Mass Effect Universe -> Dies Irae (2025)

QUOTE

[Yep. Another repost from MEU 2.0]

Kornell Breit had stepped into the room once more, in a laverish purple robe that denoted his position as the cult's head. The entire inner workings of the church were white with purple, satin-like tapestries and rugs everywhere. Flags and banners, all depicting the supposed titans that once strolled across the surface of Palaven. Kornell, a silver played Turian with a unique array of purple markings himself, also glowed with augmentations that were once seen before - on those who suffered Reaper indoctrination. Escorted by Turians capped tightly in black and purple clad armour, they did not bother to obscure their face with anything other than a cloth hood - they resembled husks more than they did typical Illium-dwelling Turians. One human was in the entourage as well, however, his body modifications were so extreme he looked vaguely Turian at first glance, with his surgically split jaw and black, beady cameras which replaced his eyes. "P.K. Skvolich - it is time for your weekly visit." Kornell was ecstatic to announce, his voice pleasantly laced with a sort of aristocracy not often seen in Turians of lower birth. Kornell was not a veteran, not a soldier, not even a scientist. Rather, he was an idealist. An ideological power house of ideas that have revived a dead faith's cult nature into something new. Something much worse. "And by Saren and Sovereign, may you be pure in front of my eyes."

The door opened, Skvolich skittered away like a painful coward. His black scientist uniform was clean, pressed - hardly worn today as it was recently just refurbished from a lab-side accident. Black and glossy in some places, it was something that was probably approved by Cerberus' aesthetic designers. His blue plates with green stripes complimented his eyes which appeared larger than they were, the middle aged Turian had small visors to act as binocular devices. But on the downlow, they also corrected his steadily worsening eyesight. A result of eezo exposure back during the Eternal War. "Great, another visited from the blasted shit-man! Do you have no shame, you insolent mad man! The tall, timid and skinny Turian researcher hobbled like a penguin back into the center of the room. Kornell did not know what he was doing to be caught off guard so incredibly badly, but the common speculation was that Skvolich was a chronic masturbator to pass the time. "What is it you wish to tear from today? More of my pride? Or what will you ask of me, you freak! Sexual favours in turn for my safety from this captivity?! Are your wives in the basement not enough?!"

A solid smack across the mandibles shut him up quickly. So well in fact, that P.K managed to hit the corner of the room hard and let the side of his face taste the cold, white steel panel of his personal prison. Which was a refurbished bathroom that looked like it could be sold as a one room apartment on the Citadel for the starving artist, university student. "Doctor Skvolich, I have just gotten word from some of my pretty little birds..." Kornell stepped toward him, lowering himself, but not after briefly glancing over at the permanently affixed, framed holopicture of himself on the near by bulkhead. His gloved, Reaper-tech augmented hand grabbed the wrist of the Turian researcher forcefully. P.K peeped as if his wrist was about to break under the pressure. "The day of the Final Augmentations are here, we await the Great Day... the day the Reapers return to see us in our best form, imitation! Imitation of their perfect bodies and form, such a flattery that will surely ensure they rescue us from the inevitable end of this universe... bringing for the Days of Wrath so that we may live in harmony. A dream that some sought in Andromeda, but one we will all reach together!"

P.K wanted to spit, he wanted to kick away, crawl away - anything to get away from him. But he knew that if he tried, his wrist would indeed be broken. His eyes wondered past the Turian and toward the doorway, which lead into a world of so many more lights than the dimmed one he was forced to succumb to every day, even in his attempted slumber. Robed Turians walked about in formation, holding little icons and fetishes in their hands, made from Geth, made from scavenged Reaper parts, chanting and muttering. It had already begun, he thought it would be soon but not this soon. The mutilations, the augmentations, all the things he was going to be forced to do. Kornell pulled him up to his feet. "Grab your apron, grab your tools at the work bench out side and get to work." The cult leader ordered. Now, he simply brushed away some dirt that had gotten on the doctor's clothes, readjusting his uniform in the same way a father would adjust his son's tie for their Bar Mitzvah. "The Giants have returned, the Titans will walk Palaven once more and this time, we won't be doing anything to stop them. The irony is... it starts here, on Illium, of all places." The circuitry implants in his face glowed for a moment, inhumanly, as his hand happily patted the back of P.K's left shoulder.

Dies Irae... Days of Wrath. The phrase ran consistently through Daken's head. The unmarked skycar that Warlock had escorted them in was named that. Of all things, Days of Wrath. It was a private transport vehicle used by this brotherhood under Kornell. A clandestine, illegal little religious organization falsely filed in the Illium system as a soup kitchen or something. Only they were not very good at handing out soup. Should have given it away, but yet - it still stands and still remains. Tucked deep between some buildings, in fact - tucked on top of a large skyscraper long vacant besides its use as a makeshift parking garage by locals - the headquarters for this Doomsday cult sat at the bosum of a civilized society. A civilized society that worshiped sex and actresses on the t.v, sure - but degeneracy and decadence was common place anymore in the universe. This was just another hair on the back of the same dog. "We're almost there..." The boy said, having a visual on the compound's flight-landing pad now just upahead. Clothed in purple with a mask similar to a Quarian's, to hide his distinct lack of augmentations. Apricita was garbed in the same threads and mask, made to look like long term members of this fellowship. "ETA on when you will be back to pick us up, Warlock?" Daken asked the pilot, their personal driver for the night and maybe the last friendly face they will ever see.

His silver mandibles poked out from the darkness cast by his decorated hood, "20 minutes after I take off. Will give you just enough time." His eyes drifted over to the modified console to his right, where a co-pilot would otherwise sit. He spent months putting together the Days of Wrath. Dies Irae was one impressive little ass kicker, a skycar with grenade launchers, a gattling gun and a self-destruct eezo core if they truly needed it. Cost a small fortune to put together, but nothing a few dealings with some sketchy Krogan and Asari on Illium could not help with. The skycar eased its speed and started to descend toward the landing pad, which was dotted with red and blue lights. The skycar's monitor recieved a transmission, but Warlock quickly locked himself out of it. "They already know we are here, so make it fast before command alerts anyone else." They landed, the cold Illium hair hummed with the sounds of passing skycars. Daken and Apricita exited, only to be greeted with one of the most perverse examples of Illium free speech to ever be observed. A monument, a statue of solid silver - to none other than Saren, made by sympathizers out of scraps from the first Citadel attack. Donated by an Illium born artist and open technocrat - Olia Z'sahnovar. An Asari missing her organic limbs after a tragic combat trial in her Justicar days. Some say she wielded a terrible for now, with augmented limbs and the ability to apparently carry an actual rail gun around.

Daken stepped onto the pad as casually as possible. Their decoratively cloaked form hiding the submachine strapped to their lower back and few grenades strapped to their stomach and chest. A few thermal clips around their torso tic'd and tack'd against their lightweight armour underneath, but it wouldn't be too noticeable. As they approached the top floor elevator, Daken glanced with his peripherals outside of the helmet visor to see the description at the bottom of the Saren statue. "A Future with Hope, is a future without Shepards". Those cheeky fuckers. The Turian stood and with their omni-tool, presented the falsified credentials for himself and Apricita. "Long term members, we've been on pilgrimages and a voyage."His voice heavily deepened and distorted by the helmet. He paused, but his heart did not. In fact, it wanted to jump out of his chest as the guards looked at each other - then momentarily got distracted as Warlock took off suddenly, most likely without flying clearance. But then again, he did not receive the proper landing clearance either. "We are... in a hurry. The ceremony and all. We are honoured guests for the first augmentations."

"Move along. Carry on through."

It was a godsend, truly and surely. Apricita and Daken continued on into the elevator, his finger was quick and eager to press the button for the bottom floor. He sighed heavily and leaned his back against the elevator's inner wall as it began its descent. Quickly, he reached under his cloak to grab a simple device, a can of black paint spray. A monochrome coat would then quickly be sprayed across the two camera's illyhidden inside the elevator, not needing a shake before or inbetween. Simply, he discarded the can on the ground and reached for his SMG. An M-12 Locust. The internally suppressed weapon did not need a silencer, it was already a favourite among Alliance Special Forces, but much more popular with hitmen and assassins. As Daken quickly popped in a thermal clip, he quipped cheerily through his mask, trying to hide his less than apparent fear and anxiety. "Just like old times, huh? Waiting for and embracing the inevitable end?" He held the SMG at his hip, knowing he would not need to aim too much and his primary concern would be the recoil control. "Fuck this shit, fuck it all. One more mission until the end of the line. Game over, man. Too young for this shit, from the cradle into the grave..." Life never made this much sense before.

The elevator stopped at the basement, the "Ceremonial Chambers", as it was labeled on the elevator list itself. Level three access only. Luckily, they gave themselves the ultimate access possible. The willingness to do this mission was some kind of god-given strength and mental fortitude. The doors slid open, three purple clothed-henchmen waited at the elevator entrance for them. But as soon as it opened, Daken tugged two whole times for a few seconds on the trigger of his weapon. The silenced spurts were loud, but not loud enough to alert all of Illium to what was going on. Three of the men in front of them dropped down, two of them stayed down - nice and dead with thick pools of their liquid blue now forming beneath their splattered heads and torsos. One was somewhat alive, just able to raise a hand and their head, maybe bend their knee. Their pistol still clamped onto their finger, as it was stuck in the trigger well absent mindedly as its owner began to fade away and die. Daken casually walked over them, the same way one would step over a sleeping Varren in the streets, as to not disturb it. Only then, Daken fired a single shot through the Turian's augmented head. A blast of brainguts from their head bucket came out, like a corpse falling from a tipped over casket. Their visible augmentations were now discernible from exposed, burnt wiring. They were shooting literal cyborgs at this point.

And so, the Days of Wrath began.

---

The dark hood spilled over most of Apricita's face as she looked at the floor. The fabric was unfamiliar feeling to her, none of the well-worn softness of her own clothing. Rough against her neck and the back of her head, though her face didn't feel it naturally. The purple of the robes draped over her carapace and clung to her distinctly turian hips. Not like any of the clothing she normally wore. The bits of white visible, her mandibles peaking out, were the only break in the unrelenting purple.

Purple. It was a color worn in ancient asari culture, in some regions, by a widow mourning her mate’s death. Spirits, her thoughts were morbid right now. Purple surely meant other things... none of which she'd read about. And that tidbit had come from a sordid asari romance she'd once read.

Throughout the skycar ride she was mostly silent. Thinking. This was it. The end. There were so many things she wanted to say. They couldn't find a way to burst through the cage of winter whirling inside of her, a mad storm of ice and snow, a blizzard. The words, the wishes, everything... it didn't matter.

Apricita only knew a couple things- That she didn't want to die. The others seemed gripped in a fervour that was completely foreign to her. Daken had doom handing around him like some great cloud. It was clear in the words that he said to her as they traveled in the elevator- "Fuck this shit, fuck it all. One more mission until the end of the line. Game over, man. Too young for this shit, from the cradle into the grave..." That made her insides squirm- mostly in shame. A debilitating shame, that she didn't have half the spirit of the turian next to her.

She also knew that she didn't want Daken to die. Just as much as she didn't want to die. No- anything but that. Technically, the outcome would be the same. He would leave, and she would be alone, either way. But she wanted to know he was alive- somewhere. It was hard to follow the line where her own . That, that was the only passion that lit her right now. The only thing that had her finger curling around the trigger of her gun, touching that familiar curve. A comfort, a friend. To protect and defend. The mission meant nothing, Daken would be ashamed. But he- he meant so much. And so she'd see it through. She'd not voice her cowardice. Just to be his shadow, his echo, following after him, it was enough.

Survive- that was the pound of blue blood through her veins, pumped by a heart that had not yet refused to beat. Survive for the one next to her, the one who's mouths she fed. Survive, survive for those goals.

Her head nodded to Daken, face hidden behind a mask. A real mask today. She was silent as her gun came up. They needed no words anymore anyways. But one escape, even as the doors opened and other sounds ensured the words would be lost. A selfish phrase from a selfish girl- "Don't leave Daken. Stay. Don't die." There were so many other things that that meant, on many different levels to her- but that was all that escaped her. Words for her ears alone, that she doubted he would hear. A small prayer, to spirits that didn't care.

And with those words her gun came up, ready to trade the lives of others for the lives of those she loved, as had always been her custom.

Her feet carried her ahead of Daken as he took care of the last one standing, scouting ahead, on her toes, or even more so than a turian typically was, clearing their path ahead of them if necessary.

---

The hallways were not some serpentine labyrinth, rather - they ended rather disruptively up ahead at a single door. Daken still continued on with great caution, knowing they did not have a lot of time to operate and do what was necessary for this operation. They cleaned corners and the small crevices where engineers performed maintenance on the lighting and power grid, however the basement was eerily absent and empty aside from the corpses they left behind. An eerie silence, like traversing the stomach of a dead beast only for it to eventually awake and swallow them whole. In the end, just like their lives, there was no other operation but forward. Daken moved heel to toe in his concealed garbs and quickly hid his weapon once more. The door opened in front of the two with a metallic screech. Everything from here on end resembled more of a tomb, an ancient one where Titans once strolled. They were probably just a level above the make-shift parking complexes below, where they would make their escape - just like in the briefing as they discussed. All alone, no comms besides the two of them - due to the sensitivity of the mission. These guys thought of technology as a godly, spiritual force in itself. They would have nabbed onto any frequency coming from the Citadel to their omni-comms in an instant. Who knew what they would do, beyond pinging the source and cutting off their life support and exfil - or who waited and stalked Vark on the Citadel without even him knowing? Waiting for that precise information to strike appropriately.

