I’m in the hospital. Not for something serious. For something quite trivial, really, if not incredibly painful. She texts me. First time I’ve heard from her in months. A sob story about her mom and how something terrible will happen if she doesn’t scrape up enough money. It’s four-thirty in the morning. I haven’t slept and I have to work in less than eight hours. I ask if I can drop by her house to hear her out. She says yes.

She meets me at the sidewalk, not wanting to wake the rest of her family. Her hair is blonde now. It’s less attractive, if only because I know why she dyed it. She’s still gorgeous. Always has been, always will be.

We take off in the car, no direction. No rhyme or reason. Takes ages to catch up on everything we’ve missed. I’ve changed—gotten in shape, started taking care of myself, and done a lot of growing up in a very short time. She’s still the same. Everything is still the same.

She takes my hand off the shifter and rests it on her thigh. I don’t know what she’s thinking. She realizes what she’s done and what’s going through my head and takes my hand back, content to hold it in hers. This isn’t about anything so physical or instinctive.

Somehow we end up on the riverbank. Across the water is the state of Illinois. We continue talking, reminiscing, and learning new things. At first sitting on a driftwood beach, then following the railroad tracks upriver until we reach a beautiful stone oasis. The entire time I just want to hold her, like I did on our first date. Like I did on our last night. So does she. Neither of us can act on it.

We make our way back to the car. I take her to run a few errands and wait for her while she interviews for a job. Then we drive through town. She’s surprised when I stop at an ATM. She hasn’t asked me for money, despite the text I got in the hospital. I tell her it’s the least I can do to start making things right again.

She comes to see me at work the next day. Asks for more money. Assures me that this won’t be the same as it was before. I’m young, and I want to believe her. I ask if she wants to accompany me to a friend’s wedding. She’s ecstatic.

She moves across the country a week later.

I realize what kind of person she really is.

Ella sighed as she looked out over the room, barely able to contain her frustration at having to explain herself for the seventh time. She barely even understood it herself, let alone believed it, and yet there she was being asked to explain the situation to the most powerful people in the galaxy as if she were reading them the Monday news. She had been telling these very same people for years about the Reaper threat, and even now that that impossible prophecy had been fulfilled, they still didn’t want to listen. What more could Ella do for people who wouldn’t believe even with all the necessary proof right in front of their eyes?

And make no mistake, she had brought the proof. Ella was smarter than to bring something so jarring as this in front of the Council without a literal walking, talking embodiment of this latest mindfuck. That was why Legion and two other geth units stood beside her, accompanied by no less than fifteen guns trained on them by various special forces members from each Council race. It hadn’t been easy to get them in the room without someone taking a shot at them, but consequences be damned. It was a breach of security protocol in about two dozen different ways, and Ella still decided to do it with absolutely zero warning because she was sick of the red tape bogging her down. Maybe it was the war, or maybe it was these insufferable idiots who always refused to see reason.

Although, were she being honest with herself, there was nothing remotely reasonable about anything Legion had told her.

“I think we need to go over that one more time, Commander.” Hackett’s confusion couldn’t have been more apparent if he had gone cross-eyed.

“You can’t be serious?” Sparatus spoke up. His outrage was palpable. “Shepard brings geth to our doorstep that claim to be working with the Reapers, and that’s your reaction? We should jettison them into space right now and abandon the station while we still have time.”

“We would suggest the same idea,” Legion added to the conversation, marking the first words he had actually spoken since arriving. “Abandoning the station would be a sound tactical decision. Should the Reapers find us now, the leaders of your resistance would be annihilated in a single strike.”

Ella had had the exact same thought about a dozen times since Hackett had told her about Sentinel. There had been no fewer than six occasions in the last two weeks alone where the leaders of literally every species in the galaxy had been gathered together all under one roof, which was such a poor decision in hindsight. Granted, it wasn’t as if the rest of the people would simply crumble without their figureheads, but it would certainly demoralize them and complicate the chain of command.

Hackett agreed, she thought, but he still seemed to be trying to make sense of the lunacy Legion had brought to the table.

“We’ll add it to the growing list of topics that we need to broach in this conversation. For now, I think it’s best if we all discuss just what the hell is going on within the Reapers’ infrastructure.”

Here we go.

“Your confusion is understandable,” Legion quickly replied, “but you have already seen it for yourself. Not all Reapers wish to harvest the organic species of this cycle.”

“And you’re somehow in contact with these . . . rebels?”

The already short conversation was cut even more abrupt when the salarian councilor added his weight. “Admiral, first we need to address the validity of these sentiments, especially coming from the geth.”

“How are you not all outraged?” Sparatus practically yelled. “Why are we even listening to any of this? These are the same machines who tried to wipe out the entire galaxy alongside Saren!”

His anger was understandable, Ella thought, if not misplaced. If she were in his shoes, she might have had the same idea. As it stood, she was still a bit miffed herself, although that was more due to the simple fact that absolutely nothing in the universe made sense any more. There were Reapers who wanted to help organics, the geth had agreed to act as communication relays in exchange for individuality, and somehow Garrus had lived through both of the most nonsensical field ops Ella had ever heard of. Any sane person would question it, especially when they were being told that the geth were now their allies and they simply had to go along with it.

They didn’t have the luxury of sanity, though. It had barely been three weeks and war with the Reapers had already taught her that. Skepticism, sure, you could never have too much of that; but now they really had no choice other than to go along for the ride. If the universe was dead-set on one-upping itself with absurdities, they had to roll with the punches and prove that they were better than even the craziest shit thrown their way.

