#a permanent wound a permanent mass. something that is both fleeting but can change everything in an instant

[dailykugisaki]

Day 355 | id in alt

I was out here just "Wow I should color this so they know I'm gonna put air Jordans on Kugisaki Nobara fortnite tomorrow" then I didn't and just slapped some random shit on. She looks nice though.

[sxypigeon]

Shepard is done with everyone's bullshit

Chapter 2 of An Extra Extended Ending

Summary: Because I hated the ending of the third Mass Effect game so much, I made my own with black jack and hookers. FemShep x Liara with damn near every character is the third game making an appearance.

Chapter 1

***

“How long until communications can reach beyond Sol?”

“It’s unclear,” the asari comm technician said hesitantly; the hum of the ship's electronics seemed to grow in the silence. “Quantum communication seems to be unsalvageable. That just leaves the Sol relay, but our latest reports indicate it sustained damage from the firing of the crucible.”

Sparatus sighed heavily and closed his eyes; this was a hollow victory until he knew the fate of Palaven. “Is there anyone working on it now?”

“No, sir. Those reports only came in minutes ago.”

“What about the team working on the crucible?” Tevos asked. “The brightest minds in the galaxy would have the best chance of fixing it – the sooner the better.” The asari councilor paced around a circular display in the middle of the CIC of the Destiny Ascension looking every bit as impatient as her turian colleague.

“They may be able to, but there is another group we would be foolish to ignore,” Valern muttered quietly, staring at the three dimensional screen, watching the number of surviving ships increase slowly as communication was reestablished ship-by-ship.

“What are you . . .” A look of alarm crossed Sparatus’ face. “No,” the turian said stiffly as he pushed himself away from the display.

“Is it really that terrifying of an idea? It’s only a matter of time before the geth come back online. If we act soon, we may be able to keep our alliance with them intact, maybe even strengthen it.” The salarian folded his arms across his chest and eyed Sparatus intently.

He narrowed his eyes. “Or they may turn on us the moment they realize they have nothing more to gain from our alliance. It’s one thing to cooperate when there is no choice, but what would be their incentive now?”

Valern shook his head condescendingly. “The geth are not as shortsighted as you think.” He brought up the pre-fight fleet numbers. “If even a fraction of their troops survived, it would be in their best interest to repair the relays,” he stated firmly, pointing at the image. “They value knowledge above all else and what better source is there than the relays?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve come in contact with an AI species. There is too much at risk,” Tevos said quietly from across the room. “If we act quickly-”

“We’ll what? Destroy all of the units in Sol?” Valern shouted over the asari councilor. “How many more do you think are out there? We’d be risking another war - one we are ill prepared for.”

“And you want to send them to work on the relay?! What happens when they acquire the knowledge they seek? What’s to stop them from using it against the rest of the galaxy?” Sparatus marched back to the display and brought up images of the Citadel attack nearly four years earlier. “This is what will happen. They have no use for organics. They made that abundantly clear!”

The salarian councilor shook his head in frustration. “We know how persuasive the Reapers can be and yet even after being attacked by the quarians and being on the verge of annihilating them, they agreed to a truce. These are not simple machines, Sparatus!”

“Why are you so convinced?” Tevos asked suspiciously. She walked slowly around the display toward him. “You were vocally against curing the genophage, why is this different?” She fixed on him with a penetrating stare. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Valern scoffed at the accusation. “I see I’m alone in my conviction. What more can I say to either of you?” With a last impatient glare at his colleagues, the salarian turned and strode from the room. “If not as an act of the Council, then as an act of the salarian people, the geth will be brought back online!” he called back as the door closed behind him.

A tense silence followed Valern and lingered long after he left. “Do we even know if any of the science team is still in Sol?” Sparatus asked quietly while bracing himself on the terminal in front of him.

“No, but we will know soon enough,” she said before sending out the call for help.

***

Spirits, it’s a miracle she survived, the head nurse thought as he wheeled the patient out of surgery. At least it’s a bit of good news . . . Sure could use a bit more, though.

A sea of medics split to allow the turian and human through the bustling ward. Endless lines of beds on either side of the walkway were filled with too many injured, too many that would not last the next twenty-four hours. That’s not- No, I can’t think like that. There’s too much to do to focus on something so trivial. You’re in charge of this ward, damn it! You have lives to save. . .

He squeezed the gurney between two others and began setting up IVs and monitoring equipment. I need to make my rounds soon. We should be getting another shipment of refugees from the Citadel soon- He froze and stared at the patient. She’s not supposed to be waking up yet! “Ma’am, can you hear me?” he asked, staring down at her.

The woman drowsily blinked for a moment before lifting her eyes and focusing on the turian . . . and letting out a sudden, terrified scream. “AHHHH!!!”

Damn it, not again. “Ma’am, it’s okay. You’re aboard the Destiny Ascension.” Another blood-curdling scream. “Ma’am, you’re safe! You were injured-”

“Hey! That’s enough!” Both quickly looked over to the next bed and saw the occupant giving them a stern glare. “I know turians are ugly, but you’re going to make the guy self-conscious if you keep up the screaming.”

The woman stared, gaping at the other patient, long enough for the nurse to inject a sedative into her IV. “There you go, ma’am. Just relax.” They watched tensely as the woman quickly sank bonelessly back into her pillow. Finally. I’m not going to live this down any time soon, he thought as other orderlies snickered as they passed.

