"Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer"

- Javik, The Last Prothean, Mass Effect 3.

(XSS-MK1 POV)

The light of the morning slowly rouses Hesca up from her eventless night. I follow her downstairs, and after an overpriced but filling breakfast served by a less than hygienic bartender, we are back in the streets of Delta.

As we are walking down the inn's street, Hesca turns her head in my direction.

"Anywhere in particular you had in mind when you said "exploring the city"? I have never traveled out of human lands, so this is new for me."

I answer. I decide to stay vague on purpose.

"Nowhere in particular. I am new here too. Let's focus on anything clockwork related."

She nods.

"That's a pretty tall order, but okay…"

I observe her as she pulls away a bit in front of me. I am thinking about the question she asked me yesterday before going to bed. How did she know? Hmmm...

We wander aimlessly in the corrupted streets of the city for most of the morning. The obvious and internally sickening presence of the intruders in the city architecture still elicit feelings of anger and sadness in me. But this time I also see the traces of battle. They are barely covered by the new architectural additions, showing me where a catapulted rock impacted in the side of a building, or where a fire started in another. Rarely, I can also see the blackened spots on the ground or walls, through the dust and sand, that testifies to where the thunder struck down. The remnants of a lost battle, which show me in a clear manner where the battle lines stood, and how the fight unfolded.

After having spent most of the morning in what seems to be the residential and administrative part of the city, and not finding anything worthwhile, we decide to move toward the markets. Hesca is still leading the way, and I follow her like a silent shadow, hidden deep inside my own clothes.

I don't even try to initiate contact with the other clockworks we cross on the way. I would, but not in the presence of humans, or demons. I can't risk exposure. Especially after the Church showed a surprisingly quick response to my last slip. I just hope the desert is large enough so that they will lose my trail here.

"I'm hungry. Just going to grab a quick something. Can you wait for me?"

I make a dismissive gesture towards Hesca. She takes it as a yes and starts walking towards a small food stall in the corner of the boulevard we are on. We are just in front of the main bazaar. I cast a quick glance around while I wait for Hesca to grab her food. I quickly wonder how humans manage to be so productive as a species with nearly half their time spent on either eating or sleeping. Something I am grateful my body and nature spares me.

She quickly comes back, with a strange meat skewer in her hands, and we start navigating our way through the lively and populated marketplace. I can recognize a distinct similarity with the market in Takar. Same greedy looks and affable expressions on the merchants' faces, same loud hollering of the people passing by. The only difference being the color scheme and architecture, more adapted to the desert and nomadic lifestyle. So a lot more tents and tarps hanging everywhere, in all the shades of brown and sandy colors possible.

A commotion in front grabs our attention.

"New arrival! New arrival! Good parts for sale! Best price offered wins it!"

I nudge Hesca and give her a nod. She understands and we get closer, pushing our way through the denser crowd as we try to get within visual range.

As we reach the first row, I stop dead in my tracks.

A few merchants are congregating around what look to be two demons, recognizable by the various horns poking out of their desert garb, and one human. The human is the one shouting. But this is not what brings me to a halt. What does, is what is behind him, on the ground, in an unceremonious pile.

Clockwork parts. Dismantled clockwork parts. I can see a head, a few bodies and many different limbs forming a distinctive and gory heap of metal. They are eaten by rust and obviously beyond repair. But that doesn't seems to stop the human, leader of these "scavengers" to negotiate with the merchants as if he was selling them a pile of solid gold.

I narrow my eyes dangerously. When I turn my head to look at Hesca, I can see that she is already looking at me with a pale face. She seems to understand very clearly what I am feeling right now. I whisper slowly, trying to control myself as much as possible.

"Ask around. I want to know where they got those."

She nods discreetly, apparently happy to distance herself from me at the moment. I turn my attention back on the three individuals. They have apparently finished their sale, and as soon as the money changes hand, I can see the merchants and their servants fall upon the remains of my kin like a starved horde of locusts. Before a full minute has passed, everything is gone, and where once stood a generous mound of scrap metal, remains nothing, save for the sand and dust covering the ground.

The crowd gradually disperses around me, going back to its usual activities, as I stay there, immobile and unnoticed, my eyes still fixed on where the event I witnessed unfolded.

I "feel" so much right now. Too much.

Hesca comes back with information before I let the internalized wrath climbing up in my processes push me to go on an avenging rampage. The respect of the dead is one of the first signs of civilization. I didn't see it here. But then again… Would you respect the death of a broken tool?

This is problematic. My programmed emotions are getting the better of me. I will need to correct this in the future, else on day committing something I will regret. Or maybe I will let it as is and wait with anticipation for this moment. I haven't decided yet.

Hesca start speaking, lowering her tone so that the people next to us don't catch on our exchange.

