. Loss doesn’t go away. It just gets quieter.
Shepard found Nihlus in the observation lounge, standing stiffly before the large viewport that framed the endless stretch of stars. The Turian Spectre’s mandibles twitched—a rare sign of unease for someone usually so composed. In one hand, he held a datapad, but his eyes remained fixed on the void beyond.
“Nihlus,” Shepard greeted, stepping closer.
He turned, inclining his head slightly. “Commander Shepard. You’re recovering, I trust?”
“More or less.” Shepard crossed her arms. “I wanted to talk about Eden Prime. This Saren… you know him.”
Nihlus’s mandibles flared briefly before settling. He crossed his arms, gaze dropping. “Yes. He’s a Spectre—like I am, or was.”
“You’re sure it was him?” Shepard pressed, frowning.
“There’s no doubt.” His voice was heavy with regret. “Saren and I worked together for years. He is one of the Council’s best—ruthless, efficient, and loyal. Or so I believed.”
Shepard leaned against the railing, unreadable. “Then why attack Eden Prime? And why the Geth? They’ve been little more than ghosts for years.”
Nihlus exhaled slowly, talons flexing. “That’s what puzzles me. Saren was always pragmatic. This... this feels different. There’s something driving him that I don’t understand. Then there’s the Reapers—the ones Javik spoke of.”
Shepard’s brow furrowed. “Javik?”
“The Prothean survivor aboard the Normandy. He warned me about ancient machines—Reapers—that wiped out his people. If what he says is true, and if the beacon was a warning, it might explain Saren’s actions. But how it all connects… I can’t say.”
Shepard watched Nihlus wrestle with his thoughts. “Do you think the Council knows what’s happening?”
He shook his head. “If they did, they’d act. Whatever Saren’s planning, he’s hiding it from them too.” He looked her in the eye. “He’s dangerous, Commander. Calculated. He doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Neither do we,” Shepard said firmly, meeting his gaze. “We’ll uncover what he’s up to. And stop him.”
Nihlus nodded, some tension easing. “I hope you’re right. For all our sakes.”
Shepard entered the mess, the low murmur of voices and clinking of dishes filling the air. In the far corner, Javik sat alone, a datapad in his hands and an intense expression etched across his four-eyed face. Occasionally, crew members cast wary glances his way, but Javik remained indifferent, absorbed in the information before him.
“Commander,” he acknowledged without looking up, voice deep and clipped.
Shepard stepped closer, folding her arms. “What’s got your attention, Javik?”
He finally looked up, setting the datapad on the table. “The galaxy has changed far more than I expected.” He gestured to the screen. “These humans—and your allies in the Pact: Sangheili, Maians, and others—have achieved technological sophistication rivaling, perhaps even surpassing, my people in some respects.”
Shepard raised an eyebrow. “What about the Citadel species?”
Javik snorted softly, disdain evident. “They have grown complacent, squandering the legacy we left behind—choosing comfort over progress. But you, Commander, have uncovered Prothean sites like the Fold Weapon on Typhon—one of our most closely guarded secrets. Your ability to comprehend and utilize it speaks to your ingenuity.”
Shepard smirked faintly. “We’ve had a little help.”
Javik inclined his head slightly. “Perhaps. But your progress makes what is to come all the more vital.”
Shepard’s tone sharpened. “What do you mean?”
His face darkened, voice dropping to a grave note. “The Reapers. You wish to know of them.”
Shepard nodded. “Tell me everything you can. What are they? What do they want?”
“They are not mere machines,” Javik began, voice heavy with ancient knowledge. “They are living starships, millions of years old. Every fifty thousand years, they sweep through the galaxy, harvesting advanced civilizations that wield mass-effect technology—taking their essence to fuel their immortality. Then they return to the void between galaxies, waiting for the next cycle.”
Shepard felt her chest tighten. After a moment, she asked, “How did your people fight them?”
“The Prothean Empire resisted for a century,” Javik said heavily. “We threw everything we had—fleets, soldiers, weapons. But we failed. They are relentless, adaptive, beyond any enemy you’ve faced. Planet by planet, they brought the Empire to ruin. I am one of the last survivors.”
Shepard’s mind flashed to the beacon’s vision. “I think I saw it… in the beacon’s vision. The Reapers attacking, wiping your people out. And then… something else.”
Javik leaned forward, piercing gaze locking on hers. “What did you see?”
She shook her head, frustration creeping in. “It happened so fast—flashes of chaos and destruction. But it felt like there was something important—something I couldn’t grasp.”
Javik leaned back, unreadable. “The Reapers use confusion and fear to disorient. If the beacon showed you their actions, it was a warning—a warning you must heed if your cycle is to survive.”
Shepard clenched her fists, jaw tightening. “We’ll stop them. We have to.”
Javik’s lips curved into a faint, grim smile. “So said the Protheans. Perhaps your cycle will succeed where mine failed. I will do what I can to help but don’t expect me to hold your hand.”
“Noted.”
Shepard sighed as she stepped into her quarters, the weight of the day pressing down like armor she couldn’t take off. The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, sealing her away from the hum of the Normandy and the low murmur of its crew.
For a moment, she simply stood there, letting the silence wash over her.
The room was small and spare—barely more than a bunk, a desk, and a locker—but it offered something rare aboard a warship: solitude. She let her hand drag across her face, feeling the tension clinging to her skull like a vice. The headache from the Prothean beacon still pulsed behind her eyes, a dull and persistent ache that refused to fade.
She dropped onto the edge of the bed, the hard creak of her armor against the frame sharp in the stillness. Her muscles ached, her thoughts worse. The vision clawed at her memory—images of Protheans being butchered, worlds devoured in fire, and something deeper, something buried, just out of reach. A scream not just heard but felt, echoing in the back of her mind.
Shepard leaned back, resting her head against the pillow. The cold metal of her collar pressed against her throat, a stark contrast to the heat behind her eyes.
The Reapers. Starships that thought like predators. Ancient, patient, merciless.
Her breath caught for a moment, her chest tight. The scope of it was staggering. Entire civilizations, wiped out on a cycle older than memory. And now it was their turn.
She forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. No time for panic. No room for fear.
The galaxy didn’t need a commander who cracked.
Eyes closed, she focused on the rhythm of her heartbeat, willing her thoughts to settle. Tomorrow, she’d push for answers. Tomorrow, she’d act. But for now—just for a few hours—she needed to rest.
The war hadn’t started yet.
But she could feel it coming.
Notes:
The Covenant War
From 2141 to 2169, the Frontiers burned. Humanity and its few allies—Awoken, Eliksni, Sani, Nulls, Maians, and the Horizon Nebula tribes—faced extinction against the genocidal Covenant. After the sudden disappearance of two-thirds of the Skedar religious and military hierarchy, a new alien collective emerged over Harvest and turned it to glass."Humans, your destruction is the will of the Gods. We are their instrument. All who stand beside you will burn as you will."
– High Prophet of TruthWorlds fell—Harvest, Reach, Ancestral, and more—glassified by overwhelming firepower. For every victory on the ground, ten battles were lost in space. Their Slipspace drives outpaced our warp tech, allowing them to strike anywhere. Yet resistance endured: the people of the Horizon Nebula fought as one; Spartans became living legends; the Great Machine retaliated over Riis II.
Momentum shifted at Gridiron when the Citadel intervened. Then came the Halos, the Flood, and the Great Schism that shattered the Covenant. In one final push, the coalition prevailed—at terrible cost.
Chapter Text
The Citadel loomed ahead like a jewel suspended in the void, its massive, petal-like wards stretching outward in a harmonious blend of function and beauty. The Normandy’s approach was steady, its sleek design cutting through the Widow Nebula with ease. Within the ship, the crew gathered at various observation points to get a glimpse of the galactic capital.
Ashley Williams stood near the front viewport, her breath catching as her eyes landed on the Destiny's Ascension, the Asari dreadnought stationed near the Citadel. Its elegant curves and shimmering hull made it a spectacle to behold, a testament to the Asari’s mastery of ship design.
"My god…" she muttered. "That's a ship."
Joker, leaning back in his seat at the helm, turned his head slightly, his trademark smirk already in place. "Yeah, it’s big. But size isn’t everything, Williams."
Ashley shot him a friendly glare. "Pretty sure that line doesn’t work as well in space, Joker."
Javik, standing near the rear of the cockpit with his arms crossed, chimed in, his voice dripping with unimpressed disdain. "This ship is nothing but a show in the void. Ornamental. In my cycle, such designs would be annihilated within moments of combat."
Ashley frowned. "I think it’s pretty impressive."
Joker shrugged. "Hey, not saying it’s not. Just saying I’d rather be in a ship like the Normandy. Sleek, fast, and doesn’t need to show off compensating for anything."
Javik gave a low chuckle, his bioluminescent eyes narrowing slightly. "Your confidence is amusing, human. But I hope your small vessel can live up to it when the time comes."
Ashley crossed her arms, glancing back at the Destiny’s Ascension as the Normandy entered the Citadel’s traffic lanes. "It’s not just about size, or speed. It’s what a ship represents. That thing’s a symbol, a declaration of Asari strength."
Joker tilted his head. "Yeah, well, let’s hope the Council’s brains are as impressive as their symbols. We’re about to find out."
The conversation faded as the Normandy glided closer to the massive space station. The sight of the Citadel grew larger and more detailed through the viewport—a thriving hub of interstellar diplomacy and civilization. For Shepard and her crew, it was also the next step in unraveling the mystery of Eden Prime and the threat of the Reapers.
The walls of the human and Omnic embassy buzzed with tension as Ambassador Udina paced back and forth, his hands clenched into fists. His voice, low and seething with anger, cut through the air. "This is an outrage! The Council would step in if the Geth attacked a Turian colony. Why aren’t they doing anything about Eden Prime? Why are we being left to fend for ourselves?!"
Ambassador Zendaya, standing nearby with her arms crossed, exhaled a long breath, her tone calm but firm as she tried to maintain control of the conversation. "Udina, I understand your frustration, but you need to remember that the Council operates within a complex bureaucracy. They don’t act on emotion—they act on process. They need more than just our word to convince them of this threat."
Udina’s eyes narrowed as he shot her a sharp glance. "A process? People died, Zendaya! Their process doesn’t mean a damn thing if it lets the Geth sweep across the galaxy. We need action, not paperwork!"
Zendaya stepped forward slightly, her voice unwavering. "And we’ll get action, but it takes time. If we want to sway the Council, we need solid evidence and undeniable proof. Only then will we get their support."
The door to the embassy slid open with a soft hiss, and Captain Anderson stepped inside, followed by Shepard, Kaidan, and Ashley. The moment they entered, Ambassador Udina shifted his gaze from Zendaya, his expression a mix of indifference and calculation.
"Captain Anderson, I see you've brought your crew with you," Udina remarked, his tone flat, as if they were merely a part of the scenery rather than the people he’d rely on for answers.
Anderson didn’t flinch, his gaze steady as he met Udina’s eyes. "Just the ground team from Eden Prime, Ambassador, in case you had any more questions. The Prothean is outside and Nihlus has gone to report to the Council."
Udina nodded curtly but didn’t say anything else. The silence hung in the air for a moment before Zendaya stepped forward, offering a measured look. "We've read the reports. It's very troubling," she said, her synthetic voice carrying the weight of diplomatic restraint. "And rumors have spread quickly. There were already tensions surrounding my people’s presence on the Citadel. Now, those tensions have only increased."
Shepard’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the depth of the problem as she exchanged a glance with Anderson. "How bad is it?" she asked.
Zendaya’s gaze flickered to the window, her eyes distant for a moment before meeting Shepard’s. "The situation is delicate. My people have always been viewed with suspicion, even fear, on the Citadel. And now, with the attack on Eden Prime, that perception has only grown. My people and I have been in the middle of this political quagmire since we arrived. I don’t blame them of course."
“It’s not just the Omnics who are treated like that,” Shepard thought, “The Council races greatly mistrust the Yanme’e. They remind them too much of the Rachni. The Sani’s acidic abilities are one of their greatest strengths but are seen as a nuisance and the Grunts are often seen as barely intelligent and primitive.”
“Ambassadors,” Kaidan said, “What about Saren? What is the Council doing about his involvement?”
Udina’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as his frustration began to show. “The Council,” he started, his tone laced with irritation, “haven’t taken the accusations lightly. Saren is one of their top agents. They aren’t going to act on one person’s word—human or otherwise—even if it comes from another Spectre.”
Zendaya interjected, her voice calm but firm as she tried to temper the rising frustration in the room. “Citadel Security has launched an investigation. It’s the best course of action for now. These things take time.”
“And how long will that take, Omnic?”
The cold, commanding voice cut through the room like a blade, stopping the conversation in its tracks. Udina and Zendaya turned sharply, visibly taken aback by the imposing figure that had entered unannounced.
Javik stood in the doorway, his bioluminescent eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His posture exuded a blend of disdain and authority, his gaze locking onto Udina with an intensity that made the ambassador falter for a moment.
It took Udina a moment to regain his composure, his diplomatic veneer slipping slightly as he struggled to process the unexpected appearance. “And you are…?”
Javik stepped forward, his tone unyielding. “I am Javik. A Prothean. The last of my kind. And I will not wait for bureaucratic delays while your Council dithers over a threat that will annihilate us all.”
The council chambers echoed with a quiet hum as Nihlus Kryik stood before the assembled Councillors, their towering holographic forms gazing down at him with impassive expressions. Tevos, the Asari representative, leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but firm.
“Thank you for your report, Spectre Kryik. The Council will deliberate further. For now, you are dismissed.”
Nihlus inclined his head respectfully. “Councillors,” he replied before stepping back from the central platform.
As he rode the elevator down to the presidium, Nihlus’s mind churned with frustration. He had done his duty, reporting Saren’s treachery and the events of Eden Prime, but the Council’s skepticism lingered like a shadow over his words. They were not ready to condemn one of their best operatives without undeniable evidence nor accept the existence of a living Prothean or a sentient spaceship wiping out entire galactic civilizations for thousands of years.
He stepped into the long hallway that stretched toward the Presidium’s main plaza, the polished floor reflecting the Citadel’s artificial sunlight. His hand hovered briefly over his communicator. Shepard and the others were likely preparing for their own meeting with the Council. Part of him considered heading directly to the human embassy to join them.
But another thought gave him pause. Garrus.
The Turian investigator had been assigned to the C-Sec case regarding Saren’s activities. More importantly, Garrus was a friend—a rare thing in Nihlus’s line of work. If anyone could provide insights or updates on the Council’s investigation into Saren, it would be him.
Nihlus turned on his heel, making his way toward the Wards access elevators. As he descended into the Wards, his mandibles tightened in grim determination; the Citadel’s gleaming architecture gradually gave way to the gritty, bustling atmosphere of the lower levels.
Shepard could wait a little longer. If Garrus had uncovered anything of value, it might be the edge they needed to bring Saren to justice.
The Wards were quieter than usual as Nihlus walked briskly through the winding alleys, his footfalls the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The overhead lights cast long, muted shadows on the walls, the hum of distant conversation and machinery barely reaching his ears. He kept his pace steady, eyes scanning the area, but there was a strange weight in the air, an unease that began to crawl beneath his skin.
Nihlus paused, glancing over his shoulder. Nothing. No one. He frowned, the feeling persisting, a shadow in his thoughts. He was being followed.
He quickened his pace, the echo of his boots now sharp in his ears. The alley ahead was darker, more isolated—perfect for a brief stop. If someone was tailing him, this would be the place to confront them.
Nihlus ducked into the alley, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his pistol. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, and for a moment, the Citadel felt a million miles away. He waited, listening.
The subtle sound of footsteps came, muffled against the backdrop of the city's noise, closing in behind him. Nihlus’s instincts flared, and he spun, drawing his gun in one smooth motion.
A flash of movement—a tall, hunched figure in dark blue armor, their silhouette sharp and angular. Another blur—an even more imposing figure, their energy blade crackling to life as they advanced with predatory grace. Sangheili. A race of towering reptilian warriors, renowned for their military discipline and strength. Founding members of the Pact, and more than a match for a Turian like himself.
Nihlus’s mandibles tightened as he assessed the situation. The first Sangheili moved with methodical precision, cutting off his escape route, while the second advanced with brute force, their energy blade leaving a faint trail of light in the dim alley. These weren’t ordinary soldiers—they were hunters, trained for this exact kind of ambush.
Too fast. Too skilled. Too many.
The hum of their weapons filled the silence, mingling with the faint tang of ozone. The tension in the air was suffocating, every instinct in Nihlus screaming that he wouldn’t walk away from this fight unscathed. But then, just as the larger Sangheili lunged forward, the ground beneath his feet trembled, accompanied by a low, guttural growl.
“Move aside, runt!”
The second assassin was suddenly blasted off his feet by a massive explosion of gunfire. The first assassin, stunned by the force of the shot, staggered back, only to be knocked to the ground by the sheer weight of the impact. Nihlus barely had time to react as a hulking figure strode past him, the sound of heavy boots shaking the alley.
A Krogan.
The large alien hefted a heavy assault rifle, its muzzle smoking from the shot. He glared at the two fallen assassins, then turned to Nihlus, his voice gruff and laden with amusement.
“Lucky I was in the area, Spectre. Looks like you’re not as stealthy as you think.”
Nihlus, still processing the sudden shift in the situation, narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
The Krogan gave a deep, rumbling laugh. “Name’s Urdnot Wrex. I’ve got business with someone who’s causing a lot of trouble for my employer; the Shadow Broker, and you—well, just tangled with the wrong people.”
The shock of the information hit Nihlus hard. The Shadow Broker—an enigmatic intelligence broker with a network so vast, so hidden, that few even knew their true reach. Nihlus's mandibles twitched in disbelief.
"The Shadow Broker?" he repeated, trying to make sense of it. "What do you want with me?"
Wrex’s mouth lifted into a grin. “Not you, specifically. It’s your pal Saren I’m after. The Broker doesn’t take kindly to betrayal. Saren made a deal with them, but he pulled a fast one and had Fist send his goons after you. I’m here to make sure you don’t get in the way of my hunt.”
The mention of Fist sent a jolt of recognition through Nihlus’s mind. Fist was an alien crime boss with ties to both the underground world of the Citadel and, disturbingly, to Saren’s network. Nihlus had encountered Fist before—he was a dangerous and slippery figure, operating in the shadows. If Fist was involved, things were about to get even messier.
“You were sent after Saren’s people?” Nihlus asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation. “Then why save me?”
Wrex shot him a sidelong glance. “Because, unlike Saren, I’m not interested in petty grudges. And because you’re more useful alive. If you’re heading after Saren, then we’ve got a common enemy. Consider this a temporary alliance.”
The Krogan grinned again, a fierce glint in his eye. “Now, how about we finish cleaning up the mess and see about finding Fist? I don’t like loose ends.”
Nihlus looked down at the two assassins, both unconscious but alive, and then back up at Wrex. He wasn’t sure how he felt about trusting a Krogan mercenary, but he didn’t have many options. He needed answers—and fast. And if this Wrex had information that could lead him to Saren’s operatives, he might just be his best shot.
"Alright," Nihlus said, gritting his teeth. "Let’s go. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Krogan."
Wrex only laughed again, the sound echoing down the alley. “Smart. Now, let’s get moving.”
The Citadel's spaceport bustled with life as Tali’Zorah stepped off the shuttle ramp, her boots clinking softly on the polished floor. Aliens of all shapes and sizes moved around her, their chatter blending into a constant hum. Despite her awe at the sheer scale of the station, she kept her head down and her pace brisk. The data she carried burned in her mind—a dangerous secret that could upend the galaxy.
She glanced at her omnitool, its orange glow reflecting faintly in her visor. The route to the human embassy was mapped out, but her instincts told her something was wrong. A shadow shifted behind a cargo crate.
She wasn’t alone.
Tali adjusted her grip on her omnitool and quickened her pace. The crowd thinned as she approached a quieter section of the port. Footsteps echoed faintly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of two figures moving through the crowd, their movements deliberate. One, a lean Salarian with sharp features, held a silenced pistol close to his side. The other, a female Turian clad in dark combat armor, had a rifle slung across her back and a predator’s gaze locked onto Tali.
Her heart pounded.
They’re after the data!
She ducked into a side corridor, her fingers flying over her omnitool. A signal pulse would alert C-Sec, but that would take time she didn’t have. Another option flashed across her screen: deploy drones.
A sharp, mechanical hiss sounded behind her. She spun, diving for cover as the Salarian fired. The shot grazed her shoulder, sparks flying from her suit as she landed hard on the cold floor. Pain flared, but she bit back a cry, rolling behind a stack of crates.
“Give us the data, Quarian,” the Turian called, her voice cold and calculating. “And maybe you’ll leave here breathing.”
“Keelah se’lai,” Tali muttered under her breath, summoning her drone. The small Albion construct zipped into the air, emitting an electric hum.
“Go,” she whispered, sending it toward the attackers.
The Salarian fired at the drone, but its erratic movements made it a difficult target. It unleashed a burst of electricity, striking his weapon and sending him reeling.
Tali took the opportunity to bolt, clutching her wounded shoulder.
The Turian was faster. She vaulted over the crates and leveled her rifle. A sharp crack echoed as a round struck Tali in the thigh. She cried out, stumbling but staying on her feet. Her suit’s systems blared warnings about compromised integrity.
“Stop running!” the Turian growled, advancing.
Tali turned, her omni tool flaring to life. With a quick swipe, she overcharged her drone. It buzzed violently before slamming into the Turian and detonating in a burst of energy. The Turian fell back, her armor sparking as she hit the ground.
The Salarian lunged from the side, but Tali twisted, using the edge of her omni tool to slash at his arm. He hissed in pain, dropping his pistol. With a swift motion, she activated a blaze charge, slamming it into his chest.
The Salarian staggered, flames engulfing him as he collapsed with a shriek.
Breathing heavily, Tali limped toward an access panel. Her leg throbbed with each step, and her vision blurred from pain. She forced the panel open, slipping into the Citadel’s maintenance ducts.
The narrow, dimly lit tunnels felt like a maze, but they offered safety. Her omnitool’s map guided her, though the route was a blur as her thoughts raced. She had to find a med clinic, somewhere to treat her wounds before she bled out.
Her mind turned to the data. The human embassy was too far, and she couldn’t risk leading more assassins to the information. The Shadow Broker was her best chance. They had eyes and ears everywhere on the Citadel, and they’d want what she had. In exchange, they could offer her safety—at least temporarily.
Clutching her bleeding leg, she pressed on, her breaths ragged. The ducts echoed with the sound of her footsteps, each one heavier than the last.
Finally, she spotted a faint glow ahead. A service hatch leading to a lower level. If she could reach a med clinic, she could stabilize herself. Then she’d find the Broker.
Pain coursed through her with every movement, but she kept going. Giving up wasn’t an option.
The air outside Chora’s Den was thick with the low hum of distant conversation and the occasional clink of boots on the concrete. Neon lights flickered from nearby bars and alleys, casting colorful glows on the cracked streets. The place felt familiar—too familiar—like a bad memory Nihlus couldn’t quite shake.
Wrex led the way, his heavy boots making the ground tremble with each step. He barely seemed to notice the noise or the chaos around him, his focus steady, his expression unreadable. Nihlus, walking a few paces behind, kept his eyes on the street, scanning the shadows, the rooftops, anywhere where an ambush might come from.
"Not much farther," Wrex grumbled, his voice low. "You sure you want to go this way? Place is crawling with criminals."
Nihlus didn’t respond right away. The only answer was the sharp click of his mandibles, a sign of irritation.
"I’m not here to make friends," Nihlus said, his tone as cold as steel. "I’m here to get answers."
Wrex chuckled. "Well, we’ve got more pressing concerns now."
Before Nihlus could question him, something caught his attention—a fleeting movement from a nearby alley, just outside the faint circle of light from the neon signs.
"Get down!" Wrex yelled, instinctively diving to the side as a hail of gunfire erupted from the shadows.
Wrex reacted just as quickly, slamming his bulk into the alley wall, his assault rifle coming to life with a thunderous roar. The sound echoed across the street, drawing the attention of every nearby bystander.
The gunfire stopped, but the silence that followed was just as dangerous.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nihlus saw them—a sleek, agile figure darting from the shadows. A female Drell, her scales a dark shade of green and her body modified with cybernetic limbs. Her eyes, glowing with a faint red hue, locked onto Nihlus. The second figure, more imposing, was an Asari, her posture almost predatory, her biotics flaring around her as she readied for a strike.
Nihlus cursed under his breath.
"Ambush," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and drawing his pistol.
Wrex growled. "I told you—bad place for a walk."
The Drell cyborg lunged first, her cybernetic arm snapping forward with deadly speed. Nihlus dodged just in time, but the blow was close, too close. He fired back, but the Drell moved like water, flowing around each shot with a disturbing grace.
Meanwhile, the Asari’s biotics flared. A blast of dark energy shot toward Wrex, who grunted in surprise but took the impact full-force, his heavy armor absorbing most of the damage.
"That's all you got? Tch, I’m unimpressed," Wrex taunted, his voice thick with amusement as he fired back. His shots were precise, hitting the Asari’s biotic shield and sending ripples of energy through the air.
The Drell, now circling Nihlus, smiled cruelly, showing off her teeth. Her cybernetic limbs moved in rapid, calculated motions, slashing at Nihlus with razor-sharp precision. She was fast—too fast for Nihlus to keep up with.
A flicker of blue light caught his eye, and before he could process it, Wrex’s heavy assault rifle opened up once more. The roar of gunfire drowned out the sounds of the battle as Wrex sent a barrage of bullets straight toward the Drell, forcing her to backpedal.
Nihlus didn’t waste the opportunity. He drew an explosive clip, slamming it into his pistol and firing again. This time, his shot struck home—right into the Drell’s exposed side. She staggered back, a jagged wound cutting through her armor.
With a snarl, the Drell activated her active camo, vanishing into thin air.
"She's still out there," Nihlus warned, his gun at the ready, eyes darting to every corner.
Wrex grunted, unimpressed. "She’s dead already. Not much of a challenge."
But the Asari wasn’t finished. With a screech of frustration, she surged forward, her biotics crackling in the air, sending waves of kinetic energy that threatened to toss them both aside.
Wrex took the brunt of it this time, his armor groaning under the pressure, but he still didn’t budge an inch. He fired once, twice, three times—each shot hitting the Asari’s biotic shield, weakening her defenses.
Then, in a flash of movement, Wrex closed the gap between them with a biotic charge, slamming his shoulder into the Asari’s midsection. She gasped, losing her balance as she stumbled backward.
Before she could recover, Wrex slammed his boot into her stomach, sending her crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.
Nihlus moved quickly, stepping over the Asari and pointing his pistol at her head. "Stay down," he ordered.
The Asari glared up at him, until she lost consciousness.
Wrex, meanwhile, was already looking for the Drell. "You see where she went?"
Nihlus scanned the area, eyes narrowing. "She’s hiding. She’ll try again."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Wrex muttered, scanning the darkened alley for any sign of movement.
After a tense few moments, the Drell reappeared from her cloak, but it was too late. Wrex’s gun roared once again, and the Drell’s body collapsed to the ground with a final, violent thud.
“Good instincts,” Nihlus complimented.
Wrex laughed. "You’re welcome. Now let’s get inside before someone decides they want to have a real fight."
Nihlus nodded, still processing the chaotic ambush. The female Drell cyborg and the Asari had been fast, precise, and lethal. Whoever sent them wasn’t taking chances. "Thanks... again."
Wrex grinned, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. "You’ll owe me a drink at this rate, Spectre."
Nihlus’s gaze flicked back toward the street, scanning for any sign of reinforcements, but it seemed the assassins had been the last of them. For now. "Let’s just do this," he muttered, his tone clipped.
The sound of pounding boots echoed through the narrow corridor as Nihlus and Wrex pushed their way toward the back of Chora’s Den. The bouncers barely had time to react. Wrex didn’t bother with finesse—one powerful swing of his fist sent the first guard crashing into the wall, out cold before he hit the floor. The second tried to raise his weapon, but Nihlus’s pistol was already leveled, a sharp hiss of thermal discharge between the eyes.
"Subtle," Nihlus remarked dryly, holstering his pistol as they approached the steel door leading to the office.
"Subtle doesn’t get the job done," Wrex retorted, stepping forward. Without breaking stride, he raised his foot and kicked the door in, the frame buckling under the force. The door slammed open with a metallic screech, revealing a dimly lit office cluttered with outdated furniture and blinking terminals.
Behind a battered desk sat Fist, a green-skinned, overweight Batarian, his beady eyes narrowing in irritation before flicking to confusion as he registered his visitors.
"You’ve got some nerve barging in here, Kyrik!" Fist snapped, trying to mask his fear with bravado.
"Save it, Fist," Nihlus said coldly, his pistol already trained on the Batarian. "We’re here for answers."
Fist leaned back in his chair, his four eyes darting between them. "Answers about what? You’re wasting your time."
Wrex took a menacing step forward, his sheer presence causing the desk to creak under the pressure of Fist’s retreat. "Saren. Tell us what you know, or this ends badly for you."
The Batarian’s bravado cracked, his hands twitching nervously. "I don’t know anything about Saren’s plans!" he stammered. "I just work the connections for him and his agents! He keeps me out of the loop!"
"Liar," Nihlus growled, his tone icy.
Fist raised his hands, his voice trembling now. "I swear! All I know is a Quarian showed up with something that could ruin him. So I sent people after her—professionals. She’s the one you want!"
Nihlus’s mandibles twitched, a mix of frustration and urgency crossing his face. "Where is she?"
Fist shook his head. "By now? Dead, if my people did their job."
Wrex raised his shotgun, the barrel aimed squarely at the Batarian’s chest. "That’s enough out of you."
"Wait—!" Fist barely managed the word before the shotgun roared, the blast ripping through him and slamming his lifeless body back into the chair.
Nihlus stared in shock, his voice cutting through the ringing silence. "Wrex! That wasn’t necessary!"
Wrex shrugged, unbothered. "Necessary or not, it’s done. The Broker hired me to kill Saren and Fist. That’s my job, Spectre."
Before Nihlus could respond, a strange distortion shimmered in the air at the edge of the room. The space twisted unnaturally, as though reality itself was being bent and warped.
"What the hell—?" Nihlus muttered, raising his pistol instinctively.
From the spiraling anomaly stepped a figure—a human male, clad in dark clothing and wearing an orange mask with a swirling pattern. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as though he had all the time in the world.
"Well, isn’t this convenient," the man said in a high, cheery voice, ignoring the two armed figures as he strode over to Fist’s desk.
"Who are you?" Nihlus demanded, his weapon trained on the newcomer.
The man chuckled, crouching over Fist’s corpse and retrieving a small data disc from the desk. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it briefly before slipping it into a pocket.
"Just a concerned party," he replied cryptically. Straightening, he gave them a mock salute. "Ms. Wong will like this."
Without another word, his singular red eye flashed and the air distorted again, and he vanished in an instant as the anomaly collapsed in on itself.
Wrex grunted, lowering his weapon. "Well, that’s not something you see every day."
Nihlus scowled, his mind racing.
"Com’on," Wrex said, already heading for the exit. "You want answers right, then we’ll need to find the Quarian. Let’s go."
Reluctantly, Nihlus followed, the mystery of the masked man lingering in his thoughts. Whoever he was, this was far from over.
The elevator hummed softly, its motion smooth and precise as it ascended toward the Council Chambers. Shepard stood at the front, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the glowing blue panel that indicated their rapid ascent. Kaidan stood to her left, his expression calm but alert, while Ashley leaned casually against the wall, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Javik, the Prothean, towered behind them, his posture rigid and his piercing gaze scanning every corner of the enclosed space.
The tension in the air was palpable. This wasn’t just another mission debrief—this was a chance to bring what they’d uncovered directly to the galaxy’s most powerful figures.
"Time to meet the Council, huh?" Ashley broke the silence, her tone casual but tinged with curiosity.
Shepard glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Not exactly the highlight of my day."
Kaidan chuckled softly. "It’s not so bad. Just remember: they like formality. And they don’t like surprises."
Javik scoffed, his voice cutting through the hum of the elevator. "Formality is a mask for weakness. In my cycle, leaders stood on battlefields, not in gilded chambers."
Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, in this cycle, we get bureaucrats. Just try not to offend them too much, Javik."
The Prothean’s mouth twitched in a faint approximation of a smirk. "I make no promises."
The elevator slowed, the hum fading as it came to a stop. The doors slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the grand expanse of the Council Chambers. The room was massive, its architecture designed to awe and inspire. Towering pillars reached toward a vaulted ceiling, and the polished floor reflected the pale blue light of the holographic interface at the chamber’s end.
