Rebirth: The Mass Effect. Book 1

A little bit about what you can read in fanfiction.

Having half written the first part of this fanfiction, I encountered some misunderstanding on the part of the readers. In order to mentally prepare a new reader (I hope there will be more of them =)), I decided to write such a small introductory word.

So.

You found my fanfiction and for some reason you became so interested in it that you opened it to read. Since I am not in favor of the situation with cactus and mice, I want to write a warning in order to eliminate misunderstandings and remove the possibility of future disappointment.

I'll start with the most important thing (personally for the male part of the readers of this site, because, as practice has shown, they are the most nervous).

What you WON'T SEE in this fanfiction:

You won't see the cool Commander Shepard, who defeats enemies in packs, destroys Reapers en masse, racing on the Normandy ahead of the entire fleet and "does the impossible before breakfast and conceives the unthinkable before lunch" (quote from the comment).

You will not see an epic description of how the Great Humanity successfully bends over everyone, destroys the Reapers and begins to dominate the galaxy, mercifully subjugating the Council and all other races.

Be realistic.

It wasn't until 2148 on Mars that people began to study the Archive. For those who cannot calculate, at the time of the start of ME1, it was the 2183rd year, in other words, people only learned about the zero element 35 years ago.

It follows that you will not see equal technological development between humans and other races of the Citadel Space. You won't see dumb Advice. Rulers cannot be as dumb and short-sighted as they are shown in the canon.

You won't see the heroic Anderson. I'm sorry, but I'll show it the way I perceive it, taking into account the books I've read, the comic books, and the dialogues in the game.

You won't see a dumb Rex. You don't have to prove to me that he's a little smarter than a stool. You won't find a tender and vibrant romantic story: the wrong characters are involved in it.

There are still many things that you will not see from what is done in the canon, and vice versa, you will see things that are not shown in this canon itself or shown in a different way.

Farther.

The author is a woman. I love my uncle Обоснуй, and I'm friends with his sister, Logic. If I don't know something, it's a completely different matter.

I am still a living person, and I have the right to make mistakes and ignorance.

Keep this in mind. I'm not a galactic encyclopedia after all!

The main character, on whose behalf the story is being narrated, is a woman.

I want to note — A WOMAN! And not a man in a woman's carcass, a woman with balls and a man with boobs. Woman.

Accordingly, she behaves like a woman, her priorities are somewhat different from those of men, the logic of actions, decision-making, and so on are feminine.

There is no need to whistle about "female logic" and I will not say that there is no concept of "male logic" at all.

The genre is geth.

Not Jen.

It is logical to assume that a romantic line will be developed.

But!

If you are waiting for pink snot and tossing in agonizing attempts to choose between men, this is not for me.

GG is a practical and sensible woman. Not a romantic little girl-waiting-for-a-prince-on-a-white-spaceship, but a cynical, sensible bastard with a developed possessive instinct and not accustomed to denying herself what she wants and can get. Moreover, she knows exactly what she wants, because she is not used to lying to herself.

Again, if you're looking for romance, you're not here.

If you are waiting for a story about the tender and tremulous development of love, again, look for other fanfiction.

If I need to describe sex for some purpose, I will describe it in as much detail as I need it. If not required, I will simply point out that such an event took place. Fic doesn't revolve around sex, but physical intimacy is also a facet of adult communication. It's an important facet that sometimes reveals very interesting character and relationship traits, so spare me the sanctimonious statements about "this is wrong," "this is immoral," "yes, how could she (they/ he)" and all in the same spirit. I still hope that the people reading my work are intelligent beings, and not bad teenagers with sperm splashing in their eyes and people who are not offended by life and consider physical intimacy to be something dirty and low.

If polyandry bothers you, do not read. Don't get upset, and don't upset me. (again, this is most annoying for guys who have a great and trembling love for a harem of GG and a bunch of beauties who are ready to give themselves at any moment and idolize him).

Oh, yes, I almost forgot. GG will have a relationship with the Turians. This is personal for those who are uncomfortable with relationships with aliens.

Farther.

A much-loved conflict that has been going on for 40 chapters (at the time of writing this introduction), and is definitely not going to end.

ABOUT PEOPLE, HUMANITY and THE ALLIANCE

Don't tell me what kind of people are good, decent, kind, noble, loyal, honest... (you can continue the list yourself). People are a mess... Bitchiness. Look at the real world if you have any doubts.

Yes, there are UNIQUE specimens, decorations of our kind. There is. I know this. I know that HUMANITY has enormous potential. I know that people can be good, decent, kind, noble, loyal, honest, and so on. Can. But they don't want to. For the most part. They also laugh at them afterwards, like, look what a sucker. Which is sad.

I don'T shit on people or humanity, I can shit on the ALLIANCE OF SYSTEMS. But it's just sinful not to shit on him. If you think otherwise, first deal with yourself and your thoughts. I write what I think without any hidden meanings or pitfalls. I'm warning you right away.

About the Ghost and Cerberus

There's a pancake...

The ghost is still a pretentious and arrogant jerk, IMHO! To have SUCH an organization, SUCH opportunities, and so it's all fucked up... sorry, it's impractical to use...

It is not necessary to say the very words that Cerberus can be destroyed. It gives me the creeps to imagine how many problems these gonds have... Um, offended high-class specialists can arrange. The reapers will be touched and surprised, looking at the pictures of destruction.

The second MOST favorite stumbling block.

About xenos, xenophobia and xenophilia

For those who did not notice or did not pay attention, or simply did not understand, I will write that GG — Imrir Shepard is a hitman (reborn), she is a metamorph. In other words, he's not a fucking human anymore. She DOESN'T HAVE to love people and write with delight at the sight of her beloved humanity (and she was originally born a human being).

The girl has common sense and quite adequately assesses the prospects of meeting with her native race, and specifically with Cerberus. Since she's far from stupid, she doesn't have the slightest desire to be on the laboratory table. And you'll never prove to me that she won't be there if the truth about her features comes out.

As a metamorph with the ability to transform into anything, as an intelligent being who was reborn not only into humans, the concept of "race" had long since lost its meaning for her. For her, EVERYONE IS XENOS! And people too.

The logical conclusion follows from this: she is deeply indifferent to the race of her friends and lovers. Only one criterion is important — personal qualities. Accordingly, the concepts of "xenophobia" and "xenophilia" in relation to this character are incorrect.

And yes, personally, I (the author) don't like people very much, and I don't care who has what kind of face if I like the character.

Farther.

About the universe and the canon

The AU warning, I believe, clarifies this question, but I'll add it anyway.

I'm writing a fanfiction based on the Mass Effect. I rely on canonical events, while maintaining a VISIBLE correspondence to this canon, i.e., when viewed from the outside, there are no differences from the world described in ME1. I repeat, for those who are used to not noticing the text when reading: A VISIBLE MATCH! In the first chapter, in the words of GG, I describe how the embodied reality develops and according to what laws. Read carefully, or better yet, don't read at all.

I do not pretend to write fiction with "rivets" (as they tried to prove to me), I am not going to make "a realistic book that describes the universe of ME as it should be." Everyone has their own understanding of what this reality should be. I have this. Kind of like everything. If I remember anything, I'll add it.

If you are not repelled by the whole cart written above, have fun reading =)

Rebirth: The Mass Effect

Part 1: Under the Shadow of the Lord

Chapter 1: Hello, new incarnation!

The woman standing at the viewing screen suddenly screamed thinly and sank to the floor, writhing in short convulsions. His eyes rolled back in his head, his hands scrabbled on the metal floor, and wheezing and squawking came out of his throat.

When she was found by two soldiers from the landing group, the woman was sleeping peacefully on the cabin floor. Attempts to wake her up did not lead to anything.

"Darg, we're taking her to Chakwas, you never know what."

"What if... This one?" The fighter waved his hand vaguely.

"I'll distract him, if anything." Derg picked up the unconscious commander in his arms and carried her to the ship's infirmary.

But the check showed nothing: the commander was perfectly healthy and her indicators were no different from the standard data of a sound sleeper.

The tall man asked softly:

"Doctor, what's wrong with her?"

"Sorry, guys... I don't know." the doctor spread her hands in confusion.

"How is she?"

"The indicators are stable. Commander Shepard is just sleeping."

"Let us know when she wakes up."

"I'll give", The doctor nodded, without taking her eyes off the monitors. "Go ahead. In four hours for verification."

The soldiers abruptly turned around and left the infirmary. The doctor sighed heavily and went back to work, carefully examining the readings taken during the strange attack.

"Well, we ran into it." a powerful man, whom a colleague called Darg, muttered.

"Accept it. I would have called anyway."

Derg looked around the deserted dining room, looked out into the corridor.

"Let's do the emergency stuff."

The fighters quietly piled down the emergency stairs to their squad, and a dark-skinned man in the uniform of a captain of the Alliance of Systems Air Force did not see anyone coming down to the living deck.

* * *

The agony of death still dominated my senses, but gradually the phantom pains subsided and subsided, allowing me to take control of my new body. My instincts and sense of danger were silent: my body was safe and no immediate action was required of me.

There were sensations: I felt odors when I inhaled, a metallic taste on my tongue, stiffness of the couch, tingling in my fingertips. Synchronization has ended. My soul settled into a new place, the connections were restored, the aura began to slowly unfold, recreating layer by layer, and I launched a diagnostic of the body. I need to know who I've been thrown into this time.

I was pleased with the result: the body is female, relatively healthy, human, at the peak of its development. An ideal option for rebuilding. Gradually, as my aura unfolds and I assimilate with my soul, my body will change, acquiring the properties that I have managed to consolidate. Regeneration will be activated first, and the soul will begin to adjust the body to itself. As soon as the inner layers unfold and form, the memory of the recipient whose body I occupied will begin to be absorbed.

Was I sorry for the woman whose existence I had so abruptly ended? Not for a moment! My soul went into rebirth without damage and with a decent supply of energy, so the next birth will be extremely successful and happy — this is my compensation, a kind of payment for the interrupted life. And experience tells me that this woman's life would be... Stormy. Very violent and bloody. It doesn't throw me into other destinies...

The second layer unfolded. The racing thoughts calmed down. My mind has cleared, my psyche has stabilized, as far as the concept of a stable psyche applies to me, and my mind has become clearer. The third layer will take several hours to open and give me power over my body. The fourth will unfold by the end of the day, and with the activation of the fifth, I will begin to absorb information from the host's brain. Means... sleep. A short mental command, and my mind obediently went out, plunging me into sleep.

The unfolding of the layer has completed, awakening consciousness. A feeling of life appeared on the edge of perception, a beating of some powerful energy, and MEMORY unfolded in front of me. The memory of a woman named Imrir Shepard.

Looking through the stingy, partially incomplete memories, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the realization of WHAT embodied reality I was thrown into this time!

The Mass Effect!

I never thought that I would ever be reborn in the embodied reality formed on the egregore of this game! I'm usually thrown into magical or less technically advanced worlds. And here is the first truly developed world, a space civilization and all that, and I had to get into THIS reality! No, well, it's necessary! The Mass Effect...

I don't dispute that I liked the game in some ways, the universe is interesting, the characters are colorful, but there's no fucking desire to live in it! Moreover, there is a female variation of Shepard in the carcass, full of orphans and a hero... No, the Butcher of the ill-fated Torfan! Well, at least I didn't get into the paragon man, the hero of the Alliance, and that's good. But she could have. John and Jane are here.

Can you die while the soul has not yet taken root and you can go to another life without getting a kickback from the lost reality? A short mental order, the heart stops, and hello, a new rebirth. And no Reapers for you!

Just thinking about these creatures and the coming galactic Apocalypse made me feel deeply depressed and longed to escape to the next world. It's better to go back to the zombies! At least they're familiar and they don't bother you.

Stop.

Something got me carried away. The wave of emotions subsided as quickly as it had formed. Unpleasant. I have enough of my own tricks without serious problems with the disfigured psyche of the recipient, which will manifest themselves in such emotional outbursts until I gain full control over the body.

A dull irritation arose.

It was necessary to get into the carcass of a girl with such good mental problems because of an incredibly wonderful childhood on the street, tender youth and service in the army full of kindness and understanding of her neighbors. Have a nice rebirth, Imrir Shepard, and a quiet next life. You deserve it. Well, I'll live this extremely... um, interesting life instead of you.

A wry smile barely curved the corners of his lips.

What was it that my reborn colleague Estus used to say about a hundred-something life? I give this reality a chance to survive, and I will work for the benefit of others only in conditions that are comfortable for me. I will use his advice and example. I will create comfortable conditions for myself, using all the possibilities of a highly developed space civilization. It's worth refreshing my memory of the canon, since I decided not to immediately leave for rebirth and give this reality a chance to develop into a full-fledged self-sufficient universe.

Until my mentalism is restored, I do not have access to the Citadel of Memory and the information stored in it, but I have retained some common memory, despite the passage of time and the shocks I have experienced. My attempts to recall the plot of the game were partially successful: I only remembered the first part of the trilogy well, the second part was rather fragmentary, but the third one was safely blurred in my memory into a hodgepodge of fragmentary frames containing only the most vivid plot twists. However, this is enough for the first time. In a month, the aura deployment will be completed, and I will have access to my database of known egregors, which I have so carefully collected from my own memories.

Well, to hell with them, with my memories. Right now, the recipient's memory is more important to me. Judging by what I was displeased to learn, I was VERY lucky, and I got to the very beginning of the Branching of Reality, before the beginning of the canonical events.

Good. What do I have at the moment? And I have an experimental trough of exorbitant value and dubious value, released on the first autonomous flight with Spectr on board, which suddenly joined this poorhouse at the last moment. Why the poorhouse? And what can you call the process of rolling over a new ship if it has only a normal engineering crew on board, and the crew is recruited by a captain from * young and promising military personnel*, in other words, youngsters recently graduated from the Academy? Of the experienced officers on board, only XO Pressley and Dr. Chakwas. Well, Captain Anderson, whose professional aptitude I personally have reasonable doubts about: if memory serves, the brave captain, like my recipient, graduated from the N7 Academy and, before the fateful meeting with Saren, served as commander of an amphibious unit on the frigate Gatling. How Anderson became a captain is the mystery of the chimerologist's journal.

The engineering section of *Normandy* does not cause any complaints: all the specialists are there, recruited personally by chief engineer Adams, thanks to whom this prototype is still flying at all.

The pilot of the prototype is indeed the notorious Jeff "Joker" Moreau. In fact, he is a disabled person with a rare and virtually fatal genetic disease. I can't help but note that he is a really brilliant pilot, but he has a character...

To make matters worse, there is no co-pilot on board! If something happens to the Joker, and this is quite likely, you will have to row with oars. The entire crew.

An outside thought flashed by: I wonder if he was really taken on board the ship thanks to the intercession of the Turian general after he HIJACKED Normandy?

The situation is to hug and cry! But such is the peculiarity of embodied reality, which ALWAYS coincides with the canon of the egregore according to which it was embodied, sometimes even in the strangest and stupidest little things, from which one can only quietly marvel or swear loudly. The question is different. What are the differences in what is not covered by the canon? And what can these differences give me?

The first difference is already pleasing: there is a normal combat landing group of ten snouts on board the Normandy, commanded by my recipient, Commander Imrir Shepard, a twenty-eight-year-old orphan who miraculously escaped from Earth.

I can't say what *Normandy* itself is, because my technical knowledge is lame: rebirths into underdeveloped or magical worlds take their toll. Yes, and Chaos with her, with * Normandy*. Flying is fine. Something else is worse. There was no important information about the Citadel Space and other races in my recipient's red head. Only publicly available information. The interests of this lovely person in relation to other species had only one, extremely narrow side — how they could be most effectively killed.

It's annoying. You will have to fill in the information gaps yourself.

Can I really die before it's too late?

The thought of actually running away flashed and disappeared, crushed by burning curiosity. When else will I have the opportunity to go to space? Who knows? And here... here... Well, yes...

