It’s been four years since I last spoke to her. Messaged her once when a girlfriend tried to pull some manipulative shit with me. Said she’d messaged me saying how she loved me so much and she was so sorry about everything. That she wished we could still be together. Checked with her, and of course it never actually happened. You’d think that after what I went through with her, I’d find women with their heads screwed on straight. Instead I seem to get worse and worse with every new one.

For probably a week I’ve been having this feeling. One of those gut things that you can’t deny, but you do anyway because you think maybe part of you doesn’t want to deny it. Despite the passage of time I still feel close to her. Not the way I felt before, that feeling of thinking she’s the only person I’ll ever feel that way about. Just the knowledge that we once shared something truly unique and now, for better or worse, we’re connected. Nobody ever wants to admit that, but it’s true.

Something’s wrong. I don’t know that, of course. It’s a small voice in my mind telling me that for whatever reason, I should get in touch. Something simple. Finally, six days after the fact, I summon the courage to message her. Nothing extravagant; a truly straightforward two sentences letting her know that despite how long it’s been, I still care about her in some way and hope she’s doing well.

My sister is the one who breaks the news to me on the phone two days later. She has friends in common with her on social media, whereas I haven’t paid any attention to her in years. Haven’t wanted to. Don’t want to bring back those thoughts; memories of happier times, and much, much darker times. Apparently my message came a day too late. She was already gone by the time I sent it.

It’s not like I thought it would be. It’s confusing. I’ve never been confused about losing someone for good before. There’s usually a period of sadness, maybe even a little guilt. This time I really don’t know what to feel. There is sadness, yes, but we haven’t exactly been close in a long time. I put those thoughts out of my mind years ago. Still, she was an important part of my life. One that I always thought in the back of my head I might get a chance to reconcile with. Now, knowing that’s not possible, I just don’t know what to feel or think. There’s no other way to describe it.

I guess that’s what emotional shock is.

People call and ask me how I’m taking it. I’ve never been very stable mentally so of course my family all knew about it before I did, and apparently had a chat about whether or not to tell me. It’s fine. Normally something like that would be upsetting, but I understand why they did it. Besides, it’s not like it makes much of a difference when I learn about it, only that I do eventually.

There are at least two days where I don’t know how to handle it. It’s not as utterly crippling as I’d thought something like this would be--or maybe the last few months of focusing on myself and my emotions helped out. I do grieve. I do cry, though not as long as one might expect. Soon I actually have to seriously question why it is I’m handling it so well, despite not truly knowing what it is I’m handling.

Eventually I find her social media. Run through it a bit just to see if I can find any clue about what happened. Of course there’s nothing. She’s single--she was single. I guess something happened since the last time I spoke to her. Tried selling a lot of her personal items: clothes, jewelry, electronics. Maybe life just got the best of her.

That smile, though. Still radiant. Always. With most people you can tell when they’re faking, or even when they’re genuine they just don’t look that happy. Not her. She had a kind soul that could melt a frozen one like mine without a single issue.

I message her one more time. One last time. A remembrance of all the good she brought to my life, and a vow to hold on to those moments always, letting the less cheerful ones fade with acceptance and forgiveness. A promise, to find her in the next life and let her know what I never did tell her.

I finally let go.

It had been six months. Miranda had been counting the days—probably even the hours—since the Reapers had invaded. People had a tendency to forget that not only was she a powerful biotic, field-trained weapons expert, and model of physical perfection for the human race; she was also a bloody genius, and a remarkable scientific researcher, to boot. She had quite literally resurrected Shepard from the dead, overcoming perhaps the single greatest obstacle organic life had ever faced.

Well, not the greatest obstacle. The literal end of the universe via self-destruction couldn’t really be topped.

Still, the fact remained that she had spent over a hundred eighty days working on a solution to that very same problem, knowing that with every day that passed, millions more were dying. It was part of the reason she was one of the unofficial “leads” of this project. They didn’t have anything so crass as a hierarchy of leadership, given that failure essentially meant the end of all reality, and no one person needed to bear that weight on their shoulders.

But Miranda could, and she very much did. She knew precisely how much time had passed and how many lives had been lost in that time. It was what fueled her ambition. Where others had to ignore those statistics so that they didn’t fall prey to guilt and insanity, Miranda saw it as her responsibility. Shepard had her fights to worry about, the Council had their political maneuverings, and Miranda had this: the actual plan to heal reality itself.

It was fucking lunacy, only made more insane by the people and the material she had to work with.

“You want to do what?” Jack asked in a half-laughing, half-singsong voice. Their time researching and discussing the galactic compression had produced some truly ridiculous ideas, but Miranda had finally run out of options.

It was time to address the Illusive Man’s concerns.

“Don’t strain yourself too hard, Jack,” Miranda chided. “Wouldn’t want to ruin this new look of yours.”

“Says the Cerberus princess still parading around in her cameltoe costume.”

God, she wanted to rip that stupid side-shaven ponytail right off Jack’s head. “We have a job to do, Jack. We can insult each other all day, believe me—you’ve given me plenty of material to work with. Or we can do something useful for once and save the universe. Your choice.”

Jack wanted to argue so badly, Miranda could see it in her eyes. But time was running out. They’d done nothing but argue for six months, and it had gotten them nowhere. They had to start considering the solutions that only absolute lunatics would dream up.

And, strangely enough, Jack hadn’t been so far off when she’d mockingly suggested that they learn to harness something other than dark matter.

One of the geth units stood on the observation platform to the side, blinking that damn transmission signal burst of light that happened whenever they chose to communicate with one of the Wardens. It had been ominous for the first few weeks, as no one had truly settled with the idea that both geth and Reapers were now allies. Now, it was more annoying than anything. Every time Miranda looked up, she saw a geth just standing there awkwardly, blinking its stupid flashlight head. Anything even remotely important was relayed to the Wardens, almost making them feel like they were present for every discussion. It also proved to be very telling when, after a supposedly genius idea, the geth didn’t choose to send the information to their overlords. If a good idea surfaced, the geth blinked; if not, she knew it immediately just by their reaction.

And while she took in this strange sight, she became aware that the entire room had honed in on the conversation between she and Jack. It was supposed to have been a conversation among several people, least of all including Jack, but the research team knew by then that getting involved in a “conversation” between these two was pointless. When Jack started raising her voice, everyone instantly began ignoring the discussion.

But there were people who weren’t completely dense who needed to hear what Miranda had to say. The room was full of geniuses and biotic experts, including a horde of asari commandos and matriarchs, salarian scientists, quarian engineers, turian cabals, krogan warlords, and even the prothean himself, Javik. Mordin and Samara were the two most familiar to Miranda, though she had the unpleasant misfortune of having never really bonded closely with them. Their mission against the Collectors had primarily seen Miranda take a rather antagonistic role toward the non-human crew, courtesy of the Illusive Man’s paranoia. It was only due to her loyalty to Shepard, and seeing the abominations in the Collector base, that Miranda had realized she’d been working for the wrong side. If Jack Harper had gotten his hands on that tech . . . she didn’t even want to consider what they’d be dealing with.

It had taken a very long time, and no small amount of internal reflection, for Miranda to realize she’d made plenty of mistakes in her life. People called her an ice queen for good reason; she didn’t give a damn about anything that wasn’t her direct problem, really, because she expected everyone to sort out their own shit just like her. It was a paradigm that she still adhered to.

But over time, she had changed. She had grown to look beyond herself more—at least, she hoped—and she’d come to deeply regret the fact that she’d been so cold towards the people who actually deserved her empathy. The people in that room, working their hardest to study, observe, understand, and problem-solve, did deserve it. And she needed them.

If only she’d been less of a bitch. Not to Jack, though. She always deserved it.

“It’s time we deconstruct the problem to absolute basics,” Miranda said, loudly enough for the entire room to hear. “We know that the manipulation of dark energy is causing reality to break down on an atomic level. The protheans possessed a similar ability to decay time in a localized area. What if that process could be reversed?”

She was addressing no one in particular, and half of them were still focused on their own tasks, which caused there to be a rather awkward silence in which no one knew who was supposed to answer. No one really was. They were reaching into pseudoscience, grasping at straws that only existed in a theoretical capacity. It wasn’t possible to determine whether or not a process that couldn’t be performed would be able to potentially heal the galaxy.

