//------------------------------// // Chapter 15 // Story: Mass Effect: Salvage // by N00813 //------------------------------// Chapter 15 -- We fight or we die. That’s the plan. – Commander Shepard, 2186 CE -- Day two. With that thought, Luna pushed herself up, as the sun just began to crest over the horizon. That had been a sort of waking call, in times past; unicorns would be able to detect the magical fluctuations that ‘raising’ the sun or the moon caused. They’d either wake, or know it was time to sleep. It was kind of ironic that similar thoughts had plagued her time in exile. Back then, she’d lost count of the passing days after the first few hundred, and started thinking about anything – mathematics, philosophy, strategy – just to stave her mind off the boredom. She’d even conjured up fantasy worlds to live in. After a while, reality and fantasy looked the same. The castle psychologist had helped, but even now, her thoughts often drifted to places unknown. She could see one of the aliens; the turian, Levin, who sat awkwardly in the middle of the camp, next to his vessel. He sat, hunched, with his weapon across his knees. Oddly, his stature reminded her of a flower; a moon lily, specifically, what with his body shape and the odd protrusions from his knees and ankles. Ironic that it was an alien that she felt she could relate to the best. Trotting over, she could see him begin to look up, and she paused awkwardly. This seemed so much easier in her head. Closing her eyes, she began to speak. “For what it’s worth, I know how you feel.” The alien had insisted on wearing some sort of armor that completely masked his smell and face. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was relieved, or annoyed, or both. He didn’t object, so she took that as a sign to continue. “Do you want to… talk about it?” The turian glanced around, and Luna did so as well. She didn’t know what he was looking for. After a short pause, he stood up, towering over her. “Maybe in a quieter area,” he muttered, summoning his curious orange glove for a second and tapping it. Luna obliged, and the two of them walked over to the rear of the camp, where they stopped just before the treeline. “Shit,” Levin muttered, sitting with his back against the bark of the tree. “Why am I pouring out my past to you? I only know you for a day or two.” Luna didn’t know what to say, so she just kept silent. After an awkward pause, she folded her forelegs under her, and sighed. “I’ll go first, if that’s alright.” Levin nodded, and Luna closed her eyes. “Long ago,” she said, voice laden with emotion. “my sister and I ruled over this land, and over our people. Over time, we saw that our citizens could shape the weather to our whim. The seasons, we could speed the passing of. We replaced nature, and became it.” She paused, sighing, and Levin’s sharp eyes could pick out the traces of moisture around her eyes. “I recognized that, if anything ever happened to us, or the ponies, the land we inhabited would die. Our actions had ensured that we had to be constantly at watch, constantly alert to correct any imbalance. My sister thought that it was a fair trade for the guarantee that her charges could live in peace. I didn’t.” Levin knew what was coming next, and so he put a talon on the pony’s shoulder, receiving a small, grateful smile in return. “You two fought.” “Yes,” Luna choked out, closing her eyes as tears started to appear. “You know what happened afterwards. A thousand dead, because of me. And in the end, nothing changed. They died in vain. My sister’s system is still in place.” Levin squeezed her shoulder slightly, letting her know that he was still there, listening. “Have you told anyone else?” A choked sound escaped from Luna’s mouth. It was something between a sob and a laugh. “My sister already knows, and she says she forgives me. The thousand deaths, however… I cannot simply go to some pony. Who would understand? Truly, truly understand? Shining Armor is blinded by patriotism and duty. My sister has her own demons, and she’s banished them down into the dark recesses of her mind in order to focus on ruling her nation.” She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “But now, it is as if I have had a great weight lifted off of me.” Levin’s mandibles flared in a lopsided grin. “I understand. Umm, do you want to listen to mine?” Luna smirked, raising her head to look at him. “You listened to me, and comforted me. I will try to do the same.” The turian chuckled heartily. “Macedon, Solregit. It’s a turian colony, right out in the frontier. Back then, we had separatists and loyalists – the former wanted to secede from the Hierarchy” – seeing Luna’s confusion, he elaborated – “the government. The latter didn’t.” He paused. Now he