End times. Truly. Surely. Daken felt like such a small young man, in the presence of these giants. These statues that scaled up to the ceiling and in true Palaveinian sculpture style, held the high ceiling above, which was a black screen. It projected the systems and the stars of the universe. Nothing can be so humbling as something like this. A reconstruction of the milky way hovered above in the other wise dark room. The suns and stars' projections were the only light which was provided to them. Through the first chamber, they continued. Just as darkly lit, with the same design scheme as before. Only now, the chamber was littered with corpses. Daken reached for his weapon and knew that the ability to blend in was already far too late. Sigils and symbols, medical supplies, surgical gauzes - all scattered and decorating the floor beneath them. The pews where devoted followers sat, now occupied by the carrion of Turians who were long dead. They have been here for awhile now, almost preserved, but obviously in early stages of decay. Steel cups at the feet of the corpses, some interwined in the rigor mortis grip of their fingers. They had not made it past the first stage of the transformations. The first stages of the ritual.

Some, they tried to save, see if they would accept a second drink, a second chance at an eternal life on board the Reaper-Stargods. Titans that would ride them into the next stage of living and from their flesh, they shall become Titans as well. "They... suicided?" Daken questioned, kneeling down to examine one of the cups. Their visor locked onto it and identified the contents, they were drinking some kind of liquid - genetically modified from Turians with strands of human DNA as well. Far from Dextro friendly, yet Dextro intertwined. It could almost classify as a life source, a form of eerie blood that was almost translucent as it illuminated with whatever light sources it garner the energy from - like the star holograms above. At the altar ahead of them - a statue, a holy trilogy. Three figures, three faces. But not all stood equal. Overlooking them all, a monolithic Reaper - Sovereign, at the center beneath his masterfully crafted visage - Saren with all of his Reapertech modifications. In his arms, a dying and bleeding Commander Shepard. A wound at his side and his hands and feet mutilated from combat, their eyes scratched out with metallic pins of some sort puncturing his eardrums. The aura it gave away was almost traumatic as it was intense. This was an altar of worship? This image of death and doomsday?

"Death and Doomsday, Daken?" Daken turned hard toward the voice that seemingly read his thoughts out loud. Kornell stood at the entrance they had just passed through. His purple robes hid his daunting attire beneath, or was it an attire? At first it seemed like a bulging set of armour, but now as the tall Turian approached them - it all moved so organically. Not like how armour was meant to. Kornell lowered his hood and revealed his augmentated face, pulsating with a bizarre series of tech arrangements. His head tilted, the Turian smiled deviously at him. "Oh yes, you do fear me, don't you little Daken Nalecos... You fear that this will be the last mission you and your girlfriend over here ever go on." Daken had the SMG pointed at the bastard's face, but his shaking and trembling became hard to control. As if his own body was starting to reject his impulse to shoot and not ask how he knew all of these things. Daken felt a painful throbbing in his head, a strange outline like a razerblade left inside one of his lobes.

The Citadel. When he became a citizen there, they gave him the Citadel branded translator chip. A simple neurological implant that replaced the low end translator apps on Omni-tools. Daken felt a burning sensation around it, as if his body had just decided to reject it. "What the ... fuck?!" Daken fell to his knees, bringing his hands, gun still in the other to his head. The sensation became a cluster bomb of headaches and migraines, his vision faded and became blurry. He felt like something was clogging up all of his systems, like something was transferring files while his soul was the operating system, constantly rendering its choices and trying to keep up with the over usage on its drives. Kornell grinned, his own heavily modified chip, augmented further by Reaper-tech-inspired, reverse engineered amps - was reading through terabytes and terabytes worth of information stored on the auto-translating chip. All the things he wrote to himself, all of his logs, even some of his recurring dreams and thoughts, his emotions and inflections - how they would affect speech in other languages and pronunciations, all these deeply complicated traits and characteristics. Moving through hundreds of translators, learning so many intimate things perfectly and all at once. "Apricita!"

Kornell turned his head toward the girl, raising a nearly entirely skeletal-robotic hand from his robe sleeve at her. Trying to access her chip, only to find there to be none. Strange, you'd have to be pretty poor not to have one of these nowadays. He aimed down toward her omni-tool, still - the jailbroken, bootlegged and pirated OS didn't even have an actually licensed app on it for such. If one at all. The thing was so old that Kornell head to turn away and prevent himself from connecting it, as it would be like trying to start a skycar without a battery or dry-fire a rifle with no ammo in it. It was bad for the mental and neurological "recoil spring". Daken managed to look up through the pain, unable to shoot - but soon finding a strange compulsion to shoot himself. All of his suicidal thoughts and tendencies, his years of self harm, the thought hit him all at once. His delusions of if he died, others would live well, Vark and Prissa being able to live finely. The SMG was now slowly turning on himself. What was this strange capability that this one lone individually managed to have? "Apricita! Shoot him!"

As if telepathically, Kornell stared back at Daken. Transmitting a garble of words and phrases directly into his chip from his own. In words only Daken could hear, as if they were echoing inside his skull - like a bird trying to peck out of an egg. "It is over Daken. Pull the trigger and embrace oblivion. Become as a god in death. A titan."

---

Apricita, upon entering the room, subconsciously began to breath through her mouth, her nose practically closing off. She didn't even need to ting about it, she'd been around dead bodies, half here, half returned to the dirt and scum they'd crawled through all their lives, often enough. Hardly a flicker came to her eyes. No. Older, dead bodies- those weren't in her fears. It was the bodies still bleeding and broken, the screams, the moans, the thrashing, that is what haunted her to the end. Her feet kicked a few to the side apathetically as she looked up at the statue for a moment, studying it, as Daken mumbled about suicide, examining the contents of the cup behind her. "Ya know I don't get it. Any of it. Religion. Ever. Never had something to follow like that. Why'd they choose to die, when life gets ripped away so easy, whether you want it or not... should cling to it, ya know?"

Her voice was distant for a moment. She'd said it though. That great fault of hers, what would always make her a shadow and him a flame. There was no cause that she would die for. Just a few scattered amount of people- and even then she wouldn't want to die, only accept the inevitable. There was too great a cowardice in her. Too much fear of spirits, the only bastardised religion that she followed. He probably wouldn't get it- no, Daken was made of heroes like the one draped in the arms of the grotesque figures ahead of her, at least in her mind. Those that fought and bled for great incomprehensible causes. "Guess I'm just a no good Omegan girl, who'd rather shoot than die herself." A moment more of staring, and a voice sounded behind her, a strange thing that set her mandibles on edge.

She whirled, Daken had his gun up, and she expected him to shoot.

Except he didn't. Her heart stopped almost, as the turian brought his hand up, and Daken's hands shook. It was disturbing- as if that man in those purple robes indeed had some great incomprehensible power. Daken seemed ready to crumple, while Apricita pondered, for the first time in her life, in some great shocking revelation, the possible existence of powers greater than thermal rounds and shields. She reached out to Daken as he called her name, eyes wide with existential fear, wanting to help him, to know what she could do... and that hand of doom raised towards her, and it's incomprehensible power...

She flinched away, but nothing happened. Nothing. No pain, no fear, nothing. Her gun came up, even as Daken gave the command. A command she didn't need to be told twice. Gods? No. She'd been a fool for a moment. The only gods there were death, blood, and pain, their laws ones of strength, cleverness, and survival. Those were the gods Apricita worshiped. The gods to continue her own meagre existence. At least it brought her to people like this one next to her. That was worth it for now.

Her finger squeezed the trigger of her angle of death, the object of her worship, the Valkyrie, the bringer of death on the battlefield. The one she'd always relied on, so long as her aim was steady. As it was now, as she meant to slay a false god. The bullets tore away in their sharp pattern, ripping forward, towards that modified head of some nameless monster, a demon from the most ancient tales.

All in the same movement she spun, to try and knock the gun from Daken, from whatever strange power had overcome him. "Fuck, no you don't. We're not done yet." Her eyes were intense as she gripped his hand. "Get your head back where it belongs." She hissed. "Back here." Casually, with her spare hand she shot another burst of rounds at the form she'd shot moments ago with her spare hand, as if to emphasise her point.

---

Crawl.

That was the only thing that came to mind. He ripped off the visor and hood, leaving only the parka and holster on his torso. Looking up, he saw what remained of Kornell. He hardly put up a fight, he merely stood there. Menacingly. And now his twitching corpse laid on the floor, spread eagle across the block. A flow of blood, peeping out from beneath his robes. Daken's eyes expanded however as the terrible thing that Kornell had become, threw its clothes into the air. The robes majestically flowed to the ground as if it was a weighed down in a pool of water. Kornell, or at least, something that resembled him - crawled about on all forms. Daken himself, had begun to crawl to the nearest pew to use to pull himself up. His head still ached with a thousand battering rams against the behind of his eyes, but still - those pounding, pained sockets tracked the mobile, agile thing that threw itself against one of the pillars of the Titans and skittered up it like an insect. It seemed to disappear under the hologram presented, using it as camouflage, as colour. The Turian aimed with his SMG, looking for any disruptions in the technological illusions - but soon they ceased altogether and only the sound of a third person in the room breathing steadily, yet loudly - was the only evidence of Kornell's presence. "Fuck, he has some major Augs... I don't even think we could call them biotic amps. He's nearly synthetic..." His body felt some kind of frequency, a strange interception - static running through his cells.

"You know, it is important that we look at the cores inside of Reapers. How evolved it is, how well it reacts to life and how it emulates it through mimicry. It is evident that the Reapers however, are creators in their own right. A mere look at history can prove this, the history of evolution, the concepts that create who we are. What they are." Kornell's voice spoke coherently, albeit the mechanical stutter and distortion at parts. It was near impossible to pin point his location in the chambers. No omni-tool app or combat tested, battlefield device could help them now. It was instincts. Machine versus flesh. A thousand cameras versus the naked, organic eye. Skill versus programming. But to the machine that was now Kornell, it was simply prey versus predator. "A machine cell... the Titan's Cell, as your Father Vark stated... is a like a plant cell. A perfect imitation of organic tissue, in a way. But that is what separates us from the Geth. Geth are only programmed to have an illusion of free will, in the same way A.Is never inherent souls... Yet, the Reapers - the Titans and our Enkindlers, they have souls. Because unlike Geth, unlike A.I - they can accept a flaw and correct it. Even the most advanced A.I can be corrupted by depression, the awareness it was made to serve a purpose and that purpose can be terminated with the existance of free will... But the fact it has free will, but it is not the purpose of the platform to have it - these pseudo-creatures are stuck in a loop."

Daken's eyes' narrowed, not liking what kind of information that was being poured out to be heard. Vark being his legal father. The research that opposed the existence of god, in favour of the Titans. He hated to hear any of this. That these bastard Reapers were anything but an apocalyptic force made out of self righteous ignorance. Was this the research Vark has thrown away his future for? "Daken, listen to me, for I am not pleading. The Reapers, they love us. That is why they want to destroy us, a Biblical Flood, of sorts. So that God can retake and remold his creation. Taking only the holy and cutting away the rest from the Vine. This is the new covenant. The covenant of the Machine, Daken!" Instinctively, Daken ducked and aimed, pulling the trigger a few times in burts to fire rounds at the synthetic, four-limb crawler that skittered across the ceiling. It was fast, incredibly fast. Kornell hopped away, but he might as well have cloaked himself or teleported. His monster form shoot through the bottom of the pews and like that, he was out of sight once more. Again, they were at his mercy. "A.Is... computers. They are not built with the purpose to have free will. So few make artificial souls in the name of Godlikeness. No, they do it out of greed, to run their companies, run their businesses, to make up for man power or act as slave labour - only for these things to gain a collective like the Geth. But we? We are a machine all the same Daken. Look at our universe, the cogs that our cells. Does a Reaper core resemble a plant cell, or an organic cell, or do we resemble them? If our science is machines, is their science biologically? Organic?"

Jury took cover behind a pew and scanned the room with their SMG. All around them, it sounded like Kornell approached on his modified limbs. No way to tell, the sound of metal phallanges tapping the deck beneath them. Rattling their souls in psychological torment. "We are built with free will. To make mistakes. Our encounters with existentialism is because we forget we have free will. Society, governments, borders, money... all things created by powerful people, who have stolen the free will of all to believe in them, to trust in them. This is why you and Vark are fleeing it all, isn't it? To escape the imperfect system that mocks the free will imposed upon us by your god! Oh woe is us, for we must render under Caesar what is Caesar and render what is God's under God! Do you not know the hypocrisy of your faith, which tells you to pay your taxes? That justifies the occupation of being a soldier?" Yet another translator chit attack, Daken grabbed his face as he felt the painful image being transmitted. It played in his consciousness, a row of text sliding down like a end movie credit sequence. The letters and words compiling a face. But what was it? The face of God? Or was it the visage of a Reaper Core, buried in its schematics, the faces of every race. Data it had collected? Or perhaps blue prints it wrote up? "In the same way we built machines and saw them in their most primitive state, we saw them evolve. Just like every organic, sentient creature... Crawling out of the muck, to become a Titan. Standing up straight, making weapons, making instruments, making language, culture and religion... Making war! Making murder! Making love! Look at your own bible Daken, replace "God" with the "Coder" and the "Flesh" that is life and replace it with "Code"! In the beginning there was the Code, the Code was with the Coder and the Code was the Coder!"

His head felt faint, as if there was a virus being installed on his chit. A keylogger? Running down his thoughts and his ambitions, his intentions in this scenario. His thoughts of life and death. There was this ultimate, terrible vulnerability. "For centuries, humans said Deus ex Machina! God works through creation! But no! Deus EST Machina! God IS the Creation! He is the Machine, the Machina! Daken! Look at you creatures, of flesh and blood! Know that you too, your plates, are an alloy of metal! You are processors, graphics cards, databoards! You are organic computers! Sentient jelly... piloting mechs of bone!" Almost like it was faster than light itself, a steel-capped talon'd had emerged from the darkness and swiped at Daken's arm. Ripping past the organic armour and rendering blood forth. Oh how pure it was, as his blueness that defined himself as a Turian, an organic being - dripped to the floor - pooling beneath the mouth of a dead corpse. As if to feed life into it once more. "Do not resist Daken, the Titans hate disobedience and today is no day to be a martyr! If you do not drop your arms, I will be forced to crucify you... You and the thieves, the betrayer Warlock and Apricita... I know everything now, Daken. Everything that you hid in your little brain of your's..."