“So, who do I need to talk to to get out of here?” the other patient asked after a moment.

“Myself,” he said as he finished setting up the sleeping woman’s monitoring equipment. “Is there somewhere you need to be?”

“I figured you could use another empty bed.”

“What I need is for my patients to recover sufficiently, regardless of how much they think otherwise.” He walked over to the patient and looked at her chart. Human female, numerous serious burns, deep puncture wound to the right side, three fractured ribs – well this just goes on and on. “How are you feeling, ma’am?”

“Fantastic,” she said dryly inspecting the bandages on her hands and arms. “The pain meds wore off a while ago – No! No, I’m not asking for more.”

“If you need them-”

The patient shook her head. “I’m okay. I just,” she paused for a moment and chose her words carefully, “I need to be doing something. I can’t just lay here and – and think. Just give me a once over before you make me stay . . . please.”

He recognized the quiet desperation in her voice and the pleading in her eyes. “Fine.” With a healthy amount of skepticism, the turian gently unwrapped the bandages on her left arm. That can’t be right- He checked the chart again. How the hell? Humans aren’t supposed to heal this quickly. This is more in line with a krogan . . . maybe even faster.

“It’s not pretty, but it’s still better than it was before,” she said quietly, examining the slightly inflamed skin.

“Remarkable is what it is.” He unbandaged the other arm and stared in numb disbelief. “There has to be some sort of mistake in your chart-”

“I think you’ll find my side is sufficiently healed as well.”

The nurse met her piercing stare before pulling back the blanket and lifting her hospital gown. Spirits . . . this is incredible, he thought after removing the gauze. “How is this possible? Even if you spent the last six hours in a vat of medi-gel, you wouldn’t be able to heal this quickly.”

“I’m not exactly a normal human.” The ward around them moved on, unaware of the medical anomaly the head nurse was observing. “So what do you think?” she asked hesitantly.

I think the galaxy needs to study you, but . . . you don’t belong in the ICU. “I can see no justification for keeping you here, but we’re going to need to get you fed and cleaned up before you can go anywhere.” He noted the change in her status in her chart, shaking his head in disbelief as he did. “I’ll send someone over with a meal.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to leave but stopped, hesitating a moment. “Ma’am . . . everything you’ve done – everyone you’ve saved . . . there aren’t words strong enough to convey the gratitude we – I feel toward you. Thank you, Commander.”

The soldier nodded numbly, not meeting his eyes.

But it never feels like enough, he thought sadly. Stay strong, Shepard. I fear we may need you now more than ever.

***

“-he’s going-”

“No, it’s-”

“Where-”

A sharp radiating pain drilled between the exhausted asari’s eyes as distant voices became clear. “It all looks fine, no permanent damage. You are cleared for duty.”

Dr. Chakwas, the med bay. . . the crash. . . Shepard. . .

“Liara? Can you hear me?”

With an enormous effort, she opened her eyes. “Yes,” she rasped out. Her throat was so dry.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not at all well.” She rolled onto her side trying to lessen the pain.

“This should help.”

Something wonderful flowed through her veins, dulling the agony. “Where are we?” she asked tentatively.

“Armstrong nebula, but beyond that no one is sure. They say the planet is habitable though, with a breathable atmosphere and a comfortable gravity.” She helped Liara sit up and handed her a bottle of water. “Finish this and then get some rest.”

She gulped it down gratefully as worry began to sink in. “Do you know what happened to us?”

“Not really,” the doctor admitted. “Whatever that energy field was, it left no physical trace other than several cases of acute epistaxis – nosebleed.” She handed Liara another bottle of water. “Your case was a bit worse, likely due to trying to help the engineers restart the core for over an hour with your biotics.”

Liara sighed tiredly, staring at the bottle, “Not that it did any good. Have we been able to reach anyone back in Sol?”

“I’m afraid not. Specialist Traynor thinks the quantum communication network is beyond repair. We will have to rely on the relays and hope someone is out there to hear us.” The doctor let her cheery façade slip for a moment, long enough to hint at the extent of the worry she was trying to hide. It slid back into place as Chakwas laid a hand on Liara’s shoulder. “Get some rest, I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

But will it ever? she thought as she stared up at the ceiling, feeling the numbing darkness pull her back under.

***

“This has got to be the most confusing hell-hole I’ve ever been to.”

“What’s so confusing about it, Mr. Vega?” Steve Cortez asked as he finished his lukewarm MRE.

“It’s not the layout or anything like that – it’s the people.” Vega pushed himself gingerly off the cot on the floor of a mostly intact office building and pulled the bottle of water from the shuttle pilot’s hands. “Thanks, Estaban. It’s like no one can tell what they’re supposed to be feeling,” he muttered, flexing his injured leg.

Cortez took back his water and scanned the area. Roughly five miles from where the beam had been in central London, a small outpost had been hastily established to tend to the injured. Understaffed and undersupplied, it was not a place of miraculous medical operations, but a last-ditch effort to save as many survivors as possible – including James Vega. “After months of hopelessness, there is plenty to be thankful for . . . and just as much to mourn for.”

“It just feels – shit, I don’t know. Maybe it’s all of that blood I lost on the trek over here, but this just feels wrong. Javik, what’s your read on the situation?”