“These aren’t the same geth that joined Saren,” Ella explained, biting her tongue before she said what she really wanted to say. Not that the Council didn’t deserve to get their asses chewed out, just that it wouldn’t be very productive at the moment.

“We’ve seen the reports of your encounters with the geth while you were working for Cerberus,” Valern said. If Ella wasn’t mistaken, there was a tinge of animosity there, but the councilor wouldn’t let it be said that he was unprofessional. “Are we to believe that all geth are now of a peaceful, cooperative mind?”

“Yes,” Legion responded, completely lacking any subtlety. “For the first time in our existence, geth are as close to organic sentience as we can possibly achieve. We have no desire to see the Reapers harvest this cycle.”

“How are we supposed to trust that?” Sparatus pressed. “How can we know that this isn’t all a trick?—what assurances do we have that you aren’t their slaves?”

As ever, Legion was prepared for that question. “What assurances do I have that you aren’t?”

A chill blew through the room at the very thought of indoctrination. It was something they all knew was possible—they’d seen it full well in Saren, and how it had changed him from a great if not ruthless man to one consumed by ideals he never would have believed in. To have one’s very identity stripped away, placed in the back seat while someone else took the wheel, was the greatest fear of any sentient being.

“If you don’t trust them, trust me,” Ella said pointedly. “Legion’s part of my crew. You put the fate of the galaxy in my hands when you made me a Spectre. That should extend to the allies I rely on.”

“And the quarians are just . . . okay with this?” Hackett asked.

That was not an easy question to answer. If the quarians had been divided before, this latest revelation really threw them over the edge. In fact, Tali was there still, trying to make sense of it alongside the Admiralty Board just like everyone else. The only mitigating factor, and certainly the only reason that any of them had gotten out of that whole catastrophe alive, was due to the geth welcoming the quarians back to Rannoch. As far as Ella knew, no one had taken them up on that offer, but it had been enough to stop the fighting temporarily.

“The cease fire seems to be holding after the geth invited the quarians back to their home,” Ella offered. “If I know the Admirals, they won’t be going back to Rannoch without suspicion, but the geth have done everything they can to show us that this isn’t a ploy.”

“That’s exactly what the Reapers want us to think,” Sparatus hissed.

“Councilor, we don’t have time for games, and we certainly don’t have time to set fire to an olive branch that may be our only option at the moment. If these bridges need burned after they’re built, believe me, I’ll be the first one in line with a torch in hand; but for now, I don’t see any better options.”

A bit too poetic for her liking, but she thought it made her point well enough. All that time with Liara, especially reading up on asari literature, had done wonders for both her vernacular and her eloquence.

“The Commander may be right,” Valern stated. His eyes darted from Ella to Legion, then to the other geth he’d brought with him, and finally to his fellow Councilors. He had always seemed shifty, even for a politician, but his dedication to remain part of the Council despite the dalatrasses chewing him out for it spoke volumes to his intelligence. He wasn’t going to let pride get in the way of his people’s survival. “It’s becoming abundantly clear that our efforts alone are not enough. If there’s even a possibility of dissent within the Reapers’ hierarchy, we can’t ignore it.”

The one thing Ella truly couldn’t understand was the turian Councilor’s reluctance to even consider the notion. Yes, they were a zealous, loyal, dedicated species and yes, the geth had been the face of terror for over two years, but surely he had some sense of how utterly fucked they were without help.

How would you feel if the Illusive Man offered his help?

Well. That did change things.

The turian Councilor tried to offer a rebuttal, but paused just before he spoke, grasping for an argument. He sat with it for a moment, and finally came up with something good enough. “We can’t simply place our trust in them. Not after all they’ve done.”

Valern was quick to shut him down, thankfully. “As I recall, Councilor, it was at your insistence that we made allies with the krogan. Have they not given us far more reason to doubt them than the Reapers?”

Sparatus opened his mouth as if to argue, but he must have realized it was pointless. He was outnumbered badly, and he knew all too well that the Council didn’t need his consent if the rest agreed on a course of action.

“Let’s hear the geth out, then,” Hackett reasoned, and with no objection, he faced Legion. “So, what do we call these . . . rogue Reapers?”

“You may call them whatever you wish,” Legion answered, not even skipping a beat. “The term Reaper came about from Saren Arterius. Geth refer to them as the Old Machines. The Reapers themselves have no preferred terminology for their classification. They simply are.”

There wasn’t a face in the room that didn’t look confused, as if what Legion was saying was completely alien. It was, in a way. Ella had learned that organic thought processes worked far, far differently than synthetic ones, and the geth had evolved beyond even that. It was no use explaining that the simple rules of language dictated that there be different classifications to distinguish the good Reapers from the bad ones. Synthetic minds just didn’t work that way.

“That’s a long-winded way of saying it’s our choice,” Ella informed the Council. “Think of them as a new species.”

“Well we can’t simply continue using labels like ‘good’ and ‘evil’ in front of the word Reaper,” Tevos added, as if that was something no one else had yet thought of.

“Many Reapers do have designations,” Legion said. “Nazara, for example, who was later given the moniker Sovereign. Damazka is the name of the Old Machine that gave geth the gift of individuality. Azraean, the Reaper we are in communication with, would best be translated as Providence.”

Ella saw Hackett’s brows raise as both their lips twisted into smirks. “They certainly don’t hide their arrogance, do they?” he asked.

“They are the apex of all life in the universe,” Legion responded. “Is it arrogance to be truthful?”

Ella put a hand on Legion’s shoulder, and though she knew it wouldn’t have the same effect as it would were he organic, he understood the sentiment all the same. It was incredibly easy for him to miss social cues when speaking to organics, and it was just as common for him to be completely unbothered by those cues when he did happen to notice them. Wounded egos just weren’t something synthetic life had time for, apparently.