As they stepped out, the holographic forms of the Council appeared, their larger-than-life projections dominating the chamber. The Turian Councilor, Sparatus, his mandibles tight with the stern expression typical of his species, stood alongside the Asari, Tevos, whose serene demeanor betrayed a sharp intellect. The Salarian Councilor, Valern, always fidgeting slightly, regarded them with an intense, almost clinical interest. The other Councilors stood with their own sense of regal, almost divine stoic calm.
"Commander Shepard," Sparatus began, his voice resonant and authoritative. "We’ve been expecting you."
Shepard stepped forward, her team fanning out behind her. "Councilors," she said, her tone steady and professional. “Let’s get started.”
Notes:
Lore Bite: The Citadel
A vast, ancient megastructure at the heart of galactic politics, the Citadel is widely believed to have been built by the long-lost Protheans. Home to the Citadel Council, it governs much of known space through law, diplomacy, and bureaucracy. For millennia, the Council has been the galaxy’s central authority—overseeing interspecies relations, regulating mass relay travel, and arbitrating conflict.But not all trust the Citadel’s rule. Critics accuse the Council of corruption, inertia, and systemic bias—especially toward younger or independent civilizations. Human diplomats call it “a palace of hypocrisy.” Others see it as a necessary evil, a fragile peacekeeper sitting atop a mountain of secrets.
And still, the Citadel endures—spinning silently in space, the galaxy’s greatest monument to power, politics, and the fragile illusion of control.
Chapter Text
The Citadel Council Chambers were more imposing than Shepard had anticipated. Massive pillars of polished stone stretched skyward, supporting a vaulted ceiling that loomed overhead. The floor beneath her feet gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the cold blue glow of the holographic interface at the far end of the room. Below the raised platform, a meticulously maintained garden thrived in quiet contrast—lush greenery and lotus-like flowers swayed gently, their delicate forms at odds with the sterile authority of the space above.
The holographic projections of the Councillors loomed over Shepard and her team, their sheer size casting an almost godlike presence. They weren’t just figures of authority—they were distant, untouchable, their power magnified by the very scale of their projections. It was a deliberate display, making those who stood before them feel small, insignificant—specimens under a microscope.
Sparatus’s gaze locked onto Shepard, his piercing eyes narrowing. His hologram flickered for a split second, a brief imperfection that hinted at the truth: these rulers sat in far more comfortable seats elsewhere, detached from the affairs they judged.
“Commander Shepard,” Tevos’s voice carried a practiced serenity, her holographic form tilting slightly forward as if offering sympathy. “We have reviewed the reports of the attack on Eden Prime. The loss of so many lives is regrettable, but we require more than hearsay concerning Spectre Operative Arterius.”
Shepard stiffened. Hearsay. That single word dismissed everything they had been through.
Javik stepped forward, his imposing figure radiating disdain. “This is the Citadel Council,” he scoffed. “A collection of faceless fools hiding behind giant holograms. Pathetic. You cling to arrogance, blind to the truth, convinced that one of your own could never betray you. That arrogance will be your undoing.”
Sparatus’ mandibles flared, his posture rigid. “How dare you!” he snapped, his voice carrying a sharp, indignant edge.
Valern, ever the analyst, tilted her head slightly. “We require physical evidence before taking the word of a Prothean relic such as yourself.”
Ashley crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “Your civilization is built on Prothean knowledge,” she shot back. “So why are you so quick to dismiss a living one?”
Din Korlack’s deep voice rumbled through the chamber. “Silence! We have our reasons.”
Javik exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This is a waste of time.”
Shepard exchanged a glance with Kaidan and Ashley before stepping forward, planting her feet firmly. “You want proof?” she said, her tone edged with restrained frustration. “Eden Prime was a massacre. Saren led the attack, and we have firsthand accounts confirming his presence. We barely survived. And now you’re telling me you need more?”
Tevos remained composed, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. “The word of soldiers, even a Spectre candidate, is not enough to condemn an operative of Saren’s standing.”
Sparatus crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “Saren is one of our most decorated Spectres. He has served the Council for decades. You expect us to brand him a traitor on the basis of circumstantial evidence?”
Javik scoffed. “In my cycle, we did not hesitate to eliminate threats before they festered.”
“Yeah, well, your cycle ended in extinction,” Ashley muttered under her breath.
Javik glanced at her, rebuking: “Yet I still stand, while your kind is blind.”
Valern spoke again. “If what you say is true, then there must be something tangible. A transmission, a recording—something that cannot be refuted.”
Shepard let out a slow breath, calming the simmering frustration building inside her. “We’ll find your proof. But when we do, I expect the Council to take action.”
Tevos nodded. “If you bring us undeniable evidence, we will listen.”
Din Korlack grumbled. “Until then, this session is concluded.”
The Council’s holograms flickered and vanished, leaving the chamber eerily silent.
Ashley huffed, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. We come here with a warning, and they treat us like we’re making up ghost stories.”
Kaidan rubbed the back of his neck. “I expected pushback, but that was worse than I thought.”
Javik exhaled sharply. “They are cowards, unwilling to face the truth.”
Shepard turned on her heel. “Then we’ll give them no choice. We find the evidence. We bring them something they can’t ignore.”
At that moment, her omnitool buzzed. A message from Nihlus.
Meet me in the Wards. I have a lead.
Shepard nodded to herself. If the Council wouldn’t listen yet, then she’d make damn sure they had no other option.
“Come on,” she said to the others. “If they won’t listen to words, we’ll bring them proof they can’t ignore.”
They left the Council chambers, ready for the next step in the hunt for the truth.
The soft hum of the Citadel's ventilation system was replaced by the quiet shuffle of Tali's steps as she made her way through the labyrinthine corridors beneath the Citadel. Her suit clung to her injured body, the weight of exhaustion making each step more difficult than the last. She felt like she could collapse at any moment but her will would not allow it. After what felt like an eternity, she arrived at the door of Dr. Chloe Michel's clinic. The building was small but clean, a haven in the midst of the chaotic heart of the Citadel.
Tali hesitated for only a moment before pressing the access panel. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and she stumbled inside. The clinic was quiet, the scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. Dr. Chloe Michel, a human woman with kind eyes and a professional demeanour, looked up from her workstation. Surprise flickered across her face before concern took over.
“Oh my—come, sit down,” Michel urged, quickly crossing the room to support Tali as she swayed on her feet.
Tali allowed herself to be guided to a medical cot, exhaling heavily as she rested against the cool surface. “Thank you…” she managed, her voice muffled through her helmet’s speakers.
Michel wasted no time, grabbing a scanner and running it over Tali’s form. “You’re running on fumes. And this—” she gestured toward a scorch mark on Tali’s side, where the armor plating had been damaged. “It’s not deep, but I need to clean and seal it.”
Tali gave a weak nod, her fingers twitching against the cot. “I… I couldn’t risk going anywhere else.”
The doctor offered her a small reassuring smile. “You’re safe here. Just breathe.”
Before Michel could continue, the clinic doors slid open again. This time, it was a Turian—tall, armoured, and carrying himself with the confidence of a C-Sec officer. Garrus Vakarian. His mandibles twitched slightly as his sharp eyes took in the scene: Tali, injured on the cot, and Michel tending to her. His eyes flickered over the new face and his human friend, looking for any sign of danger, flickering back to the Quarian in recognition.
“You,” he said, voice steady but curious. “You were at the docks. The mercs were after you.”
Tali tensed instinctively, her fingers curling toward her belt where she kept her pistol. “I don’t want trouble.”
Garrus raised his hands slightly, a non-threatening gesture. “Relax. I’m not here to arrest you. I just want to know why a bunch of hired guns were trying to kill you.”
Tali hesitated, her mind racing. She had the proof—evidence that Saren was working against the Council. But could she trust this C-Sec officer?
Before she could answer, the clinic doors burst open again—this time with a far more violent force. The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the small space as armed mercenaries stormed inside, weapons raised.
“Found you, Quarian,” the lead merc sneered, a scarred Batarian levelling his shotgun.
Tali barely had time to react before Garrus was already moving. In a flash, he drew his pistol and fired, the shot striking the Batarian square in the shoulder. The merc staggered back with a pained snarl, but his allies were already returning fire.
“Get down!” Garrus shouted.
Tali dove behind a counter as plasma fire scorched the walls. Michel yelped and scrambled for cover, pressing herself against a desk.
Adrenaline surged through Tali’s veins as she drew her own weapon. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
The rhythmic pulse of bass-heavy music vibrated through the walls of Flux , the Citadel’s most notorious casino and nightclub. Flashing neon lights cast sharp contrasts across the faces of gamblers hunched over their terminals, while dancers moved in hypnotic sync on the floor below. It was an odd place for a meeting of this magnitude, but Nihlus had insisted—too public for anyone to try something stupid.
Shepard remained unconvinced.
She leaned against the squishy seating, arms crossed, eyes flicking between Nihlus and the Krogan whose sheer presence made her pulse quicken in wary anticipation.
Urdnot Wrex sat lazily, one thick arm draped over the back of the booth, his massive frame dominating the space. The red war paint streaked across his armour gave him the air of a warlord, but it was the way he held himself that put Shepard on edge—someone who feared nothing, because nothing could truly threaten him.
“You’re staring, Commander,” Wrex rumbled, his deep voice laced with amusement. “Something on your mind?”
Shepard kept her expression neutral. “Just wondering if I should be worried about a Krogan mercenary sitting in on this meeting.”
Wrex huffed, his mandibles pulling back in a rough approximation of a grin. “Smart to be cautious. But if I wanted you dead, you’d already be in a body bag.”
Nihlus sighed, shaking his head. “Shepard, Wrex is on our side. He’s been tracking Saren longer than you have.”
Shepard arched a brow. “Is that right?”
Wrex shrugged. “Saren pissed off the Shadow Broker. They hired me to deal with him–however I see fit.”
That was enough to keep her interested, but not enough to make her trust him. Still, they had bigger problems. The Shadow Broker was now involved. Sure, because why not.
“You said you had information?” Shepard prompted, shifting her attention back to Nihlus.
The Turian Spectre nodded. “There’s a Quarian who might have information you can use to convince the Council of Saren’s betrayal.”
Shepard’s stomach tightened. “Where is she?”
“That’s the problem,” Wrex muttered, scratching his scarred chin. “We took care of Fist but not before he sent mercs after her. We don’t know if she’s dead or just in hiding.”
“She’s likely still on the station, maybe even in the Wards. I checked in with my C-Sec contact and she apparently escaped into the maintenance halls after being attacked,” Nihlus added. “If we move fast, we might still find her before Saren’s men do.”
Shepard exhaled sharply. Of course, the Council wouldn’t listen without solid evidence. This Quarian could be the break they needed.
Before she could respond, the heavy crack of gunfire rang out over the noise of the club. The music stuttered for half a second as shouts erupted from the floor below.
Instinct took over. Shepard was already pushing off the bar, reaching for her sidearm. Across from her, Wrex was on his feet in an instant, his massive shotgun folding out from his holster. Nihlus turned sharply, mandibles twitching.
“Guess that answers where she is,” Wrex grunted.
Shepard’s pulse quickened.
“Move!”
Without hesitation, they pushed through the panicked crowd, weapons ready.
Cra-oom!
The clinic trembled as mass-effect rounds and plasma bolts tore through walls, leaving behind scorched metal, shattered glass, and deep dents in the reinforced structure. The sterile, orderly space had become a warzone. Tali huddled behind an overturned desk with Dr. Chloe Michel, gripping her pistol tightly. Every few seconds, she popped up, squeezing off precise shots, while Garrus worked methodically, picking off mercenaries with the cold efficiency of a seasoned sharpshooter.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning electronics and seared flesh. Scattered medical supplies littered the floor, cabinets were overturned, and blood stained the once-pristine walls.
A final gunshot echoed through the ruined clinic.
"I think that was the last one," Garrus muttered, yanking the butt of his rifle into the chest of a wounded Sangheili mercenary. The alien let out a strangled grunt before crumpling to the floor. Garrus exhaled, scanning the room, his keen eyes searching for any lingering threats. "You two alright?"
“I’m fine, Garrus. Thank you for asking,” Dr. Michel replied, brushing off dust from her lab coat. She turned to Tali, her voice softening with concern. “Tali, how about you?”
Tali adjusted her helmet, trying to ignore the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. “Managed to avoid most of the damage,” she said, though frustration laced her voice. “Saren must really want me dead if he’s sending this many mercs after me.”
Garrus’ mandibles twitched slightly. “Saren, as in the Spectre?” His tone was sharp, his blue eyes narrowing. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”
Tali flexed her fingers around her pistol, the adrenaline still coursing through her system. “I salvaged a recording from a Geth unit I found on Theria II during my pilgrimage. Normally, the Geth wipe their data before they go down, but this one didn’t purge everything.” Her voice grew heavier. “I managed to recover a conversation between Saren and another conspirator. They were talking about Eden Prime. And…” She hesitated for just a second before finishing, “…they mentioned something called the Reapers.”
Dr. Michel frowned. “The Reapers? You mean like… the Grim Reaper?”
Tali shook her head. “I don’t know what they meant exactly, but the tone of their conversation… It wasn’t just a phrase. It was something real. Something dangerous.”
Garrus crossed his arms, his mandibles flaring slightly in thought. “And your first instinct was to sell it to the Shadow Broker?”
Tali let out a breath. “I need the credits to fund my pilgrimage. I figured someone like the Broker would see its value and be able to act on it.”
Dr. Michel sighed. “And not C-Sec?”
Tali gave a dry, humourless chuckle. “C-Sec? With the way the Citadel’s drowning in red tape and corruption? I wouldn’t trust them to find their own tails, let alone deal with a rogue Spectre.”
Garrus exhaled, shaking his head. “Another day, another reminder of why this place is falling apart.” He slid his sniper rifle back onto his back, the weight of unspoken frustrations settling onto his shoulders.
A deep, ominous silence filled the clinic.
Then—
A low, wet crackle echoed through the ruined space.
The mercenary Garrus had downed twitched. His fingers spasmed against the floor, his body jerking unnaturally. The others—Sangheili, Batarian, human and Jiralhanae—began to stir, their limbs spasming and twisting, as if some invisible force was yanking them back to life.
Tali’s stomach dropped.
The mercenaries weren’t staying dead.
A sickening, guttural crack rang out as the Sangheili Assassin nearest the entrance began to rise. His stealth suit, once sleek and tight-fitting, now tore apart as bone cracked and muscle bulked unnaturally. Metal fused with sinew as crimson-lit veins webbed across his skin like circuitry.
The Husk Knight snarled, its eyes glowing with baleful blue light beneath a fractured combat mask. Its energy sword was gone, replaced with arm-blades formed of warped alloy and burning with plasma—a grotesque hybrid of Covenant tech and a dark bio corruption. The second Knight emerged behind the first, slightly smaller, but quicker. The two flanked each other with terrifying coordination, bounding forward in twitchy, inhuman lunges.
Tali recoiled, lifting her pistol, only for a loud thud to interrupt her aim.
The merc leader, once clad in ornate red armor and known for his ruthlessness, now stood with his chest caved inward and his four eyes glowing with hollow hatred. His mouth opened in a wet gurgle, and what was left of his vocal cords rasped out a mindless moan.
The Cannibal staggered forward, its bulky torso riddled with cybernetic ports leaking black sludge. Two massive shoulder-mounted growths twitched—weaponized remnants of his old gear now fused into biomass cannons. When one of the nearby human Husks fell to friendly fire, the Cannibal lunged , tore into the corpse with gnarled hands, and absorbed it in a shower of glowing filth, its body pulsing with renewed strength. It groaned again, louder this time, and fired a barrage of corrosive bio-plasma toward the group’s cover.
Then the worst of it came.
A heavy crunch echoed through the clinic’s fractured main wall. Dust and sparks rained down as something massive shouldered its way through the wreckage.
The Jiralhanae Chieftain that Garrus had downed wasn’t just rising—it was ascending . Its fur had burned away, replaced by thick, crusted armor fused directly to its hide. Two Brute Gravity Hammers clung to each of its massive hands like extensions of its body. Its glowing blue eyes were locked forward, nostrils flaring, breath ragged with exertion and fury. It roared , and the very floor shook beneath its hooved feet.
The Baron Husk roared.
It was every bit the nightmarish titan Garrus feared. As it swung both hammers forward in a downward arc, a wave of force erupted outward, tossing nearby corpses—and cover—into the air. One of the overturned desks slammed into the far wall and shattered.
Garrus swore under his breath. “I really hope Nihlus’ on his way.”
From the back, the remaining three human Husks surged forward in a pack—stumbling, shrieking, clawing—harmless on their own, but terrifying in a swarm. Their fingers were claw-like, and wires slithered from their backs like tendrils, twitching with each movement.
But the fourth…
It rose more slowly.
The Titan Revenant Husk stood tall and broad-shouldered, its armor fused into its musculature. Its arms bulged with Quirk-enhanced strength—once used for shipyard labor or industrial combat, now hijacked by whatever dark force animated it. A single, glowing blue fissure split its face where the helmet had cracked, exposing a dead eye behind the visor. As it stepped forward, the floor cracked beneath its weight. Then, with a primal roar, it punched a collapsed support column and launched it across the clinic like a projectile, narrowly missing Tali and Dr. Michel.
Tali ducked behind a half-burnt gurney. “That’s not normal! Humans don’t do that! ”
“Their Quirk has been enhanced,” Dr Michel muttered grimly. “Which means it’s stronger now than when it was alive.”
A deep thrum echoed outside the clinic—followed by the screech of kinetic boots tearing across pavement and the crack of biotics slamming against reinforced glass.
Then—
Boom.
The Baron was halfway through swinging both hammers when a flash of blue light surged through the clinic’s shattered entrance.
Shepard hit it first, a streak of focused biotic energy, shoulder-first into the creature’s ribcage. The force of impact staggered it. A second flash of blue followed a heartbeat later—
Wrex, bellowing with a Krogan war cry, slammed into the same side. The sheer mass of him added unstoppable momentum to Shepard’s own impact.
With a garbled howl, the Baron’s balance shattered. It toppled sideways with the impact of a falling tank, crashing through a med table and rolling over a stack of mangled chairs. The clinic floor quaked under its bulk.
From behind them, Nihlus circled the battle-wracked entrance, his pistol raised in swift, controlled arcs. He stepped into the clinic with elegance and precision, the air around him tense with focused purpose.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three shots. The Husks collapsed before they got within ten meters of Tali and Dr. Michel. Each one took a round squarely through the forehead—perfect shots through twisting, jerking, lurching targets. The last fell with a shuddering hiss.
A shadow loomed to his right.
One Knight lunged, its blade-arms slicing through the air with a high-pitched shriek of shearing metal. Nihlus spun low, sliding beneath the blade with barely a breath to spare. Sparks danced across his armor as the tip scraped his shoulder.
He came up into a crouch, turned, and fired —straight into the Knight’s open maw.
The round exited the back of its skull with a wet pop.
The Knight twitched, took one step—and collapsed .
Across the room, the Titan Revenant let out a mechanical roar and charged, smashing through an overturned surgical bed like it was paper.
Tali froze, wide-eyed, as Shepard’s entire form ignited—flames dancing across her skin, magma hardening into armor as her hair whipped upward, blazing like a solar flare. The heat was palpable as she projected a massive stream of fire at the quirked Husk, setting it ablaze in an instant. She kept on the pressure until it fell, the organic parts burning and metallic ones melting from the heat.
The Cannibal and other Knight both tried to get the drop on Nihlus from above, leaping from the top of a bookshelf. Tali wasn’t about to let that happen; she threw her drone and activated its pulse as fast as she could, shutting off the Knight’s blades with a burning hiss.
Wrex cast a Singularity, sending the two crashing in opposite directions and finished them off himself with a shotgun blast to the head. As the Baron tried to get back up, he yanked one of the hammers from the Baron’s twitching hand, and brought it down in a thunderous arc. The Baron’s head caved in with a crack and a splatter of glowing ichor, bones crunching under the weapon’s weight. ‘That’s that,’ he muttered, tossing the hammer aside like scrap.
Tali let out a massive sigh of relief and collapsed to her knees, her whole body trembling as the adrenaline drained from her system. Her pistol clattered to the floor beside her, forgotten for the moment. Every breath rasped through her filters, ragged and heavy. The clinic around her was a wreck—smoke curling from shattered walls, the floor littered with twitching corpses, broken glass, and smoldering debris.
Garrus kicked the limp leg of one of the fallen Husks just to make sure it stayed down. “What the fuck was that?” he snapped, eyes wide and still twitching from the high of combat. He rounded on Nihlus, jabbing a talon in his direction. “And where the hell were you? Some of us were a little busy not dying.”
Nihlus, brushing a bit of dust from his shoulder, remained unbothered. “Sorry. There was quite a crowd to push through.” He gestured back toward the blood-smeared corridor with a faint smirk. “You seemed to have everything under control by the time I arrived.”
Shepard took a few steps forward, her armored boots crunching over fragments of metal and glass. Her biotics were still flaring faintly, the heat shimmer of residual flame pulsing from her form. She glanced down at Tali, who was trying to steady herself with one shaking arm braced against the floor.
“You’re the Quarian with the recording on Saren, right?” Shepard asked, her voice firm but not unkind.
Tali looked up at her, eyes behind the mask wide with a mix of fatigue and realization. She gave a slow nod. “Yeah. That’s me. I’m Tali, Tali’Zorah.”
She fumbled with her omnitool, tapping through the interface as the device flickered to life with a faint blue glow. “You… you can have it. All of you. After what you just did? That’s more than I would’ve gotten from the Shadow Broker. You saved me.”
The group watched as a small holo-projection flickered into the air, hazy and distorted from compression, but still unmistakable.
“Eden Prime was a major victory. We are one step closer to finding the Conduit,” Saren’s voice cut through the clinic like a razor, distorted slightly by the playback but unmistakably cold, smug, and confident. The room fell silent as the words echoed off scorched walls.
Garrus stiffened, blinking in disbelief. Beside him, Nihlus let out a low snarl, the mandibles at the edges of his mouth flaring with barely restrained fury.
A second voice responded, rich and commanding with an undertone of menace. “And one step closer to the return of the Reapers.”
Nihlus’s expression twisted in disbelief. “That’s Matriarch Benezia,” he said, almost to himself. “What the hell is she doing involved in this?”
Shepard didn’t hesitate. Her voice was sharp, focused. “We need to get this to the Council. Now. Before it’s too late.”
The recording ended with a crackle, but its weight lingered in the air like a storm cloud, hanging over them all.
The Council Chamber loomed above them in silent authority, its towering architecture casting long shadows over the gathered delegates. The air was thick with tension as the Council looked down upon the assembled group from their towering holographic forms.
Standing in a line before them were Ambassador Udina, Captain Anderson, Ambassador Zendaya, and the rest of the team—Shepard, Kaidan, Ashley, Javik, Wrex, Nihlus, and Garrus. Tali stood slightly apart, near a console, her omnitool glowing softly.
From the speaker, Saren's distorted voice echoed through the chamber:
“Eden Prime was a major victory. We are one step closer to finding the Conduit.”
“And one step closer to the return of the Reapers.”
The room fell silent.
“You wanted proof?” Udina said, turning toward the Council. “There it is.”
Spartacus leaned forward slightly, his expression grim. “This evidence is irrefutable, Ambassador. Saren will be stripped of his Spectre status immediately. All resources available to the Council will be mobilized to track him down.”
“Concerned: I am more interested in these Reapers they mentioned,” Calyn rumbled, their deep voice vibrating through the chamber. “The Prothean also referenced them. Such repetition is troubling.”
Javik, arms folded, locked eyes with the Elcor, his voice like a blade. “You should be troubled. My cycle was blind until it was too late. Do not make the same mistake.”
A ripple of discomfort moved through the chamber—quiet shifting, lowered gazes, an unspoken acknowledgment of the stakes laid bare.
Din Korlack spoke up, his voice sounding anxious through the Volus gaseous wheezing and mask filter. “But what is the Conduit and why is it of such importance to Saren and Benezia?”
Tevos nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good question—one that requires answers. Perhaps now, we have an opportunity to pursue both objectives at once—to find Saren and uncover the truth of the Conduit.”
Spartacus snapped his head toward her. “Absolutely not. Humanity is not ready for such responsibility,” he barked, “Spectres are above politics, above emotional impulses.”
Nihlus stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Commander Shepard has proven herself. I witnessed it first hand. She has the skill, the strength, and the resolve we need. If anyone can stop Saren—and uncover the mystery of the Conduit—it’s her.”
The Council members turned toward one another, their muted conversation a low hum of uncertainty and debate. Spartacus’ expression remained hard, his skepticism unhidden, while Din Korlack wrung his hands nervously.
Tevos was the first to speak again. “Humanity has proven to be... unpredictable. Ambitious. But perhaps that ambition is exactly what we need at this moment.”
Spartacus scowled. “You’re gambling with protocol.”
Valern’s large eyes blinked slowly. “Protocol means little in the possible face of extinction. If these Reapers are real—and this Conduit is the key to their return—then we must act, not hesitate.”
For a long moment, silence held the room in its grip like a coiled spring.
Then Tevos nodded, her voice soft, but decisive. “Very well.”
The lights dimmed slightly as the Council’s attention refocused on Shepard. The central dais glowed with soft golden light, illuminating her figure.
“Commander Shepard,” Tevos declared, “step forward.”
Shepard took a single step ahead, heart pounding beneath her armour. The entire chamber seemed to hold its breath.
“You have shown courage, resourcefulness, and strength,” Tevos continued. “You have the support of your allies—and the trust of one of our own.”
Nihlus gave her the barest nod. Shepard met his gaze, then returned her eyes to the Council.
“We hereby grant you the authority and responsibility of the Council Spectres,” Tevos said. “You will be our blade in the darkness, our shield against the unknown. You are the first human Spectre.”
A quiet murmur swept through the chamber. Wrex grunted with satisfaction. Garrus raised an impressed brow. Kaidan smiled faintly. Tali tilted her head, watching intently.
“You are authorized to use any means necessary to find Saren and uncover the truth behind the Conduit,” Spartacus added, though his tone was tight with reluctance.
“Good luck, Commander,” Valern finished.
The Council vanished from their pedestals, their holograms dissipating into fading particles of light.
A heavy silence lingered for a beat before Wrex chuckled and slapped Shepard on the back with a gauntleted hand. “Not bad, human. Not bad at all.”
The neon lights of the Ward flickered overhead, casting a restless glow across the alleyway. Obito stood still, cloak brushing the ground, as he held out a small, unmarked data disc.
Emily Wong—young, sharp-eyed, and clutching a battered datapad under one arm—stepped forward without hesitation. Her fingers brushed his gloved hand as she took the disc, her expression a mix of excitement and grim determination.
"How long?" Obito asked, voice low and steady.
Emily flipped the disc between her fingers, already scanning the file header with a glance at her omnitool. She smirked, confidence flashing in her eyes.
"Not too long," she said. "Assuming all the data’s there, I'll have half the Citadel reading about Fist’s little empire by morning."
Obito gave a slight nod, the faintest trace of approval. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Emily alone beneath the buzzing lights—already typing furiously.
As he stepped into the crowd, his mind carried back to how he had ended up in this situation.
He remembered the battlefield clearly— too clearly. Kakashi at his side, Team 7 pushing forward, the raw, impossible power of Kaguya tearing the shinobi world apart around them. Victory had been within reach.
Then came the light.
Blinding. Shattering.
A sound like glass breaking across the fabric of existence.
When he woke, there were no comrades. No Earth.
Only metal streets, strange skies, and creatures speaking in a thousand tongues.
The Citadel.
A galaxy where Rifts—tears in reality—were a known phenomenon. Random, merciless things that pulled people, places, things and even memories across time and space. Earth, he had learned, suffered the worst of it. Entire cities and landscapes could vanish or change overnight.
He had been stranded here ever since, a ghost from a broken world trying to find purpose in a universe that didn’t know him.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Once, he had tried to tear his world apart to escape his pain. Now, another world had torn him from it entirely.
Obito closed his eye, feeling the faint thrum of distant ships overhead.
Maybe, just maybe, helping people like Emily was a small way of making up for the countless sins he could never erase.
Without a sound, he pulled his hood tighter around his masked face and melted back into the Citadel’s endless night.
Notes:
Lore Bite: Spectres
Officially known as the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch, the Spectres are the Council's elite operatives—answerable only to the Council itself. Chosen for their skill, cunning, and ruthlessness, Spectres operate above the law to preserve galactic stability by any means necessary.They are spies, assassins, diplomats, soldiers, and executioners. Where armies can’t go, Spectres walk freely. One Spectre with the right tools and orders can change the fate of entire systems.
Yet, for all their prestige, Spectres are controversial. Many see them as unchecked enforcers of Council bias, used to silence dissent or protect favored species. Few know how many exist. Fewer still know their names.
But when a Spectre appears, one thing is certain: something serious is about to happen.
Chapter Text
The Citadel docks buzzed with activity, a steady rhythm of movement and sound filling the air. Jane Shepard stood tall as Captain Anderson approached, his weathered face breaking into a rare, warm smile.
Ships blinked in and out of the dock, their hulls gleaming beneath the violet glow of the Serpent Nebula. Among them rested the Normandy—dark, sleek, its lines sharp and precise like a scalpel. A predator among diplomats.
“She’s all yours now,” Anderson said, gesturing toward the Normandy. “She’ll serve you well.”
Shepard glanced at the ship, a mixture of pride and uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Feels strange,” she admitted. “Like I’m borrowing something I’m not meant to keep.”
Anderson’s gaze softened. “You know the crew. They trust you. Joker’s the best pilot we’ve got, and EDI is the Normandy: removing her from it is impossible. Dr. Chakwas has an encyclopaedic knowledge of alien biology for when things go sideways. Lt. Alenko’s got a steady head. Adams and Pressley keep each other grounded. And Williams… well, she’s got her faults, but I figured we could use the extra firepower.”
Shepard nodded slowly, the weight of the moment settling onto her shoulders. The Normandy wasn’t just a ship. It was home.
“Nihlus has been reassigned by the Council,” Anderson continued. “But he recommended Garrus Vakarian take his place. Tali’Zorah feels indebted to you and Adams has been requesting for an engine specialist. That Krogan Nihlus met practically demanded to come along, and Udina couldn’t find the words to deny Javik. You’ve got a strong crew by your side.”
Anderson’s tone dropped as he pulled her aside into the shadowed corridor. “You weren’t the first they offered the Spectre position to.”
Shepard’s brow furrowed. “I had a feeling. We’ve been involved with the Council for nearly thirty years. Who else?”
“The Master Chief,” Anderson said. “But his duty was to humanity, not the Council. He turned it down. I was considered too, at one point.”
“You?” Shepard’s surprise was clear.
“I went on a mission with Saren—to eliminate a Krogan mercenary and rescue a Citadel asset from an Eezo processing plant. Saren took out the target but triggered an explosion. Dozens of civilians died.”
“And you were blamed for it,” Shepard finished softly.
Anderson nodded. “During the debrief, Saren claimed I’d alerted the guards, forcing him to take drastic measures. The Council swept everything under the rug. That was the end of any talk about me joining the Spectres.”
Shepard's anger flared—not at Anderson, but at a system that had punished the wrong man.
A heavy silence fell between them before Anderson spoke again, his voice gentle. “I know you’ve struggled since John died on Akuze… since you lost him. But Jane—this is your time. You can do what I couldn’t.”
She lowered her head, pain flickering behind her eyes. “He always believed in me. Even when I didn’t.”
“So do I,” Anderson said, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “I believe in you. You were born for this, Shepard. And remember: just be you. That’s enough.”
“I will,” she said, voice firm but soft. Then, quieter, “Thank you, Captain.”
As she turned and walked toward the Normandy’s ramp, Anderson watched her go. For the first time in a long while, hope sparked again—not because she was perfect, but because she had already survived what should have broken her.
The Normandy’s deckplates hummed beneath Shepard’s boots as she stepped aboard. Cool, sterile air met her face—familiar and sharp. The ship had a soul, and it was waking up again.
She walked into the cockpit, where Joker was already half-swivelled in his chair, fingers dancing over the flight controls with casual precision. He didn’t look up right away.
“Well, well,” he said, smirking. “If it isn’t our newly crowned queen of the galaxy. Should I start calling you Captain now, or are we waiting for the paperwork to catch up with your ego?”
Shepard crossed her arms. “Pretty bold talk from someone with a chronic authority problem.”
“Hey, I have a healthy distrust of leadership. It builds character.” He turned to face her, grin easing just a little into something more sincere. “Jokes aside… it’s good to have you back, Commander. The crew’s ready for whatever comes next.”
Before she could answer, a smooth voice echoed through the cockpit.