PMEMAIL

^

QUOTE

Apricita growled he got up and she tried to shoot again, her aim going wide at the inhuman speed. She could calculate, use muscle memory, to shoot at a living target. She did well at that. But this... he'd gotten up, right at the end of her bullets. The part of her brain that had risen a moment ago- the part that doubted all and believed only in blood and bullets and the raw power of conventional fighting, it froze. Confronted with a strange twist to the normal order of things. Whoever shot first won. That was the way things went, the reason she was alive. Right? But she'd shot first. Denied his power that he seemed to have, his words, and thought that sufficient. But he'd gotten back up. Her gun was gripped tighter in three fingers but there was a slight tremble there.

"What even is he? She muttered. Those feelings were back, the ones that had almost crippled her when Daken had been overcome by something she hadn't understood. Apricita wasn't used to confronting the unknown. That strange distorted voice almost seemed to echo in the chamber of death and she took a step back, nearly tripping over a corpse. Words of religion were foreign to her, completely so. The scripture that poured from his mouth baffled her, but filled her only with more dread. Like mystic words from a primal sage, that would bring down curses upon the heads of those that listened. Still, she held her ground, the sound of her gun accompanying Daken's in their mutual retort to the... monster's words.

Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest. Apricita knew what they were talking about- Reapers, and the justification for them. She simply didn't understand the justification. The quotes, made as if to prove a point, fell on her ears deafly. As he rushed at Daken, so quick, she emptied a quick round of shots at him once again, but she had no idea... no idea if they actually hit. Apricita always knew. Always knew when she hit her target and when she missed, even before it hit most of the time.

Not knowing, it terrified her.

That summed up it all right now. She felt a child in the conversation of two adults, catching the edges and feeling fear, but not comprehending the true message.

"Do not resist Daken, the Titans hate disobedience and today is no day to be a martyr! If you do not drop your arms, I will be forced to crucify you... You and the thieves, the betrayer Warlock and Apricita... I know everything now, Daken. Everything that you hid in your little brain of your's..."

Apricita shot again, as the thing spoke and blue blood dripped. "Shut up!" She said, a war cry to accompany the verbal rebuff of the weapon in her hand. "Shut up. I'm not sayin I know much about religion, but even what I do know, you're not making any sense. We're more than bodies and machines or whatever. Got spirits and whatever they are. Replacing one word with another don't prove nothin other than changing the sentence. Can replace 'fuck you' with 'love you'. Changes the sentence, see?" The words tore out of her in frustration. No real structure or logic to them. None of strange hypnotic force to his words. Just snarls, denying those honeyed things that dripped from his mouth. No way of fighting fire with fire, instead she just threw a rock at the arena, of her own truths as she saw it.

A child, protesting in the midst of an argument with it's childish view. But there was truth in those statements too.

Her breath drew raggedly through her teeth. "Stop listening Daken. Whatever he did, he's wrong. He doesn't know you or me. Just hacked us or whatever, I heard that's a thing. But reading a book about someone isn't the same as knowin them." She moved closer to him, with the hypnotic drip of blue blood. He wasn't in good shape, this whole fight, whatever the fuck Kor... the monster was doing, it was doing a number on him. He wasn't the same, confident, assured warrior he'd always been at her side. Her elbow came out to nudge him in the ribs. Gentle enough, but force enough to be a sharp retort. Trying to get him back. Back in the fight, back to the Daken she knew.

---

There was only one way out of this and that was to accept what he truly was. Deep down, a programmed machine. Built for this sort of thing. Designed for this sort of thing. A reverse-engineered Turian, turned into an asset. Not just a statistic, but a warrior. That brief nudge was enough to put things back into motion. If anything for a moment. Shaking his head, Daken scanned for the sounds of the nearly silent, four legged stalker that Kornell had become. With his own eyes looking particularly evil, he searched for this demon with the intent to end its life once and for all. In his peripherals, he saw them for just a moment. Perched and ready to pounce from a pew. Action took over, instinct - motorized and set to full throttle. Daken started to tug at the trigger, sending bursts of rounds in that direction. The soft patter of the internal suppressor hardly gave any recoil against his shoulder. His brain was euphoric now, swimming in tingles of feel-goodness. This was what he was meant to do with his life after all, forever and ever.

The rounds spit hot from the barrel and splintered against the steel pews, some ricocheting off into the nearby walls. Shrapnel from the blistering rounds sliced into Kornell, but it would not be those metallic shards that stopped him. No, it would be the bullets that clipped his leg - severing it at one of its mechanical joints. Kornell did not emote any feeling, any pain, his glowing eyes were easy to track - as they widely zoned in on the Turians. Daken knew just where to aim. Throwing himself forward toward the swiping beast and laying the rest of his thermal clip into him. Blood and cybernetics spit out of the abomination's back. A sea of blue painted the congregation's holy seats and like a flying machine that had run out of fuel, Kornell would sputter out and gasp for air - knowing soon he will die. A flustered mess of organic and artificial augmentations, Kornell was a skeleton of his former self - Daken took note of this especially as he approached and saw the cult leader in all of his glory.

"It is not the end here, Daken. Far from it. I was only one step in this evolution, but there is so much more I have to show you..." For a dying bastard, the abomination spoke calmly. As if this death was reassurance. Daken stood over him, pointing the SMG for what remained of Kornell's head. It had no emotion, just a circuit board of tissue and plates. Like a machine, it only emulated life. But one had to wonder, what provoked Kornell to go this far with his beliefs. As even he, in all of his might and in his final form, hardly resembled a Titan. "Behind the altar... that is where you will find your beloved scientist Skvolich. He has been very busy, so please - forgive him if he is fidgety and tired. His "stay-awake" narcotics can only do so much without frying his nerves." Kornell did not need a fatal shot to punctuate his sentence. It ended as such and like a computer that suddenly ran into an error, his head slowly faced the floor and his glowing pupils faded. Like a sun behind a mountainous horizon. Daken, like Kornell, felt nothing in this moment. No relation to life or death. Utterly separated.

"We need to keep moving..." He broke his silence finally. The young soldier marched past the altar and to his own surprise regarding Kornell's honesty, there it was. A door concealed in the dark. His hand cautiously reached out to open it, but once it did - he wished immediately that he hadn't. The smell of open cavities, blood and embalming fluid of some sort rushed against his senses. Covering his mouth, he entered the small shop of horrors to see just what the good doctor has been up to. However, Daken saw something that he did not want to see ever again. Suddenly, he was back in the same place when he first met Vark. And then, he realized that Vark was doing more than just simple philanthropy during the initial outbreak. The dissected corpses on the operating tables, no doubt about it. They were some variant of the Adjutants and not only that, they have been modified. Somehow, with their more slim and moderated transformation - they were more disgusting than ever. Made from the rib of an Evil Adam themselves, this was a travesty against all laws and nature.

Daken lowered his weapon, not wanting to comprehend what the cult had done. To itself, of all people. The smell - unmistakable. There was a furnace nearby, they had to have been burning them. The blindingly white room was complete with its astounding light set ups and sheets of plastic that separated the operating "rooms" into various cubicles. It was certainly an upgrade to the project that they encountered on their first Philantrophy mission together. "Adjutants... they wanted to willingly, become these things?"

"I am afraid, it is not as simple as that..." Doctor P.K Skvolich announced. Stepping out from one of the vivisection cubicles in bloodied scrubs and a white apron to match. He looked like an aquatic-themed art piece, with all of the blue and unnaturally white splotches on his person. In his gloved hand, a wet - soaking rag of some sort. One which he promptly brought up to his nose to sniff graciously, an euphoric look on his face while doing so. "And as for Vark... Dr Vikernes did not have the time to come for this personal rescue I presume?"

Jury, who had initially raised his weapon in reaction to the sudden appearance of the doctor, lowered his SMG as they began to speak. "No... Just me and Princess. We're here to get you out of here."

P.K smirked and shrugged, only to emit a soft laughter as he drainfully looked down at his rag. A weary, aging man. "It will be awhile before we get this stink out, I am afraid... But lucky for all of us, I intentionally sabotaged the Adjulant strain that Vark and I created together... Kornell was none the wiser, I assured that this batch was going to be the winning won - but alas..." In a gentlemanly manner, he bowed and presented his work. Maybe 30 to 40 bodies total, probably even more in a nearby incinerator which was radiating with intense heat from one corner of the room. "Sorry if you were expecting an epic struggle or last stand... I couldn't let you do all the work, now could I?"

---

And just like that, it was over.

It ended the same, despite beginning differently. Apricita stared at the strange form, that monster, the demon, the turian who had seemed so powerful. So she'd been right after all. There was nothing else. Just a short burst of life and then the end. Maybe she was a fool for trying to avoid that. It'd come for her regardless, the short stop of function. One day. Probably at the end of a gun's barrel, just as she'd taken so many lives herself. A perfect sort of ending, in it's own way.

She kicked the body backwards slightly, to move those staring eyes, to keep them from staying fixed on them, an endless glare of existential doom. And perhaps just to make sure, some small wiggling part of her afraid that the shots would fail to their job for a second time. Daken was silent after the final words, frozen for a moment. Then again, what was there to say?

"We need to keep moving..."

The words broke the silence. She nodded, to push open the door behind Daken, rifle up and ready. Forward, the only motion she had, time moving on past the horrors at it's own inexorable pace. The stench had her flinch, the sheer nature of it overwhelming and unexpected. Worse than Omega's trash heaps, in it's own way. With a cough she drew up the edge of her purple robe over her face with one hand, gun still gripped in the other, registering, at the same time, that there was nothing but death here. Nothing that she could shoot at. A terrifying thing, but not something for her to bother with right now.

"Sorry if you were expecting an epic struggle or last stand... I couldn't let you do all the work, now could I?"

"Fucking..." The word slipped in a whisper of disbelief at the bodies behind the man. Disturbing, thats what this was. A scene to remember, surely in nightmares sometime. But Apricita simply shoved all that down, already half numb to it all. These emotions were still dulled by the fear and uncertainty that had passed only a moment ago.

"Thanks." There was a sick sort of acknowledgement in her tone. At least... at least there were no more monsters to fight. Her head turned towards Daken. "Want me to finish cleaning up?" She was uncertain of the next steps of the mission, and raised her rifle slightly, meeting Daken's eyes with a question in them. They never gave her the full of it- the full explanation of what was going on. But she wasn't stupid. The scientist- he may be the next on the list of those they were to end. Those they were to clean up for that mysterious Judge, that damnable Vark, a faceless father to Daken, and a shadowy figure of distrust to her. She only guessed. And so she was asking, in a dull, quiet voice. Eager, mostly, for simply the end of it.

---

"No need, I will do that myself. I can set this whole facility to blow, just one moment..." P.K Skvolich stated, mistaking the question to be directed at him. He hurried over to the terminals, using his omni tool to activate something and surpass a firewall. The man who had just casually murdered a platoon worth of mentally ill people was so easily undisturbed by the predicament. Near by, in a steel crate - there was a strange rattling. Daken's finger edged toward his own trigger, removing his conjoined stare with Apricita over to the doctor. All of this effort, just to ensure this one man was dead. The boy felt guilt in his heart, after all these years - of fighting and struggling, he had grown up. No longer could he hide the reality of the situation under his own indoctrinations. They were murderers. P.K removed himself from the terminal momentarily to approach the rattling box, opening it with the single press of a button at the top. It slid open and of all things, a Pyjak casually walked out on its hind legs. Bipedal, like a person. Disturbingly enough, it wore scrubs like a doctor would. Was this his assistant? "Can't tell you how thankful I am for everything you have done to come here..." Skvolich continued, but his appreciation waned quickly with a troubled sigh.

The Pyjak, like a small child, looked up at him and seemed sad as well - in its dark eyes. It was like looking into space, at the silver studded nails that crafted the galaxy. So much hope, but that hope was naive and young. Innocent even. Traveling the stars only proved one thing, whether it was to one star system or to another galaxy like Andromeda, there was not mystery to exploration. There was no triumphant end or glorious center that would reward such journeys. As the Pyjak ran up onto the doctor's shoulders, they two realized this. Life and the galaxy were one in the same. A sprawling mess of accidents, but the conclusion was just a blip - more endless nothing, it might as well just be a repeat. The only interesting moment being the thread sewing these events together. However, life and death - they are still on the same sheet, just opposite ends of each other. P.K contemplated this more so as he returned to the terminal, triggering a silent alarm that would in turn - start the self destruction of this religious fortress. "It is sad... that you came all this way to not rescue me, but to kill me." P.K turned, stroking the chin of his pet, preparing to at least make his last words in life profound. "I guess, I was merely post-poning the inevitable and-"

A single shot ripped through his head. Tearing apart his plated face and exposing his brilliant brain onto the white floor. Red lights started to blare with a thunderous beep, counting down each second to the eventual explosion that would tear this place into little pieces. Probably collapsing the abandoned building below too, in the process. It would go down in history as a terrorist attack, but against what - no one will know. Daken hoped that credits would taken Apricita far. Lowering his SMG, he looked over as the Pyjak cautiously, weeping to itself in hardly contained squeeks, tried to get near its owner. Its father. The caged creature had no idea of light, no idea of freedom. Like Daken, he knew only father or father figures. And stayed by their sides out of necessity, survival - for there was no other alternative. Daken raised his weapon again to pop a round into the Pyjak, which slumped hard to the floor - beside his father. Mission accomplished. Yet, everything felt wrong. So many things untied. But that was for this generation to comb through. Andromeda was 600 years away, plenty of time to run away from the consequences of this mission. "Let's go..." Daken said, almost a whisper to himself, passing by Apricita.

