Rebirth The Mass Effect is old

"Krayk... Where have you taken us?"

"I made a mistake." the fake Spectrum shrugged, removing the weapon from his belt, and admitted quite casually. "And they're going to kill us here"...

"Not... They can't." Garrus critically examined the local scumbags who were gathering for free entertainment and issued a verdict. "I'm a sharpshooter. The pistol is powerful and quick-firing."

"You're drunk."

"Yes... But I'm still good at it."

"And there are many of them." the critical gaze of green eyes, which quickly acquire crystal clarity and concentration. "Someone will have an entertaining read..."

I watched all this with detached interest, rolling a grenade between my fingers and holding a pistol in my left hand.

A burly Krogan pushed his way out of the crowd. After critically examining our composition, he spat and said:

"Spectr — do not touch. Kill Vakarian."

Which Spectr should I not touch? My brain stalled on a simple task with two values and froze. Alternatively, the reasonable ones dragged the weapon, and the second part of the phrase reached me.

"Garrus... And they want to kill you."

"They always want to kill me." the guy remarked philosophically.

And then he just raised his gun and opened fire without hesitation.

I've never seen anything even close to it. The drunk, barely standing Turian fired with the cold, calculating precision of a machine and with the regularity of a metronome. The gun in his hand moved just enough for the bullet to enter the head of the next chosen victim. No matter how much his legs stumbled, his hand did not waver for a moment. The light blue eyes of a drunk who was completely out of touch with reality looked calm, cold, calculating, practically without blinking. And not a single glimmer of superfluous thought. The drunken autopilot easily and without any conflict with consciousness went into a combat trance, showing us the dark side of Garrus Vakarian, the Archangel.

We woke up from a short-term stupor at the same time. The sentients raised their weapons, shouted, and ran to the sides, trying to find cover. Someone tried to shoot the swaying shooter, but at that moment I struck, sweeping the crowd wide with a powerful mental impact, bypassing only two. Combat mentalism in all its dubious glory. Stupor, out of sync of the brain, deep fear, impaired coordination of movements. Not for long, for about ten seconds, until the body regains its work.

Nihlus was enveloped in the dark blue glow of passive biotics, yanked the blade from his hip, and with one sharp jerk broke into the compact group, knocking out an assault rifle with his hand and forcing the enemy to open his torso. The sword easily rips open the stomach, passing through the victim's powerful kinetic shield without resistance, the pistol in his left hand snaps off shots, the Turian kneels on the inertia of movement and rotation of the body, shifts the sight and double into the enemy standing slightly to the side.

Movement from the side. Turian and Batar. To the first — in the vulnerable neck, to the second — between the eyes! Batar lay down, and the Turian ducked. You twirly bastard! Shot, shot. The tour fell to the floor, drenching the metal with dark blue blood from the severed head.

Garrus's pistol clicked dryly. The thermoclip has exhausted itself. The guy blinked, falling to one knee, snapped off the clip, reached into his pocket and pulled out a new one. A man flew up to him, shouting indistinctly. Clawed fingers slid down his shin and wrapped around the long hilt. Garrus stands up quickly, shifting slightly to the side, a sharp blow, a knife rips open his throat, almost severing his neck. The body falls to the floor, Garrus removes the knife and raises the gun... Nihlus knocked him down and dragged him by the scruff of the neck behind the counter. Bullets rattled against the metal, I reloaded my pistol, leaned out from behind cover, and threw a grenade. There was an explosion, and someone screamed. His head was spinning with hatred and thirst for murder...

Who knows how our campaign would have ended if the C-SEC hadn't shown up at the shooting.

The scumbags scurried to the sides, and we, after only a moment's thought, joined the hasty escape, and managed to jump into an empty taxi aircar just a couple of moments before the soldiers in familiar black and blue armor noticed us.

Apparently, Nihlus was not mistaken this time, as the taxi dropped us off at a familiar house. The C-SEC patrol deuce watched with round eyes as, disheveled and covered in colorful blood, we fell out of the car, complained about the ruined alcohol and violent scumbags in the Lower City, put away our weapons and stomped to the nearest store. Nihlus was known here, and they didn't bother us, but with what eyes they looked after us!