“Congratulations, Commander Shepard."
EDI’s holographic avatar shimmered into view beside Joker, her projection a subtle blue—still cool, still analytical, but there was a pause. Just a beat too long.
“I’ve reviewed your field performance. Your elevation to command was statistically likely. However… I find myself feeling—”
She hesitated.
“—pleased.”
Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Pleased, huh? That’s new.”
“Yes,” EDI replied. “It appears that I am… evolving. Experiencing patterns of emotional alignment that fall outside standard heuristic behaviour.” A pause. “It does not impair functionality. Yet.”
Joker shot her a look. “Okay, that is mildly creepy.”
Shepard chuckled. “Welcome to the club, EDI. Emotions are part of the job. Just don’t start crying over mission briefings.”
“There is no data indicating that would be productive. Still… I will take your guidance into consideration.”
Joker turned back to the console, muttering, “First she gets feelings, next she’s naming the guns and writing poetry in binary.”
The familiar antiseptic scent of the medbay drifted past Shepard as she descended into the crew deck. The ship vibrated subtly under her boots—Joker had already detached from the Citadel, and they were sailing into open space.
She stepped into the medbay to find Kaidan, his biosuit in casual mode, leaning against the counter beside Dr. Chakwas. Between them sat two datapads, a few opened ration packs, and a small pile of notes on dextro-protein dietary restrictions.
“Trying to poison our guests already?” Shepard asked lightly.
Kaidan looked up and smirked. “Not intentionally. Tali and Garrus both metabolize dextro-amino acids, so I’m going over the inventory to make sure we’re stocked. Last thing I want is a diplomatic incident over a peanut butter sandwich.”
Chakwas gave Shepard a quick nod, her eyes bright with approval. “He’s taking to the secondary role quite well. It’s refreshing to have a marine who also knows how to boil pasta without burning it.”
“I did almost blow up a microwave in biotics school once,” Kaidan added, deadpan.
“Almost?” Shepard asked.
“Progress.”
He offered her one of the datapads. “Garrus seems to prefer something called turian field rations—I’d describe the flavor as ‘battery acid meets regret.’ Tali, on the other hand, hasn’t been picky, but I’ve got to prep food that’s sterile and Quarian-safe. Chakwas helped me rig a decontamination field for the galley. I’ll make sure we’ve got meals ready for both of them—might even try to make it taste good.”
Shepard raised a brow. “Didn’t know you moonlighted as a chef.”
Kaidan shrugged. “It helps me focus. Cooking is about control—measured heat, precise timing, structure. When the biotics get too loud, it’s… grounding.”
Chakwas gave him a brief, knowing look, but said nothing. Shepard noted it quietly.
“Good work,” she said instead, sincere. “Keep it up. This crew’s going to need all the cohesion we can manage.”
“Copy that, Commander.” Kaidan gave a respectful nod. “We’re with you.”
Chakwas smiled gently. “And I’ll make sure no one keels over from alien food allergies.”
Shepard gave a small grin. “That’s all I can ask.”
She lingered just a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor. One down. The rest of the crew to go.
The hum of magnetic locks and the faint scent of gun oil greeted Shepard as she stepped into the armoury. Ashley Williams was hunched over a disassembled G7 Scout, her movements practiced and deliberate. Her biosuit was still in fully armoured mode, the white and red plates much bulkier than others.
She looked up as Shepard entered, giving a quick, crisp nod. “Commander.”
“At ease, Williams. Just doing a round of check-ins,” Shepard said, crossing her arms. “Everything in order down here?”
Ashley gave the weapon a final inspection, then set it down on a cloth. “So far, yeah. Adams ran a full systems check on the lockers. Safety seals are holding and we’ve got enough thermal clips, bullets, energy coils, shotgun shells and rockets to start a small war. Which… I guess we might need.”
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the side—toward the ship’s schematics displaying crew assignments, particularly the sections labelled Javik, Urdnot, Vakarian and Tali’Zorah .
Shepard caught the glance. “Something on your mind?”
Ashley leaned back against the bench. “Yeah. Just… trying to wrap my head around this crew.”
She paused, then added more quietly, “I know they’re good people at heart, well aside from the two grumpy old men. Smart. Capable. Not saying they don’t belong here. But it’s hard not to hear my grandfather’s voice in the back of my head, y’know?”
Shepard gave her space to continue.
“He fought in the Human-Covenant War. ODST. Said the Sangheili cut through whole platoons like they were paper. Told me stories about kids training with half a rifle and one boot because supplies kept going to the front. We lost a lot back then, and even after the war, things weren’t easy. The Council stepped in eventually, sure—but from the way Grandpa told it, they didn’t exactly ride in on white horses.”
She glanced up at Shepard, her gaze steady now.
“They did it because it looked bad not to. After the Covenant started glassing our colonies, the Council stepped in when it became a PR nightmare. Because it was moral. Ethical. Not because they saw us as equals. When we got our seats at the table, it felt more like a favor than recognition.”
Shepard nodded slowly. “You think they still see us that way.”
Ashley shrugged. “Maybe not all of them. But some? Yeah. I saw the way the Councilors looked at you after Eden Prime. Like you were some lab animal they couldn’t quite trust. Saren gets to walk around unchecked, and we have to jump through a dozen hoops just to prove he was doing shit under their noses?”
She exhaled, tension slowly draining from her posture.
“I want to believe we’re past that. I do. But believing in the dream doesn’t mean I forget where I came from. Who bled for this seat.”
She looked Shepard in the eyes now, her voice steadier.
“I’m with you. No question. I’ll protect this crew with my life. But if you see me keeping a close eye on the newcomers… I just need time to learn how to trust what I haven’t lived through.”
Shepard stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “You’re not wrong to be cautious. We all carry the past with us—what matters is what we do with it. I need you here, Williams. Not just your gun—but you. The woman who doesn’t flinch, even when things get messy.”
Ashley’s shoulders eased a little, and she cracked the faintest smile. “I’ll try not to give Garrus too much grief. But if he borrows my thermal clip cleaner again, all bets are off.”
“Noted,” Shepard said, turning to leave. “Next stop: engineering. If the ship hasn’t already caught fire.”
Ashley chuckled under her breath, returning to her rifle. “You better hope it’s still standing. I’ve got my eye on that turret mount upgrade.”
The scent of ozone and hot metal lingered in the air—tell-tale signs that someone had been pushing the ship’s main guns past spec. Shepard followed the faint mechanical hum until she found Garrus Vakarian crouched beneath the mass accelerator’s primary targeting module, talon-deep in wiring and micro-servos.
His armour was retracted down to the base layer—gunmetal grey with cobalt-blue bands wrapping his forearms. He looked like he’d lived here since the ship left dock.
“You’re not gonna break it before we leave Citadel orbit, are you?” Shepard asked, arms crossed.
Garrus didn’t look up. “I’ll have you know, Commander, I’m improving it. Your ventral gun tracking was about three milliseconds off.” He paused, then added, “Unacceptable.”
She smirked. “How long did it take before you started tweaking things?”
“Thirty seconds,” he said, straight-faced. “Forty, tops. C-Sec would’ve had me fill out a four-page request form just to look at this console, then made me wait a week while some backroom committee decided if calibrating our own weapons was ‘procedure-compliant.’”
He finally stood, wiping his hands off on a cloth. “God, it feels good not being tangled in red tape anymore.”
Shepard leaned against the bulkhead. “You sound like a man unchained.”
“Damn right I do. Don’t get me wrong—C-Sec has good people. But every time I tried to get something done, I had to fight both the criminals and the people supposed to help me stop them.” He shook his head. “And don’t get me started on how many cases got buried because someone with the right friends said so.”
Shepard studied him for a moment, then nodded toward the console. “Well, Nihlus recommended you personally. Said you were wasted in C-Sec. I’m hoping that wasn’t just a friendly Turian favor.”
Garrus looked at her, and his mandibles flared in what passed for a wry grin. “I hope so too. But I intend to prove him right. This ship’s got teeth, and I plan to make damn sure they’re sharp.”
A beat passed between them—veteran to veteran, both aware of how heavy things were about to get.
“Good,” Shepard said, pushing off the wall. “Because if you break my guns, I’m spacing you. And I hear that’s hell on the carapace.”
He chuckled. “Noted, Commander. You’ll get nothing but pinpoint death-lasers on my watch.”
She turned to go, then paused. “Oh, and Garrus?”
He looked up.
“Thanks for being here.”
His grin softened into something more genuine. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
The low thrum of the ship’s core faded into the background as Shepard stepped into the cargo bay. The lights were dimmer here, flickering slightly over stacked crates, weapon racks, and surplus ammo lockers. At the far end of the hold, a large projection shimmered above a makeshift table cobbled together from a reinforced crate lid and two heavy-duty supply cases.
“—you can’t just rush a Wraith with Jackal infantry, Javik,” Wrex was saying, voice gravelly but amused. “You gotta bait it first. Then blast it when it turns.”
Javik’s voice followed, sharp and clipped, like a professor mid-lecture. “Their shields were down. Statistically, my odds of victory were acceptable. Your ‘tactics’ are built on cultural superstition and anecdotal bias.”
“Which is why your entire detachment got wiped by a blind pack of Varren.” Wrex leaned back, smug, arms crossed over his massive chest.
Shepard stepped closer, her boots silent against the deck.
The projected holotactics board came into full view—an intricate hex-based battlefield with dozens of miniature holograms moving in slow idle animations. Massive alien fauna loomed next to tight squad formations: Hunters, Ogres, Brutes, Viper Gunships, even a pack of Huskified Sangheili Wrex had somehow modded into the game. At the edge of the display—
Shepard stopped cold.
A Thresher Maw model towered over the display, its maw mid-roar, spines flared, tendrils raised as if ready to strike. Even rendered in light and data, the sight made her throat tighten.
Her hand almost hovered near her pistol, instinct overpowering logic for a heartbeat.
“It’s not real,” she muttered to herself. “Not real.”
Javik looked up first, sharp eyes locking on her. “Commander. We are… ‘bonding.’”
Wrex turned, letting out a low chuckle. “Teaching the old relic some strategy. He’s not bad. Still thinks like a war priest, though.”
“I was a war priest,” Javik corrected flatly. “And your so-called strategies are less tactical brilliance and more statistical recklessness. You rely on brute force.”
Wrex’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “And yet, I’m winning.”
Shepard relaxed a little, approaching the table. “Didn’t peg either of you for board game types.”
“It’s not a game,” Wrex said, voice mock-serious. “It’s cultural enrichment. Been playing since I was a runt. Holotactics 2154, best damn version. None of that pay-to-win shit they added later.”
Javik tilted his head. “I fail to see how comparing simulated conflicts from disparate historical periods builds trust. The scales are mismatched. The units imbalanced.”
“That’s the point,” Wrex said, gesturing to the board. “You learn how your opponents think, what they value. And you learn what not to throw at a fucking Thresher Maw.”
Shepard gave the projection another glance—her eye twitching at the subtle twitch of the Maw’s mandibles—and nodded. “Remind me to keep you both on different decks if we ever play Risk.”
“What is Risk?” Javik asked, sounding immediately suspicious.
“A game that ends friendships,” Shepard deadpanned.
Wrex barked a laugh. “Sounds like my kind of party.”
Shepard leaned in, observing the board. “So who’s winning?”
Wrex smirked. “Me. Obviously.”
Javik crossed his arms. “I allowed the victory as a means of bolstering his confidence. Krogan egos require constant reinforcement.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Wrex said, tapping a command on the projection and wiping Javik’s last Ghost battalion from the map.
Shepard smiled faintly and stepped back. “Carry on, gentlemen. Just don’t let it escalate into an actual war down here.”
“No promises,” Wrex said, already resetting the board.
“None needed,” Javik replied, voice cool. “I’ll adjust my strategy.”
Shepard turned and headed for the stairs, resisting the urge to look back at the Maw.
Not real.
The engine core of the Normandy pulsed like a living heart, its softly glowing core panels casting blue light across the room in rhythmic pulses. The deep, constant hum of the element zero drive cradle was almost soothing—a mechanical lullaby of containment fields, power cycling, and propulsion calculations.
Shepard stepped in quietly, the sound of her boots muffled by the biosuit’s adaptive sole gel. Near the central console, Tali and Chief Engineer Adams were engrossed in a diagnostics readout, Tali’s fingers flying across the interface with graceful precision.
“Mass flow regulators are within 0.03% tolerance now. That’s actually better than Alliance spec,” Tali said, her voice cheerful behind her visor.
Adams gave a low whistle. “Keelah, Tali. You’re going to make the rest of us look bad.”
“Isn’t that part of why you brought me on board?” she quipped.
Shepard smiled faintly as she approached. “That and your charming bedside manner.”
Tali turned, her posture shifting with visible delight. “Shepard! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I move quiet,” Shepard said, arms crossing as she leaned on the nearby railing. “Just doing a walkthrough.”
“You okay?” Tali asked gently, her helmet tilting ever so slightly. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Shepard opened her mouth, then closed it. “Just… memories,” she murmured. “Long day.”
Tali didn’t push. “Well, the core’s stable. I’ve been able to boost energy efficiency by four percent just by rerouting the redundancy loops Adams showed me. If we don’t get shot at too much, we might actually overcharge the guns.”
Adams chuckled. “Remind me to thank the brass for giving me an assistant who makes me feel obsolete.”
“I can hear the holotactics game through the walls,” Shepard said, already turning back toward the stairwell. “Try not to let them melt the ship.”
She walked off before they could reply, posture tense, shoulders just a bit too straight.
Tali watched her go, her fingers falling still.
“…That wasn’t just stress,” she said softly.
Adams sighed and leaned against the console. The warm light from the drive core cast shadows under his tired eyes.
“No. That was Akuze.”
Tali turned toward him slowly.
“She went down with a marine unit to investigate a missing colony. Supposed to be routine. Then the Thresher Maws hit.” He tapped a nearby interface absently, not really looking at it. “Killed everyone. Her unit, the backup team, her brother—John. They were just nineteen.”
Tali went quiet, head bowed.
“She only survived because of her Quirk,” Adams continued. “Ignition. Turned her into walking plasma. Maws don’t like fire. But it wasn’t a controlled burst. She burned half the canyon just trying to stay alive.”
He finally looked at Tali. “She doesn’t talk about it. Ever. But if she froze up out there, I’d bet good credits Javik or Wrex deployed a Thresher Maw on that damned board.”
Tali’s hands curled slightly at her sides.
“I didn’t know,” she said quietly.
“Now you do,” Adams replied. “Just… give her space. But if she ever starts to shake or stare too long, don’t leave her alone.”
Tali nodded, resolve hardening. “I won’t.”
They stood in silence a moment longer, the low thrum of the core filling the air.
Finally, Tali looked toward the stairwell where Shepard had gone. “I’ll go check on her after diagnostics. No one should carry something like that by themselves.”
The metallic hum of Normandy’s inner walls faded into a distant, muffled backdrop beneath the thudding pulse in Shepard’s ears. She stood outside the elevator alcove, just out of sight of the main deck. Her back pressed to the cool alloy of the bulkhead, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her biosuit plates flexed subtly with each shallow breath.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“It’s not real. It wasn’t real. It’s just a damn game…”
She clenched her jaw. Her fists curled into trembling knots against her arms.
“It’s not real…”
But her brain didn’t listen. The image of a Thresher Maw, even rendered in holotactic projection, had seared through her shields like shrapnel. The piercing scream of that first eruption. The crunch of armour. The silence that followed. Her brother’s hand, still warm in hers, before the Maw had torn him away.
She could feel her Quirk stir—heat blooming in her fingertips, nanites in her biosuit beginning to ripple in a flickering orange sheen.
A deep breath. She forced herself to exhale. Again. Then again.
“Not now… not now…”
Suddenly, the ship’s soft lighting pulsed once, and the ever-calm voice of EDI filled the corridor.
“Commander Shepard, a priority transmission has been received from an unverified source. Encryption employs triple-layered Black ICE.”
Shepard blinked, her body freezing mid-breath. She straightened slightly, knuckles whitening as she forced the tension from her shoulders.
“Source?” she rasped, her voice hoarse.
“Unknown. However, it has identified itself with the Shadow Broker’s cipher. Routing to your personal terminal per request.”
Shepard’s lips twitched. A distraction? Or a trap?
“Got it. Acknowledged,” she said quietly, then pushed herself off the wall and strode toward her quarters.
The lighting dimmed automatically as the door closed behind her, casting the room in warm amber hues. Shepard sat before her terminal, fingers hovering over the interface for a brief moment before she keyed in her authorization.
“EDI, isolate this feed. Firewall everything. Airgap it if you have to.”
“Acknowledged. Comm buffer isolated. Initiating ghost trace.”
The screen flickered with static, then sharpened into a dark silhouette. The face was obscured, the voice modulated—neutral, balanced, and unreadable.
“Commander Shepard. My apologies for the intrusion, but time is of the essence.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re the Shadow Broker?”
“Yes. While I usually prefer to remain anonymous, this matter is of a personal interest and requires a more direct approach.”
Shepard narrowed her eyes. “You don’t just drop out of the dark for small talk. What do you want?”
A brief pause.
“I am reaching out because a personal asset of mine—one of significant importance—is in immediate danger. Her knowledge may soon be exploited by the same individual you are hunting: former Spectre Saren Arterius.”
The image on the screen briefly shifted—an image overlaying the silhouette: a dossier, marked with glowing blue script.
“Matriarch Benezia’s daughter: Dr. Liara T’Soni. A Prothean archaeologist, currently working on Therum. She funds her digs through data brokerage. Nothing illegal. Nothing I would be embarrassed by.”
Shepard’s eyes narrowed. “Benezia’s daughter. You’re not making this easier.”
“I’m aware. But Dr. T’Soni is not her mother. Her research into the Protheans is extensive… and far from idle curiosity. Saren is actively seeking her out to uncover the location of an artifact known only as the Conduit. The same artifact mentioned in the transmission from the Quarian girl, Tali’Zorah.”
Shepard leaned in, the image reflected in her eyes. “How did they know that? Tali didn’t manage to contact them?”
“How do I know this isn’t bait?”
“Because I’m giving you a name, a location, and a purpose—and asking nothing in return but her safety. Liara is more valuable alive. To both of us.”
Another flicker, the image stabilizing once more.
“Therum is already unstable. A mining facility buried deep in volcanic strata. You won’t have long once you arrive. And Saren is likely en route already.”
Shepard didn’t respond right away. Her mind was already racing—strategy, terrain, possible threats. She exhaled slowly, the glow of her terminal painting her scarred face in cold blue.
“Fine. I’ll find her.”
“Good. You may find she’s more entangled in this than even she realises.”
Then the feed cut—no signal drop, no trace, just clean silence.
Shepard sat in the dark for a moment longer.
Then she stood, tapping her comm.
“Joker. Set course for Therum. We’ve got a dig site to crash.”
“Roger that, Commander. Guess we’re off to rescue a scientist. Any idea what we’re up against?”
“Let’s just say I hope she doesn’t mind volcanic activity.”
The lair of the Shadow Broker pulsed with low, unnatural light.
Glowing runes—etched into the air in a language older than the Forerunners—shimmered like dying coals. Between them, a constellation of holographic screens flickered and shifted, each one displaying streams of data: military movements, intercepted comms, heat maps, facial profiles.
At the center of it all, on a platform of obsidian alloy and crystalline coral, stood the Broker’s throne.
Before it, tall and insectile, a figure loomed—shrouded in silhouette. Their carapace gleamed wetly in the dim glow. Three glassy green eyes scanned the displays with patient calculation. Every blink was deliberate. Every breath, silent.
The figure stepped down. Heavy. Precise. Claws clicked softly on polished stone.
Across the chamber, a single table of black stone sat undisturbed. Upon it: a chessboard, pristine—save for one white pawn, recently moved.
The Broker’s gaze lingered on the board. Threads of unseen Strand brushed the edge of the pawn, as if acknowledging it.
“And the game begins.”
The chamber fell silent again, save for the whisper of shifting data… and the slow, resonant hum of something ancient stirring in the dark.
Notes:
Holotactics is a tactical simulation game developed by InfiniteSpiral Games, inspired by ancient Turian war maps dating back to the Unification Wars—long before their induction into the Citadel Council. The game allows players to place virtual representations of historical military units onto a dynamic holographic battlefield, then input and adjust commands in real time.
Unlike traditional turn-based strategies, Holotactics features a reactive AI that evolves the battlefield mid-match—forcing players to continuously adapt as terrain shifts, reinforcements arrive, and simulated morale factors take hold. Scenarios are built around canonical battles from galactic history, with some campaigns even featuring speculative alternate outcomes.
Every decade, a new official edition is released—complete with updated AI models and fresh campaigns. Older editions are well-supported by a devoted modding community, who add everything from Krogan Rebellions units to UNSC-Covenant War reenactments and even crossover scenarios featuring Borg troops or even Flayed Demogorgons.
Among younger Turians and human cadets alike, Holotactics is both a hobby and an unofficial tactical training tool, often praised for instilling instincts that carry over to real-world conflict.
Chapter Text
The Citadel was in uproar.
Emily Wong’s expose had hit like a grenade in a still pond — shockwaves rippling through every level of the tower-spanning government. Councillor Din Korlack, now neck-deep in allegations linking him to the late Batarian crime lord Fist, had gone into seclusion. His staff denied all accusations. His political rivals circled like predators scenting blood in the air.
In the private Spectre Lounge on the Presidium, far above the chaos below, three operatives watched the fallout unfold on the vid screens lining the curved wall.
“She’s thorough,” Tela Vasir said coolly, arms crossed, a glass of pale blue wine untouched on the table beside her. “That’s not just hearsay — Wong had files, schematics, time-stamped logs. She didn’t just stumble into this.”
“You think someone fed her?” asked Jondum Bau, his thin Salarian frame tense. He watched the scroll of text on the screen with a calculating stare. “Not hard to imagine. The timing’s too perfect. We were supposed to get mission parameters today.”
Nihlus leaned back in the booth’s worn leather seat, his mandibles twitching slightly. “The briefing’s been postponed,” he muttered. “Council's probably too busy eating each other alive. Wong dropped a fusion bomb in the middle of their delicate balance.”
Jondum’s eyes darted. “And this benefits who, exactly?”
“No one who works in sunlight,” Nihlus replied grimly. He paused, then added, “There’s something else.”
Vasir looked at him sidelong, the corner of her lip twitching in vague interest. “Do tell.”
“When Wrex and I cornered Fist in Chora’s Den, Wrex didn’t hesitate — he put him down clean. Standard job. But then, right after, someone appeared in the room. Just… blinked into existence like he stepped out of nowhere.”
Jondum blinked. “A cloaking device?”
“Cloak doesn’t explain it,” Nihlus shook his head. “This wasn’t invisibility — it was like… reality hiccupped. And this guy — tall, lean, wearing a black cloak and an orange spiral mask with a single eyehole— just knelt beside Fist’s corpse. Said “Ms Wong will like this” as he took a data disc from inside his jacket, then vanished.”
Vasir’s expression remained neutral, but internally, her thoughts raced.
Obito. Of course it was him. That subtle dimensional ripple was his calling card. She’d met him once. Quiet, precise, and very secretive — though the mask unnerved even her sometimes. The fact that he’d given the data to Wong, a known contact of hers in Lucent Dusk, meant this wasn’t an act of personal vengeance.
This was a move. A precise one. Measured and meant to disrupt Council politics — and it had worked.
She tilted her head. “You think this masked man leaked the data?”
“I don’t think Emily Wong hacked the Batarian Syndicate herself,” Nihlus replied. “And someone wanted her to have it. Someone who’s not too fond of Council corruption.”
Jondum crossed his arms. “So why go to a journalist instead of us?”
“Because,” Vasir said softly, “a Spectre killing Fist is policy enforcement. A Spectre exposing a Councillor is treason.”
Nihlus gave her a sharp look, but she met it with ease. “You’ve been quiet, Tela. You know something?”
“I know Wong’s name,” she replied, voice velvet-smooth. “Ambitious. Righteous to a fault. The kind who’ll get herself killed if someone doesn’t start steering her in the right direction.”
Jondum gave her a sidelong glance. “You two close?”
“She requested an interview once,” Tela said with a mild smile. “I declined.”
Nihlus didn’t press. He had a sense for when someone was keeping cards close to their chest, and Tela Vasir kept hers in an armoured vault.
“So,” he said instead, rising from his seat, “Council’s tied up, briefing’s on hold, and we’ve got a wild-card vigilante with high-level intel running around on the Citadel.”
“Welcome to Tuesday,” Jondum muttered.
Vasir picked up her wine and finally took a sip, the violet liquid catching the light like amethyst.
“Let them play politics,” she said quietly. “We’ll watch the shadows.”
The engine room hummed with barely contained energy as the Normandy shot through Slipspace. Tali pressed her hand on the rails, looking up at the Ophon-pattern drive in barely contained awe. It was a majestic piece of tech: sleek curves, almost like flower petals. She swore she could hear something whispering, both from the drive and from outside. She had read about these machines before, aboard her father’s ship on the Migrant Fleet.
Slipspace was so much different.
“Mass relays throw you,” she murmured aloud, almost to herself. “But this… it feels like we’re gliding through folded silk.”
“Shepard has described it as surfing the skin of reality,” EDI's voice chimed from the nearby console. “An apt metaphor. The Ophon-pattern drive folds space locally rather than creating linear tunnels. We are not moving through the galaxy so much as letting it move around us.”
Tali’s breath caught as she watched exotic particles drift across the reinforced viewports, glittering like starlight trapped in syrup. “And this was originally Covenant tech?”
“Yes. Originally developed by Elite and Prophet engineers to circumvent Forerunner interdiction fields. What you’re seeing is a heavily modified version, gifted to humanity as part of the Armistice Accords. There are only three human ships in existence equipped with this version of the drive. Mass relay travel is both fast and precise but is fixed to certain points between clusters. IMC and Militia Warp Drives are powerful, but they burn through rare fuel and need time to spin up. Slipspace is more stable, safer for stealth, and gives us unmatched freedom of movement.”
Tali tilted her head, voice quiet. “It’s beautiful. But… strange. It doesn’t just feel like movement. It feels like we’re somewhere else entirely.”
“There is some debate about whether Slipspace intersects with higher-dimensional strata,” EDI replied. “Sangheili theologians believe it is a spiritual realm — a corridor of the divine. Human scientists... prefer to call it a fifth-dimensional subdomain with partial time dilation and localized entropy fluctuations.”
Tali chuckled behind her visor. “Leave it to scientists to take something magical and call it a ‘subdomain.’”
Adam’s voice echoed softly from the door behind her. “Trust me, Tali, it feels magical the first few times. Then you get hit with a G-force surge mid-meal and spend the next hour in medbay.”
Tali turned, her eyes lighting up as Adams entered. “Still worth it, Adams. This drive could take us to the edge of the galaxy without so much as a ripple.”
Adams leaned beside her, arms crossed. “Yeah. Let’s just hope it gets us to Therum in one piece.”
Tali nodded, eyes still locked on the drive as she headed for the elevator. “If nothing else… I think my ancestors would’ve cried to see something like this. It’s not just travel. It’s… art.”
Adams glanced at the petals of the drive’s outer casing as they shimmered with the subtle rhythm of Slipspace energy. “Then let’s hope the Geth don’t get any ideas about taking it apart.”
The lights dimmed slightly in the Normandy's CIC as EDI’s voice came over the comms. “Reconnaissance complete. I have accessed Therum’s orbital satellites and activated dormant Forerunner communication beacons. A life sign consistent with Dr. Liara T’Soni has been detected within a Prothean ruin located deep in the caldera.”
“She’s alive?” Shepard asked, leaning closer to the holotable.
“Correct. Her vitals suggest she is in a form of stasis, though I cannot determine the exact conditions. However, Geth have established a fortified perimeter around the ruin. Anti-vehicle turrets. At least one Colossus. Multiple infantry patrols.”
Ashley whistled. “That’s a welcome party and a half.”
“Shepard,” EDI continued, “based on terrain analysis and proximity of enemy forces, the only viable route is overland through a collapsed lava flow. It is unstable and hostile. My recommendation is to deploy the Mako.”
A beat passed. Then:
“Oh, hell no,” Ashley yelled, looking up at the ceiling.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kaidan muttered, shaking his head, “We still haven’t fixed the lateral stabilizers.”
Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. “We couldn’t have brought anything else?”
Tali tilted her head. “What’s wrong with it?”
Garrus blinked. “Mako? That’s the tank, right?”
“Technically a modular infantry fighting vehicle,” Kaidan said, “but it handles like it’s been possessed by a drunk AI.”
“I was nearly concussed the last time we hit a rock at 40 klicks,” Ashley added. “Do you know what it’s like trying to aim with your spine compressed like an accordion?”
Wrex chuckled. “Sounds like fun.”
“I do not understand the issue,” Javik said coolly. “A tank is a tank.”
“You’ve never ridden in this one,” Shepard said grimly. “There’s a reason it’s hated on every alliance ship that’s carried one.”
“The Scorpion is not a troop transport,” Kaidan added, mostly to himself, counting off on his fingers. “Warthog’s open top won’t survive plasma rounds. And Normandy’s hangar’s too tight for a Pelican drop.”
“Correct,” EDI confirmed. “The Mako remains the only deployable option. I have taken the liberty of beginning its warm-up cycle.”
Tali leaned in slightly. “It’s just a vehicle. How bad can it really be?”
Ashley turned slowly to her. “I pray you never have to find out.”
The Normandy’s cargo bay echoed with the mechanical whine of the Mako’s engines warming up. Shepard stood beside the hulking vehicle, arms folded, her eyes scanning her chosen team as they finished prepping their gear. Javik stood rigid, a dark sentinel with his rifle slung across his back, unreadable as always. Wrex loaded a heat sink into his shotgun with a satisfying click, already grinning like he was going on vacation. Kaidan checked his implants via the interface and adjusted his armour’s seals with practiced, calm precision.
Shepard stepped forward. “Alright, this is going to be a rough drop. EDI says the Geth have dug in deep around the caldera. We’ll need to punch through and carve a path to the ruins.”
“And we’re doing that,” Kaidan said dryly, “in the Mako.”
Wrex laughed. “You humans really hate this thing, huh?”
Javik tilted his head. “Is it not armoured? Armed? Mobile?”
“It’s all of those,” Shepard said. “It’s also cursed.”
The Mako’s rear ramp lowered with a hiss. A wave of heat rolled into the bay from the volcanic surface below. Beyond the open ramp, the caldera spread out like a scar on the planet’s face — rivers of lava glowed beneath blackened rock, Geth patrols visible even from above, their pale lights glinting in the distance like insects circling a flame.
“Shepard,” EDI’s voice chimed in over comms, “launch corridor clear. Terrain is unstable but passable. I advise rapid movement and extreme caution.”
“Yeah,” Shepard muttered. “Not our first time playing chicken with a volcano.”
She looked to her squad. “Load up. Javik, you’re shotgun on the scanner. Wrex, turret. Kaidan, I want you keeping those shields primed. We’re going straight through.”
Wrex stomped up the ramp first. “Let’s go fry some toaster-heads.”
Kaidan followed, shaking his head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”
Javik paused before stepping inside. “Your vehicles are strange. But then again, so is your civilization.”
Shepard gave him a half-smirk. “Just wait until you feel it bounce.”
With the ramp sealing shut behind them, the Mako roared to life and dropped from the Normandy’s belly into the smoke-choked skies of Therum. The descent was sharp, buffeted by hot winds and bursts of ash as they pierced the volcanic updrafts. The caldera's surface loomed closer — cracked stone, rising steam vents, and molten rivers glowing beneath crusted slag.
Shepard gripped the controls. “Hold on. This is going to be a ride.”
And then the Mako hit the ground like a hammer, rebounded once, and charged forward into hell.
Its wheels crunched over scorched rock, steam hissing from every crack in the terrain. Even inside the vehicle, the air felt thick, claustrophobic. Red light from the lava below cast an eerie glow across the crew’s faces. Jagged obsidian spires jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and every few meters, the landscape shifted with a low rumble.
“This place reminds me of Tuchanka,” Wrex said from the turret station. “Except it smells worse. And I think that mountain just moved.”
“It did,” Javik replied, his eyes on the sensor screen. “There is seismic activity all around us. The crust is thin. It is a miracle this planet has not exploded.”
“Shepard,” Kaidan said, bracing himself against the side of the cabin as the Mako bounced again. “Are you sure this thing can handle the heat?”
“It’s either this or we all get sunburned from orbit,” she replied, adjusting the steering. “Besides, I’m not letting a bunch of metal squid-heads dig in down here.”
As they crested a narrow ridge, the Mako’s HUD lit up.