At the end of the room, some floor panels had separated. Revealing a secret exit. Just as the briefing stated, it would be an emergency, auxiliary elevator to the pseudo-parking complex building below. And from there, they'd have to just go down one more floor to meet up with Warlock. Then it was over. Everyone could be happy. Or at least pretend to be. Silently, illuminated by the red lights that cast away the new found darkness as the power in the facility was suddenly getting cut down to the most necessary of systems - Daken looked over the fruits of Vark's work. Abominations against everything living and decent. Standing on the lift, it jolted and finally started to descend with a mechanical howl. They had a good amount of time to evacuate. He'd appreciate it, if it wasn't for the fact he was going to be mentally beating himself up the entire time they casually strolled to their getaway vehicle. The elevator stopped in a dark platform, their movement of coming off the lift activated the motion-lights. The whole place lit up in a stunning whiteness. Blocking his eyes momentarily, Daken then covered his mouth to hide away the stench of death.

This maintenance floor, above the main building - this was their makeshift graveyard. Corpses wrapped tightly in transparent bags, of thick plastics reinforced with omni-based materials. The orange hue did not hide their varying states of decay. While some were basically mummified and wrapped up tight, other corpses were simply thrown to rot naturally away. It smelled like a horror house hospital. Trials of blood lead to large mounds of carrion, Turian and a few other xenos laid in categorized piles. Those who died during past augmentations or experimentation? It was possible, some of the bodies should grotesque results of their bodies rejecting their implants, others resembled the dreaded husks. Soulless, pale bodies besides some still warm, maybe from just earlier that morning. Others looked to have been executed by one of the nearest walls. Some of their brain matter still sticky and stuck to the steel tilings. Daken refused to stay in there another moment, quickly running for the ramp that would lead downward to the top level of the makeshift parking establishment. Many of the cult's vehicles were there, some having been there so long and unused - likely belonging to some of the dead upstairs, were either rusted or completely stripped of their necessary and valuable parts.

They moved forward, but Warlock was not in the center as he promised he would be. Moving past a pillar, Daken raised his weapon suddenly upon seeing someone in all white, with just as much of a silver blistering set of face plates as Warlock and himself. But it was not Warlock who waited for them, it was probably the person he expected the least. Only in his wildest dreams. His weapon dropped instantly, almost out of his hands as his eyes widened. Behind her was a black, military transport ship. Its insignia, it was the Blackwatch's - no doubt, yet this one was inverted. Upside down. It was a mockery of the real thing. A rogue, rebellious mutilation of the powerful symbol. Behind the woman in white, Turian soldiers in Blackwatch uniforms and armour, with weaponry that not even Daken could recognize. They did not need to raise weapons at them, the two were grossly outmatched at this point already. Their presence alone made Daken feel a genuine fear. The woman, who was tall, eloquent and powerful in her almost angelic armour - that closely resembled her own face. And Daken's. "Drop your thermal clips. Now." Her voice even resembled Daken's, so much in fact - that if it were just an octave lower, they'd be identical. As if he was hypnotized, Daken complied easily. Ejecting the thermal clip and dropping the SMG at his feet. Kicking it over to the side. However, he did not raise his hands in full on surrender. "You've grown. Surely."

Daken's eyes twitched, a few small tears managed to squeeze their way out from his ducts. "Y-you're supposed to be dead!" He accused, shaking with anger. His hands balled into fists so tight they audibly strangled themselves through the fabric of his gloves. His body shook with a constrained rage, one he could barely keep under control. His teeth and maw gritting, it sounded as if someone was applying immense pressure to a plate of concrete.

"And so are you, son."

---

Apricita followed Daken, almost mechanically. This was the end. It was the end of the mission. Of course they had to get out, but with the death of the scientist she felt the death of many things looming over her head. Instead she focused on working her feet. Moving them one at a time, past the hall, into the elevator, past the bodies- so many bodies- she kept her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. She didn't want to see the carnage. She was so tired of seeing the like, over and over. Mechanically she followed, until the world ended.

Not the world as a whole, or even her own world, but Daken's world. She'd seen her own world shatter before- she knew the signs. The turian there- it was a surprise, seeing and hearing that voice. Like hearing Daken's voice, but subtly altered. The turian woman was dressed in white- and accompanied by more guns than Apricita could have imagined. Her mandibles shuddered slightly. The command to drop their weapons followed and... Apricita glanced at Daken, and as his weapon hit the ground, her followed suit. It left her feeling bare and naked, not having it in her hands. She stared at it on the ground, the sign of their surrender.

What was going on?

It surely didn't take Apricita long to find the answer to that question, but still her mind reeled. What did it mean? His mother? She was supposed to be dead, she recalled from their earlier conversation. Still- the person in front of her was far from the person he'd imagined when Daken had described her. One thing alone was apparent to her- Daken's rage was palpable. She kept looking down at her gun, then back at the others... there was no way. Apricita knew when to fight and when to run, and when to simply accept what came and to take whatever beating you got- this was the third situation. She knew the rules of survival- you had to take what came and never act stupidly. But she very badly wanted to act stupidly. To pick up the gun and shoot and hope for some miracle. The two of them had had so many miracles to their survival in the past while- she was getting greedy and wishing for more. Her fingers twitched and she looked up, up at the woman who had ended this so surprisingly.

"So what now?" Her voice was detached, not her own. Calculating, cold, ready to listen and comply- if only for survival's sake. She pushed her purple hood back, her eyes flicking towards Daken. If he fought, would she follow suit? Would he fight? Where was her line, the line between following him out of duty and other conflicted emotions, or otherwise following her rules of life as they'd applied before. So much had changed. Apricita had even been changing, with this turian leading her, at her side. Right now she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Or what would win out in the end.

"What do ya want? You clearly got us outgunned..." She ventured, trying to not feel like she was betraying Daken by speaking up at all.

PMEMAIL

^

QUOTE

Mother and son stood silently, eye to eye in contact. Soon, the two of them, no longer brandishing any weapons as what may have been Blackwatch soldiers watched onward, charged for the empty center. It was lightening quick, only a few jabs and punches were thrown, but quickly - like a spark of lightening, Daken had been flipped and slammed onto the ground. That was how it was in the real world. Not like in the movies, the games, the books - or the long drawn out, dialogue-driven fights and encounters in the Three Musketeers. Daken's arm was trapped in a simple looking hold, however it was an effective one. They were not able to budge, a knee driven into his arm pit and pressing forward toward his face. His arm jolted upward and twisted backwards ever so slightly, a thumb in the palm of his hand - bending the fingers toward the woman's faith. This was nothing out of the ordinary for these two. "You've gotten faster, but you're still too slow." She twisted the arm further, Daken grimaced but refused to tap out or show any signs of the painful struggle he was enduring. He wouldn't shed a tear, he wouldn't yelp - his expression was neutral now. Staring at the lights of Illium through the opened slots in the walls where skycars could pass through and exit. "Fine, then." The woman in white jerked his arm in a certain direction, a series of pops and snaps were audible.

Daken dug his face into the ground, looking away, his feet kicking out slightly - his resistance was still a stubborn one. He made no sounds, no audible squeaks of pain nor a twitch in his mandible. It was as if he, he was expected to be this strong. To be this resilient towards pain and torment. Mother stood up and nudged him away with her foot. Daken clenched his broken arm, which had been pulled out of the rotator cuff and had some connective tissue severed in the painful maneuver performed on him. It was limp, dangling as if by fleshy threads - an unnatural bend in his elbow showed that it could have easily been snapped into a right angle to the opposite side. Daken still hardly said a word, only stepping forward for another attempt to strike - only to be kicked swiftly in the side by his own Mother. With a force that thundered him to the ground and forcing him to roll with his momentum. However, when he re-emerged, he had his machine pistol in hand. The Pseudo-Blackwatch soldiers raised their weapons sternly, but quickly calmed again as Mother stepped to engage like a fierce tiger.

The White Woman hand disarmed Daken in a simple second, already he was dropped to the ground once more. His knees dug into his own stomach as he doubled over. Finally, an expression of pain. A painful, laugh exhaust of air from his mouth. A tattered maw that had seen many fights, many battles. Daken looked up to Mother, who was slowly disassembling his weapon into its most simple parts before casting them to the sides opposite of them. "Ambitious as ever. You would have made a great soldier." She stated almost in boredom, maybe with a hint of sarcasm. Her own expression being twice as cold and unfeeling as one that Daken could give. He shot up in a low crouch, trying to sweep for her legs with a swift kick - but she caught it with a raised calf and the bend of her leg extended fully into a kick into his jaw. Daken was on his back. Again. Defeated. So simply and so easily. The skill levels were traumatically unbalanced and in Mother's favour. "One of these days you are going to have to realize that you will die in the battlefield. Just as you were born into one." Mother looked up slowly from her son and stared at Apricita, not seeming too impressed. "Typical of you. Falling for some homeless gutter trash because of her nice fringe and hips. You're still such a young boy."

From the transport behind them, a tall Turian emerged. Wearing a formal Hierarchy military uniform of a high ranking officer. However, there were no ranks, no medals, no insignia, no command rocker, not even a name badge or tape. Most of his black fringe was gone, devoured by layers of hardened scar tissue. Most of his face had suffered tremendous burns, burns that made him look like black, melted plastic. It matched the rest of his hideous texture, a dark maroon perhaps? He looked like the deepest, darkest drop of blood any organic being could produce. His eyes, nearly white from their bluish-silver complexion. He walked with a certain gait like a theater man, or a show man, a stage actor even. A fan of theatrics, he surely was. "Daken Nalecos. AKA... Jury. The founding member of the insurgent group, ironically named Philanthropy. Why, I haven't seen you in forever." The voice was worthy of being on radio, however there was a slight accent to it. Almost as if he was raised with a language far from the Turian spoken tongues. "In fact, I haven't seen you since The Project back on Taetrus. I am sure you remember me, after all - how could you forget the hospital staff that treated you so well..." The mocking, patronizing voice made Daken want to spit, but he knew all that would come out was blood and that could be seen as weakness. To bleed... it meant you could die. Dying was weakness. Vulnerability to death - weak. Simply weak.

Daken sure did recognize him, though. He'd never forget that face. That horrific, burnt face. That made the Turian resemble a black skull of ashes. Those almost angelic eyes might as well have been dying embers from a now extinguished fire. Jury had managed to find his footing again, his back toward Prissa - probably his only connection to a world outside of the torment the two in front of him constantly delivered him in the past and now surely, the present once more. "And who is that? Your big sister? Your battle buddy? How cute. I am sure you planned to kill her as well, just like all those loose ends and other Philantrophy-partners..." The skullfaced Turian questioned, sounding genuinely intrigued with the situation at hand and how this scenario has played out so far. Daken offered no replies, his eyes only narrowed. In his peripherals, he saw a skycar turning around sharply. It had to be Warlock. Warlock to the rescue. The burnt bastard had no idea what was going to be hitting them in just a few moments. "Any questions, Daken? I suppose you didn't happen to take a sample of that plague upstairs, have you? Isn't that what you and Vark... really after?"

The young Turian, with his non-broken arm, reached into their person and removed something. A data chit. It was better than any sample. It was everything they truly needed. The true mission of Philantrophy. "Here it is. All of the research files. From all project sites. Black and white. Every single failure and success. Recorded into this one chit." He was a bit ashamed to admit this dishonesty, as he waved the chit around - hoping it would only further buy them sometime. But even then, with the revelations taking place, he wouldn't be surprised if Prissa decided to shoot him once they were in the clear. She had every right too. Just like how he had every intention to shoot her, once they were in the clear. And Warlock too, for that matter. Loose ends closing loose ends. Doomed from the beginning. To kill one another. It always ended like this... it always ends like this. "So, what... have you been following us this entire time? Watching everything?"

The black Turian smirked. "You think you got this far on your own, you and Vark? No, we simply needed you to find the last piece of this puzzle for us. For the greater good of course. Whether that greater good comes back to benefit the Hierarchy? I guess we will never know." He extended his open, gloved hand. Waving Daken forward with his fingers. "The chit. In my hand. Come over here and drop it in. Just as easy as that. It would be a shame to bloody these new gloves, Varren leather - Volus crafted, you see? I would not want to taint them just yet with blood, digging it off of your corpse..."

Mother stepped forward, beside her black comrade. Black and white, together. Yin and Yang. Chaos and order. The eternal fight of good and evil. The chemistry it brought to life and existence as a whole. "Daken. Either way, you are going to die a violent death. On the battlefield, there is no honourable or truly heroic death, you know this. If you want to try and fight your way out of this..." Her face lowered to the ground, teeth gritting beneath her mandibles. Slowly, her gaze rose like a fearsome sun over the horizon. Nestled between unforgiving dunes of white snow that was her face. "If you do, then I am going to have to kill you."

Black-one looked over to Prissa, bemused by the look on her face. "You. The simple one. Pick up your gun and shoot that brat. Maybe you'll get a real job working for us. One that actually doesn't end with your employer putting a round in the back of your head when the mission is done."