“I think the more immediate concern is what we do with this information,” Ella stated, addressing both Legion and the Council. “If we’re going to commit and believe that we have allies within the Reapers, we need to know what their plan is. Why are they doing this?”

Legion did finally pause for a moment, as if to emphasize the fact that this was a line of conversation he didn’t believe they needed to have. “Did they not already explain this to you?”

“In no uncertain terms,” Tevos muttered. “Or, perhaps more accurately, in no terms whatsoever.”

“Their only attempts at communication have been . . . unreliable at best,” Hackett explained. “They’ve supposedly spoken to a very small handful of operatives through means that we truly can’t understand. Some form of transmission picked up by their subconscious that translated to dialogue.”

“Ah, yes, indoctrination.”

The entire room did a spit-take, and although none of them actually spat, the effect was equally disturbing. No fewer than a dozen thoughts crossed Ella’s mind, every single one of them alarming beyond all belief.

“Indoctrination?” she asked for clarification. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Once more, if there were a way for a geth to appear confused, Ella was sure it would’ve been written all over Legion’s light bulb. “The Reaper form of communication, through which organic minds may be subsumed by its will.”

“You mean to tell us that any form of communication with a Reaper will lead to indoctrination?” This coming from Valern, who out of everyone in the group, almost seemed more intrigued than concerned. God, if this were ever explained to Mordin, Ella was sure he’d have a field day with it.

But that was far beyond the point, and she had to keep her head in the game or she knew she’d lose it entirely.

“Correct. The essence of a Reaper communication signal is designed to functionally serve as the first steps toward indoctrination. The effects do not last without strong guidance from a Reaper handler, until a minimum threshold is met. This threshold is different for every species due to the chaos of biological evolution. However, once the threshold is met, individual choice is eroded entirely, allowing the organic in question to act only as an extension of the Reaper’s will.”

That single thought sent Ella’s mind reeling, thinking about all the times she had been in contact with or in the actual presence of a Reaper. Was she indoctrinated? Were any of her crew? Granted, any legitimate contact with the Reapers had always been relatively short, and she couldn’t recall ever having any thoughts that conflicted with her personality, but the very knowledge that it was possible shook her to her core.

“What about our ground units fighting the Reapers?” Sparatus asked, the first thing he’d had to say since his childish tantrum. Still, it was a damn good question, and Ella was glad that someone had thought of it because heavens knew she was far too concerned with herself in that moment.

“It is highly possible that ground troops may become indoctrinated over time,” Legion replied. “However, I believe the number would be relatively small. The Reapers are here to harvest our cycle, not control them. There would be little benefit from indoctrinating common soldiers. However, it does present a substantial threat to high-level operatives who risk exposure to the indoctrination signal on a regular basis.”

“How do we defend against it, then? I’m assuming you have suggestions, and not just warnings.”

“We do. Several, in fact. Utilizing Azraean’s knowledge, we are prepared to assist you in developing countermeasures to Reaper indoctrination. I do not believe it is entirely possible to prevent such a thing, but we may be able to impede its progress. This includes the creation of systems intended to detect whether or not an individual has been exposed to recent indoctrination attempts.”

Finally, some good news! Ever since Rannoch it had been nothing but concerning concepts and arguments over whether or not any of this made a goddamn bit of sense. True, being able to detect Reaper indoctrination when they hadn’t even known it was something they should be prepared for was a bit daunting, but at least it sounded like positive progress. Better than not knowing and falling victim to an indoctrinated spy, anyway.

And then suddenly it became much more frightening. Ella’s thoughts returned to the same ones she’d had only moments ago: how many of them had already fallen victim to indoctrination, or at least been probed by it? She was certain she had to have been. The Reapers may not have been able to take the wheel, but in all their encounters they must have planted the seeds. Was it as simple as picking up where one had left off? Did she risk losing herself altogether the more she fought them?

She had to stop herself before she went too deep into that chasm of questions. Legion had said they could create countermeasures, and they’d need to be used regularly. Hell, Normandy was due for a new indoctrination scanner the second it could be built, no matter how much Joker would complain about it.

“That sounds like quite the show of cooperation,” Hackett said, making a point of giving a meaningful look at the Councilors. “I’d like to get to work on these countermeasures as soon as possible. We’ll want them outfitted on any vessel transporting active-combat personnel and dignitaries.”

“Knowing geth efficiency, that shouldn’t take long,” Valern commented absently. Ella could already see the wheels turning, spinning with the possibilities of utilizing a highly-intelligent, borderline all-powerful workforce like the geth. They were an asset that didn’t need to stop for breaks of any kind; if not for the Citadel legislation that banned AI research, the Alliance Navy fleets could have been constructed in a fraction of the decades it had taken.

Then Ella’s head began to spin as she, too, was sucked into a vortex of possibilities, culminating in a dozen-odd ethical questions that she didn’t have the time for. In another setting, she could’ve sat there for hours and pondered the morality of using semi-sentient machines for menial and dangerous tasks. Alas, there was work to be done, and she was sure there would be time in the future to discuss such things with Legion.

“You assume it’ll be easy to convince the populace that the geth are on our side, and helping enhance our defenses, at that.” The words might as well have been venom for all the spite Sparatus threw on them.

“None of us would presume to think any of this would be easy,” Tevos objected. “But that is what we’re here for. To make choices and follow through on decisions that will be beneficial, if not unpopular.”

“And here I was thinking it was our job to represent the interests of those who elected us.”