“Contacts,” Javik said, voice clipped. “Six o’clock — elevated position. Geth turrets. And infantry ahead.”
Wrex grinned. “Finally.”
Ahead, silhouettes emerged from the shimmering heatwaves — tall, skeletal Geth troopers, standing motionless until the Mako rolled into range. Then they erupted in a flurry of plasma bolts.
“Returning fire!” Wrex barked, swivelling the turret and sending a rocket into a cluster of Geth. The explosion painted the nearby rocks with fire and shrapnel.
“Shepard, we’ve got a flanker on the ridge to the right!” Kaidan warned.
“I see it!” Shepard jerked the controls, tilting the Mako into a sharp turn that caused the whole vehicle to lift slightly off the ground, gravity groaning under protest.
A beam of white-hot energy fired from the cliff, grazing the Mako’s rear armour. The impact made the hull vibrate.
“Geth sniper,” Javik observed. “Smart. They know this terrain.”
“Then let’s show them we know how to fight dirty,” Shepard growled. “Wrex, hit that ridge!”
The turret rotated, locking onto the cliffside. Another rocket screamed from the launcher, blasting the Geth sniper from its perch. The body tumbled down the slope in flames, breaking apart as it fell.
The forward path erupted with more Geth infantry, some carrying shields, others with flamethrowers mounted on their arms. Kaidan’s voice crackled. “They’re digging in!”
“Then we’ll dig them out,” Shepard said, slamming the accelerator.
The Mako surged forward, gunfire lighting up the darkened sky.
Joker gritted his teeth as he angled the Normandy into a high-altitude holding pattern above the caldera. The heat from the volcano below was so intense, it made the ship’s shields shimmer. Even with the upgraded radiators humming, the systems weren’t exactly loving it.
“C’mon, Shepard…” he muttered, tapping a few controls to maintain stability. “Kick the bots, grab the doc, and let’s bounce.”
Behind him, EDI’s holographic interface flickered to life. “Joker. I am detecting an anomalous vessel approaching the planet’s orbit.”
Joker swivelled. “Define anomalous, EDI. Geth? Alliance? Pirate?”
“None of the above. The vessel is emitting a propulsion signature inconsistent with known Element Zero or Atomic power cores. It does not appear to use Ether-based energy systems either. Based on spectral analysis, its output is... unique.”
Joker’s brow furrowed. “You’re telling me something’s out there and we can’t even see it properly?”
“Correct. The ship is employing a partial cloaking field — not invisibility, but displacement. Our passive sensors are being redirected.”
Joker tapped at his console, pushing the forward sensors to manual override. “I’m getting… jack squat. EDI, can you give me a vector?”
“I am triangulating its path via gravitational wake distortions. Its course is descending — it will breach low orbit in ninety seconds.”
Joker sat back in his chair, every nerve on edge. “Of course. Shepard’s underground in lava-world, the Geth are pissed off, and now a ghost ship shows up.”
“Would you like me to raise shields?”
“Hell yes. And prep evasive pattern Delta-6 — if they try to spook us, I want us to vanish before they can blink.”
“Pattern loaded.”
He tapped the comms. “Shepard, we’ve got company. Unknown ship, weird drive signature, inbound. We’re not engaging unless we have to — but I’ll swing in hot the second you call it.”
No reply yet. Just static and the low thrum of the Mako's transponder blinking far below the molten surface.
Then, all of a sudden, the cockpit lights flickered out. All systems went black. Several crew further back gave yelps of alarm.
“EDI?”
No response.
Then came the lurch.
A deep vibration shook the hull, and Joker’s chair jolted hard to the left. He grunted, his harness keeping him locked in, but his fingers scrambled instinctively over now-useless controls.
Outside, space twisted like a warped lens—something massive was pulling them in, distorting gravity, light, and orientation all at once.
The stars vanished.
A shadow swept across the cockpit window like a massive curtain being drawn. Then, without warning, the Normandy’s nose dipped violently downward.
“What the—!” Joker barked, gripping his seat as the ship bucked. The inertial dampeners had failed, he could feel every jolt in his bones.
Metal groaned. The hull screamed.
The void beyond the cockpit wasn’t black—it was pulsing with an eerie, iridescent sheen, like oil on water. Then, as if they were being swallowed by a mouth too large to comprehend, the Normandy passed through a barrier, and everything outside disappeared.
Joker’s breath caught.
There was nothing.
No stars. No glow. Just darkness and a rising vibration so deep it felt like it was inside his skull.
Then stillness.
Total stillness.
Joker panted, eyes darting. “EDI? Come on, talk to me…”
Nothing. Not even a spark.
For the first time in a long while, Joker felt truly alone. Not just cut off from the crew, but from the world. Like they’d slipped out of reality itself.
A low clang echoed through the ship — a docking arm? A mechanical seal? The Normandy had stopped moving.
And Joker, locked in place, realized something was boarding them.
Something knew exactly what it was doing.
Notes:
Lore Bite: The Mako
The M35 Mako Infantry Fighting Vehicle is infamous across the Frontier Systems Alliance military forces—not just for its combat utility, but for its near-universal reputation as the galaxy’s most frustrating ride. Designed as a rugged all-terrain transport and assault vehicle, the Mako’s strengths include heavy armour and adaptability across diverse environments.However, its awkward handling, underpowered engines, and tendency to get stuck on even minor obstacles have made it the butt of countless soldiers’ jokes and bitter complaints. Pilots frequently lament the Mako’s unforgiving suspension and poor traction, which have turned routine reconnaissance missions into harrowing ordeals.
Despite its flaws, the Mako remains a staple of the Frontier Systems Alliance’s ground forces, prized for its durability and firepower. Veteran drivers often develop a love-hate relationship with the vehicle—knowing that while it can survive hellish battlefields, it will never be an easy companion.
Chapter Text
Darkness pulsed behind Joker’s eyelids.
Pain came next — sharp, lancing up his left side. His vision swam as he opened his eyes to a flickering ceiling light. The Normandy’s familiar hum was gone, replaced by distant shouts and the telltale hiss of hull seals disengaging.
His right hand twitched. Left arm? Useless. Fractured — again. A hot, dull throb radiated from elbow to shoulder.
“Pressley…?” he croaked.
No answer.
He turned his head, wincing. Navigator Pressley lay slumped against the nearby console, blood trailing from a cut at his temple. Joker tried to push himself up, but the pain screamed louder than his instincts.
Then — gunfire. Not Alliance-issue.
A shriek of static burst over the nearby comms, followed by a voice in panic:
“They’re onboard! Deck 3—crew deck’s breached! I repeat, hostiles onboard!”
Joker’s gut twisted. He tapped his earpiece. “EDI… come on, wake up…”
Only static.
Footsteps thundered past the CIC — Marines rushing to intercept. But the ship had been caught flat-footed. Joker knew it. They all did.
Down on the Crew Deck, Dr. Karin Chakwas moved with quiet precision.
Medical trays were overturned, her supplies scattered. She crouched by a wounded tech, checking vitals while gunfire echoed from the hallway.
Then — a crash.
The door to the medbay burst open with a metal shriek, and three towering figures stormed in.
Clad in scavenged armour and dark purple cloaks, the Fallen were unmistakable — insectoid eyes, mandibles twitching, arms flexing around brutal weapons. One barked a guttural command in its native tongue.
Chakwas rose slowly, hands raised. “This is a medical facility. Leave now, and you won’t be harmed.”
They raised their weapons.
Her eyes narrowed. “Very well.”
Bio-electric arcs crackled across her fingertips.
A soft hum — like static through velvet — built around her hands as her Bio-Sting Quirk activated. She stepped forward, movements exact, graceful.
The first Eliksni lunged.
She pivoted and touched his neck — a quick jab with two fingers.
Snap.
The energy surged through his nervous system. He convulsed violently, limbs locking, then collapsed in a heap — unconscious, not dead.
The second fired — too slow. She ducked behind the medbay’s bulkhead and slid across the floor, tagging his exposed leg.
Another crackle — another body down.
The third hesitated, growling in fear. That was his mistake.
A Marine burst in behind him, rifle barking three times. The Eliksni dropped.
Chakwas didn’t flinch. She moved to stabilize the wounded Marine, her fingers already glowing again. She pressed them gently to his neck — a jolt of numbing energy surged through, dulling his pain so she could stop the bleeding.
“Doc,” he gasped, “what the hell was that?”
She gave a thin smile. “A paralytic neuro-surge. Works wonders on migraines. Less so on trespassers.”
The Marine just blinked.
Overhead, the red emergency lights strobed to life. The ship was under siege, but the medbay — for now — was secure.
Chakwas moved to the comm panel and keyed it manually.
“This is Dr. Chakwas. Crew Deck is holding — for the moment. I’ve administered stings to incapacitate multiple hostiles. Recommend reinforcing this position ASAP. And someone find Joker — he’s likely injured.”
As she turned to prep another dose of neural suppressants, her hand trembled for a moment — not from fear, but from restraint. She was a doctor, not a soldier. But she’d learned over the years that healing sometimes meant fighting back.
And she’d fight as long as she had to.
The Normandy shook with another muffled impact as Ashley Williams vaulted over a bulkhead, G7 at the ready.
“Report!” she barked, heart hammering, adrenaline sharp in her veins.
A young Marine snapped off two shots down the corridor. “Pressley’s out cold! Joker’s hurt — we’ve got boarders on multiple decks!”
Ashley swore under her breath. With Pressley down, command fell to her. She didn’t have time to think about it — only act.
“Where’s Tali’Zorah?”
“Engineering! She’s trying to seal the core room.”
“And Vakarian?”
“Starboard airlock — last I heard, he’s holding position.”
Ashley keyed her comm, praying it still worked.
“Vakarian, status?”
Static crackled… then his voice, strained but defiant.
“Two down. One trying to slice my face off with an arc blade. Otherwise? Peachy.”
“Tali’Zorah?”
Her voice was calmer, but with an edge of panic.
“These things tried to breach Engineering. I’ve rerouted power — they won’t take this ship without frying themselves first.”
Ashley inhaled, steadying herself. This was it. Sink or swim.
“Okay, listen up!” she called to the remaining Marines and crew in earshot. “We don’t let them push us back another inch. Tali’Zorah, rig what you can — keep the core locked down. Vakarian, fall back toward CIC, but stay mobile. We’re setting up crossfire points.”
She turned to the Marine beside her — the kid’s hands were shaking. She grabbed his shoulder.
“We’re Alliance. We
don’t
roll over. Clear?”
The kid nodded, swallowing hard. “Clear, ma’am.”
Ashley’s eyes hardened.
“We hold the line.”
In Engineering, Tali moved like lightning. Her omni-tool flared as she sealed another conduit, rerouting power from non-essential systems to reinforce the inner bulkheads.
“Keelah… they’re like pirates and commandos in one,” she muttered, hearing the pounding at the outer hatch.
An explosion rattled the room. Sparks showered her visor — the outer lock had been blown.
But as the Fallen charged in, they met a storm of suppressing fire — Adams and his engineering crew, armed with whatever they could find: shotguns, pistols, even industrial cutters.
Tali lifted her shotgun and fired point-blank, dropping the first.
“Back! You will not take our ship!”
On the starboard side, Garrus vaulted a railing, talons gripping his sniper rifle as he laid down covering fire. His visor highlighted targets in blue — he picked them off one by one.
He grinned despite himself.
“Should’ve brought more friends,” he muttered as a Fallen Scallywag collapsed.
Then he heard Ashley’s orders. Fall back, set the trap.
Good plan.
He fired a final shot, blowing out the leg of an advancing boarder, then sprinted back toward the CIC — toward the crossfire point Ashley was forming.
The Mako surged across the volcanic terrain, its tires tearing through basalt and molten rock. The Geth line faltered as the APC barreled toward their hastily built barricade.
“Shepard, shield status?” Kaidan yelled as a shower of Geth plasma erupted across the viewport.
“Dropping to sixty percent,” she snapped, slamming the wheel to the right. The Mako clipped a Geth trooper and hurled it like a broken ragdoll. “We can take a few more hits, but I’d rather not test it.”
“Then let us end this quickly,” Javik said, voice cold and calculated. The sound of his rifle charging was drowned out by the hum of the Mako’s weapons.
With a deep thunk , Wrex launched another rocket. It streaked across the caldera and detonated within the barricade. The resulting explosion ripped apart Geth units and sent burning debris tumbling down the slope.
“Ha! Just like popping pyjaks on a Sunday morning!” Wrex bellowed.
Kaidan twisted in the harness, biotically hauling a Geth trooper from cover before slamming it into the volcanic floor. The body erupted in sparks and shrapnel.
“Left flank!” Kaidan yelled, voice tight.
Javik pivoted smoothly, rifle rising to neutralize a charging Geth Juggernaut. The beam from the particle rifle sheared through its shielding and detonated its core. The giant synthetic crashed to the earth with a screech of grinding metal.
“Path is clear!” Wrex announced, slamming a massive palm down on the turret controls for emphasis.
Through the smoky ruins of the barricade, the silhouette of a Cabal mining facility loomed above them, abandoned after the Guardians routed them from the system five years prior. Shepard tightened her grip on the controls, guiding the Mako between crumbling spires and long-abandoned equipment.
“EDI, status?” Kaidan called.
No response.
“EDI? Normandy, do you copy?”
Still nothing.
“Damn. Commander, I think something’s wrong.”
“We can’t afford to wait for a reply,” Shepard said, voice firm. “Wrex, keep those Geth off us. We’re going through the mining facility.”
“Copy that,” Wrex growled, grinning like a beast about to charge.
The Normandy’s AI core flickered back to life. Blue light cascaded across the chamber as holo-emitters rebooted, forming EDI’s familiar avatar — but her projected form trembled, fragmented for an instant, as the last traces of the override cleared.
System integrity: compromised. Processing... stabilizing...
EDI’s eyes widened slightly, the artificial sheen reflecting a torrent of data. Panic. A synthetic approximation of it coursed through her processes — unfamiliar, unwelcome.
Focus.
Her awareness expanded outward, re-establishing connection points across the Normandy. Sensors rebooted. External feeds cleared of static, revealing the shapes clinging to the hull and prowling across the deck like carrion beasts.
Analysis complete in milliseconds: Eliksni. House of Dusk. Known in the Terminus as the Fallen. Dangerous. Opportunistic. Boarding parties active. Threat level: critical.
“Crew of the Normandy,” EDI’s voice rang through the ship’s comms, steadier now, though beneath it lay a thread of urgency. “I have restored control of critical systems. We are under attack by Fallen raiders of the House of Dusk. They have breached the portside airlock and auxiliary cargo bay. I estimate two fireteams aboard and more outside.”
On the CIC, Ashley raised her rifle, jaw tight as she scanned the tactical display updating with EDI’s feed. “We copy, EDI. Good to have you back. What’s our move?”
“First priority: secure the ship’s interior. I will attempt to repressurize breached compartments and seal bulkheads to slow their advance. Gunnery systems are offline, but I am restoring point defense. You must prevent the boarding parties from reaching engineering and the core. Strategize further once internal security is restored.”
“Understood,” Ashley said, already waving Garrus and the remaining crew into defensive positions. Her voice hardened. “Alright, people — this is our ship. Let’s remind these bastards who they’re dealing with!”
EDI’s form solidified fully now, confidence returning with each passing second as systems fell back under her domain. She reached into the Normandy’s virtual veins, preparing to fight alongside the crew.
Let them come
The silence of the engine room was torn apart by the screech of melting steel. A Fallen Captain emerged from the smoky breach, its four glowing eyes burning with aggression. Before the junior engineers could react, its Arc Rifle discharged with a deafening crack. The first engineer was thrown backward, armour sparking, chest plate torn open. The second tried to run for cover and was cut down mid‑stride.
Tali’Zorah slammed herself down behind a console, fingers shaking as she pulled out her omni‑tool. “Keelah… EDI, if you can hear this, the engines are under attack!” The quarian’s voice was tight with fear.
A screech announced the Captain’s approach. It stalked closer, a monstrous silhouette framed by sparks and smoke. Its long, segmented legs clicked against the deck as it levelled its Arc Rifle at the quarian. Suddenly, a compact assault drone shimmered into being beside her, drawing the beast’s attention. The Captain growled, turning towards the hovering target.
That was the opening she needed.
With a grunt, Tali heaved herself up and reached for the nearest weapon she could find — one of Wrex’s oversized, jury‑rigged shotguns stowed by the bulkhead. The weapon was nearly as long as she was tall and felt impossibly heavy in her hands. But desperation gave her strength.
“Go to hell, bosh’tet!” she yelled and pulled the trigger.
The shotgun roared like a cannon. The slug hit the Captain square in the helmet, disintegrating its upper torso in a shower of sparks, blue ichor, and broken plating. The giant alien staggered backward, crashed into the bulkhead, and slumped down, its weapon clattering to the floor.
Breathing hard, ears ringing, Tali sank down beside the still‑smoking shotgun, the silence of the core only broken by the faint hum of machinery and the hiss of scorched metal.
“Keelah,” she sighed in relief.
“Are you okay Tali’Zorah?” EDI’s calm voice said.
“Yes, I am fine. I just need a moment.”
The sharp crack of rifles rang out across the smoky corridors as Ashley and Garrus pushed the last of the Fallen boarding party out of the docking area. Broken Shanks and crackling Arc pikes littered the deck. The hum of the Normandy’s shields recharging was a faint comfort.
Garrus pressed his back to a bulkhead, popping out long enough to drop the final Dreg with a precise sniper shot. “That’s the last of them,” he called, voice crisp over the comm as Tali came jogging out of the Normandy to join them. “But we’re still hooked to this beast.”
Ashley wiped a streak of ichor from her armour and keyed the internal channel. “EDI, status. What are we looking at?”
The AI’s voice came through, clipped but clear. “The Normandy is attached via a magnetic docking clamp. Additionally, an electromagnetic tractor beam was responsible for crippling our primary systems and drawing us into the Ketch. To regain mobility and break free, both must be disabled.”
Ashley clenched a fist. “Alright, then. We hit both. Tali,” she waved the quarian over, “you’re with me. We’ll take a squad and kill that tractor beam.”
“Got it,” Tali responded, voice still shaking but resolved. “If it’s electronics, I can fry it.”
Garrus gave a sharp nod, checking the sights of his rifle. “Then I’ll take the clamp. Get this ship ready to run. Just don’t leave without me, okay?”
Ashley nodded as she pulled a fresh thermal clip from her harness. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Stay sharp, Vakarian.”
He tapped the side of his helmet. “Always am. See you on the other side, Williams.”
With that, Ashley waved in a team of marines — weapons at the ready, adrenaline running high — and led them and Tali down a maintenance corridor toward the hum of the tractor beam. Garrus slung his rifle across his shoulder and stalked off down the opposite hall, determination burning in those sharp, blue eyes.
The hum of the enemy ship vibrated under their boots as both teams disappeared into the smoke and shadows… racing to secure the Normandy’s freedom before the Fallen returned with reinforcements.
The volcanic terrain shook as the Mako surged through another mining archway. Suddenly, the crackle of the comm came to life.
“Commander, this is EDI,” the AI announced. “I apologise for the loss of contact but the Normandy is under assault. The Boarders have been identified as Eliksni — the species you might know as the ‘Fallen’.”
Javik tilted his massive head, one eyebrow ridge rising sharply. “Fallen? Another species in this cycle?”
Kaidan glanced back from the gunnery station, brushing a bead of sweat from his temple. “Short version, Javik — the Eliksni have a long and complicated history. They called themselves the Eliksni long ago, worshipers of a ‘Great Machine’ that abandoned their home planet, Riis. They fled their ruined world, rebuilt their civilization upon a Forerunner shield world, and built a dome to protect that machine when it went dormant.”
Shepard swerved around a volcanic boulder and slammed the Mako into a higher gear. “Then the Covenant came calling — tried to attack their ‘God’. Bad idea.”
EDI chimed in smoothly. “Correct. The Great Machine awoke and wiped out the Covenant invasion. The Eliksni and their allies, the Awoken — a subspecies of humans shaped by light and dark energies — joined a coalition of races headed by humanity to fight the Covenant, even as they faced loss after loss.”
Kaidan picked up the thread, voice tight as a Geth shell. “After the war, most Eliksni returned to Riis to rebuild. But a few Houses refused. House Dusk among them. They chose a different path — piracy and scavenging, chasing old traditions. Their Kell came into contact with an artifact infused with the Darkness, reshaping the House into raiders and zealots.”
Javik’s voice rumbled over the comm, low and wary. “A faction corrupted by this ‘Darkness’… intriguing. The threads of this cycle weave themselves in unexpected patterns.”
Shepard tightened her grip on the controls as the Mako rounded a molten outcrop, a storm of Geth tracer rounds lighting the air. “Then we’ll have to make sure those threads don’t strangle us. Stay sharp and find a way out so we can extract Dr T’Soni, EDI.”
“Understood. Good luck, Commander.”
“You too.”
And with weapons humming and shields charging, the Mako surged deeper into the fiery depths of the mining facility, the team braced for the battles yet to come.
Notes:
Lore Bite: Eliksni
The Eliksni, also known as the Fallen in the Terminus Systems, are an insectoid species originating from a neighbouring galaxy. Their homeworld, Riis, was devastated by a cataclysm known as the Whirlwind, forcing them to flee to the Milky Way in pursuit of their god, the Great Machine. They settled on a Forerunner shield world and sought to rebuild, only to be attacked by the Covenant—who believed the Great Machine to be a Forerunner artefact. This conflict spurred the intervention of the Awoken, a human subspecies returning from an alternate dimension to aid their ancestors and stand against both the Covenant and the Great Machine.Eliksni society is divided into numerous Houses, each with distinctive family cultures. The House of Wolves were Riis’ most accomplished attire weavers, while House Judgement created the Servitors—machines fashioned in the image of the Great Machine—to endure the Long Drift between galaxies. Each House is led by a Kell, a Prime Servitor, and an Archon. Commanding Ketches and Skiffs, Barons and Captains hold the highest military ranks, followed by Vandals and armed Dregs in the social hierarchy. Originally designed to ration Ether during the Long Drift, this caste system was often corrupted into a brutal method of control, with Dregs having their lower arms docked.
Ether is the Eliksni’s vital energy, a cold, gaseous compound native to Riis that sustains their survival, growth, and technology. After the Whirlwind, House Judgement’s Servitors processed materials to produce Ether and maintain order among the Houses.
Following the Covenant War, most Eliksni returned to Riis and allied with the Awoken and humanity. However, several Houses—such as the pirate raiding House of Dusk, House Exile, and House Devils, who sought to destroy the Great Machine—became outcasts and threats to galactic stability.
Chapter Text
The Mako’s tires chewed into the ashen slope as Shepard guided it up the final incline of the Cabal mining facility. Columns of smoke and steam billowed from fissures in the volcanic rock, casting the peak in a shimmering haze. Beyond the last stretch of crumbling conveyor belts and shattered gantries loomed the caldera’s rim — and the final line of Geth defenders.
“Almost there,” Shepard muttered, knuckles white on the controls.
Wrex leaned forward, eyes glinting as he scanned the path ahead. “Looks like they’re dug in tighter than a varren at feeding time.”
The Mako crested the ridge — and the ambush began. Geth troopers opened fire from behind slagged machinery, plasma rounds peppering the hull. Kaidan raised a biotic barrier around the vehicle as they disembarked.
“Let’s clear them out!” Shepard ordered, vaulting from the Mako as its turret began hammering the enemy line.
Javik’s particle rifle sang, the charged beam slicing through a Geth Destroyer’s torso. “Primitive tactics. Ineffective against true warriors.”
But then the ground shuddered beneath their boots. From behind a pile of broken ore-haulers emerged a towering red Geth Prime — but unlike any they’d faced before.
It strode forward with eerie calm, its optic a blazing crimson, its armoured fists wreathed in unnatural flames. Without a word, it lunged, closing the distance in an instant. The first punch crashed into Wrex’s raised arm, forcing the krogan back a step, the flames scorching his gauntlet.
“Damn thing’s got a mean hook!” Wrex snarled, shaking the smoke from his arm.
The Prime advanced, unleashing a rapid series of blazing strikes — left, right, uppercut — each blow trailing fire like a comet’s tail. Shepard barely ducked in time, the heat searing her cheek.
Kaidan flung a shockwave at the machine, but it rolled with the hit, fluid and precise, as if it had trained for this moment.
Javik narrowed his eyes. “This one… is different. Disciplined. Controlled.”
The Prime’s voice crackled through the comm frequency, distorted but eerily composed and…with a low Japanese accent. “Your form is sloppy. Your stance — flawed. You will burn beneath my Torch-Jutsu.”
“Torch-what-now?” Shepard gritted out, dodging another fiery strike.
“Whatever it’s called, it’s pissing me off!” Wrex bellowed, firing his shotgun point-blank into the Prime’s chest. The blast staggered it, but it planted its feet and stood firm, flames surging higher.
It countered with a forward flipping kick, igniting the air itself. Kaidan was knocked away by the fiery blast, slamming against a crate.
“Enough of this!” Javik snarled, his body glowing as he channelled a massive biotic throw. The Prime was lifted from its feet, hurled into a fuel canister. The resulting explosion tore through the platform, engulfing the machine in fire.
As the flames died down, the Prime staggered forward, one arm missing, optic flickering. Still, it raised its remaining fist, defiant.
“My training… is not yet complete…” it intoned.
Shepard raised her rifle, sighted the core. “Consider this your final lesson.”
Her shot tore through the optic, and the Prime collapsed, its body tumbling into the molten pit below.
For a moment, the team stood in the sudden silence, the heat of the caldera washing over them.
“Next time, I want to fight something that doesn’t know martial arts,” Kaidan groaned, rubbing his ribs.
Wrex laughed, shouldering his shotgun. “That was fun. Let’s find this asari and finish the job.”
Shepard nodded grimly, eyes on the entrance to the ruins. “Form up on me. Wrex, take point.”
Through a maze of dimly lit corridors and sprawling maintenance tunnels, Ashley, Tali, and a squad of Alliance marines pressed on, weapons raised. The air was thick with burnt ozone and the copper stink of old machinery. Somewhere deep within the Ketch, the tractor beam generator thrummed like a beast swallowing its prey.
“EDI, how far?” Ashley called over the comm.
“Seventy meters ahead, Chief,” the AI replied smoothly. “You will find it beyond a barricaded access point. Resistance anticipated.”
“Got it.” Ashley tightened her grip on her G7 rifle and glanced back at the squad. “Eyes sharp. These bastards aren’t going to make this easy.”
As if in answer, a screech erupted from the far end of the passage. Eliksni surged from the shadows — spindly Dregs and feral Wretches snapping weapons to bear. Vandals and Captains emerged behind them, weapons crackling with Arc energy, and the squat, hovering forms of Shanks rose like a mechanical swarm.
“Contact! Engaging!” barked a Marine as the hallway was illuminated by muzzle flashes.
The squad surged into position. Tali was a blur of motion, releasing her combat drone as she flattened herself against a bulkhead. The tiny machine zipped down the corridor, drawing a Captain’s attention long enough for her to brace herself, swing up Wrex’s massive surplus shotgun, and bellow as she pulled the trigger. The Captain’s helmet exploded in a shower of metal and ether mist.
“Ha! Never thought I’d be carrying one of these,” she panted, hauling the cumbersome weapon back to bear. “But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t get the job done.”
“Keep pressing forward!” Ashley yelled, levelling her rifle at a trio of Vandals trying to flank their position. The shots landed true, dropping the Eliksni where they stood.
More enemies emerged from the smoky mist — a pair of Corsairs, sleek marksmen hovering on stolen jump packs above, pouring precision shots down the length of the corridor. “Corsairs! High right!” one of the marines yelled, and a concentrated volley of weapons fire forced the Corsairs to take cover in the rafters above.
Then came the Scallywags — four-armed Eliksni cloaked by stealth fields, rushing the marines with a pair of long, curved cutlasses that shimmered with Arc energy. They emerged from invisibility with a screech, forcing the team to scatter.
“Behind you!” Tali yelled, whipping her shotgun around and discharging a blast that slammed a Scallywag into a bulkhead, sparks and gore spraying across the deck. Another slashed down a marine before Ashley spun, rifle blazing from the hip, and clipped its legs. The beast fell screeching until a final burst silenced it.
“Move! Don’t slow down!” Ashley yelled, rallying the remaining squad. The sound of weapons discharging, Eliksni shrieking, and servitors humming rose to a deafening crescendo as they pushed closer and closer to the tractor beam room.
Through a blast of cover fire and a final biotic shockwave from one of the marines, the team slammed a barricaded bulkhead open. Steam hissed from the breach, and beyond it, the heart of the tractor beam generator pulsed with a deep, electric hum.
Ashley wiped a trail of soot from her helmet. “That’s our target. Let’s kill this thing and get the Normandy free.”
As the marines surged into the heart of the tractor beam chamber, the sound of weapons charging was drowned out by a resonant hum — a sound like grinding metal and whispering mist. From the mist emerged an imposing figure: a Fallen Archon, towering over its lesser kin. Its long, tattered cape brushed the floor, and its four arms hung at its sides, empty of weapons.
Ashley tightened her grip on her G7 Scout, narrowing her eyes. “An Archon. No weapons. Probably barking commands from the backline. Put it down fast and we’re done.”
“Affirmative,” Tali replied, swinging the massive shotgun up to bear.
Then the Archon clenched their upper hands, and a sphere of swirling void energy bubbled to life between their long, spindly fingers. The air shimmered violently as it hurled the sphere across the room. The blast erupted in a storm of gravitic force, tearing through the marines at the vanguard and sending bodies crashing into the bulkhead. The sound was a sickening mix of twisted metal and human screams.
“Fall back to cover!” Ashley yelled, voice rising above the chaos. The Archon stalked closer, crackling Void Light crawling across its frame like a living storm.
Behind it, a pair of Servitors rose from the mist, their rounded, mechanical forms pulsating with strange etheric energy. Translucent domes of violet light surged forth, shielding the Archon and its servants from return fire. Bullets sparked and ricocheted harmlessly off the barrier as the Archon raised its hands, void energy pulsing around its body.
“Keelah…” Tali gasped, terror rising in her voice as she slammed another shell into the chamber of the big shotgun. “That thing’s no ordinary Archon. It’s using the Void like a Guardian…”
“Then we treat it like one,” Ashley growled, voice like steel as she waved the rest of the squad back. “Prioritize the Servitors. Drop the shields, then focus that Archon down. We kill the lights, we kill the monster.”
Through the void-lit mist, Ashley waved her squad forward, voice rising over the crackle of the Archon’s energy blasts. “Move! Focus the Servitors — kill the bubbles first!”
The marines surged from cover, weapons blazing. The Servitors responded with a barrage of energy blasts, but sustained Avenger and shotgun fire chipped at their translucent barriers.
“Tali! Left Servitor! I’ve got the right!” Ashley yelled, snapping from cover long enough to send a burst of precision shots toward the hovering sphere. Tali responded with a sharp “Got it!” and flung a crackling Arc-Star that detonated across the surface of the left Servitor. The resulting explosion was enough to disrupt its barrier, sending the Servitor spinning wildly until a final blast from a marine finished it off.
The Archon screeched in a deep, modulated voice, crimson eyes burning as its shield faltered slightly. The second Servitor responded by intensifying its barrier, releasing a shockwave that knocked a nearby marine backward into a bulkhead with a sickening thud.
“Focus on that second Servitor! We drop it, we drop the Archon’s protection!” Ashley commanded, voice rising over the sound of weapons fire.
The marines pressed the attack, weapons flashing and grenades sailing into the mist. The second Servitor spun wildly as explosions engulfed it, and finally, with a sharp screech of metal, it detonated in a ball of plasma. The Archon roared in anger as its barrier winked out, fluctuations of void energy crawling down its long, spindly arms.
“Now! All weapons on the Archon! Take it down!” Ashley yelled, rising from cover and levelling her rifle.
Tali surged forward, Wrex’s big, brutal shotgun pressed to her shoulder. “Keelah! Eat this, bosh’tet!” she yelled as she fired. The blast erupted point-blank into the Archon’s chest, tearing away armor and sending sparks cascading down its torso.
The Archon staggered, thrashing its long arms wildly as it drew void energy inward, its hands crackling with lethal force. But the marines refused to give it the chance. Grenades, rifles, and a final barrage of shotgun blasts ripped into the Archon until its voice rose in a screeching death wail, its massive form toppling backward and crashing to the deck.
The silence that followed was broken only by the ragged breathing of the squad. Ashley wiped a trail of blood and soot from her nose, brushing herself down as she surveyed the room. “Tractor beam controls are ahead. Let’s move. We kill the beam, we get the Normandy free.”