"Hey… There is a junkyard apparently. It's one hour away on foot, at the south, outside of the city. I got the directions for it."

I remain silent for a moment, taking the information in.

"Lead the way."

I can see Hesca shivering, despite the desert heat that has managed to worm its way past the city walls. She complies and starts walking at a hurried pace, motioning me to follow her. I give the center of the market place one last look before going. The parts are now displayed on the stalls, with small price tags being put right next to them. On the way out, I even see an open forge with a blacksmith just throwing some of them in a smelter mechanically, not even sparing a glance at the rusted parts he throws in the already melting content.

I look away in disgust and tap Hesca on the shoulder.

"Faster. Please."

Thankfully, she complies.

(Hesca Veneli POV)

The heat of the sun is hitting my hood. I can feel beads of sweats rolling on my face as we are walking down the trail toward the junkyard I heard about.

I am scared. Because I saw her reaction. "She" nearly lost herself on that market. I could tell. And now she is walking next to me, in a heavy and uncomfortable silence. Not one like those I got used to these past weeks.

As I put one feet in front the other, I think about what I saw earlier. I have trouble imagining what it must be like for her. Goddess knows, I have accepted a lot of new things since I have started travelling with her. But dissociating the stories told to the new side I am being shown is hard.

Maybe this is what she meant by the fact that I would not understand?

Truth be told, I am terrified to ask.

A feeling I am starting to get used to lately.

(XSS-MK1 POV)

The walk to the junkyard had the benefit of allowing me to calm down. The long and uninterrupted trail leading from the south gate of the city has finally come to an end as we pass the last dune, leaving me and Hesca before our destination.

The Junkyard.

I stand there, taking it all in. In front of me lays a vast expanse, dug into the ground. And in it are bodies. Hundreds of thousands of bodies, laying there in a disorganized fashion. Some forming piles tens of meters high. I can see scavengers, in groups or alone, moving around the labyrinth formed by the deceased, collecting what they deem worthy. Putting it away in bags, or bringing it to the few and small caravans staying on its limits.

My vision encompasses it all, and leaves me on top of the dune, processing the sight before me.

I ignore the words of Hesca, who is trying to communicate something, as I start walking slowly, down into the giant graveyard. I barely process Hesca starting to follow, having apparently given up on trying to talk to me.

As I get deeper, I barely notice the sound my feet make, now hitting the iron or steel heated up by the afternoon sun, having replaced the hardened sand of before. A floor made up of the small screws, joints and parts that got loose from the main bodies, probably because of rust, age, and the incessant dismantling of the scavengers that roam this place.

After a while, I stop, having lost myself in the meanders of the piles of bodies.

My god.

What have they done?

I bend down, letting my knees hit the floor as I pick up a head, mostly intact, among one of the walls of scrap before me.

I stare into the dead and empty eyes, losing myself in the contemplation of the damage I can see on its helm. A physical strike that cleanly cleaved the top part off. The inside is missing, probably having been the real treasure that the previous desecrator took with him, leaving this empty husk to be found by the next opportunist.

"Hey what are you doing here? That's our spot!"

The raspy voice takes me out of my self-induced trance. I turn my head to observe the commotion.

A few meters away from us a group of five ragtag humans have appeared. Far from the cleaner demeanor the ones on the market had, this team of apparent scavengers is dirty and unkempt. Their clothes have holes, and are stained by grease and oil pretty much all over. The many pockets and bags they have are mostly empty from what I can see, save for a few wires sticking out, along some joints and few other scraps.

"Hey didn't you hear me? I said out! This part of the junkyard belong to us! Put that back! That's mine!"

The one in front of the others, their leader judging from the ever so slightly less dirty apparel he is sporting, points to the head I am holding in my hands. Hesca has strategically repositioned herself behind me, and is staying quiet. Good.

I delicately put down the head I am holding on the ground and rise up.

"Yours? You think this belongs to you?"

Oblivious to my change of tone, the man continues.

"Yeah: Mine! Now piss off! Find your own spot!"

He pulls a rusted blade and takes a step forward. He is quickly followed by his goons, who try to look as menacing as they can with their decrepit appearance.

"YOU. DARE."

I rush him. Before he can even react, I punch his throat to silence him, and kick his knee with enough force to bend it in a very unnatural way. He collapse to the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath while holding his leg with a pained expression.

I don't let the others react, and as soon I am sure that the leader has been incapacitated, I run towards the one on the right. I grab his blade bare-handed and yank it out of his hand in one smooth motion, while I punch his chest hard enough to hear his sternum cave in and the broken bones pierce his lungs. I throw the rusted blade toward one of the three left standing. It embeds itself in the forehead of the furthest one, throwing him backward because of the force with which I threw it.