I have only three years to live, and I'm guaranteed to die at the end of the story, and more than one. Maybe if you can rock reality properly, you can live longer? No, actually, I was already so sick of these worlds of sword and sorcery with all the dubious charms of the Dark Ages and rampant religiosity that the desire to live at least a little in a civilized society outweighed the risks and future problems. Moreover, this reality can be pushed off the beaten track extremely easily: just do NOTHING and let the unforgettable Saren Arterius begin the Harvest. And what? For me, as a reborn person, the option is the simplest and most convenient. Reality will continue to evolve, and I'll get the buns I'm supposed to get, though not as much as I got for saving this Cycle. But without unnecessary hassle, which, often, is not covered at all by the bonuses received.

We'll see. Will I try to save this Cycle or will I join the main antagonist aboard the Lord, this will show the near future and communication with the local population and key personalities.

My lazy thoughts about the meaning of my current life were interrupted by the rustle of opening doors and barely audible footsteps. Stop lying around, Imrir, it's time to get to know a new world. Fortunately, the upcoming meeting with the Protean lighthouse will allow us to write off many oddities and extensive memory lapses on him, and the status of the Spectrum will allow us to escape from the watchful eye of our superiors.

A smile curved her lips against her will. Imrir! The name was definitely given by people with humor! It's necessary... The Light of Darkness!

And what? I like. I'll keep him, since his real name has not been preserved in memory after the collapse of the first personality.

Blinking in the bright light, I opened my eyes. A soft cry, the rustle of clothes. I carefully propped myself up on my elbows, peering at the ash-haired woman who came up to me. Whatever her name is... Karin Chakvas, trauma surgeon, staff physician in Normandy.

"Commander Shepard!" Karin's voice turned out to be very pleasant, low and full of sincere concern.

"Doctor? What happened? Why am I in the infirmary?"

"Is unknown." The doctor stared intently into my face with intelligent gray eyes. Darg and Dylan brought you to the infirmary after they couldn't wake you up. I found no injuries or abnormalities, as well as traces of sleeping pills.

"That's how..." I nodded slowly. The agony of death, as always, ricocheted through the body. Things happen. "But?"

"But I couldn't wake you up until you woke up yourself."

"Strangely, I feel quite well. Where are we?"

The doctor understood my question quite correctly:

"We've just come out of the repeater and are heading to Eden Prime."

Eden Prime. The key, one might say, the basic point of this reality, which gave rise to the whole story.

At least I was lucky here: I got to the beginning of the canonical events and you can make changes from the very beginning, avoiding unnecessary losses. If she had moved in at the beginning of the third part, she would have immediately gone into rebirth, because it would have been impossible to change anything, since even the Harvest that began on time is the canonical conclusion of the history of the egregor and leads to the collapse of the universe.

As practice has shown, the first distortion is always extremely difficult. Reality does not want to deviate from the *canon*, from the matrix according to which it was embodied. For the first time, I can only change ONE THING, and that's without much chance of success. But just what? WHAT will give me the greatest advantage in the future, regardless of my choice?

If you squeeze out minor and unimportant events, the entire chain consists of only two key points: meeting with the lighthouse and obtaining Spectr status. It's pointless to change it — it won't work anyway. Strangely, proving Saren's betrayal is not an immutable condition, I feel it very clearly.

Is it strange? Maybe... Or maybe not.

Meeting with the lighthouse is clear, it guarantees to attract the attention of Saren Arterius and further hunt for me. After Eden Prime, I'll be his number one enemy.

By the way, why?

Is it really just because of the lighthouse? The information in it is completely useless, and Saren knows it perfectly well. Is there any other reason? Most likely, yes. But which one? What could possibly drive this cold-blooded and practical creature into such a rage and generate such hatred for me? To clarify: to me PERSONALLY.

What's going to happen on Eden Prime?

The death of Jenkins? Saren doesn't care about people. The death of Nihlus? So he'll shoot him himself. Will information about his involvement in the attack come to light? Doubtful. He is a Spectr. In fact, he is a living legend. They'll believe him sooner than they'll believe us, and there won't be any hard evidence. Well, really, don't count the testimony of an amateur smuggler, a psychotic scientist, and a dubious audio recording presented by a Quarian, given that she was boarded up at the embassy, if I remember this moment correctly?

What will ACTUALLY convince the Council of the betrayal of the legendary Spectr?

Good questions, but I don't have the answers.

I'm NOT sure what's really going to happen at Eden Prime. What will make us enemies?

The Lord? Doubtful. To the Reaper, I am nothing at all, and my name is *rudimentary*, one of the countless bugs he has encountered during his existence.

Or is it the death of Nihlus?

Yes, Saren would kill him himself. But... but. A slippery moment. It all depends on whether he shoots of his own free will or under the influence of the Lord. If the first is Kraik's death, it means nothing to him. But if it's the latter... Then I can understand his hatred: Nihlus ended up on Eden Prime because of me. It's a good point of focus. Especially if the Overlord redirects the attention and emotions of the constantly bucking Turian to her.

It is a pity that the canon does not provide answers to these questions.

Farther.

Getting Spectr status as a key point can also be understood: it will give me some autonomy and allow me to direct all my efforts to hunt the antagonist without the command of the Alliance MCF hanging behind my back.

Well yeah.. autonomy. Remember. Shepard, fly over there, Shepard, fly over here, and don't forget your underwear from the laundry and bring a cup of coffee so it doesn't get cold on the way. And bring a bucket of vaseline with a pack of condoms: we'll be there for you... to remember and to remember again. The whole state.

I got carried away again.

Let's return to the analysis of the situation.

Why is it not important to prove Saren's betrayal?

Do they know about him yet? Possible, but doubtful.

Will the information come up in other ways? More than likely. Vakarian conducted the investigation until the protagonist's arrival at the Citadel. This investigation provoked something. He hadn't spent it in a couple of days, which had passed since the attack on the colony and before the ship arrived at the Citadel. Or is it just one of the game world's shoals? I don't know. There's also Tali from that ill-fated recording. Questionable evidence, it should be noted.

Let's go in from the other side.

What does this very proof of Saren's betrayal give me?

After this process, Garrus Vakarian, Tali'Zora and Urdnot Rex can appear in the team, and I get the status of a Spectr, a ship and a dangerous enemy. The status is a fixed point. Am I going to get it under any circumstances? Oddly enough, yes. I'll get an enemy anyway, too.

A ship? I'll get it too.

The team? Op-pa... but they are just an optional result.

If you remember the canon, I can do all the tasks based only on people. In the embodied reality, the same principles apply, only in case of failure, there simply won't be a single alien on board the ship, and they are EXTREMELY important for many plot twists.

Branching reality.

I can go two ways: provoke the Harvest, or follow the canonical path and destroy Saren and the Overlord. This is ACCEPTABLE. And I can also die before the nodal point of reality — the Lazarus project, which is also acceptable, and then another hero will take my place and lead this reality along the beaten path to death from disintegration, and I will go to rebirth without a rollback, but also without the buns that I can get if I fulfill my mission a job.

This is, of course, entertaining, but the answer to the question is *What is so important going to happen on Eden Prime?* does not give.

We must think. And quickly!

"Thank you, Dr. Chakwas. Can I go now?"

"Your condition is stable now." Chakwas replied. "Yes, you can go. But you will come for an examination in the evening."

"Yes, ma'am."

I stood up. I need to get myself in order and report to my immediate superiors that I'm alive and ready to work.

However, I was not given much time, as the intercom informed me that I was expected in the briefing room. Then I'll crawl around the ship, poke my curious nose everywhere, but for now... In the meantime, I'm going to get acquainted with one ambiguous person who died so quickly in the canon. At the same time, I'll decide whether I should fight for his life or not.

I hadn't even reached the stairs when a body bursting with enthusiasm flew up to me and gave me away:

"Commander Shepard! I am so glad to work under your leadership..."

What?

I stared in complete shock at the young soldier with the stripes of a corporal.

So, this is definitely not Alyonka. This... Oh, that...

"Corporal Jenkins, ma'am!" it body confirmed my conclusions.

"Corporal, I'm in command of a full-strength landing team, and you're not part of it." I replied calmly.

"Captain Anderson said that I will participate in the landing with you on Eden Prime! Ma'am!"

What will it be? No, no, no, I don't need that kind of happiness!!! I have a normal landing party!

I'm somewhat disappointed by this prospect... She was taken aback, and the corporal with the meaningful name continued to spill like a potion that had escaped from a cauldron:

"I come from Eden Prime! I can't wait for us to land on the planet! I'm itching for the real deal!"

And my hands itch to bury this miracle in the metal floor of the ship and say that it has always been like this! But the exalted brat with hero syndrome wasn't enough for a combat mission!

As if confirming all my fears, it body gave out:

"I'm sorry, Commander, but I'm going to die from waiting! This is the first time I've had such a task! And the Spectr is on board!"

I already sympathize with the Spectr. And myself, too. I've never seen more of the Spectr in my life. At this rate, I can only see him in the hold before landing!

"The Corporal!" I interrupted Jenkins' verbal diarrhea. "Don't rush to become heroes, do your job, follow orders and there won't be any problems."

"That's easy for you to say, ma'am." the guy got upset. "You've proved yourself on the Torfan. Everyone knows what you are capable of!"

It's good that NO ONE knows what I'm capable of! And it's a good thing I wasn't on that Torfan!

"For me, this is a chance to show my superiors what I'm capable of!" The brave soldier persisted.

You can die stupidly! The corporal opened his mouth to continue talking, and I realized that if he didn't just shut up, I would kill him myself, and the as yet unknown Nihlus Kraik would have to look for another candidate! The Corporal! I was glad to meet you. You can be free. And I pushed aside the stunned body and walked quickly to the command deck.

Chapter 1.2. Speak with Spectr

A tall Turian man was waiting for me in the briefing room. Well hello, Spectr Nihlus Kraik. Let's see what you're like in reality.

I hope this conversation will give me an opportunity to evaluate you and make a decision. I'm going to save your life if Imrir Shepard made a mistake in her assessment, or I'm going to let the story run its course if she was right and you really are the arrogant, frostbitten bastard everyone on the ship thinks you are.

Stopping at the entrance to the hall, I leaned against the wall, carefully studying the Turian standing with his back to me. I have only one opportunity to form an opinion about this reasonable: a short conversation before landing on the ill-fated Eden Prime until Captain Anderson arrives in the briefing room. Let's see what I can learn in that time. Right now, mentalism is not available to me, and I will have to evaluate it the old-fashioned way.

As soon as I started analyzing, the recipient's memory immediately unleashed a wave of negativity and suspicion towards the Spectr, which suddenly found itself on board an experimental ship with some kind of incomprehensible task. In principle, I can understand the girl: Nihlus' appearance is extremely exotic for a person who has never seen a Turian in person, he holds himself with a degree of arrogance and coldness, cutting off any possibility of contact, and the hot-tempered Shepard, following xenophobia and the memory of the recent conflict, openly disliked the powerful stranger, although she observed strict polite neutrality.

What do I know about this man? Nihlus Kraik, a friend or student of my imaginary enemy Saren Arterius. He is practical, cruel, and merciless, although he does not reach Arterius either in cruelty or in this very ruthlessness. He treats people with cautious benevolence. According to him, he nominated my recipient as a candidate to join the Special Corps. He'll die on Eden Prime, shot in the back of the head by Saren.

Or he won't die.

Two intelligent people from my environment will die on this planet: Jenkins and Kraik. The first one catches a shot from a Geth drone, the second one catches the same thing from an admired mentor, whom he trusts infinitely. So limitless that he will turn his back in a militant and frankly alarming situation. Only one person can survive. It's elementary to save Jenkins, it's almost impossible to save Kraik, but their influence on events directly depends on the static fate. Corporal Leeroy Jenkins is a young soldier eager to prove himself and earn fame, heroic, dangerous with his enthusiasm and complete lack of experience. It's completely useless to me. Nihlus Kraik is a Board member with extensive experience and huge connections, my direct supervisor, who will have to prepare me as a full-fledged Spectr. It's not difficult to make a choice if you turn a blind eye to the ethics of such a choice.

I could barely contain my laughter.

Ethics. The moral. Humanity. How quickly it all died in me, once I got into a second life. The caste-based religious patriarchal society quickly showed the naive me the true face of my native race and knocked out the enthusiasm of *hitting*.

It was a cruel lesson, but it was very useful. I stood and stared at the alien's back. He noticed me. I couldn't help but notice. But he didn't turn around, looking at the holographic screen showing a living planet shrouded in a haze of clouds. He waited and gave me the opportunity to start the conversation first.

It's a healthy decision on his part. My recipient is a hot-tempered and somewhat suspicious person, and Nihlus' behavior smacked of arrogance and complete indifference to others, which wildly infuriated Imrir and caused hostility among other crew members. They didn't call him anything but *arrogant freak* on the ship. Funnily enough, Nihlus knew this perfectly well: Turians have surprisingly sensitive hearing, and he simply couldn't help but hear a whisper behind his back.

The restraint of the Spectr commanded respect.

Time is time.

It's time to get to know each other personally.

Detaching myself from the wall, I slowly approached the Turian, stopping a meter and a half away from him, without crossing the boundaries of my personal space. He turned around, bowed his head slightly in greeting. I responded in the same way, frankly surprising the alien, who did not expect anything like this from me.

"Commander Shepard." Nihlus's voice turned out to be low, deep, with a slight metallic tinge and a barely audible vibrating rumble, as if a huge cat was speaking. And why was the recipient so freaked out? A surprisingly pleasant voice. "It's good that you came first. We'll have a chance to talk."

I tilted my head to the side, looking with interest at the man slowly pacing in front of me. That's the first logical, expected difference between the real world and the game that gave rise to it.: no matter how living beings are described in canon history, no matter what appearance they are given, but nature will always do as IT deems necessary, and this rule has never been violated in any embodied reality, even in the craziest. Sometimes the appearance and physiology of living beings differed quite significantly from what was described, observing only a general similarity.

The example was pacing in front of me.

The Turian is a tall, about two meters tall, well-built humanoid. The figure is powerful, but surprisingly slender and flexible. A similar illusion was created by a thin waist, narrow hips and long strong legs, and the peculiarity of a cat's step: without full support on an elongated foot, wide and massive enough to easily support the weight of the body. There were no spikes from the calves. There was not even close to such insanity as in the canon: no disproportionately thin arms and club-footed legs with a tiny foot, an abnormally thin waist, a strange, um, attachment of legs to the hip bone, an incomprehensible hump and a barrel-shaped torso with a huge collar, violating the very concept of the center of gravity in relation to the figure of the unfortunate creature. Nature, unlike expensive game stores, shapes the physiology and appearance of living beings not only rationally and harmoniously, but also in full accordance with their lifestyle and habitat. Turians are predators formed in a world with high gravity and high radiation background. And the whole figure of the creature pacing around the circular room was the epitome of a predator! Aggressive, strong, flexible, agile and fast.

Unlike Imrir, I didn't dislike the Turian's appearance. It's a beautiful view. Predatory. Dangerous. The light grace of a wild beast, the smooth, honed movements of an experienced fighter, economical gestures, and the gaze of unrealistically bright green eyes, looking somewhat wary. The face with a hard cover of dark purple color with bright white patterns of the clan mark is moderately expressive. The harmony of the face and body perfectly fits the definition of *beautiful* and therefore for me the Turian did not get into the category of *freak*.

"We can talk." I easily agree. There is wariness and distrust in the green eyes. Nihlus understood and felt the crew's attitude to himself perfectly. And my recipient didn't really hide her dislike. Don't mind? The mandibles twitched nervously.

Reality wavered. A minor digression. The beginning of the stratification of the chain of events. The first sign of a Change and rejection of the Branch of reality reflected from the main tree of reality embodied. The history of such a universe does not like digressions... she will try to return events to the programmed course. Let's see what I can change in between the key points that can't be changed at all.