knew how Luna felt. It was tough, remembering painful memories. “Separatists killed about 10,000, to 20,000. Exact number was never known, because some of the victims were vaporized in the blast. Anyways, the government passed the order to send in the, ah, the death squads.” Levin sighed as he remembered how eager he’d been to avenge the dead. If only he knew… Sensing his hesitation, Luna stretched out her neck to nuzzle him. He jerked backwards, raising his arms until they covered his chest. The pony stopped what she was doing, and looked at him. “I just wanted to comfort you,” Luna said, confusion evident in her voice, and hurt in her eyes. Levin mentally kicked himself. Of course their culture was different from his. “Sorry. Overreacted, I guess. Back home, that kind of gesture is for… close partners.” He sighed, something that he’d gotten rather good at. “I joined up. The death squads usually don’t take any corporals, but I was an exception, since I had outstanding service beforehand. Tavus – he was my officer in the squads – warned me beforehand. Hell, he warned all of us. I guess he’d seen a lot of people like me. I should have listened. Should’ve, but I didn’t.” Letting out a rattling breath, Levin looked to the sky, where the first rays of dawn started to poke over the horizon. That meant the others would start waking soon. “I knew what I had to do. Back then, I had no qualms – the greater good demanded it, see? But when I came up to the houses…” he trailed off, and Luna awkwardly put a hoof on one of his shoulders, mirroring his own action. His mandibles flared in gratitude, even though he knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. “So, my group and I came up to this street we were supposed to be clearing. Most of them were empty, the civilians moved off to the safe camps. The last one, though…” He paused again. Better get this out, get this over with. She’d done the same, and you should return the favor. “A family. A man, a woman, two children. The father was holding a gun, a weapon, so I shot him first. The others, though… I hesitated. And then I heard Tavus come up…” “You disobeyed orders,” Luna said, solemnly. “And received punishment for doing the right thing.” Levin laughed emptily, and the harsh, coughing sounds made Luna tilt her head in confusion. “I wish I had. Oh, spirits. You know what I did? Orders were orders. I killed them. All of them.” His voice degenerated into coughing chirps, and Luna looked down at the ground, momentarily shocked. No wonder he’d become disillusioned. To be ordered to do such a thing… “It was for the greater good, did they not say?” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. Already, she could hear the sounds of chirping, screeching voices emanating from the camp, and the smell of camp rations being cooked wafted downwind, over their spot. “You believed that. At the time, at least.” The turian let out a few, half-hearted chuckles. “Yeah, I did. The policy is still in effect, so I suppose the government still believes what they do is justified. Is it? I don’t know.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to get involved. Not anymore.” Luna tried to smile, but the weight of her memories dragged down the corners of her mouth. “At least you stopped. You recognized that your actions opposed your morals.” “Yeah. But to think, I once… I once was like that. Sobering.” Luna grimaced. “You’re not alone in this. Just remember that.” She began to stand as the screeches of griffons filled the air, and the soft clanks of metal against metal tinkled off from the closest tents. “Princess,” Levin started, and then stopped as the pony turned to look at him, straight in the eye. Suddenly, everything he wanted to say was taken away from him. He blinked twice, trying to grasp the words at the edge of his mind. “Thanks,” he finished, lamely. Luna smiled, and turned to face him fully, stretching out her neck for a nuzzle. This time, he let her. -&- Back in the center of camp, Gilda sighed. Another day of slaughter, coming up. She flicked open her armor – two pieces of red-painted steel, connected with a network of spider-silk straps – and began the process of putting it on. She’d done it so many times that she could do it with her eyes closed. This time, she chose to divert her attention to a small photograph that stuck half-way out of her bag. It depicted Rainbow Dash and herself, arms around one another, staring out and smiling at the camera. A memory of happier times. A time before she’d been called up for her mandatory military service at 14. A time before she'd chosen to stay at the end of her 4-year course. Gilda felt another sigh come up her throat. She thought about forcing it down, but the lesson of her latest reunion shot back