On the way to the apartment, we almost broke one of the drawers, but Garrus put his knee in time, staggering a little. Having blocked the doors, we occupied the sofa and.. Here we go. The alcohol was getting stronger, and the conversation turned smoothly to memories. The stories gradually became more sincere, recalling deeply personal things that still touch my soul. A kind of confession to those who can understand. We were just pouring out our hearts, telling things that hurt our hearts. Emotions pressed on the brain, resonating. I told them about my rebirths. Some of them. Like, for example, the rebirth into a furry cross between a cat and a hamster a meter in height. The guys laughed when I complained about how I had picked up the local equivalent of fleas in the swamp and told them how I got them out of thick wool. And I laughed when Garrus told stories from army school. About the mined positions during the withdrawal, where the second squad was conditionally blown up, and the instructor sent him to the hospital with broken ribs. About the unauthorized change of position, when he practiced the role of a sniper and mowed down both attacking units, and again ended up in the hospital for creatively rethinking the order. Nihlus told how for the first time he violated the order while still in training, but the instructor was hospitalized with a broken arm and a triple leg fracture. They laughed. And then I started talking about my studies at the Academy. About the jokes of mentalists and the horrors of their work, about the consequences, about what can be made out of a reasonable being with proper imagination, and how much effort and time it will take. About mental and energy exhaustion, from which you can easily fall into a coma, from which you can no longer get out without help, and burn to the state of a withered mummy. The Turians were impressed and asked about how to help in this case. I've told you everything I know. About direct and indirect energy transfer, about mental "blinds", which sometimes cause more problems than benefits. Especially when they fall and the mind goes haywire. She explained how regeneration occurs naturally during sleep, eating or sex. She described what an energy recharge channel is and how to create it, showing it already installed and working on Nihlus..., and Nihlus himself talked about serving in the Spectr status, about the peculiarities of different types, about the traditions and customs of his people. Garrus described a couple of interesting rituals and festivals common in his home world. In general, it was... informative.

By the end of the last crate, they remembered about the shields. Garrus complained that I had already installed Nihlus, but I had forgotten about it... And Vermaer is coming soon. And it's only a five-day flight.

Which of us came up with the idea of taking up shields now, brilliant in its senility? I don't know. I do not remember. But the fact remains. The last coherent memory is of bright light blue unfocused eyes, a picture of a crippled mind with a great many self-directed bookmarks... And a stupid conversation:

"Garrus, you've got your brain in bookmarks."

"From where?" He was surprised.

"You taught it yourself, you idiot! Take pictures?"

Just a moment to think about it and a decisive response in a slurred tongue:

"Take it off!"

Then there is a jumble of fragments of work: a spreading veil on the core, a rising first shield, a sprouting Maze on the core of the personality, reliably hiding from surface scanning and forceful attack, a strengthening second and third veil, rising supports of the natural shield, thinning and crumbling strands of spontaneous bookmarks, dissolving stops on the emotional sphere and overwhelming us all with a wave of powerful contradictory, once consciously suppressed emotions and feelings...

My mind was slowly coming out of sleep and a slight hangover. The first sounds I heard and realized were the quiet beating of someone else's heart under my head and measured, even breathing with a barely audible purr on exhalation.

The sleepy gloom had worn off, and I finally opened my eyes, gradually realizing the situation. There are hot and hard plates under my cheek, the warmth of a body pressing against my back, and calm breathing in the area of my shoulder blades.

Op-pa... What a good morning...

I was lying on Garrus's chest, resting my head comfortably on the hard but smooth plates of natural armor, wrapping my left arm around his shoulder and throwing my leg over my hips. Nihlus was breathing quite heavily into my back just above my shoulder blades, wrapping a heavy, strong arm around my shoulders and pressing his whole body against mine. And he was clearly awake.

I listened to the body. Was it or wasn't it? The pleasant languor made it clear — it was! And it was good.

And the most annoying thing is that I... ALMOST DON'T REMEMBER ANYTHING!

His measured breathing faltered, his heart began to pound faster, and Nihlus snorted a laugh into his shoulder blades.

"Did I say that out loud?" I asked quietly, and without intending to move.

A strong hand pulled me closer.

Oh, what emotions... Garrus woke up and realized what he had heard.