"No. Talking to an intelligent interlocutor is a pleasure that has been so rare lately. Especially if the topic does not affect the service."

The spectr understood my irony. He bowed his head slightly.

"You weren't like that the last time we talked... Friendly, Commander."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Status and environment oblige. Who better to know this than you?" The man nodded, accepting this explanation and an unspoken apology for my recipient's behavior. The green eyes stared intently, hard and thoughtful.

That's wonderful. Listening to pretentious nonsense that the Spectrum itself doesn't believe in... why? It is much more useful to listen to what he is interested in, to find out his true motives and thoughts. Let's see HOW he opens up during this short conversation.

"What brings you aboard the Normandy, Spectr? No need to tell tales about testing a stealth system."

"You've already figured it out." — not a question, but a simple statement of fact.

"I hope I'm not stupid."

"Don't take my words as an insult." The Turian waved his hand in alarm.

Four-fingered. Another difference between a living being and an image created by the imagination of people. The Turian had four fingers on his hands, which, in principle, is logical from the point of view of banal physiology.

"I won't count it. And yet, Nihlus, what brings you to *Normandy*?" Anderson, who entered the round room, saved himself from having to answer a slippery question. With the man's first words, the story returned to its original tracks. I listened to him with half an ear, carefully watching the Turian standing next to me, forming his image. My eyes involuntarily clung to the little things that were so insignificant at first glance: small reflex gestures, the way he moved, the timbre of his voice, the fleur of his emotions that I vaguely felt, the expression of his surprisingly green eyes.

Anderson started talking about the mission to Eden Prime. Nihlus immediately tensed up. Her mandibles were pressed tightly against her cheeks, and her eyes were alert. Waiting for my reaction?

"What needs to be removed from the planet?" I asked calmly.

The captain answered me:

"During the excavations at Eden Prime, scientists found some kind of device. A Prothean beacon, I suppose."

I chuckled.

"How can you be sure that this is a lighthouse and not something else?"

The captain had no answer to this question, and he hesitated, not knowing what to say. The Turian's gaze turned puzzled. I was frankly falling out of the image that Spectr had managed to form during my time on board the ship, and this could not help but attract his attention.

Smart and observant. Good.

"Let's say it's a lighthouse, and let's say it's a Prothean." I watched the slightest expression of emotion on the Turian's face, trying to understand his reaction, which was greatly hampered by Imrir's complete lack of knowledge of facial expressions characteristic of this race.

"I understand your desire to get him off Eden Prime. As far as I know, there is no way to study such devices on this planet. Am I right in my assumptions?"

Anderson and Nihlus nodded simultaneously.

"Correct me if I'm wrong about anything. An artifact has been found on the planet that has remained operational. If it had been non-operational, there would have been no such hype." approval flashed in his green eyes for a split second, an echo of which I could catch with empathy that had just begun to show itself. "Presumably, it is a Prothean beacon with great potential value for all races living in Citadel Space. Since there is no way to examine the device or ensure its safety on Eden Prime, it was decided to take it out. I'll assume to the Citadel, from where he will go to the scientific laboratory, again presumably the Azarian one."

Nihlus nodded. Anderson said nothing, eyeing me suspiciously with a hard stare. He also noticed the oddities in my behavior, since he had the opportunity to communicate with my recipient. But how well did he know this charming scumbag? I'll find out in time, but for now, let's continue this entertaining conversation:

"With some doubts and a lot of assumptions, I can even believe that transporting a lighthouse is reason enough for one of the Council's most respected and well-known Spectr's to waste so much personal time."

Only a deaf person would not have heard the irony in my voice. Nihlus spread his mandibles in a slight smile, eerily similar to a carnivorous grin.

"You're perceptive, Commander Shepard."

"As I said before, I dare say I'm not stupid." My grin only made the Turian smile wider, revealing a palisade of sharp, wedge-shaped fangs. "So what is the REAL reason for your attention, Specter?"

"I want to see you in action, Shepard." He answered me, cocking his head slightly to one side.

"Is curiosity idle or has a practical interest?" I asked, stopping Anderson from making a pretentious speech about the Alliance.

Nihlus noticed my maneuver and grinned.

"Quite practical."

"And what do you want to evaluate?"

"I have put forward your candidacy for the Spectr." the Turian kindly explained to me. "I want to evaluate you as a possible Special Corpus operative."

I chuckled, casting an ironic glance at the captain. The story has a peculiar humor. Eighteen years ago, the legendary Spectre Saren Arterius evaluated the candidate for Spectra from humanity, David Anderson, and, as a result, he failed. Now his student, Nihlus Kraik, is evaluating the protege of the failed candidate. Me. It's symbolic what to say here.

"I don't even know... should I be pleased with the honor, or should I be outraged that I was confronted with the fact?" The Turian understood me quite correctly, his green eyes glittering with hidden amusement. He enjoyed this conversation, a kind of ritual of introducing two predators. I think I'll choose the third one, and I'll say that I'll be glad to work with you, Nihlus Kraik, regardless of the decision you make later.

He nodded slightly. Wow, he understands hints instantly, and the Turian is quite friendly with humor. Good. No, it's a good thing he's not the arrogant, pretentious jerk Imrir thought he was.

My recipient made a mistake in her assessment, mistaking the outward manifestations of strict self-control and a long-tested mask for the true character of a representative of an alien race. She wasn't paying attention, she wasn't listening, she wasn't looking. A common mistake.

Our sweet conversation, which gave us both some fanatical pleasure, was interrupted by the excited voice of the pilot, who announced the reception of the signal.

The story is back on track. I calmly watched a short video that was transmitted to us by fighters from the surface of the planet. Nothing unexpected: a shootout with the Geth, the death of fighters, the Lord in the sky. Expected. Anderson stared intently at the screen. Nihlus squinted at me, more interested in my reaction than in the image. The green eyes only flickered once at the screen when the Reaper appeared on it. And they returned almost instantly. Meeting my gaze, the Turian shook his head slightly. I raised an eyebrow. In response, a questioning urk. Like a cat, what a word! My serene smile colored his gaze with concern.

Well, well... And Kraik is well versed in human facial expressions.

"Report the situation." Anderson ordered, looking at the frozen image of the landing Lord on the screen.

"Seventeen minutes, flight is normal, Captain." The Joker immediately responded. "There are no other Alliance ships in the area."

"Go ahead, Joker. Fast and quiet. The task has just become very complicated."

I could barely hold back a sad sigh: well, why say the obvious? I thought it was only in the canon... Funny talk, but no, he actually says that. Is he really a pretentious paragon? Doubtful... But it looks like it.

Anderson shifted his gaze to Nihlus. The Turian twitched his mandibles and answered the unasked question:

"A small strike group can move out quickly and take the lighthouse without attracting attention."

"Prepare to disembark."

Nihlus turned around and walked to the exit of the briefing room. And then the captain gave out:

"Commander, tell Alenko and Jenkins to be ready."

I almost choked on my breath. What?! Okay, there was no one on the ship in the canon, but my recipient's combat team is on the real Normandy, and I'm being sent to the planet in the company of a newly graduated cadet and a staff lieutenant! Don't you understand? Canon is canon, but where are the brains?

"Sir, what about my landing party?"

Anderson twitched his cheek in displeasure. Nihlus stopped before reaching the door, but did not turn around.

"Your group will have other tasks."

The Spectre shook his head and silently left the room. Really, what can I say?

Anderson sounded the alert, and I left to prepare for the landing. To sum up our conversation, I'm interested in Nihlus Kraik, and I don't want to see him dead on that ill-fated spaceport.

His behavior and involuntary habits give us hope that we can work together. The Turian is a predator, his reactions and habits are completely consistent with his nature. A predator will never recognize a game as equal. Just another predator. It's an instinct. Game can be deadly and treacherous, it can inspire respect and positive emotions, it can receive patronage and protection, but it will never become someone equal. In our short conversation, I made my status clear: I was just as much a predator as he was. The words served only as an outer shell. Like me, Nihlus assessed my movements, habits, small unconscious gestures, manner of conversation, attitude towards others. He was surprised and puzzled. The current me was different from the original Shepard, and Nihlus Kraik understood this perfectly.

The decision has been made.

I will do EVERYTHING to change one single event: the demise of the Nihlus Krayk Spectr. Unfortunately, this particular change has a very slim chance of success, since it will take place without my direct participation. The Spectr can only change its fate by itself. I can only warn him.

The recipient's memory was fully assimilated, and therefore the preparation did not take long, and eight minutes later I was already standing in the hold and looking longingly at the two soldiers of my squad. Alenko and Jenkins. And I listened to Captain Anderson, who was broadcasting:

"Your squad is the muscular strength of the operation! Break through to the excavation site."

There are no words, only expressions left. The muscular strength of the operation... Then who are the brains? Is the Spectr stunned by this circus?

By the way, where is he?

I turned my head, catching the wistful gaze of Nihlus, standing by the all-terrain vehicle and absently twirling a powerful pistol in his hands. Apparently, there was something similar on my face, as he barely noticeably shook his head and slightly spread his mandibles.

"What to do with the survivors?" Kayden asked.

"Helping the survivors is a secondary task. Your main goal is the lighthouse."

The speakers clicked, and the Joker's voice said:

"We go to point one."

The Spectre came up, stopping a couple of meters away from me.

"Nihlus? Are you coming with us?" Jenkins asked happily.

The man shuddered at the prospect, and he replied sharply:

"No. I move faster alone."

Did the brave corporal have time to talk to him too?

Anderson thought about it and decided to enlighten us:

"Nihlus will go ahead for exploration. He will inform you about the situation. Otherwise, please keep quiet on the air."

Uh-huh. Great. That is, if I want to warn my mentor about something, in fact, will I need to violate a direct order and go on the air? Amazing! The Spectr itself only closed its eyes wearily at this statement and pressed its mandibles tightly to its cheeks. I got it too.

The ship shook, and I stepped back a little, approaching the Turian, and said softly:

"Nihlus, may I ask for some... a promise."

Spektr blinked in surprise at this question and looked at me in disbelief. He was the only one who heard my words: the Turians' hearing is very sharp, and he easily heard my almost silent whisper. He hesitated for a few moments, but curiosity overcame his doubts, and he answered just as quietly:

"You can."

"Swear to me that you will NOT turn your back on an armed sentient." The green eyes widened in surprise. "Especially if you know this reasonable person perfectly well and trust him infinitely."

My cold voice and gaze made him flinch.

"Do you know something?" The officialdom is thrown aside. It wasn't Commander Shepard and Spectre Kraik who were talking here and now, but two fighters preparing to land.

"Intuition." a hard look of green eyes in response. "FOR PEOPLE LIKE US, it is very developed. Mine is RARELY wrong."

The Turian blinked. He thought about it. He didn't brush it off, but took it into account, glaring at me suspiciously.

And finally, a slow response.

"I'll do my best." and not a shadow of irony.

"Nihlus." The man tilted his head questioningly. "If you die, I'll kill you."

A soft, vibrating chuckle, and the Spectr moved away to the descending ramp.

Chapter 2: Eden Prime: Losses

The crimson colors of the sunset flooded the silent world with blood. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, blinding sensitive eyes, and it smelled acutely of smoke and burning. A tall building in the distance smelled of heavy smoke from a fire. The trees rustled softly, the dry soil creaked under the soles. A heavy, oppressive picture.

Alenko shivered.

"It smells of smoke and death." The fighter's quiet, hoarse voice sounded organic in the atmosphere of a world drowning in sunset.

I nodded silently, lowering my visor. The sniper rifle clicked softly, coming into firing position. I don't like rushing headlong into the unknown. I may remember the canon, but my knowledge has already been blurred by time, and I cannot guarantee its absolute accuracy. Embodied reality is not a game. Minor changes that do not affect the key chain of events are quite normal and can easily cost me my life.

"Let's go."

The fighters followed me, looking warily around, only Alenko muttered softly: *Damn!*, plunging into a murky greenish slush. Nihlus landed a little earlier. I really hope that he interprets my warning correctly, and I won't find him on that ill-fated spaceport in a pool of blood and with his head smashed open. That would be extremely insulting and annoying. He can be too useful in the future. Anyway, he's interesting. It would be a pity if he died because of absolute trust.

Alenko grumbled, trying to wipe the smelly green stuff off his shoes. That's how he managed not to notice this huge puddle? And I was hoping that the real Kayden was at least a little different from his canonical image. Right now! A pretty face with an eternally wistful expression and universal sorrow in brown eyes, caused only a desire to slap a good one on the back of the head so that he could think faster and stop slowing down. He seems to be a handsome man, but... Let's see what kind of fighter and biotic he is. I hope he doesn't disappoint me completely.

"Alenko, finish cleaning and be careful."

Kayden lowered his head in embarrassment, carefully wiping his shoe. Shame on him, asshole. Well, you have to look at your feet! What if there was something more serious? Is there a mine, toxic stuff, or something else equally kind? I would like to throw it into ancient tombs, in which traps are set under every convenient cobblestone. I would have learned quickly not to click himself beak. If he had survived the first day and the first kilometer.

And the demons were with him, with Kayden. I went forward, motioning for the fighters to follow me. We found the first bodies on a rock very close to the landing point: black, burnt to slag, they lay losing their greasy ashes in the gusts of wind. Alenko shuddered.

"What happened here?"

"We'll find out soon enough." catching the fighter's gaze, I dryly retorted: "Stop being hysterical! It's like seeing a corpse for the first time!"

Kayden looked down and shut up, and I walked slowly forward. A little further on, there are more bodies scattered along the road. The same burnt ones, crumbling into pieces of ashes and more smoldering coals.

A barely audible whistling sound made me abruptly raise my clenched fist. The soldiers froze, listening to the whistling of the wind. Was it just my imagination? It shouldn't be... There are three Geth drones out there somewhere. I pointed my fingers at my eyes and waved my hand. Jenkins nodded, examined the bushes and trees, cautiously stepped out onto the road and... slowly stomped towards the cobblestone chosen as a shelter.

I wanted to give a kick to speed up.

The drones appeared unexpectedly, emerging from behind a large rock. There was a short burst of blue pulses, and Jenkins, with a muffled cry, collapsed onto the road.

The sniper rifle jerked in his hands, and the drone fell to the ground, sparking and smoking. The subtle beep of reloading, catching the next one in the sights, firing. Alenko took off the last one.

Damn it! Three flying things and immediately — a corpse on the ground! That's how you could put yourself up like that? Lowering my weapon, I cautiously approached the fighter's body. Is dead. And here's the reason: I forgot to turn on the kinetic shield. Once again, inattention and clumsiness caused a stupid death...

A confused Alenko stopped nearby.

"Jenkins..."

"He's dead! Alenko, take cover!" I growled, hiding behind a rock.

"But Jenkins!" the biotic pointed to the corpse, as if I hadn't just made sure there was no pulse.

"In! Shelter!"

Alenko nodded curtly, frowning at me. What did you expect, I'm going to be hysterical and upset? Just the case! Jenkins, somewhere in the depths of my callous soul, was still a pity. A little bit. A self-confident, enthusiastic young guy whose life was so stupidly cut short at the very beginning. I remember him bragging to Dr. Chakwas. Unfortunately, such people are the first to die. It's good if you're alone, without dragging everyone else down with you.

I moved forward, moving from stone to stone. These drones are not the only ones here.

The connection clicked softly and Nihlus reported:

"Shepard, there are several burnt-out buildings and a lo-ot of corpses." A vibrating voice stretched it out *a lot*, letting me appreciate the scale of the tragedy. "I'll try to scout out the situation and meet you at the excavation site."

"Don't you remember what you said before we landed?" I asked quietly.

A short pause and a muffled reply:

"I remember."

"Don't disappoint me, Nihlus. I don't want to find your body. Jenkins is enough for me."

"Died?"