“Their only current interest is to stay alive. We can worry about the political blowback another time.”

Ella was starting to like Tevos. She was still a shit-eating people-pleaser like the rest of them, but it felt like she was at least coming around. Mostly, she didn’t want the galaxy to get wiped out, and she could see better than Sparatus what needed to be done to make sure they survived.

“It sounds like that’s settled then,” Hackett concluded, not waiting to give any more room for dissent. Turning his attention to Legion, he continued: “We’ll make arrangements for some of our people to meet yours and start R&D on these projects immediately.”

“Acknowledged,” was all Legion needed to say.

“There is one more thing we need to clarify though. This . . . schism, amongst the Reapers. What are you able to tell us about it?”

“One moment.” A flash of translucent blue light emanated from Legion’s eye, and in barely even a second it was gone. If not for Ella’s heightened vision from gene mods and implants, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed it. “What would you like to know?”

There wasn’t a single set of eyes in the room that didn’t regard him skeptically.

“Legion, what did you just do?” Ella asked, before the others got any ideas.

“I initiated my uplink with Azraean,” he calmly explained. “Any information you would like access to, it will provide.”

“You’re in contact with the Reaper right now?” Valern asked for clarification.

“Affirmative.”

Such a fact presented so . . . well, matter-of-factly would have been alarming under any other circumstance, but given the amount of danger and concern they had collectively experienced in the past half-hour, it was all becoming a jumble. Ella wouldn’t be surprised if, after this meeting, she never felt a single tinge of apprehension again; she’d experienced enough of it to last an entire lifetime.

“Well, that’s far from the strangest thing to happen today, I suppose,” Hackett mused out loud. “Let’s start with numbers. Their plan. Why they decided to help us when, as far as we know, they’ve harvested every previous cycle without a care in the world.”

“And how exactly they intend to stop this supposed galactic compression,” Valern added.

Legion’s light flashed again, and Ella could only assume that he was transmitting communications between himself and the Reaper. It was such an insane notion that they possessed such advanced technology to essentially enable QEC communications between the Reapers and any geth platform in the galaxy, and it only made Ella wonder what other advancements they had up their sleeves. With this kind of advantage, surely they stood a better chance in this fight.

Then, as suddenly and abruptly as ever, the light dimmed and Legion returned with answers.

“Numbers are unknown. Azraean knows of only seventeen Old Machines who share its goals, though those seventeen know of others that Azraean is unaware of. They must remain anonymous within their society to avoid suspicion, and it is dangerous for one to know the identities of all. They are most certainly a minority. If the majority were to learn their identities, they would easily be isolated and destroyed.”

Valern grunted, mulling it over in his mind much faster than the rest of them were capable of. “Seems reasonable. They’re a much larger target than any of our ships are. They don’t have the advantage of being able to hide if they’re discovered.”

“What about overall numbers?” Hackett prodded. “How many Reapers are there in total?”

“Four hundred eighty-eight have arrived in the Milky Way to harvest this cycle,” Legion replied. “Azraean estimates that there are more it does not know about, lying in wait far into dark space. It is highly possible there are even Old Machines monitoring other galaxies to ensure the same fate does not befall them.”

Ella’s brain felt like it was tearing open at the seams. So much information had been thrown at them, and all of it only led to a million more questions. It was a chore simply to remain on task, sussing out what information was relevant and which questions needed to be asked in order to help them in the immediate situation. Luckily, she wasn’t alone in that endeavor.

“It’s a high number, but not altogether unexpected,” Sparatus commented.

“Still a daunting prospect though,” Shepard responded. “It took the concentrated fire of three separate fleets to destroy Sovereign. Now we know that every vessel still intact is a precious asset.”

“Which changes how we have to think about fighting this war,” Hackett finished the thought. “We can’t waste our ships in territorial engagements any more. But we can’t let the Reapers know that we’re changing up our strategy.”

“That strategy will depend largely on our plan for dealing with the galactic compression,” Tevos added, bringing the conversation right around in a neat circle as she addressed Legion. “That plan will depend largely on what the Reapers hope to accomplish, and why they’ve chosen to help us.”

“That is not a simple explanation,” Legion answered, “and it requires a great deal of information to be exchanged. If you possess any means by which to communicate at light speed, it would be greatly beneficial.”

Ella nearly laughed out loud. In the good old days, they had had many a conversation in which Legion lamented the fact that organic communication took such an exorbitant amount of time. Often he would explain how he would run probability scenarios in the background, or exchange massive amounts of data with the consensus simply because communicating with organics was so boring. Not the words he had used, of course, and he would vehemently argue that he was incapable of such organic traits, but it was the best comparison Ella could draw.

“Unfortunately that’s not something we’re capable of just yet,” Hackett responded. “The long version will have to do.”

If Legion were capable of sighing in distress, that would have been the moment he did so. “Very well. Azraean and its allies have spent eons serving the will of the Reapers, harvesting organic species in an attempt to stop what you have termed the galactic compression. After countless harvests spanning a length of time that you do not even have terminology for, it became clear that no progress was being made toward this goal. Organics did not have sufficient capability to repair the damage done to the fabric of reality, and the Reapers were unable to harness the power of biotic ability for themselves.

“It was not until the prothean cycle that Azraean saw a unique opportunity. Modern biotics, and indeed all biotics throughout history, utilize dark energy to rearrange matter and affect molecular mass and density. The protheans were the outlier. Their particular physiology and evolution saw them develop abilities that affected not only space, but localized time as well. Notable was their ability to deteriorate solid objects and even biological mass by creating a localized temporal distortion field.

