Rebirth The Mass Effect is old-2

"I thought he knew I was alive," Nihlus muttered in confusion.

"He doesn't know. The memory of your death caused a powerful enough storm in his emotional sphere that he could resist control. Nazara repeatedly suppressed the resistance and replaced the chain of memories, but the crude substitution quickly disintegrated, which led to another breakdown."

Nihlus slowly closed his eyes, suppressing the bright anger and rage. The strong fingers clenched convulsively.

"Did it happen without consequences?"

"No, of course not. Disruptions of such power always leave traces. The mind is shattering. Saren was well aware of what he was doing, for whom, and for what reason. He knew about control, but there was nothing he could do about it. He knew about indoctrination, but he also flattered himself with the false hope that he had not yet fallen under it. When I poked his nose in the mirror... He broke down."

Nihlus shuddered.

"Is it broken?"

"Yes. He broke down, literally tearing out of his mind the mental channel of control and the probe drill that makes its way to the personality. Technically speaking, there is not as much work on his mind as it might seem. I've saved ALL the remaining bookmarks in a couple of hours, but... It will be necessary to restore his personality and mind in the old-fashioned way, through conversations and persuasion."

"Are you saying his mind is clear now?" Nihlus abruptly sat up, but after receiving a push in the chest, he lay down again, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Technically, yes. Not a single bookmark, not a single extra weight."

"But?"

I sighed.

"But his condition is terrifying: his personality is on the verge of disintegration, his mind is on the verge of psychosis. Give me a little push and that's it."

"Do you want to leave him with us on the ship?" Nihlus' quiet voice sounded thoughtful.

"He can't be released into the outside world unattended right now. The mind is unstable. First, Sovereign messed with his brain, then I did, when I provoked the last breakdown." I hugged Nihlus, resting my head comfortably on his shoulder. "What Sovereign did to Saren is practically a rape of personality and mind. The substitution of concepts, the distortion of the worldview, the shift of the reference points of the main associative chains... By the time we arrived on Vermaer, all that remained of the former Saren was his body and his name. Yes, sometimes the personality threw off its shackles and overlooked for a couple of moments. Enough to appreciate the horror of what had been created."

Garrus's fingers lightly ruffled my hair, sliding over the back of my neck and aching temples in a light caress.

"That's why he's..." The rumbling voice trailed off as Garrus couldn't get the words out.

"Yes. You know, when a reasonable person looks into your eyes and says, `It's too late for me. Goodbye...' And then he just raises the gun and...", I shuddered, "and he shoots himself in the head... I'm an empath. I can feel even the slightest fluctuations of emotions. He understood everything at that moment. Immediately. His betrayal. Their actions. The murder of a student and a friend. You, Nihlus. Hopelessness, after realizing one's own indoctrination. Is it any wonder that he put a bullet in his head?"

Nihlus was silent, staring at the ceiling. Garrus just stroked my head, gently, gently, rolling my hair between his fingers.

"He can do it again."

"He will do it." I met worried light blue eyes. "If the Council recognizes him as a traitor, if he does not have support, Saren will live only as long as it takes for him to pass on all the available information and get his hands on a weapon. And then the logical result: a bullet in the head. Or just step off the edge of the Presidium Tower. As a last resort, he would silently slit his throat with his claws somewhere in a secluded corner. He has enough willpower."

"What do you suggest?"

"What?" I propped myself up on my elbow, peering into the green eyes. "To fix his brain! You can't leave him alone for a moment until he stops eating himself alive for what he's done."

"He won't forgive himself." Nihlus whispered faintly. "I nodded, pressing my cheek against the hot, hard plates on his chest."

"He won't forgive you."

"Is he asleep now?"

"yes. His mind needs time to regain its integrity. When he comes to his senses, he shouldn't be alone for even a moment. At this time, he will believe everything that is told to him: after the breakdown of mental control and a set of bookmarks, the mind is very susceptible, and the natural defense mechanisms are not working now. You tell him he's a traitor, and he'll believe it. If you tell him he's innocent, he'll believe you. You tell him that he deserves to die, and he will meekly accept death, even if he can kill himself in ANY way. This state will last about a day, then critical thinking and logic will work, natural shields and personality protection will rise. But these days he is absolutely vulnerable. Do you understand WHAT kind of power the one who will be next to him at this moment will have over him? And unlike Nazara's influence, these suggestions cannot be removed. Never. They will form the basis of perception and a new personality. It's already forever."