"He died. Try not to add to our losses."

The connection is gone. Alenko looked at me strangely, but, thank all the gods of this reality, if they are here, he did not comment in any way.

"Be careful! Alenko! These drones are not the only ones here!"

The fighter shuddered, tightened his grip on the rifle and slowly walked forward.

"And move!"

The biotic shuddered and stomped faster.

I walked a little to the side, peering into the rustling foliage, at the massive tree trunks, at the boulders. The drones attacked twice more, but now, knowing what to expect, they were easily killed. Only Kayden had taken a couple of shots in the shoulder, and now, hissing obscenities, he was treating his wounds with panacelin, trying not to meet my eyes. Shame on the parasite!

How can you be so clumsy? I wish I had a migraine, but no...

Shots rang out ahead. Kayden jumped up and grabbed his weapon.

"Finish the dressing. I'll check it out."

The fighter nodded and returned to the treatment, and I climbed up a small hill and peered through the scope, peering into a rather vast valley stretching along steep hills to the excavation site, whose lamps dispersed the sunset twilight with bright arrows of white light.

Gunshots and the already familiar drone whistle sounded closer, a woman in gray-steel armor jumped out from behind the rocks, slipped, caught a shot in the back, absorbed by the bluish film of the shield. Ashley Williams. A short thrust of the butt into the shoulder, the drone somersaulted in the air and crashed to the ground. Ashley rolled head over heels behind a rock, removing the last one and catching another shot. There were no storyline getaways, but there was a body on a spike behind a huge stone, and more than one, fortunately, it was still fresh, and you didn't have to wait for husk's from here for another couple of hours.

I examined the area carefully. There are no enemies. No drones, no Geth, no Husk's that are still maturing. Grabbing my rifle, I slid down the slope and went to Ashley, standing behind a large rock so as not to run into a stray shot.

The woman noticed me.

"Thanks for the help." she gasped, getting to her feet. "I couldn't even hope to survive."

"Don't thank me."

I left the end of the sentence unsaid. Why upset her and tell her that we didn't come to rescue her, but to carry out a very specific task: to pick up a lighthouse from the planet. It did not include saving people. Will you be able to save someone on the way? Good. It won't work... Well, we're not a rescue service. Although, I think Kayden won't understand or approve of such an attitude.

"Who are you?"

"Sergeant Ashley Williams," the woman replied clearly, giving a short salute. "Platoon 212."

Well, at least she didn't stand at attention and didn't come out from behind the shelter. And that's good.

"Commander Imrir Shepard," I said. "She arrived on the frigate of the Alliance Air Force Normandy."

Behind him, pebbles began to fall from the slope. I spun around, raising the rifle, and clung to the scope, but quickly lowered it: Kayden, having finished bandaging, was coming down to us, holding the assault rifle with one hand.

"Lieutenant Kayden Alenko." I introduced the clumsy one.

I stood up, but I didn't put the rifle away in a non-combat position. Imrir was good at handling this type of weapon, but I got some of her skills, and the weapon was pleasantly soothing. Of course, the skill would have to be honed, and I even knew who would help me in this good deed. In the future.

Ashley greeted Kayden briefly, quickly introducing herself to him.

"What happened here, Sergeant?"

The woman sighed wearily.

"We missed the start of the attack, ma'am. Our squad was patrolling the perimeter when the attack began. We tried to send a distress signal, but the enemies were jamming the communication."

"We have received your signal. Where are the rest of your squad?"

"They died. We tried to return to the lighthouse, but were ambushed."

"Who attacked you?"

"The Geth, ma'am."

"The Geth have not been seen outside the Veil for almost two hundred years!" Kayden exclaimed. "What are they doing here?"

"I guess they came for the lighthouse." I replied. "I don't think there was anything more valuable on Eden Prime than a functioning Prothean device."

"That's quite possible, ma'am. Excavations were carried out here to build a railway and expand the colony. A few weeks ago, workers dug up the Prothean ruins." Ashley grimaced. "And suddenly the whole colony seemed to be obsessed with this lighthouse. We were sent to guard him."

"Was he working?"

"As far as I know, yes. I don't know much about it myself, but one of the scientists said it could be the greatest discovery of the century."

"We need to pick up the lighthouse. Sergeant, take us to the excavation site."

"That's right, ma'am."

That's the good thing about Ashley, so it's not the habit of arguing with the commander. Is it said to spend? That means he will. And why, it was none of her business. Although his eyes twinkled with curiosity. I didn't have to go far.

After half a kilometer, we came to a small lowland, a little further than which, behind piles of cobblestones and fragments of rocks, the excavation site and the Geth scurrying through it, beautifully illuminated by numerous searchlights, could be seen. At this distance, even the optics of the rifle did not allow me to examine the synthetics in more detail, but, sensibly reasoning that I could easily examine their broken platforms in all details, I pressed the trigger. The Geth, hiding behind a rock, somersaulted from the impact of a heavy bullet and sank to the ground. The creatures got nervous, scattering into hiding, and I shot them down steadily and methodically, preventing them from leaning out and approaching the range of fire, fortunately, these Geth did not carry sniper weapons.

Of course, they didn't have any canonical light bulb in their heads. A complex optical system took its place, which is quite logical.

Kayden's attempts to rush into battle were cut short by a short mat and Ashley's hand, which pulled him behind cover. Shots slammed into the stone, where his evil head had been a moment ago, knocking out fountains of stone chips.

"Alenko!" I looked up from the optics and shook my head reproachfully.

Alenko just cringed guiltily and lowered his eyes.

"Check it out."

Ashley and Kayden turned to the right, skirting a wide stone disk in an arc, hiding behind huge boulders. Shots rang out, and the geth screamed thinly. I must have really missed someone.

"Clear." Ashley's back.

I put the rifle away and came out of hiding. The ancient ruins spread out before me in all their glory... It sounds like it! In fact, all I saw was a shallow excavation with an excavated massive double disc of yellowish stone and a pair of collapsed columns, whose purpose will remain lost in the darkness of history. The lighthouse, tellingly, is missing.

"As I understand it, the lighthouse was here?" I nodded at the playground.

Ashley nodded:

"Yes, it was dug up here. Apparently, they've already rescheduled it."

"Who! Ours or the Geth?" Kayden asked.

"It's hard to say." The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Let's check out the research camp and maybe find out more."

"Do you think anyone survived?" he asked.

Ashley shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe they survived if they hid. The camp is over there."

The woman waved her hand, pointing to the hill at the base of which the lighthouse was found.

The connection clicked.

"Plans are changing, Shepard." Nihlus' low voice sounded tense. "There is a small spaceport here. I'll check it out. I'll be waiting there."

I didn't answer, looking around the neighborhood: the decision has been made, and my words are unlikely to change it.

I didn't find anything interesting. The tripods I already knew with the bodies of people strung on spikes stood in disarray along the ruins, but the rebuilding process had just begun and was not outwardly noticeable, although I could see the limbs of the definitely dead people twitching slightly.

"To string on a stake ... Instead of shooting him... Shouldn't that make sense?" Ashley whispered, looking away.

"They intimidate as." Kayden muttered.

I turned over the Geth corpse and shook my head.

"These are synthetics, Kayden. They act from the point of view of cold logic, but not emotions. They can't bully. They just don't know what it is. It makes some kind of sense. Rational."

Geth stared up at the bloody skies. A massive humanoid creature with an elongated metal head, light black armor covering the sternum, shoulders, partially legs, and three-fingered hands. Geth's flesh was dark, almost black, as if twisted from tourniquets and pseudo-muscles, faintly glowing with bluish lights that slowly but surely went out.

"An interesting creature." I stood up abruptly. "Let's check out the research camp. And try not to expose yourself."

A well-trodden path led to the camp, winding along the very edge of a steep rocky hill. It's wide enough to walk comfortably, but not wide enough for even a small military vehicle to pass through. The path wound between hefty boulders, hiding the town ahead.

Unlike the game world, the camp turned out to be quite large: about a dozen modular buildings, a small warehouse and an airstrip, now littered with bodies and bristling with a palisade of Geth stakes. Some of the train houses were smoking greasy smoke, in some places the flames of a dying fire were still visible, charred bodies of humans and Geth lay on the ground in the craters of the explosions. A small military truck was burning down peacefully at the edge of the road to the spaceport.

A soft rustle sounded a little to the side of us. Kayden flinched and spun around.

"My mother! What is it?"

I turned around, peeking out from behind the stone. As I watched, the spikes folded, retracting into the support, and the body, which had previously hung limply on the stake, convulsively moved.

"It's a husk!" Ashley whispered, raising the shotgun.

This creature looked like a dead zombie, raised by a half-educated necromancer who had screwed up during the formation of the ritual. The shrunken skin split, exposing bluish muscles intertwined with strange growths, blue lights of implants and metal parts glittered through the altered flesh, glowing eyepieces instead of eyes. It's disgusting! But this is an extremely dangerous abomination!

"He's still alive!"

"Kayden!" I couldn't resist cursing. "SHOOT!"

The short-lived battle with the Husk's has put the last points in the situation on Eden Prime. Now even the stubborn Alenko did not ask stupid questions, looking at the bodies hanging on pins. His attempt to shoot them was stopped by a short phrase:

"They're already dead. It's useless to shoot until the transformation is over."

The biotic lowered his head, nodded briefly, slightly shrugging his shoulders. His emotions were so strong that I could feel them even at the initial stage of empathy development: fear and disgust.

He was impressed by the husk's.

Unpleasant creatures, no doubt, but nothing more. They don't have long-range weapons, they have speed... significantly exceeds the speed of a human. They are agile. They are very strong physically. Extremely dangerous at close range. Wounds to the body and neck are treated indifferently. A headshot kills you outright. Hitting other parts of the body doesn't even slow it down. Ordinary, unremarkable zombies, except that they don't try to eat and they can't stand the infection. And they don't stink. Nothing special. There are hundreds of such items in ancient burial grounds of varying degrees of contamination.

I wonder if the creation of husk's is a Geth technology, or did the Sovereyn share it out of the kindness of his heart? We should ask Saren if possible, we'll have at least a couple of interesting conversations anyway.

While Kayden was meditating on a high-tech zombie, Ashley wasted no time checking the surviving houses.

"Commander! The security system is enabled here!" The fighter waved her hand, pointing to one of the modular buildings.

"Crack it."

Ashley nodded, bent over the lock plate, and I noticed the golden sheen of the instrument. The lock gave up quickly, with a slightly muffled squeak. The doors opened.

"Commander, there are survivors!"

With a short shout, I brought Alenko back to reality and entered the modular house. Two scientists, a man and a woman, huddled fearfully in a dark room. People sincerely thanked us, glancing fearfully at the street, which was slowly being flooded by the coming darkness. It will be dark soon.

"I know you! You're Dr. Warren!" Ashley roused herself. "You led the research!"

The woman nodded. Tall, thin, with short dark red hair, she was perfectly in control of herself, unlike the hysterically terrified man huddled against the wall.

"What happened to the lighthouse?" I asked.

"He was transferred to the spaceport yesterday. We stayed behind to help break up the camp."

The Doctor sobbed, but quickly pulled herself together.

"Excuse me."

"What can you tell us?"

The scientists could tell us a little. A strange ship in the sky, an unexpected attack, the death of the soldiers protecting them, husk's. A small End of the World in a separate world. Dr. Manuel was whimpering softly, huddled against the wall, staring at me with a half-crazed look. The poor guy's world cracked and couldn't come together. Ashley looked at the man sympathetically, Alenko — disgustedly.

But in vain. Crazy people sometimes see a lot more... Insanity did not make them blind and deaf, nor did it reduce their mental acuity and powers of observation.

"Tell me," I asked cautiously, turning on the recording. "Have you seen a Turian here?"

"I saw it!" The man suddenly said with fanaticism in his voice. "He is a Prophet! Leading our enemies into battle!"

Either I don't understand something, or this psycho saw Saren.

"It's impossible! Nihlus was with us on board the Normandy!" Kayden was quite reasonably indignant. "He couldn't have attacked!"

Dr. Warren looked confused.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Manuel is a little bit... I'm not himself." The woman said guiltily. "We didn't see the Turian."

"Perhaps YOU haven't seen it." I caught Manuel's eye. "Doctor, tell me, did you really see a Turian?"

"Yes! A prophet in white armor! I saw him!"

"But..." Kayden blinked in surprise. "Nihlus has black armor."

"Apparently, he's not the only Turian on this planet." I said grimly. "Ashley, do you know if there were any Turians in the colony?"

"No, ma'am. There were no aliens on the planet." Williams said proudly.

"It's interesting..." I muttered, switching on the comm. "Nihlus?!"

"Shepard?" the answer came immediately.

"We found the survivors in the research camp. Dr. Manuel says he saw a Turian in white armor, as he put it, *leading our enemies into battle*."

I tactfully kept silent about the doctor's mental state. Moreover, he is right.

The pause dragged on, and an icy wave of apprehension swept down my spine.

"I understood." Nihlus answered briefly and somehow lifelessly.

The connection abruptly disappeared.

"Holy shit... It can't be!"

"Doctor, you'd better stay here. The area has been cleared and will be practically safe for another couple of hours until the morphing of the huskies ends."

The Doctor nodded.

"Ashley, take us to the spaceport. Quickly!"

After saying goodbye to the scientists, we left the cabin. The lock turned purple, switching back to the *locked* position.

"Commander, do you really believe this madman?" Kayden asked quietly.

I didn't even slow down.

"Yeas. I believe that Manuel really saw the Turian. But who is he? Where did Eden Prime come from? And what is he doing here with the Geth? Ashley, where should I go?"

"Here. It's very close here!"

It took us about fifteen minutes to get to the spaceport. On the way, we only met a couple of Geth and a lone Husk. Behind the trees, buildings and a small take-off pad appeared, and the two-kilometer-long giant of the Soveren, almost black in the setting sun.

Alenko swore under his breath, staring at the huge ship.

"What is it?"

"A ship, of course." I muttered, looking at the Reaper wrapped in scarlet lightning.

The launching Soveren hummed and howled, blotting out the sky with its massive bulk. If he left, it means that Saren has already visited the lighthouse, and Nihlus... Damn, the way he said *I got it* still makes my skin crawl!

"Faster!"

The Soveren folded his paws and disappeared into the bloody sky, and we ran down to the spaceport.

"Kayden, look around the houses. Ashley, cover him."

"Commander!"

"NOW!"

"Yes, ma'am."

Throwing a grenade at the rising husk, I shot the geth who emerged from behind the box, flying out onto the spaceport platform. Quick inspection. The assault rifle in his hands fired a short burst, cutting off two synthetics. A grenade exploded somewhere to the side. I turned behind a massive container and gasped for air. Nihlus Kraik lay on the light gray slab of the runway in a pool of dark blue blood.

Interludia: The last straw

The wind rustled softly, whipping up sand and fine gray dust from the spaceport slabs, and a fire crackled: a small modular house was burning down nearby. The Ruler, wrapped in scarlet discharges of energy, hummed habitually, looming like a black shadow in the sky. The passive influence of the Reaper weighed on the mind, causing aching pain in the temples. A familiar one. It was familiar, as was the constant invisible presence of the ancient being with whom chance had brought him eighteen years ago.

The tall Turian closed his glowing eyes, twitched his mandibles in mute irritation: the dry air tickled his throat, the artificial lung, as always, did not provide enough oxygen and it was difficult to breathe. The old, never-healing wounds from the implants rejected by the body ached steadily, the familiar tickle of regeneration: nanites worked, patching up a failing organism. Saren paced around the small spaceport, waiting for the Geth to finish their work and leave this planet. One more step towards his goal, which remains illusory. No matter what he did, everything depended not on him, but on the creature hanging in the air, which he had long ago mistaken for an ordinary, albeit ancient ship.

His hands clenched into fists.

Once again, there were doubts about the correctness of the choice made. Subjugating and branding a traitor for the promise of an ancient being who has claimed more lives than he can imagine.