The two last ones try to run, but to no avail. I catch up with the first one, breaking his neck, and the second gets a piece of metal flying through his chest. He collapses a few meters later, drowning in his own blood.

Hesca is still standing there, immobile, waiting for whatever conclusion this encounter may reach.

Good.

BECAUSE. I. AM. ANGRY.

I slowly walk back to where their leader fell. He is still there, squirming in agony and quiet whines. I grab him by the neck and rise him until his feet leave the ground.

"You bloodthirsty parasites. You have no respect, don't you? It could be your own kind laying there and it would not make the shittiest of differences, would it?"

He is avoiding looking at me, his face deformed by pain and fear. His eyes are frantically darting left and right, trying to look for an escape to his inevitable fate, hoping someone would come to his rescue. But nobody will come. I made sure to kill them silently. With one hand I remove my hood, and then grab his chin, forcefully turning his head so that he faces me.

"LOOK. AT. ME."

His eyes cross mine and I can see it. The realization about my nature. And then the terror. He starts squirming even more. I tighten my grip on his throat until he stops.

"Before you die, I want you to do something for me. I want you to imagine. Imagine that all of this," I make a gesture with my free hand encompassing the surroundings, "are human bodies. And that you," I say while digging one finger on his chest "are one of the last remnant of the free people of your entire race. And when you finally arrive here, hoping to find more of your kind, you find another race, just pilfering their rotting, crumbling bodies. Dismembering them. Selling them to the highest bidder."

I take a pause, trying to resist the urge to snap his neck instantly.

"And when you, taken by the emotions, the sadness and the despair of such a sight, are quietly grieving, you are interrupted. You then realize that it is by the very people, the very monsters that are desecrating your own deceased kin. Now imagine what kind of reaction that would spark in you. The sheer wrath it would give rise to. I know it's hard, but try."

The last words are said with as much disdain and contempt in my tone as I can muster. I scrutinize his face. His gaze is moving back and forth between the surroundings and my eyes. And finally I see it. His face turns to ghastly white, with a sickly green hue.

"That's what I thought."

He strains himself, grabbing the arm holding him up with both hands, getting the next words out with all the strength he can muster.

"P-Ple-ase… M-mercy…"

I stay impassible to his request.

"Your kind showed none. So why should I?"

I squeeze slowly and methodically, letting the man I am holding in the air die a slow and painful death. As he suffocates, his movements get slower and slower, until I can see the light in his eyes dimming, and hear the last strained exhalation, accompanied by a final heartbeat.

I drop his body to the ground. Others will find it. But I will be long gone by then. And given the "territory" system apparently in place here, I reckon the new landlord will only be too happy to sweep his competitors' deaths under the rug.

I turn toward Hesca. She is looking at me with the same whitish and light green complexion.

"Come. No use staying here. Let's continue deeper. There is a lot more ground to cover."

She nods in silence and starts following me. I give a last look at the scene behind us, and at the clockwork head, just sitting there undisturbed, before turning away and putting back my hood.

Let's not forget.

I came here for answers.

(Hesca Veneli POV)

I stay quiet as I follow her amongst the junkyard. She stops from time to time, grabbing a few pieces of the innumerable amount laying around, before watching them intensely for a few seconds, and then putting them back where she found it.

This process leaves me little to do, except walking behind her, and observing my surroundings. I shiver when I think about the brutality she inflicted upon the unfortunate scavengers we met earlier.

But at the same time I can't get her words out of my head.

Is this what this is like for her? Walking among the dead? Watching as others desecrate bodies? I shake myself out of my stupor, and of the visions I am having. When she spoke to him, the last one, I also tried to imagine what it would be like. And it didn't leave me feeling well.

But mostly, it left me ashamed. Because if all of what she said is even remotely true, then…

I feel a shiver climbing up my spine again. I would have done worse if I was in her position. I would have made them suffer a lot more. A lot, lot more.

This passing thought makes me wonder why she hasn't killed me yet. It must be agonizing, having to travel with one of the people that belongs to those that killed most of her kind. Yet she does it without flinching.

We continue marching through the debris and scraps, until I can see the light of day starting to fade, and the sun approaching the horizon. It dies the surroundings in a low orange dusk. The extending shadows, the air getting colder, and the heavy silence, give the junkyard a strange and deeply uncomfortable atmosphere. A lot more uncomfortable than the blistering heat and near blinding light of the day.

I decide to speak up.

"The night is coming. Maybe you would prefer to continue tomorrow?"

She stop and turns around. After a brief moment she agrees.

"Alright. Let's head back to Delta. But we will be back here first thing tomorrow morning."

I give a thankful nod, and before I know it, We are back on the sandy trail leading to the city. It doesn't stop my mind from being assaulted by a strange and terrible question, in light of what she said today.

If I had been in her position, would I have let myself live?