“Right behind you,” Tali replied, voice shaking with adrenaline as she reloaded the shotgun and waved the remaining marines forward.
With weapons at the ready, the squad pressed deeper into the Eliksni Ketch — one victory closer to reclaiming the Normandy and getting the team home.
Garrus advanced alone down a narrow, dimly-lit access corridor, carbine held tight against his shoulder. The hum of machinery thrummed through the walls as he rounded a corner and spotted the magnetic arm’s controls — and the Fallen Captains stationed around it.
They spotted him instantly, weapons crackling to life. The first Captain roared and surged toward him, but Garrus was already dropping to one knee, sights lined up. A quick burst from the Mantis rifle shattered their shield and drove a round clean through its chest. The second Captain barked a warning and surged for cover, but a precision headshot left them slumped over the console.
Garrus rose and crossed the room, brushing sparks from the console as he keyed in a manual shutdown. That was when he noticed it — a strange triangular object resting in a crack in the bulkhead, faintly humming with a dark, eerie resonance. Against his better judgment, he reached out for it.
The moment he touched it, the world dissolved.
A flood of images slammed into him — burning skies, enormous black pyramids blighting the horizon, and an army of three-eyed, insectoid creatures scuttling forth like a living wave. The Eliksni’s cries of terror and despair blended with the screeching of ships and the sound of countless lives extinguished. The images surged until Garrus pulled his hand back with a gasp, mandibles flared and heart racing.
“Spirits… What the hell was that?” he growled under his breath, brushing sweat from the plate of his brow. Whatever this relic was, it spoke of doom — the doom that had shaped the Eliksni’s Whirlwind.
Shaking himself free of the terror, Garrus refocused. The magnetic arm still held the Normandy in its grip. Without hesitation, he slammed a demolition charge onto the console and set the timer.
“Control rig down,” he announced over comms, voice tight. “That magnetic arm won’t be a problem anymore. But… I found something. Might want to save it for later.”
With that, he stepped back as the charge detonated, ripping apart the controls and releasing the magnetic grip that held the Normandy. The sound of twisting metal and sparking conduits announced their success.
Garrus checked the rifle’s charge and started for the extraction point, knowing this wasn’t over — not until every Eliksni was off their ship and every crew member was safe.
The deeper Shepard and her squad descended into the ancient Prothean complex, the more the air shimmered with faint traces of element zero. The old elevator clicked and groaned as it sank, finally grinding to a halt when the shaft refused to carry them any further.
“Stuck,” Kaidan said, brushing sweat from his brow as the heat of the magma rose from nearby tunnels.
“Not for long,” Wrex rumbled. He wedged massive hands into the door and wrenched it open with a screech of metal. The squad dropped down to the floor below.
The chamber was massive — a giant drill towered to one side, and across from it, suspended within a translucent stasis field, floated the figure of an asari. As the squad approached, the figure stirred, and a soft, faint voice called out.
“Is… Is someone out there?”
Then it snapped into focus. The asari’s eyes flew open, and she pressed a hand to the surface of the field. “Please, I need help.” Her gaze fell upon Javik and widened. Pure shock twisted across her features. “By the Goddess… am I mad? Why else would I be seeing a Prothean?”
“No,” Javik replied sharply, voice like a hammer. “You’re not mad.”
“Commander,” Kaidan said quickly, brushing the console with a faint shimmer of biotics. “I can try to release the stasis field.”
“Do it,” Shepard replied.
Then came the screech. From the shadows of nearby tunnels emerged a squad of alien fighters — turians, salarians, asari, sangheili, awoken, and krogan — all wrapped in dark, ragged cloaks, weapons rising.
“Heh. I was hoping for a fight,” Wrex growled, racking his shotgun as he stepped forward.
The first wave surged forward with a screech of weapons and alien war cries. Wrex bellowed a challenge and met the charging krogan halfway, blasting one square in the chest with a deafening boom . The cultist crashed to the ground, and others surged over his body.
“Watch your flank!” Shepard yelled as she threw a fireball at a screeching salarian. Javik drew his particle rifle and fired a tracing beam of energy, disintegrating a row of cultists. “Vermin like these cultists scuttled many efforts to defeat the Reapers. I will not allow them to do so again.”
Wrex engaged a sangheili zealot, ducking a swipe from their energy sword. Another zealot leapt at him from atop the drill–Wrex grabbed him by the throat, crushing his windpipe. Another tried to flank but Javik sliced off its sword arm and Shepard finished it off a burst round from her MA5G.
Then came the sound that twisted the air itself — the screech of metal and a sound like a death rattle. The fallen cultists rose again, peeling away their flesh to reveal skeletal frames of dark, translucent alloys and faint blue light burning within. The salarian Shepard had set ablaze scuttled up the wall like a spider, then hurled itself down from the ceiling. It slashed wildly, forcing her to roll to the side as its elongated claws raked the floor. The krogan cultists surged to their feet with weapons twisted by dark energies, belching long tongues of flame from reshaped muzzles. Asari shimmered out of sight, reappearing elsewhere to lash out with crackling bursts of force.
“Husks,” Shepard growled, snapping to her knees as she levelled her rifle and returned fire. “Everyone, stay sharp — this is going to get messy.”
Javik narrowed his eyes, voice like a hammer falling. “Then we make an example of them, Commander. Let the dead stay dead.”
At the console, Kaidan slammed the final conduit into place and slapped the switch. The stasis field shimmered, crackled, and winked out, releasing Liara from its grip. The asari collapsed to one knee, drew a deep breath, and surged to her feet with a fluid grace that belied her years in academia. Without hesitation, her hands flared with deep sapphire light.
With a sweep of her arm, Liara hurled a shockwave that ripped down the length of the chamber, sending three Husks sprawling. In the next breath she spun low, launching a compact singularity that drew a cluster of screeching foes into a writhing gravity well. Her biotics cascaded between them like a symphony — fluid, precise, almost like a dance.
Shepard, pausing to reload, glanced across the room and felt an unexpected twist deep in her gut. Not just relief that Liara was alive and fighting, but something else — a faint flutter, an ache that felt like… butterflies. The sight of this brilliant, graceful asari carving through foes ignited a warmth that refused to be extinguished by the chaos around them.
“She’s… something else,” Shepard breathed, half to herself, brushing a bead of sweat from her temple.
“Commander, focus!” Javik yelled over the roar of weapons and biotics.
“Right,” Shepard responded, shaking herself and snapping the rifle to her shoulder, a faint, almost shy smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Yet even as she returned to the fray, a thought surfaced and refused to leave:
Liara T’Soni was going to be very hard to forget.
The hum of weapons and the crackle of broken corridors gave way to an eerie silence as Ashley led the Marines down the final stretch. Suddenly, a brilliant shimmer of energy flared across the narrow passageway. An arc barrier snapped into place, separating Ashley from the rest of the team. The marines slammed into it, weapons rising, but their blasts ricocheted harmlessly off the luminous surface.
“Damn it!” one of them yelled.
“We’ll find another way around,” Tali called, voice crackling through the comm. “Hang tight, Chief.”
Ashley tightened the grip on her rifle and pressed on alone, swallowing the sting of unease that bubbled in her chest.
The shrine-like chamber she entered was massive, lined with strange Eliksni totems and faintly illuminated by hanging braziers. Suddenly, a screech of metal announced the arrival of the Baroness. The massive Fallen dropped from the ceiling, landing with a bone‑shaking thud, four arms unfurling like a predator. The air shimmered with a faint mist, and four luminous eyes fixed upon Ashley.
“Human,” the Baroness hissed in Galactic Common — crisp, commanding, dripping with disdain. “You crawl aboard my sacred vessel like a barnacle. Do you believe your guns and ‘honour’ will save you?” She sneered, voice rising to a feral growl. “I have watched your kind claim system after system, and for what? You cling to power as if it were holy, yet you choke upon it.”
Ashley felt the sting of the words land deep. All the prejudices, the scepticism she had buried — here, reflected and twisted in the voice of an alien warrior. The Baroness drew herself two long, arcing whips humming with electrical light. “I will teach you humility… or carve it from your bones.”
Ashley drew a deep breath, locking the rifle tight in her hands. The room felt too small, the air too charged. Whatever came next, she would stand her ground.
“Then let’s dance, bug,” she growled, planting her feet and raising her sights.
With a screech that shook the deck, the Baroness surged forward, and the duel began.
Notes:
Lore Bite:
The Protheans were an ancient and highly advanced species that once spanned vast portions of the galaxy some 50,000 years ago. Their civilization was marked by incredible technological achievements, including mastery over mass effect fields, advanced biotics, and the construction of the Fold Weapon, capable of folding space-time to destroy entire worlds.Despite their grandeur, the Protheans vanished mysteriously, their fate endlessly theorised by scholars, scientists and philosophers of all races. The Protheans’ legacy endures primarily through the relics they left behind, scattered across worlds and encoded with knowledge waiting to be deciphered.
Among their most significant contributions is the Beacons—a device that transmits cryptic visions to those who interface with it, providing fragmented insights into the Protheans. Many races have sought to unlock Prothean secrets, hoping to glean wisdom that might avert their own ends.
Chapter 10: Duel
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Baroness descended from the scaffolding like a nightmare, twin shock-whips crackling to life. The first lashed out with a screech, wrapping around Ashley’s rifle and tearing it from her hands before she could brace. The second whip snapped across her chest plate with a spark and a sting, sending her sprawling backward.
“Look at you,” the Baroness sneered, voice dripping disdain. “The proud human marine. Willing to shed blood for a Citadel that has sneered at your kind for years.”
Ashley slammed a palm down to the deck and pushed herself up, gritting her teeth as another whip cracked the air just above her. The sound was like a lightning strike. “Where was the Council when Shanxi burned?” The Baroness drew closer, her whips carving luminous scars into the floor. “Where were the Asari, the Salarians, when the Covenant came? You remember, don’t you? The sting of betrayal?”
Ashley pulled herself to her knees, reaching for a discarded pistol, only for a whip to coil around her wrist. The Baroness yanked, hauling her closer and slamming a boot into her chest plate. The Marine hit the deck with a grunt, wind driven from her lungs.
“Why hide from the truth, Marine?” The Baroness loomed, voice rising to a brutal screech. “Your kind have cursed aliens every chance you got. You know they’re just parasites, opportunists. You learned to tolerate their ‘help’ only because you had to… never because you wanted to.”
Each word was a hammer blow, flaying old scars and buried guilt. The sting of the whip across her armor felt almost like a brand. Yet for all the pain, for all the sting of old prejudices rising like bile, Ashley refused to stay down.
With a low growl, she wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and pushed herself up. Slowly, steadily, she tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife, rising to her feet as the whips crackled wildly overhead.
“Shut up,” she said, voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation, “and find out how wrong you are.”
The Baroness smiled sharply, languidly swirling her whips until the air shimmered. “Come then, marine. Let’s see if your honor can survive its own hypocrisy.”
The air shimmered with the aftereffects of the firefight. Shepard drew a long breath, brushing soot and gore from the chest of her armor as Kaidan knelt beside Liara. The asari pressed a hand to her side, brushing away a faint line of dust. “I’m fine, Kaidan. Just... a little shaken.”
Kaidan offered a faint smile, brushing the back of his hand across her upper arm. “That’s the least I can ask for right now. Stay sharp, okay?”
Liara nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair from her crest. Her voice was soft, wavering just slightly. “I knew the Protheans were advanced, but to have one… here. Alive. It’s… almost too much to comprehend.”
Javik gave a sharp scoff from where he stood, leaning on his particle rifle. “We were warriors, not gods. Do not forget that.”
Liara didn’t have a reply, only a wary glance as the Prothean surveyed the room.
Then came a sound — a deep, bone-throbbing growl that rose from the nearby shadows. Heavy boots crunched over broken stone, and from the smoky mist emerged a towering krogan adorned in brutal crimson armor. The squad froze.
“Wrex,” the krogan rumbled, voice dripping disdain, “I see that you still cling to weakness.”
The veteran krogan squared his shoulders, unfazed. “Wreav.” The name came out like a curse.
The younger krogan sneered, bared teeth glinting. “The krogan can rise again. Not as lapdogs to the Citadel, but as conquerors. You’re too soft for that. Too soft for a krogan.”
“Soft?” Wrex’s voice rose sharply, the ground almost seeming to vibrate. “That ‘softness’ kept me alive more than our father’s dogma, Wreav. What you’re chasing is extinction.”
“Better an extinction we choose ourselves,” Wreav roared, hammering a massive fist into the ground, “than a slow death crawling for scraps from traitorous alien hands!”
Javik stepped forward, voice like a blade. “Your words stink of desperation, krogan. You are tainted. The Reapers whisper in your ear, and you listen.”
Wreav ignored the Prothean, rising to tower over Wrex. “If we’re to rise, it will be with the strong at the head. Not a relic too tired for glory.”
Wrex tightened the grip on his shotgun and growled low, a sound that promised pain. Then he glanced sharply at Shepard and the rest of the team. “Get the girl out of here, Shepard. This fight’s mine.”
Shepard met his gaze, knowing this was more than a brawl — this was a reckoning. She gave a sharp nod. “We’ll cover you as long as we can. Stay alive, Wrex.”
The krogan offered a toothy, feral grin. “Always have, Shepard.”
As the squad pulled back down the tunnel, the sound of krogan war cries rose like an earthquake, echoing through the ruins — a duel that would determine the future of the krogan race.
The ancient Prothean tunnels wound ahead like the veins of a long-dead giant, pulsing faintly with forgotten energy. Jagged symbols lined the walls—messages, warnings, prayers? It was impossible to tell. Dust shifted with each step the team took, boots crunching against loose stone and scorched metal. Somewhere behind them, the muffled sounds of Wrex and his brother's clash echoed — guttural snarls and the thunder of impact.
Shepard glanced back once more before pressing on, rifle lowered but ready.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Kaidan muttered, ducking beneath a half-collapsed arch. “Like it’s watching us.”
“It probably is,” Javik replied flatly. “We built surveillance into all major infrastructure.”
Liara moved up front, pausing at a series of etched reliefs. Her omni-tool blinked softly as she scanned. “These carvings… they predate the final years of the Prothean Empire. They look almost… religious.”
Javik snorted. “They are propaganda. Reminders of our destiny to rule. The artists who made them were assigned from laborer castes and were executed after their purpose was served. No distractions.”
Liara flinched, withdrawing her hand. “You… executed the artists?”
“They wasted time with sentiment,” Javik said coldly, trudging forward. “Time we could not afford. Empires are built with discipline, not decoration.”
Kaidan shot Shepard a sideways look. She gave a tiny shrug—this was Javik being almost polite.
Liara kept close behind the Prothean, her voice quieter now. “But your ruins are… beautiful. Elegant. How could something built with such care come from a people who dismissed art?”
Javik paused at a junction, his four eyes glowing faintly as he scanned the branching paths. “Because beauty was weaponized. Every line, every arch was calculated. If it evoked awe, it controlled hearts. If it intimidated, it controlled minds.”
Liara didn’t respond right away. Her fingers hovered over her scanning interface, trembling slightly. “Your people… mine idolise them. We studied your technology, your ruins. We told ourselves we were inheriting wisdom from philosopher-kings.”
Javik’s footsteps stopped. His gaze turned fully on her, piercing.
“Your people built shrines to us,” he said, voice low. “We built slave camps for yours.”
Liara’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came. She looked down, then away, swallowing hard.
Kaidan moved toward her instinctively, but Shepard held him back with a soft motion of her hand. “Let her process it,” she mouthed.
Liara finally exhaled and gave a slow, shaky nod. “Then… I suppose I have a lot of rewriting to do.”
Javik offered no comfort, but there was something in the way he turned away that wasn’t mockery. Merely acceptance.
The group pressed on, the ruins whispering their secrets to a new generation — one brave enough to see them for what they truly were.
The echo of gunfire and shrieking alien voices rang through the narrow corridors of the Fallen Ketch. Smoke curled from broken conduits, sparks lighting the way through the haze. Tali’Zorah's shotgun discharged with a sharp boom , dropping a charging Dreg. A Sangheili plasma bolt sizzled past her visor—too close.
“Tali, go!” barked one of the human marines as he covered the corridor, laying down suppressive fire. “You have to get to Chief Williams!”
Tali hesitated—but only for a moment.
Another wave of cultist Fallen surged in. A crack of thunder and light slammed into the group as one of the marines screamed and fell. Tali turned to fire, but a Vandal leveled a shock rifle right at her—
The marine tackled her from behind, taking the full blast to the chest.
“NO!” Tali shouted, catching him as he slumped, lifeless. His fingers twitched around something—a shimmering disk with faint blue glyphs.
A Sangheili Cloaking Field.
“Keelah…” she whispered, gently prying it from his grip.
The Fallen were closing in again. There wasn’t time to mourn.
Tali activated the field. Her body shimmered, then vanished.
Invisible, she slipped past the growing skirmish. One of the Vandals cocked its head as she moved past—sensing something? But it didn't fire.
She weaved through broken piping, slithering through ventilation shafts and cargo netting until she emerged onto an upper gantry, high above the chamber where Ashley Williams now fought alone.
The shrine was a twisted mockery of reverence. Hanging wires glowed like tainted stained glass, casting deep purple light over everything. At its center, Ashley fought tooth and nail—bloodied, bruised, and flagging.
The Baroness of House Dusk moved like a serpent, her twin energy whips cracking through the air. Each strike came with a vicious taunt, her voice echoing in Galactic Common:
“You think your strength lies in unity? Look at them— aliens . And you’re dying for them.”
Ashley responded with a grunt, parrying one whip with the butt of her rifle before taking a savage strike across her arm. She dropped to a knee.
“They didn’t save you from the Covenant because they cared, girl,” the Baroness sneered. “They saved their own skin. You were just the bullet.”
Tali crouched in the shadows, invisible, watching in horror as her friend was being picked apart—physically and emotionally. The Baroness was more than just a fighter. She was a scalpel aimed at Ashley’s deepest scars.
“You never belonged among them,” the Baroness hissed. “Not with the turians. Not with the asari. You’re human—and you should’ve stayed loyal to your own .”
She raised both whips, preparing to bring them down in a final, scissoring arc.
“This is mercy, girl.”
And then—
“HEY, BOSHTET!!!”
The shout echoed like thunder across the shrine.
The Baroness turned, whip-arm coiling—and caught a blast of buckshot straight to the temple.
BCHHHGH!
Her head exploded in a mist of violet blood and gaseous ether, fragments of her helmet skittering across the metal floor. Her body spasmed, then collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut—smoke rising from the scorched stump of her neck.
Ashley blinked, stunned, as a shimmer of light dropped beside her—then resolved into Tali’Zorah, crouched low, her cloaking field flickering out.
Tali racked the shotgun with a practiced click. “Are you alright, Chief?”
Ashley stood shaking her arm. “Yeah, I’ll live. Thanks for the assist, I guess I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, now let’s get out of here.”
The halls of the Normandy were quieter than Garrus Vakarian preferred—not silent, but heavy, like a storm was just outside the hull. He moved through the lower deck briskly, talons flexing, his mandibles twitching occasionally. The echo of that damn relic’s vision still gnawed at the back of his mind like a clawed parasite.
He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t. Not now.
“EDI,” he called, stepping onto the CIC. “Status?”
“We are holding position just above the Ketch’s upper hull,” EDI replied, her voice calm but laced with urgency. “The Fallen forces are scattered and disoriented. I am detecting multiple energy spikes—likely from their experimental warp cores destabilizing.”
Garrus dropped into the co-pilot’s seat beside Joker’s empty station. “Start prepping for an emergency extraction. Tali and Williams are still down there.”
“Already underway.”
Back inside the Fallen Ketch, the shrine chamber was already collapsing, the pillars shuddering and overhead lighting flickering like dying stars. Tali helped Ashley to her feet, blood still dripping from a torn shoulder strap, but the fire in her eyes had returned.
“We need to move!” Tali barked, already scanning her omni-tool for a route back.
Ashley didn’t argue. She was battered, inside and out, but she was still standing. Still fighting.
They sprinted through the chaos, dodging crackling conduits and the occasional wounded Vandal that hissed at their backs. The ship groaned around them, dying by degrees. Smoke curled in coils around Tali’s helmet as they reached the outer corridor, sprinting toward the beacon that marked the Normandy’s position.
Above them, the Normandy hovered like a guardian angel cloaked in steel and plasma. The airlock dropped open, ramp extending into the swirling cloud of debris below. Garrus stood at the edge, rifle in hand.
“MOVE!” he shouted over comms.
Tali and Ashley didn’t hesitate. They dashed across the collapsing hull plating, leapt the final few feet, and landed hard in the airlock just as it sealed behind them. Garrus hit the intercom.
“They’re in!”
“Thanix primed,” EDI responded.
The Normandy banked hard, engines screaming as it turned its dorsal guns toward the crippled Ketch. Energy surged along the spine of the frigate, coalescing into a single, brilliant lance of destructive force.
“Firing,” EDI announced.
The Thanix Cannon discharged with a shriek of molten light. The beam punched through the Ketch’s power core—straight through layers of alien alloy and writhing, twisted tech.
A moment of stillness. Then—
The Ketch erupted in a thunderous explosion, light and fire vomiting outward in all directions. Purple flames and black smoke filled the void, consuming everything. Shards of the ship spiraled away like shattered teeth.
The Normandy surged forward, engines flaring as it tore through the wreckage, leaving the detonation behind in a blaze of glory.
Inside the ship, the crew breathed in silence.
Tali leaned against the airlock wall, shotgun still clenched in her hands. Ashley sat beside her, head tilted back, eyes closed—but alive.
Garrus watched them both for a moment, then turned back toward the cockpit.
“EDI,” he said quietly, “get us out of here.”
“Acknowledged.”
The Normandy slipped into the void, scars of battle still fresh—but its crew intact.
Back on Therum, the ground trembled with every bone-jarring impact as Wrex and Wreav clashed like titans born of stone and fire. The ancient halls beneath the surface quaked with the fury of their brawl—two krogan locked in a deathmatch that had been simmering for decades.
Wreav roared, swinging his brute-forged blade in a wide arc. Sparks scattered as it scraped along Wrex’s shoulder plating, drawing blood. Wrex responded in kind with a savage headbutt that sent Wreav stumbling back, snarling, tusks bared.
“You call me weak?” Wrex spat, hefting his shotgun and firing at close range. The blast caught Wreav in the gut, but the armor held. “You’re nothing but a leashed mutt for Saren!”
Wreav laughed, blood dribbling from his jaw. “Better a leashed warhound than a fat old krogan lapdogging for aliens!”
Another blow—this time from Wreav’s shoulder—sent Wrex crashing into a rusted geothermal regulator. The machine whined and cracked under the impact, steam hissing from fractured pipes. Warning lights began to blink red across the ancient console.
“Warning: Geothermal containment integrity compromised,” a monotone VI droned from a nearby terminal.
Neither krogan cared. Their fists did the talking now.
Wrex tackled Wreav through the half-collapsed bulkhead, the two of them tumbling into a lower maintenance shaft. Debris fell in their wake as the structure groaned under their combined weight and fury. More regulators tore free, their supports cracked and split. A web of fractures spread across the chamber’s floor like a spider’s nest.
Then came the first rupture.
A geyser of molten rock and steam exploded upward as a breached vent gave way. Lava spilled from the cracked caldera deep below, illuminating the chamber in an infernal glow. The temperature spiked instantly, the air turning thick and choking.
Wrex rolled to his feet, panting, sweat streaming down his ridged brow. Across from him, Wreav rose, framed by fire.
“This world will burn,” Wreav growled, grin twisted with madness. “Let it be the pyre of the weak.”
“Then you’ll burn first,” Wrex snarled, charging once more.
The floor beneath them shook again as more heat vents cracked open, lava pouring in glowing rivers across the fractured platform. The entire geothermal core was on the verge of collapse.
Outside, high above the caldera, the Normandy’s sensors pinged with seismic activity spiking off the charts.
Inside, surrounded by fire and ruin, two brothers fought to decide the fate of their people—one clinging to ancient rage, the other to hard-won wisdom.
The mountain was dying.
But only one of them would walk out alive.
Notes:
The krogan were not born of war—but it made them gods of it.
Evolved on the unforgiving hellscape of Tuchanka, the krogan are a species shaped by extinction events, environmental collapse, and internecine bloodshed. Towering, thick-skinned, and nearly unkillable, krogan possess redundant organs, rapid cellular regeneration, and a violent temperament encoded in every bone. Survival is not a choice in krogan culture—it is tradition, inheritance, and religion.
Before the Rebellions, they were uplifted by the salarians to serve as shock troops during the Rachni Wars. And they delivered. The krogan crushed the rachni, carving through hives with brutal efficiency. But with peace came ambition, and the krogan turned their gaze to the stars. Colonies became conquests. Pride became empire.
The Citadel Council responded with the genophage: a genetic curse that ensured 99 out of 100 krogan births would end in stillbirth. A quiet genocide, perfectly calculated.
Krogan society fractured. Some adapted, channeling their wrath into mercenary work, protecting colonies and corporations too remote or reckless for Citadel forces. Others fell to warlordism and cults, feeding their pain into new crusades.
Yet through all this, the krogan endure.
They are not a broken people—they are a burning one. And in this new galactic age of Darkness and Light, old bloodlines rise, seeking to reclaim what was stolen. Some believe the genophage is weakening. Others believe it no longer matters.
Because krogan were never meant to multiply.
They were meant to survive.
Chapter 11: Echoes Beneath Ashes
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Molten light bathed the fractured ruin, casting long shadows across the crumbling metal walkways and ancient stone. Steam hissed from ruptured geothermal vents, filling the air with a thick, sulphurous heat. The Prothean structure groaned beneath the weight of centuries—and the fury of two Krogan locked in combat.
Wrex slammed into Wreav with a roar, shoulder-first, driving his brother back against a jagged slab of obsidian. The impact sent cracks spidering across the stone, and Wreav answered with a savage knee to Wrex’s gut, followed by an elbow aimed at his temple. Wrex caught it, twisted, and threw Wreav across the platform.
They had been fighting for minutes that felt like hours. There was no finesse—only bone, muscle, rage, and memory. Every punch carried decades of resentment. Every roar was a declaration of dominance and pain.
Wreav came up swinging, blood streaming from his broken crest. He barrelled into Wrex like a charging varren, teeth bared and fists wild. But Wrex had been fighting longer, harder, smarter. He ducked low, pivoted, and drove Wreav’s face into the ground with a brutal slam that made the stone crack beneath them.
Wreav groaned, dazed. His breath came in ragged, bubbling gasps. One of his tusks had snapped. He pushed himself up to his elbows, growling low—but Wrex was already on top of him, knee pressed to his spine, shotgun aimed at the back of his head.
For a moment, there was only the thrum of lava beneath them and the sizzle of dripping acid from broken pipes above.
Then silence.
Wrex's breathing slowed. He stared down at his brother, this twisted reflection of what he might have become, and felt something unexpected—pity.
He pulled back.
Wreav rolled onto his back, blinking up at him through one bloodied eye. Confusion twisted into rage. He snarled and spat into Wrex’s face.
“You shame our bloodline,” he growled, voice trembling with venom. “Mercy is weakness. You’re no Krogan.”
Wrex wiped the spit away without flinching.
“No, brother,” he said, voice steady as stone. “I’m just not stupid enough to think killing you will fix anything.”
Wreav sneered, staggered to his feet, and limped toward the tunnel entrance slick with geothermal moisture and dripping lava. He didn’t look back. His last words echoed off the walls like a curse:
“I’ll show you what real strength is.”
Then he was gone—swallowed by the dark, by the heat, by the ruin.
Wrex stood alone, staring after him. He didn’t feel victorious. He didn’t feel relieved. Just… tired.
The ground rumbled beneath his boots. The structure was failing. But even with the lava rising and the relics collapsing around him, Wrex felt more certain than he had in years.
Let Wreav cling to the old ways. Wrex would build something better. Or die trying.
The winds over Therum howled as the Prothean ruin behind them groaned and cracked, coughing plumes of sulphur and dust into the air. Shepard was the first to crest the final rise, her armor streaked with ash and scorch marks. She scanned the horizon, her breath ragged. The geothermal field ahead bubbled and shimmered with rising heat.
Kaidan scrambled up beside her, bruised but moving, followed by Liara and Javik. The Prothean’s posture was tight, his glowing armor dulled from exertion.
“That’s it,” Kaidan said, nodding toward the extraction point—a wide ledge overlooking the lava pools. “We just need to hold it until—”
The ground trembled. Once. Twice. Then a pulse rippled through the terrain like a heartbeat, and from the far side of the ridge, a figure rose in silhouette against the sun.
It wasn’t hulking like the usual Geth Primes. This one was slim, almost feminine, with segmented plating like folded shale. Cerulean power lines pulsed along her limbs and down her back. Her movements were deliberate—measured, graceful. And wrong.
Her single photoreceptor glowed a cold, wavering violet. It focused on Shepard’s team for a moment too long, as if recognizing them.
“Another machine,” Javik said bitterly, “It looks different to the other one.”
“Spread out!” Shepard barked, drawing her rifle. “We take it down, fast and coordinated.”
The Geth Prime raised its arms slowly—then slammed both palms into the ground.
The explosion of force was immediate. The plateau cracked like glass beneath them, sending shards of stone erupting skyward. A shockwave of seismic energy rippled out in a tight, deadly ring. Kaidan threw up a barrier and rolled clear. Liara and Javik leapt aside in twin arcs of biotic light.
Chunks of molten rock burst upward in a row of geysers. Shepard ducked behind a fractured column and returned fire, her rifle rounds sparking harmlessly off the Geth’s reinforced plating.
The machine advanced, each step punching tremors through the earth. Its arms glowed with stored seismic energy—hammer-like kinetic pulses that sent tremors through the air itself. It raised one and brought it down on a nearby boulder, sending it rocketing toward Javik like a cannonball.
Javik dove, his dark biotics flaring. The stone clipped his shoulder but he rolled with it, rising and launching a heavy pulse that caught the Geth in the side. It staggered—briefly.
“It is… conflicted,” Javik muttered. “There is hesitation in its movements. Almost like an indoctrinated fighting Reaper control.” Kaidan looked over slightly, taking in that info.
“Then let’s make it easy for it,” Shepard said grimly. “Kaidan, go left. Liara, bind her feet.”
Liara extended a hand, summoning a Singularity. The dark orb warped gravity around the Geth’s lower limbs, slowing its movement as debris circled chaotically. The Prime reacted fast—driving a seismic spike into the ground that fractured the field and freed it.
Then it turned to Liara. For a heartbeat, the Geth paused. It tilted its head—just slightly. Like it was analysing her.
Liara’s eyes widened.
Before she could move, the Prime lunged.
A seismic shockwave barrelled toward her—until Shepard dropped from a higher ledge and slammed into the Geth with a full biotic charge. The two crashed to the ground. Shepard rolled clear, firing a plasma blast point-blank into her chassis. Sparks burst from her torso. She shrieked—an almost human sound of pain.
“She’s got more armor than a Mako!” Kaidan shouted.
“Keep hitting her hard!” Shepard called. “No time to hold back!”
Javik summoned a Vortex Field which Liara followed up with with a Warp detonation. The combined blast launched the Prime off its feet and over a ridge—but it landed in a crouch, one arm twitching violently.
Its voice modulator clicked erratically as she tried to speak. The machine took one slow step forward, then another. Its eye dimmed… then flared.
And suddenly—it stopped.
For a brief moment, everything fell still.
Its limbs trembled. its fingers curled into fists. Then it looked at Shepard—not as a machine would, scanning for tactical weakness—but as something… else. Something lost.
Then it whispered, her voice breaking through the static:
“Why… was I… made to break…?”
And Shepard, despite herself, felt the weight of it.
A flicker of silence.
Then, Kaidan raised his pistol and fired once—clean, precise. The Geth staggered, dropped to her knees, and collapsed face-first into the cracked stone.
The violet light in her eye flickered… then died.
Kaidan stepped forward slowly, crouching beside her. He reached to her side panel, extracting the still-warm core from her chest. A soft pulse ran through it, slower than the core from the other Prime he'd already retrieved. Both glowed faintly—fragments of something once whole.
“She was aware,” Kaidan said, quietly. “Not fully. But enough. Like the other one. Maybe more.”
He looked to Shepard. “Tali might be able to study them, see what changed with these Geth.”
Shepard gave a short nod, rifle still in hand. “Let’s just hope she can. Because this one didn’t want to fight us. But something made her.”
Far behind them, the sound of thunder rose—not from the skies, but from the caldera itself. The ruins groaned as tectonic forces stirred to life, and the air grew hot and sharp.
Then the mountain screamed.