Then there was the matter of time and resources. Even if they could somehow learn to control the flow of time for short periods, how would they apply that to the fabric of reality? They couldn’t very well reach through all of space in the galaxy and simply reverse time to the point where no damage had been done. Reality was tearing at the seams because of the annihilation of energy any time a mass effect field was created. It simply wasn’t possible to generate energy from nothing; the laws of physics didn’t work like that.

But if Miranda was right, it was the only shot they had, and she couldn’t figure it out on her own.

“The Old Machines believed the protheans were the key to halting galactic compression,” one of the geth replied. Of course it would be one of them who responded. “However, their abilities, like all other biotics, proved impossible to replicate.”

“For the Reapers,” Miranda added. “They can’t create a machine capable of biotic manipulation, but we’ve seen what they can do to powerful biotics through implantation.”

That did catch everyone’s attention. It was true, they’d seen sentient species of every known variety converted into Reaper drones, and biotics in particular had a tendency to pack a flaming hell of a punch after the conversion process. Miranda wasn’t suggesting that they all go implant themselves with Reaper tech to enhance their abilities, but the possibility couldn’t be dismissed.

What concerned everyone else, however, was the idea of indoctrination that had wormed its way into the forefront of everyone’s minds in recent months. They’d been seeing the effects of it more and more as time wore on. The countermeasures the Wardens had provided had ensured that no one under direct Council supervision had been exposed to severe indoctrination, yet. Those who had come in contact with the signal were isolated, and most showed progress in returning to normalcy after a few weeks.

But news from planetside got worse every day. The Reapers specifically targeted people in positions of power and leadership all over the galaxy. Those who couldn’t make it off their planets were the most easily susceptible to it, and there were rumors of once-great politicians and military leaders encouraging their people to submit. It was the same spiel Saren had given Shepard, cropping up all over the galaxy.

So when someone like Miranda suggested something so bold as taking a page out of the Reapers’ book, it naturally turned some heads. Luckily, there were a handful of people in the room who didn’t pay much heed to ethically questionable lines of thought.

True, some of them were robots, but Miranda didn’t let that discourage her.

“Reaper technology has limitations,” the geth continued. Its eye flaps had been painted a dull red to distinguish it from its counterparts, and Miranda knew it had a name, though she was blanking. They all had such obscure names, though they had taken to the idea of individuality with great aplomb.

“Reaper tech limited, but never used in conjunction with willing subjects,” rang out the high-pitched strain of Mordin’s voice. Miranda immediately let out a sigh of relief. He and the geth could go on for hours, throwing ideas back and forth until they all ran out of things to say. That had been a sight to see the first time. “Always subsumed their victims. Tried bargaining with protheans, but . . . well, won’t rehash old history. Didn’t work. Have more chances to explore options now.”

“What you’re all suggesting is preposterous.” The voice belonged to an asari researcher by the name of Elenra J’sazi, but she might as well have been speaking for everyone else in the room. Miranda had known that this discussion wouldn’t go over well with the general populace. “What would stop the Reapers from controlling us if we were to upgrade ourselves with their technology? And furthermore, how could that possibly be enough to fix reality itself?”

Miranda was hoping someone else had an answer, because she certainly didn’t. That was the entire point of this research team: to ask questions that no one had answers to, get an assload of horrible ideas, and wade through them until something worthwhile presented itself. It was a think tank, essentially, with the very specific purpose of willing into existence an idea to stop the galaxy from imploding.

Mordin was still active inside his head, Miranda could see, and the one geth hadn’t stopped communicating with the Wardens yet, so it was possible they had something to offer as well. In reality, Miranda had expected the asari to be of more use, but so far every good idea had come from the geth and the salarians. Every so often a human or krogan threw out an idea, but the krogan weren’t known for their intellect and the humans were still thinking within the confines of the metaphorical box that represented their collective understanding of biotic potential. If they were going to come up with a solution, it had to be outside the realm of what they considered possible.

“If the Wardens wanted to control or destroy us, they could’ve done it by now,” Miranda offered, knowing full well that she was only addressing part of the concern that had been brought up. “It’s past time we stop questioning their motives.”

“Agreed,” Mordin swiftly responded. “Can’t risk second-guessing now. Far too late for that. Must accept established parameters, work within them. May lead to possibilities previously considered unthinkable.”

“Professor, you can’t seriously suggest—” someone started, but they didn’t get far.

“Not suggesting anything. Stating facts. Can’t keep thinking in the past. Have to look at present instead; work with all tools available.”

Miranda’s eyes fell on Javik and lingered there, knowing that he was the tool they needed most at the moment. If they could crack the key to his abilities, then somehow amplify those same abilities with help from the Wardens, it would be a huge step in the only direction on the horizon.

As if on cue, Mordin’s gaze mirrored Miranda’s, and then the rest of the room turned so that damn near every eye was on their prothean visitor. He was pissed; it was evident in the very aura he seemed to exude. He had been a soldier through and through, and it frustrated him to no end that he was stuck in a lab while the rest of the galaxy was busy fighting the threat of the Reapers. Once he noticed everyone’s stares, that frustration boiled over to rage.

“We have tried this already,” he said, directing his anger toward Miranda. “The primitives of this cycle do not possess the same abilities my people did. How are you meant to learn the power of the protheans?”

It was true, they had made many attempts to learn how Javik affected a localized temporal distortion field rather than accessing mass itself, to absolutely no avail. It was an incredibly complicated subject matter, only made more difficult by the fact that the only available instructor was an impatient, petulant, arrogant son of a bitch who gave up when no immediate progress was made.

But so help me God, if I have to strap him down to a chair and beat it out of him, I will get it.

“We may be able to facilitate,” the geth said—the one that was in communication with the Wardens. The room had become enthralled with the conversation, so much so that when anyone new spoke, they had everyone’s undivided attention.

“Please, go on,” Miranda said.

The geth surveyed the room, noticing the two dozen or so sets of eyes glued to him. “The Old Machines attempted to distill the genetic essence of the prothean race into Reaper form, as they did with every species that was harvested throughout the eons. However, their first attempt proved unsuccessful due to the strain of technology they employed as they tried to transfer the protheans’ biotic abilities into a Reaper. If reverse-engineered, the Wardens believe they may be able to apply technological enhancements to biotics, rather than attempting to imbue one of their creations with such abilities.”

Well, it certainly didn’t take long for that particular suggestion to come up, and Miranda began counting the seconds until someone exploded. She had almost made it to two when utter pandemonium struck the room; people began yelling in fear, anger, contempt. Most of them still had their suspicions that the geth and Wardens were somehow engaging in an elaborate deception for the purposes of betrayal, and as Miranda had already surmised, the ideas of indoctrination and implantation with Reaper tech tended to have precisely this effect on the populace.

Why it didn’t bother her personally, she couldn’t really say. Maybe it was because they didn’t really have much of a choice anymore. If they were truly going to stop the galactic compression within their cycle, it wasn’t going to be through blind luck and good old fashioned determination. They needed to start trying new strategies, and if some of those strategies involved enhancement via Reaper tech—as long as it came from the ones who actually wanted to save the galaxy—they couldn’t exactly be picky.

Or maybe it was because Miranda had been tailor-made to her father’s liking, specially grown in a lab to be the model of human perfection. Her body had a huge number of enhancements just from genetic tailoring, nevermind the implants and augmentations she had installed herself. It wasn’t so different from what the Wardens were suggesting, really. Sure, anything that came from the Reapers couldn’t exactly be welcomed with open arms, but the Wardens had proven themselves trustworthy so far.

“Please, everyone just calm down for a minute.” Miranda was shouting into the void. She might as well have been trying to communicate across planets using nothing but a megaphone. The shouts had grown so loud and so violent that the sensible people in the room were merely standing there watching the chaos continue to unfold. Even the geth did nothing, instead watching the scene with curiosity. Their attempts to help in a catastrophic meltdown like this would probably go ignored anyway.

To think, the fate of all reality rested on the shoulders of the screaming children in that room. It was enough to make Miranda give up all hope right then and there. She could just walk out the door, take a shuttle to Alpha Meridis, and spend these last days with her sister. No one could blame her. She’d done more than most.

But she would blame herself, that much she knew. The burden rested squarely on her shoulders, as did the responsibility should they fail. Did that make any logical sense from an objective standpoint? Not at all. That was one of the many things she’d learned from Shepard: sometime you just have to toss logic out the fucking airlock.