Daken glanced over his shoulder to her, chit still in hand. An angry glare in his eyes. "Go ahead. Do it. He's right, you know. None of this... none of this was as real as it seemed. I won't blame you if you let it end this way." In his peripherals, once again, he saw the skycar coming back. It was gearing up for a strafing run now, maybe even a hover-and-shoot. Warlock was going to be coming in hot, either way. It was basically impossible to tell if Daken was being genuine in these words or not, as the same went for the strange Black-one in front of them. It was going to be Prissa's choice in the end. To risk her own life by not acting, by objecting - or to possibly save her own, by killing Daken herself. Maybe even securing a future for her in the process. But would it be a future she wants? "You can do it. It is your choice. That's the meaning of life... right? Just like in those books, just like the ones by Alexandre Dumas... All for one, one for all... In the end, d'Artagnan, this is where we see if you become a musketeer or not." The audible hum of the approaching, weaponzied skycar was audible now.

---

White mandibles and golden eyes were forced away at an explosion of violence towards Daken. Some deeper instinct told her to fight for him, that strange protectiveness, the same passion that kept her heart beating, her gun shooting, her feet on the path of doom. A desire to... what was it really? To protect? Who? To keep a promise? It was a vanity of sorts, a desire to keep one single good thing in her. To keep one promise unbroken, one single thing that she could look her father in the eyes and say she did.

A vanity- that really was all it was. Such a strong motivation- it was still weak in her. That much she knew, as she let the foot hit Daken's gut and she coldly stared at the ground, not sparing a glance for him. Because ultimately, right then, she felt her true colors. She knew when she could win a fight and when she would loose. And here with a loosing one- she did not want to fight and bleed and die. That was after all, how she'd survived a rough childhood- she knew when to run, when to scrap, and when to curl up and take the beating, without a word. Cowardice was a preserving feature.

And she hated herself so much. So much that those words, almost like Daken's own, as if they were from his own lips.."Typical of you. Falling for some homeless gutter trash because of her nice fringe and hips. You're still such a young boy."

They did nothing to her, just a slight shift of her head towards the speaker. It was true. The gutter was her home and her place. Daken was a soldier, a flame burning for a cause. She was a varren at the heels of a soldier, born in the gutter, and like to die there. But now her tail was tucked, only cowering for hope of life.

That feeling of disgust knotted further in her. Tightening around her throat, strangling her. She'd feel that forever, the noose that she'd tied for herself. No she'd never be anything more. Nice fringe and hips regardless- those would be ruined soon enough regardless.

"And who is that? Your big sister? Your battle buddy? How cute. I am sure you planned to kill her as well, just like all those loose ends and other Philantrophy-partners..."

Apricita remained quiet, not a twitch from her, at this second, but more direct address towards her. Almost, almost, she'd felt invisible. A watcher in on a private show for a minute. Not even a varren- no- that comparison, one she'd made so often, was still not clsoe enough to how she felt right now. Just a gun, thrown on the ground and forgotten as its users spoke of life and death with her at their feet. More and more she felt that was all she was, as this conversation progressed.

Her eyes traced Daken's form there.

Damn him, damn him for making her feel more than she really was. It made sense to discard a gun once you were through. It was poor taste to keep a murder weapon with an investigation at your heels. Even if the gun had ben with you for a while, regardless of how many times it had saved you. She'd throw away her valkyrie, her saving angel, her companion, without a second thought if she had to.

It made sense. A simple weapon- all that she was, all that she would ever ever be.

"You. The simple one. Pick up your gun and shoot that brat. Maybe you'll get a real job working for us. One that actually doesn't end with your employer putting a round in the back of your head when the mission is done."

Almost mechanically, she moved to pick up the gun. How could she refuse an offer, an opportunity to pick up her weapon? Her eyes turned to Daken. She couldn't even blame him. Flashes of anger, helplessness, and understanding, it left her dizzy.

Still, what a terrible choice this was. Because like a gun, or even the more generous comparison of a varren... she could not turn on her master. Bite that hand? It was unthinkable.

But her life. That was dear to her.

Why? Why was it dear though? If she saved her life now, what would she gain? The sky seemed to be tearing apart above her, revealing space above her. And it was nothing. Just a terrible emptiness. A hungry beast to consume everything. That was all that was waiting for her. Now or later. Nothingness.

"Go ahead. Do it. He's right, you know. None of this... none of this was as real as it seemed. I won't blame you if you let it end this way."

Nothing besides a short extension to a miserable life. Her golden eyes bored into him, as the gun shakily came up. Did she love him? Did she hate him? Honestly, not even her own mind or body knew what she was going to do. There was a terrible whirling about in her, a horrible uncertainty, that noose growing ever tighter. Invisible fingers pressing into the vulnerable flesh below strong white faceplates. There was no escape.

She couldn't breathe, as she choked out her response. "I know. What blame is there? I don't blame you either."

What if she didn't shoot? The gun wavered on it's target as it never did before. Her eyes went to her hands, in confusion.

It was because she knew the answer.

Not a single person would mourn her. Not even those she claimed to protect all this time.

"You can do it. It is your choice. That's the meaning of life... right? Just like in those books, just like the ones by Alexandre Dumas... All for one, one for all... In the end, d'Artagnan, this is where we see if you become a musketeer or not."

Prissa didn't even really hear those words.

She wanted to go back. A common feeling to mark her life, but now more than ever. Back, to the night they met, the night their two differently colored eyes, but cut of the same cloth and feeling, met each other. And she would tell herself to just turn away. That this job wasn't worth it. For just a little while Apricita had felt something- felt she had part of someone else to hold and have. Even if it had been just a lie and an illusion, she felt she had had some of him. Now she had none of Daken, and it was killing her.

But she couldn't live with his spirit on her shoulders along with all the others. That was too much of a burden for her.

So she lowered the gun, eyes flashing. "What's the point? I'm doomed just as you are Daken, to die a violent death. Either way. There is no honorable or heroic death, was that what you said?" Her eyes tightened as they lit with some strange new flame, as they turned towards his mother who had just said those words, a smile almost coming to her face. It disappeared, just like that, the fear for her own life, right then. And she felt free. The words of Daken's mother became a revelation of sorts to her. A wonderful piece of advice she would never forget.

Her mandibles twitched, in some strange sort of smile, almost a smile that fixed itself on the faces of the dead at times. Her white plates bleached as a skull- it didn't matter any more. If she lived, she'd keep fighting. If she died, that would be the end. Let the emptiness of space and time consume her.

The gun came up again as the sound of the car roared above her. She didn't know if it was friend or foe- but regardless, she felt her talons curl on the trigger as she opened fire on those faces that mocked her. "I'm Apricita Sussurus and this is my answer- that I'm loyal to those that pay me. What sort of mercenary would I be otherwise!"

Sure she lived in the gutter and would die there. But never kick a varren pup- it'll bite the ankle. Never throw a gun to the ground thoughtlessly- it's like to misfire and shoot you in the knee. These were the lessons of the gutter, after all. It would be worth it to see the smiles fade from those smug grins, trying to know what she would do, even if it was suicide. Especially that burnt face- her gun turned towards him with a certain sort of glee.

Here went nothing, and it felt good, for once.

---

And so she fired, to the surprise of them all. But as the black clad soldiers raised their own weapons to defend themselves, some sharp rounds had cut through their barriers and armour - cut right through them with ease. But it was not Prissa's rounds that were doing this, these were something of a far more powerful caliber. Daken watched, as he pulled back from the exchange of fire with his broken and dislocated arm in tow - the rounds shatter the outer shell of the darkly painted, shadow like personnel carrier. The Burned One and Mother were like spirits, perhaps they were blessed by some sneaky Spirits - as they were quick and fast to dash inside of the carrier while they still could. Perhaps they were just well trained enough to know something was coming their way. The screeching of steel could deafen the pedestrians on the streets below even, as the weaponize Skycar piloted by Warlock squeezed through a slot just barely tall and wide enough for him to enter. Sparks rained down on both sides, the soldiers that surrounded them had now pulled back and dug deep into cover, unsure of what was going to happen next.

Warlock frantically pulled himself back into consciousness, as he was temporarily knocked out from basically eating the pilot dash in the cockpit. He shook his head violently, but it did not train the cold-like pressure that had developed behind his nostrils. Blue blood dripped steadily from each hole and a few droplets even emerged from a split in the plating on the bridge. An eye was eager to start swelling up and he think he may have even bit some of his tongue off, but the white ghost of a Turian was the third nearly identical Turian to emerge into this encounter. There was hardly any time to talk, as he used his pilot suit sleeve to whip the blue blood that had now drained itself all over his mouth and mandibles. He felt like the ace pilot he always was - the glory of his past had returned for one last ride. He was exhilarated, momentarily forgetting the daunting terror that was the circumstances of the entire mission. A single flip of an omni-panel opened the side door for Daken and Apricita. What a hero, in his own right. Risking it all - the armour of the vehicle itself now being peppered with rounds from numerous directions.

Daken, by pure instinct if anything, shoved Prissa toward the Skycar with his shoulder, nearly tackle her into it - even. The smart thing would have been to leave her behind, even with everything she knew. Because she also knew the end of this trip, the end of this road - something that Warlock himself was oblivious about. Yet, he did this - maybe it was because he finally was following his own rules, his own feelings for something other than the mission. But once again, the question was for what purpose, would he do this? Even if they left and made it out on good terms, he was going to another Galaxy. Another life, to become a different person, perhaps a better one. But with the guidance of Vark, it seemed hardly likely that he would get a taste of that after all. In the end, he'd be leaving something, or rather - someone in the Milky Way. Maybe that someone would just happen to be himself. Who he truly was. His identity, his name, his history - but on whose shoulders would he put this burden on? This emotional baggage that only got heavier? Would it be on someone in this vehicle?

Warlock hit the throttle before the door even fully closed. As they shot out like a bullet through the nearest exit, with a screeching, terrible burst of sparks behind them - that open door managed to clip the side of the vehicle entrance slot. The door ripped off and left a scar of jagged steel and exposed electronics that burst with sparks and zaps of electricity - their current interrupted and now mindlessly dancing against the contrast of the darkness around them. Illium looked beautiful, perpetually a city that glowed - even in the darker, mustier parts. Daken pressed his body weight against the deck of the vehicle as it started to take an intense turn upward to avoid the building tops. His heart racing, knowing that they were in the safe zone, but still - his blood was spiked with adrenaline the entire time, the rush had no hopes of coming down any time soon. His head peaked up, staring out of the door frame and onto the city. In the now rapidly forming distance, was the dreaded research lab. Almost on cue with a harsh swallow in his dry throat, it started to erupt with numerous, controlled explosions.

The top center, the actual lab and the religious headquarters of strange fanatics and lunatics alike, fantastically blew up in a chain reaction of numerous points of structural integrity. The top floors of the complex collapsed into each other, crushing the vacant and abandoned skycars as well as the ones people were unfortunate to park there at this particular hour. For a total of six floors, the collapsing finally stopped and had sandwiches numerous smaller explosions in the process as the vehicles were crushed. It was devastating, yet short lived - almost harmless as most of the debris landed on rooftops near by, harming nothing but aesthetic of the beautiful landscape and horizon - which was now full of smoke. The Skycar slowed and calmed its intense rise in elevation. It was a smooth glide now, easy enough for Daken to get back to his feet - somehow, his equilibrium was functional enough to allow him to stand up straight. He looked like a mess, more than usual. His eyes glanced back at Prissa. But they told very little, as if they were pools of nothingness.

"The next time we meet... If we ever do. We'll probably be very different people..." Daken said simply. Sighing afterwards, looking back through the doorframe only to see a black personnel carrier raise from below them and to center-level suddenly. Side by side, two parallel forces with opposite goals, perhaps now they would intercept and become perpendicular. Breaking the symmetry of an otherwise perfect ending. The side of the rogue Blackwatch vehicle opened up to reveal a soldier with a rocket launcher. It was a terrible circumstance, unwrapping like a terrible present given to you by a hated family member. Daken couldn't believe it, there were so many loose ends that needed closing still, so many enemies out there in the universe - trying to kill him. Yet, his story was going to end here. There was no telling Warlock to bank left or right, no fancy movie star moves that could be done. He was just going to have to accept it. "Curl and roll!" Were the last words he managed to get out as he grabbed Apricita by the arm. With his broken arm, no less.

As an anti-air rocket launched from the unknown enemy, in an unknown vehicle with an unknown insignia on it - the future was left to be just that. Unknown. Daken, in perhaps his last act, tossed his comrade out through the open hole in the vehicle. Warlock didn't even notice, as he was so focused and brain rushed from his own adrenaline boost. Funny, how his hyper awareness was more a crutch than anything in this moment. He had not even bothered to assume that whoever these guys were, they had managed to escape the structure before the self destruct sequence concluded. Daken lost sight of the Turian girl quickly, he could only hope that she landed relatively painlessly on of the building tops that were just skimming near the bottom of the sky-vehicles. Either way, a bad tuck and roll could result in some grizzly after math, by the Spirits' she could even be impaled on something right now. Maybe she landed on her head and died instantly. Daken didn't know. He was going to know as the propelled grenade was seen entering the very passenger area he was in.

Daken simply wouldn't know. As the skycar was ripped to pieces by a single blast, whether or not Prissa made it out alive of this. If anything, at least she would die a more sudden and less painful death as this. Warlock's skycar losing altitude instantly and blasting through the 45th floor balcony of someone's expensive apartment. The twisting screams of metal accompanied a sudden dead silence in the air. Just as quickly as it had happened and the vehicle crashed, likely killing everyone on board - the soldiers in the Blackwatch uniforms, whether or not they truly were from such a branch still unknown and untold, simply flew away in silence. Probably savouring the victory of today. They did not get what they came for, but they had swatted down some troublesome, bothersome flies in their path. Smoke raised from the wreckage that nestled against someone's destroyed couch, after flying through their bedroom and bathroom. Luckily no one was home. The only residents now were two corpses. One could only imagine how this would look on the news. A scheduled construction demolition gone wrong, perhaps? That would explain the explosion of the facility, but the skycar crash? They happened everyday.

Just another group of young kids... on a joy ride gone wrong.

