"Two assholes broke into your house." A tall, dark-skinned Turian with bright red clan markings answered. "One in the kitchen, the other in the room."

"And the one who screamed?"

"In the kitchen."

"Let me guess." Garrus chuckled. "Did he open the refrigerator?"

The people laughed, and from the apartment they heard:

"Vakarian?!"

"Were you waiting for someone else?" This Vakarian said loudly.

"Are you back?"

"They called."

"So you didn't quit?"

"Why is that?"

"Garrus, did you really quit?"

Azari was taken aback by this news, looking incredulously at the sleepy guy.

"Yes, yesterday."

"Can you join our department?" Volus asked hopefully.

"Sorry, Extreme. I've already been hired." Garrus replied guiltily and spread his hands.

"To whom?"

"To me." I replied.

Volus looked at me and asked.

"And who are you, the Earth Clan?"

"Imrir Shepard. Spektr."

"Oh... did you want something, Spektr?"

"Do I want to? Rather, I don't want my sniper blown up in his own apartment by some useless jerk."

The acoustics in the empty hallway were oh so good, and the victim of his own curiosity, meditating in the kitchen, heard me perfectly. And then he howled:

"Vakarian! Let me out of here! I..." a short pause, convulsive tossing, fear, thirst for life, and despair. "I will tell you who is to blame for the latest sabotage in the Turian colonies! The performer is now at the Citadel!"

The brute.

It doesn't take any mentalism to figure out that Garrus is going after this idiot. It was enough just to look into the crystal blue eyes. For the sake of such information, he will go! Despite the fatigue and the risk.

"Garrus, you've been up for almost two days."

"Nothing." The Turian took a small automatic injector from his hip pocket and injected the drug into his neck under his jaw. "I have enough work for an hour."

A combat stimulator. It's amazing!

"I've thought of everything." Garrus added.

I didn't say anything to him, just nodded, making it clear that I accept his decision, even though I disagree with it. The stimulant worked: the guy started up, his movements lost their heaviness and regained their natural smoothness and speed.

"Extreme, what should I record his revelations on?"

Volus handed Garrus a small recording device with a clearly visible C-SEC logo.

"What have you already done?"

"So far, we've only scanned the apartment and disabled the motion sensors at the entrance."

"Did you touch the floor? It's full of pressure sensors."

"No, they didn't touch it."

"Good." Garrus activated the drone, went to the door, and got to work.

What he was doing was a mystery to me, hidden in the Darkness, but judging by the interested whispers of the sappers, he was reconfiguring some sensors to fit his parameters by removing them from the armor's computer.

He didn't waste time hacking them, apparently, he had already done it when he looked at the house last time. Bursting with satisfaction, Garrus crossed the threshold and followed a strange, twisting trajectory into the kitchen. And we heard an interesting conversation:

"Vakarian!"

There was so much joy in the man's voice, as if he had seen his innermost dream come true.

"Why did you open the refrigerator?" The cold, vibrating voice sounded with a slight tinge of annoyance. It also says: "Do not open, it is mined"! I wrote it especially for you idiots! In seven languages!

"But..."

"'But' what?" There was a muffled chime. "What did you say about sabotage in our colonies?"

"Get me out and I'll tell you!"

There was a brief pause, anger flashed through his mind, and Garrus silently turned around and walked back into the living room.

"Vakarian!"

He turned around.

"What, `Vakarian'? Do you think I should take your word for it? `Get me out and I'll tell you.'" The Turian snorted. "Do I look like a gullible idiot?"

"I... I..."

"Speak up. Otherwise, I'll just turn around and leave."

"You're not leaving me here!"

"Why is that?"

"You're..." The man I couldn't see stumbled, suddenly remembering that Garrus was no longer an employee of C-SEC and owed nothing to anyone.

"What am I?" Garrus cocked his head to the side, watching the man with interest. "I am now an ordinary resident of the Citadel. I have no right to enter a mined facility at all. And I actually have a Spectr of Advice waiting for me."

"I'll... I'll tell you."

"Tell me. No, I'm leaving."