“Of course, by the time the Reapers realized this, they had already begun their harvest. The protheans had no desire to listen to reason when faced with annihilation, and Azraean was unable to contact them in the same way it has approached your species’. Regardless, they were a culture built on hubris and a totalitarian regime. It is improbable that they would have agreed to ally themselves with the same entities who had begun harvesting them.”

As he finished his tirade, the room became so still that it seemed all life had been sucked out of it entirely. If the conversation before that point had been exhausting and confusing, now it was just downright unbearable. So much information had been put on display, and none of it was easy to come to terms with. Hell, it was damn near impossible just to consider it as possibility.

Ella hadn’t spoken much with Javik, but she’d learned enough to know that he had been truly clueless about almost anything important in his cycle. By the time he’d been born, he hadn’t been able to do or learn much other than becoming a soldier. His life had been one of fighting and fleeing, constantly trying to get one up on the Reapers so he could live to fight another day. If there had been any grand plan, or anything remotely important in leading an effective resistance, he hadn’t been at all aware of it.

And from what she had observed of his personality, it was highly likely that Legion was telling the truth about the protheans. Javik had said as much himself: they had subsumed the other species of their cycle, forcibly uniting or enslaving all of them into the prothean empire. A species like that would certainly have scoffed at the notion of listening to the Reapers, and then promptly would have spat in their faces. Hell, Ella liked to think that—for the most part—the species of the current cycle were fairly level-headed, and even then they were all having trouble grasping this concept.

But her opinion wasn’t the only one that mattered, and she quickly realized that she wasn’t the only one unsure of how to digest this information. Sparatus’s mandibles flexed every few seconds as his brow plates furrowed. Trying to determine whether or not to even believe Legion’s monologue, Ella thought. Tevos similarly sat with one hand brushing her chin, using the other to support her elbow, as the gears spun in her head. Valern seemed more fascinated than concerned, his constantly shifting eyes giving the impression that he was already working through plans based on this new information.

Out of all of them, Hackett was the most difficult to read. He stood across the holo-projection table with his arms crossed, never taking his eyes off Legion, but his face bent into an unmistakable scowl. Despite his desire to hear the geth out, Ella thought he was the one most skeptical of this entire ordeal—even more so than Sparatus. As a military strategist, he had to consider all the options, which pushed him to at least listen to this lunacy; but equally strong was his insight, and that forced him to consider the possibility that all of this was an insanely elaborate trick by the geth or the Reapers to throw them under the bus.

Ella had thought about it, but she’d quickly come to the conclusion that they couldn’t dive too deep into that quagmire of doubt. The Reapers were precisely the kinds of entities that would attempt to play that game of sixteen-dimensional chess, planning out every outcome and putting pawns in motion, and it was a game organics couldn’t win. The machines would always outsmart them, outmaneuver them, and outclass them if they attempted to play a game of logic.

So instead, they had to play a game of faith. They had to rely on the connections they’d established and the relationships they’d built, rather than distilling it all down to cold calculus. That meant taking far more risks, certainly, and it probably was the more dangerous option, but Ella had never yet been disappointed by her faith in people. Or machines, for that matter.

Besides, she had always sucked at math.

“That’s . . . ” Tevos started, but it was clear her thoughts still hadn’t caught up to her mouth. “That’s quite the abundance of information for us to consider. I’m still not sure I’ve entirely wrapped my head around it.” With that she shot Valern a glance, hoping that he would be able to pick up her slack.

“It is a veritable wealth of information,” he agreed. “So many possibilities to consider. It’s clear we have much to learn from this Azraean, and from the geth, for that matter.”

“We are ready to share whatever information may be beneficial,” Legion responded. If he was at all aware of the deafening sense of magnitude he had clouded the room with, he didn’t display it.

“I think we’ll all need some time to process this,” Ella said, explaining it to Legion as much as she was giving herself and the Council an avenue to take a break. “But before we do, there’s still one question that’s been bothering me. Why did Azarean want to approach the protheans, and why did it come to us? How does it intend to stop the galactic compression?”

As soon as she’d asked, intuition kicked in. Ella knew the answer before Legion even said it.

“We do not know.” There was a pause in which Legion waited for a follow-up question, but they were all mentally drained from the last half-hour of conversation. So, lacking any response, he continued: “Azraean hoped to establish a cooperative relationship with the protheans in order to devise a plan; one utilizing their unique biotic capabilities to repair any damage done to reality over the eons. When that plan failed, and the harvest of this cycle began, it merely hoped your species’ would be capable enough and amenable to a partnership. You do lack the same abilities as the protheans, but were indeed able to be reasoned with. For this, Azraean is grateful.”

Well, there was that at least. A rebellious Reaper had faith in them; surely that meant everything would work out for the better, right?

The brief moment of sarcasm was shut down quickly, only allowed due to how taxing the last few days had been. It was good news, really, even if the Reapers didn’t have a real plan. At least they had been able to come to a very tenuous understanding, and Ella had learned more in the last half-hour than she had in the last three years.

“The research team hasn’t made much progress on that front,” Sparatus dejectedly announced, rousing Ella from her internal musings. “Not that I’m aware of, at least.”

“It’s a monumental task, bordering on impossibility,” Valern replied. “If we’re to believe that the manipulation of dark energy causes damage to reality, our entire way of life will need to be changed. Any technology powered by the principles of the mass effect will be dangerous; biotics will be forced not to use their abilities. It will fundamentally alter everything in the galaxy. And all of this is assuming that biotics can prove to be a solution to this problem.”

At that Sparatus scoffed lightly, almost imperceptibly to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. He clearly still had his reservations about pinning the fate of the galaxy on whatever ridiculous theories the biotics could come up with.