Is it worth it?

He shook his head irritably, dismissing his doubts.

Freedom, reputation, honor, life... decay, a meager price to pay for the chance of survival for his kind.

"Saren?"

A confused voice, full of immense amazement, came from behind. A native voice, familiar to the last overtone and shade of intonation. A voice that he couldn't, shouldn't, hear here! Saren turned slowly, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

"Nihlus."

A name that sounded like a sentence. His thoughts raced through his mind like an alarmed flock, his heart began to pound sharply, and his hands trembled slightly.

Nihlus. What are you doing here? Why... HOW did you end up on this planet? Why now? Why didn't you come at least a couple of hours later? Why did you come to Eden Prime?

"WHY?"

"WHY NOW?!!"

Fear gripped his soul, icy breath rushing down his spine. The fear is not for himself — he is already doomed. Fear for the one he had been trying to protect from the ancient creature's attention for years, ever since a young kinsman had stood next to him and automatically been hit.

*He's a threat.* — a heavy, oppressive thought.

The Lord. The fear intensified, the fingers clenched into fists and unclenched again. The emotions subsided. A moment of weakness that did not pass by the attention of an ancient being.

* He's dangerous to you.* a cold voice, penetrating to the depths of the soul, in which the order was clearly read.

Yes, it is dangerous! He raised him himself, taught him himself. He forged a promising teenager from the Council Spectr, an excellent warrior. Self...

"This is not your mission." The student's voice cut through his nerves. "What are you doing here?"

The weapon in his strong hand lowered trustfully, staring at the spaceport slabs.

Saren approached his friend, gazing intently into the bright green eyes, looking questioningly, demanding and... with trust. Complete. Absolutely. Without implying even a shadow of doubt about who it was given to.

As always.

The pressure on his mind increased.

* Destroy the threat.* It would be better if Nihlus hated him... He should have raised him differently...

The bloody light of sunset slowly darkened in his eyes, turning a heavy crimson. His head went blank. Saren gritted his teeth, resisting the order that was hitting his mind.

Go away, Nihlus! Remember WHAT I told you the last time we met!

REMEMBER!

"The council decided that you should... A little help would be nice." a blatant, demonstrative lie easily slipped off the tongue.

Saren put his hand on his shoulder, tightly squeezed his trembling fingers on the armor.

Think, Kraik! Think!

I lied to you, looking into your eyes! Won't you understand? I taught you! I've been hammering the cruel laws of this world into your hot-tempered head! I've told you so many times — think! Doubt it! DON'T BELIEVE IT! Don't trust anyone. Even for me.

Especially for me!

Saren moved away from the student, froze in place, trying to regain his clarity of thought and overcome his increasing submission. In the reflection on the sheet of metal, he saw the back of a student who turned trustfully, quickly scanning the surroundings in search of a threat.

You're looking in the wrong place...

The hands dropped by themselves. He doesn't doubt it. It didn't even occur to him that a mentor he trusted more than himself might pose a threat.

"I didn't expect to find Geth here." honest, sincere words. "The situation has become more complicated."

Nihlus... You can't even imagine HOW complicated it has just become.

Saren tried to calm his treacherous trembling. The student got distracted talking to someone who got in touch at such an inopportune moment.

He knew what he had to do. The roar of the Lord's voice reverberated in his mind, and under this roar, hopes and illusions that had been cherished for so long crumbled to dust.

* He will lead you to fall. He's a threat. He will disrupt our plans. He's a nuisance. The interference MUST be removed.*

The student's figure froze, as if he was petrified.

"I understood." a dry, cracked voice.

Understood. You realized too late, Nihlus... A familiar shudder went through his body, and his vision went dark. Student... No, his BROTHER started to turn around. Gradually. It was as if he didn't believe what he had just learned.

"Don't worry." The words of the Lord came out of his throat against his will.

The hand rose, overcoming the desperate resistance of the owner.

"I'm in control of everything."

Shot. Shot. Shot.

He watched with unseeing eyes as the body of the one who had trusted him infinitely fell with a split chest onto the gray dusty slabs. Someone who was more than a friend and a student to him... who was like a brother to him.

Memories that he could not forget appeared before his eyes: his older brother, talking to him on the line moments before his death.

Twenty-six years ago, on his orders, he killed his older brother, who was subordinate to the artifact... Right now... A croaking, hoarse, half-crazed laugh escaped from his throat.

Saren came up, literally collapsed on one knee next to a dying student, a friend... his brother.

"Saren..."

A quiet, squawking, blood-choking voice, confused, full of misunderstanding and surprise...

Emotions churned, breaking the imposed control: hatred, rage, anger, and a sharp pain that drowned out everything, knocking sparks out of his eyes. His hand darted to the massive black-and-red pistol, darkening invitingly on the light plate, and his fingers tightened on the comfortable handle.

"I'm sorry, brother..." The words never came out of his cramped throat, which made only a rattle.

The arm rose abruptly, in jerky, convulsive jerks, through force, breaking the resistance, just like a couple of moments ago. The heavy, massive pistol seemed to take on an incommensurable weight, pulling the hand down to the ground. The voice of the Lord was rumbling in his head, demanding to come to his senses, commanding, forcing him to obey, his body was losing its sensitivity, refusing to obey the orders of his mind. The gun rose to the required height, the cold muzzle touched the warm skin under his chin. The finger twitched, pressing on the pliable plate, choosing a free course, and... stopped.

The Turian was petrified for a split second, froze in the middle of the movement, and then, with a sharp reflex movement, hung the pistol on his hip grip, turned around and, without turning around, walked away to the train. Wherever the Lord's will led him.

The steady hum was a painful throb in his head: the Reaper was flying away from the planet. There was an emptiness in his soul, a hollow silence in his mind. He didn't think, he forbade himself to think.

I just sat in an armchair, covering his eyes with his palm, and in his mind's eye the memory played over and over again: his sworn brother falling on the gray slabs of a human spaceport with a mortal wound in his chest, an astonished, disbelieving voice spitting out the name of the question with blood: "Saren"... and in the green eyes — all the same trust and misunderstanding. The trust he betrayed...

The Lord was suspiciously silent. There was no usual heavy pressure on the mind. It was as if he had been left alone.

The fingers twitched convulsively.

They usually talked after each mission. Long. Analyzing the mistakes made, agreeing on further plans for the near future. The Reaper never refused to talk to him, sometimes answering unasked questions, reacting sensitively to the slightest change in his condition. He calmed, convinced, and gave me confidence in my choice. But not now. The Lord was silent now.

Chapter 3.1: Eden Prime: Nihlus

"Nihlus!"

The Spectr, to my great relief, was still alive. His hoarse, wheezing breath churned up bloody bubbles, and his chest was torn open by a gunshot and resembled a mess of flesh, blood, and black armor. And the blood flowing out of the wound was RED, rapidly changing its color to dark blue.

Don't this understand?

Okay, red blood is fine. The physiology of humans and Turians is very similar. The amino acid body on the right or on the left doesn't matter, both are based on hemoglobin, which gives blood color gem. A pigment group containing IRON. The blue color has nowhere to come from. There is simply no copper in the blood in such an amount, otherwise Turians would be banally poisonous, and this is not the case. But right before my eyes, the crimson blood was rapidly changing color to a dark blue! And I couldn't explain THIS phenomenon clearly.

A barely audible wheeze brought me out of my stupor: Nihlus was trying to say something, but couldn't. It's amazing that he's still alive, but if you don't take immediate action, the Turian will die.

The flaps of the armor gave way, and I carefully removed the cuirass, revealing an ugly wound and a blood-soaked coverall under the armor. I tore the first-aid kit off my belt and opened it... and I realized that there was NOTHING inside that could help the rapidly dying Turian right now. Panacelin is not a panacea. This is a first aid tool, but not a cure for all diseases! I didn't know where Nihlus' personal first aid kit was.

"Shepard is calling Normandy!" I turned on the transmitter and yelled.

The answer came quickly:

"Shepard, this is Moro."

"The Joker! I don't care HOW you do it, but Nihlus SHOULD be in the Normandy Infirmary in five minutes! Do you understand me?"

Jeff got into my tone and the essence of the claim, as the answer, spoken in a hoarse voice, expressed all shades of deep amazement:

"Roger that, Shepard."

"Five minutes, Moro! And not a second longer!"

The pilot turned off, and I had the thought that the infirmary of Normandy, which had hurriedly flown out on its first mission, might also not have medicines intended for creatures with dextro-organisms.

There was a clatter of footsteps. I picked up Kraik's assault rifle lying on the stove next to me. Ashley and Alenko appeared from behind the container.

"Inspect the train station and destroy the Geth."

The fighters ran away. I hope they can handle the Geth without my help. Or what is it, really? Kayden's help is zero on the way out, just problems. It's like being with a child... then he sticks his nose where it shouldn't be, then he catches a shot and stands there, looking at the guilty face of the shitting cat.

"Shep-par-rd..."

The Turian's low, croaking voice was barely audible over the roar of gunfire. How can he even talk with a split chest and damaged lungs?!

"This... this..." The Spectre choked on blood and coughed heavily.

"Tell the Council about it. They won't believe me anyway. And then you'll explain HOW you caught that shot from your beloved mentor."

Nihlus did not answer, convulsively pressed his mandibles to his cheeks, and I went over the possibilities available to me, trying to figure out how not to let him die here and now. The Nihlus armor's resources have already been exhausted, and there's nothing in my first-aid kit that could be used by dextro organisms. If I had access to all my capabilities, there would be no problem, but right now I was barely different from an ordinary person!

Although...

There is one option. Inconvenient, energy-consuming, but perhaps the only one available now that I can use in almost any condition and in any world. It doesn't require any special abilities or rituals, my desire is enough.

Energy recharge.

Of course, this is an unfortunate moment, and I need to be conscious in order for the recharge to work, but... With such a wound, if Nihlus survives, it will be a great miracle.

I took off my gloves and carefully dipped my finger in the warm blue blood. Nihlus was watching my actions in surprise.

"Blood is the moisture of life. The quintessence of it. Blood carries the life force and energy of an intelligent being. It doesn't matter what its composition is or what the body's biochemistry is. It will work anyway and give you a chance to survive."

A heavy drop formed on the tip of my finger. I touched my skin, tracing a sharp angular mark on the back of my hand under the gaze of bright green eyes. My desire is clearly formed, and the blue blood is instantly absorbed into the skin, leaving behind a barely noticeable blue trail. And one last thing. I licked the blood off my finger. The mark on my hand slowly turned a dull purple glow, and I staggered from the sudden outflow of energy, barely keeping my balance, but Nihlus, on the contrary, began to breathe more calmly, the convulsive wheezing subsided. His regeneration accelerated dramatically, and his body, having received unexpected support, began to recover rapidly. This will give him a chance of survival.

"Imrir..." He croaked, barely audibly, calling me by name for the first time.

"Keep quiet." I replied just as quietly. "This is neither the time nor the place."

He slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. There will be questions later, when he is not standing with two feet in the grave. And I will most likely give honest answers to these questions. Gunshots and the buzzing pops of biotics could be heard at the train station as the fighters destroyed the Geth. As far as I remember, there aren't many of them, so we should be able to handle it. Soon the gunshots died down and Ashley reported:

"Clear!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, Commander."

Well, that's great. I put on gloves and restored the integrity of the armor.

"Take up defense on the platform." I don't know exactly what the Joker did or what he said to Captain Anderson, but just three minutes later, the graceful silhouette of Normandy appeared in the sky, and a rumpled, unshaven man crawled out from behind the boxes.

Oops, who showed up! A homegrown sleep-loving smuggler. Wow, the Geth didn't really kill him!

When he saw the weapon pointed at him, he recoiled slightly, raised his hands and shouted:

"Wait! Don't shoot! I'm just like you! I am a human being!"

I squinted a little, not lowering the massive Nihlus rifle. I wonder if this idiot with his paws in the air really thinks that his belonging to the human race will help him in any way? What a great argument! Funnily enough, Nihlus closed his eyes and went a little limp, and his hand jerked to grab on his hip, but there was no gun on him. The weapon disappeared without a trace in an unknown direction.

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm... sorry... I was hiding! From these creatures!"

"Who are you?"

The man lowered his arms, squinting at the rifle, which was obviously too big and heavy for my hand.

"My name is Powell. I... I saw what happened to that... What's his name, a Turian."

He's what?

"Have you seen it?" I asked softly.

Powell hesitated, slightly embarrassed, lowered his face.

Well, well... And what did you manage to see, are you a victim of circumstances?

"Well... Rather, I heard it."

Did you hear that? That's better. I also didn't want this petty criminal to see my manipulations.

Normandy landed on the pad next to us. The conversation had to be curtailed for a while. I held a nervous man at gunpoint, Nihlus pretended to be a corpse, although I knew that his condition had stabilized, and immediate death was no longer in danger. At least for now, the recharge is working.

Finally, the ship's ramp came down, and Dylan and Darg ran up to me in full gear. A couple of minutes later, Anderson and Karin came down with two more fighters carrying a stretcher. Okay, Karin's out, she's a doctor. But what the hell was the captain doing out in the fresh air?

"And what did you hear?" I asked, watching the approaching captain and the doctor with half an eye: it's time to start the canon story.

I'm sorry, Saren. But I NEED these revelations and the stain of a traitor on your reputation, which Anderson and Udina will actively ruin.

"He was killed by another Turian!" The worker exclaimed, looking at the approaching captain.

Nihlus opened his eyes slightly, blinked in surprise. Yes, yes, dear Specter, you are, in fact, already a corpse. So lie down, don't twitch and have fun.

"I need to know how Nihlus died." I said softly. The Turian understood me perfectly, closed his eyes and relaxed completely, as much as it was possible for him.

The doctor ran up. When she saw the state of the Spectr, her face changed and in the blink of an eye she built others. Nihlus was carefully lifted, placed on a stretcher and carried to the ship under her strict guidance.

Captain Anderson stopped behind me, frowning at the crumpled man, who was cautiously squinting at me and the weapon in my hand. And he squints correctly. He would have seen something superfluous, and a valuable witness would have been lying on the ground with a hole in his head. Well, the reflex worked, who doesn't? Pure chance!

"Who killed this Turian again?"

Derg, hearing my gentle voice, raised an eyebrow in surprise. Captain Anderson pursed his lips slightly. I got to my feet, not taking my rifle away from the nervous man.

"He was killed by another Turian." The smuggler repeated obediently. "He came here earlier. With these creatures. Your... friend called him Saren. I think they knew each other."

On behalf of the rebellious Spectr, our brave captain shuddered. Wow, I haven't forgotten the events of eighteen years ago! Although, what am I talking about? How can you forget such a failure? He had a real chance to become the FIRST human Spectre, and as a result, he received a negative, contemptuous characterization from the legend of the Special Corps. And Saren went through David Anderson's pride from the bottom of his heart. The captain will never forget or forgive this.

"Your friend relaxed, lost his guard, and Saren killed him. I shot him when he was talking to someone on the comm. I'm lucky he didn't notice me."

Did you talk on the comm? Damn, that was unfortunate. Or was it successful? Kraik still survived, even though he was actually mortally wounded.

Anderson joined the conversation. While he was chatting with this novice smuggler, I motioned for Darg and Dylan and moved away with two fighters a little to the side.

"Where is the band?"

They were dropped off somewhere near the settlement. We were left on board and we don't know the essence of the order.

"Who's in charge?"

"Max."

I nodded slowly.

"Sergeant Ashley Williams and Alenko are currently on the platform."

"A survivor?"

"The only one from her unit. Lucky." I glanced at Captain Anderson. "Dylan, Darg, they PROBABLY need support."

The hint was understood instantly, and both my fighters disappeared, and I went to Captain Anderson.

"Sir, the lighthouse was moved, Saren went to get it on the monorail."