And as luck would have it, there was someone else who shared that ideal.

“I’ll do it.”

At first the voice went almost completely unnoticed, drowned in the sea of idiocy and fear that spewed from everyone’s mouths. Miranda was even having trouble believing she had heard it, although that may very well have been because the more unbelievable part wasn’t that it had been said; it was more about who had said it.

“Hey, shitheads!” Jack yelled, causing a few of the squabbling researchers to take notice. “I said I’ll fucking do it.”

No one knew quite what to say. A few heated arguments still carried on in the background, but for the most part, Jack had everyone’s attention. She looked at the geth, of all people, as if expecting them to give her some kind of acknowledgement that they would process her request and start working on it immediately.

“Jack, let’s talk about this for a moment—” Miranda started, but she didn’t have to wait long for a retort.

“Fuck that. Every time we talk, we just end up arguing. I’m the most powerful human biotic there’s ever been. If anyone’s gonna hook themselves up to Reaper tech for this dumbshit science experiment of yours, it should be me.”

An odd sentiment, coming from the woman who had been experimented on her entire childhood.

“We still do not know the consequences of such a procedure,” Samara weighed in, lending her opinion for the first time that day. “Regardless of any of our biotic potential, we must ensure our own safety first.”

“You really think the salarian will let us do anything dangerous?” Jack asked rhetorically, instantly regretting her choice of words. Mordin had no qualms about potentially dangerous experiments, and they all knew it. “Forget that, you think his ego would let any of us get fucked up by something he does?”

Eventually she made a valid point. Mordin had suffered enough guilt from his work on the genophage, and he had gone to great lengths to correct that mistake. Whatever experiments had to be performed, whatever alterations had to be made to allow biotics to harness the power of the protheans, he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to his subjects. Or, no long-term damage, at the very least.

“Exciting,” was all Mordin had to say at first. Then, as the possibilities began racing through his mind, he went off on another tangent. “Will need more test subjects, of course. Will also need control group, offer low-grade enhancements, track trajectory of both. Can perform comparative analysis against biotics already on hand—will be plenty refusing to accept procedure. Will also need more data from Javik. Could take time. Can’t risk too much. Looking forward to challenge.”

“The Wardens will offer assistance in any way possible,” the red-marked geth said. “We will begin forwarding blueprints and research notes to all team members.”

“Hang on,” Miranda interrupted, briefly halting whatever intense meeting of the minds was about to happen. “Exactly how many test subjects do you need, Mordin?”

The salarian wasted no time, barely even stopping to think before launching once more into a conversation with himself. “Hmm, limited numbers, don’t want to risk too many without knowing full range of dangers. Twenty? No, too many, can’t have too many eggs in one clutch. Ten? Yes, smaller sample size, fewer personalities to deal with, less taxing. Will also need control group roughly same size.”

So they needed ten people fully willing to implant themselves with technology designed by the Wardens and built by the geth. Then ten more people to use lighter variations of the tech so they could chart a measured improvement curve. More would need to attempt to learn the protheans’ abilities through sheer force of will, but that was only to prove that Reaper tech was the far more expeditious option, and there would be no shortage of biotics who would refuse to be implanted.

The whole thing was already a tough sell, only made worse by the fact that it was coming primarily from the geth and Wardens. Mordin was selling it equally as hard, but his reputation and that of the STG weren’t much better than the geth. He did have a fair bit of renown and fame, however, which made it so that his ideas couldn’t be dismissed out of hand as easily as they would have been coming solely from the geth.

Either way, they needed more volunteers. Jack’s motion had been inspiring, but she alone wouldn’t be enough to convince anyone.

“Count me in,” Miranda said. “I’ll undergo the procedure with Jack.”

“You just can’t let anyone outdo you, huh cheerleader?” There was mockery in Jack’s voice, but it was overshadowed by a slightly playful tone.

“Just keeping you on your toes, as always.”

Then it happened. Someone aside from the psychotic biotic took the dive.

“If you truly are set on this course of action, I will join you.” Samara stood stoically, almost strangely heroically, in the midst of a handful of her asari peers before adding: “Assuming Mordin takes all the necessary precautions.”

Mordin cracked a wide smile, deepening the already noticeable wrinkles in his skin. “Always cautious, especially when dealing with asari biotics. Would make horrible mess otherwise—can’t afford to spend precious time cleaning up after.”

The room became strangely quiet, with Mordin and the geth immediately setting off to work on designs and theoretical applications while everyone else was left to contemplate what the bloody hell they’d just witnessed. It was happening; they were really going to go through with this diabolically insane plan that had been concocted on the spot. There would still be no shortage of problems along the way, which undoubtedly included a great deal of trials and errors, but a decision had been made.

Slowly, over the course of hours and even days, more people came around the idea. Many of them still wanted nothing to do with it but were interested in its progress, and many simply didn’t want to be left out of the loop. Eventually a few krogan threw their weight into the volunteer pool simply because it sounded fun, which made plenty of asari reconsider their stances. Then came more humans, a few drell, and even a turian or two when it was all said and done.

The worst idea anyone had ever had was about to become reality.

They were going to implant themselves with Reaper tech.

“All right, are we all clear on the plan?” Garrus asked.

I wanted to say no, but the plan itself was pretty simple. I just didn’t like how dangerous it was.

Not long after Shepard had intervened in the conflict between the geth and quarians, the Reapers had shown up in force to deny us Rannoch. They’d fucked us over at the most inopportune time; while we’d all retreated to the Fifth Fleet to lick our wounds and unravel all the new intel the Wardens had given us, the Reapers invaded right as the quarians were beginning to go back to their homeworld.

It had taken months of coordination amongst us, the geth, and the quarians to convince them that we were all on the same side, and that it hadn’t been an elaborate scheme to wipe out the quarian people. Months that, while certainly having no shortage of life-endangering situations, served as an oddly refreshing period in which we weren’t jumping from fire to fire. Well, we were, just not on the same caliber as uncovering the schism within the Reapers. It had been a long five months of contesting territory, weakening the enemy positions, and coordinating to figure out how to help the quarians build an effective resistance.

And it didn’t help that most of their leadership had been captured.

“Let’s recap one more time,” Shepard said. “Just to make sure.”

Her face was beginning to sink in, and it was then that I noticed everyone’s probably had, I was just more used to seeing them. The crews of the Normandy and the Evanescent had been conducting separate operations ever since we’d come to Rannoch’s aid, occasionally even leaving the planet to take on whatever critical task the Council required of us. Every great once in a while our missions did intersect, or we’d be in the same neighborhood so to speak, but usually we went weeks without seeing each other.

And while it had been a rough five months, it had its upsides too. We hadn’t suffered any serious casualties, only the occasional injury; I was able to speak with Claire quite often, and after months of treatment, she was showing significant signs of recovery; somehow, even after months of constantly being planetside fighting Reapers, no one had reached critical indoctrination levels. The running theory was that whatever had happened on Tuchanka, the Reapers there had specifically targeted Claire rather than trying to indoctrinate all of us at once, thus explaining her worse condition. It didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to me, but it was the only explanation anyone could come up with.

It was bizarre, to say the least, fighting on an alien world alongside the geth, of all people. They’d taken to individuality with remarkable acumen, even going so far as to display illogical characteristics in order to help us organics accept them socially. I’d seen units painted all different colors, changing the lights of their eyes, swapping out parts to be more visually distinct, etc. And they were fully devoted to the mission, willing to go to almost any lengths to reconcile with the quarians. They even contacted the Wardens fairly frequently, allowing us to constantly prod them with questions and ideas. It was crazy to try to embrace tactics and modes of thought coming from hyper-advanced AI, similar to how I imagine it must be to explain concepts like eternity and reality to a toddler. In the downtime between ops, we could spend hours just asking the geth and Wardens questions about their very thought processes.

Perhaps more importantly, though, was the fact that we had not only survived six months of skirmishes, but we’d become pretty good at it. It wasn’t so different from anything else, really. We were surrounded by a group of the best combatants the galaxy had ever seen, constantly learning and getting advice along the way. In any endeavor, it’s damn near impossible not to improve if you have the absolute best teachers in the world guiding you through the process. I can guarantee that, even if you have no artistic experience whatsoever, spending a few months with Bob Ross would make you a pretty fucking good painter. The same principle applied at war.