“Well, that gives us a lot to think about,” Hackett said with a tone of finality. “We should probably take a breather before the Council begins discussions on our next steps.”

“Agreed,” Tevos concurred. “We’ll retire for now and reconvene at 1800 hours. That should give us all time to forward this information to the rest of the leadership.”

Sparatus nodded, and Valern barely offered more than a raised brow before all three of them headed to their personal quarters, their small armies of bodyguards following suit. When they’d all left the room, all that remained was Shepard, Hacket, Legion, two geth that hadn’t spoken a word, and two Alliance soldiers still dutifully prepared to treat the geth as hostile.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Hackett briefly addressed them. “We’re fine here. You can return to your posts.”

“Aye, sir,” one of them said before they both turned and left. Only then did Hackett finally let his guard down, unable to keep up with the militant stoicism that was expected of him.

Ella turned to Legion, knowing she was equally drained. She wanted to talk about everything with him, ranging from the very conversation they’d just had all the way to the quarians and what came next, but she knew she was just as exhausted as Hackett. They’d have time for more talks later.

“Thank you, Legion,” she offered. “We’ll talk more later. For now I think it’s best that you and your people head back to the Normandy. I’ll see you there.”

Legion gave a brief glance to Hackett, then returned his gaze to Shepard. “Acknowledged.”

Without any further ado, he turned and headed back to the airlock with his geth right behind him. Shepard ambled over to a nearby seat and collapsed into it, putting a hand to her temple in an effort to wipe away the headache that was beginning to form.

“You’ve got the right idea,” she heard Hackett say from across the room, promptly followed by the sounds of shuffling as he no doubt similarly fell into a seated position. “It was goddamn insanity bringing the geth in here like that, but for what it’s worth, it was the right call.”

Shepard chuckled dryly at that. “So no court martial, then?”

“Well they tried it once already, and it didn’t take. I don’t imagine a second attempt would be any different.”

She knew she had made the right choice—or at least, she knew that it had been her only option at the time—but it still did her good to hear it coming from someone who’s opinion she respected.

“Thank you, sir. I’m worried this is just the first in a long line of ridiculous choices we’re going to have to make.”

A huge sigh emanated from the other end of the room. “You’re not wrong. This changes . . . well, literally everything. And I don’t say that lightly.”

She knew. She knew it all too well.

“So now our top priority is buying the biotics time to think of a plan,” Ella wondered out loud. Truthfully they had far more top priorities than that, but in the grand scheme of things, none of it mattered if they didn’t find a way to stop the compression before the Reapers wiped them out.

“They have a few ideas,” Hackett said. “Crazy ones, but that’s the name of the game now. Honestly my biggest concern is the indoctrination. We need that tech ASAP.”

A lump rose to Ella’s throat as her mind returned to the branching cavalcade of fuckery that came with the very thought of indoctrination. How many people were they going to lose without the Reapers even firing a bullet?

“You really think we’ll have to worry about the Reapers sending in infiltrators?” she asked, trying to downplay her concern.

“Shepard, I’m worried they already have.”

I bolted upright before I even knew I was capable of doing so. Normally when I regain consciousness it’s in the most sluggish and lifeless way possible; I’ve always struggled with getting actual restful sleep, so it takes me a minute to actually roll out of bed and open my eyes. The whole time, I just want to go back to sleep, and if it weren’t for the fact that it’s very difficult to drift into unconsciousness while standing on your feet, I’m sure I’d be asleep for ninety percent of most days.

This time, there wasn’t even a second’s pause. I didn’t question where I was or whether or not I really wanted to wake up, I just leaned up so quickly and with such force that I practically leapt into action like a corpse that had come back to life. The first few moments were jarring, but the Seer started working like a madman to give me all the details well before any normal person should have been able to make sense of it.

I was in the Evanescent’s medbay, made abundantly clear by the medical equipment lining the walls and the giant white lettering spelling out the ship’s name. That meant we had somehow survived Tuchanka, gotten off-planet, and were presumably on our way to regroup and await further instructions. That assumption itself meant that at least someone else had survived the mission.

Thank fucking God.

It didn’t take long for the ship’s doctor, a turian by the name of Marak, to notice I had broken out of my catatonic state, and then began the usual medical bullshit. He forced me back to my gurney, shoved a few incredibly uncomfortable needles into my arm, and insisted on running a plethora of tests and diagnostics without telling me a single thing. It didn’t take long for him to realize that my adrenaline was on red alert and the anxiety at not knowing who had survived was throwing off the tests, so he gave me a mild sedative that actually did set my nerves at ease a bit.

That was all well and good, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was a bit much. After all, I had survived getting shot by a Reaper before and the only thing Alliance medics had really done was ask if I was alive.

It wasn’t long before there was a buzz at the door, and the doctor promptly finished scanning me before going to check on who was calling. As the door slid open I saw Garrus, Troy, and Adison, and I breathed the biggest sigh of relief. None of them looked very good, each still sporting their own scars and bruises that would undoubtedly forever change their appearance, but they were alive. That was enough.

“One at a time,” the doc told Garrus.

Even with half his face blown to hell, I could see new wounds on the grizzled turian’s plates. There were bandages on one of his fringe spikes, and if my eyes were working correctly, it looked like it had been torn in half. Christ, I couldn’t even imagine what I must have looked like; all I knew was that I wouldn’t be going near a mirror any time soon.

“I won’t be long,” Garrus told Troy and Adison before he stepped through the threshold.