Anderson looked up from the conversation, looked at me, and frowned.

"Saren must be intercepted!"

"Yes, sir. Captain, the situation has become more complicated, Darg and Dylan have been sent to reinforce the landing group." a short pause. "Sir, Corporal Jenkins is dead. I'm going back to completing the task. May I go?" I rammed away, blinking my eyes in devotion.

"Permission granted, Commander."

Having received the authority `approval', I immediately rushed to the fighters of the landing group before Anderson took them away.

If my sclerosis doesn't let me down, bombs, a bunch of Geth, and a lighthouse are waiting for me on the other side. Well, and future nightmares, where without them.

Chapter 3.2: Fight with huskies and defuse bombs.

The train rolled steadily, the engines humming faintly, and I peered at the platform emerging from the twilight. The optics of the rifle already made it possible to see the synthetics involved in installing bombs, but it was still too far for targeted shooting.

"Geth's on the platform. They're doing something with..." I peered at the elongated cylindrical device, identified it from the recipient's memory, and asked a sacramental question, catching Geth in the crosshair.

"Who can deactivate the `Aen-3' bomb?" A shot, the butt pushed into the shoulder. The Geth collapsed to the floor, visibly sparking.

"I can." Ashley replied softly.

Shot, shot. The squeak of an overheated weapon. The rifle cooled down, to catch the creature in sight, a shot. The train was slowing down, automatically braking between the platforms. The Geth became animated, and bright lines of queues stretched out in our direction, perfectly visible at dusk. There it is, the muzzle sticking out over the box! The black head was caught in the crosshair, shot. The head disappeared somewhere behind the fence. The recharge beep.

Ashley and Kayden escaped from the train onto the platform. The first bomb was practically under their feet. The woman bent down, and the omni-tool lit up...

"Commander Shepard, it's seventeen minutes on the timer!"

"Well, move it!" The rifle poked into his shoulder. "Kayden, Darg, check the transition!"

Alenko and Ithor darted up the stairs, Dylan, crouching behind the barrier, quickly examined the platform drowning in twilight, shooting Geth behind the box.

"Clear!" He reported.

"I see two more bombs!" said the biotic.

The lights on the first bomb went out, and the panel collapsed.

"The first one is ready!"

Ashley, ducking, ran after Darg and Alenko, and I noticed movement in the dense shadow of the box. A rifle roared loudly in my ear, and the recoil pushed the weapon into my shoulder. Geth fell, rolling out into the passage.

"I'm disabling the second one!" Ashley's voice was dry, trembling slightly with tension.

"The second one is ready!" Alenko's voice sounded in the headphones.

Darg and Kayden ran forward, peering behind every box, behind every support, clearing their side of the station from the Geth. A little ahead, the platform descended by a wide staircase to a loading dock, on which, as far as I know, there should be a lighthouse. I moved on, standing at a huge spacer, inspecting the construction site through the optics of a sniper rifle. The gathering dusk plunged the station into darkness, complicating my task: for some reason, the lighting did not turn on.

"The third one is ready!" Kayden reported. "There are six minutes on the timer!"

"Darg, check the platform to the end." I ordered.

The fighter slipped into the darkness between the huge containers, shots were fired, a moment of silence and a natural scream:

"Another one!"

Ashley took off from a low start like a runner on the finish line, securing the shotgun on her back. I put the sniper rifle in the back grip, removing the Nihlus assault rifle that had taken its place.

Gesturing for Dylan to follow me, I ran across the narrow metal bridge, exiting onto the already rebuilt part of the passenger platform, still cluttered with containers and construction materials.

Dylan crouched by a block of metal sheeting wrapped in film, gesturing that there was an enemy somewhere ahead. I nodded, turned behind a huge container, and saw Geth, standing slightly in front of me, whirling around and raising his weapon.

Why hasn't he been removed from the opposite platform yet?! I squeezed the trigger on my bare reflexes before I had time to realize what was happening.

The weapon bucked in his hands, spitting out a long burst. I was jolted by a powerful recoil, turning slightly on the spot, and the synthetic was simply blown away: the queue went from the middle of the body to the head, turning it into mush. Geth's shots got stuck in the blue film of the shield, sliding tangentially at the shoulder.

Kraik has a good rifle!

Ashley's trembling voice came through the headphones:

"Ready!"

"Ashley, you're doing great." I whispered faintly, exhaling slowly. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my arms were shaking.

"And if there is more?" Alenko asked uncertainly.

"We'll find out now."

Dylan ran to the edge of the platform and went down to the landing area.

"Clear." he said clearly and came back to me, quickly examined me. "How are you?"

"I'm Alive." I replied, shrugging my aching shoulder.

"Alenko..." Dylan snorted faintly, casting a frown at the other platform, from which this Alenko was supposed to cover us.

I grimaced, but said nothing. What can I say? Our beloved biotic was staring at the bomb in fascination instead of doing his job. He covered it well, you can't say anything.

When Dylan and I climbed onto the cargo platform, Darg was already watching the loading platform, Ashley was covering him, and Kayden was hovering behind the container with a lean face. It's clear. The migraine started again due to the active use of biotics.

"Grizzly, what is it?" I asked softly, sitting down behind the fence. Grizzly, what is it? I asked softly, sitting down behind the fence.

Darg shrugged his shoulders and replied:

Some kind of crap: here the spears are stacked with people impaled on them, and they are twitching as if they are still alive.

"It's a husky. Are there many of them?"

"There are about two dozen by eye." Derg turned his head slightly. "Darling, what did you call them?"

"Husky. Do you remember the old zombie movie that we watched on the extranet on Arcturus before we took off?"

He nodded.

"These are the same zombies, only technological. Blame it on your head. Hitting the hull is not critical: they don't even slow them down properly. Don't let them get too close. Very strong. They can hit you with a discharge if they run up. It won't kill you, but it can paralyze you.

"Understood."

I looked down at the black Nihlus rifle I was still holding in my hands.

"Darg, have you ever used a Turian weapon?"

"There was a case."

"Catch it."

I tossed the rifle to the fighter. He caught it, examined it carefully, and chuckled.

"Is it a joke?"

"yes. Don't fuck up."

Dare grinned, realizing from my tone what I would do to him if he destroyed someone else's weapon. I took a quick glance at the platform. In addition to the identical Husk's in tatters of clothing, there were three Geth's on the landing, who were slowly moving towards the stairs. The high-tech zombies were stupidly kneeling at their stakes and ignoring the Geth's movements.

The sniper rifle came into firing position with a barely audible rustle. Leaning into the scope, I caught the elongated head of a synthetic in light gray armor in the crosshair and pulled the trigger. Geth fell on his back, the other two instantly opened fire, accurately calculating where the shot was fired from, and I barely had time to duck as bullets whistled over my head.

They say the Geth's are dumb? They may be dumb when there aren't enough of them, but that doesn't make them start mowing! And the reaction of synthetics is an order of magnitude higher than that of organics! At least their weapons are just as prone to overheating as ours.

Dylan, with the exact same sniper rifle, crouched behind a huge container with blue markings of building materials, standing slightly to the side.

The huskies stirred, shuffling stupidly in place. What a joy it is that these creatures, without direct control, are so stupid that they are not able to figure out the enemy by indirect signs, and they will not go into battle until that enemy gets to what they replace with eyes.

The shots stopped, I leaned out from behind the fence, clung to the sight and pressed the trigger, as soon as the crosshair of the sight aligned with Geth's head, and immediately dived for cover. There was simply no time to aim properly: bullets had passed where my head had been. While the last geth was shooting at me, Dylan took it off.

"Darg, are you ready?"

"Ready." he replied, bringing the black rifle to the firing position. "Go ahead."

As soon as the first husky hit the metal floor, the whole crowd started up at once, instantly calculated our location and began to howl in a continuous wave. Well, natural zombies!

Dylan and I opened fire, knocking out the Husk's with shots to the head. The service weapon reloaded slowly, quickly overheated and cooled down for a long time, and the additional cooling systems — those notorious thermoclips — ended safely even during the cleaning of the station, no matter how much we saved them. Nearby, the Turian assault rifle in Darg's hands rumbled dully...

"Darling, you won't be able to shoot properly with this rifle: the recoil will blow you away." Darg gave out when the last husk, howling thinly, collapsed on the metal at the foot of the stairs. "Can I keep it?"

"This is Krayk's rifle, Darg."

"He's kind of dead." The fighter shrugged his powerful shoulders, not at all upset by this fact.

"Grizzly!"

The fighter frowned with displeasure, lovingly stroked the black metal.

"It's a great gun. The power is exorbitant, but the recoil is strong. It doesn't feel very comfortable in the hand — it's made with combs for itself and adjusted to the owner." He hefted the weapon. "It's heavy. It shoots accurately, the spread is small, cools down quickly. You can not use thermoclips at all." a short pause. "It's a pity to give it away. It takes about twenty minutes to finalize it."

"Do you need problems? I'll become a Spectr and give you one."

"You become one first." He whinnied, shifting the weapon to a non-combat position and handing it to me.

"I will." Imrir promised, taking the weapon. "Shepard of Normandy." I said, turning on the transmitter. "The area has been cleared, and the lighthouse is safe."

"Roger that, Commander. The Joker replied immediately."

I turned off the transmitter. We have done our job, now it remains to wait for the arrival of the frigate and hand over the find. Or rather, what's left of her by then.

Walking to the edge of the landing, I put my hand on the low railing, frowning at the huge melted spot: the launch site of the Lord. Half a kilometer in diameter. To the state of boiling lava. Just like that. Consequences of the launch... Or NOT launch...

What is the TRUE power of the Reaper if he left SUCH destruction in passing?

Chapter 3.3 Beacon

The Prothean lighthouse towered in all its dubious glory: a narrow pylon glowing with a ghostly green light, covered with dim lights. It's a beautiful device, I can't take that away, even though it didn't bring up the most pleasant associations in my memory. It looked too much like hubs in undead cities. The same ghostly green glow, except that it is warm, and the deathly cold of necroelectric energy is not felt. If it hadn't been so necessary, I wouldn't have gone within a mile of him!

"Unbelievable! The current Protean technology!" An enthusiastic voice sounded very close by.

I turned around. And here's a greeting from canon: Kayden admired the ancient device, slowly walking around it in a circle. The lighthouse's pylon stood in the center of the site, flashing green and gold lights, and hummed softly.

"How much time has passed, and it's still working." Ashley was kneading her left arm, which was hanging with a whip, numb from the discharge of a nearby husk. "When he was excavated, he didn't behave like that."

Of course, he didn't! It was inactive until Saren turned it on and counted the attached information. Now the device was working and waiting for its last victim.

"I wonder what he's hiding?" Alenko muttered, took a step forward and... crossed the security zone.

The beacon has been activated.

A powerful arc of energy passed through the pylon, throwing out a tight beam. Alenko screamed, slowly rising into the air. No matter how much the man resisted, an invisible force persistently dragged him towards the ancient device.

"ALENKO! Curious idiot!"

Running, I slammed into this jerk, knocking him out of the beam. The biotic collapsed to the floor, and I felt an invisible grip lift me into the air and pull me towards the slowly opening lighthouse.

Darg started to run towards me, but I shouted:

"Stop! Not an approxima..."

The visions flashed suddenly, instantly overloading the mind with an abyss of information: coordinates, chronicles, excerpts of recordings and short videos. Blood, war, planets burning in nuclear flames, collapsing cities, armies of beetle-like monsters tearing sentient beings of different races to pieces, fleets of ships dying under the blows of black machines so familiar to me, Reapers descending on the planet.

Blood, war, planets burning in nuclear flames, collapsing cities, armies of beetle-like monsters tearing sentient beings of different races to pieces, fleets of ships dying under the blows of black machines so familiar to me, Reapers descending on the planet. Episodes, excerpts, memories, emotions, feelings of despair, threats and hopelessness, a strange planet... It seemed that my head would simply burst from the endless stream of data being lavishly pressed into my poor brains! But finally, my consciousness could not stand it, and I plunged into blessed darkness.

Last coherent thoughts: *Alenko, moron... I'll kill the cattle!* and *The recharge will stop!*.

Consciousness returned painfully and slowly, pulling me out of the depths of a bloody nightmare. The information that was forced into my poor brains was slowly digested and sorted out, but its volume is such that colorful bloody dreams are guaranteed to me. My fingers were clenching convulsively from the desire to strangle Alenko, even though I knew in my mind that in any case I would have climbed under the lighthouse.

* * *

Something a little to the left beeped softly. I slowly opened my eyes, staring blearily at the familiar ceiling of the infirmary.

"Doctor? Dr. Chakwas!" Kayden's voice sounded alarmed. "She's awake."

The biotic beast! I turned my head and got a lot of pleasure from the unexpected but very pleasant sight that opened up to me: Alenko was sitting on the next bed, looking at me longingly with swollen eyes. Oops! Who fixed his face like that and put the backlight under both eyes? If I find out, I'll thank you. From the bottom of my heart! And so that Anderson doesn't hear, otherwise he won't appreciate it.

There was another beep from the left. When I turned around, I saw only a solid partition separating a part of the infirmary from us. I believe Nihlus is located there.

"You've got us worried, Shepard." The doctor came up to me, carefully examining my face. "How do you feel?"

I slowly propped myself up on my elbows and struggled to sit up.

"Disgusting! My head hurts!" I shuddered, cupping my aching temples with my fingers. How "long have I been unconscious?"

"About fifteen hours." the doctor replied. "I suppose it's the influence of the lighthouse. You're in luck, Commander."

How much?!! Fifteen hours?!! I closed my eyes, stifling a curse. It's good that Turians are so tenacious, and Nihlus, who managed to get a little boost in his body, managed to survive the time of my unconsciousness.

Guilt flashed brightly nearby. Oh, has it dawned on Kayden that I might just be freaking out because of him?

"It's my fault." He said penitently. "Apparently, I activated some kind of protective field, and you had to rescue me."

To be honest, I didn't expect Kayden to actually admit his guilt. Sincerely. Not many people can do this, just like that, and say: "I was wrong, it's my fault". But he could.

Maybe Kayden isn't that hopeless. Let's see, let's see. But he got caught in the face legitimately, and his brain needs to be rinsed so that it doesn't happen again next time.

"Lieutenant, you should remember that ancient artifacts can be dangerous. You can't just approach them like that: it's not known for what purposes they were made and what systems they have to protect against unauthorized access. We were lucky that the lighthouse just worked out and leaked the information embedded in it to me, and I was able to accept it and not get my brain burned out by such a crude transmission.

Chakwas's gaze was attentive and thoughtful, and Kayden looked at me with the eyes of a beaten dog. A very expressive face, which generally read everything that could be read. And this is without any mentalism.

Basically, he's not a bad guy. It's even a pity for him in some ways: the L2 implant caused a lot of inconvenience and was simply dangerous to life and mind, and its replacement is quite expensive. I know what constant and severe migraines are, when I am unable to think coherently from a dull aching pain, and sparks really fall from sharp, sharp lumbago. The funny ones are so bright-bright white dots that quickly scatter in all directions from the point of focus of vision and leave a light trail behind them. Or small rainbow squares running erratically in front of your eyes. And such a condition... It's interesting, like being in a closed glass jar: although your vision is crystal clear and clear, you look at the world somehow distantly, and the sounds are muffled. Sometimes it also gets fun. And the earth is spinning so funny under your feet.

I don't know how much Kayden has these symptoms, but he's not a fighter. Yes, the biotic is not bad, but he is not a fighter. He needs to have his implant changed. Preferably quickly, before the consequences accumulate and result in some kind of cute complication.

"Don't scold him, Commander." Karin said softly. "We had no idea what we were up against. And, unfortunately, we won't find out now."

To my questioning look, Kayden said:

The lighthouse exploded. You lost consciousness from the explosion.