Something beeped suspiciously in the kitchen, a wave of concentrated horror plowed through the mental, and... and the man spoke. Information flowed in a generous but confusing stream: who did what, where, and when. The man talked about known sabotage and terrorist acts, poisoning of goods, and so on. I didn't really understand the words. I was watching Garrus. The Turian was down on one knee, doing something in the kitchen doorway. The movements are smooth, calm, confident.

Garrus came back into the kitchen and disappeared from my field of vision.

Chapter 14.3 the effects of stimulants.

Time dragged on like rubber. The stream of revelations did not stop, revealing to us the unsightly results of the activities of my precious relatives, although the man began to repeat himself and stumble, but still new and extremely interesting details surfaced. An echo of fatigue appeared in his mind: the effect of the stimulant was ending. Heavy waves of impotent hatred and rage rolled in from the next room.

The fatigue suddenly disappeared. Another stimulant? The second in a row in less than an hour.

"I don't know anything else!"

"I'll have to immobilize you and carry you out." Garrus' voice rang out. "You won't get through on your own."

"Good! I agree!"

"Don't move."

The man fell silent, and a couple of minutes later Garrus appeared, easily carrying him on his shoulder. Well, like a sack of potatoes. Or rather, with shit.

Following a bizarre route through a small living room, the Turian unloaded an unconscious dark-haired man against the wall, gave his kinsman a recording device and returned to the apartment. That's what else he forgot there?

Azari shoved something under the nose of a lover of other people's refrigerators, and he quickly came to his senses. Two Turians picked him up and took him somewhere. I have a suspicion that this specimen of the human race will soon dictate a voluntary and sincere confession in order to get the right to go to prison, and not to the chopping block.

The laws in Citadel Space were different from the usual Imrir laws of the Alliance, and some aspects, especially those related to the military and judicial legal system, were taken from the Turians. And the laws of Hierarchy are very harsh and devoid of even the slightest expressions of pity. In the Alliance, a lawyer can get rid of almost anyone. But not here. Complicity in terrorist acts is the death penalty. And the defendant does not always have the right to a lawyer, which has caused many conflicts between people and law enforcement agencies in the Citadel Space.

Garrus emerged from the kitchen, walked to the middle of the living room, and suddenly froze, flaring with surprise and apprehension.

"Don't do that." he said, looking into the bedroom. "The sensors are very sensitive. Wait, I'll come back for you."

The Turian headed for the exit, carrying a large and obviously heavy metal trunk in his hand. A wave of hatred stirred up the mental, and a stream of cursing reached us.

"I warned you," the guy replied phlegmatically, maneuvering along the route he knew only.

"You! Bonehead bastard!"

Something barely audible beeped on the verge of audibility. Garrus's face changed and he stormed out of the apartment with one swift jerk. We just had time to notice the blue glare of the deployed shields, as a powerful explosion thundered in the bedroom.

He was right: the shields had indeed completely absorbed the blast wave. The living room was not damaged, but the blazing flames behind the ephemeral film of the shield looked surreal.

"I told. The sensors are sensitive." Garrus said phlegmatically, addressing no one in particular and looking sadly at the raging flames.

"A big explosion." Volus clicked, inhaled. "What was there?"

"An anti-tank mine under the bed. It was installed a month ago. And the stretch marks in the closet."

"A month ago?" The sapper asked in surprise. "You spent the night at home three days ago."

"I spent the night."

"And Mina?"

"If you don't press hard on the bed, the fuse won't work." Garrus shrugged his shoulders. "I don't wear armor at home, my body weight is not enough to initiate an explosion."

"Why didn't you take it off?"

"It was welded to the floor and fixed tightly, exposing the detonation of the fuse when trying to shift the control mark on the bed frame."

The people exchanged glances and looked at our sniper strangely, but he just shrugged and handed Volus a trunk.

"Look, it might come in handy."

Extreme put the trunk on the floor, opened it, examined the contents and swore softly. At least, judging by the emotions, it was swearing.

"Oh, this will come in handy."

The instrumentron lit up, and Garrus sent an information packet to the instrumentron of Extreme.

"Look, this is what's in the apartment right now."

"And they call me an Extreme Athlete? Oh, Garrus, Garrus, the Palaven Clan..." Volus threw up his hands.

"The shields will be down in about fifteen minutes, and I'll take down the most dangerous thing."

And he took out another stimulant.