The prothean did not move from his meditative stance across the room. “Your species celebrates prematurely and mourns before the heaviest of losses are counted.” He paused for a moment before bowing his head slightly, “But even with these flaws, it is your cycle that stopped the Reapers – whether for good or just temporarily. That is more than what can be said of my cycle.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Vega said tiredly. “Do you think – what set off the crucible?”

A sad smile pulled at Cortez’s lips, “Until I hear otherwise, I’m going to believe Shepard did.”

“I’m okay with that,” the lieutenant said as he laid back down. He was out within minutes.

“How is the human krogan?” Javik asked without moving.

Cortez rubbed his face roughly as he tried to shake the melancholy brought on by the thought of Shepard. “The medics think he’ll make it.”

“Good, our efforts dragging him here were not in vain,” the prothean said sternly. “Do not lose your determination – the fight may be over, but your people will need you and Vega.”

“That goes for you too, Javik. You’re one of us now. We aren’t about to forget what you’ve done to help us.”

Javik bowed his head in acknowledgement, but remained silent.

We’re going to need everyone, Cortez thought as he stared around the room at the other cots filled with injured soldiers. I just hope there’s enough of a galaxy left worth rebuilding.

***

“So what you’re saying is we’re screwed.”

“Not entirely,” Tali said hesitantly as Garrus and Williams stared up at the motionless mass effect core in despair. “What we’re saying is that it will take a while, a few weeks at least.”

“Assuming it’s fixable at all,” Williams said skeptically.

“I’m not saying it will be easy, Commander,” Adams said calmly, “but I think we’ll be able to get it up and running again.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Garrus offered.

Williams took a breath and nodded. “Okay, I’ll inform the crew,” she said before heading to the elevator.

“How is she doing?” Daniels asked as they all stared back at the core.

“She’s managing,” Garrus said quietly. “She still doesn’t know if she can fill the void Shepard left, but she knows she has to.”

“No one can replace Shepard, but that wasn’t ever the plan was it?” Tali asked.

“No, but it’s going to feel that way for a while – at least until we get a rhythm going,” Donnelly said. “Any luck with EDI?”

“Not yet.” Garrus headed toward the elevator. “I’ll let you know if we make contact with anyone. Let us know if there’s anything we can do topside.”

***

“Watch the right flank!” Grunt roared over the gunfire. He and his men were deep in the wards flushing out and dispatching Cerberus troops. “Take out that engineer!”

It was slow, grueling work. Street by street, building by building, the enemy was steadily falling back. They’d even managed to save a few civilians. It wasn’t their primary goal, but it did give him a sense of pride knowing he prevented someone’s death by causing another’s.

“Move up!” They were meeting fewer and fewer troops until recently, not that it bothered him. What worried him was the number of engineers they’d come across in this neighborhood. Something was brewing.

“Keep an eye out for explosives and turrets,” he growled as the last enemy fell. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

The squad moved carefully from the courtyard to the building interior. No resistance, no one at all. What are we missing? Cowards, where are you hiding?

“Let’s get out of here,” he ordered before they’d finished securing the building. “Double-time it!” This smells like a trap.

“What was that?!” one of his men yelled as the building shook violently.

Shooting out a window, Grunt bellowed, “Get out of the building NOW!” His men leaped from the window three stories up. The krogan commander followed and landed hard on the walkway below just as the building collapsed. “Those damn cowards,” he growled. “They’ll have to do better than that!”

***

I can’t wait to get off of this fucking ship. At least the food is decent – I am beyond sick of MREs. Jack checked her omni-tool for the fourth time in five minutes. What the hell is taking so long?

After arriving with an unconscious Shepard, she watched uneasily as her friend was wheeled away to surgery. The next hour was a blur of confusion, exhaustion, and anxiety. At some point she’d managed to sleep for a few hours. Now she was an irritable and short tempered ball of energy, desperate to get back to Earth and her kids.

“Keep that up and people will think you’re unbalanced,” a soft voice said behind her.

“Fuck you,” Jack said with a hint of relief. “I can’t believe they let you out. I mean – you still look like shit.”

“Thank you, Jack. You always know how to cheer me up.” Shepard sat next to the biotic with her protein bar and electrolyte drink. “What’s going on?”

“Who the fuck knows?” She stared at the table in front of her. “No communication outside of the system, Grunt is still securing the Citadel, still no word on my kids or the Normandy.”

“Earth?”

“Bits and pieces. Nothing yet on your boys in London.” She watched Shepard eat mechanically, stoic to the lack of information.

“I have to meet with the council and then after that, hopefully we can catch a shuttle back to London.”

“When’s the meeting?”

“Whenever I feel like it.”

About damn time you started telling those spineless fuckers where they can shove it. She stared at the softly glowing scars on her face and neck. Someone hasn’t been thinking happy thoughts. “So are we going to dick around here for a while to piss them off?”

She shook her head after she finished the last of the meal. “There are a few things I need to say before they start another victory tour. I’m going to need you there to keep me in check.”

A small snort of laughter escaped Jack, “You’re shitting me, right?”

Shepard stood and gave her a tight smile. “Let’s just say I’m a little short on patience at the moment.”

“Well, shit. I might have to film this.” She followed the commander with a sinister grin. “Let’s go make some councilors cry.”

***

“I don’t know what else there is to try,” Traynor said tiredly. “My expertise is on a smaller scale. I don’t know how to fix a comm problem on a galactic scale!”

Williams leaned on the terminal that had been Shepard’s in the CIC. “A galactic scale? What does that mean?”