Although, between Antarom, J’Kal, and Venatus, no one had quite the same pleasant disposition as the wonderful Mister Ross. Yeah, that’s right. Garrus hadn’t been kidding when he’d told the Evanescent’s physician that he could join us on field ops.

Even so, the length of this excursion and the situation we were about to head into didn’t bode well for us. The plan was fairly simple, all things considered: Shepard and her squad were the distraction, leading a platoon of geth and quarian ground troops in an assault on two Reaper AA cannons in the valley before us. Our intel had revealed that the Admiralty Board was being held captive in an ancient quarian city that had been long abandoned, guarded by a Destroyer and roughly two thousand drones. We could see the bastards as we surveyed the city.

Once the AA cannons were down, air support could come in and distract the Destroyer long enough for Garrus’s team to infiltrate the city and extract the admirals. Shepard would continue leading the ground assault and hope that the maneuver gave us enough time. We honestly weren’t sure if the admirals were actually alive, or if they’d been converted into drones, or if they were indoctrinated—though we assumed yes to the latter—but the real point of the operation was to win over hearts and minds. Once we got the admirals back to their people, regardless of what state they were in, the rest was up to them.

There was also a rather insane contingency plan for dealing with any Capital ships that may show up once we reached our objective; it relied entirely too much on luck, having us feed the Evanescent our coordinates while in the middle of the city, retreating to a safe distance, and watching as the entire geth and quarian fleets turned their guns on the Reapers. We were hoping that we could get in and out without drawing any attention to ourselves, thus negating the need for any Capital ships to arrive in order to stop us. Hopefully. Still, it was cool to know that we had nearly a hundred thousand ships at our beck and call should we need it.

Shepard and Garrus rehashed all of this while the rest of us listened intently, thinking about what our roles would be in the coming fight. Myself and Antarom were the scouts, interestingly enough. We could move quicker than the rest of the squad if we saw a threat, while Garrus and Troy would bring up the rear to provide sniper support. Once we were in enemy territory, we had to stay unnoticed for as long as possible, so we couldn’t risk open combat. Any enemy encounters had to be quick and quiet, killing any drones before they had time to tell their handlers what was happening. Adison and J’kal would be the ones keeping an eye on their scanners for the admirals, clearing buildings and helping take down threats until we located the targets for extraction.

It would be interesting, to say the least. We’d had a few low-profile engagements, but nothing requiring this much stealth and precision. I cursed my own lack of foresight; if only I’d researched how to create and utilize a tactical cloak effectively, this op could’ve been so much easier.

Still, there was no use thinking about it when it probably would’ve taken me years just to begin understanding the damn thing. We had a mission to do, and if we pulled this shit off, maybe we could finally put Rannoch behind us.

“What are we waiting for?” Antarom piped up as Shepard finished recapping the mission briefing. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can quit politicking at the edge of the galaxy.”

“This is serious, Antarom.” Garrus’s voice was low and tense, and I could tell he was beginning to get exhausted from the weight of responsibility. “The quarians need their leaders back if we’re going to win their trust, and we need their support against the Reapers. We can’t afford to screw this up. If we’re compromised during infiltration, we’ll be reliving Tuchanka all over again.”

“Well we lived, didn’t we?” Antarom’s certainly wasn’t a deft touch. She’d spoken before she’d thought—I could see as much on her face when, a few seconds later, guilt sank in. She hadn’t been close to anyone we’d lost on Tuchanka, but she knew Shepard’s crew thought of Grunt as family. Even if the losses didn’t affect her personally, she’d at least come to respect everyone else’s grief.

“No casualties this time,” rang out Shepard’s ineffable voice. “No mistakes. We follow the plan to the letter and get the hell out of here ASAP. Understood?”

A dozen voices all harmonized the word, “Understood,” and Shepard gave us an approving nod. Then she and the crew of the Normandy marched out, leaving the Evanescent gang plus Tali to get our shit together and prepare for the mission. While our ground teams remained largely the same, keeping the crews of both ships together for the most part, occasionally one of us would be on loan to the other team for various reasons. In this case, we needed Tali’s tech expertise, knowledge of the area, and familiarity with the admirals, while Shepard kept her core crew of Kaidan, Liara, Vega, Legion, and Wrex. Yeah, surprisingly enough, she had managed to convince a few squads of krogan to weigh in on the battle for Rannoch, and Wrex hadn't wanted to miss the chance to fight alongside his old squad again.

Our team was the larger one by two people, but the Normandy gang had the benefit of literal platoons of soldiers including heavy armaments and assault vehicles. Hopefully, if all went well, the diversion would be large enough that we could slip in and out even with an eight-man squad.

It was all routine procedure from there; we checked weapons and gear, performed any necessary maintenance, and made sure we had everything we needed for this abnormal search and recover mission. We’d grown remarkably as a squad, I thought, and it showed in the smallest of things during prep time. For operations where long-range engagements were the priority, we’d all pool thermal clips and give a bit extra to Troy and Garrus. On scouting missions, I might take Adison’s shotgun, or J’kal might swap Antarom’s assault rifle for his harpoon gun. There were still a bunch of surly motherfuckers on the team who proved incredibly difficult to form a bond with, but it had been five months deep in Reaper territory. After a while, you develop a certain camaraderie, even if you don’t like each other.

The thought crossed my mind then that Claire had once told me the same thing about her and Sorola. Now I was living it. Every great once in a while I had moments, as I’m sure Troy and Adison did, where I stepped back and let myself really absorb the reality and the ridiculousness of it. There I was, twenty-two years old, never having shot anyone in my life before all this insanity. Somehow I had become a soldier, and it was crazy to me that there was so much more to it than just shooting a gun at the bad guys.

It was also lunacy just how accustomed I’d become to seeing giant mechanical monsters meandering about right in front of my eyes. I’d seen no shortage of Reapers since being abducted into the Mass Effect universe, but it was still a remarkably daunting sensation being on the ground while they loomed overhead. Imagine if you were in New York and the skyscrapers suddenly started walking around of their own accord. It almost gave me vertigo just to look at them.

But that was our job, and it was no different than any other soldier who’d gotten stuck groundside while the Reapers attacked their planet. God willing, we’d make this one last push and get back to saving the galaxy one plot twist at a time.

We moved out on Garrus’s orders after a thorough prep period. It was fair to say that we used the time wisely, making sure each of us was geared up and properly ready to perform our specific duties well, but these quick interludes were more to psych us up before an op than anything. It was a rarity if we weren’t already fully prepared six hours before heading into a mission.

Our route would take us along the far side of the valley, hugging close to a rock plateau on the opposite side of the city from where Shepard’s forward assault would take place. We didn’t expect the Reapers to be fooled so easily, of course, which was why the fighter squadrons would be such a pivotal part of the battle. With their heat signatures constantly on the enemy’s radar, and their bombardments specifically targeting the Destroyer and its troops in the city, any attack on our part would seem like just a lucky hit from a strafing fighter so long as we weren’t seen.

Of course, that was all assuming that Shepard could take out the AA cannons before we made it within signal range of the Reapers. Once we passed a certain threshold, we couldn’t risk open comms without being detected.

It was a very, very long hike across jagged and uneven terrain. It took hours simply due to the fact that any vehicles would be spotted, and rapid movement would show up on long-range sensors—and in all honesty, we weren’t rushing to reach the objective. We all knew the reality of the situation and that it would take quite a long time for Shepard’s crew to disable those cannons. War isn’t something that happens quickly, no matter how badass you are, and it was a hell of a task set in front of them. Really, we had the easy job.

So we trudged onward, mostly in silence, occasionally breaking the monotony to tell a bad joke or recount some stupid recollection to take our minds off the boring trek. It had taken them a while, but eventually the rest of the team mostly got used to the banter that came from Troy, Adison, and myself. Antarom and Garrus even joined in on occasion, the former reminding us how stupid and inexperienced we were while the latter made sardonic quips about our combat abilities. There had grown a sort of friendly rivalry between Troy and Garrus, and a similar one between myself and Antarom. Our combat styles complimented each other perfectly, forcing us to start a tally of all our kills to see who truly was the most effective on the squad. It was based purely on the honor system, of course, and I found it particularly hard to keep track of all my kills in the chaos, but obviously my body count wasn’t anywhere near the highest. That honor belonged, of course, to Garrus, weighing in at roughly five hundred twenty-six kills since we’d started fighting on Rannoch. My number was somewhere in the low four hundreds, which I felt was a remarkable feat all things considered. They sound like high numbers—and they are, undoubtedly—but when you’re fighting for your life every other day for six months straight, you start to rack up quite the body count.