through her mind. Never hide your own feelings. Miscommunication had nearly killed a relationship. Good thing they made up, though. Now, Dash at least had some respect for her left. Damn, what was that reunion about? Oh, yeah. Getting affairs in order. The military wasn’t a cushy job. She knew it’d probably be one of the last reunions she’d have in her life, and, well, that pink bastard screwed it up… Gilda’s claws extended unconsciously, and she took a deep breath before putting the last touches on her armor. Griffon soldiers were trained to attack at range; a consequence of the relatively mountainous territory that they inhabited, as well as their sharp eyes and gift of flight. Getting up close was dangerous. Whilst they were born with natural daggers in the form of their claws, they lacked the hardiness of earth ponies or diamond dogs, and the speed of pegasi. As such, their armor tended to reflect this strategy; light armor for the forearms and shins, plate for the chest, and a spider-silk hood for a helmet. Though, since spider-silk was expensive and difficult to manufacture, those hoods were only given to those of high rank and importance to the state. Most common soldiers went around with cloth hoods or no hood at all. Still, what was past was past. Gilda shrugged, although she couldn’t help but feel a little cheated when she thought back to that fateful day. If Dash wanted her new friends, so be it. She listened to the sounds around her; chirping birds from the forest behind her, interspersed with the percussion of gunfire from the buildings in front, and overlaid with the constant, low hiss of wind going south. A typical day, all in all. Gilda had to smirk. Maybe the Maker was right all along. With the blood she’d spilt on behalf of her people, maybe they just weren’t supposed to get along well. They most certainly wouldn’t after all of this was done. Tartarus, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to get a tourist visa when the Equestrians knew what she’d done. After checking that her ammo bandolier was full, and her rifle working, she stepped through the canvas opening of her tent. Twilight and Armor stood together, as usual. She couldn’t spot the massive krogan anywhere, which probably meant that he’d gone off to do something of his own in the city. The other two aliens were going towards the medic tent. “Hey, Twilight,” Gilda said, absently tugging on the rifle’s carrying strap that lay across her chest. “This is your chance. You coming or not?” Twilight shook her head, just as expected. Gilda turned her head to look at the Captain. Armor shook his head. “I’m staying with my sister.” Gilda shrugged. “Your Princess isn’t. A guard that refuses to protect his charge?” Seeing Armor fume silently was amusing, but after a few moments she turned away, towards the campfires, where the smell of roasting rations hung in the air. -&- After they’d gotten a foothold in the first row of buildings, the purge became significantly easier. Most buildings were at about the same height to one another, and as such, the soldiers could simply shoot from one window to the next. Of course, the same could be said for the insane, but most of them were either shot through before they could aim their guns, or missed by a wide margin. Still, Gilda thought, that didn’t exactly make it any less dangerous when breaching. At this kind of distance, any shot could be fatal, and it wasn’t like it was easy to miss. She looked back at her squad again. Hans was clutching his standard-issue rifle, with a bayonet attached at the end. The exiled Princess didn’t look particularly happy about this, but at least she showed up – that was saying something. This pony had guts. Or maybe she was just psychotic. The events of the Longest Night didn’t really make her that sympathetic of a pony. Anya stood at the back, carrying one of those new, state-of-the-art rifles; full steel construction, box magazine, bolt-action, with holes bored into the stock to decrease weight, and a modular design. Currently, she’d taken off the extended barrel to shorten the length, for ease of use in close quarters, and a bayonet stuck out from under the threaded tip. The guards in the row behind had reported seeing the massive alien go in and out of houses in front, but aside from that, they didn’t know what he was doing, or where he was now. No matter. It only meant that her job would be tougher. With a blue shimmer of her horn, the Princess constructed a magical shield around each of the griffons and herself. Right. Time to go, Gilda. The griffon took a deep breath. The door didn’t really exist anymore. Only some shards of wood remained attached via hinges to the doorway – the rest, along with the barricade behind the door, had been mulched