---

The manic grin grew on Apricita's face as they fell in front of her, like she truly was some spirit of vengeance- no, she was the spirit of Omega, in all it's bloody glory. The breath that escaped her was almost a laugh, as they fell. A lesson to them, this was, a miracle- Omega's blessing was on her at that moment. The blessing of survival and biting back, even if it was a suicidal spray of bullets. She realised that it was the ship firing- but it only confirmed her belief. The harsh dark wings of Omega were over her- she couldn't possibly fail at this moment. That spirit she cursed and railed against, it had formed her into what she was. It was her curse- but at this moment it was also her saving grace.

Her true targets evaded her, sparking the fire in her eyes further, stoking her fury, in this moment where she was transformed, forged into something new and terrifying and different. The skycar was her chance to show them who she was, what she was made of. To show them what the gutter trash of Omega truly was...

Whatever rash action was boiling through her, ready to push her towards the precipice of action she could never come back from, it would never be actualised, for at the moment she stepped forward, bright eyes, white face, angel of death in her hands- a shoulder knocked her, sending her the opposite direction of her quarry.

It was no rational snarl that escaped her as she fell into the vehicle, hardly seeing Daken at all, only seeing the escaping quarry. But in a tangle of limbs that it took to right herself after the rough tackle into the skycar, and the subsequent explosion of the lab- fire reflecting fire in her eyes- somehow she came back to herself. Whatever spirit of Omega that had possessed her for a moment, it flew out of the skycar's holes, like the shrieking of the wind all about them. Finally she managed to stand, close to Daken. Close to this... person. Had she ever really known him. Their bodies were almost close enough to touch, but his eyes were empty. Empty as the sky had been when it tore a hole in itself above her not so long ago, revealing the great emptiness of it all.

Her mouth parted slightly, as if to say something, but nothing came out. What could she say? Was he still planning on ending her life, tying up the loose ends? What could you say to a betrayal like that? Instead, he spoke first, his words, they were not what she expected.

"Daken, I don't think we'll ever..." Her hand drifted closer to him. As if she wished to touch him one last time, for there was some part of her that knew she didn't want to let go. Even knowing everything now, she couldn't look at that face, even with it's empty eyes with hate. No- either way, he would haunt her. Once again she wished they'd never met. Because there was no cure. Life or death, not she'd have to carry this burden, the burden of growing close and then loosing them.

Her gut lurched and she saw their doom, just then, out of the corner of her eye. There was no time to ever finish what she was going to say. No time to express any of it. His hand curled around her to grab her, as her hand grasped at him one last time, in one last twitching instinct of denial. Her hand only found cold metal- his dog tags, as she tore away from him, flying from the sky car.

The sensation of falling- it was almost peaceful, for a moment. Never had she imagined such a feeling. It was cold, and similar, so similar to that burst of freedom she'd experienced not many moments ago.

And then there was nothing.

Apricita had no recollection of hitting the ground, no recollection of anything but a beautiful and terrible sensation of falling. Nothingness instead claimed her, taking its due.

If only temporarily for now, as she woke again. There was no sensation of time passed, only pain. Pain everywhere, as blackness receded and Apricita stared at the sky. A bright sky. It was day now? She wasn't sure, her mind was muddled and lost. It took her several moments to look around her. The roof... she was on the roof of a building. Slowly, like a woman of 150 and not a mere girl of 19, she forced herself up. And nearly vomited everywhere, from the sheer pain of it. There was a lot of blue blood, all around her- her own? She couldn't tell. And a pair of metal dog tags. Nothing else. Even as she tried to look around, for any sign of the skycar, there was nothing but a smooth Illium skyline, as far as her eye could see. Still, it was hard to process, as slowly, she just laid back. Her mind screamed at her to look for him, to save him, to get him out of trouble- it was her job, right?- but her body would not respond. Darkness claimed her once again.

It was a long while until her gold and blue eyes, no longer made of flame and ice, but just simple gold and blue eyes, managed to crack open again, time irrelevant still, hours or days later, only to weep. Because she knew, somehow, that he was truly gone, and there was no one for her to save. He was gone- one way or another, the end had finally come.

PMEMAIL

^

QUOTE

"What do we have?"

"Two bodies, tell the ER that one is likely going to be dead on arrival."

"How bad is he?"

"Hard to tell, but we've been trying to resuscitate him for the last ten minutes. He has vital signs, but it is constantly dropping and dipping into the red. I don't think he is going to survive the ride."

"They look relatively young... teenagers?"

"Maybe one of them, but hard to tell. The bodies are in really bad shape."

"You got a list on those injuries?"

"Yeah. just let me see here..."

"..."

"Yeah, looks like cases of fringe blast, carapace cracks, deep lacerations, high tier traumatic abrasions and at least one person is missing a foot."

"Never gets easier, does it? I mean... working in the insurance business and all."

"Yeah. That is true."

"Do we have an identification on the owner of the insured skycar?"

"Unsure. We double checked what remained of it and I don't think we can even call it insured anymore. It was a lease, for one - second of all, the credentials belong to someone who is definitely not any of the victims. These lads could be brothers, they look so alike... I am guessing it was just some kids taking their dad's flying death trap war-car for a test drive when the demolition job spooked them. Judging from the damage, it could very easily be... I don't know - something like, one of them dropped a grenade?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back it up - what the fuck is going on here?"

"The skycar was heavily modified. Guns, rockets, combat-effective shields even. They welded over the fancy plating ages ago, reinforced it with a new hull-shell and everything. That is the main reason we're out here, because the Company doesn't think they can do anything for these kids' medical bills. Obviously, installing Weapons of Mass Destruction™ is a good way to void any prior agreements. In other words, I hope these kids have good health insurance."

"So, who is the skycar insured other?"

"It was leased out a few years ago to a certain... Vark Vikernes, I believe."

"Isn't that guy working for the Initiative or something? Thought he was more of a Citadel recluse and all that. Why Illium?"

"Maybe it was for a friend, or for some snot nosed kids. I don't think we will know. Anyways, they are loading the bodies up now. I think one of them just flatlined. Whole place smells like medi-gel now."

D̻A̸̦̗̩̱̮̝K͔̫̼͙̟̭͓̕E̥͟N͉͉͍̻̘͙ ͕̻̘͟Y̰̠̼̘͢O̸̱̥̞U͖̦͜ ͅH̼̙̗͎̜̟Ą͚̟̥̘̤͙̲V͏͍̺E̖͚̝̺ ̝̺̺T͏O͓͈͎̬͔͚̹͝ ̛͓͔͖W͡A̗͍̱K̗̦̼͙̳E̷̩̲̗̱ͅ ̷̩͚̜̱͖U͠P̷͕͉̣͙̝̬̣
W͎͙̘̗͢A̡̖K̡̝͖̼E̻͓̙͍̯̺̥ ̴͕Ṳ̟͖̟͞P͉̘̲̟͈̳̳
͎Y̗̠̟̗͖̺̹͜O̜̝̞̭͚ͅU̡ ̨̲̙H͈͔̟A̡V̲͙͞E̴ ̀K̡͕̻N̫̤̭̘̮̠̫O̟̪͉̱W̯̜͠ ̟͔I͚̠͕D̲͍̞͎͍̦ͅE̺͕̩A̷̰̙̫̼̟̣ ̛̗̭͈̟͉̬̙W̻̯̜̮͓H̼̺̙̖̤̠̀A̟̲̣̟̺T̯̕ ̡̦͍I̗S͚̱̰̖̙͙ ̞̗̞̜G͎̖͔̗̲̪O͍͕͇̩̣̺I̬̞͝ͅN͔̱G̢͕̬̝̝̫ͅ ͇T̠̱̀O҉ ͟H̠̞̤̦̬A͙̤͓̼̕P̴̗͉̳P̮̞̪̳͓͘E̘̫̩̞͖͞N ̖͇͔̰̯ͅT͍̘̳̺̝̦̣O ͟YͅO͕͙͙͎̫̙͘U͎̤̳͖̺

D̜͈̘O̰͕̮̻̼̳͔ͅ ̸̺͙͝N̸̙͎͎̰͜Ó̗̺̬̞͝T̫͎͍̰̺̫̙ ̷̷̥̱̞̞͕͈̝̪̘͢Ĺ̶̞͙͈͉̪̲͎͉͜E̳̩̻̮̺̹̞̝͟Ţ҉͉̼͈̜̕ ̸̤̯̦̼̱T̗̫H̬̥̘͟ͅE̞͝M̤͉͈ ̢̭͚̥̞͇̦̞G̨̻̭͞É̢̗͖͕̤͇̬̠͚T̡͖̼͍͈͖͞ͅ ͏̷̲̹̱͔̺̻̠͚C̠͉͚͖̟̙Ĺ̵͕͕̝̼͙͚O̧͙̝̘̪̻̘̲̤S̸҉̙͚̺̗͓͔̱̺E̶͍͔̬̰͍̕R̻̭̙̘̜

T͓̖̜̖ͅH̢̥̦̯̼̝̻̱̩̀I̛̜̮̟͇S͎̯̞̹̗̱̞̥ ̶̜̞͔́ͅC̡͙̻͇̖̱͘͟A̟N͉͙͟N͏̬̗̺̗͓͓̫̗O̵̲͇͖͔̙͈̗̥̻T̡̰̹̰̳͕͕͘͡ ̝̙͠C̫̥͕̱̙͜O̴̶̮͚͔͇̬̻̬N̦̩̹̪͙T̖͚͉I̸̼͚͉̥͔̝͍̮͠Ṉ͕͓̜͔U̲͈̞͞E̘̟̼̥̤ͅͅ

T̥̫̣̳̩̗̠̙͖̠͠Ḥ̪̖̼̩̯͓͙̲͙̜͘͘I͏̖͚̺̹̲̹͎̰͟S҉̶̲̼͍̜̰̻͈́͜͝ ̸̨̤͓̫̘̜̰̘̼̳͇̺̞̹̳̲̞͠͠ͅÇ͝͏̟̖̣̼̗A͠͏̱̞̯̮̩̕Ņ̵̛̞͕͉̮̠̲̘̘̘̳̗͈̥͍̱̲̭̖̕͜N̸͞҉̸̗͖͓̲̰̹Ó̧͙̘̙̪̮̬̦͓͕̣͖̀̕T̴̵̘̞̘̯͉̙́ ̶̡̘͙͎̱̜̼̣̲̬̜͉͕̫̰̖̩͈͡ͅC̷̀̕͟҉͍͙̩͔̣̝̭̩̙̦̼̼̪̙ͅO̸̲̤͈̹̘͢͝N҉̕͏͚̘͖̲̞̺̟̳͇͔̕ͅṰ̢̨͔̫͙̗̤͓͙͙̹̦̬̘̘̕͟Í͍̞̳̭͇͓͙̰̹͕͖͙͇͚̖̹͎͝N̶̨̧̤̣͚̩͠U͏̶̡̢̤̘̩͇͟Ḙ̵̶̡̛̜̗͈͈͚͕