Three hours and several idle conversations later, we finally reached our entry point. As a precaution, Troy and I scaled the nearest canyon wall so we could get a slightly better vantage point to scope out the city below us. It had been remarkably well preserved, considering that it had been over three hundred years since the quarians had inhabited it. And, honestly, calling it a city was a bit generous; that would imply numbers at least in the tens of thousands. This was more like a small town or even a village, capable of housing a couple thousand at most. Having grown up in a town of fewer than five hundred people, I knew at first glance that we weren’t exactly invading a metropolis.

And surprisingly, the Reapers hadn’t completely destroyed the place. The destruction of the Shroud tower on Tuchanka hadn’t just been a grandiose display of murderous intent—we’d witnessed that the Reapers really, really liked to burn anything manmade to the ground. If they saw a giant skyscraper, they blew it to hell. If they stumbled across a small town, they annihilated it so thoroughly that you’d never know a community used to exist there. It made sense, in a way. After all, they wouldn’t want the next cycle to discover too many traces of our existence, but it felt like more than that. Like a child destroying another kid’s Legos out of jealousy.

It wasn’t so unusual that the town remained largely intact, though. The Reapers had taken hostages, and logically they needed somewhere to house them. It was very possible that the admirals were dead or worse, but we’d all agreed that there was no other reason for the Reapers to occupy this town unless they needed it to shelter the quarians. There wouldn’t be any point sheltering a dead person.

“No trace of the quarians,” Troy said as he surveyed the town with Veritas. “Doesn’t look too hot in there either. Should be able to slip in and out as long as we have a distraction.”

“Somehow I doubt it’ll be that easy,” Adison’s voice said through the squad comm line.

“None of it will matter if Strike team doesn’t get those cannons offline.”

Garrus needed no further encouragement, opening a line between Shepard’s squad and the rest of us. “Strike, this is Shadow. What’s your status?”

No one answered for quite some time, which almost certainly meant that they were still wading through a shitstorm of carnage. That, or they were all screaming at each other to move faster and get the job done. As much as I hated to admit it, that was pretty much all the Evanescent team did during combat.

When Shepard’s voice finally came through, it was strained and terse. “Strike here. Charges are placed on the first AA cannon and we’re pushing into the second. We’ll radio in when the fighters can make a move.”

“Copy that,” Garrus replied. “Give them hell.”

And we waited once more. If I squinted, I could almost see the battle raging on the other side of the city. It was most likely just my imagination, I knew, given that we were close to ten klicks away, but every once in a while we saw a flash of light indicating some sort of explosion. Even at that distance, I could feel the low rumbles in my chest and I could hear the percussion of shots being fired.

We should have all assaulted the cannons together, gathered our forces to take down the Destroyer, then split up to find the admirals. We’d considered it, actually, but Shepard had made the decision that, had we taken down the Destroyer, Capital ships would have arrived in seconds to reinforce their troops. So long as we gave them a good show and made it seem like the ground team's assault on the Destroyer was our primary objective, the Reapers would be waiting for some kind of secondary assault. Therefore they would wait until a true threat presented itself.

We weren't going to ever present it.

Having the Wardens providing strategic insight had proven invaluable, especially on missions like this which involved direct contact with the Reapers. They were an impossible enemy to fight due to the fact that they could account for almost any scenario we could hit them with. They thought at the speed of light, which made it impossible to catch them off-guard. In the end, all we had was ingenuity and the ability to choose courses of actions that didn’t make the most logical sense.

Logically, we should’ve just abandoned the Admiralty Board to their fate. We should have bombarded every Reaper on the planet’s surface with the full might of the geth and quarian fleets, consequences be damned. We certainly should not have attacked a relatively useless strategic location. There was no reason for us to be fighting for this valley other than to rescue the admirals, and our recovery plan was certainly not the most efficient one. It was extremely dangerous for both the assault team and the extraction team. Legion had told us the likelihood of success was less than twelve percent.

So, naturally, we had decided to go through with it. Surprise, creativity, and irrationality were some of our strongest weapons.

Well, that and the actual badass team we worked with.

Even if I was only tricking myself into thinking I could actually see Strike team’s battle across the valley, there was no mistaking the immense detonation that rumbled through the air a few moments later. A flash of light lit up the sky like a crack of lightning, illuminating the dark grey clouds that had started to roll in as dusk approached. Then, a second explosion followed by a flash of light. After a brief delay, we even heard the cacophony of baritone crackles that we’d grown all too accustomed to.

“Shadow, this is Strike,” Wrex’s voice came in through the comm. “AA towers are down and the fighters are moving in now. Get your asses down there!”

We all stood to our feet, quickly priming weapons and running one final gear check before we moved out. This was it.

“Copy Strike, we’re moving to the objective,” Garrus responded. “It’ll be radio silence until we begin extraction. Good luck, Wrex.”

Then the comm line died. We all set our hardsuit VIs to cut all external communications for the solo run.

“Shadow team, move out.”

I leapt off the canyon wall at Garrus’s command, flying through the air for a brief moment before using the jump jets to dampen my fall. I hit the ground on a slope and slid down until I could regain my footing, then joined Antarom in a dead sprint toward the city. The others wouldn’t be far behind, I knew, but as she and I were the two most mobile on the team, it always made my heart beat a little faster when we moved in ahead of the rest. It could’ve also had something to do with the fact that this was supposed to be a stealth mission, and I knew I was not exactly a very sneaky individual.

But I had covering fire. If we ran into any trouble, Antarom and I would literally fly into the fray, and the others would be quick to mow down anything in sight. As long as we moved quickly, and reacted on instinct, it wouldn’t be a problem. It was only the waiting that was killing me. Tension built up in my chest as we ran toward the city, and not just because of the physical stresses of running so quickly. Anxiety was setting in like a motherfucker.

What if we didn’t find the admirals? We’d spent so goddamn long trying to help the quarians coordinate an effective strategy against the Reapers, only for their leadership to be swiped out from under us. Even if we did get them back, they’d likely be indoctrinated. Or if they’d already been converted, we’d have no choice but to kill them.

God, I didn’t want to even think about what a quarian would look like if the Reapers got a hold of them.

A few fighters swooped in overhead, pummeling the Reapers with everything they had. Everything was going according to plan, even if that plan was foolishly naive and relied far too much on pure luck. The fact that those things were part of the plan did nothing to allay my concern. We had accidentally stumbled our way into the belly of the beast before, but this time Jonah was approaching the whale on foot and jumping into its mouth, hoping it wouldn’t notice. Sheer madness.

Even so, the presence of the fighters only encouraged us to pick up our pace. I activated the jump jets much more liberally while Antarom’s biotics propelled her forward, gaining speed until we reached the outskirts of the city. At that point we slowed down a bit, assessing the terrain more before we left the others in the dust. We were quite certain that the admirals were being held in the heart of the town, but protocol demanded that we start with the outskirts and work our way in so that we didn’t get taken by surprise. Once we cleared an area, then we could move further inward.

“Threat assessment,” Garrus called over the squad’s comm line.

“Nothing so far,” Antarom responded.

“Same here,” I said. “Nothing in sight, nothing on radar. Troy?”

“Seeing some hostiles a bit further in, nothing in range now. Could always be a Reaper trick, though. Keep your eyes open.”

“Copy. Antarom, I’m heading to the rooftops to get a better vantage point.”

She didn’t respond, nor did she really need to, so I propelled myself upward to the top of the nearest house and scanned the area. Quarian architecture was . . . weird, and while I couldn’t lay claim to being an expert city planner, the layout of the place seemed strange. It was like the entire town was built in a circular formation, spreading out from a center of wide open space. If I had to guess, it had probably been a park or some kind of community gathering center. A single building stood in the midst of the clearing; a library, maybe, or perhaps even a church of some kind.

Are the quarians religious?

I didn’t remember much mention of quarian religion, only the notion that the phrase “Keelah se’lai” had always felt vaguely reminiscent of a religious catchphrase. Then again, there was probably a lot about quarian culture that they had lost after fleeing their homeworld. The architecture was a clear example of that as well; it was rigid and angular, but somehow soft and flowing at the same time. The circular nature of the city’s design did wonders to accentuate that idea, placing what would otherwise have been considered dull structures into a much broader and more elegant framework.