and blown backwards into the room. Moving quickly, Gilda went for the left side of the room, rifle butt pressed against her shoulder. She knew without seeing that Hans would go for the right – standard procedure. Anya would stay at the rear, covering any doorways with her rifle, whilst the Princess would keep up her concentration and hold the shielding. She hoped. Too late to have second thoughts. Act, act! The adrenaline pumping in her ears almost drowned out Hans’s shout, and the screeches coming from his position. A shot rang out from behind her; Anya. Once she established that there were no enemies on her side, Gilda turned her head around to find Hans with his bayonet embedded deep in another griffon’s neck. That would have been normal. What wasn’t normal was the fact that the dead griffon seemed to be missing his left arm and leg. Those appendages looked like they’d been torn off, according to the shredded stumps that now adorned his figure. One sightless eye stared upwards, angry even in death, and the other had been reduced to vitreous slime by Anya’s shot. Gilda averted her gaze after a second of staring. “Clear,” she muttered, and Hans replied an affirmative. -&- Sev trudged down the main road, holding his shotgun loosely in his arms. The destination – a cliff-face with a hole bored through the center, as if a thresher maw had made its lair there – lay only a few hundred meters away. He stepped over a pile of dead bodies, boots squelching as some of the rotting flesh gave way beneath his boots. Never mind; he’d push through. To both sides, buildings stood like the sides of a grey canyon. Through the windows on each side, he could seldom spot movement – fast and agile, similar to those human husks. He had considered opening fire – his shots could punch through steel as if it were butter, thanks to the upgrades – but it would be like shooting blind, and he knew he’d only waste ammo. His shields flared blue, all of a sudden, and he felt a slight kick as the Fortification program in his armor activated. Enemy shots. From behind. He whirled around, finding a pack of six griffons, each holding their own rifles. All of the weapons had smoke pouring out of the barrels. Multiple targets. He switched out to his own assault rifle, before pings from the north drew his attention, and his armor shimmered again as it stopped the southbound bullets. So, these birds had the brains to create an ambush. It was a shame that their weapons would do no good against his armor. A quick trigger sweep, and the six birds lay dead on a pool of their own blood and body parts. Sev turned – A weight smashed into his back, and as he stumbled forwards, the short stab of pain that shot from his shoulder made him hiss in surprise and anger. He didn’t have the time to register how their claws got so sharp – another griffon lunged at him as he half-faced them, and he swung down at the offending bastard. The griffon crumpled to the ground, but sprang up just half a second later, seemingly no worse for wear. That was when the first inklings of fear trickled into Sev’s mind. Even with the blood pounding in his ears, and with the pain subsiding into the background, the surprise that they’d actually managed to pierce his armor hit him like a tomkah. As he felt the soft squish of medi-gel against the suit breaches, he took aim at the griffon on the ground. Divide and conquer. For the moment, he ignored the one that was raking its claws along his armor, and brought his rifle to bear on the standing griffon. Even as he pulled the trigger, and as red trails pounded into the griffon and the earth around him in a blaze of heat and fire and noise, the griffon’s arm moved lighting fast, arcing around to swipe at the weapon. Just before the limb separated from the body, the claws made contact, scoring deep marks along the barrel of the gun. With a growing sense of horror, mixed with frustration and excitement, Sev noticed the gun starting to hiss and bleep incessantly, and that the rate of fire was starting to wind down. The gun spiraled out of his hands as he let go, and the dead griffon’s limb followed it, bloodying the grip. Obviously the hardcoded safety system had detected a fault, and locked down the gun to prevent damage to its internals. It would be useless compared to the Claymore that he drew quickly afterwards. With his other hand, he ripped the griffon off his back, and flung him to the ground. The revelation that the bastard was actually a female went over his head, as he examined her claws. They weren’t like Gilda’s, that was for sure. As Sev ran her through with the bayonet attached to his shotgun, he could see trails of dark blue lines creeping down the golden tissue of the griffon’s claws, and the tips of those claws seemed