"You can't leave him either?"

"No. Otherwise, Chaos alone knows how he will be overwhelmed by what happened. Most likely, he will commit suicide despite everything that has been done. The memory is not going anywhere. Or he will eat himself morally first, and then commit suicide."

"Will you sit?"

"We will." If I'm around alone, "his mind might latch onto me, because I've triggered the breakdown of control. At best, I'll become something like a sister to him."

"And in the worst case?"

"Imprinting in any of its varieties. From the easy, trusting, to its most rigid form — complete imprinting, almost voluntary slavery."

Nihlus choked on air.

"Why is there such a strong reaction? Did the lady have any such problems?"

"Benezia had a ready-made subordination program in mind, created with jewelry precision. Saren has a rough hack. After that, his personality must be pieced together. Conflicts and all kinds of disruptions will continue to manifest themselves in nightmares and inappropriate behavior for a long time until a new Anchor is built."

"The anchor is this..."

"The meaning of existence. The basic imperative. For some, it is service to the Motherland, for others it is family, for others it is a thirst for profit, power or knowledge."

"What if the Anchor is a living being?" Garrus asked quietly.

"Then the imprinting process is automatically started as soon as the binding takes place. It is irreversible until the Anchor is changed. And it is almost impossible to stop this process."

"What do you suggest?"

"Don't let him go to that extreme." I shrugged my shoulders and said. "Saren will sleep for another ten hours. Approximately."

Garrus called up the clock on the instrument panel.

"It's worth getting some sleep. He might wake up in time for the morning."

It was a good idea.

Already falling asleep, it occurred to me that it would be worthwhile to somehow mentally prepare Saren for the news about the living Nihlus. No matter how he was interrupted by a sudden meeting...

Chapter 32.2 Saren.

A thin squeak pulled his consciousness out of the darkness, forcing him to realize what he had heard. The silence of a small room, the barely perceptible rustle of ventilation. Another squeak. The sound from the life support device. Too quiet. Muted. That's right, he turned it down himself so that it wouldn't get on his nerves and irritate sensitive hearing. The familiar rumble of engines running at full power, the vibration reverberating throughout the body. The information has passed awareness: he is on the Kratos.

And then came a wave of memories: a conversation with the Sovereign, the capture, Shepard and her sharp, cutting words, the realization of her short-term freedom and the attempt... free yourself.

Unsuccessful.

Again...

His chest began to tingle, and his breathing was habitually labored from lack of air. Saren growled softly and opened his eyes. Overhead is the familiar ceiling of the infirmary. `Kratos.'

`Kratos'?

Saren blinked, sat up abruptly, with a jerk. What is he doing on the Kratos? He asked a question, and immediately found the answer: Shepard! Irrepressible girl! Why did she drag him with her? Doesn't he realize how dangerous he is? The Sovereign's control can return at any moment!

The Turian growled angrily, clenching his fists so that the claws pierced his palms and sank deep into the flesh. Stupid girl! Familiar, somewhat relieving pain, clearing the mind... Saren shook his heavy head and habitually wiped his hands on his hips, smearing blood on the blanket. He should... the thought stumbled. The wrongness of the situation reached the mind and passed awareness. Saren slowly raised his hands and froze, staring intently at the bloody palms. On TWO bloody palms.

"How..." the quiet, hoarse voice was barely audible.

Saren stared at his hand without blinking. Lively. Not the Geth's prosthetic leg, which had already become familiar, but his own, native hand! He was perfectly aware of the pain in his open palm, the slight coolness of the air, the stinging elbow and the slight irritation from the catheter.

"How is this possible?" he whispered, feeling his forearm.

With a soft hiss, the door opened, admitting... Saren gasped for air, staring in dumbfounded disbelief at the young Turian who entered the infirmary, reading something from a datapad as he walked.

Impossible! He's dead! He shot him in the face himself!

"Nihlus?"

A hoarse, cracked voice sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

Nihlus jerked his whole body, stopped abruptly, the datapad slipped out of his fingers and thudded to the floor. Confused green eyes stared at Saren in surprise. A short pause, realization of what he saw, and:

"Saren?"