The fact that the whole place had been abandoned for centuries—and was now the site of a warzone—had a lot to do with it as well. It was as if the posture and poise of Thessia had produced a child with the harsh environment of Tuchanka. It seemed fitting, in a way. From what I knew of the quarians, they had been quite the artistic and philosophical people before destroying themselves via the geth.

I had to bring myself out of the moment before I got too deep into my own thoughts. We still had a mission to do.

“Nothing in Alpha sector,” Adison’s voice rang in my ear. “J’kal, how’s Beta?”

J’kal grunted in annoyance, as if just being spoken to was frustrating him. “Nothing.”

“I don’t see anything on scanners, either,” Tali announced. “Let’s move on ahead.”

“Scouts, lead the way,” Garrus commanded.

I needed no further encouragement, nor did Antarom. Following the objective markers, I sprinted to the edge of the rooftop and vaulted across the street below, using the propulsion jets to carry me safely to the roof of the building there. Almost like hopping across stones in a pond, I moved from building to building, making sure to keep an eye on the streets so that Antarom didn’t get taken by surprise.

Strangely enough, we didn’t encounter any drones for quite some time. There was one pile of corpses near a small impact crater—likely our fighter squad’s doing—but we moved on quickly and had six of the eighteen objective zones cleared before we encountered trouble. And even then, it was hardly worth mentioning.

On our way to zones Eta and Theta, I spotted a small group of Cannibals, Marauders, and Husks. Eight in total. The first thought to enter my mind was that Antarom and I should pincer them, with her taking out the Marauders’ shields while I cut the Cannibals and Husks in two. But I had a much smarter idea, and radioed for everyone to expect hostiles to show up on their radars.

I took an infrared sensor out from one of the compartments of my armor, primed it, and angled a jump so that I would come down behind the group. Just before landing, I threw the sensor at one of the Marauders; I hit the ground, barely there for even a second, and leapt far out of sight before they knew I’d been there. The device was so small and so light that the perversion of turian flesh and blood didn’t even notice being tagged with it.

A second later, enemy indicators popped up on my HUD, and I knew that meant the squad had visual on them as well. Courtesy of the geth, our helmets had been equipped with IR scanners that would detect any concentrated sensor, thus providing us with an accurate location of any enemies within the sensor’s range. Since the device was literally connected to one of the patrolling Marauders, everyone knew to keep an eye on the indicator and stay away from the IR beacon.

Of course, we could just have easily taken them all out in a flash of biotics and jump jet-assisted melee combat, but the safer option was to let them pass and stay out of sight. Knowing our luck, there would be plenty of fighting to do later.

We continued clearing zones, searching buildings and finding nothing of value. As expected, we were going to have to reach the heart of the city before finding our objectives. If we found our objectives. There was always the possibility that the admirals had been reduced to nothing at all, destroyed entirely and discarded somewhere in Rannoch’s wastes. But the Wardens had assured us, the Reapers wouldn’t have gone to all the effort of stealing them just to then kill them at a later date.

So we pushed forward, trying to stay optimistic as we systematically explored the entire town until there was nothing left but the central area. We had painted roughly three squads of Reaper drones with IR sensors, but still no real conflict. The last stretch of this mission had to be in the building I’d spied earlier, surrounded by the open space that must have once been a park.

“Sector clear,” Tali’s voice said through the radio.

“That just leaves Sigma, boss,” I replied, addressing Garrus. “Should we move in for recon?”

“No,” Garrus answered. “Everyone regroup on Donovan and Antarom. We’ll proceed into the final objective zone together.”

I shrugged and leapt down from the roof I’d been perched on, joining Antarom in the street below. The area ahead really was an almost perfect circle; maybe a four-block radius of cleared land. A few dead shrubs and twigs dotted the landscape, denoting the fact that it may once have been a fertile area, but otherwise it was almost vacant. Three hundred years of abandonment can do that to a place.

But there was a lone building in the center of the clearing, much more ornate than any other design I’d seen thus far. I’d thought it might have been a library or church upon first sight, but now that I was closer, it didn’t really seem like either. Granted, it was hardly my place to be judging the purpose of an alien structure simply based on appearances, but it seemed more regal. Stately, even. Maybe a former government office, or possibly even someone rich old quarian’s vacation home. Tali had said that, according to some ancient logs she’d dug up, there had once been a beautiful oasis nearby that attracted tourists in droves. Something like that would be just the kind of thing that would invite rich assholes to spend too much money on.

And now it was all a wasteland.

“No sign of movement?” Garrus asked from my left, and I damn near jumped out of my armor. I hadn’t even heard him arrive.

I looked over my shoulder at the rest of the team, all gathered together around us. Shit, they’d gotten there fast.

“Haven’t seen anything,” Antarom answered for me. “Doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. We should double back and wipe out all those drones we tagged before we move in.”

Garrus shook his head. “Whatever’s in that building, we’re at the finish line. No point in covering our tracks now.”

I agreed, and I think most of the rest did as well.

“Something’s blocking scanners,” Tali said as she furiously worked her omni-tool. “I can’t see anything beyond those walls. No heat signatures, no radiation traces, nothing.”

The Wardens had warned us about that, but hadn’t seen it all that often. Evidently they possessed technology that allowed them to create dead zones in which no detectable signals of any kind could escape. In similar fashion to the way our ships’ stealth systems could trap emissions in an envelope for a short time, rendering it invisible, the Reapers could trap the kinds of emissions we could use to image a location without actually getting eyes on it. Infrared, ultraviolet, sonar, LADAR—even kinetic motion tracking; they were all useless. If we found the signal jammer, we could disable it entirely, but I could bet my right arm that the jammer was well inside the building it was jamming. By the time we found it, we’d already be knee-deep in shit.

“We’ll be walking in blind,” Troy observed, pointedly addressing the danger of the operation. “If it’s a bunch of drones in there instead of the admirals, this mission’ll be over a hell of a lot sooner than we want.”

“If that’s the case, it means the mission’s a failure either way,” Garrus responded. “Blind is our only option at this point. Troy, Donovan, go high and see if you can find roof access. Antarom, J’kal, head around back. Adison, Tali, Venatus—you’re with me at the front entrance. Move out.”

We followed his orders without question, each of us sprinting in step to reach the building quickly and quietly. A fighter rocked the ground a few dozen meters behind us with an explosive shot, and I was grateful for the distraction. We could still hear the din of war in the distance, courtesy of Shepard’s team refusing to back down for even a second, but it was fairly isolated. Or at least, it seemed that way with the massive distance between us. In those few moments running up to the dark zone, it felt like every eye in the universe was on us. As if, due to the simple fact that we weren’t supposed to be there, we were somehow more visible.

If I had felt apprehensive during our run up to the town, it boiled over into near panic as we approached the building ahead. It was the same feeling I got any time I’d entered my parents’ room as a kid; we weren’t allowed in there, and it felt like at any second my mom might jump out at me from behind a corner and tell me I was grounded. Except this time, there were a dozen mechanical behemoths that could drop down from space at any moment, and I was almost certain that they already knew I was trespassing. They were just waiting to see what I did before popping out to ground me.

As we reached the north end of the building, Troy and I instinctively propelled ourselves upwards enough to reach a small ledge jutting out of the wall, just enough to land on momentarily. Then we hit the jump jets again, this time scaling to the edge of the roof. It was far more angular than the ones I’d been flying across, offset by two large, flat, rectangular sections that seemed more like patios than roofs. The building had clearly been designed for people to reach the roof from inside, which meant there was an access hatch somewhere. We just had to find it.

“Something feels off,” Troy absently remarked as we started surveying one of the patio-esque sections.

“I know,” I replied.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“I just want to get this shit done and get the fuck out of here before it’s too late.”

I took to the sloped part of the roof, sensing that we were looking in the wrong direction, and scaled to the top of it. There, it flattened off just enough that a person could walk comfortably at the very spine of the building.

“Can’t imagine what the quarians think they’re gonna do when they get the admirals back,” Troy continued. We hadn’t had much time to speak privately since we’d gotten word that the mission was a go, so naturally there was a bit of catching up to be done. “I mean, they have to know they’re indoctrinated by now, right?”