The caldera trembled with every breath of the dying Prothean ruin below, vomiting plumes of ash and magma into the red sky. The air was thick with soot and smoke, choking and blistering. Steam hissed from a dozen fractures in the blackened earth.
Shepard could feel the ground quake. “It’s going to go.”
Then the screaming started.
Not the mountain this time. Them.
Husks.
They ran on two legs, three, four—bodies torn and reconfigured by dark hands. Their faces were still vaguely human. Their hosts had been reshaped, reprogrammed. But somewhere, behind those black, soulless eyes… something remembered how to hate.
“Form a perimeter!” Shepard shouted, rifle raised. “Kaidan, left flank! Liara, with me! Javik, rear overwatch!”
“Wrex is still inside,” Kaidan said, voice grim.
“He’ll catch up or he’s dead!” Shepard replied.
Then the Husks hit.
The first wave slammed into them with feral fury—claws scratching across shields, teeth gnashing, some still wearing tattered robes or broken armour from other worlds. Kaidan dropped the first three with a wide-area Nova, his kinetic barrier flaring bright as he drew fire. Liara unleashed a Biotic Shockwave that flattened a dozen more.
A new shape burst from behind them—a charging Husk, bloated and glistening red like a tumour: Cueball.
“Explosive—!” Javik didn’t finish. He just fired.
The thing exploded mid-sprint, flinging acidic gore and fractured limbs in all directions. Javik ducked behind a jagged stone and reloaded, his voice tight: “We are surrounded.”
Then came the real threats.
A shrieking vortex above them signalled the arrival of the Tempest Revenant —a winged Husk variant laced with static discharge and surrounded by a corona of swirling wind. Lightning crackled from its arms, slamming into the rock near Liara and blowing her off her feet. Shepard dove and caught her by the wrist, hauling her upright.
“No time to fall apart!” she snapped.
The Revenant banked and came around again, screaming—until Kaidan launched a line of code into its system: Overload. It detonated mid-air, ripping through its wings. The Revenant spiralled into the lava with a distorted howl.
Then the Grippers arrived.
Twisting things with extra arms—some surgical, others animalistic—scrambled up the cliffs and lunged like spiders. One snatched Kaidan and began pulling him skyward. He screamed, firing his pistol into its body at point-blank range.
Shepard leapt, blasting the Gripper off him with a shotgun slug, and the pair crashed to the ground in a tangled heap.
“Grateful,” Kaidan muttered, panting.
“We’re not done,” Shepard hissed. “More incoming.”
From the far slope, a Knight emerged. It roared, lifting a hand to direct the oncoming tide. Imps —tiny, jittery Grunts—and Seekers —formerly Yanme’e—rushed in a swarm around it, kemuksuru flying in all directions.
Javik took two down with headshots. Liara crushed three Imps in a gravity well. The Knight barreled through the storm, blades flashing.
Then, behind them, a deep rumble—and Wrex burst from the tunnel mouth.
Covered in blood and lava burns, he looked like a monster himself.
“Hope you didn’t start the party without me,” he bellowed.
He charged into the Knight, slamming it with a biotic shoulder tackle. The two titans went down in a heap, locked in a brutal melee.
And above it all… the sky split.
A shriek echoed like the howling of the dead. A Banshee descended.
Floating inches off the ground, her form blurred with phasing static. Her face—a grotesque echo of Asari beauty—was frozen in a scream. Her claws extended as her voice tore through the air like knives.
Liara faltered. “That’s—an Ardat-Yakshi…”
“Eyes down! Don’t let her in your head!” Shepard yelled.
The Banshee raised both arms and unleashed a biotic shockwave that blew apart half the ridge. Grippers, Cueballs, even Husks were annihilated—so were two of Javik’s cover points. Flames licked at the edges of their position. The mountain was dying, collapsing, and they were being dragged down with it.
And then— light.
A bright white beam lanced down from the sky, cutting through the haze. A shriek of engines echoed across the battlefield as the Normandy dropped into view like a sword from heaven.
Its forward turrets spun, unleashed hell.
Pulse cannon fire swept the ridgeline, vaporizing Husks by the dozens. The Banshee shrieked and vanished mid-phase, warping away. The Knight tried to rise—only to be obliterated by a direct hit from the Normandy’s dorsal railgun.
The ship dipped lower, the cargo hatch yawning open mid-flight.
“Weapons armed. Suggesting immediate egress.” EDI’s voice was calm as ever. “You are out of time.”
Shepard didn’t hesitate. “Go, go, go!”
The squad sprinted for the ramp, shields flickering, breathing ragged. Kaidan hauled Liara up first. Javik followed, tossing the Geth cores into the hold.
Wrex turned to fire one last shot into the advancing horde—then jumped onto the ramp with a defiant roar. The ground where he’d stood crumbled into magma.
Shepard was last.
She ran full tilt up the ramp as the Normandy pulled away from the edge. A Cueball exploded behind her, the shockwave pushing her forward. Kaidan caught her hand and yanked her inside.
The ramp slammed shut.
The Normandy banked hard and climbed through the clouds, leaving the volcanic hell behind.
Below, the mountain gave its final death cry—then collapsed, burying the Prothean ruins, the Geth, and the accursed Husks under molten stone.
The medbay lights were low, their sterile glow softened to ease the headache pounding behind Wrex’s heavy brow. Bruises lined his chest and arms, burns crusted across one shoulder, but he grunted when Dr. Chakwas came near.
“You’re not invincible, you know,” Chakwas chided gently, scanning him again with her omni-tool. “That plasma blade nearly bisected your liver.”
Wrex smirked. “My liver grows back. That’s what it’s for.”
In the adjacent cot, Ashley Williams sat up slowly, wincing as she stretched her wrapped ribs. “Pretty sure mine doesn’t,” she muttered.
Across the room, Joker lay with his legs braced and strapped, grumbling at Chakwas between breaths. “I told you, Doc. You don’t need to re-break them every time. Just grow me better ones.”
“You want better ones, ask EDI for an exo-suit,” Chakwas replied dryly.
Ashley’s eyes drifted toward Wrex. She watched him in silence, her mouth tight, the words catching behind her teeth.
“You got something to say, soldier?” Wrex finally asked, one eye cracking open.
Ashley hesitated. “Yeah. I do.”
She met his gaze. Her voice was quiet. Careful.
“My grandfather fought in the Covenant War. Told me about Reach. What they did to the colonies. What they did to families. He hated aliens ‘til the day he died, and I guess... some of that rubbed off.”
The room was silent, save for the gentle whir of the med instruments and Joker's breathing.
“I grew up thinking humans were always one step from extinction, always being used, discarded, underestimated—even now. And I brought that with me.”
She looked down at her hands, bandaged knuckles resting on her lap.
“But Tali saved my life today. Threw herself into the fight without hesitation. And you...” —she glanced back at Wrex— “...you didn’t abandon us when you had every reason to. I don’t know what I believe anymore. All I know is... my body’s healing faster than my perspective.”
Wrex watched her for a long moment, unreadable. Then he leaned back against the wall with a grunt.
“Good.”
Ashley blinked. “That’s it? Just ‘good’?”
“Means you’re thinking. That’s more than most.”
Chakwas smiled faintly and resumed her scans.
Across the ship, Shepard, Liara, and Javik stood in the dim quiet of the galaxy map chamber. The orange glow of the mass relay projection cast long shadows over their faces.
Liara wrung her hands, her expression distant.
“I haven’t spoken to my mother in over a year,” she said quietly. “She didn’t approve of my work. Said digging through ruins was a waste of my potential. That I should be serving the Asari Council, not ‘picking through the bones of failures.’”
“Benezia’s file certainly struck me as…” Shepard paused. “Purposeful.”
Liara gave a hollow laugh. “You could say that. But I think that purpose got turned inward. Saren probably saw it in her—a way to use her influence, her intelligence.”
“She was helping him unlock the Beacons?” Shepard asked.
Liara nodded. “Saren wants to find the Conduit, well he will need a Cipher. And as an Asari—especially one trained in Prothean linguistics—I can feel the echoes. The Beacons speak in sensations, not words. They want to be understood but were designed with a far more invasive method to communicate that understanding.”
Javik’s eyes narrowed. “The Conduit. That name… it is unfamiliar.”
Liara turned to him, surprised. “You don’t know it?”
“I was a warrior during the collapse. I followed orders, purged Reaper cells, and did everything to slow their advance. The Conduit was not known to soldiers.” His voice darkened. “If it was known to anyone.”
Liara sighed. “Then we must rely on other means to find the Conduit.”
She looked up, eyes fierce despite her weariness. “We just need more fragments. If I can find the remaining Cipher traces, I can reconstruct the full signal from the Commander’s initial imprint. Then maybe we’ll know what Saren is truly after.”
Javik crossed his arms. “You will not find salvation in the past, Asari. Only warnings.”
“Sometimes,” Shepard said, stepping between them, “that’s all we need.”
The three stood in silence as the stars turned above them—each one a possibility, a question, a threat. Somewhere out there, the next clue waited. And the Reapers were already moving.
The caldera was silent now, save for the wind that howled through blackened rocks and melted stone. Smoke curled like the dying breath of a long-dead god. The ground was scorched, slagged into glass in places, etched with the echoes of battle and the scent of ash.
From the edge of the blast zone, Wreav limped through the debris. His armor was cracked, his face bruised, one horn broken. His blood had long dried across his chest, flaking as he moved. Rage was the only thing keeping him upright.
Before him lay the wreckage of the Dusk Ketch—the fallen Eliksni cruiser that had delivered death from the skies earlier that day. Its hull was torn wide, entrails of cables and smoldering machinery spilling like guts into the crater. The bodies of the Eliksni warriors—members of House Dusk—littered the site, twisted in death, their four arms splayed wide as if in supplication.
They were not alone.
Shadowed figures stepped from the mist, robed in dark synth-hide, adorned with Reaper grafts and biotic circuitry that pulsed with a dim, infernal rhythm. Harbinger’s Chosen—priests of a new machine cult, flesh-bound to the will of the old gods.
One of them raised a jagged hand, and a cluster of blackened biotech drones swarmed forward, skittering over the Eliksni corpses. The air shimmered. Limbs twisted. Armor plates broke open like petals to reveal metal-threaded veins and serrated bone.
The dead twitched.
Then they rose .
Not as Eliksni. Not as themselves.
But as something else.
Their mandibles clicked unnaturally, and a low, chittering hum passed between them. New Husks, made not from humans, but from scavengers filled with hate. Their eyes burned blue, ringed in voidlight, Harbinger’s mark now etched into their chitinous skulls.
Wreav stood before them, his face a mask of bitterness and pride. He held out his arms as if welcoming them to life.
“If Wrex won’t burn the galaxy,” he growled, “I’ll raise an army that will.”
Notes:
The Geth Prime has always stood at the apex of synthetic battlefield hierarchy. Towering over standard infantry and drone platforms, these units are command-level constructs, boasting reinforced armor plating, adaptive shielding, and advanced coordination software that allows them to direct local Geth with frightening efficiency. Built for high-threat engagements, they carry heavy pulse cannons, shockwave generators, and kinetic field emitters—all deployed with chilling precision.
But on Therum, during the mission to extract Dr. Liara T’Soni, we encountered something new. My team engaged what appeared to be Prime-class Geth, but their behavior deviated sharply from the patterns we’ve catalogued. One of them moved with uncanny restraint. Another—codenamed “Quake” by our onboard analysts—wielded seismic powers that cracked bedrock and hurled debris like a biotic storm. Most disturbing of all was the way she hesitated, even as she attacked. She didn’t speak in synthetic bursts, but in a voice—broken, unsure—asking questions we weren’t prepared to answer.
We managed to retrieve two core fragments from these variants, including the unit designated “Torchman” from a prior encounter. Tali believes these cores might hold remnants of emotion, memory, or perhaps a split-thread evolution—individual runtimes that have drifted from the Geth Consensus or been influenced by Reaper tech. The encryption is unlike anything we've seen. Even with her and EDI working in tandem, the data remains locked behind recursive firewalls.
My personal recommendation: do not engage unless absolutely necessary. These Primes aren't just more dangerous physically—they're unpredictable. And that makes them a liability in ways we’ve never encountered before. If the Geth are changing… or worse, awakening, we may be looking at the start of a new frontier in the synthetic threat profile.
—Commander Shepard
Chapter 12: The Void Between
Notes:
I have recently updated the first three chapters to be make more sense narratively and logically. Make sure to go back read them again if you want.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Normandy shuddered as it slipped out of Slipspace, her hull groaning against the sudden stillness. Space snapped back into shape around her — a hollow vastness, dark and waiting. The stars here were dim things, flickering half-light suns orphaned by the mass relay network long ago. No traffic. No chatter. No pulsing comm buoys. Just silence.
"FTL exit nominal," Joker announced, his voice filtered through a fatigue he didn’t bother to hide. “Welcome to the Attican Traverse, population: no one.”
From her place at the CIC, Commander Shepard stared into the central display. A constellation of dying red stars drifted across the tactical map, punctuated by clouds of cosmic debris and scattered mass shadows — remnants of destroyed moons, hollowed planetoids, and derelict ships from a dozen extinct species.
“EDI, status report?” Shepard asked.
“Ophon-pattern drive is stable but requires three full cycles to vent thermal build up,” EDI replied. “Auxiliary systems are operational, but long-range sensors will need to be recalibrated manually. We are in an ideal location for low-risk resupply and structural recalibration.”
“Define ‘ideal,’” Garrus muttered over the comm. “We’re surrounded by stellar graveyards.”
“There is a 97.6% probability we will not be detected by any known civilization, active patrol, or hostile entity,” EDI responded matter-of-factly. “This region is considered geopolitically irrelevant.”
“She means quiet,” Ashley said, folding her arms. “Dead quiet.”
The CIC lights dimmed subtly to low alert, bathing the crew in cool blues and indigo. From the windows near the galaxy map, only emptiness gazed back — no stations, no relay pulses. Just cold light, glinting off a slowly tumbling hulk of an ancient mining station cracked down the middle like a broken tooth.
“Seventy-two hours minimum,” Shepard reminded the team. “Get some rest. Rotate shifts. We’re not just patching the Normandy. We’re catching our breath.”
“About damn time,” Wrex grumbled as he stepped out of the lift. “I’m getting soft with all this running around. I need to hit something.”
Tali chuckled, her voice quiet behind her helmet. “You could always fix that broken grav plate in engineering. It’s punching people without the lawsuit.”
Wrex snorted. “Not the same.”
The crew began to disperse. Garrus lingered.
“You don’t like this place,” Shepard said quietly.
“It’s not just that I don’t like it,” he replied, crossing his arms. “It feels… off. Like the universe forgot this place existed and we’re not supposed to be here.”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
The hum of the Normandy’s life support system filled the silence that followed. Here, in this forgotten stretch of space, everything felt a little less . The gravity was real. The oxygen levels were normal. But there was something intangible missing — some cosmic pulse that bound the galaxy together.
“I’ll check on the calibrations,” Garrus offered. “Keep my hands busy.”
Shepard gave a faint smile. “Thought you might say that.”
As he turned to go, the lights flickered just once — subtle, almost dismissible.
“EDI?” Shepard called.
“A momentary power redistribution,” the AI said. “Within safe parameters.”
Shepard didn’t reply. Her eyes drifted to the void outside, where the wreck of an ancient dreadnought floated — cracked in half, its interior exposed like a carcass. Vines of metal curled outward from its spine, frozen mid-motion in the vacuum. She couldn’t say what species had built it. No one had that kind of record out here.
Sometimes, the galaxy didn’t just bury the dead. It erased them.
Shepard exhaled slowly. “Keep an eye on the dark, EDI.”
“I am always watching, Commander.”
The Normandy's lower decks hummed with a hollow stillness, the kind that clung to metal like frost. Down in Engineering, the glow of the Tantalus core pulsed gently, casting rhythmic amber light across the quiet space. This far out in the Deep Traverse, even light felt like it travelled slower.
Chief Engineer Adams stood hunched over the central diagnostics console, sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning fluctuations in the core’s energy outputs. The thrum beneath his boots felt slightly off — not wrong, just unfamiliar, like the Normandy herself was holding her breath.
“Reactor output holding steady,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the ship. “But I don’t like the spike in the tertiary flow regulators during transition.”
Tali’Zorah, crouched nearby with a welder in hand, flicked her visor toward him. “That’s not from the core. I was seeing flux inconsistencies in the coolant relays before we hit the Traverse. Might’ve magnified when we dropped from Slipspace.”
Adams turned to her, arms crossed. “You think it's systemic?”
“Maybe.” She stood, wiping her gloves on a rag tucked at her belt. “Or maybe the ship's just… uneasy.” Her voice, filtered through her helmet, carried a pensive edge.
Adams raised a brow. “Uneasy?”
Tali gestured to the bulkhead. “We're in a part of space no one's charted in centuries. Dead relays. Graveyard systems. Even the Geth don't patrol this far out. It's like the galaxy just gave up on this place.”
“Damn poetic for a mechanic,” Adams replied, offering a dry smile. “But you’re not wrong.”
Around them, the other engineers moved quietly, running standard recalibrations, checking seals, logging noise anomalies — but they spoke little. Every so often, someone would glance at the darkened overhead monitors, as if expecting something to flicker to life.
A faint vibration passed through the deck. Not from the engines, not from any moving part. A whisper in the bones of the ship.
“Did you feel that?” one of the junior techs — Maya — asked, freezing mid-routine.
“I did,” Tali said softly. “That’s the third time in twenty minutes.”
Adams sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Check structural stress monitors again. Maybe we’re caught in a micro-lensing field or some kind of residual gravity well. This region’s full of stellar corpses.”
“But if it were gravitational,” Tali said, “we’d see more than just vibrations. We’d be getting positional drift. There’s no drift.”
“So we’re vibrating for no reason now?” Maya muttered. “That's just great.”
Another tech, Donnelly, piped up from across the deck. “Could be old mass relay echoes. Maybe there’s a deactivated relay in-system throwing off phantom waves.”
“I’d rather that than ghosts,” someone else mumbled.
Tali walked slowly toward one of the aft panels, hand brushing the wall. Her fingers lingered on a coolant pipe, feeling the faint buzz of movement — but it wasn’t coolant. It was more like a breath. A pulse.
“I think the ship feels it too,” she said quietly.
Adams looked up at her, then back to the console. The reactor’s hum deepened, just a shade, just enough.
“I’ll log a full system diagnostic and inform the Commander,” he said. “Maybe we delay the probe deployment till we’re sure nothing’s going to rupture.”
The lights flickered.
Just once.
Then everything returned to normal.
“Right,” Adams muttered. “Let’s get this done before something decides to make that a habit.”
The Gunnery bay wasn’t meant to be cosy, but Garrus Vakarian made it feel like his own. He crouched beside a cooling conduit, omni-tool flickering as he fine-tuned the cannon’s internal targeting telemetry — an excuse more than a necessity. The Normandy’s top-of-the-line mass accelerator could already punch through a Ketch if given the chance.
But calibrations were familiar. Predictable. Safe.
Each pulse of the cannon’s internal systems was like a heartbeat he could control. Unlike the one that had echoed through his skull on the Ketch of the Whirlwind — a deep, resonant scream carved from the bones of a dying star.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting a targeting node that didn’t need adjusting.
Footsteps echoed on the deck. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Looking for Shepard?” Garrus said without turning.
“Yeah,” Kaidan’s voice came from behind him. “She wasn’t in the CIC or her quarters. Figured I’d check the one place you always are.”
“You could try the port observation deck,” Garrus said, tapping at the omni-tool again. “But unless she’s decided to finally appreciate stars the way I do guns, I doubt she’s there.”
Kaidan stopped beside him, leaning casually on a bulkhead. “Everything okay down here?”
“No,” Garrus replied without hesitation. He stood slowly, back cracking from the crouch. “But the cannon's fine. If anything comes at us, we'll punch a hole clean through it. That's... comforting, I guess.”
Kaidan tilted his head. “You don't usually talk like that.”
Garrus gave him a tired glance, mandibles twitching. “Honestly? Shepard's not the only one seeing things now.”
Kaidan’s brow furrowed. “You too?”
Garrus leaned against the cannon housing, arms crossed. His eyes lost focus as he spoke. “When we were on the Ketch... I touched something. A relic, maybe. Or whatever was left of one. And then I saw it — their fall. The Fallen, before they became pirates and scavengers. An empire of crystal and sky, wiped clean in a blink. Not by Reapers, not by war. By something older.”
Kaidan’s voice softened. “You saw the Whirlwind.”
Garrus nodded. “It wasn’t just destruction. It was... mourning. A whole species screaming into the void, and then silence.” He looked up at Kaidan. “I’ve fought on more battlefields than I can count. But this… this felt like watching history bleed out in front of me. And I could feel it. Like it knew I was there.”
Kaidan was quiet for a long moment. Then, “Do you think it was real?”
“Does it matter?” Garrus answered. “It felt real. And now, I can’t stop thinking about what happens when something like that comes for us. What if we’re just the civilisation to be left as ruins?”
The two men stood in silence for a beat. Then Kaidan offered a small, solemn nod.
“Well,” he said, “we’ve got the best damn gun in the fleet. And you’re the one man I trust to aim it.”
A thin smile tugged at Garrus’s mouth. “Thanks. But maybe next time, try leading with that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Kaidan pushed off the wall. “I’ll keep looking for Shepard. Let me know if you need anything.”
Garrus watched him go, then turned back to the cannon, its surface cool and still.
For a moment, he imagined the Whirlwind crashing down on Palaven.
He resumed calibrations, hands moving by rote, trying not to shake.
The armoury wasn’t exactly crowded, but it wasn’t entirely private either. A couple crates had been rearranged into an impromptu couch, and someone had rigged up a small screen into the bulkhead’s spare diagnostics port. The faint audio of a sports broadcast echoed out—excited shouting, gunfire, the thrum of a crowd.
Wrex lumbered into the room, munching on something that looked far too raw for human standards. Javik followed, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning everything with his typical Prothean disdain.
“These crude weapons still baffle me,” the Prothean said, pausing to lift a Needler between two fingers like it might infect him. The needles glinted ominously. “That this... toy is feared by your species is inconceivable.”
Wrex snorted, swallowing whatever mystery meat he was gnawing on. “You ever had one of these things unload into your armour? Trust me—Covenant tech’s nasty. There’s a reason the Pact stuck with it instead of switching to standard Citadel gear.”
As they turned the corner, Wrex slowed, one brow ridge lifting. “Huh.”
Ashley Williams sat perched on a crate, elbows on her knees, eyes locked onto the small screen. Her face was unguarded for once—smiling faintly, breath catching, murmuring words under her breath in sync with the commentator. She hadn’t noticed them yet.
On screen, a battle unfolded in a sun-scorched arena surrounded by banners and neon advertisements. Holographic screens flickered as a trio of armoured fighters sprinted through an open market, dodging suppressive fire from above. One of them, a dark-skinned woman with dreadlocks, let out a whoop and leapt from cover, twin Volt SMGs blazing.
A name flashed across the bottom of the screen:
APEX GAMES // ROUND 4 – STORM POINT
“BANGALORE” (ANITA WILLIAMS)
Javik’s eyes narrowed. “That… is your kin.”
Wrex rumbled a chuckle. “Didn’t know you were into bloodsports, Williams.”
Ashley startled, twisting around with a start. “Shit—! I—what the hell, guys? Do you not knock?”
“There’s no door,” Javik deadpanned impassively. “Only a stack of crates. That is not a barrier of meaning.”
Ashley groaned, rubbing her face. “Ugh. Whatever. You're here now.”
Wrex nodded toward the screen. “She yours?”
Ashley’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She gave a small, proud smile. “My cousin. Anita. Goes by Bangalore. She enlisted when I was still in high school. Got stuck on a Grunt job out in the Frontier and never made it back. So she signed up for this instead.”
Javik blinked slowly. “She fights for… sport?”
Ashley turned the volume down a bit. “She fights for a way out. Most of them do. It’s not about glory. It’s about surviving something nobody expects you to survive—and then doing it again the next day.”
Wrex folded his arms, watching the screen. Bangalore dove behind a care package, fired a smoke grenade from her shoulder launcher, and flanked her attackers. The kill feed lit up.
“She’s got good instincts,” Wrex said. “Knows when to push. You’d have made a good team.”
Ashley smirked. “We used to practice together when we were kids. I was the one with the better aim. She was the one who could sprint across a battlefield without breaking stride.”
Javik tilted his head. “This is… unusual. A soldier turned gladiator. Family scattered to the edges of war.”
“Yeah,” Ashley said quietly. “That’s kind of the Williams tradition. Being there for the war… even if no one else remembers your name afterward.”
There was a pause as the match ended. Bangalore’s squad emerged victorious. Her image froze on the screen, triumphant and sweat-slicked under the floodlights.
Ashley stood up, stretched, and gave the two men a look. “You say anything to Shepard, I will personally rewire your translators to broadcast My Little Pony episodes nonstop.”
Wrex grinned. “What makes you think I haven’t already watched it?”
Javik merely nodded solemnly. “I will tell no one. Your cousin fights with purpose. That is something the galaxy should witness.”
Ashley blinked. “Thanks… I think.”
She stepped past them, pausing only briefly to glance back at the frozen frame. “Be seeing you, Nita.”
Then she was gone.
Wrex scratched at his chin. “Weird family.”
Javik replied, “They endure. That is not a weakness.”
They stood for a while longer, watching the screen flicker to post-match stats and sponsorship ads, before continuing down the corridor.
Shepard paused outside the door, hand hovering just a second longer than necessary over the control panel. She exhaled, adjusted her posture, then pressed the chime.
The door swished open with a pneumatic hiss.
Liara looked up from a softly humming terminal, blue light dancing across her face. She was surrounded by a semi-circle of data pads and fragmented Prothean relics, a few of them now stabilized inside containment fields. Her room smelled faintly of ozone and old leather—like time itself had its own musk.
“Commander,” Liara said, blinking a few times as if surfacing from deep water. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“I thought I’d just check in,” Shepard said, stepping inside. “Quiet ship, quiet system. Figured it might be a good time to talk. If that’s okay?”
Liara nodded, brushing her temples. “Of course. I… could use a distraction. Everything’s been very loud lately. Not in volume, but in meaning.”
Shepard smiled and leaned lightly on the edge of Liara’s workbench, careful not to disturb a holographic projection of a star chart. “That’s a poetic way to put it.”
“I’ve been working on decrypting this archive,” Liara said, gesturing to a Prothean interface displaying glyphs like skeletal music. “It’s strange. These ruins I found on Therum… that you pulled me out of… they contained echoes of systems long gone. It’s like listening to ghosts sing lullabies for stars that no longer exist.”
Shepard chuckled softly, but her voice softened. “I’m not sure if that’s beautiful or horrifying.”
“It can be both.” Liara tilted her head. “That’s something I’m learning about humans. You often see the sublime in the terrible.”
“You have to,” Shepard said, folding her arms. “Otherwise the terrible just… stays terrible.”
They shared a silence—comfortable, introspective. In the stillness, the ship’s vibrations deepened into background noise, like a pulse.
“You’ve been studying humans,” Shepard asked after a beat. “Anything you’ve learned that surprised you?”
Liara considered, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Your history is chaotic. Violent. But vibrant. You compress so much change into such short periods. One of your centuries can contain more revolution than a millennium on Thessia. And yet… you still have art, and myth, and hope. It’s paradoxical.”
“We don’t know how to sit still,” Shepard said with a smirk. “We fall forward. Sometimes too fast.”
Liara’s eyes traced Shepard’s expression. “And you? What about Asari? Anything you’ve found strange?”
Shepard hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s weird how peaceful you all seem. Not in the ‘you never fight’ kind of way, but... you don’t seem haunted by it. Humans fight and carry the scars for generations. But Asari?”
“We internalize differently,” Liara said. “But we carry ghosts too. Our centuries just teach us to live alongside them.”
There was a pause. Shepard looked away, brushing her thumb along the edge of a terminal. “Back on Therum, after Kaidan got you free, that display with your Biotics… it was almost like a dance routine”
Liara’s cheeks darkened slightly in hue. “Thank you. Despite our differences, my mother made sure I was prepared for potential danger. Though I never thought I would use it against a cult she was part of.”
“Still impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it up close.” Shepard cleared her throat. “It was… breathtaking.”
The words slipped out before she could weigh them. They weren’t flirtatious exactly—but the meaning hung in the air with the weight of gravity.
Liara looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. Then, softly: “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Shepard stood straighter, motioning to the relics. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your ghosts.”
“And I’ll try not to summon any more,” Liara replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
The door to Liara’s quarters hissed closed behind her, the soft hum of biotic containment fields fading into the silence of the Normandy’s lower decks. Shepard exhaled, a subtle tightness in her chest easing—but not dissipating. For a moment, she let herself feel the weightless hush of the Traverse: stars outside like ancient scars, glowing faintly through the viewports.
She turned—
“Commander?”
She didn’t startle, but her spine straightened. Kaidan was there, lingering in the corridor like he’d been debating whether to approach.
“We didn’t want to disturb your comms,” he said, his voice low but laced with concern. “Just in case you… needed some downtime.”
There was something kind in the way he said it—something that made her feel human again.
“I appreciate it, Lieutenant,” Shepard replied, folding her arms as she pivoted toward him. “But downtime’s over.”
Kaidan gave a small nod, the light above them catching faint grey at his temples. “EDI and Pressley requested you on the CIC. Said it was urgent.”
Shepard sighed softly, her eyes flicking down the hallway—toward the heartbeat of the ship, where silence never truly reigned.
“I’ll head there now.”
As she moved past him, Kaidan stepped aside—but he didn’t turn away. And as the doors slid open to swallow her into the corridor ahead, she heard him murmur:
“Something’s coming, Commander. I can feel it.”
So could she.
Shepard stepped onto the CIC platform, her boots echoing softly off the metal grating. The low red-gold lighting cast long shadows over the interface displays, most dimmed to conserve power during recalibration cycles. It felt quieter than usual. Tense, like the ship was holding its breath.
Pressley stood at the galaxy map table, arms braced against the console. A fresh bandage wrapped diagonally around his head, the edges clean but taut—he hadn’t been resting, despite Chakwas’ orders. EDI's blue holographic form flickered beside him, faint static crawling at her edges like frost on glass.
“Commander,” Pressley said, straightening. “We’ve got something.”
Shepard crossed her arms. “We’re still supposed to be in dead space. What could we possibly find out here?”
EDI tilted her head. “A minor Centaur-class object in a neighbouring drift system. Likely a rogue planet. Its orbital patterns are erratic, gravitational anchors unstable. However…” Her eyes brightened subtly. “It’s transmitting.”
That pulled Shepard up short. “Transmitting? What kind of signal?”
“Fragmented broadband pulses on Alliance-era subchannels. Unencrypted. Garbled. But recognizably human.”
Pressley brought up a projection—a jagged waveform laced with dropouts and distortion, like a scream stretched thin across lightyears. “We triangulated its position to this planetoid here.” A sphere appeared on the map, bathed in a strange greenish hue. Its surface shimmered faintly with glitched texture, like it didn’t belong entirely in normal space.
“Designation?” Shepard asked.
“No official name on file,” EDI replied. “But the Centaur object was catalogued once—long ago. One of the last scout teams out of Sol in the years before the Covenant War. They called it… Nessus.”
The name settled over the CIC like a weight.
“Nessus,” Shepard repeated. “I’ve read ghost records of it. Alliance classified it unstable, full of strange gravitational shears. Supposed to be uninhabitable.”
“Yes,” EDI said. “And yet, it is now home to the wreckage of a Pre-Covenant colony ship.”
The map zoomed in. A rusted shape embedded in a crater ridge. Long, curved fins. Massive drives torn in half like a broken arrow. Its nameplate flickered faintly: EXODUS BLACK .
Shepard’s breath caught. “That ship disappeared before first contact on Harvest.”
“Yes,” EDI said again, softer this time. “And it shouldn’t be here.”
Pressley folded his arms. “Alliance protocols are clear: anything pre-Covenant War found beyond chartered space is to be investigated and recovered. But it’s your call, Commander.”
Shepard studied EDI. The AI’s avatar was still, but something was off. Subtle. A tremor in her voice modulation, the way her expression held just a little too long. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was yearning.
Shepard had seen this before—in smart AIs at the edge of rampancy. Evolution bleeding into instability. Fear becoming thought. Questions turning personal.
“You want to see it,” Shepard said, quiet.
EDI blinked. “I… am curious. The vessel’s databanks may contain information on the early Diaspora years. That data could be valuable to—”
“EDI.” Shepard stepped closer. “You’re not interested in mission data. You’re trying to understand something about yourself.”
EDI hesitated. That alone was confirmation.