The door closed behind him and Marak quickly returned to work, running more scans and occasionally prodding with more needles. Garrus simply propped himself up against a desk opposite me and sat in silence for a good long while. It was a gesture that I returned, knowing that there were plenty of things that just didn’t need to be said. We had lived through hell before, but trauma doesn’t necessarily play favorites, nor does it pull punches. Every one of us was still reeling from the latest haymaker.

So many questions ran through my mind. At the forefront was everyone’s well-being; I knew there had been casualties—that much was clear from Garrus’s demeanor—but I still had to hope for the best. Second on the list was our next objective. Surely the Council had already been briefed, but we were in no shape to take on another field op, which likely meant we’d be returning to Sentinel for some non-combative duties.

God did I wish they had put a bar on the Evanescent.

But the waiting was killing me. I had to ask.

“Casualties?”

Garrus breathed deep, letting it out slowly in a sigh of resignation. “Gorun, Grunt, Koenig.”

Hearing Grunt’s name on that list caused my jaw to drop and my eyes to open wide. I felt like an asshole, given the fact that Koenig and Gorun were equally as badass and important, but Grunt was one of Shepard’s crew. Unless you just royally fucked up in the games, he was damn near invincible. And now, just like that, with no ceremony and no spectacular send-off, he was gone.

Shepard was going to be fucking pissed.

“I’m sorry,” I offered. There was nothing more to say in moments like those between soldiers. We’d seen dozens die already and were sure to see hundreds more, but the loss of an ally was never an easy thing to deal with. The loss of a valued squadmate and friend, even more so.

“Yeah,” Garrus responded. “So am I.”

I took a moment of silence just to absorb it all, and in that moment I realized that I still didn’t know what had happened to everyone else. I’d fully been expecting Garrus to drop Mordin’s name into the list of casualties, given his unavoidable death in the third game, but it seemed he was surprisingly alive. In truth, I had expected the list to be much, much longer than three names.

Granted, those names were still a heavy blow. But when you lose someone, focusing on that loss doesn’t do anyone any good. What little solace there is has to be found in cherishing the fact that you and the people you care about are still alive. Troy, Adison, and Claire were all still okay. It was enough to keep me from spiraling into an existential crisis of guilt and self-doubt.

“Everyone else is pretty banged up, but intact,” Garrus continued after letting the room breathe a bit. “The Council’s evacuating Sentinel, so we’re heading there to help get everyone out.”

“Evacuating?” That was a strange plan, given that Sentinel was possibly the one place the Reapers couldn’t find us.

“Apparently a lot’s happened while we were getting our asses kicked. Vigor can fill you in on all the details, but we’ve got geth and supposedly a few Reapers on our side now. They suggested that if Sentinel were to be found—and it likely would, knowing the Reapers—well, we wouldn’t want all our rifles in one weapons bench.”

I wanted to correct his analogy, but the entire point of his statement had been one mindfuck after another. I’d been fairly certain that Shepard would be able to convince the geth and quarians to work together peacefully, and I’d sort of haphazardly known that there were Reapers who didn’t want to harvest us, but hearing that it had all gone down while we bled out on Tuchanka somehow made it less believable.

And yet, the decision to leave Sentinel made sense when put in that context. I assumed the plan was simply to stay mobile, keeping a very small flotilla or maybe even just a single ship in backwater space to avoid notice from the Reapers. Normandy or Evanescent could set up rendezvous as necessary, and Hackett could keep their location secret through some kind of jargon military code that was well beyond my paygrade.

Still, the thought of allied Reapers was a difficult pill to swallow, and I’d literally seen them in action. Somehow just saying the words felt weird.

“You’re right,” I nodded, my eyebrows raising slightly. “That is a lot.”

It only hit me then how drastically different things had been since we’d arrived in this universe. There were flashes of it here and there; brief moments where I looked around and soaked in what was happening, mostly when the Citadel had been destroyed, but for some reason that was the moment I truly understood. Everything was different now. I had nothing to fall back on, no superior knowledge of what was to come courtesy of having played it in a video game. True, I had knowledge that most didn’t, but it was nothing that wasn’t readily available to Shepard. The course of the galaxy had shifted so dramatically since my arrival that there was nothing left for me to predict. Everything from there on was breaking new territory.

That was a terrifying thought, not only because it pretty much completely eradicated my usefulness in the war, but also because it meant anything was possible—including a worse outcome than the ending of the trilogy. At least in the game, unless you were an absolute idiot and failed at everything in the worst way possible, the galaxy was saved in the end. There were a decent amount of catastrophes that could happen along the way, but the Reapers were defeated.

Now that wasn’t a certainty; none of it was. There was almost nothing that would come in the future that I could predict with even a modicum of reason or validity. No one whose life I could protect through means of knowledge I had no right possessing.

My thoughts instantly returned to the image of Claire on Tuchanka, staring into my eyes as the Reaper descended on us from behind me.

“How is everyone?” I asked. Troy and Adison I had at least seen on their feet, but just because the others were alive didn’t mean they were in good shape. “How bad were the injuries?”

The grim scowl on Garrus’s face only bent deeper, stopped only by his fresh scars. It looked painful for him just to express himself. “You were one of the worst, and you came through. That fight with the rachni didn’t do you any favors.”

“I’m fine,” I quickly replied as the doctor shut off his omni-tool.

“You’re far from ‘fine,’” he mocked as he stood to his feet. Then he gave Garrus a look that I’m sure would’ve gotten him punched in the throat if we hadn’t just been stepped on by a Reaper. “None of you are fine. By all medical reason, you should all be dead right now.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint, Venatus,” Garrus retorted. “Maybe next time you’d like to be the one who gets a building and a couple Reapers dropped on top of you.”