“Yeah, and that's the best case scenario.”

He stopped for a moment and sighed loudly. “That’s depressing to think about.”

“Sorry. I just can’t picture any outcome where we walk home holding hands with the quarians. This whole thing’s been a nightmare from day one.”

“You think we shouldn’t have taken on the assignment?”

Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. The way I saw it, even if we did get the quarians their admirals back and said admirals were somehow completely fine and in good health, what did it really benefit us? We’d been playing the long game, hoping that in fighting side by side the past six months, the quarians would grow to trust the geth and this strange galactic alliance we’d established to combat the Reapers; but at the end of the day, we had no guarantee that the quarians would really help. We also had the exact opposite of a guarantee when it came to getting the admirals back safely, which made our chances even worse.

All that said, however, it wasn’t like there was anything more pressing for us to do. The research team was working on a plan with the Wardens, and while there were fires all over the galaxy that needed tending to, it wasn’t like we were the only special ops teams working for the Council. We were simply the ones who had very personal connections to both the geth and quarians, which made us the best suited picks for this job. Every other fight out there, while certainly in need of a few more hands, didn’t require the same delicate touch.

Instead, my unease truly hinged on the fact that there were no more opportunities to prove my worth by predicting the future. I had nothing more to offer the war effort than my gun and my omni-blade arm—which, granted, were becoming more and more valuable as time went on, but for some reason it didn’t feel quite the same. When we’d first landed in the reality of Mass Effect, I’d had a very loose idea of what we could have done in order to shape things for the better. Even after we’d lost the Citadel, still I’d thought that somehow everything I knew could help band the galaxy together.

In reality, I had been nothing more than a conduit for information to pass through; an anomaly that the Wardens had exploited in order to reveal themselves to us. And now even that was gone. With the arrival of the geth and their ability to interface directly with the Wardens at any point in time, I had become obsolete. I didn’t even have any insight into the galactic compression ordeal. After all, I’d grown up in the most conservative Christian household imaginable. The notion that the earth had existed for more than ten thousand years was practically heretical in my family, so of course I didn’t have any clue how to reverse damage that had been sustained over the course of eons.

I was a soldier, end of story. And one who didn’t have much faith in his mission, at that.

“Found an entrance,” I announced, opening the comm line to the rest of the team. I was well aware that I hadn’t answered Troy’s question, but I knew he would understand regardless. “We going in hot?”

“Negative,” Garrus responded. “Antarom, J’kal, do you have a breaching point?”

I heard J’kal grunt audibly before Antarom responded. “Four-eyes doesn’t like it, but yeah, I can fling us both through a window on the second floor. Ready on your mark.”

There was a pause where I stood awkwardly, ready to open the hatch, but also waiting to see if we were going to breach heavy or slip in and survey the interior first. I imagined Garrus was weighing the pros and cons of both options.

“Troy, Donovan, go in quiet. We won’t have comms once you’re inside the building, so if you find trouble, make some noise and we’ll all come running.”

Fucking fuck this motherfucker of a fucking mission.

“Copy,” Troy answered for me. “We’re going dark.”

I took a deep breath, placed my hand on the round metal handle, and pulled the ceiling hatch wide open so that both Troy and I could slip in. A metal ladder descended into what looked like a sort of catwalk inside the building, so I went in feet first and quietly tip-toed my way down. Or, as quietly as one could be while wearing full body armor.

Once I reached the bottom of the ladder, I stepped back a bit, drew Invidium from my back, and began taking stock of my surroundings. No hostiles in sight, but that didn’t set my nerves at ease. My breathing had grown heavier despite having been in a dozen similarly high-risk situations. What the hell was it about this op that was making me so paranoid?

Troy hit the bottom of the ladder a moment later and we fell into a familiar scouting pattern, with me advancing as the forward reconnaissance while he moved where his scope and his eyes could perceive the most. The building wasn’t anything like I’d expected; it definitely wasn't a library, nor a church, nor an estate, nor a workplace of any kind. The layout honestly seemed more like a restaurant than anything, with a large open area on the ground floor for dining and a second-story balcony housing additional table placements and space for entertainment. It might even have been a club of some kind, or a catering hall. Not exactly the kind of thing I’d literally build a town around, but weirder shit had happened.

At the end of the catwalk I was greeted by yet another ladder, descending about three feet to the balcony area. I jumped it quickly and gracefully, careful not to accidentally fire off the jets while trying to smooth out the landing. The entire place was deserted, not a single trace that any living being had entered since the geth uprising. Normally a statement like that would have carried little weight, coming from me, but the six months we’d spent fighting on Rannoch had taught us a lot of things we’d never expected to be useful. Tracking, hunting, ambushing—basic signs of recent activity. In that building, there was nothing.

I stuck a hand in the air and motioned for Troy to follow me. Under our normal protocol, he would’ve stayed in that vantage point unless directed otherwise, but the unease in my gut had turned to dread. I wanted his rifle over my shoulder at all times.

We progressed through the building, systematically moving from point to point based on sightlines and connecting rooms. We had to make sure that whatever may be lurking around the corner, we saw it first. Fortunately, even as we descended to the first floor and effectively surveyed the majority of the building’s interior, not a damn threat presented itself. Unfortunately, that did nothing to allay my apprehension.

And then finally, I understood why.

The last room for us to clear was at the back of the building, and if I had to guess, it had once been the kitchen that served all the meals for this ancient clubhouse. I’d worked in a restaurant or two in my day, so it seemed fairly similar.

The only difference was that restaurants didn’t usually contain torture devices meant to alter their consumers at the genetic level. The second we entered the room, my attention was immediately drawn to the sight of four quarian bodies lying on some sort of device that I instantly recognized as Reaper technology. They were beds, almost, not unlike the futuristic medical beds I’d actually grown accustomed to on the Evanescent. But as you can imagine, being of Reaper design, these things looked more like some kind of Lovecraftian alien instruments—which, really, is too accurate of a description. Needles and wires and tubes of every horrific size and shape imaginable shot out from the material, most of them either feeding into the nearby wall or being directly attached to the quarians themselves.

What was worse was the grotesque image of the bodies lying there, completely stripped of their exo-suits. As much fan art as there existed of quarians, no one actually knew what they looked like aside from that terribly photoshopped image of Tali, so it was odd enough seeing them out of their suits for the first time; but then that odd sensation was amplified tenfold and washed over with pure terror, seeing the disturbing collision of flesh and machine that the Reapers had twisted them into. A myriad of cables connected the backs of their heads to the devices they rested on, and the surgery had not been a gentle process. Flesh was torn open left and right to make way for mechanical enhancements, giving no regard for the sanctity of what had once been the vessel of a sentient creature.

Because make no mistake, these had once been the admirals, and they were long gone.

“Fucking shit,” Troy breathed.

And then panic gripped at my chest. One of the quarians’ eyes opened wide and it shot up from its resting position, tearing the cables attached to its head and dragging them lifelessly behind as it stood to its feet. Its eyes were dead, replaced by the illumination of Reaper tech, and its face was expressionless. Its entire right arm lit up with the orange holographic glow of an omni-tool, only then making me realize that the Reapers had essentially turned the admirals into walking piles of tech; a conglomeration of everything we’d created, and everything they’d created.

Then it started charging.

I didn’t know what to do. My hands fumbled for my gun, but if I killed an admiral of the quarian fleet, it wasn’t going to look good. Furthermore, I didn’t know if I could kill it. Reaper tech tended to make previously-sentient species incredibly tough, minus the shock troops like Husks and Cannibals. If it was anything like a Banshee, we were in for a world of trouble.

But then we didn’t have much of a choice. The other three perversions of the quarian people shot out of their conversion cradles as well, and began charging with the same reckless abandon.

I looked at Troy for a brief moment, and I knew that neither one of us wanted to act. But we had to. We had to do something.

So we fired. We fired until our guns ran dry and the quarians leapt on top of us, using omni-tool weaponry to claw at our shields. I returned with a few strikes of my own, using the jump jets to carry two of them into the ceiling and smash through into the second floor while wood and bits of carpentry exploded all around me. I kicked and punched and stabbed to my heart’s content, letting all the fear I’d felt on this mission dissolve into anger and desperation as I fought for my life.