"But this is unnecessary." I grabbed his hand and took out a small automatic injector from his fingers. There is a red stripe on the label. A heavy combat stimulator. "I'm taking him away. And give me the box."

"But..." Garrus stopped, catching my extremely expressive look, and silently handed me a small metal box.

Six of the eight slots were empty.

"Do you have anything valuable there?"

"A sniper rifle."

"Is this the one that's scary to touch?"

"yes."

"Blast towards the demons. We're leaving."

"But"

"Garrus Vakarian. To the ship and the infirmary! You used a red class combat stimulator! Twice, with an interval less than the minimum allowed!"

Garrus looked guiltily at volus, spread his hands, got up, and walked heavily to the elevator. He also feels guilty! There are no simple words!

"Does he do this often?"

Azari answered me:

"Quite often. He had already been admitted to the hospital a couple of times outside of work hours with severe backsliding after using orange and red class combat chemicals. But there were really serious situations."

That's a good correction.

"Is that how it is after every serious case?"

The blue-skinned beauty sighed.

"Unfortunately, for the last three years, yes. The laws of Hierarchy do not prohibit the use of stimulants, even the most severe ones, but you need to know the measure! Perhaps he will listen to you and stop undermining his health."

"And where will he go from the spaceship? We have a very good doctor, and even I don't dare argue with her."

"I really hope so." azari took out a couple of ampoules from the trunk and handed them to me. It will help if a rollback begins. "Turians sometimes don't see the edge when it comes to work." virgo complained. "Choose efficiency and practicality, completely not caring about the consequences!"

"Thank you."

"Spectr, so should we blow it up?" Volus asked me.

"Blow it up!"

"Oh! Thank you, Earth Clan! We're finally going to blow it up!" the sapper said enthusiastically and rubbed his hands together, to which Garrus just shook his head, flashed some kind of doom and entered the elevator after us.

As we drove downstairs, I fiddled with the box of stimulants and slowly went berserk.

I almost lost a genius sniper because of some asshole!

If Garrus had died, it is not yet known how reality would have turned out, and who would then occupy the Archangel's niche on Omega! You can replace key figures, but the chain of events will remain unchanged! And an Archangel will appear on Omega. One way or another! And I wouldn't be surprised if it was another Vakarian. Older.

To the demons, such experiments! And there are enough problems as it is!

* * *

We took a taxi to the dock. They rode in silence: the soldiers digested what they saw, Rex looked at Garrus with interest, and Garrus himself was almost asleep, barely perceiving reality. I knew that he was not well liked for his overly scrupulous attitude to work, but it never occurred to me that it would take this form! Reality has been stirred up: the change I have made and the salvation of Nihlus has caused fluctuations that sometimes manifest themselves in very perverse forms. Garrus really could have died: a kind of backlash to counterbalance my intervention. One survived, the other got a chance to die.

What gave rise to this reality is trying to destroy it, returning it to its original path of development. The first Change made it clear to me that the scrapping of canonical events would be met with resistance. And you'll have to break them, and the further you go, the harder.

One good thing is that after passing a truly unchangeable key point, the pullbacks will begin to weaken until they completely disappear.

Usually, people like me, encountering such active resistance, follow the path of destruction, as if it were the simplest one. It does not presuppose someone's salvation, only death. There is no need to try to provide a rollback. It's much easier for me to help Saren start the Harvest than to save him and prevent the destruction of civilization.

Excellent prospects!

A short Salarian was already waiting for me on the landing, twirling a datapad in his hands. He started at the sight of me.

"The spectr of Imrir?"

"yes."

"The products you ordered have arrived."

He pointed to the neatly folded sealed boxes marked with Special Corps markings.

"Thank you."

After reading the information from my ID card and receiving a palm print, the Salarian took off, leaving us alone with an impressive mountain of boxes. Supplies, damn them...

* * *

And then it started... contacting the Joker who was always on duty in the control room, I called the butler, ordering him to go out to the dock and take Alenko and six strong guys from the crew with him. They came quickly. Pointing to the boxes, I said:

"Rations. Sort by type and load into food warehouses."

Rex, hearing the cherished word "rations", started up, went to the neatly folded boxes, read the markings and deftly pulled out one of them. The brute. From the middle of the row! The boxes toppled over, but they resisted.