to be blackened, as if they had been scorched. The Reapers had gotten to her. The shotgun boomed once, and the griffon’s body flung off the bayonet blade, in two halves. And that was it. Sev stopped shooting, listening to the sound of a dead settlement. Nothing but the distant cries of griffons, the pops of their primitive weaponry, and the whistle of the breeze. No deep hum, no tightening of the chest. As far as he knew, the indoctrination devices weren’t active now. He picked up the rifle again, inspecting the damage. Three claw marks were evident upon the place where the barrel met the firing chamber, and he could see that the metal plating there had given way. It appeared to be dented, and through the holes, he could see exposed electronics. The gun was by no means unfixable, but as this Striker was an old, outdated model, its internal electronic systems were hard to come by. Krogan guns were developed to be as tough as possible; they needed to be as hardy as their wielders, in order to survive unforgiving Tuchanka. The idea of repairing a broken gun was incomprehensible, and as such, replacement parts were often just scavenged from other discarded weapons. But since no one used this model anymore, he’d have to dig through trash just to find another circuit board that fit, and hope that board wasn’t damaged either. He swore. He couldn’t do that right now. No one on this planet even knew what mass accelerators were. Sev gave the trigger an experimental pull, and the gun spat out a round, accompanied by a spray of sparks. Sighing, the krogan popped the thermal clip and replaced that back into his ammo pouch, before folding the gun and clamping it onto his back. No use but scrap metal now. The Claymore in his hands was still working. Good enough. With a few swipes on his omni-tool, he diverted suit power to the scanner systems. Shields couldn’t nullify melee attacks, by design, so he only needed the minimum. More information, however, gave him more power. He heard the general chatter back at camp; Levin and Riana were still in the medical area, tending to the wounded, although there were no more new arrivals. They were talking about the future – what they were going to do, etcetera. He rolled his eyes. “Found griffon husks,” he said into the coms, kicking the body closest to him absentmindedly. “Do you feel symptoms of indoctrination?” During the Reaper War, the symptoms of indoctrination had been broadcasted over the extranet, as part of a galactic effort against the Reapers. Leaders of each race had mobilized the hospital systems as well, and posters of the symptoms had been everywhere on the Citadel during the war. Riana and Levin instantly shut up, and after a brief pause, the softer voice of the asari could be heard. “No, I don’t.” Levin denied feeling any symptoms as well. Sev sighed, gripping the blade of his knife as he looked down at the dead griffon. The blue lines adorning her claws seemed to be dim, like dark blue tattoos rather than strips of light. The limb that he’d blown off the first griffon lay shredded on the ground, with bits of half-cooked meat and bone arranged haphazardly around it. That would do no good. He looked at the griffon halves in front of him. Her chest had been blown apart by the shotgun blast, and the head and arms looked like they were just barely hanging by a tendon, but on the whole they seemed to be relatively intact. The close-range shotgun blast had confined the damage to the torso. A downwards slash of the knife separated an arm from the body, and he turned back towards the griffon camp, sticking the limb on the end of the bayonet for ease of transport. The passing gray buildings blurred together, and before long, he arrived at the camp, with a pouch full of cooling thermal clips. The husks had tried to ambush him, shooting him from their relatively high position on the second floors of the buildings. When that hadn’t worked, they’d stayed inside their buildings, probably to get the jump on him when he brushed past. His Claymore shots put an end to their plans. The scanners had highlighted their approximate positions through the walls as red squares, and the red-hot, armor-piercing buckshot ejected from the gun punched through the house walls like tissue paper. What was behind those walls hadn’t fared much better. -&- Armor felt useless. He’d cowered behind the barricades of the griffon camp while his Princess, that he’d sworn to serve with his life, went out and risked her own for the sake of some country that they weren’t even friendly with! Furthermore, he’d come only on the risk that he’d be gone for a day, at most. They were nearing the second night by now, and he wasn’t sure how Canterlot was doing in his absence. A part of him kicked himself for