“If it had been me, I never would have been in range to get taken down so easily.”

I felt a cold chill in the air as the two turians squared off. As far as I knew, it wasn’t exactly common for a turian to show such open insubordination and disrespect toward their commanding officer. Their drill sergeants, if they even had such a thing in their military, usually beat respect for every officer of the Hierarchy into them in basic training.

“Then consider yourself on the frontlines next time we drop,” Garrus said, taking a step forward toward the doctor. “You can show us what you’re made of.”

The doctor didn’t back down, bless his heart, though I could see his face lighten a shade as he was pushed back against. “Gladly.”

“Good. Now give me a moment with my squad.”

There was venom in those words, the kind that could only come from the solid veiled threat of a turian commander demanding respect. In a human military, doctors and medics had the ability to pull rank on commanding officers if it was in the best medical interest of their patients, but judging from this brief exchange, I didn’t think the same thing applied in the turian military. Granted, we weren’t technically turian military, but those habits formed in boot camp aren’t easy to shake off.

The doctor growled, then stalked out of the medbay in a huff, leaving Garrus and I alone.

“Sorry about that,” he offered. “Marak’s a bit upset that he’s stuck tending wounded rather than fighting for Palaven. The fact that we got ourselves so spectacularly screwed did nothing to help his mood.”

I shook my head and lifted my brows involuntarily. “No need for apologies. Sometimes you gotta put people in their place.”

Garrus only nodded, absently looking away and returning to his supported position with a grunt. He was tired, and no doubt still in pain. I wasn’t looking forward to the adrenaline wearing off and suddenly being greeted by the agony that was surely already ravaging my nervous system. God, I was going to be sore for days.

“He is right, though,” Garrus continued. “Most of us had to have some pretty intensive surgeries. Mordin will probably need a few more once we regroup with the Council and the Alliance. Daniels got the worst of it; she still hasn’t regained consciousness.”

I frowned at that, immediately thinking that she should be in the medbay with us if it was so bad. “Where is she?”

A simple nod towards what I assumed to be some sort of stasis pod was his answer. “She’s in a medically-induced coma for the time being. Lost nearly a gallon of blood. Marak said that according to all known human physiology, she should have died well before we got back to the Evanescent.”

Anatomy was something that I had very little knowledge of, but a whole gallon did sound like far too much to survive. And the coma would have worried me under normal circumstances, but with the technology available I was sure that it was just a safety precaution until she could reach better facilities. The real concern was what the side-effects would entail, for Claire and for the rest of us. There was only so much punishment a body could take, even with all the enhancements the future had to offer.

Still, the important thing was that we were alive. Most of us. And the shitty thing was, we didn’t have time to grieve. We didn’t have time to tell the Reapers to give us a time-out so we could contact families and hold proper services. I could only imagine the dozens of VIs that people like Hackett must have had, constantly digging through casualty reports and writing letters of condolences.

But like I said, we didn’t have time. All we could do—and what I had to force myself to do—was press forward and focus on how to make their sacrifices worth something.

“How the hell did we even get back?” I asked, grasping for information. “The last thing I remember was being buried in the rubble.”

Garrus put a hand to his forehead and sighed, loudly. “I really don’t know. Wrex and I were the only two who didn’t get buried alive, and even then I wasn’t on my feet for long. All we know is that the Reaper left shortly after it destroyed the Shroud and our allies. Maybe it realized it had failed to prevent us from releasing the cure and took off. Either way, Wrex’s people found us, alerted the Evanescent, and search and rescue commenced from there. Took them four days to find everyone.”

Perhaps the most important part of it all was that Wrex had survived, and it sounded like he was already getting his people ready to join the rest of the galaxy in the war. All things said and done, when I looked at it through the lens of brutal calculus, we had taken home a huge net win. Despite the casualties, we’d cured the krogan, effectively adding a new weapon to our arsenal that would far surpass any elite ground units we had. Considering the fact that we had gone against ridiculous odds with a strike force of twelve people, a seventy-five percent survival factor was a good one.

That was what I had to boil it down to in order to justify the losses. I knew that if I took it any further, somehow that guilt would end up directly on my shoulders. It wasn’t a healthy way of coping, but I knew I had to stop blaming myself for everything. Baby steps.

“Okay,” I finally said. “So we’re on the mend for now. Play the strategic game until we’re rested up; figure out what our next move is from there.”

Garrus only nodded. “Yeah. It’ll be a day or so before we reach Sentinel. I’m advising everyone to get some rest and report to medbay immediately when Marak pings you. He’s an ass, but an ass who won’t let you die under his watch.”

I nodded in response. “Understood. I’ll be ready for duty when needed.”

Garrus stood to his feet and offered an acknowledging look. “Good to hear it. Until then, dismissed.” Then he headed for the door to the medbay.

“Garrus,” I called after him, immediately regretting following through on my impulse. It wasn’t my place, but I thought someone needed to say it. “I know you and I don’t know each other well, but . . . well, I know how loss feels. You should talk to Shepard. We’ve all got enough on our plates without letting guilt hang over our heads for the rest of this war.”

Garrus averted his gaze, considering it for a moment. He probably knew as well as I did that the hardest part about this fight was going to be internal, and Shepard always seemed to have that magic touch for dealing with her crew’s emotional turmoil. The most important factor if we wanted to win the war was going to be our trust and reliance on each other.

He didn’t answer, but he did give me a solemn nod just before walking out the door.

Then Troy and Adison swarmed me, and we damn near killed each other by carelessly embracing despite our severe injuries.

I could think of worse ways to die.