It's clear. Then the canon worked: the lighthouse was destroyed. So Saren will find out about this soon and will want to rip my very knowledgeable head off. In fact, he will order my liquidation. But even during the passage of the game, I was wondering where Lady Benezia got the information so quickly while on board the Lord? Who leaked it?

"What are the consequences, Doctor?"

Physically, you're fine. But I found an unusual brain activity— abnormal beta waves. I also noticed that you have more rapid eye movements. These are the usual signs of intense dreaming.

"It wasn't a dream." I replied. "Information from the lighthouse appears in the form of fragmentary visions. Ragged, fuzzy, and messy."

"What did you see, Commander?" Kayden leaned forward, staring at me with the burning gaze of a beaten raccoon.

"Death and destruction." I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. "The Protheans recorded their deaths. Have you left a warning for other races? I don't know. But I didn't see anything pleasant."

There was silence in the infirmary. Kayden blinked in confusion, trying to comprehend what was said. Yes, there was nothing so fabulous about the lighthouse. No ancient technology or the great wisdom of a mighty civilization. Indeed, fragmentary pictures. When the mentalism is activated, I will sort through the information received and structure it. Maybe I'll get a whole streaming image, or maybe everything will remain in the form of scattered pieces of useless pictures. With a soft hiss, the door opened, admitting Captain Anderson to the infirmary. Kayden and I straightened up and saluted the sudden arrival of our superiors. The captain nodded, which was regarded as an analogue of the command *at ease*: Imrir knew Anderson's habits perfectly well.

"Doctor, what is the Commander's condition?"

"All indicators are normal. I think she's fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. Commander, I need to talk to you. In private."

Alenko ran away instantly, away from his superiors, but Karin frowned and did not budge, folding her arms over her chest.

"Captain, I cannot leave the infirmary while there is a critically injured patient in critical condition."

Having said that, the doctor retreated behind the partition. I guess you can hear everything there verbatim. The captain sighed, but did not argue. On the territory of the infirmary, the word of the doctor has power, perhaps no less than the power of the captain of the ship.

"I hope you're feeling well."

"Yes, sir," I replied shortly.

Anderson clasped his hands behind his back, frowning at me. I understand him in some ways. The situation was just magical. That's what he said:

"I won't lie to you. The situation is not the best. Nihlus is dying, the Lighthouse is destroyed, and the Geth have begun an invasion. The Council wants to ask you a number of questions."

Oh, how! Has he sent the report yet? In principle, a lot of time passed, I could have sent it, especially since we were on Eden Prime not far from the communication buoy. The ship was definitely moving between relays now, judging by the steady, measured vibration, barely perceptible by the body. Right now we are deaf and blind until we come out of the corridor near the destination repeater.

"I'm not going to let the Council pin the destruction of the lighthouse on me!" I said calmly, understanding the background perfectly.

"I will support you and your report, Commander. But that's not why I'm here." Anderson shook his head. "It's about Saren. The second Turian."

Anderson was silent for a few moments, pacing the infirmary, lost in unpleasant thoughts. The situation is really far from rosy, and the real Saren Arterius can cause much more problems than the canonical Saren. Still, this is the real world.

"Saren is a Spectr, and one of the best." The captain finally said. "A living legend. But if he got involved with the Geth, it means he decided to go his own way." Anderson turned around, staring at me intently. "A spectrum that refuses to obey the Council is a problem. Saren is dangerous. And he hates people."

Yes, Saren is dangerous. Damn dangerous! How dangerous can a practical and ruthless specialist with unlimited rights be? The question is different. His true motives. To what extent are his actions controlled by the Lord? How much does he do of his own volition, and how much is he forced to do? We need to find out as soon as possible. And this will be crucial in my future actions.

All my future actions and plans for the future depend, funnily enough, on the Spectr of Arterius. Is he subordinate or acting of his own free will? If subdued, he will be an extremely valuable ally if he can be freed. If he's working on his own... he's the enemy. There are no options or doubts, and it should be destroyed as quickly and accurately as possible. Unless, of course, I decide on my own that I should make a Harvest and throw this Cycle to the demons. And I haven't given up on this idea yet. Knowing myself, I seriously fear that serving in the army will only strengthen this idea in me.

I don't like military service! I can hardly stand the barracks and their crowding. I'm angry at the number of strangers in my personal space. Always, in all my lives, I have done everything to avoid the army. I've been anything from a mercenary, bounty hunter, or monster hunter, to a black archaeologist, to an artifact miner, but never a regular army soldier. The single life in which I was reborn into a man and entered active service caused me to have an unshakable dislike for the army, its laws and way of life. Perhaps it was influenced by the surge of Chaos that I had fallen under before. He changed me, my soul, my worldview and my attitude to reality. Perhaps it was my unstable psyche and the habit of loneliness, but a rigidly planned life, strict routine and complete subordination without the right to a personal opinion, coupled with a hidden mess, ubiquitous hazing and double standards caused aggression and instinctive hostility. So far, formations, drill have raised a wave of anger. I'm a loner. I'm used to relying ONLY on myself. No one will help in the darkness of the ancient catacombs, where there is only you and your weapons against an endless crowd of monsters. I never make a lot of friends and acquaintances. I try not to take responsibility for someone else's life. I always act alone, even if it's the right way to die. Death is familiar to me and does not cause fear or dislike, but the presence of a large number of intelligent people is very much so. I don't need someone else's company at all for an adequate existence.

Estus was right. Pupation has already begun. I closed my eyes, watching the nervous captain. Maybe this is my chance to change something about myself? A little more, and I will finally turn to the path of isolation. From life to life, it's getting harder and harder for me to tolerate the presence of other intelligent people. This is not good. This is the path to degradation and decline.

"Why does Saren hate people?" I asked an almost canonical question.

The answer came immediately:

"He thinks we're growing too fast and occupying the galaxy."

I couldn't agree more. The Alliance is rapidly colonizing planets, unable to protect them or develop a colony properly, and many of them remain at the village level of modular houses, unable to survive on their own. What am I talking about? Here, there was a simple example recently. Eden Prime is one of the oldest colonies, and one rebellious Spectrum and a handful of Geth have actually taken it. And without much hassle. The Lord didn't show up there at all. So, I gave my pet a ride and hung in the sky to pick it up later. And he made sure that Saren didn't get off the hook.

"And do many people think so, like Saren?"

"Many. But most of them don't do anything about it. And Saren contacted the Geth. I don't know how. I don't know why. All I know is that it has something to do with the lighthouse."

He knows... He doesn't know shit! These are just assumptions, although they are somewhat correct. Saren really came for the lighthouse, and he got the information he needed from it. But the lighthouse is just a tool, nothing more. Moreover, it is useless.

"You were there, Commander, before the lighthouse self-destructed. Did you see anything? Any hint of what Saren was looking for?"

"Before I lost consciousness, I had visions."

"Visions? What?"

"Wars. I can't say for sure, they're too fragmented and torn. Just flashes that appear for a moment in the image."

"This should be reported to the Council."

"Report what? That I had a bad dream?" I asked, frowning at the floor. "They'll think I'm completely crazy."

The psychological state of my recipient after the ill-fated Torfan was... not too stable and rosy. The captain was slightly embarrassed, apparently remembering this interesting fact, but he did not give up on his idea:

"It is unknown what kind of information was stored in the lighthouse. Lost prothean technologies? Blueprints for some ancient weapon of mass destruction? Whatever it was, Saren has it now."

There was nothing valuable in this lighthouse. The usual warning of an impending galactic Apocalypse and a call for revenge, nothing more. You'd better look for the blueprints in your Archives on Mars, not in my head!

An extraneous thought flashed across my mind: I wonder if Sagep's head is falling apart from the pain right now, just like mine?

However, I didn't say anything to Anderson. Firstly, he just won't believe it, and secondly, there's no point. Why do I need extra problems? I'd like to get Spectr status and get the hell out of this poorhouse.

"I know Saren." the captain continued to broadcast. "I know his reputation and methods! He believes that humans are parasites of the cosmos! This attack was an act of war!"

Uh-huh, wars. How so... Saren didn't give a damn about the Alliance or humanity as a whole!Uh-huh, wars. How so... Saren didn't give a damn about the Alliance or humanity as a whole! If his motives are even slightly similar to the canonical ones, he only cares about his native race and Hierarchy. I wonder what the brave captain would say if he knew that I share the opinion of this Turian in some way? I don't like people. Sometimes I hate it. Sincerely. Clear. Uncluttered. It is so sincere that the idea of genocide does not cause rejection and hostility.

"He's got the secrets of the lighthouse. He has an army of Geth at his disposal. And he won't stop until he wipes humanity off the face of the galaxy!"

Should I help him? In memory of my recipient's happy childhood? I wonder how many people wonder what happened in the past of this beautiful red-haired girl, who was often called a `Soulless Bitch' behind her back?

"Sir, he must be stopped!" I said pathetically, devoutly looking into the man's eyes.

Absolutely necessary. At least to have a heart-to-heart conversation with him.

"It's not that simple." the captain replied. "He's a Spectr. He can fly wherever he wants and do whatever he wants. That's why we need the Council on our side."

"If we prove that Saren is out of control, the Council will strip him of his status." I said listlessly.

"I will contact the Ambassador and try to arrange an audience with the Council." The captain glanced at the partition behind me.

An interesting thought occurred to me, and I said to the man's back as he left:

"Captain."

"Anderson turned around."

"Commander?"

"Have you already sent a report to the Citadel?"

"Yes."

It's annoying.

"Have you reported on the state of the Spectr of Kriyk?"

"No."

Oh, that's good.

"Do not tell the Council that he has survived."

Surprise stabbed at his nerves.

"What's the point?"

"Saren must not find out that his former student managed to survive this shot. If Nihlus is taken to the Citadel Hospital, I won't give a spent thermoclip for his life." The captain was silent, considering my words. Roughly speaking, I suggested that he conceal the information. Important information.

"Commander Shepard has some truth in her words, Captain." Dr. Chakwas said softly, coming up to us. "His life is already in danger. This is compounded by the fact that we don't have a single drug on board for creatures with dextro organisms. Do you understand what will happen if he dies in the Normandy infirmary after you report that he is alive? We could be charged with premeditated murder."

"I understood you." Anderson said after a short silence.

Already at the door, the captain turned and said:

"I'll do as you suggested. As soon as Dr. Chakwas releases you, I'm waiting for your report."

"That's right, sir."

The captain turned around and left the infirmary.

"Thank you for your support, Doctor."

"It wasn't my idea, Commander." She replied calmly, pressing an inconspicuous button.

The partition was lowered, giving me the opportunity to see Nihlus lying on the bed, staring at me with bright green eyes. Op-pa...

Karin glanced at the instruments, frowned, went to the table and picked up a portable medical scanner.

"Commander, come here."

They put me next to some devices and scanned me quickly. The doctor carefully read the information on the scanner, cast a thoughtful glance at the instrument screens located near Spektr's bed, and frowned. Nihlus and I watched this extremely expressive pantomime in silence.

"Commander Shepard. Your indicators are completely normal. And here are the indicators of the Kryk Spectr... they would be normal if he were human."

The green eyes widened slightly and narrowed sharply, the heavy gaze fixed on me. The doctor noticed this and said:

"With such indicators, even a completely healthy Turian should have lost consciousness long ago. I would like to understand what a prolonged stay in such a state can mean for the Spectr." And on that cheerful note, Dr. Chakwas looked at me with a demanding expression.

Oh...

Nihlus raised his hand, gesturing for me to get closer. I came over, cocked my head questioningly, leaning over, and he croaked faintly:

"In my cabin. The Special Corps box."

I nodded briefly and looked questioningly at the doctor.

"Commander, maybe you have a first aid kit with you. It would be appropriate now."

Nihlus nodded slightly, making it clear that he really had the first-aid kit he was looking for.

"I understand you, Doctor."

"And don't forget to come back for an examination before you start writing the report."

I moaned softly, barely restraining myself. Report! And I've already lost the habit of bureaucracy in recent years. What kind of bureaucracy is there in a world consumed by a zombie apocalypse? Or in the catacombs of ancient underground cities full of traps and monstrous creatures, from which I stole rare and valuable artifacts?

I hate it!

But I'll have to write. Damn it... Okay, I'll use the recipient's memories and set it up, since I haven't completely lost the ability to compose hard-to-read dry texts in official language.

Chapter 4.1: The ritual of binding Nihlus.

Kraik's cabin was in perfect order: things were neatly folded and put away in a closet, on a narrow table there was a single datapad lying absolutely flat and clearly at the edge of the table, and a weapon box against the wall. That's all. The bed is carefully made.

Strange. I didn't think Nihlus was so pedantic. Or is he like that on board an alien ship? Quite possibly, considering how merrily he was received in Normandy.

I suppose I'll still have the opportunity to find out his real character, because I sincerely doubt that the Spectrum will just leave me unattended. He had seen too many interesting things. There are too many strange things.

Should I worry about this? I don't think so. Nihlus Kraik is my supervisor. If... No, WHEN I am accepted into the Special Corps, he will be responsible for ALL my misdeeds, these are the rules of his race. It's in his best interest to make me a worthy addition to the elite of the Citadel Space intelligence service.

I could barely contain my laughter.

No, well, wow! I have a mentor again! The last one, a pretentious jerk from the academy, was eaten by ghouls when he showed me how to kill them properly. He showed it. I watched this, sitting on a four-meter-high fragment of a column, and then for two days I thought about how to get off my perch so that the undead wouldn't grab me.

This reality is definitely starting to make me happy.

The surge of emotions subsided as quickly as it had appeared. Mental instability, what can you do? I opened the locker. How lovely, I'm basically stealing clothes at the request of their owner!

The box I needed lay on the shelf and the silver emblem of the Special Corps sparkled invitingly. Next to it was a first-aid kit with the same logo on the side, and a stack of datapads of a model unknown to me. The most curious thing was that their touch screen was the size of the entire body and not that disgusting orange color like humans, but a dark blue pleasant to the eye. Is there a difference in the models? Or something more substantial?

I took the box and the first-aid kit, without touching anything superfluous, and carefully closed the locker door. And the box is too heavy! The first-aid kit weighed at least three kilograms, while the three times smaller box weighed one and a half times more.

Unlike the game prototype, on the real Normandy, the crew cabins were located in place of the game recreation area. Instead, there was only a narrow corridor, and where the eight capsule models were ostentatiously hanging, there was a dining room. The captain's cabin and the infirmary have not changed their location. Now I would not run into Captain Anderson: it would be difficult for me to explain what I was doing in the cabin of a barely alive Spectre, and even with his things in my hands.

Fortunately, luck was on my side, and Captain Anderson was on the bridge at that slippery moment and did not loom in front of my eyes. But I was met with a puzzled look by Darg, who was wiping tables in the cafeteria with a sour face, and Dylan, who was scrubbing the floor. Manually. Cleaning was usually done during the ship's night using a silent hybrid of a vacuum cleaner and a washing machine. It took very little time and effort, unlike the perversion that the gloomy Dare was engaged in.

"Have you done it yet?" I asked softly, passing by the fighter.

"Two outfits in the kitchen. Each." He muttered. "There's nothing to do there right now, so they came up with THIS."

"A soldier should always be busy, right, Darg?"

The fighter flared with anger.

"Darling, fuck your conscience!"

"That's necrophilia, Darg," I smirked.

In response, Dylan laughs loudly.

"So did Bonehead survive?" Darg nodded at the boxes in my hands.

What?

I looked up at Darg, and the burly man, whose head barely reached my chest, got nervous.

How I love people and the problems they create in the open! Especially on the basis of racial strife. Worlds are changing, but the problems are the same. Except that the situation is different and the faces of the participants in the conflict are different.

The situation is swinging!

I am a candidate for the Spectr's. I was nominated by the Turian Nihlus Kraik — Spektr, who is no less famous than his legendary mentor with a very specific fame.