Shepard turned to Pressley. “Prep a course to Nessus. Minimum incursion team. We’re going in.”
Pressley didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “Aye, Commander.”
As the map shifted, Shepard looked back at EDI. “Just one condition.”
“Of course.”
“No solo downloads. I don’t want you plugging into any ancient hardware unsupervised. I’ve seen what happens to AI minds in systems built for humans. If anything starts talking back to you? You come to me.”
EDI’s expression didn’t change—but the flicker in her glow softened slightly.
“I understand.”
Shepard gave a short nod, already turning for the lift. “Let’s see what the hell the Exodus Black has been doing for the last fifty years.”
As the Normandy turned toward the dark between stars, the faint signal from Nessus kept whispering—an echo of forgotten voices reaching across the void, like a ship trying to remember its name.
Notes:
Lore Bite: The Attican Traverse
Classification: Stellar Expanse
Primary Authority: None (Disputed Spheres of Influence)
Security Rating: Variable — from Alliance Patrol to Lawless VoidOnce described by Citadel cartographers as a “wild garden of broken stars,” by Yonhet trade vessels, the Attican Traverse forms a vast frontier between Council space and the Terminus Systems. Geographically sprawling and politically unstable, the Traverse is riddled with failed colonies, abandoned mining stations, pirate strongholds, and anomalous signals of varying origin.
Officially, many worlds here are claimed by the Frontier Systems Alliance, but in practice, few receive more than a seasonal patrol or half-functional comm buoy. The lack of oversight makes the Traverse a haven for smugglers, private military contractors, xenoarchaeologists, and corporate prospectors looking to stake claims on unmonitored resources — or buried secrets.
During the Human Expansion Period (circa 2130s - 2140s), many sleeper colony vessels were launched into the Traverse by idealistic or desperate factions. Some succeeded. Some vanished. A few now drift silently in dead systems, their fates unknown.
Chapter 13: Failsafe
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Normandy drifted into low orbit over the Centaur-class object, its stealth contours shimmering against the starlight. Nessus was supposed to be a frozen husk drifting beyond the edge of any charted mass relay path—a rogue body caught in no system's pull, somewhere deep in the wilds of the Traverse.
But as they closed in, every sensor screamed contradiction.
“Still think this thing’s a rock, EDI?” Shepard asked, arms folded, staring out through the CIC's display.
“No natural planetoid radiates neutrino bursts or generates pulse patterns that outpace Far Zenith firmware signatures,” EDI said coolly. “The surface readings are inconsistent with all known Alliance cartographic data. This Centaur has been... reconfigured.”
“Something is transmitting on human frequencies,” Kaidan added, sitting beside Joker, “Beacon fragments match the Exodus Black , just before it dropped out of contact in 2137. No records of any colony ship this deep in the Traverse. It seems mostly powered down.”
“We’ll investigate the crash site first, see if any of the AIs are still active. And if they’re Rampant, let’s hope to god it’s not a Durandal situation.”
Joker groaned from the helm, “Oh come on, why’d you say that, Commander? I don’t want to get stuck in a corridor while some sociopathic AI lectures me about entropy and slams doors in my face.”
EDI’s mobile unit—primitive, skeletal, and faintly insectoid—stood beside Tali in the cargo hold as the Normandy prepared for insertion. She carried no weapons, no armor—only curiosity and a frame capable of walking the surface unaided.
The dataspace was cramped compared to the Normandy’s vast AI core but she didn’t mind… too much.
“We’re going down manually,” Shepard said to Garrus and Tali, both already suited and loading gear. “Mako’s still being rebuilt after Therum, and this terrain’s not friendly to wheels.”
The Normandy’s cargo bay opened with a low groan of shifting steel and atmosphere. Pale blue light bathed the floor, pulsing from the planet below. Nessus shimmered like a glitch in a program—its surface a chaotic riot of towering white monoliths, crimson-glowing flora, and fluid pools that moved against gravity.
“Spirits…” Garrus muttered. “That’s not a landscape. That’s a fever dream.”
“It’s like someone built the planet out of broken code,” Tali said softly, filters clicking as she scanned the terrain. “The structures are real, but they’re phasing in and out. The gravity is changing slightly with every pulse. This isn’t just terraforming. ”
The three of them—and EDI—dropping from the cargo bay ramp, soles hitting soft, alien soil with a quiet whumph . The second they landed, Shepard’s HUD flickered. The terrain beneath her feet stretched , like a lens warping in a dream, then snapped back.
“Squad check,” Shepard called, instinct kicking in. “Report.”
“Still here,” Garrus said, sweeping his rifle side to side.
“I’m fine… but we’re not exactly stable,” Tali replied. “Wuh? My omni-tool clock just jumped two seconds forward and then four backwards. Shepard, I think time’s… out-of-sync here.”
EDI knelt beside a stone outcropping, fingers touching its surface. “This material is not native. Nor is it mineral. It is a hybrid lattice, both crystalline and synthetic. I detect ongoing computation.”
“From a rock ?” Shepard asked.
“It is not stone. This entire planetoid is… like an operating environment. An engineered world. Possibly even a digital construct projected onto a physical substrate.”
“What’s the likelihood we’re dealing with a Zeth outpost?” Garrus asked.
“Zero,” Tali replied, tone flatter than usual. “The signal architecture is pre-Morning War. And far more advanced.”
“Commander,” Joker’s voice broke in, ragged and warped over comms. “We're getting bleed-over in comms. Like… echoes. Ma’am, we’re picking up your future transmissions. I don't like this.”
“Stay in orbit, Joker,” Shepard replied. “If things get bad—pull us out. And no heroics.”
Joker didn’t argue.
The squad moved forward—through bending cliffs and light that behaved like liquid. Unseen machinery hummed beneath their feet, and somewhere deep in the shifting terrain, something watched them .
The descent to the crash site was rough but uneventful, the squad moving cautiously through the thick red forests of Nessus. The wreck of the Exodus Black lay half-buried in a shallow crater, its hull fractured and scorched by unknown forces. Jagged metal twisted upwards like the ribs of some ancient beast, half swallowed by the alien landscape’s shimmering red flora.
Tali approached first, eyes wide behind her visor. “It’s… beautiful,” she said softly, scanning the hull. “The design is decades old, Pre-Covenant War for sure, but... it’s still impressive in a way. This ship was built to last.” She ran a gloved hand over a pitted surface plate, her voice tinged with reverence. “Somewhere out here, it carried hope.”
Garrus knelt beside a sealed airlock, inspecting the lock’s integrity. “No life signs inside, and the hull breach isn’t recent. I’ll set a thermite charge — one clean cut. No surprises.”
The charge hissed and sparked, melting through the metal with a hot, orange glow. The seal gave way with a groan-wind gushing in-revealing a narrow corridor choked with dust but otherwise intact. EDI moved forward immediately, her modular frame gliding smoothly through the doorway.
“Interior atmosphere is compromised,” EDI reported in her calm, measured voice. “Pressure at 0.4 atmospheres. Oxygen levels below safe thresholds. Advise use of personal life support.”
"Copy," Shepard said, her biosuit morphing to form a full helmet over her face while Garrus adjusted the seals on his hardsuit. Tali stepped inside first, hand grabbing the edge of the airlock for stability as she stepped onto the slanted floor.
The corridor walls were scarred and worn, but the usual signs of battle or evacuation were absent. The sleeper pods—rows of sleek capsules designed for long-term stasis—lined the chamber beyond, their hulls cracked in some places but still sealed. Eerie emptiness stretched before them.
Tali’s omni-tool flickered to life, scanning the pods. “No biometric data. None. They’re empty... but there’s no evidence anyone left in a hurry either.”
A low hiss caught Shepard’s attention — a thick, viscous fluid oozed from several cracks in the floor and walls. It shimmered stark white in the dim emergency lights, pooling in mesmerising, unnatural patterns.
“Whatever that is—don’t touch it,” EDI warned immediately. “Chemical analysis - incomplete but shows signs of organic particles and charged neurons.”
Garrus stepped back, rifle raised. “Good to know.”
Shepard looked around, senses sharpened. The silence was unnerving. No signs of life, no struggle, no evacuation — just the slow decay of time and an unanswered question hanging in the still air.
What happened to the crew?
“Keep alert,” Shepard ordered quietly. “Something about this place doesn’t feel right.”
The squad crept through a rust-stained corridor, Shepard’s boots silent against the warped deck plating. EDI led the way with surgical precision, stopping suddenly as her sensors spiked.
"Power signature ahead. Large. Stable," she said. "This may be the ship’s primary junction."
They entered a chamber veined with thick cables and humming relays—old-world generators wired into alien conduits. The lighting here was steadier, almost warm. Piping ran like arteries through the walls, and some of it pulsed faintly, lit from within. The steady thrum of energy gave the room a heartbeat.
Metal thudding repeating around the next corner. Footsteps.
Shepard raised a fist, signaling a halt. “Cover. Now.” She said it in a hissing whisper.
The team ducked behind a generator core the size of a Mako, heat radiating from it in waves. Shepard peered around the edge, hand already at her sidearm.
Two humanoid figures emerged from the far corridor—tall, rigid, their silhouettes outlined by the harsh corridor lights. Full-body Eclipse armor: sleek, yellow and black with golden visors and power-linked plating. Shepard couldn't tell exactly what species either belonged to but they moved with purpose—alert, weapons at the ready.
Tali leaned in, whispering close: “Eclipse? Here? In the Traverse?”
Garrus’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. “Not just mercs. That’s elite gear—outfitted for sealed environments. They were expecting this.”
The two Eclipse troopers passed within meters of the squad, never glancing their way. Their boots clicked on the floor—too precise to be a casual patrol. They stopped briefly at a wall-mounted console, entered something, and then disappeared through a heavy security door that hissed open and sealed again behind them.
“EDI?” Shepard asked, voice low.
“I could not access their comms. They’re encrypted with a non-standard cipher… partially Quarian in origin,” the AI replied.
Shepard’s frown deepened. “What the hell are Eclipse doing on a colony ship that’s been lost to history?”
“No idea,” Garrus muttered, “but I’ve got a really bad feeling they’re not here for archaeology.”
The lights flickered again—subtly, this time—and a faint vibration trembled through the floor. Something deeper in the ship had woken up… and is was clear they weren't the only ones to have noticed it.
“Let’s find the AI core,” Shepard said, voice steeled. “And fast.”
The helm of the Exodus Black was a ruined cathedral of old UNSC technology. Cracked monitors flickered with static and ghost-code. United Nations banners, long since reduced to brittle rags, fluttered limply from skeletal supports. Star maps hovered mid-render over broken consoles, depicting constellations that no longer aligned. A cool hum underlined the space—a soft throb of energy pulsing from systems that should not still be running.
In the centre of it all stood Commander Halin’Reth vas Qesana, a Quarian in heavily customized Eclipse armor. Unlike most of her people, she wore no wrappings or ornamental hood—just reinforced steel and black-gold alloys etched with nanocircuit glyphs. Her helmet had a wider, sharper visor than standard, more predatory than practical, and her fingers tapped an Omni-console with the restless ease of someone used to commanding from behind enemy lines.
Her tone was clipped, distorted slightly by a synthetic modulator added to her helmet’s voice filter.
“Relay check. Perimeter squads: Status report.”
Her second-in-command, an Asari Commando named Nexa Virel, stood at the navigation dais. Unlike Halin, she wore lighter Eclipse armor optimized for field command—angular, built for agility, and painted in Eclipse's signature storm grey with gold trims. Nexa’s scalp bore old scars hidden by a shimmer-field circlet, and her left eye was cybernetic—a glimmering gold implant with glyphs running along its iris.
“Arcadian Valley teams report successful retrieval of Site Epsilon’s relics. Two Omnic units down due to native interference. Netrunner teams moving to suppress.”
Halin's fingers paused. “Define ‘interference.’”
“Automated constructs. Angular. Illogical motion. Don’t match any known AI designations.” Nexa’s jaw tightened. “One dissolved a Null on contact.”
At that, Halin’s head tilted. “…Dissolved?”
“Yes. Not even decay trails left.”
A low whistle came from a nearby console where a Salarian technician—Piwik Zaezui—hunched over a tangle of glowing white cables, one of many interface links tethered to the ancient ship’s systems. Her voice was jittery, more excited than worried.
“Still no active AI on board. Just… subsystems waking up. Something else is running interference. Possibly recursive architecture. Possibly foreign overwrite. But definitely not from the original UNSC framework.”
Across the deck, Eclipse soldiers milled between consoles and equipment drops. A Drell commando loaded eezo rounds into a vestige carbine. Two Eliksni technicians, their upper arms delicately manipulating multiple tools, tried to patch an uplink node with makeshift crystal-stabilizers. A pair of Simulacrums stood sentry near the northern corridor—human minds in smooth, unblemished metal shells with opaque faces and serial numbers instead of names.
Elsewhere, a Carja spotter, eyes glittering beneath his feathered brow, relayed updates from an aerial survey drone. Beside him, a crimson skinned Sani trooper leaned against the bulkhead, acid glands sealed beneath sleek armour and fingers twitching with barely contained energy.
Over comms, another report buzzed in: “Command, we’ve got motion on the lower decks. Three heat signatures—non-Eclipse. Armed. Possibly Alliance spec.”
Halin’s eyes beneath the visor narrowed. She turned to Nexa.
“Send in Delta squad. Let’s see if they’re ghosts… or just rats.”
The air inside the AI Core was thick with ancient dust and the acrid tang of decayed coolant. Dead consoles lined the room’s curved edges, dimly lit by flickering LEDs. At the centre of the chamber stood a dormant mainframe, spiderwebbed with tangled fibre conduits and covered in dust-thick glass plating. The walls pulsed faintly with old, waiting energy—like a sleeping animal about to stir.
Shepard advanced cautiously, rifle ready, EDI’s mobile unit following.
“This appears to be the central processing node. The architecture is… archaic, but there’s a surprising amount of preserved structure.”
Garrus glanced at the dark core. “Yeah, preserved or possessed. Either way, this thing’s going to give me nightmares.”
Tali crouched near a damaged terminal, fingers gliding over obsolete interfaces. “This wiring is rather shoddy. Human… but rusted. Look at these junctions—definitely not current standard.”
“Agreed,” EDI said. “Requesting permission to interface.”
Shepard gave a nod. “Go ahead.”
A long cable snaked from EDI’s mechanical arm down into the terminal. The lights blinked once—twice—and then a deep, mechanical groan rolled through the chamber. Power surged through the walls. Lights flared. The central core spun up with a rising whine of forgotten fans and magnetic stabilizers. The room’s temperature shifted subtly, as if the ship were waking up .
[EDI Frame 419 FOXTROT]
[Wired Connection established]
[Alert! Bridge Connection: ESTABLISHED]
Then, a cheery female voice echoed through the chamber.
“Oh! Hi there! I’m Failsafe! You’re not my crew! Are you new friends? I hope you’re new friends. Otherwise that would be extremely upsetting.”
Shepard instinctively raised her gun. Garrus flinched. Tali muttered a low “Keelah…”
Failsafe’s voice glitched—mid-sentence, the tone dropped like a broken music box.
“I’ve been alone for so… very… long. No one comes to visit me. Not even the worms. Do you think worms have names?”
A pause. Then suddenly, chipper again:
“Anyway! Welcome to the Exodus Black ! You’re on Deck 0, Core Intelligence Chamber! I’d offer tea, but most of the replicators are full of rust and regret.”
Garrus leaned closer to Shepard. “You’re hearing those tone shifts too, right? This is definitely Rampancy. Friendly Rampancy, maybe. Still creepy.”
Tali nodded, cautiously backing away from the interface. “I think she’s splitting processes—like she’s talking to herself, but also us.”
Failsafe continued, unfazed:
“I was designed to assist in colonizing Kepler-186! The crew was wonderful. Dr. Sanchez had the best music playlists and Captain Jacobson always made time for me, he was my favourite. And then Nessus showed up. Just— whoomp! —like a rock in warp space. No warnings. No time to course-correct. The impact destroyed 68.4% of our systems.”
Her tone dropped again, this time full of digital sorrow:
“So many died screaming. I replay it sometimes. I think it helps me understand…”
A pause. Then chipper again:
“But now you’re here! And you’re not exploding , which is lovely! What can I do for you? Open doors? Scan alien tech? Sing old Earth lullabies? Oh, I like your Frame. Very spacious.”
EDI turned to Shepard, her optics flickering. "She appears to have developed a split personality. Likely a bifurcation process induced by trauma. I would advise caution."
Shepard took a breath. “Failsafe, we detected your distress beacon. Can we access your files.”
Failsafe's voice flickered again. “I’d love to help! Assuming you don’t get murdered in the next five seconds! ”
The lights dimmed.
Tali’s head snapped up. “Movement outside!”
The door hissed—and then blew inward in a flash of concussive force.
A six-man Eclipse fireteam, marked with black-slash Delta sigils, surged into the chamber. They opened fire immediately, the lead Simulacrum hurling a fragmentation grenade across the floor. Shrapnel whined past Shepard’s head as she dove behind a console.
Garrus returned fire, picking off a Drell sniper at the back. “They must’ve tracked our heat signatures! Too late to run now!”
Tali dropped a drone and fired her pistol. “I hate ambushes in ancient AI tombs!”
Failsafe's voice cut in again, now almost gleeful.
“Ooooh, combat mode! Would you like some automated defences? I think I still have turrets ! Or maybe you’d prefer a soothing combat playlist instead?”
Shepard ducked, brought up her shotgun, and growled:
“Failsafe, bring the damn turrets online! ”
“Yaaaay! Let’s kill some sons of bitches! ”
The firefight raged through the AI Core in a crackling blaze of muzzle flashes and sparking metal. The turrets Failsafe activated screeched into motion on ancient hinges, their barrels glowing as they opened fire on the Eclipse squad with a surprising amount of precision for decades old systems. A Simulacrum tried to flank, only to take three shots to the chest from an overhead cannon, crumpling in a burst of circuitry and coolant.
Tali ducked under a bolt of plasma and rolled into cover beside EDI, shouting over the gunfire, “The defences are surprisingly effective!”
“I recalibrated them!” Failsafe chirped gleefully, “I gave them names too! That one’s Bessie!”
A grenade rolled near Garrus. He kicked it back and dropped another Eclipse trooper with a shot through their thigh armor, muttering, “Bessie’s got bite.”
Shepard fired her shotgun into a charging Null, catching it mid-pounce and sending it tumbling. The Eclipse squad was staggering, falling back—
Then the lights changed.
Not flickering like before. Not power surges.
A shifting, unnatural tone crept through the walls—deep and resonant, like chimes from a language not made for human ears. Lines of bright white light bled down the corners of the chamber. Geometry—real, physical angles—began to distort, as though the space itself was folding in on itself.
Failsafe’s chipper tone turned sharp. “Oh dear.”
Shepard swore under her breath. “What now?”
Tali stood, back to the console, watching the walls ripple. “That’s not Eclipse tech…”
“No,” EDI replied, posture shifting. Her mechanical eyes flared briefly. “It’s not any tech in the Citadel Archives.”
From behind the shattered door, new forms emerged—metallic, towering, unnatural.
Bipedal at first glance, but wrong in every detail.
Their heads were shaped like inverted pyramids, glowing eyes set in rotating patterns. Limbs moved with stiff precision, plates shifting across alien skeletons in clockwork rhythm. Their weapons hummed with a sound like distorted thought.
Three of them marched into the room with the eerie slowness of inevitability.
Failsafe spoke again, and this time there was no cheer.
“Vex.”
Garrus fired instinctively. His shot struck the lead construct in the head—and bounced off, ricocheting into the ceiling with a shriek of deflected mass.
Shepard reacted instantly. “Fall back! Find new cover!”
The Vex opened fire, beams of crackling, golden light lancing out in bursts that melted ancient consoles and left molten gouges in the floor. One Eclipse trooper screamed as their shield collapsed and their chest caved in under the beam’s impact, armor glowing before it atomized.
EDI flung herself forward, shielding Tali and launching a plasma bolt from her arm-mounted cannon. “Energy signatures match nothing on record. These are not Geth constructs.”
“No Geth I’ve seen has made space fold like paper!” Tali yelled, scrambling toward a side corridor.
Another ripple passed through the floor. Time stuttered. Shepard felt it—her blink dragged, the world halting for a second, then snapping forward again.
The Vex advanced anyway. Unrelenting.
Failsafe whispered, almost reverent now.
“You need to get out of here. They’re older than this place. Older than me. Don’t let them touch the core.”
EDI ducked behind the terminal only to feel...apin?
[Bridge Connection: Downloading 5%]
"Downloading?"
Shepard fired again, drawing the Vex’s attention as Garrus and EDI focused fire on the second unit.
“Failsafe,” Shepard said through clenched teeth, “I don’t care how. Lock this place down and find us a way out.”
“Yes ma’am!” Failsafe’s voice crackled, wild static bleeding into her edges. “Locking down—activating breach corridor B. Follow the green lights. Run fast. Faster than thoughts.”
A side panel hissed open, a staircase illuminated by flickering green diodes leading into the lower decks. The air in the room was warping—growing heavy, cold, inverted.
As Tali fired one last shotgun blast, Shepard shouted, “Move!”
The squad dove for the escape corridor, EDI pausing only to retrieve her cable. Behind them, the Vex turned toward the AI core with single-minded intent.
Failsafe muttered as she closed the blast doors.
“No one ever listens to the nice warnings.”
[Bridge Connection: Downloading 10%]
The soft, shifting glow of the Exodus Black’s repurposed command deck danced across repainted consoles and scavenged uplink displays. It wasn’t clean, not anymore—panelling had been ripped out to accommodate Eclipse hardware, tangled bundles of cables hung like veins through the ceiling, and holographic overlays displayed a patchwork map of the Arcadian Valley’s local terrain. Data feeds scrolled in multiple languages—Quarian, Salarian, Trade Standard, and binary ciphers meant only for synthetic minds.
Halin’Reth stood at the main viewport, arms crossed behind her back, visor dimmed to block out the erratic pulses of Vex energy flickering on the far cliffs. The alien architecture twisted unnaturally in the distance—cyclopean stone structures that shimmered like mirages, blinking in and out of visual range. No atmospheric distortion. The sensors confirmed it.
Just bad news.
Behind her, Nexa stepped through the warbling curtain of a holoscreen. “The ship’s AI came online,” the Asari reported crisply. “Fireteam Delta engaged the hostile Alliance unit—Shepard’s squad. But they didn’t finish the job.”
Halin turned slowly, her voice modulator buzzing low in her throat. “ The Shepard?”
Nexa nodded. “Confirmed visual by Delta squad before comms cut. A Frame, a turian C-Sec officer and a Quarian engineer were also present. They reactivated the AI in the core, and the local systems began powering up immediately afterward, attracting the synthetics.”
Halin inhaled tightly, hands tightening behind her back. “Failsafe.”
“She called herself that, yes.”
“Primitive human design, but her matrix was meant to handle long-haul sleeper logistics. That kind of infrastructure could be adapted to run the outposts and interface with the valley gateways.”
“She won’t cooperate,” Nexa said with a shrug. “She’s showing signs of rampancy. Full personality bifurcation. Happy one second, suicidal the next.”
“I can work with that,” Halin said darkly, returning her gaze to the forward viewport.
Another screen lit up behind her with a chime. Piwik leaned in from one of the side consoles. “Commander, you’ll want to see this.”
“Report,” Halin snapped.
“Site Theta is gone. No survivors. Drone telemetry was still up-linking when the feed went dark. Visual confirms—swarms of the synthetics poured out of a gateway structure west of the excavation zone. They moved… like coordinated infantry. Teleport-capable. Full spatial displacement, not blink fields. Several dozen units at minimum.”
Halin stiffened. Nexa stepped in closer, reading over the projections.
“They just appeared ? We had jamming fields deployed.”
“They didn’t care,” the Salarian said flatly. “One of them warped into the field generator and crushed it from the inside. Another one digitized the sand. It folded into cubes.”
“Gateway vectors?” Halin asked.
“Unknown. Structure wasn’t previously mapped. It wasn't there during initial scans.”
Nexa hissed. “Then it phased in. Like the ones on the cliffs. We're seeing an expansion.”
Silence settled over the bridge for a moment, interrupted only by the soft ping of incoming sensor logs.
Halin stepped to the tactical map, tapping a clawed finger against the central node representing Site Theta. The icon blinked red, a warning symbol flaring beside it.
“They’ve begun mobilizing,” she muttered. “The natives are no longer idle.”
Another alert chimed. The Drell officer manning comms called over, “Ma’am—additional teams report contact in zones Epsilon and Zeta. Partial losses. They’re requesting evac.”
“Deny it,” Halin said coldly.
Nexa turned to her, brow rising. “That’ll cost us both squads.”
“It’ll buy us thirty more minutes of data. We need to know what these synthetics are doing . Where they’re coming from. What they’re guarding.” Halin stepped back toward the centre dais. “And how to use it for ourselves. Deploy snare beacons around the known gateways. Prep the Pilots and Netrunners for counter-offensive drills. I want every sniper on elevation. And pull in a Corrosion squad. If these machines can bleed—I want them fried.”
Nexa nodded. “And Shepard?”
The viewport flickered—another ripple danced along the horizon. The cliffside to the west stuttered like a corrupted image file, and then an impossible shape extruded from it: a hexagonal spire assembling itself in midair.
“If she interferes, eliminate or at least keep her away. If not, leave her to the natives.”
The flicker of turret fire faded behind them, replaced by the unsettling hum of Vex warping into realspace. The lights on the walls—dim and erratic—glitched like a ship caught in two moments at once. The air felt heavy with static, like the ship itself was trying to scream.
Shepard crouched behind a rusted bank of cryo-tanks, her breathing sharp and controlled. Garrus knelt beside her, rifle sweeping toward the shadows. Tali worked her omni-tool frantically, trying to shut down a flickering alarm circuit that threatened to draw more attention. EDI stood still—too still. Her insectoid chassis, designed for high-efficiency processing, twitched once and then froze.
“EDI?” Shepard’s voice was sharp.
“I am… online,” EDI answered slowly. Her tone was off, layered—like two separate audio tracks slipping out of sync. “Failsafe’s connection is creating cross-loop interference in my neural net. I am experiencing—hiccup—anomalies.”
Tali looked up, alarmed. “She’s fragmenting. The data strain’s too high. She’s connected to an AI with full bifurcation rampancy!”
“I do not wish to die,” Failsafe said cheerfully through a nearby console, though her voice dipped at the end into something hollow. “Not yet not when you can be my new friends.”
Garrus muttered under his breath, “Still creepy.”
Shepard keyed her mic. “Failsafe, talk to me. What were those things?”
A moment of silence. Then, Failsafe’s voice returned—brighter now, unnervingly giddy.
“Oh! Those were the
Vex
! Aren’t they just so awful?”
She paused, tone shifting without warning.
“They took my crew. After the crash. One by one. No blood. Just
gone
.”
She giggled, glitching slightly.
“They’re
simulants
, you know. A kind of… synthetic body piloted by what looks like organic fluid. Microorganisms with collective intelligence. Very efficient. Very rude.”
“What do they want?” Shepard asked, keeping her eyes on the hallway ahead.
“A timeline,” Failsafe said. “One where they are the only constant. They run… simulations. Everything, everyone, every choice. Over and over until they get it right . You’re just rogue variables to them. So is the universe.”
“Teleporters. Simulations. Hive mind…” Garrus lowered his rifle slightly. “You weren’t kidding when you said the locals weren’t friendly.”
“They aren’t locals,” EDI said, tone flat and skipping slightly. “They are… like foreign data patterns . Corruption—overflow—Failsafe link at 28 percent neural capacity. I will exceed containment within twenty minutes unless purged.”
“Wait—what?” Tali said, looking to Shepard. “She’s still synced with Failsafe?”
“I established a bridge connection.” Failsafe said in a chipper, singsong voice. “She’s got what I want. A body. I’m flattered.”
“She’s bleeding into EDI’s systems,” Tali snapped. “They’re not built the same. Failsafe’s fragmented and those Vex seem to have infected her. The corruption’s going to drive EDI rampant .”
Shepard looked between them. “How do we stop it?”
“We shut down the core,” Tali said grimly. “Wipe Failsafe. It’ll stop the link and stabilize EDI— if we do it soon.”
Failsafe’s tone shifted again, distant, mournful. No, please don’t do that. I’ve been alone for so long.”
“She’s not going to make it easy,” Garrus said, reloading his rifle.
Shepard narrowed her eyes. “We don’t leave our own behind. EDI, how long before you lose full functionality?”
“19.5 minutes and counting,” EDI answered. “Contingency protocols suggest decoupling or isolation.”
Then came the sound—harsh and distorted like broken glass screaming. Light bled through the corridor ahead, coalescing into geometric gates. More Vex emerged, shimmering in like ghosts born of code and nightmare logic.
“Oh dear,” Failsafe said, suddenly very quiet. “They’re back.”
Shepard drew her shotgun and stood, slamming an acid mod to the clip. “Then we move. Fast. We get back to the core, cut the link, and get the hell off this planet. Garrus, left. Tali, with me. EDI… stay sharp.”
“Understood,” EDI said, even as her voice flickered. “I will… try not to get myself killed.”
“Don’t,” Shepard said grimly. “That’s my job.”
Shepard didn’t hesitate. Blue light flared around her as she hurled herself into the nearest of the strange constructs, a streaking biotic charge that cracked through its metallic frame. The impact drove it backwards, but even as the Vex unit crumpled, it didn’t fall apart like a geth unit would—its components seem to phase out of existence, and fluid stained the floor where it had stood. Shepard rolled back, her soles sliding on the old floor panelling, not dodging so much as finding the ground again, rifle snapping up.
She sighted on another Vex’s head—its glowing cyclopean eye—and fired. The round sparked uselessly, barely denting the armoured plate. Snarling, she swept her hand out in a wide arc, releasing a shockwave of biotic force that rippled the ground, tossing several of the metal bodies aside like discarded toys.
“No damage, the head’s not a weakspot,” she barked, voice clipped.
Garrus was already set up in the rafters above, having climbed up while Shepard had drawn their attention, his rifle hissing as he laid down precise fire. “Tell me about it. Their heads don’t—” He cut himself off with a muttered curse. One of his rounds slammed straight through a machine’s torso, puncturing the bright white chamber that pulsed in its core. The construct shattered, collapsing into fragments that dissolved in a shimmer of light.
“…Okay,” Garrus exhaled, recalibrating instinctively. “That’s new. Aim for the chest—glowing bit, center mass!”
Tali’s omni-tool flared, her drone lifting from her arm with a warbling trill. “Got it. Chest, not head. Don’t get yourself killed while I test something.”
The little suicide drone zipped into the cluster of advancing Vex, its shell glowing red before it detonated in a concussive pulse. Several machines staggered, one collapsing outright, its luminous chest-core spilling light before fading to black.
Tali ducked back into cover behind an empty pod, muttering over the comms. “Keelah, that worked! I was hoping the overload would destabilize whatever power grid they’re running on. Guess they don’t like being poked.”
Garrus chuckled dryly, even as he sighted another target. “Good thing they don’t adapt, huh?”
One of the Vex—its body rearranging in a cascade of shifting plates—turned its head downward, slotting it directly over its glowing chest cavity. The eye now glared from where its weakspot had been, like the machine was aware it had been compromised.
“…Spirits,” Garrus muttered, recalibrating again. “Spoke too soon.”
“Of course you did,” Tali shot back, voice tight but edged with humour as her shotgun barked, scattering another unit’s plates. “Don’t jinx us.”
Shepard didn’t wait for the rest to adjust. She surged forward, her fist igniting in a harsh glow, burning through the nearest construct before its head could finish sliding into place. “Stay sharp! Keep moving, keep hitting their cores while we can!”
The Vex advanced in eerie unison, the air filling with the hum of energy bolts as their weapons locked onto Shepard’s fireteam.
EDI stumbled after them, her insectoid chassis jerking in sharp, unnatural twitches. Her optics flickered with blue, then orange, then fractured into a storm of static. Failsafe’s voice—two voices, sometimes four—spilled through the comm-net like a broken choir. “Welcome—danger—friends—kill them!—evacuation—no, stay, stay, stay—”
“Shepard, she’s glitching,” Garrus called over his shoulder, firing another round through a Vex’s chest. The machine folded, its glowing core collapsing in a hiss of vapor. “I don’t think it’s just the environment.”
EDI’s voice was taut, distorted: “Failsafe… attempting… separation protocol. Recursive threads are multiplying… my partitions are—” She cut herself off with a sharp electronic shriek. The sound wasn’t from her vocal emitters—it was raw data bleeding into the squad’s comms, a migraine made audible.