"Don't you remember anything at all?" a quiet, vibrating voice, full of apprehension and some kind of dull longing.

I carefully raised myself up, resting my hand on the sturdy plates of my natural armor. Garrus was looking at me intently, as if he was trying to find something... I was afraid that the search would be successful.

You're looking for nothing! Just because I vaguely remember the process itself, it doesn't mean that I'm against it... and from the realization of the situation, I will now be hysterical, roll my eyes and behave like a hysterical little fool. Oh, my... It's terrifying... Just think about it... I spent the night with two men, for whom I am ready to put this reality on cancer and turn it inside out! Oh, Garrus... You don't know me very well yet. Nihlus got it right away. He lies and enjoys himself, listening with some academic interest to the storm of emotions. The empath is a beginner...

Reaching out, I gently touched the hard cheekbone. Warm hard chitin, slightly rough to the touch. The blue eyes blinked in surprise. Garrus looked at me as if he'd never seen me before. His fingers slid down the convulsively twitching mandible onto the exposed golden-coffee-colored skin. Soft, velvety, slightly bumpy. And very hot. The surprise in his eyes slowly faded, and for a moment there was a flash of relief and joy.

"I remember something." I purred, looking at the expressive face with interest. The last thing that remained in my memory... the memories obediently unfolded in front of my inner vision, showing in all their glory... "How I put up shields for you... and.. filmed it... bookmarks..." I said dully, feeling my hair stand on end all over my body.

I straightened up abruptly, almost flying off the spot. Great and Indivisible! WHAT WAS I DOING?! I caught his gaze and fell into my mind. Gods forbid if I did something wrong drunk! It was there too...

I was... taken aback by the picture I saw: clearly structured defenses, raised strong shields, smooth veils, completely removed spontaneous bookmarks and suggestions... HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! Yes, there was work for about five days!

"Drinking is evil!" I said, and Nihlus chuckled softly. "But evil is funny. And, sometimes, useful. She closed her eyes, waiting out a belated panic attack. What were you thinking when you let a drunk mentalist get into your mind?" I whispered faintly, sliding limply onto the bed.

Garrus relaxed a little.

"I trust you."

He trusts me... I don't trust myself in this state! I was working with HIS brain! What if I was wrong? Just move the concepts and associations a little bit, and that's it... the mind can go to hell if a conflict begins...

"It was... Inconsiderate!"

Nihlus rolled onto his back, put his hands behind his head and looked at me with interest. And no twitching and mental tossing. A completely satisfied look.

"Nihlus, as the most non-shy, will you show me what I forgot?"

Garrus blinked in embarrassment. Nihlus grinned cheekily.

"I won't show you."

I raised an eyebrow in silent question, looking with interest at the lounging Turian. No, of course, I can sort through the memory and pull out everything with details almost every second... and I'll even do it in order to know what erased exhaustion from my short-term memory. But a little later.

"I can demonstrate it." And a sly, leering smile.

An interesting wave of emotion came from Garrus... Wow... Complete solidarity!

"Everything is clear with you." I smiled. "Are you completely satisfied with what happened?"

"Not quite. You don't remember, and you were drunk." a slight shrug of the shoulders. "As it is, yes. Quite." irony in the look. "I don't see it"...

He stopped when he heard the soft chirping of an instrumentron from his left hand. His and mine. We looked at each other in silence and simultaneously deployed the golden interface. Incoming call, subscriber...

"Advisor Sparatus!" we exhaled in one voice.

A short stupor, realization of the situation, and mats and I flew up on the bed to Garrus' loud laughter.

"It's not funny, Vakarian!" Nihlus howled, jerking the jumbled clothes to the floor.

The laughter turned into an outright hysterical neigh. Nihlus picked up my things and threw them to me, scooping up his own. The omny-tool began to squeak again, whipping up a recalcitrant horse like a rein.

"Is he taking such petty revenge on me for the late-night call?" Nihlus growled, pulling on his pants as the incoming signal beeped.

"Or maybe?" I pulled on my T-shirt and tucked it into my pants, running my fingers through my tousled hair.

"Maybe!" Nihlus straightened the collar of his tank top.

We flew out into the hall and froze in a stupor at the sight. A Horde has been walking here for a week... and not alone... and more than once...