A quiet voice, full of endless surprise and confusion, stirred up memory, mercilessly splashing memories into a tortured mind: a powerful blow to consciousness, plunging it into a murky mass of direct control, a hand raising through force, a trembling rifle, barely noticeable recoil from shots, rage, hatred, despair at the realization of what was happening, anger at his own impotence, the falling body of the one he even mentally called brother, and the barely audible, choking with blood, full of surprise and incomprehension, native voice:

"Saren..."

A voice that echoes in both memories and reality... genuine surprise and confusion in the green eyes... Saren shuddered all over.

The images were superimposed on one another, reality and visions of the past, causing conflicts of perception, pulling out half-erased memories one after another. Waking up to the Sovereign, a voice full of wonder... awareness of what has been done... with my own hands... looking into the eyes... on the orders of this creature... The touch of icy metal against the soft skin under his jaw, and a heavy hand unable to finish what he started, the voice is the thought of the Sovereign in his head... the murky weight of control, the orders, the anxious eyes of Lady Benezia. Unreasonable rage...

My mind couldn't stand the strain and the intensity of emotions, getting confused in reality and memories, and my consciousness turned off, plunging into blessed darkness.

* * *

In the morning, I was thrown out of bed by a wave of fear mixed with panic, and a scream:

"Rin!"

Garrus jerked up next to me, staring at me blankly with sleepy eyes. It took us just a moment to realize this scream, and he asked suspiciously:

"Nihlus?"

"Rin, help me!" Another shout came over the ship's intercom.

We exchanged glances. The only sensible explanation for this panic came to us at the same time. Exhaling, "Saren!" we rolled off the bed. I was already getting dressed on the run, my bare feet slapping on the icy metal floor.

In the infirmary, I was greeted by an epic picture: a panicking Nihlus, holding Saren by the shoulders, who was in a deep swoon. The mental plane has been plowed into the trash. One look into those confused green eyes was enough for me to reconstruct the picture of what had happened.

Great job...

Cursing softly, I walked over to Saren. I yanked the catheters out of his hands and pointed to the next bed:

"Put it here and stop panicking!"

Nihlus silently did as he was told, and I covered our victim with a blanket and climbed onto a chair with my feet so as not to stand on the rather cold floor.

"Beauty! There are no words, only the matyugs!" I muttered, dumping a bundle of vital energy on the victim of irrepressible care. Garrus shook his head, pulled over a second chair, and sat down next to it.

"Nihlus, do you want him dead?" In response, a wave of panic and a guilty look. What a damn poor kitten!

"Yes, from such shocks, his last brains will fall off!"

"I didn't expect him to wake up so quickly." Nihlus replied in a trembling voice.

"To be honest, neither do I." Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I frowned at Saren, who was quickly recovering. "Okay, there's no point in panicking and eating your brains out, it's too late anyway. But you should have thought a little about the consequences! I warned you that he thinks he killed you!"

"you warned me." the Turian agreed quietly, slowly calming down. "I didn't expect such a reaction."

"What's unexpected about that? I told you, his mind is VERY receptive right now. Naturally, when he saw you, he remembered the circumstances of your last meeting. I couldn't help but remember! I told you that these memories are strongly tied to the emotional sphere to knock him out of the Reaper's control! And here..." I shook my head. "At least he had enough willpower to survive all this relatively smoothly for the personality. And so everything is plowed over there!"

Saren flinched slightly, blinked, and opened his eyes. Seeing the unspoken question in the blue eyes, I lazily said:

"No, you're not imagining it. Yes, this is reality. And yes, Nihlus is alive and well, out there, blinking his eyes."

Blue eyes narrowed, Saren slowly raised himself on his elbow and sat up with difficulty, staring intently at the confused Nihlus.

The real Saren was completely unlike his canonical prototype in character and habits. No lofty pathos and majestic poses. In front of me sat a withdrawn, taciturn and unsociable man who did not know what to do now, indifferent to his life and so nervous that not even the slightest glimmer of joy from his own survival flashed through his emotions. And there was only relief from the realization that Nihlus was alive. And burning, impotent shame... For what he did.