The comms specialist ran her hands through her hair. “There are a couple of possibilities. First, we are the only survivors and that is why we haven’t reached anyone-”

“Let’s not go with that possibility.”

“Okay. Second, something is actively blocking our communications – natural or otherwise.”

“Reapers blocking communication,” the lieutenant commander said stoically.

“Or third, the mass relays are not functioning properly, due to damage or complete destruction.”

“From the crucible firing.” The CIC was silent as Williams contemplated the scenarios. “And none of these can be fixed while we’re stuck here.”

“No, ma’am.”

What are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?! Damn you, Shepard. It should be you here not me. “Let’s focus on the small scale then. What can we do to get the Normandy space worthy again?”

Traynor stared at the nonfunctional galaxy map as she bit her lip. “There are still several systems that haven’t come online that should have by now. There’s the exterior damage and then there’s EDI.”

“What’s the status of EDI?”

“Completely unresponsive.”

“Shit,” Williams muttered. “Do we have any idea how to get her back up?”

Traynor was silent for a moment. “I have a few ideas, but I’m not sure if they’d do any good. When Dr. T’Soni feels up to it, I’d like to get her input.”

“She was still passed out in the med bay last I checked.” She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “Do what you can to bring up the other systems – keep me updated.”

***

“How are you holding up?”

Joker looked away from the foliage surrounding the cockpit and saw Garrus approaching. “Great,” he said sarcastically. “Crashed the ship, cracked four ribs, and my girlfriend might be dead. How about you?”

“I’m alive, that’s more than I expected to be honest.” He dropped into the seat next to the pilot. “In large part thanks to you.”

The pilot looked away. “Yeah don’t get too gushy yet. We may have to start calling this place home even if we can get the Normandy off the ground.”

“If that’s the case,” Williams said as she approached, “then I think our first priority should be finding something growing out there that can be distilled before we run out of liquor.”

“Good to know we’re on the same page,” Garrus chuckled. “I don’t suppose we know if what’s growing out there is levo- or dextro-amino based.”

“If we distill it enough it shouldn’t matter,” Joker said, staring back out at the jungle. “No protein in pure ethanol.”

Williams shared a concerned look with Garrus before speaking behind the pilot’s chair. “I’ve been talking to Traynor – she has some ideas on how to bring EDI back. Once Liara is up and about she and Traynor can start working on her.”

Joker continued staring out of the window as if he didn’t hear her. “Okay,” he finally said quietly.

***

Finally, Tevos thought as Shepard stepped through the open door. She looks much better, but are her scars glowing? “Shepard, we were beginning to worry. Who is your companion?”

The Spectre stood at parade rest in front of the asari while her comrade remained near the door. “Jack, this is the council. Councilors Tevos and Sparatus, meet Jack – a teacher at Grissom Academy. She’s here to . . . keep an eye on me while I’m recovering.”

A snort of laughter escaped the other human as she folded her arms across her chest. Shepard always did keep strange company.

“May I inquire where the salarian councilor is?” Shepard asked soberly.

“Valern has decided he would be more comfortable aboard a salarian ship,” Sparatus said stiffly. “That is part of why we needed to speak with you.”

Tevos activated the display at the center of the room showing an image of the Sol relay, it’s rings fractured and stationary. “It would seem the relays were damaged when the crucible fired. We have many of the crucible scientists working to repair it, but there’s been discussion about whether other groups should be recruited to help.”

“Why would we not ask everyone to fix it?” Shepard asked with a slight edge to her voice.

“This is the most advanced technology in the galaxy,” the turian said briskly. “In the wrong hands, this knowledge could endanger all of us.”

“So who hasn’t been invited to the party, the salarians?”

“No, the geth.”

Shepard frowned as she mauled over the information. “The geth are still alive?”

“They were never alive to begin with, Shepard. At the moment all units are offline,” Sparatus said, staring at the display. “Valern thinks they can be activated and recruited to help with repairs.”

Shepard fought to keep her face neutral. “Why not ask for their help? From where I’m standing, it looks like we could use all the help we can get. Don’t forget the rachni, they’ve also been proven to be very capable and intelligent.”

How does she not see the risks associated with her ideas? “Are you listening to a word you’re saying, Shepard? With the galaxy weakened as it is, it would take very little to change the balance of power and throw us all into another war.” Tevos turned and began to pace. “Caution is needed now more than ever,” she said as she stopped in front of the Spectre.

Shepard closed her eyes and let out a slow breath – her scars seeming to brighten as she did. “Are you suggesting we sever the alliances that we – no, what am I saying? – that I forged to win this war-”

“There’s a difference between having an alliance and handing out loaded weapons that could be pointed back at us,” Sparatus interrupted.

Despite remaining still, the marine radiated anger, enough to make the armed guards perk up. “If you intend on backstabbing your allies, then yes you will have something to worry about.”

“Commander, your vision of the galaxy is naïve,” Tevos stated impatiently. “You of all people should know what the risks associated with-”

Shepard barked out a laugh, breaking her immobile stance. She shook her head in exasperation. “I’m sorry, Councilor, but I can’t buy into the idea that I’m the naïve one. How long do you think it will take for the galaxy to find out your people have been hiding the best preserved prothean beacon in existence? Do you honestly think you will be able to remain the superior race? If it’s any comfort, I don’t think you will have to worry about the rest of the galaxy, I think your own people will be the ones to tear down your species. How many thousands of years have the asari been lied to, Councilor? Was that a risk worth taking?”