W̢̡̛̰̥̹͔͓̝͟E̟͚̱̥̣̯̲͔̫͎̦̹̪͓̙͙̹̱̺͘A͏̛̘̠̣̟͉̯̩̥̬̻͖̀͘R̴͉̼̻̗̙̠̦̗͎͘͢͡ͅḘ̛̙̼̤͖͕͍̙̝̕G̶̺̖̙͟O҉͕̦̼̱̥͉̩͠I͏̼̗͇̭͇̳͖͍̥͎͉̺̮̞̕N̜̣̪͎̗̳͇͍͙̖͚͢G̵̞̲̺͓̪̙̣̟͓̮̱͍̟̣̯͚̣͞͞T̮̘͈͓̖̤̭͈̠̹̠͡͠͡ͅǪ̠̱͙̺̠̘́͝͡M̨̢̡̱̼͕̳͍̟̤̻̞͇̞̳̦̀͜A̶̧̮͔͔̥̭̭̕̕͞K͎̦̻̝̟̱͓̮̱̰͜͞͠É̻̠̬͍͔͔̲̤͍̲̙͉̦̰̗̞̪̺̙Ẁ̨̛̺̗͎̯͉͙͈̭͚͇̦̩̯̳̻̮̞͡͝H̸̛̛͙̠͎̳̤̗̀͢
Ó̸͏̜̙̗̠͇Y҉͓̣̪̪͕̮̝̩͇̠̝̘͎̙̦͞O̡̧̼̯̘̙̻̭̭̖͇͚̦̦̳̤̱͖͢͡͝U͕̰̖̹̥̫̬̤̰̜͉̗̳̙̰̺͘͜ͅR̷̡̨͉̝̘͚͈̘̮̘̙͇͕̥͈͙͕͙͠E͏̤̳͉͍̙͖̹̜̼̭͠A҉̧̧̣͓̠̬̯̫̺̖̠̥̥̯̱́ͅĹ̢̧̤̣͓̦͔͖̩̯̫͉͝ͅL̥̭̯̤̰̳̟̻͚̟͔͞͠Y̵̖̲̩̟̬͖A̠̤̬͕̭͉̦͖̦̥̹͠͞͝ͅŔ̴̶̛̠̻͕͍̬̼͚̱̝̯̜̱̼̳̞̙̞̺̫͘E͏̷̣̝̘̼̳̪͓͔̬͚͈̣͔̦̩ͅD̢̧̻̭̺̩͖̲͖͡I̪̘̱͙̠͉͟S̷̵̨̯̣̫̜̻̣̱̭̜͇̠̜̙̘̟̝̖͟͜Ạ̡͍̗͓̹́̀P̴̛͚̰̮͈̝͕̫̮P̷̸̩̼̖͕͔̣̘̜͎̺̲͎̻̣̗͟͞ͅ
Ḙ̷̵̪͈͍̮̭́͘Ą̥̤̱͙̮̳͈̙̙͠R̡̟͇̦̗͈͉̖̞͕̱̻̱̫̣͔̠̠͘ͅͅA̴̷̕҉̫̜̮̹͇̻͍̬̲͔͔̮͙̪͠ͅN̴̶̷̛̠̰̠̦̼̬͝D̨҉̴̝̥͈͔̰̱̦͍̩̻͚̣̥͇͓̠ͅT̴̷͖̦̘̲͕̜̻̰̝͔͓͜H̶̷̡̟̝̞̻̩É̥̠̬͎̖̱̙̜̲͓͎̤̥R̴̢̡̛̠̖̠̭̪͍͠E͏̵̡̳̻̠̹͔̘͙̝̠̳̞̘̳͇̮͙I̡̢̙̜̮̲̥̖̱̜̣͚͇̬̭̟̪͕͜S̵̩̺̬̭͉̞̻͍̬̲͓ͅG҉͏̨̼̬̯̜̲͕̟̜͙̗̦̠͍̫͍̦̺̜ͅO̢̘̫͇̟̗͟͡ͅÌ̸̧̨̭̞͙͉͇̗̠̣̲̦̰̲͙͈N̡̤͔͔̼̜͕̙̯̪̳̺̱̖̜͚͝G̗̰̭̠͠Ţ̶̶͙̩͙̤̘́
Ó͘͝҉̹͚͈͈͉̥͓͓͍B̀͏͖̣̙̠͉̬͙͕̯̭̺̥̜̻̰͞E̵͈̫͍̞̕͘͜͡N̴̩͇͕̪̱̠̖͚̱͔͈͉͉̟͝͡͝O҉̟͔̹͍͖̗̫̝͎̮̳͖͜͟W͠͡͏̧̻̱͈̬̳̩̣̣H͍̖̫̬̮̬̠͟͡Ę̯̱̝̞̳̘̙̭͇̥̪̼͓͔̯͓R̸̼̮͎͉͖͎̦̘͉͖͕̦͙͔͟͜ͅͅͅḚ̛͎̻̱̤͕̬͇̖̫͟͡T̼͈̞̺͖̥̀Ò̡̬̩̣̱̞̤͍̘̣̼͔̫͇T̸͉̮̤̝̫͚͖͍̹͎͔̰̗̺͕̭͟͢U̸͇͖͙̻̹͖̩͇̖͢R͏̷̣͕̻̱̰͉͈̳͎̜͕̺̳̤͖͔͍̭N̛̹̮̟̗̼̙̼͖͖̫̘̹̹̗̪̝͙͡B̴̛͙̳̘̻̼̮̟̼͚̣̞͔̭͍A̸̲̲̱̲̺͎̪̫͔̜̰͇͔̺̙̰͝͝͞C̡̥͎̙̩̫͎̮̲̯̘̣̤̫͓ͅK̶͓̗̣̝̦̭̦̲̪̟͔̥̖͚̲̦̻͠S̸̛̭͙̱͎͖̘̣͓̗͓̼ͅO̶͖͍̼̤͉͍̼̪̦̜̰̹̞̥͖͟͠ͅF͇̲͈͈͖̠̥̟̬̞͖̳̘͚͕̼͕͘͜Ǫ̷̰̹̠̤̖̹͖̼̳͠
R͡͏̨̥̺͔͎͠T̴̨̰͇̖͖̻̻͇͍̠H̢҉̨̧͈̞̼͍̦͕̬̙̲͚̠͙͡ͅE̵̸̟͔̤̗͓̖͇̤͉̯̣̱̕͝Ĺ̝̠̻̦͓͚͈̝̙̻̩͇̞͎͜Ǫ̢̲̦͇̬̝͖̕V̷́҉͓̼̞͙̫͔Ḙ̸̵̥̰͖̮̠̼̮̬̟̞̪̻͟͠͠Ó̧̹̜͓̩̫̜̘͈̗͔͔̪̟̥̥̙̕͠F̶̙͕̯̯̩T̵̸̙̜̲̘̞͢͡ͅH̬̜̞̜́̕͘E̡҉̯̹̤͍S̶͙̺̲̱̯͚̀͝Ṕ̡͉̮͇̖̬͓̜͍̕R̵̶̯͙̫̮̥̣̻̥̼̤͓͔͖̭͈̬̱͉͢I̸̸͖͍̩̥̮̯̫̹̺͓͡T͏̵͎͖̠̱̣̼̘͖̺̣̘̭̘̻̠̝͎͘I̵͏͔̪̦͕̦̩͕͓̼͚͉͓̖̝͖ͅS͏̷̸̡̰͉̰̫̩̲̲̰͉̯̖̺̲̬̘̻͠
A҉̴̢̩̟̼̤͎̙̙̤͍͉̯̟͘N̞̠̲̬̺̼̗̼̪̝̼̩͍͓͡ͅD̡̥̙̘̦̻͙̮͔ͅG̵͏̶̲̖̗̟̫̮̣͙͍̣̬̝̞͈̣̜̘͡O͏̶̨̭̫̝̼̘̜̙̟̪̹̞͖͎́͞D͍͖͎̘̳̱̪̭̕͟͠Y͏̛̬̥̺̥̯̭̠̠͍̦͙̞͈̙͕̼̜̱Ó̵̷̡̫͙̩̲͍͔̗̜͈Ú̡̬̻̟̲̮͓͈̬̗̫̟̼͘͢͟M̧̛̺͇̜̱͉̭̻͔̱̳̖̙Ú̸̵͖̻̖̝̪̦͙S̸̛̻̫̹̳͔͙̙͙̩̖̬̥̞̜͢ͅT̶̵̛͉̹͙̞̟̖̞͞ͅW͏̡̜̳̜̘̠͍͔̝̪̦͙̣̫̘͢͠͞ͅĄ̶̸̟͍͉̭̹͚̣̯̘̦̻͔̦̫͟͡K̷̵̡͠͏̝̬͎̹̞͙̭̟͔̰̫͖̥E̶̪̰̟͚̰͓̞̘̻͎̠͝Ú̴̢̝̜̗̯̥̱̮̲̤̤̭͚̹͉̝̰̹̺̀͝P̵̛̰͓̯̯̬̱̱̣̖̺̯̤͚͍͎͢͢

---

"What do we have?"

"Two live ones. However, one flatlined before they were being loaded up. He flatlined again on the ride here and then they just brought him back in Room 2."

"Ages? Identities?"

"Neither had anything on them as far as identification goes. Even their omni-tools were clean. Rather suspicious, as they had custom installed OS's and everything. You only really see that on-"

"The Citadel? Or on criminals? I mean, Illium law dictates clearly that no information can be used against you via data collecting. Any surveillance is to sell your extranet search history to advertising firms. What were they scared of?"

"Hard to tell. The authorities are not telling us very much at all."

"So, these two are from that crash earlier this morning?"

"Right - however, it is unrelated to the early-demolition discharge incident just a kilometer away. Just an unlucky day for a lot of people."

"I'd agree. Any word on the news about all that homeless shelter? Did anyone get out alive? Why the hell were they demolition a building with a shelter on top of it in the first place?"

"That is just that thing, the shelter wasn't a homeless shelter - that was a misreport. Citadel News Network is saying that it was actually an Alcoholic's Anonymous rehabilitation center."

"That is so weird... I mean, Illium news stated that homeless people have been going missing for a few years in that general area. And the property owner claimed that the little haven at a top was basically some free housing, half-way house. One of those hard left, socialist - bleeding heart human organizations, ya know?"

"I don't want to believe that just yet... But, it would explain why there haven't been so many homeless people around Namikazi Plaza... So maybe it was a shelter, but maybe the homeless were just going there because of their alcoholism? I mean, that'd make sense for both stories..."

"Then again, do you trust the news around here? I certainly don't. They don't even get the weather right half the time and we don't even have seasons on Illium."

"So, anyways... are we going to be admitting these two? Or do you think they are going to the Eternal Care Unit?"

"Eternal Care Unit...?"

"It was a joke, doctor. You know - the morgue?"

"I doubt they have been touched by the angels just yet. They are applying a lot of medi-gel to one of them right now, looks like he lost a foot and most of his fringe. If he was going to die, they honestly would not be wasting so much on that wound. The other one... I think he is going to be fine. But likely, his brain got scrambled. Preliminary report states that he likely has some shrapnel in his skull - possibly some have entered the brain tissue as well."

"What was the cause of the crash? Do you think?"

"The first respondents that wheeled them in said that the car was completely trashed. The insurance company is possibly doing a recall on the model, it is being speculated that it was a faulty flux capacitor that had a bit too much unstable eezo floating around inside of it. Then boom. Used to happen a lot back in the day when people would snort red sand off of their dash. Sometimes it would get recycled through the vents and cause it to over heat the thermal paste coating and burn out the capacitor, making it go super nova, basically."

"How is it looking, the patients, I mean? I think I just heard a code red get called."

"No, it is fine. One of the nurses hit the red button on the wall again. But damn... ughh... the whole place reeks like medi-gel, right now."

WH̳͇͕̭̠ͅY̸͈͓ ̩̖͚̹̟̱̫̕A̫͇̬͕̩̺͡R̩̱̣̥E̛͇͉͍͉̙͚ ̫͚̜̜̗Y̺̺͓̤̟̖O͔̫͈͍U̧͉̭͓̹̖̣ ̖̭͓̠̮̮̳Ș̤̜͓T̼͇͉̭̲̜I̛͇͇͓̯͕̲L͚̤͇̘L͕̗̲͍̀ ̸͉͓̖͓͙H̬̺͎͜ͅḚR̝͙͈E?͍̖ͅ
͢S̷̜̺ḨǪ̯U̢͖̬̱L͔̬͚̹̲͓͠D̙̘͍ͅN̲̫̠̠ͅ'̘̩̬̦͝ͅT͢ ̙̣̪̲̦̳͓͘W̤̞̬̫̰͖͔͟E̩͇̯͍̫͢ ̸̭̱̳̗B̭̹̟Ḛ̖̯̣͇́ ̛̼̠̱̠͖̦D͕̬̯͍E͏̠͉̥͎Ą̤͎͚D͍̜̯͟?̮͇͇͙̤̀

G͓̱O͟D̜͕ ̝̜̰̝̣͇͢ͅ
̴̩̤͍̦Y͕̠͎͎͈͝O̝͎͍͡Ụ̱̱̞̲͍͡R̩ ͔̯HEA̦̬͖̳͖̖̫D̻ ̀M҉̞͓͚̖̦̼U҉̯̗S̛̹Ţ̰̣͙ ̶̠H̸̟̦U̪̲͕̼̳̮RṰ͇̼̰̼̀ ̙̦͖͇̲͇͚̀Ṛ̻̥̖͖͍̘͟I̘͓͙͙̳͡ͅǴ͉̱̻̩̥̯͓H͈̼̰͉T͕͚͙ ͙̣̩̬͜ͅN͕Ơ̝̮̪̯͔W̼

A̜̟̳̜̮̟͈R͓͍̹̖̙E͎͚̱͕͖̝͔ ̣͓̀Y̼͢O̝̞͕̤̜U̞͕̤͔̱̘̟͘ ͚E̖̱̫͖V͇̜͎̘̦E͓̘̫̪͙̤͟R ̻̰̜̘GO̷͓̝̳I̶̭̠͎̯̜̦Ṇ͉G̗̖̲̠̞ ̨̝͍̞̗͉ͅT̖͇̤͉̤͉̖O̦̞̞̬̳̳̞ ̣͖͎͎R̫͕̜̗͖̹̩Ḛ̣͇͖́C̝̖̻̞͟O͖͚̤̩̭V͚͜E̵͍͇̭̲R͈ ̮͖̯̳F̤̬̩͇R̥͎O̭̯̠̫̣̜͜M͡ ̶̭͎̫̗̗͈̭T̺̳̱H̜̯͕͞I̧̺̰̻̟̪̰̣S͏͚̪͓̜?

I̼͇̻͞ͅ ̧̼̮ͅS͕̭͈̀͢Ų̱͕̪͘R̛͙̠͎͔͠E̷̘͕̖̭̜͎̜ ̵̛̙̙̪̯́ͅH̥̼̬̤̪O͔͈͓̫͇̕͟͝P̢̘̪̙͚̱̟̖͖͝É̙̭̟̕ ̯͖̞̣̺͖̜ͅS̵̭̤͟O̴̵͕

Jͮ̔̃̔̇̍ͫͯͬͪ̂ͪ̊̚̚Ú̂̑ͫͭ̿̃̊ͬͧ̅͑͒͆͂̚S͋ͩͨ̈̽̒ͩ̂ͥͫ̅Tͤ͆̇ͧ̃̒̓̆̾̋͂̽̿͊̾̒̚ ͗̑̔̃͗̍͗̆ͪ
R͛͆̈͆̇ͫͦ̔̀ͭͣͪ̄ͤEͣ̿͂L̒̐̔̔Aͥ̃̓ͨͨ͗ͭ̚X̽̓͒̑̾̐̉͐ͪͤͤ̓̓͋̾̑ͪ̚ ͑̋̊̋̍͊ͧ̈́͐ͬͫ̀̄ͪA̅͛̓ͯ̓ͯ̓̇ͭ̿N͌̄̑͗͛͆ͯ͐͐͛̌͑ͤͫ͊̉̅
Dͫ̎͂̚ ͋ͬ̂ͦ̈́͋͗ͪ́͂F̌ͬͧͯ͗̇͑Ā̅͂̈̓ͤ̅̀ͮ̋͋̀L̀̇͒ͧL͂̅̿̈͒̌̐̂̈́̓̍̊ͮ̌͆̚ ͯ͌̋̿ͤͣ̽̆ͩͣIͩͤ̎̇̐͌̍ͮ̿ͦ̿ͪ͂ͪ̃̑͑̉́Nͯ̔͛̀ͮ͛̔̓̈́ͥT̆̓ͪ͆̈̃͆ͨ́ͫ̂̏͗͒̀̾Ȯ́ͫ́ͨͨ̋̚ ̂̌̊ͩͧ͒̇̇͊ͩ̔̎ͥT̍ͤ̌̉̔ͥͨ̅̚
Hͦͭ̐̒̔̿̅̍̊̽ͨ̈́ͫ̈ͫ̚I̋̐͆͑̉S̓ͬ̿ͥ͑͂̿ ͫͫ͌͋͑̽͌ͤ͌̌̈́͌̓͂ͯ̊͛ͩD́ͮ̌̔̓̐̎͋ͪ̍͛̎R̅͂̈́̈ͯ̽̅E͑ͣ̃̈́̃͛̄̉͋̌́̚
Ȃ̈́ͮ͂̉̽̆̒͌ͥ͑͛ͪ̐̐ͪͫM̓̋ͦͪ̂͛ͨͫ̅ͩ̊̚

---

"What do we have here... Vark Vikernes? You are Daken's father?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Thank you for arriving at such a short notice. Trip from the Citadel was nice, smooth and without any bumps - I hope."