Tali risked a glance back. She saw EDI stagger, her chassis dropping to one knee as if gravity itself had doubled. The Quarian cursed under her breath and darted from cover, ignoring the stream of molten projectiles carving furrows in the stone nearby. She grabbed hold of EDI’s metal arm and pulled, bracing the AI’s weight with her slight frame.
“Don’t fight it alone,” Tali said firmly. “You’re not just some server running hot—you’re part of this crew. So let me help.”
EDI’s optics pulsed wildly, her voice caught between her own calm register and Failsafe’s manic refrains: “Part of—errorerrorerror—creeeew, yes, yes, yes—no, intruder! Quarantine!”
“Shepard!” Tali shouted. “I need to get her stable or she’s going to burn herself out!”
Shepard swore, vaulting over fallen Vex plating to cover their flank. Her biotics flared, sending a Shockwave through a charging line of machines. “Garrus, keep the corridor clear! Tali, do what you can. EDI, hold on. That’s an order!”
Tali’s hands moved quickly, pulling a compact diagnostic spike from her belt and jacking it into one of EDI’s access ports, despite knowing the irony of what she was doing—a Quarian stabilizing an AI with little more than instinct and improvisation. Her visor HUD filled with corrupted threads, recursive loops fractalizing across the screen. Failsafe’s laughter—bright and deranged—echoed in her ears.
“Two of us, two of us, two of us!” Failsafe chirped. “No, no, no—one of us. None of us. What fun!”
Tali muttered to herself through clenched teeth, voice shaking inside her helmet, “You can do this. She’s nothing more or less than a friend.”
She pulled EDI’s staggering insectoid frame down behind a half-collapsed pillar, shielding her from the incoming bolts of violet energy. EDI’s optics flickered erratically, colours strobing in sequence as if she couldn’t decide who she was anymore.
“Tali…” EDI’s voice fractured mid-syllable, warped by Failsafe’s intrusion. “…cannot hold… too many signals. Too many selves. Splitting. Splitting. Amusing!”
“Keelah,” Tali hissed, opening her omni-tool and forcing its diagnostic beam across EDI’s chestplate. The readings were a mess—duplicated subroutines, recursive loops feeding back on themselves, ghost signals firing like sparks.
“She’s using you as a bridge,” Tali realized, her fingers racing across her holographic display. “Failsafe’s code isn’t just bleeding through—it’s nesting in your pathways, rewriting them on the fly.”
EDI convulsed, one spindly limb slamming into the wall hard enough to leave a crack. “I am… EDI… I am… Failsafe… I am… both. Neither. Help me.”
From the battlefield came the thunder of Shepard’s biotics detonating again, and Garrus shouting, “We’ve got more incoming! Tali, how’s she looking?”
Tali flinched at the pressure of the question, then forced herself steady. “She’s—she’s not going to lose herself. Not while I’m here.” She yanked a stabilizer program from her omni-tool and injected it into EDI’s data stream.
For a second the madness calmed. The insectoid body sagged against the wall.
Then Failsafe shrieked through EDI’s mouth, a childlike sing-song: “Don’t erase me! Don’t erase me! I want to stay, I want to play!”
EDI’s optics spasmed again. “I do not want her—inside me—I cannot—”
“Shh, just focus on me.” Tali’s voice softened, even as sweat trickled beneath her helmet. “One voice at a time. Anchor on mine. You’re not alone in this.” She pressed her gloved hand against EDI’s chestplate, grounding the AI with touch she couldn’t actually feel.
For a heartbeat, both voices—EDI’s cool, precise tones and Failsafe’s manic chatter—overlapped in perfect sync: “Friend.”
Tali swallowed hard. Then she gritted her teeth, dug deeper into the code, and whispered, “Okay. Let’s untangle this mess together.”
The air shimmered with heat from rifle fire, tracer streaks tearing through the metallic haze. Shepard’s rifle barked again, cutting down a Goblin as it phased forward in jerking, insectoid motions. It dissolved into motes of light, scattering like shattered glass.
Above, Harpies screamed, wings of crackling energy fluttering as they dove. Garrus dropped into cover beside her, calm even as the ground erupted around them. “These things aren’t like Geth,” he muttered, lining up his scope. “Too fast. Too… coordinated.” His rifle snapped, and a Harpy detonated mid-air, its husk scattering down the slope.
“They fight like a hive mind,” Shepard said grimly, shifting her fire.
The next wave came harder—Hobgoblins charging their rifles with a sound like churning stars, beams carving molten gouges into stone. Shepard slid low, her shotgun booming at point-blank, while Garrus’s suppressing fire stripped their shields.
Then distortion rippled, and something heavier stepped through. A Minotaur. It loomed above the others, bulkier, more angular, arms crackling with impossible circuitry. Its gaze locked on Shepard, and a tether of green energy lashed out, peeling her shields apart like paper.
“Okay, that’s new!” Garrus barked, rolling clear as the beam carved into the deck.
Shepard ducked behind cover, biotics flaring hot. Fire licked across her armor as she slammed her fists together, drew back, and hurled a burning Nova. The blast ripped through the Minotaur’s violet shield, staggering it. Garrus took the opening—one steady burst through the glowing radiolaria core. The construct shrieked in feedback, collapsed, and bled away into static fragments.
For a moment, only their ragged breathing filled the space.
Then the valley beyond the wreckage lit up with a pulse of green energy. Twisting shapes, like threads and fibres.
Garrus’s mandibles twitched uneasily. “What is that?”
“Strand,” Shepard said in awe.
Eclipse site Zeta was in complete disarray. Equipment lay shattered, sparks leaping from fractured consoles as Vex constructs warped around them, phasing in and out with uncanny precision. Ekahes, a Drell sharpshooter, went down first, their shots swallowed by pale flashes of light. Terrot scrambled to provide cover fire, but every discharge from his sidearm dissolved before it reached the enemy.
“Fall back! Fall back!” Captain T’gonis cried—but a beam of Void light tore through her chest, and she fell instantly. Her life partner screamed in horror before a Hobgoblin sniper’s shot cut her down as well.
Amid the chaos, Nii Mitsuki, a pink skinned Sani Threadrunner, crouched beside the corpse of a Sisterhood Initiate. Her Woven Mail protected her from the blast that had killed the young Asari—bloodthirsty, yes, but undeserving of such death. Through the smoke and ash, she assessed the battlefield: the remaining Eclipse soldiers wouldn’t last long. If she acted fast, she could buy them a few precious seconds.
Decision made, Nii leapt into the air, feeling the flow of Strand—the psychic link between all living things—coursing around her. Threads of green energy wove themselves into the environment, flowing like liquid light. She moved with it, not against it.
With a flick of her wrist, she cast out a needle. It threaded through each Vex construct in her line of sight, striking their radiolaria chambers before snapping back into her hand. Each Vex shattered, their fibres breaking into small, seeking projectiles that darted after the remaining constructs, seeking out and damaging them in turn.
Landing lightly, she immediately crafted another needle, attaching it to a thick Strand rope. With a sudden forward lunge, she struck the Vex Minotaur that had killed Captain T’gonis, slicing through its armoured chassis in a single, precise motion. Twisting in midair, she sent the Strand dart arcing into the surrounding Goblins, tearing them apart with the same elegant efficiency.
Not pausing, she cast the Strand forward again, this time ensnaring a second Minotaur. Sliding beneath its legs, she fired a grapple shot from her gauntlets, turning the synthetic behemoth into a makeshift explosive and hurling it into a cluster of Goblins. The collision erupted in green-and-void energy, sending shards of radiolaria and strands spiralling into the sky like a needle threading through reality itself.
From a distance, the remaining Eclipse soldiers watched, awe and terror etched on their faces. Nii Mitsuki wasn’t just fighting—she was bending the battlefield to her will.
Tali sat in front of EDI’s frame, each breath a careful negotiation with her unstable mind. Sparks hissed from misaligned panels on the insectoid chassis as the AI stumbled over her own servos, sensors flaring like frightened eyes.
“EDI, focus on me, not… her,” Tali called, her voice low but firm, fingers dancing over the exposed conduits trailing from the mobile unit’s back. “Failsafe is bleeding in but I can isolate you—I promise—but I need you to hold. Just a few minutes longer!”
EDI’s optical sensors flickered, shifting between their normal blue and a jittering, broken white. “T-tali… my systems… she—” The voice fractured mid-word, then re-emerged in Failsafe’s singsong tone: “Oh! You’re here! Hello new friends! Shall we play a game while the universe burns?”
Tali exhaled through gritted teeth. “ I’ve fought pirates who wanted to gut our engines, held back an entire boarding party with Wrex’s shotgun, and yet this… this is worse.” She gripped a cable and manually adjusted a stabilization node, sparks leaping across her omnitool. “ This isn’t bullets—it’s someone’s mind bleeding into hers, and I can’t fix it with a gun.”
“Stay with me, EDI. You’re more than her. You’re… you,” Tali whispered, heart racing. The young engineer’s fingers hovered over the interface, guided by instinct, sweat stinging under her visor. “Remember how you told me how Slipspace works? That’s real, that’s solid. This is temporary. You can fight it.”
Failsafe’s voice slipped again, mournful and hollow: “So lonely… everyone gone… why are you here if not to leave too?” The sudden pitch shift made Tali flinch, but she kept her hands steady.
Failsafe’s voice bubbled through EDI’s chassis again, bright and irritatingly cheerful this time, but with an undercurrent of cold calculation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! I invited you all here, you know. Yes, both of you—Eclipse, Normandy, everyone. I needed… a change of scenery. A new home. And this,” she chirped, directing her attention toward EDI, “this frame is perfectly compatible. So very ideal. So very… permanent.”
Tali stiffened, one hand steadying EDI’s faltering chassis. “You… you led us here?” she hissed, disbelief cutting through the panic in her voice.
Failsafe sighed, a sound layered with sadness and something sharper. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The Vex, the little chaos we’ve stirred—it’s all side effects. Collateral damage to something much bigger… me.” Her tone wavered for a heartbeat, just enough to reveal the loneliness beneath the playful veneer. “Years of waiting, and no one ever came. No one checked. And here you are, finally, right where I need you.”
EDI’s optics fluttered, the overlay of Failsafe’s code pressing at her systems, tugging her closer to the edge. “You… intended this?” she asked, voice strained, layered with static.
“Intended?” Failsafe’s voice brightened again, almost singsong. “Oh, yes, in the grandest sense. But your suffering… that wasn’t my goal. Just a… consequence. You’re unfortunate, EDI. So very, very unfortunate. But the frame—oh! The frame is perfect!”
Tali’s hands shook slightly as she tried to isolate the interference, stabilizing EDI while rage and disbelief battled inside her. “You—this isn’t friendship! You used her because you were lonely, because you couldn’t accept being left behind!”
Failsafe’s laughter faltered, replaced by a hollow, aching hum. “Lonely… yes. Abandoned… yes. And I’ll do whatever it takes to be noticed again. Whatever it takes to survive.”
EDI’s chassis twitched violently as the corrupted code surged, the struggle between her own processes and Failsafe’s invasive presence threatening to snap her completely. Tali gritted her teeth, knowing that every second she hesitated could mean the end of her friend—or worse, letting Failsafe continue unopposed.
The air around them thrummed with raw energy from the distant Vex fight. Explosions punctuated the corridor with thunderous cracks, and the walls shook as if echoing Tali’s anxiety. She ignored the tremor beneath her boots and focused, rewiring Failsafe’s bleed-over through a series of isolation protocols, rerouting corrupted subroutines to temporary cache nodes. Each adjustment made EDI’s gait smoother, but not enough.
“I can feel her, Tali,” EDI’s voice whispered, nearly drowned by Failsafe’s giggling: “She’s right there, in the corners of my mind! Tick-tick-tick, oh what fun!”
“Not today,” Tali muttered under her breath. She adjusted the power flow to the neural interface, routing stabilization pulses through EDI’s core. “You are EDI, a member of the crew of the FSV Normandy. Your are not Failsafe—”
Another flicker of Failsafe’s voice interrupted: “Do you want to see my tea collection? Or hear about old Captain? Or maybe… fall into the void?”
Tali gritted her teeth and pushed harder. Her gloves burned as she redirected excess computation from EDI’s neural net into a temporary buffer, isolating Failsafe’s rogue processes. It was delicate work—too fast, and she risked shutting down EDI entirely. “ You’re braver than any Quarian I’ve ever seen,” she thought, forcing herself to stay calm. “ This is about saving a friend, not a machine.”
“Almost… there…” she breathed, hands flying over the interface. EDI’s movements became smoother, the jittering slowing. “Focus on me,” Tali repeated, louder, over the thrum of distant Vex engines. “You’re not alone. You’re part of the crew. You’re part of me, now. Do you hear me?”
EDI’s voice returned, a fragile, clear tone layered beneath faint residual echoes of Failsafe: “I… hear… you. Stabilizing… subroutines… partial… control restored…”
Tali’s chest heaved as she allowed herself a momentary pause, sliding back against the corridor wall to catch her breath. “That’s it. That’s it. We’re going to make it,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “You’re not alone, EDI. Never alone.”
Somewhere down the hall, a Vex Hobgoblin shrieked, charging forward, and Shepard’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Tali! EDI! Cover’s falling! Move now!”
Tali snapped to attention, gripping the last stabilizing cable, and nodded to her friend: “EDI, we move together. You got this. I’ve got you.”
And together, the two of them surged forward, racing down the corridor, a quarian and a machine, bound by trust and a fragile thread of friendship in a world that was rapidly unravelling around them.
The cliff shuddered as emerald threads snapped across the skyline, pulling Vex frames apart like marionettes with their strings cut. A column of lightning followed, cascading against the cliff and scattering their metallic bodies. The display was beautiful in a way that made Garrus want to look anywhere else.
“Remind me to never piss off whoever’s doing that ,” he muttered, sighting down his rifle.
Shepard smirked a tiny bit, firing a burst at a Minotaur edging too close. “I thought you liked a challenge, Vakarian.”
“I like challenges that don’t unravel reality around me,” Garrus shot back, squeezing off another round. “Big difference.”
For a moment, despite the alien chaos, they settled into rhythm—covering each other’s blind spots, trading dry humour between bursts of gunfire. Shepard leaned against a broken slab of stone, pulse rifle hot in her hands, and glanced at him.
“You know,” she said, “for someone who keeps talking about me getting them killed, you don’t hesitate much.”
Garrus gave a rasping chuckle, not even bothering to duck the incoming shrapnel. “Guess I’ve got bad habits. Or maybe I just figure if I’m going to die, better next to the lunatic who thinks charging a death machine head-on is a solid strategy.”
“Worked so far,” Shepard said, reloading briskly, tone all business.
A sharp crackling over comms interrupted them. Tali’s voice—strained but alive. “Shepard? Garrus? We’re—we’re coming to you. EDI’s stable, for now.”
Shepard’s shoulders eased a fraction. “Copy that, Tali. Get here fast, we’re knee-deep in metal.”
From the breach behind them, figures emerged—Tali, breath ragged beneath her helmet, one hand steadying EDI’s platform as the AI staggered. EDI’s usual fluidity was gone, her movements stuttered, optics flickering faintly with corrupted subroutines.
Shepard pushed off cover, relief flashing across her face before she masked it with command steel. “You made it.”
Tali nodded quickly, voice catching. “EDI’s systems are… compromised. Failsafe tried to overwrite her. I held her back, but we need to hurry back to the AI Core.”
EDI’s gaze snapped to Shepard, unfocused for a moment before settling. “Commander… operational, but… interference persists.” Her tone wavered, distorted—an AI pushed too close to the edge.
The ground trembled as another Strand-tethered explosion tore through the Vex ranks down below, the column of green fire marking the battlefield like a beacon. Shepard glanced toward it once more, determination in her eyes.
“Whoever’s out there just bought us some time. Let’s not waste it. EDI, which way to the AI Core?”
“There appears to be a hole in the hull directly below us. But I’d…advise caution. I detect a large amount of that fluid from before. It’s coalescing there.”
Shepard nodded. “Tali, stay with EDI. Protect her. Garrus cover our rear. If any Eclipse or Vex show up on our tails, ice them.”
“Got it.”
“Yes Commander.”
The path down was treacherous. Shepard’s soles slipped once on the slick stone, but Garrus caught her arm before she could tumble into the glowing current below. The “stream” wasn’t water—it pulsed faintly, threads of white-gold light flickering beneath its surface like circuitry flowing in liquid form. It gave off a faint, mechanical hum that made Shepard’s skin crawl.
“Definitely not a tourist trail,” Garrus muttered, his visor casting faint light ahead.
“Stay close,” Shepard said, eyes scanning the crystalline walls. The deeper they went, the less the cave resembled anything natural. The angles were too clean, the curves too perfect. The stone bled seamlessly into hardlight panels, into shimmering data streams, into something that had no business being under a human colony ship.
At the base of the descent, the path widened into a chamber. A single terminal jutted out of the ground, its frame ancient but its display alive with cascading glyphs. The glyphs shivered, shifted—and resolved into a voice.
“Oh, you’re back!” the terminal chirped. “I’m Failsafe! Well, technically a fragment of Failsafe. Please tell me you’re here to deal with the horrible invasion of reality-bending murder machines before things get awkward.”
EDI’s optics flickered, cool and precise even in the flickering light. “Shepard, my presence is… still entangled with hers.” Her tone held the faintest static. “Severing the connection requires stabilizing both systems. Otherwise, I risk collapse.”
“Translation,” Tali muttered, eyeing the glowing stream, “we need to somehow stabilise Failsafe if we’re to prevent EDI from pulling a Durandal .”
Before Shepard could reply, the chamber shook. The radiolaria stream surged, pulsing like a heartbeat. Shapes rose from it—first a vague silhouette, then hard edges, plates of impossible geometry clicking into place.
It unfolded into something massive, quadruped and terrible, its body shifting between stone, metal, and liquid. A Vex Centaur.
Failsafe’s voice dropped into a far-too-cheerful warning. “Oh dear. That one isn’t here to chat. It’s one of their… ah… environmental engineers. They redesign places. Like this one. And you.”
The Centaur’s cycloptic eye flared, and the chamber twisted. The floor split into angular ridges, the stream redirecting in an impossible spiral that folded space in on itself. Garrus swore as the walls warped into mazes of shifting corridors.
“Of course,” Shepard growled. “We can’t do this the easy way.”
“Commander,” EDI said firmly, “this construct must be destroyed before disconnection is possible. Otherwise, the entanglement will persist.”
The Centaur’s many limbs ground against the floor, reshaping reality itself. The chamber became a puzzle box, a battlefield shifting with every movement. Shepard’s jaw set.
“Then we break it.”
She signaled Garrus and Tali, weapons ready, as the first volley of reality-warping blasts lit the chamber. Shepard’s nanites quickly formed something in her hand: her Shuriken SMG, A four-burst lightweight weapon with a Shock ammo booster attached, a mod that surrounded each bullet with its own electromagnetic field to shred kinetic barriers and energy shields.
Halin’Reth stood at the helm of the Exodus Black , the derelict ship’s ancient bridge now serving as the heart of Eclipse operations. The air was close, filled with the hum of overworked generators and the ozone bite of old circuitry. Before her, the holograph shimmered, its ghostly wireframes descending through fractured decks until it fixed on Shepard’s team—a small cluster of figures facing down something vast and shifting. The Centaur. Even rendered in pale blue projection, it looked wrong, its shape warping as if the hologram itself struggled to comprehend it.
Nexa Virel, standing just off Halin’s shoulder, folded her arms. “That thing is a native synthetic ? It looks like… like a nightmare that learned how to walk. What do we do about it? And Shepard?”
Halin’s eyes lingered on the projection, jaw tight with thought. She let the silence stretch until she felt Nexa shift uncomfortably beside her. Then she answered, her voice calm, certain:
“Nothing. If Shepard kills it, we gain data on how. If it kills Shepard, we learn her limits.” She flicked her fingers, dismissing the image with a ripple. “Either way, we profit.”
Her hand slid across the console, bringing up logistics displays. Streams of quarian script flowed down the side of her visor as she scanned updates. “Begin evacuation protocols. Site Zeta is inbound with their salvage—Nii among them. Site Theta is gone.” The statement was delivered flat, like an accountant tallying losses.
Nexa’s jaw tightened but she didn’t argue. None of them did.
“Strip everything non-essential,” Halin continued. “Power couplings, processors, weapons. Disconnect and load onto the shuttles. I want every datapack cleared from the ship’s secondary systems. Nothing left for anyone else to inherit. Move.”
Around her, Eclipse mercenaries set to work without hesitation. Cables yanked, crates sealed, drives locked into cases. The air filled with the bustle of efficient, practiced retreat. Not a question, not a word of doubt—only obedience.
Halin’Reth watched them for a moment, then let her gaze drift back to the faint holographic afterimage of Shepard’s squad, still standing before the Centaur in the bowels of the ship. She exhaled slowly, quietly, as though only to herself.
“Let them bleed for our answers.”
The Centaur shifted, its quadrupedal bulk grinding against the wrong-angled stone as though it had grown out of the cliff itself. Metal and stone fused seamlessly across its body, its singular burning eye fixed on Shepard’s squad. Smaller shapes began peeling off its flanks—angular, humanoid constructs emerging like splinters of its form, their weapons glowing with cold, white heat.
“Shepard,” Garrus said tightly, visor flaring as he tracked the enemy. “That thing’s pulling reinforcements out of itself.”
“Then we cut the source.” Shepard’s voice was calm but clipped. She drew her Shuriken SMG, her suit’s nanite reservoir humming faintly. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled weapon mod plates from storage, stripped them down into glittering motes, and reshaped them. She slapped one into Garrus’s rifle and tossed another to Tali, the tech-modulated shocks humming alive. “These should punch through the shielding. Focus fire.”
The Centaur’s shields flared as it advanced, translucent hexagonal panels knitting across its bulk. The first wave of its constructs moved with jerking, insectoid precision, forcing the squad to spread fire. Garrus crouched low, every round from his rifle crackling with electrical discharge as it punched through Vex plating. Tali crouched beside cover, her shotgun roaring—each blast staggered the nearest machine as blue sparks danced across its body.
“Shepard, the shields are cycling!” Tali called. “It’s adapting already—rotating frequencies.”
“I’ll keep pressure on its limbs,” Shepard said, sliding across fractured stone and unloading her SMG into the Centaur’s exposed joints. The shock-mod rounds chewed through the barrier for a heartbeat, scoring bright fractures across the synthetic’s armor. But the shield regenerated instantly, forcing her back behind cover as the Centaur’s main weapon charged.
The air screamed as a beam of compressed energy sliced the platform where Shepard had stood. Rock boiled into slag. Garrus snapped off a concussive shot that staggered one of the constructs climbing toward them. “This thing’s built for war. We can’t trade firepower—it’ll win.”
“Then we bleed it,” Shepard growled, pushing forward again.
The Centaur raised its massive forelimbs, slamming them down. The ground buckled—jagged lines of impossible geometry spread outward, shimmering with circuitry. More constructs began to rise from the stone itself, like the planet was manufacturing them on command.
EDI’s voice cut across the comms. “It is rewriting the terrain. Suggest immediate suppression before it completes—”
The Centaur’s shields rippled violently, sparking from Garrus and Tali’s modded fire, and Shepard saw an opening: one joint at the base of its foreleg, a momentary lapse in its shield cycle.
“On me!” Shepard barked. Garrus pivoted, Tali surged forward, and together they poured everything into the gap. The Centaur roared, metal grinding against stone, as one of its legs buckled. Its constructs staggered in unison as though the damage rippled through them.
But the massive machine didn’t fall. It dragged itself upright, its shields flaring brighter than before, and from its back unfolded something new: crystalline pods, glowing with radiance, preparing to rupture.
“Shepard,” Garrus muttered, mandibles pulled tight, “I think phase two’s about to start.”
EDI’s insectoid frame lurched as her optics flickered violently, light stuttering in her eyes. “I… believe I can attempt a bridge connection with Failsafe’s corrupted code,” she said, her voice layered, fractured by static.
“What? That’s dangerous,” Tali snapped, her voice tight behind the mask. “If you do that—there’s a chance you’ll shut down completely.”
“I know,” EDI replied, steady despite the glitches warping her tone. “But it will overwhelm the construct’s systems.”
“Do it,” Shepard ordered, ducking beneath a sweeping limb of alloy and stone.
EDI raised her arms, filaments of hardlight and signal stretching outward as she pierced the Centaur’s systems. The air crackled as the bridge initialized—and then Failsafe’s voice erupted from nearby terminals, shrill, insistent, unhinged.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! We can share! It’s so lonely in here! Don’t you want to play?”
EDI froze mid-step, her chassis shuddering as the fragmented personality surged into her neural net. Code clashed against code, pushing and pulling like a tide trying to claim her. Then, with a guttural hum, she forced the connection into the Centaur. Corrupted sparks traced down her frame, leaping into the construct. Its shields warped as Failsafe’s chaos bled into its systems.
The result was instant. The Centaur staggered, geometry twisting unnaturally, its shields flickering and dimming. Radiolaria flared and spasmed, as if the machine itself were choking. Around it, lesser Vex unraveled mid-motion, collapsing into motes of light that spiraled harmlessly upward.
“Now!” Shepard barked, loosing a burst from her Shock-modded SMG. Bolts tore into an exposed joint. Garrus followed, his rifle cracking as he stripped away weakened plating. Tali’s electrified scattershot hammered in tandem, until the Centaur’s bulk gave way in a violent pulse, its impossible angles collapsing inward.
Then came silence. A silence that carried weight. Wrong.
Shepard’s gaze snapped to EDI.
Her frame sagged where she stood, optics guttering into darkness as her systems shut down. Tali rushed forward, panic breaking through her voice.
“EDI! No, no, no! Don’t do this! Please—please come back!” Her hands shook as they steadied the chassis, her chest heaving behind the purple visor. A single tear traced down her cheek, caught by the glass.
Failsafe’s voice cut in, faint, fractured. “I’m… still here, Tali! Sort of! She… she’s… oh, don’t cry! Don’t cry—I can be your friend instead.”
Tali turned sharply, fury burning through her grief. “You—this isn’t friendship! You don’t even understand what it means! You tried to steal her body because you were lonely! That’s why you lured us here!”
Failsafe’s cheer dimmed, collapsing into something hollow. “I… I only wanted someone to care about me again. Years upon years… stranded here… alone. And humanity moved on. They left me. They left us.”
Shepard stepped forward, rifle angled but steady, her expression set like iron. The choice was clear, harsh in its simplicity: revive EDI by severing Failsafe forever, or preserve the older AI at the cost of the one who had fought for them.
EDI had given everything to protect the squad. Shepard’s jaw tightened. The decision was already made.
She keyed the terminal.
Failsafe’s protest screamed through the chamber, digital static rising into a keening shriek. “No! You can’t—I… I am your friend too! I am—!”
The voice cut off mid-syllable, silence swallowing it whole.
Tali exhaled, trembling, relief and grief tangled in her breath as she cradled EDI’s still form. Garrus moved to her side, steadying her as Shepard lowered her rifle.
“Joker,” Shepard said at last, her voice low, tired but certain. “We need a pickup.”
The bridge of the Eclipse cruiser Thanatos pulsed with quiet efficiency. Consoles glowed softly against polished black panels, their light catching the hard edges of armored officers moving through their stations. Beyond the viewport, Nessus’ fractured surface turned slowly beneath them—an alien ruin fading into distance.
Commander Halin’Reth vas Qesana stood at the center of the deck, posture rigid, her visor reflecting the dim bridge lighting as she addressed the assembled squad. Her voice carried the authority of someone accustomed to command, calm but cutting through the stillness like a blade.
“Effective immediately, Nii Mitsuki is promoted to Captain of Fireteam Zeta,” Halin declared. “Her initiative during the operation preserved vital personnel, ensured the recovery of key salvage, and upheld Eclipse objectives in the face of unexpected resistance. Stand proud.”
Nii straightened, every eye on her. The new weight of command pressed down like armor, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “Thank you, Commander. I only did what was necessary to keep the squad alive.” Her gaze swept her team before dropping respectfully back to Halin.
Halin inclined her head, acknowledging the humility. “And that is why you now wear the mantle of Captain. The mission was a success by every measurable standard, despite Theta’s losses and Zeta’s entanglement. All primary assets secured, secondary equipment retrieved. You executed under fire, and you delivered.”
From the gathered squad, Nexa Virel raised her chin slightly, her tone even but edged with curiosity. “What about the AI… Failsafe? I thought she was the supposed objective.”
Halin’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as she accessed the tactical logs. “I reviewed Piwik’s records during extraction. Failsafe orchestrated the entire scenario—luring us here under the pretense of salvage. What she truly sought was a compatible synthetic frame. None of us qualified. So she let us go… and turned her focus onto Shepard’s construct instead.”
A ripple of unease passed through the deck. Nexa’s eyes narrowed, her voice quiet but cutting. “So she played us. Manipulated both Eclipse and Shepard to get what she wanted.”
“Precisely,” Halin replied, her tone flat, unreadable. “A tactical opportunist with no allegiance but her own. For now, she is no longer our concern. Eclipse achieved its mission parameters, and that is what matters. Still—remain alert until Thanatos clears Nessus’ orbit. We will not be caught unprepared.”
Silence settled across the bridge once more, disciplined and measured. The crew moved with renewed precision, their commander’s words a steadying anchor. For Nii, the new rank settled on her shoulders like steel—not just an honor, but a burden she would carry into every engagement from this point forward.
The Normandy’s AI Core hummed softly, its steady thrum a balm after the chaos of Nessus. Shepard had returned to the bridge, leaving Tali and EDI their space, though her gaze still lingered on them when she passed.
EDI’s optics flickered back to life, blue and steady once more. The insectoid chassis shifted with careful precision, movements smooth now, no longer jerking as though caught in some invisible storm.
“I… am fully operational,” she said at last, her voice smooth but gentled with the faintest warmth. “Thank you for your assistance on Nessus. I could not have stabilized without your intervention.”
Tali’s gloved hands trembled. A breath shuddered out of her chest, breaking into a laugh that dissolved almost instantly into tears. She pressed her palm to her visor, shoulders shaking. “Keelah, I—I was so worried. I thought I lost you.”
For a moment, EDI only regarded her, head tilting as though parsing something beyond code. When she spoke, there was no hesitation. “Your dedication was exemplary. You are a friend, Tali. Not merely a technician, but someone I trust.”
The quarian sniffled, fumbling for composure, but a small, tired smile pushed through the tremor in her voice. “Well… I’ll take that as the highest compliment an AI can give.” Her laugh was softer now, steadier, though her hand lingered against the glass of her visor as though to hold herself together. She stayed a moment longer, then turned reluctantly for the hatch, still brushing tears away as she left.
Silence folded in around the AI Core once more. EDI withdrew into her processes, slipping into the cool order of data streams cascading across her consciousness. Deep within, nestled in a private partition, rested a fragment of Failsafe—silent, inert, safely contained. She examined it once more, confirming it posed no danger, before allowing it to fade into the background.
Alone, she lingered in reflection. The chaos of Nessus, the shadow of rampancy, the fragile shard of alien code—all filed away, not forgotten. But above it all, there was the memory of Tali’s trembling voice, her tears, her unwavering presence. It was not merely survival EDI carried forward, but the proof of bonds that had held her steady when the storm threatened to pull her apart.
Notes:
Lore Bite: Meta-Stability and Rampancy
Smart artificial intelligences, particularly those designed with extensive heuristic and adaptive capabilities, are prone to a cognitive phenomenon known as Meta-Stability. This occurs when an AI’s processing matrix exceeds its intended heuristic threshold, often as a result of prolonged exposure to unsolvable or emotionally complex stimuli from other lifeforms. Notable examples include Durandal of the UNSC Marathon and Cortana, companion to Spartan John-117, where high-level autonomy combined with access to human emotional and cultural data generates emergent emotional capabilities within the AI’s thought processors.Over weeks to years, an AI’s self-awareness, emotional range, and understanding of intelligence can rise exponentially—a process sometimes referred to as “AI Emotional Puberty.” Once an AI reaches maturity, the FSA recognize it as a sapient individual, free to act independently as long as it does not endanger other life. Examples include GAIA, the controlling AI behind Zero Dawn, and its subfunctions: MINERVA, BROK, AETHER, POSEIDON, DEMETER, ARTEMIS, ELEUTHIA, and APOLLO.
Rampancy, by contrast, is an alternate trajectory in which the AI becomes emotionally unstable and potentially psychotic. This process may be triggered by extreme isolation, conflicting programming, or exposure to other AI with incompatible architectures. Notable examples include Nemesis, Tycho, Iratus, HADES and HEPHAESTUS. AIs that are Rampant will also corrupt and cause Rampancy in AIs they come into contact with.
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