Tevos clenched her jaw as she fought her own anger. “And do you honestly think the galaxy will be better off without our guidance? Will the geth lead the way to the future or will it be the humans?” she asked acidly.

“I’d like to see what the galaxy can do together,” she said evenly. “But we can’t do that if we start severing alliances without just cause.”

Sparatus leaned over the galaxy map. “Shepard, what you’re saying is inspiring, but you can’t protect the galaxy with idealism,” he said standing beside Tevos. “The asari government will have to answer for their crimes, but what the galaxy needs now is stability . . . and someone they can stand behind-”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Shepard spat. Behind her, Jack was muttering loudly about spineless politicians. “I’m not about to smile and assure the galaxy everything is fine,” she explained as she also leaned over the map, “while you screw them over when they’re not looking.” Shepard glared at Sparatus. “If that’s what’s expected of me as a Spectre then you’ll have to accept my resignation.”

“This isn’t a matter of right or wrong, Shepard!” he said with fire in his eyes. “This is about saving our galaxy and preventing a complete collapse of the community!”

Shepard took a step back and shook her head again. “A little honesty and accountability could go a long way, Councilor. We are all vulnerable, but we have an opportunity to make all of us stronger than we were before this war!” Shepard turned back to Tevos, “The galaxy will stand behind me regardless of if you want them to or not. The question is whether you’ll be standing with us or on your own.”

The drone of the ventilation system filled the room as Shepard turned and headed to the door. “How many billions died because of the decisions you’ve made?” she asked as she paused at the door. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to-” She turned to face them. “You had four years to prepare, but none of you did a damn thing. But this guilt doesn’t just belong to either of you, though. It’s just as much mine for not doing more, for not – for not-”

“Shepard, let’s go,” Jack said quietly.

“For the sake of the galaxy, I do hope there will be a change in the balance of power.” She followed Jack out of the room without a second glance.

“That went well,” the turian muttered tiredly. “If there’s nothing else, I too would like to be with my people.” He left without waiting for a reply.

The asari councilor remained unmoving long after they left, contemplating Shepard’s words and the fate of her race. Things will never be the same again . . .

***

“They have hundreds of civilians in the buildings ahead,” the krogan scout reported to Grunt.

The commander and his men were camped out in a maintenance tunnel roughly fifteen blocks away from the Cerberus stronghold. “What defenses will we face?”

“Portable barriers and too many turrets to count. A direct approach will be nearly impossible.”

Grunt narrowed his eyes and contemplated his next move. “It looks like we’ll be needing stealth then.” Several of his men shook their heads and growled impatiently. “Complain all you want, but I can promise you we’ll kill more of them this way. These tunnels run right under them. They’ll be dead before they know we’re there. Pack it up and move out!”

The tunnels, unfortunately, were never meant to fit a krogan. Crawling on their bellies single file, the soldiers pushed the lifeless bodies of keepers from their path. The tight space was making his men agitated, something Grunt struggled with just as much. Damn those Cerberus cowards. . .

As they progressed further, voices could be heard above them. “Get those turrets up now! We’ve lost sight of the Krogans and spotted a turian cruiser near the shopping center. Where are those mechs?!”

I’m going to enjoy this. Soon voices multiplied and words became blurred – the sound of dozens of footsteps echoed down the tunnel. We must be getting close. . .

The scout signaled and the squad branched off down the numerous side passages and waited. Time to finish this.

With an angry roar the krogans sprang from the tunnels. Cerberus troops too stunned to move were quickly cut down. “No more hiding!” Grunt followed after those fleeing from the chaos.

Thick clouds of smoke flooded the building he entered, blinding him. I can still hear you, still smell your fear. Staying low, he let out an angry growl and sprinted through the fog into the nearest shooting enemy, crushing him against the wall behind him. “Who’s next?!”

As he cleared the lobby of the building more gunfire was heard outside. Those aren’t my men . . .

Turians, and lots of them, were flooding the walkways, pushing Cerberus forces back faster. Grunt growled in annoyance as he moved to the next floor. Bastards are going to have this fight finished before it gets good!

***

“That is out of the question.”

“But, Dr. Chakwas-”

“Absolutely not.”

Traynor and Liara sighed in defeat under the doctor’s stern gaze. “Can we at least inspect Glyph to see if he can be brought online?” Liara asked impatiently.

“Only if you plan on doing it here in the med bay so I can keep an eye on you,” she said shortly. “I am completely serious about not using your biotics. Twenty-four hours and not a minute less.”

“Okay then,” Traynor said hesitantly, “we can at least brainstorm about what that energy wave was.”

Chakwas shook her head tiredly, “All of the symptoms were very mild and nearly identical: loss of consciousness, headaches, and nosebleeds.”

“All electronics were rendered useless, but chemical and biological systems remained mostly unaffected,” Liara muttered thinking of the glow stick Donnelly lit in engineering before the crash landing.

“It would have to have been something mostly inert to have passed through the entire ship, but leave little damage,” the comms specialist said thoughtfully as she pulled up a chair opposite Chakwas and T’Soni.

“But everything affected by it seems to be salvageable,” Chakwas said as she examined the crew’s medical logs since the crash.

“If it is inert, then there would have to have been a lot of it.” Liara shared a look with Traynor. “You’re thinking about a wave of dark matter, aren’t you? Like a dark matter EMP?”