that thought; Canterlot would be fine, and you got one-upped the last time an emergency happened. Even if you’d stayed, what would have changed? Armor scowled idly, and the griffon next to him gave him an odd look. At least Twilight looked okay. She’d been staying at the medic tent, at his insistence, but he had the feeling that she’d known more about what was happening than she let on. The screeches and cracks emanating from the north didn’t leave much to the imagination. Everyone was going to go home different. He doubled the strength of the shield-barrier he’d conjured, and felt a hot, sharp stab of pain as another bullet slammed into the purple magic, half-melting on impact, and fell to the ground. He groaned, just as the bang of the griffon’s rifle brought him back to the situation at hand. The griffon screeched and squawked, all of a sudden, and Armor poked his head up the barricade. He soon wished he hadn’t. Somehow, the two aliens at camp had come out of their own accord, seemingly in sync with the arrival of the brute. Worse, Twilight followed them out a moment later. Sev tossed the limb into the camp, and as Armor rushed to tell his sister to return, the appendage landed at his hooves. He screamed. His white coat flecked with drops of red blood, the tendons of the torn limb stringing out like puppet strings, the bitter smell of death, cooked flesh and blood – all of that combined together to turn his insides out, and he vomited into the grass next to the limb. The two aliens didn’t show any emotion at all, but with their armor on, it was impossible to see their real reactions. Nonetheless, Levin slowly approached the limb, before picking it up by the claws, examining the tips. “Deadened Reaper circuits,” he said at last, dropping the limb. “Tips seem to be some sort of synthetic alloy, probably Reaper hull material. Monomolecular sharp.” He laughed emptily as he dropped the limb back on the ground. “Well, good luck. They’ll need it.” “Deadened?” Riana asked, running a scan on the limb. It picked up no transmissions of any frequency near. As far as she knew, the Reapers weren’t controlling these griffons. Levin shrugged. “Husks have glowing eyes, yes? When they die, they lose the glow. The machine powers down.” Hefting himself over the barrier, Sev spoke. “The dead griffon still managed to swipe me. Busted my rifle.” Armor and Twilight had huddled together, an island of familiarity in an ocean of mystery. “What is going on?” Twilight asked. She’d normally want to have a look at the specimen herself, but this time she preferred to pass on the chance, seeing her brother’s reaction. “Looks like the Reaper wiring didn’t meld correctly,” Riana continued, as she swiped across the holographic interface. “See, it’s not along the nerves, until the tip.” That was probably the reason why the griffons hadn’t died alongside their cybernetics. Overloading the electronics wouldn’t have overloaded the brains, and as such, the griffons would be able to continue functioning even after the death of the Reapers. She turned to Sev. “Did you get a good look at the body?” Sev nodded. “No obvious outwards signs. Only the claws are strange.” Riana mirrored his body language unconsciously. “That’s why it didn’t get destroyed,” she murmured. “Looks like the conversion process went wrong. Even if it did get a signal, you see, it wouldn’t be able to control the arm. Only the claws.” “The ones we fought when we came here weren’t like that,” the griffon by the barricade said, evidently having overheard. “They looked normal, but were just… insane.” Sev shrugged. “I went pretty far into town.” Riana swore suddenly. “This changes everything. If they’re husks, even some sort of half-husk, they’ll need help.” The griffon nearby scoffed. “Nah, we don’t. We were doing fine, and we will do fine.” “Tell me that when one of those bastards latches onto you,” Levin said, thinking back to London again. Those human husks had sharp fingers, and their swipes still hurt like hell. The griffon patted the side of his gun. “Stupid to let them do that. Keep them at range.” Thinking of the hordes of husks rushing towards London FOB, Levin shook his head. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.” When was that? Shepard had been downed, meters away from the beam to the Citadel; the next few hours were blurred into a mix of frantic shooting, emergency broadcasts, and vicious, brutal killing. On both sides. Riana looked at the shuttle. “There’s a flamer in there,” she said slowly. “Hieras-base, modified. Uses electricity instead of oil.” Levin knew where that line of thinking went. “You’re not serious, are you? Could you handle it?” The asari sighed. “I’m not sure. But I skipped out on the Reaper War, and I don’t want to feel like I’m not helping in the war effort.” Sev huffed. “There’s a ‘mine’ at the end of the town. Take the shuttle in, hit them hardest.” Both of his teammates knew what he meant by that. Take the loot whilst killing off the griffon husks, most likely at the source. Two birds killed with a single stone. The only problem was whether they could handle the fighting. Sev knew he could. He’d been through worse in the Alliance’s special, multispecies N7 Operations units. He could distinctly remember this one time, when he'd had to stand up against 50 or more assorted Reaper units after the rest of his squad got killed in action. Huh. Come to think of it, the Alliance had to wait until all the Reapers started regrouping before they could send replacements down by shuttle. But Riana had no combat training at all. Her only method of offense was the flamethrower in the shuttle, and the Predator pistol strapped to her hip. Levin had undergone his species’ mandatory military service, and he’d gone and done some more before resigning. If he got stuck in some flashback out there, he’d be dead. Riana began to nod, albeit reluctantly. “This is the best way. We save time, and we help the griffons.” She turned to Levin, who had begun to grip the upper parts of his arms with his talons. “I’m sorry, my friend,” she said, in a lower tone. “But this is for the best. Without our help, the griffons will take more casualties from the Reapers.” By saying that the insane griffons were essentially husks, Riana hoped to alleviate any guilt that Levin could develop. Killing the Reaper husks, his former comrades-in-arms, hadn’t been particularly easy for him, she knew. And it was her fault for getting them into this mess. She’d suggested checking the place out, and it had seemed like an innocent and reasonable request – the planet was a day out from the nearest mass relay. Just one quick detour couldn’t hurt, she’d thought. Levin sighed, seeing no way out. He had to do this; for the griffons, if not for themselves. Kind of ironic that the atonement was essentially the same as the crime, just with different people. Whilst Riana went off to comfort Twilight, who thought that they’d been left behind, Levin went towards the shuttle. His heart sank as he spotted the krogan inside. Just on cue, his chest started to throb dully like an old memory, and he suppressed a snarl. Both of the males watched one another warily as they got into their respective seats, and both of them breathed out a sigh of relief as the cockpit door closed between them. As he heard the thump of footsteps on the shuttle floor, and as the indicator light for the shuttle door switched from open to closed, Levin thought about what he’d gotten himself into. This wasn’t his fight, he knew. If, by chance, they’d passed by this planet, the griffon husks would have been put down by the rest of the native army. This was totally a fight of choice – to help the griffons kill their insane brethren. That was what the rational, cold part of his mind screamed. The emotive side of him said that he would be a coward if he didn’t provide any help. A disgrace to the turian race. What was the point of all that training and equipment if he wasn’t going to use it to help people? Last time, ‘helping’ the Hierarchy involved doing some very questionable things. His help had also saved lives during the Reaper War. Levin ran pre-flight checks, but he’d done it for so long that it had become second nature, and as he watched the shuttle give out confirmations of working systems, his mind buzzed away. The krogan was a bastard, but he was right. Levin hated to admit it, but Sev had helped him out there. What would he have done otherwise? Join the griffons in their door-to-door killing? He’d have hesitated, but the sight of lesser trained and equipped soldiers going out to risk their lives – that would be the tipping point. He’d have done it. Gone in place of the griffons, even. No one else needed to die. He gave a little growl of anger as a lance of dull pain shot up from his chest area. Bastard could at least be more subtle. Ha. A subtle krogan. Maybe when hell froze over. Then again, it did, didn’t it? The Reapers were beaten back, against all odds. Who knows? Levin groaned, and pushed his free-flying thoughts out of his head, attempting to concentrate on the task in front of him. The pre-flight checklist beeped happily, before dissipating into the air, to be replaced by a holographic interface for control of the shuttle. With a deep hum and the hissing roar of thrusters, the shuttle lifted itself carefully into the air, heading north. -&- Sev peered out of the open door, at the grassy ground below. It was blackened with blood and littered with the torn bodies of griffons, each of whom looked like