But I wasn’t thinking rationally, and it cost me. One of the quarians fired a flamethrower from its arm, forcing me to leap backward and tumble through the air. I hadn’t realized that I was so close to the balcony’s edge. I crashed through a mess of wooden railing and landed on my ass, hard, in the open chamber of the first floor. I’d taken much worse beatings, but the fall stole the breath right out of my lungs.

And then I heard more chaos. Glass shattering; wood breaking; weapons firing. The others had heard the ruckus and came in, fast and hard, firing at anything that didn’t look friendly. I knew Antarom and J’kal would have the threats on the second floor, but Garrus and the others didn’t have a line on the back room yet, where I assumed Troy was still fighting off the other two.

I hurried to my feet and launched myself into the room, priming my omni-blades as the jump jets pushed me through the doorway. As expected, Troy had flash-forged an omni-shield and was fending off one quarian while firing his pistol into the other. They similarly employed the use of flash-forged weapons and tools, but I had the advantage. I could literally hear their hearts beating, exposing the weak points in their infrastructure, and I had a pretty good idea of how to stop them.

My feet kicked off the ground and twisted through the air, sending my body spiralling in a horizontal leap over both Troy and the nearest quarian. It turned to face me, but I had already landed behind it and slashed its spine with my omni-blade. Being enhanced with Reaper tech, I knew that wouldn’t be enough to kill it, but it was a good first step.

As I stood eye to eye with the thing, I could almost swear it took a second to acknowledge my presence. We’d seen some weird behavior from Reaper drones before, and the Wardens assured us it was because they knew exactly how much of a threat we posed. They knew that we had been the first organics to be contacted by the Reapers, and it was fair to say that it was largely because of us that the Wardens had decided to work in secret with us. The Reapers knew all of this, of course, though they still didn’t know the identities of any Wardens that hadn’t publicly revealed themselves. What they did know was that we were a very stubborn wrench in their plans, so when they saw us on the battlefield, sometimes shit got a little heated.

It didn’t last long, though. The creature lunged at me with a fucking flash-forged javelin, forcing me to spin to the side in order to avoid the thing. It moved fast, too; almost fast enough to warrant using the jump jets in order to stay a step ahead. Fortunately for me, I’d gotten pretty damn used to melee combat, even if it did occasionally get me blown up. This time, I was fully prepared.

As the spear of orange heat whipped around in an attempt to slice my neck, I jumped, twisted my body prone, and lunged at the quarian’s chest cavity, propelling two omni-blades straight through its body. I landed on my feet, still entrenched in the creature’s guts, and found the weak spot where I’d cut across its spine earlier. Using both blades, I traced the first wound and pulled my arms apart, slicing through the entire breadth of the monster’s chest.

Its eyes went hollow as its upper torso peeled back and collapsed onto the ground, followed shortly after by the rest of its body.

I looked up to see that half the team was in the room helping Troy finish off the other abomination, but a wave of remorse hit me broadside when I saw that one of them was paralyzed in the doorway.

Tali.

As fucked up as they had been by the conversion process, she recognized the bodies that had once been the admirals of the quarian fleet. People she had known her entire life. People she had very recently been working with as a peer. The Reapers had made a mockery of them, and we had quite literally been forced to tear them apart while defending ourselves. I didn’t see J’kal or Antarom, but I was very familiar with the kind of carnage they could deal out when their backs were against the wall.

There was nothing left of the admirals to take back to the fleet.

So she just stood there, defeated. Horrified. Guilty.

“What the hell happened?” Garrus demanded, but it was too late and we didn’t have time to unravel this clusterfuck.

“We have to move,” I said urgently, heading towards the doorway. “It was a trap. We have to radio Strike team, full evacuation, get the hell off this planet—”

“We’re not doing anything until we know what this was.”

“They were waiting for us, Garrus!” Troy yelled. His face was covered in quarian blood and some blackish gunk that must have been a result of the Reaper tech. “This whole thing was to draw us in!”

I wasted no time, guiltily brushing past Tali in a race to get beyond the range of the Reaper jamming device. She needed a moment to process what she’d just witnessed, and I so wanted to give her that time, but we simply didn’t have it. Instead I pushed the jump jets as far as their limits would allow, propelling myself like a missile through the doors Garrus and the others had breached through.

The first thing I noticed were the sounds of Reaper drones, probably a few hundred meters out in all directions. They were already closing in. Capital ships wouldn’t be far behind.

“Strike, this is Shadow,” I yelled frantically into the comm. “Extraction’s a bust, Capital ships will be closing in on us any second. Full evacuation, we have to get the hell out of here!”

This time there was no pause. They were just as ready as we were.

“Copy that,” Shepard responded. “I’ll signal the shuttles to meet us at the extraction zones.”

“Negative, we don’t have time. They’ll have to meet us here.”

“There’s a Destroyer right in front of us, in case you forgot.” The confusion in her voice was immediately readable. While she’d certainly had her doubts about my cousins and I, it felt like Shepard had started to see us as legitimate allies and comrades ever since we returned from Tuchanka. She knew that we were growing much more accustomed to military life, and that we had a decent handle on procedure. Calling for extraction while a Reaper still loomed on the horizon was far from standard procedure.

“If we don’t get the fuck out of here in the next two minutes, we will have a repeat of Tuchanka on our hands,” I said firmly. “I’m not ready to go through that bullshit a second time.”

I heard the rest of the team file out of the building, but no one tried to stop me or interrupt the conversation. At the end of the day, they knew I was right.

“Full extraction,” Shepard said in resignation. “Legion, tell the geth we're going to need help any way they can offer. Tali, same goes for the quarians. Garrus, you know what to do.”

We had no time to waste. If everyone else was as confused and emotionally jumbled as I was in that moment, I knew we weren’t exactly at our best, but they were professionals. They’d learned how to set up partitions in their minds to separate all that distracting bullshit for another time, allowing them to focus on the moment and their priorities. I didn’t have quite the same training, but mental instability does prepare you for certain situations a lot better than you’d think. I had taught myself a long time ago how to suppress baggage, and while I was still working on how to properly deal with it, at least the former morsel of knowledge could help at that moment. I set everything aside as best as I could, and while Garrus and Tali made arrangements for extraction, I planned ahead for the drones we were about to be fighting.

“Reapers are incoming,” I said, addressing the rest of the team. “Troy, hit the roof. Call out locations and take out as many of the bastards as you can. Everyone else, we’re on perimeter duty. Keep this LZ clear so the shuttle can land for extraction.”

“Got it,” Troy said, and he wasted no time in leaping to the roof.

No one else needed any more encouragement, with each of them fanning out around the building to create a solid perimeter watch. Once Garrus and Tali finished on the comms, they joined us in preparing for the eventual assault. If I’d been in a better mood, I probably would’ve thought it funny that we were living through a literal tower defense segment while we waited for pickup.

But every time I looked at Tali, I could feel the despondence emanating from her. You wouldn’t think that you’d be able to read much from a species that was fully covered at all times, completely limiting their expressivity, but fuck. I could see it even in her stance, her posture, the way her shoulders hunched over and her head dropped ever so slightly. She was terrified.

It didn’t take more than a minute for extraction to arrive, and we didn’t have too much shit to deal with. Between the eight of us, we gunned down a couple dozen drones and covered each other while we rushed to the shuttle. A few Husks tried leaping onto the flying brick, but the pilot shook them off easily enough and sped as far away from the Destroyer as possible.

Shepard and her team extracted successfully as well, though not without injuries. Both the geth and the quarians helped extract as many troops as they could, leaving the heavy artillery behind to distract the Reapers. When all was said and done, we got out with roughly eighty percent of the force we’d gone in with before a single Capital ship could even come to investigate. It was probably the quickest exfil we’d ever made. We had to spend quite a while shaking them, but eventually they lost our trail and we returned to our ships rather dejected.

The whole time, I kept glancing over at Tali. I’d killed hundreds of Reaper drones, but the sight of those admirals twisted and perverted so casually left me with the gnawing dread of what would happen if anyone I cared about ever became converted in such a way. If I saw someone I knew at the opposite end of a battlefield, stripped of everything that had made them who they were, I thought it would break me. It was breaking me just seeing Tali’s reaction to it.

Or maybe it was because we’d failed, and she had become the highest ranking member of the Quarian Flotilla. That burden of responsibility had to be enormous, especially after we had just killed the majority of the Admiralty Board ourselves.

Explaining it to the quarian people was not going to be pretty.