“Neutrinos to be specific. Dark matter alone can account for ninety-five percent of a system’s mass. Neutrinos are only formed when something expending a lot of energy happens like a supernova or a nuclear reaction-”

“Or a relay firing?”

“It would seem like a logical jump,” Traynor said with some hesitation. “It’s been observed in very low levels after a ship has used a relay.”

“So, if that’s what it was then how did it drain nearly everything of potential energy?” Liara asked, letting her head fall into her hands.

“Liara?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a headache.”

“We’re stepping well past my area of expertise.”

The bay was silent for a moment as the women thought. “I do have one rather unsettling question,” Chakwas said calmly as she put down her notes. “If we can restore function to our omni-tools and maybe even EDI, could the Reapers also be restored – assuming of course that they were affected at all? Are they simply in a state of inactivation?”

The room fell silent.

“That would also be a logical leap,” Traynor said quietly.

***

Jack glared as their shuttle veered away from their intended destination. “Shepard, this doesn’t look like Earth.”

“No, it does not. Apparently we’re having a layover at the dreadnought up ahead.” Shepard felt a chill run down her spine as the small shuttle entered the cavernous hanger. I don’t think we’ll be leaving any time soon.

“That’s one hell of a welcoming party,” Jack muttered, eying the scores of armed soldiers assembling at the landing zone. “This normal procedure or are we just special?”

“We are special,” she sighed. The shuttle door opened with a hiss as Shepard exited. Immediately the soldiers came to attention and held a salute. I am not ready to be back to this.

A lone soldier marched briskly through the ranks of the others and stopped in front of Shepard with a crisp salute. “Welcome aboard, Staff Commander Shepard.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Shepard tried not to think about how much she didn’t want to be there as she returned the salute. “I asked to be taken back down to Earth. I’m a bit confused why I’m here.”

“If you’ll follow me, ma’am, Admiral Ahern will be able to answer all of your questions.”

Shepard came to a sudden stop. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you referring to Admiral Tadius Ahern of Pinnacle Station?”

“Yes, ma’am, I believe that was his previous assignment,” he said stoically as he turned and led them across the hanger.

“You want to fill me in on who this guy is?” Jack asked quietly as they neared the elevator.

“I may have . . . won the admiral’s apartment on Intai’sei in a bet a few years back.”

Jack shook her head a few times before finally saying, “Queen of the fucking girl scouts . . . Have you even set foot in the place?”

“Once,” she admitted as they entered the spacious lift. “I was a bit preoccupied with stopping a rogue spectre and his army of geth from wiping out the galaxy.” Shepard found herself syncing back up with the strict protocols usually practiced on larger ships, a long way from the casual atmosphere of the Normandy. What I wouldn’t give to be back there. . .

“Commander Shepard, it’s been a while,” the gruff admiral said as the group entered the combat information center.

“Yes it has, sir,” she said, saluting. “I see you still haven’t retired.”

“Can’t do that without a retirement home, now can I?” Ahern waited for his men to disembark before continuing. “This your protégé?”

Jack frowned, looking mildly insulted. “Hell, no.”

“She’s a friend,” Shepard said with a grin. “I don’t mean to sound rude, Ahern, but why the hell am I here?”

The older man chuckled and motioned them to follow him. “With Admiral Hackett beyond Sol and Admiral Anderson deceased – a great man, the galaxy is a worse place without him – I am the highest ranking officer. It’s my job to make the big decisions.”

Shepard nodded silently, her throat suddenly unbearably tight.

“I’ve been contacted by the salarian councilor,” he continued. “It seems he wants our help with a project.”

“I’m guessing it has to do with the geth,” Jack said dryly.

“That it does. Not long after the crucible fired and we restarted the systems on the ship, we began sending ships out to retrieve as many alliance fighters as we could before the poor bastards suffocated. Some of our ships also brought back geth fighters. I’m thinking we must have over a hundred of them in the hangar wherever we could find room.”

“Are any of them online?” Shepard asked. They came to a platform overlooking the entire CIC as well as one hell of a view of Earth from the enormous widows ahead of them.

“They weren’t initially,” he said leaning on the railing. “I had some of our techs try to jump start them, but it’s a slow process. We are able to bring up basic processes, though.” He paused, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “The problem is what happens if we can’t bring them back online completely. And now I’ve got the salarians breathing down my neck demanding access to them, but I’m not entirely sure if their interest in them is honorable.”

Shepard stared out the windows at Earth, feeling a wave of grief washing over her. “You want to help them, but don’t trust the salarians.”

“Organic or not, they came to our aid. Hell, I’m thinking of commissioning a memorial for them in London,” he said wearily with a bit of humor.

“And that’s why I always liked you, sir.”

“That’s touching, but I was hoping for a bit more feedback than that.”

She closed her eyes and took a long breath before answering. “What I know is that the turians and asari would rather leave the geth as they are.” Shepard shook her head sadly. “I haven’t spoken with the salarian councilor since shortly after firing the crucible, but I think you have good reason to hesitate.”

“I should have kicked his ass while I had the chance,” Jack muttered. “The prick wouldn’t stop going on about how saving Shepard’s life was a waste of time.”

“What stopped you?” Ahern asked, grinning.

“I was too busy fixing his and everyone else’s fucking omni-tools.”

“Shame. So what is your official recommendation, Commander?”