I wonder why he did it? It is doubtful that he needs this personally: judging by Kraik's sour face, which I had the good fortune to observe before our conversation in the briefing room, he is not enthusiastic about this action. I wonder how much of his decision was voluntary? Or he was simply confronted with the fact: go and see who the Alliance is nominating for Spectrum status this time. So to speak, choose your own personal hemorrhoids from what they offer you there.

If I'm right, then Nihlus is in trouble. And then there's the atmosphere crackling with the intensity of friendliness. And my recipient... Oh, yes, my recipient...

And Nihlus is an extreme if he chose Imrir. Or were the other candidates even funnier?

I wonder if he'll answer if I ask.

I could barely contain my laughter. I'll definitely ask him as soon as he can talk without unnecessary pain. Now we need to deal with our fighters and put not only all the dots, but also other punctuation marks so that this does not happen again.

"grizzly." from my tone, both fighters tensed and braced themselves. "Nihlus Kraik is my supervisor from the Special Corps." I was silent for a couple of minutes, staring intently into the fighter's eyes, and added: "MY MENTOR."

It didn't take him much time to process what he had said. The definition of "mentor" that I gave to the Turian automatically changed his status in the eyes of the fighters from some incomprehensible freak who came with a fucking assignment to someone who for me becomes the first after God. Both Imrir and I treated the mentors about the same way.

For me, a mentor is not an object for jokes. If I wasn't mistaken in my assumptions, Kraik will be a good teacher and partner. And for a really good mentor, I will destroy anyone who dares to say something like that about him. In more than two dozen lifetimes, there were only five people whom I could call a Mentor with a capital letter. And what they have given me is truly priceless.

Nihlus has already taught me the first lesson, and this lesson actually cost him his life.

"It won't happen again." Derg replied seriously.

"Which one of you put the backlight on Alenko?" By changing the subject, I made it clear that the matter was closed.

"Well I." Derg muttered.

"Has the captain taken out the brain yet?"

The fighter grimaced.

"Through the ass."

"You know, hitting a staff officer is bad for your career. Especially in front of the bosses." I vividly remembered Major Kyle, whom Imrir almost shot on Torfan. "Look, if you hit me a little harder, you'll be court-martialed."

Darg grimaced.

"And wash it better. The divorces remain."

In response, there was a muffled mutter, addressed to no one in particular. He knows, if the captain sees a hack, he'll add another outfit on top.

Leaving the fighters to practice hitting Alenko's tambourine through senseless labor, I went into the infirmary, patiently standing in a small airlock while the disinfection procedure was going on. In the real Normandy, you can't just get into the infirmary, especially if there was a patient with serious injuries in it. And the room itself was divided by partitions into practically airtight sections, which, if necessary, could serve as a sterile surgical or intensive care unit.

Only one partition had been raised now, separating the far section from the main room. The doctor stood at the equipment and typed something on the datapad, glancing at the screens.

"Doctor."

I put a massive first-aid kit on the table and walked over to the Turian's cot, holding a metal box in my hands.

"This one?"

He blinked slightly in response.

Damn it, Nihlus is barely able to keep himself conscious! His condition has deteriorated dramatically.

What did I expect? He is still alive only because of the borrowed energy, which does not allow his body to fail. Once the recharge is interrupted, the Turian will not last an hour. I can't sleep or lose consciousness, I can't get injured, otherwise MY body will take over all the resources, automatically cutting off the leak. Nihlus won't survive this. It's amazing how he even lasted the fifteen hours I spent unconscious due to the effects of the lighthouse.

It is necessary to establish a full-fledged channel and enhance the return of energy.

"Dr. Chakvas, is there anything useful in the medicine cabinet?"

"There is. But that's not enough right now."

Not enough. In other words, Kraik is not a tenant. Interestingly, Nihlus himself understands this. Out, held in consciousness by sheer force of will.

The doctor will shake my soul out later.

I anchored the first one at the spaceport, tying myself to the Turian. It remains to install the second one and close the system, fortunately, the binding ritual is one of the simplest. Basic, so to speak.

I bit my finger, and under the doctor's indignant exclamation, I drew three angular marks on the Turian's stomach with my blood. The blood was instantly absorbed, leaving a barely noticeable trace that would disappear completely within a couple of hours. The anchor is installed. I started transferring energy, gradually increasing the power, the symbols lit up, but this time with a soft golden glow. Surprise flashed behind her, and the doctor gasped faintly.

For a person who had never encountered even the slightest manifestations of the supernatural, it looked, at least, strange. For me, the glow of the runes was natural and familiar. Nothing, they will go out now, as soon as there is a full connection to the recipient's power system, the losses in the background will become minimal and the overload, which was indicated by this glow, will disappear.

The diagrams on the monitors flickered and began to move, tracking the change in the patient's condition.

"It's stabilized." the doctor said in surprise, looking up from the instruments.

Nihlus raised his hand slightly, barely moving his fingers. A silent request is an order to approach.

"Now." I picked up the box and came over. "Relax your hand."

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I lifted his hand and, moving the box, placed it on the keyboard, which appeared when touching the touch plate. Nihlus dialed the code, and the lid came off. He took only one thing out of the box: a small prism made of matte gray metal, which hummed faintly when its bases were squeezed.

"May. Talk." Nihlus croaked almost inaudibly.

"Is there a wiretap on the ship?" I asked, surprised.

He closed his eyes in agreement.

I suddenly didn't want to become the captain of this miracle of technology. Not only is this an untested prototype, which has an experimental engine and a core capable of going haywire over any trifle, but it is also bugged from bow to stern!

How lovely!

I have no doubt for a moment that all the information I receive will be with Cerberus sooner than with my immediate command. Quite a lot of people are knocking on Comrade Ghost's door in the Alliance, and the saddest thing is that they are from the highest echelons of power.

Prospects — just download! If the Ghost finds out what I am... It's better to go straight to Saren and ask for political asylum from the Ruler.

Something else is interesting.

"Just fine." I rubbed my aching temples, frowning at the barely alive Turian. "I can understand wiretapping on the bridge and command deck or in the mess. But why put her in the infirmary if there's usually no one here?! Or is it just like that, just in case?" I shifted my gaze to Dr. Chakwas, who was frowning. "Tell me, was the ship supposed to go into space with a mixed crew?"

"Doubtful. The equipment in the infirmary is not adapted for Turian physiology."

"Then I don't understand. Or I don't know something."

We were silent for a while.

"Doctor." I called softly. Nihlus opened his eyes slightly, making it clear that he was still conscious and could hear us. "Until the circumstances are clarified, do not inform anyone that the Spectr has stabilized. If possible, thicken the colors. Let everyone who wants to inquire about Nihlus' health be absolutely sure that he has both feet in the grave."

"The reason?" a dry, hard question.

"I am more than sure that once the information leaves the infirmary, Nihlus will not live even a couple of hours."

Chakwas hesitated for just a moment:

"Commander, do you have any proof?"

"Evidence? No. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on on this ship. Either this is the blatant incompetence and negligence of the security service of the Arcturus station, on which the ship was built, or..."

The understatement hung in the air. The doctor folded her arms on her chest and looked at me gloomily, thinking about something, Nihlus... He should be sleeping and recuperating right now, but he's spending it trying to stay conscious.

"Call me paranoid, but this so-called `paranoia' has saved my life more than once."

"I understand your doubts." Chakwas replied softly. "There are grounds for suspicion." The doctor's gray eyes narrowed slightly. "Commander, answer me one question."

"I'm listening to you, Doctor."

"What did you do not so long ago?"

"I did everything in my power to ensure that the Nihlus Kraik Spectr survived."

Nihlus flinched slightly, staring at me intently. The hint was understood correctly: I KNEW what was coming. He's smart. He immediately understood what I said. As soon as he can speak clearly without choking on acute pain, I will be subjected to a thoughtful interrogation disguised as a conversation.

The conversation faded by itself.

The situation was very interesting: both Dr. Chakvas and Spectre Kraik REALLY wanted to ask me many, many interesting questions, but in private, not daring to start a veiled interrogation in front of each other. The funny thing is, they probably have about the same questions. And they can't come to an agreement in my presence either. And they won't.

"Nihlus." I called softly.

The green eyes blinked and cleared.

"Energy recharge is not a magic panacea." I replied calmly. "She doesn't heal. It only transfers to your body the pure vital energy necessary for recovery. Don't make my job harder. Go to sleep."

The Turian smiled slightly, clenched his fingers on the jammer's prism, turning off the device, and obediently closed his eyes. Just a minute later, he was asleep.

"Doctor, can I go now?"

"You can, Commander. I'm waiting for you for a follow-up examination."

"Whatever you say, Doctor." I replied complaisantly. "When should I come in?"

"When you're ready." Chakwas smiled a little. "And don't forget about the report. Captain Anderson is waiting for him."

And the eyes are so expressive! Question *Who are you?* read in bold capital letters.

I left the infirmary and went to the cabin. Write a report.

Chapter 4.2 choosing a side

As I walked through the ship, I thought about the situation I found myself in. Because of Nihlus' fatal wound, I opened up too soon. I'm very vulnerable right now: my soul hasn't caught on yet, my mentality is in sleep mode, my body hasn't been rebuilt, my energy system is weak, and my core hasn't been formed. I'm practically no different from an ordinary person. In two or three decades, the aura will unfold completely, and I will become what I am: a master mentalist, a true metamorph, and a universal magician.

If I were in the magical world, there would be no problems. People like me are not uncommon there, and they treat us with respect. But in a technically advanced world...

Most people are suspicious. Anything that is even slightly different from them causes fear, distrust, misunderstanding and, as a result, a desire to destroy. If information gets out that I'm a metamorph, a magician, and, by the gods, a terrifying mentalist, a hunt will begin for me with two goals: capture or destroy. The first ones will want to study me, gain control over me, or even instill the same abilities in themselves. The second is to remove a hypothetical threat. And I'm a thousand percent sure that if the unforgettable Ghost finds out, Cerberus will turn the galaxy upside down regardless of anything to get me.

The Alliance is not on my way.

No one will ever convince me that dear humanity will be able to accept someone who can read other people's minds and influence the mind. And someone who can change himself the way he wants to. I will be a freak, a dangerous creature that should be locked up, studied, or destroyed. I will never be a person in their eyes. Just a threat. People will never be able to trust me. They will never allow even the thought that it is better to cooperate with me without lies and setups. No, not there! Only complete submission!

Do I need it?

Become an experimental animal in the closed top-secret laboratories of Cerberus? For what? For the sake of dear humanity? Yes, without exception, ALL residents of the Alliance are deeply indifferent to me and my fate. They will even support Cerberus in their endeavors. Well, yes, the freaks should be under lock and key. The vile mutants that disgrace the human race must be used for the benefit of humanity. Amen.

Biotics are a perfect example of this attitude.

And then they're so surprised when they get hate and contempt in return.

I already tried to trust people once. She talked about herself and her abilities. She offered to help. I WANTED to work for them voluntarily and honestly. And what's the result? Sleeping gas and a closed laboratory for the rest of my life. A wonderful thank you for saving me during the war. Sincere honesty. But they assured me, they swore that this would not happen. Well, well. As soon as they showed their capabilities in practice, they panicked and twitched, trying to hide their secrets. And we ended up with the Apocalypse.

I could barely contain my laughter.

A brutalized metamorph magician, who has only a desire for revenge, mixed with sincere, crystal-clear black hatred, is a terrible enemy. Mentalism, used with all its might, gave me an advantage: I KNEW what was going to happen and when, by reading information from the mentopol of the planet. Yes, I wouldn't have lived a year after that, but I didn't need this year. It took me a month to turn the world into ruins. Necromancy is not considered the most dangerous branch of ritual magic for nothing, even more dangerous than demonology. And there was a lot of death and a lot of necro-energy, generously given to me by my enemies. Reality got its chance to develop, as the notorious canon disappeared into the distance in the flames of global war and a mini-version of the zombie apocalypse. I was even killed. He was shot by a sniper. What's the use? She stood up. To just kill a necromancer in the middle of a battlefield? It's not even funny. A nuclear strike would have been launched, demilich or the supreme disembodied undead would have stood up. There's no difference.

That life taught me a lot of lessons. Cruel, painful, bloody. But — priceless. Never trust people and don't trust them without looking back. They'll betray you. Or they'll frame you. Never let them know that you are stronger, more talented, or at least in some way different from them. Someone else's power and incredible abilities cause only envy, hatred and the desire to destroy the owner of these abilities. Hit back. Indifference to hatred. Never forget: mercy is seen as weakness, honesty as stupidity, and generosity as a sign of a fool. Great lessons. You can't say anything.

Those who are the exception are priceless! For such reasonable people, you can bend reality over your knee and give your life without hesitation. But they don't occur very often.

Okay, the demons are with them, with the humans. To get involved with humanity is insanity in the highest degree of its development. At least there are other types of Mass Effects in reality. Maybe you can deal with them?

Who is there?

The Reapers? They don't give a damn about individual organics, except for favorites like Nazara's Saren.

The Asari? Fast-paced same-sex aunts with a bunch of secrets that they are in no hurry to share with others, even on the brink of the death of the galaxy. It's dangerous and unwise to mess with them. Who knows how the thought will turn in their head? Just look at their justiciar with their strange logic and Code.

The Salarians? Slippery, practical types. If the canon is at least a little bit close to reality, you have to expect setups and problems from these comrades no less than from Cerberus, or even more. I am guaranteed a comfortable laboratory table there. To their demons.

The Turians? Maybe. A military civilization based on personal honor and valor, in which lying about one's actions is the gravest crime. A strict code that has no exceptions, no matter who falls under it: an ordinary soldier or a Primarch. I wonder if they're really that painfully honest. If they really evaluate a reasonable person by personal qualities, and not by origin and potential danger, you can try to negotiate with them.

The Krogan? I remember the canonical Reeve and understand the Salarians with their genophage. Women in their culture, if we can even talk about culture and Krogan, are an object of bargaining or exchange. They are usually killed first when attacking another clan. If you want to fight and kill to your heart's content, this is not a bad option, but deal with them... Not an option.

The Quarians? I don't know. There is not much information about them, we need to find out. But from the point of view of practicality, a Migrating Fleet is useless. They are barely able to take care of themselves. I won't be able to rely on them.

The Drell? Absolutely devoted to the Hanars. Jellyfish have enough problems not to risk messing with them. They're too unpredictable.

Voluses? So they are part of the Hierarchy. Without batting an eye, they will sell me profitably to the Turians. They will also congratulate you on a successful deal. They'll congratulate me.

The Batarians? To contact a slave-owning state with a rigid caste society? Funny. The prospects: a control chip, a laboratory, and a slave collar. If you remove the slave collar, everything is like in the Alliance. Although not. The collar can be left on.

Who else is there?

The Elkors. No options or comments. They trade with pirates, on their own.

The Yagi? are guaranteed to try to kill. When they get punched in the face, they'll leave me alone. But the output is useless.

Vorcha? They'll try to eat them right away. They have brains like troglodytes, and they behave the same way. In fact, they are a primitive people with all the consequences.

The Geth? They have no points of contact with organics. A closed society.

The heretics? See point one. It's easier to fly straight to Vermaer to visit Saren.

Collectors? The same as heretics, only in a more perverted form with a real chance of ending up on the same laboratory table.

I don't think I've forgotten anyone.

Yeah. It's a choice, a choice... what a wealth: for every taste and color. I don't even know who to turn to.

Maybe I really shouldn't do anything?

And what? If Nihlus survives my receiving Spectr status, it will fall out of the interests of this reality and will have the opportunity to try to bring it out of the rut of the canon. He will be free in his destiny. After all, this is his home reality, not mine. I just don't want to set him up like that. I've already started to respect him.

Okay, I have time to take a closer look at Kraik while we fly to the Citadel. If the real Council turns out to be the same tight idiots as in the canon... I drop everything and fly to Vermaer. And may it all burn with a clear flame!

Chapter 5.1: Who are you?