"It was fine. It always is."

"Well, it is really hard to explain this but..."

"Go on."

"First, we just want to say - we contacted that certain... Apricot Sugarush?"

"Apricita, yes. When she is expected to arrive?"

"Applefritter will be here at her earliest convenience, I believe. She was actually at another hospital on the opposite of Illium."

"Peculiar. Any idea what happened?"

"A skycar accident. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Must be such a terrible, dreadful day for Illium drivers."

"It used to be a lot safer here, but now that they are reworking the fly-ways, people have been taking more and more dangerous shortcuts over buildings. Anyways, Vark... is it alright I call you that?"

"I suppose."

"Daken and I assume... his brother-"

"Daken is an only child."

"I apologize. Thanks for clearing that up. They do look rather alike."

"Hard to tell, when I last looked at them - they were covered in bandages and reeked of-"

"Yes, Medi-gel, we know. I think it is safe to assume that both of them will be-"

"Getting a call? I can wait."

"Just one moment... just need to take this burst transmission..."

"..."

"Uh-huh, yes, OKay. Understood. Send her up."

"As you were saying?"

"We are expecting a full recovery... But they are going to need to be in a medicated coma. Maybe up to a year."

"We don't have a year, we have the Andromeda mission and-"

"Sorry, I think the girl has just arrived..."

---

The next time Apricita woke the sky was even brighter, even whiter, even... no- that wasn't the sky at all. Those were bright lights of... a lab? That's what they reminded her of- the lab on Omega, bodies wrapped in plastic, unnatural abominations and monsters laid out on tables. Her heart kicked up fifty notches in pace, and there was a strange beeping sound, and indecipherable voices. Quickly she rolled, ignoring the sudden flashes of pain in her arms as tubes were ripped out of her. She suppressed a whimper as more pain flashed through her, her legs crumpling slightly under her.

People were rushing in... they were in scrubs, just as Doctor Skvolich had worn. No. No, she tried to scramble up as hands tried to grab at her. Where was her gun? She wasn't going to end up in a bag, she wasn't going to be thrown into a furnace. Her mind was a warm burning mess of sludge, the breath coming from her in hot waves. Everything felt so wrong. The pain was abstract, like it was someone else experiencing it.

A familiar voice sounded as more people rushed at her to restrain her wild thrashing, one with a long needle in his hands. She threw back her head, futilely, and the needle sunk into her neck. A familiar voice sounded, and she saw her brother- no it couldn't be, he wasn't on Illium, right there. His voice saying something like-

"Calm down, you're safe, Prissa!"

His face wavered, and his lies faded from her ears as she slowly felt her whole body go slack. He was lying of course- she'd never be safe again, she'd learned as much, but there was nothing she could do, as her heart, not of her own violation, slowed and her vision blurred.

It was dreamy what followed, surreal.

"I assume you're her brother? We managed to find a contact on her omni-tool."

"Yes, I'm her brother. What happened?"

"Honestly? We're not sure. A couple owning a penthouse found her on their roof. Possible connection to a sky car accident that happened a little ways down. She was brought here."

"Is she going to be all right?"

"She's broke a leg, in the lower part, and sustained major bruising to her torso region, possible bruising of internal organs, as well as several sever lacerations and scrapes from her impact. But she's received infusions and the leg has been set. She should be fine, though she'll need some time to recover fully. I've never seen a reaction like that to the meds though."

The conversation faded into blissful oblivion once again.

When Apricita opened her eyes again, her brother was still there, and her head was somewhat clearer. Still, she couldn't say anything else. There was pain, but worse than that was a terrible hollowness that had sunk into her.

"Where am I?" She said, in a dull voice, staring back at the ceiling. Perhaps the desolation there silenced whatever words were on Galen's lips, for he simply grunted and leaned back in the hospital chair. "Illium. Don't remember? And a hospital, more specifically."

Silence stretched on after that- she found she hadn't actually cared about the answer. It didn't matter where she was, did it? She had cried earlier, she vaguely remembered, but now there was just nothing. A sigh escaped her, and for once, her brother was silent, arms crossed, expression disapproving- but blissfully spirit's blessed silence was all there was in the room.

A nurse walked in eventually. "Excuse me but we have a message for Apricot? Aprisca? Shushrus?" Slowly Apricita turned her head to look at her, eyes still dull, despite the mangling of her name. "From a Vark Vikernas."

Apricita felt her hand clench. Of course. Of course he'd contact her. To end her? Tie up the loose ends? Her mandibles spasmed in the sudden spark of emotion that consumed the emptiness. It felt good, this, this anger. "Yes?" She said between clenched faceplates.

"You've been asked to be transferred to another hospital, other side of Illium. There are some other injuries there, a uh... Daken Nacelos."

That snapped the anger away quick, to only empty confusion. Daken? He lived? Was it relief that she felt? Disbelief? Shame? Fear? Galen, looking sidelong at her responded. "I'll fill out the paperwork and cover the bills. As soon as she can be moved, we'll send her over.

--------

It was several hours of out-processing and tests before they released Apricita, with a strange metal device around her leg to support it and the cast that surrounded it. It was clumsy and obnoxious to walk in- and it itched. Her head still felt light from who knows what they had pumped into her system- the feeling of being on drugs had never felt so much an escape as a trap for her- and confusion, and a low simmering anger remained. Galen had remained uncharacteristically silent. But as they made their way to the other hospital, in a skycar, to Apricita's displeasure, he simply handed her a small pistol. The presence of the gun reassured her- she wasn't about to let Vark wrap up loose ends with her today.

It was alone that she entered the room, Galen remaining just outside the door, with it's bright lights and clean walls, which still reminded her of a place of death, rather than a place of healing. It was too fucking similar, and cruel, to make a lab and a hospital look so much the same. Her eyes flashed once on the doctors in the room, once on the two bodies lying there, attached to tubes and machines of every sort, and then focused on Vark. Meeting him for the first time.

She couldn't contain the fire and ire rising in her eyes, her voice gruff, and though she was clean and well-bandaged, the sound of Omega was there in her tone. "This is ya fuckin' fault, ya know?" She hissed. Still, her eyes couldn't remain there long, before seeking out the forms there in the beds- which were too similar to metal tables. One particular one drew her eye, and her fists clenched again. It was clear to her he wasn't awake right now, which is why she didn't rush over, though the instinct was there, suppressed under everything else.

"So what now? Is he..."

---

So... did I make it? Am I alive?

I can sense something... something wrong. My foot. I can't feel it. What a terrible feeling. I cannot feel my own foot. It must be gone, it has to be. Yet, I can sense my toes moving, my toes wiggling. What is this strange pain? A pain haunting my foot like a ghost, like a phantom... I hurt everywhere. I feel like I am suffocating. Is there anything out there, anything to hear? Or is this all in my head? Is this what dying is? Everything just turns to black and I am trapped in this body, shrouded in the darkness of my eye lids - never to live again? But to be consciously aware? This cannot be right... I am breathing naturally, not manually. I could not even stop my own breathing if I had to. I am trapped. I am trapped in this dead body, aren't I? Spirits, there is no way out, is there? But I hear him... I hear Vark. He is talking to someone. And there is... another one in the room with us, besides the doctors... Hmm, I smell something. Perfume? Asari perfume?

The nurses... they must be so pretty... Hmm, sounds like they are moving me now. I can sense it. The floor moving beneath me or no- I am being rolled out of the room. To surgery, right? What are they going to do with me? What did they say about... him? No... I'm not being rolled anywhere, they are just adjusting something, that is it. I'm still here. I am still here and I have to scream! But I cannot... I cannot scream. I'm just here. Forever stuck in these thoughts. Listening into the world around me. Lost, forgotten - distant. What kind of curse is this? I should have died. I wanted to die. That would have been so preferable. "Daken's dead. Essentially." Vark said that. How could he say that? I am trying to gulp, but I feel nothing. I am nothing. "I just talked to their doctors... They are both in a medically induced comas. They might also be brain dead, at least one - at least. It is hard to even tell which one is who. They're both bundles of tubes and rags, right now. The blood tests have not come back yet, so we have no way to identify either of them properly..." Oh, what a great sense of fatherly love. Jury and Warlock - just names soon to be forgotten, once you crossed out of the Milky Way - right? Andromeda... Andromeda. It does not even sound real anymore. Maybe... it never did.

"They are going to be... asleep. For a year. Maybe longer, maybe forever. And there is really nothing that can be done. I am afraid that is all I can tell you, as of now. The likeliness of Daken going to Andromeda now is - nill. So, perhaps that will please your selfish needs, hmm? Knowing that you can keep him chained here for the rest of his life." Vark... why was Vark talking like this? So cold, so distant. You think we'd all be appreciated... we all did this mission for something greater. At least, that is what I thought, what I had hoped... And now - now I am being rolled somewhere! I can hear their voices becoming more distant. I am leaving the room... Where are they taking me? Maybe the morgue, if I am lucky. I can feel the bandages so tightly bound to my face, the breathing tube in my throat. I must have gotten fucked up beyond recognition. Yeah, we're ghosts now... we'd have to be. We're just not at the stage yet where we leave these organic caskets, these corpses known as our bodies. "That's them, getting wheeled out for surgery now... We might know if either of them make it out of it alive. Either way, Apricita... Go home. The credits already transferred into your account and frankly - I consider this loose end to just be an end. Enjoy your life. And maybe, you'll be able to at least feed Daken if he is lucky enough to be a vegetable..."

Has Vark... Always been like this? Has this all just been a dream... an optimistic dream - to hide the true intentions behind Philanthropy? Ahhh... my leg hurts... Even with all that medi-gel soaping around my wounds, I feel everything... this terrible pain. I need to scream. I have to... but I can't. This hallway - it is called. My wounds feel wet again, what a bad feeling. The burns are catching up now, around my fringe. My whole face - it feels broken. I'm useless now, aren't I? I'll never fight again, never fly - never love - never settle down. I'm like a varren... about to get put down. I can't imagine my life without a foot. It is unfair. How is that fair to anyone? What did I do to deserve this? To deserve all of this pain? For an honest mistake... a mistake of identity, a mistake of... just who I am - exactly. Is this my atonement? For false religion? For cult-like thinking - idolizing a mad man? No, this can't be the way this ends...

The bed - we stopped somewhere. Where are we? There is... a towering presence in here with us. I recognize this voice... but my brain does not want to remember. "Ah, Daken. I haven't seen you in a long time... I see you brought one of your brothers along too." Hmmm... I remember this voice... from long ago, too. But how...? Why... "Gentleman, as of today - we are continuing work on the [i]Terrible Children

Someone ... someone walking in suddenly. Who could it be this time? No, I recognize that presence, that dark spirit. Vark... Why have you forsaken us? "Well, I hope you are happy - Kopon. You nearly killed our pet project. And better yet, we have a troublesome pair in the room out back... A certain, Apricita - she's going to be trouble in the future. I imagine... in exchange for 'Jury' and 'Warlock' - you will take care of this problem for me, while I am away?" He was selling us out... I almost wanted to say it was typical, but I had no way of knowing... "And of course, I imagine that you will take care of their genes. Your GENOME project has been rather successful already, I'd argue it is more admirable than anything that was done in PAGeR even."

"Vark, if I wanted your praise, I would have asked for it more directly. GENOME is a massive success, both 'Warlock' and 'Jury' are incredibly well functional... But that doesn't mean we are necessarily going to forgive you 'adopting' Hierarchy property."

"..."

"It doesn't matter... anymore. I think we have what we want and you have managed to... do your part of the deal just fine. A good job, actually. I think Jury out performed Warlock in the end, our operations with him were... troubled. He's an individualist - but very much so a son of the same DNA."

"About that DNA... how much does the Hierarchy really know?"

"As far as the galaxy is concerned... Every ounce of Saren was lost in the first Battle of the Citadel."

"Good... I need something to tell the girl. And after that - I have to make some preparations."

"Tell her... that the hospital will contact her - once the comas are lifted..."

"Are you concerned...? About Warlock. He was not supposed to come back for a heroic rescue... what made him break the rules...?"

"Individuality. The will of a clone to find its own identity, its own spirit. A side effect of some of the gene modifications... We had to make each egg somewhat unique, remember? As a result - some got more recessive genes than the other... Jury got the good ones, but Warlock got the... the ones of empathy. The genetic code that encourages men to become fathers, to fall in love and all that... He was the genetic waste pile. So that we could make Jury perfect..."

"So, before I go out there again... what is the plan?"

"It is simple. We're just going to... let them be who they truly are."

PMEMAIL

^