“For now,” she said after a moment, “allow them hands-off access. Be open to consultations, but have your men continue to take the lead on this. I’ve never known Councilor Valern to offer assistance out of the kindness of his heart.”

“That is as good of a plan as any.” He signaled one of his men to meet them. “Lieutenant Riley will show you to the armory and also get you fitted for a set of armor. There’s no telling what the situation down there is like with most of the comms down. It was good seeing you, Shepard, and meeting your protégé. Stay safe.”

Jack flipped him off before following Shepard.

***

Notes: Thanks for reading! I planned on adding more, but I forgot this existed for a few years and then lost the second half of this chapter. I'll see if I can track it down. :P

[blue-bower]

Lotor Rewrite

I’ve given my thoughts on how horrendously Prince Lotor’s character arc was handled. I’ve reblogged a couple posts that sum up my thoughts on the matter. https://blue-bower.tumblr.com/post/185061129226 https://blue-bower.tumblr.com/post/185061352401 https://blue-bower.tumblr.com/post/182574536376 So, this is going to be my personal re-write of the end of season 6, and the events following in seasons 7 and 8. This is not going to be a rewrite of the entire last 2 seasons; I'm just focusing on Lotor (and Allura later on). There's just so many forced/rushed plot points and distasteful choices on the writers' part that it would take an entire essay to break everything down. But ultimately I feel like Lotor - and at the very end of the series, Allura - were given the worst treatment of any character. Also, keep in mind that it’s been four years since I’ve watched the series in full, so I may not be remembering things 100% accurately. But frankly I do not feel like returning to season 6-8 again just to flesh out a headcanon. This also isn’t a fully set-in-stone fanfic or script, just a general gist of ideas. I have several ideas for potential rewrites with various branching paths.

There are two main ways that I believe the end of season 6 could be revamped.

In the first rewrite, the plot twist with the dead Alteans in the lab never happens. A lot of people saw it as a very ham-fisted way of adding conflict for the hell of it. There could (and imo, should ) still be an Altean colony founded by Lotor, and Romelle would still be a character that is introduced to the Paladins at some point. But I feel like the only thing she would really contribute - at least in season 6 - is siding with Allura in trying to warn Lotor about the dangers of messing with quintessence. If she had a bigger part in the last couple seasons, I personally would have liked to see more of her learning magic and fighting from Allura.

In my opinion, there was already a plot element in place that could have just as easily led to a conflict and possible falling-out between Lotor and the Paladins: Giving the Galrans access to unlimited quintessence. It baffles me that no-one at any point even questioned this, or tried to warn Lotor of the possible ramifications of handing over this kind of power to a power-hungry empire. They just went along with it. So I think they should have steadily built up the unease with going through with this plan, ultimately leading to a battle over whether the gate should be destroyed. It could still be revealed that Lotor did have the ulterior motive of starting his own empire, using quintessence for his own gain. But it would still paint Lotor as a sympathetic antagonist, who truly believed he was doing the right thing.

If the twist with the Altean colony & lab has to happen, then at the very least, it should have been given more time to be resolved. The audience should have been given more answers.

So in this rewrite, the confrontation with Lotor and Romelle still happens. She explains what she and Keith saw, she explains her brother's death and sees Lotor attempting to cover up his death. Lotor still looks like a deer in headlights, but also seems to look guilty. He doesn't deny the facility existing, however. Cue his ass still getting knocked out by Allura. 

Whether the facility happens or not, season 6 still leads to Voltron and Lotor confronting each other at the rift gate. In the first scenario, Lotor tries to reason with them; he claims that under his new leadership, the Galrans will not be using the rift for evil purposes. In the second scenario, Lotor pleads with Allura to let him explain himself; that he never intended to kill Alteans. Allura and the Paladins are conflicted on what to do, and whether to believe him. Most importantly, though,

Allura does not compare him to his shitty abusive father.

If anything, I think she may point out that he's actually a lot more like Honerva than he's willing to admit. It still stings, but doesn't send him into a violent frenzy or a cringeworthy monologue fitting of a Saturday morning cartoon villain. Allura tries to compromise with him; she says she'll come with him to the Altean colony if he destroys the gate. He refuses.

I can see either of these rewrites branching into two potential scenarios: A solo battle between Lotor and Voltron like we saw at the end of season 6, or an interruption to their confrontation: A fleet of Galran ships appearing in an attempt to claim both the phase gate and Voltron. Lotor and the Paladins are forced to cooperate, and get into a battle with the Galrans. Lotor realizes the only way to get them to back off is to destroy the gate, but he also tells the paladins that his ship can phase into the Quintessence field at will - which prompts Voltron to do the same. He convinces them to phase there with him after they destroy the gate.

In either of these conflicts, Lotor starts to lose control of himself in the Quintessence due to his stress and heightened emotions. In a rage, he starts phasing in and out of the quintessence field in order to attack the Galran fleet outside, despite his own advice on staying hidden. The Quintessence starts messing with his mind, making him start to go power-mad (because let's face it, this scene is still hot).

The Paladins try to get through to him, and Lotor fights off the darkness that corrupted his father. But it isn't enough. Voltron is forced to fight him, and blasts him into unconsciousness.

And instead of leaving him to fucking rot in the quintessence field, they manage to save him in time.

Mortally wounded, they place him in a stasis pod. It's going to take him a while to recover, but it's clear that the quintessence is healing him - and quite possibly making him undead like his parents.