they had been converted. That had been six clips' worth of shots. His scanners picked up nearby hostiles, but it appeared that they were all in the mineshaft itself. They’d put themselves into a chokehold. Riana gripped the flamer as she sat beside him. They’d agreed that Sev should take point, due to his heavier armor; Levin would park the shuttle as near as possible to the mineshaft, and stay by it, providing overwatch with his Avenger, whilst Riana would follow closely behind Sev, roasting any large clumps of enemies. She and Levin had argued about who should take the flamer. He said that he had the training to survive, if things went sideways, but she countered that he would be a liability in the confined spaces, and that he didn’t want to do this anyways. Both of them conceded that last point. In the end, he’d relented after her argument for squad unity. All three of them knew what she meant; the fight at camp the day before yesterday had put a lot of bad blood between Sev and Levin, and both males were watching the other carefully. In a combat situation, you needed to be able to trust your comrade, and Levin knew that he couldn’t trust Sev. He couldn’t now, at least. Not after what the krogan had done to him. The mouth of the mineshaft tunnel loomed ahead; a square, black hole, supported on the sides with wooden beams. With a hard bump, the shuttle hit the ground, and the roar of the thrusters died down. Sev nodded, took a deep breath, and walked forwards into the void. -&- Gilda heard the distinctive sound of the alien vessel as she took out yet another enemy griffon. Hearing her teammates’ confirmations that the floor was clear, she stuck her head out of the window. Normally she wouldn’t be this reckless, but the shimmer of Luna’s shield assured her of her safety. As she watched, the thing headed due north, towards the local mine. That was where the epidemic had started, according to her superiors’ guesses. The mine was a fairly new addition to the town, constructed after signals of metallic materials had been discovered near the area. She sighed. Even if the aliens were to run, she still had her orders. She remembered Gustav’s report of the defiled griffon claw, and what conclusions the aliens had drawn from it. Griffons, augmented beyond their natural ability, but losing their sanity in the process – horrific, for both the victim and the one who had to put him or her down. She was suddenly struck by a massive sense of fatigue, and the noon sun appeared to mock her as she pulled her feathered head back into the safer confines of the house. How long had they been here? A week? Ten days? She couldn’t remember. That both scared and relieved her. She had gotten used to the killing. It was a normal, everyday thing – literally. What would Dash say? She pondered for less than a second, before cracking a grin that looked more like a grimace. Dash probably wouldn’t want to associate with her anymore. Definitely not, not after this. She shrugged. Before, she knew she would have flew into a rage at the unfairness of it all – she’d been ordered to do this, it wasn’t like she enjoyed murder! – but now, she just couldn’t feel a thing. She was just tired. Exhausted. What was past, was past, and so be it. Maybe she’d just retire to some island somewhere, far from anyone else, and die alone, in peace. Kind of ironic that the military, which had preached unity, duty to the state and the people, had left her like this, she reflected. In the end, she’d just wanted to lie down and sleep. Screw the state, and screw the people. Do your own fucking dirty work yourself. She kicked herself for that selfish thought a second later. She was in the army to help others, not to feed her own ego or greed. If she couldn’t handle it, then she might as well resign. She cracked a lopsided grin at that. Resignation was looking more and more attractive as time passed. If she survived, they’d no doubt give her a medal and a speech saying how proud they were of her, and that she was a hero to the griffon people. Funny, that. She didn’t feel like a hero. She didn’t feel proud. She just felt… tired. She was still cracking that rictus grin as Luna, Hans and Anya regrouped with her. The griffons recognized that tired smile, but Luna’s ears jerked backwards in surprise. Ah, let her worry, Gilda thought. She had done what she had to do, and what was the point feeling sad about it? Hans and Anya looked haggard as well. Hans had his talons caked in other griffons’ blood, and he wiped his cheek with a free talon unconsciously, leaving a line of gore running below his eye. No one could care less right now. Gilda barely nodded as she surveyed her team, and then she turned to look at the mine opening. “Let’s finish what we came here to do.”