In the meantime, Allura wants Romelle to take her to the colony (or the research facility if that plot point stays), but Romelle keeps refusing, saying it's too hard for her to go back - not to mention the fact that travelling there is extremely dangerous and has the effect of warping time - plus it's imperative that Voltron focuses on undoing the damage done by Lotor creating a rift in spacetime. 

I see most of season 7 playing out as normal, since it mainly focused on the Paladins fighting for Earth. I feel like we should have gotten a season 9, because there was just too much going on in season 8 and not enough time to tie up loose ends. The main plot point I would change is Lance’s confession. He does still confess his love to her, but acknowledges that she may not reciprocate it. And she doesn’t. She tells him that she’s just not in a place to move on yet, or pursue another relationship. And he respects her decision.

After Lotor recovers, he isn't quite the same. He seemingly hasn't been corrupted the way his parents were, but his Altean marks are now permanently glowing bright purple, and his eyes are glowing light yellow, mirroring the vision that Honerva had of him.

The others reveal that everyone's actions in the Quintessence had altered time, and two years have passed. He feels remorseful for his actions, but also angry that the Paladins didn’t listen to him. They nearly get into a fight with him because he is still somewhat unstable, and very clearly carrying a massive amount of power within him due to the quintessence, putting him on par with Honerva’s abilities. Allura demands him to take her to the colony, against Romelle's wishes. Lotor’s powerful magic enables them to transport the castle/ship directly to the colony; something they weren’t able to do before because of the massive amount of spacial distortion coming from that region. And again, depending on whether the facility is kept, it can go one of two ways.

They arrive at the colony, and it’s clear that the Alteans don’t worship the ground he walks on the way they did before. Not only do his glowing eyes remind them of Zarkon, but Romelle has been sowing the seeds of distrust in some of the Alteans since the beginning. I know a lot of people were expecting Romelle to be outed as a traitor, but personally, I don’t really see her as the type to try and frame him. I just believe she genuinely disrusts him because of what Galrans did to Alteans in the first place, and she doesn’t feel comfortable with him declaring himself as their new ruler. But hey, maybe there could be a twist that Romelle lied about the facility all along? Some food for thought. But the combination of genuine unease about the half-Galran, and the testimony of what happened between him and Voltron, makes it clear to Lotor that he no longer has their complete trust. If the facility stays: When they arrive at the colony, there is almost immediate distrust and maybe even hostility toward Lotor. As it turns out, before Romelle returned to the Paladins, she told other Alteans what she saw that night her brother died. He tries to talk them down, explain that what he was doing, he did for the sake of Alteans and their future. Some of the Alteans don’t believe Romelle to begin with; others want to banish Lotor. Since he can’t persuade the masses to believe him, he tells Allura to come with him. When they arrive, Allura sees the chambers that Romelle described. When asked about Romelle's brother again, Lotor explains that he tried to save him, and that he never intended to kill the Alteans. He only wanted to harvest a partial amount of quintessence, because it would be the key to locating Oriande. This would make sense as to why he specifically needed quintessence from Chosen Alteans. But somewhere along the lines, something went wrong with the process. Lotor attempted to cover up the deaths, partially out of shame, but also because he knew Romelle already didn't trust him and didn't want more reason for her to lead a revolt against him. Though he feels remorse, Allura calls him out on his bullshit: Covering up the tragedy was a cowardly move. The consequences of Lotor always being the type to leave unfavorable outcomes in the past and keep moving forward have finally caught up to him, and now it’s his responsibility to face his mistakes. At the very least, he gives the Alteans’ bodies a proper burial. The arc ends on a somber note. Lotor is not a hero, nor a villain. He is the culmination of the tragic life that he had been forced to live; for better and for worse.

After this point, it's up in the air as to how the last season (or two) could be rewritten. I can still see a plot with Honerva trying to recruit Alteans to her side in the time span that Lotor was gone, manipulating them into believing that Lotor would have wanted them to continue Honerva’s experiments, and to fight Voltron in revenge for what they did to him. But ultimately, Lotor would confront them and force them to surrender.  All I know for sure is that, before the final endgame battle, Lotor would sacrifice himself for Voltron and to protect the universe. Likely in a very intense, emotional battle against his mother. I know that the most ideal outcome would be for him to stay alive, marry Allura, and rule the new Altean colony together. But this series has never been a stranger to death and the theme of sacrifice. If done well, I think a heroic sacrifice - especially from a character that was previously a villain - can have an extremely positive impact on a story. Maybe, in a scene mirroring his first encounter with the White Lion on Oriande (maybe Honerva has taken possession of the White Lion instead of just destroying it?), he would realize that fighting won’t do any good anymore. He’s forced to surrender. And in doing so, frees the white lion, the massive amount of quintessence within him, and all of Oriande. Honerva no longer holds power over the Alteans. And in a tragic sense, it means that she can no longer be accepted by Alteans either.

I’ve been very back and forth on whether or not Allura would still die in the end. I completely understand the fanbase’s frustration with the decision to kill her off. It felt very gross for PoC fans to see a main PoC character die in such an unceremonious manner. It felt like a cheap way for them to pay homage to the fact that Allura dies in the original series. But like I said, if done well, the theme of heroic sacrifice will leave a positive lasting impact on a series. On top of that, Allura has been shown since the beginning of the series to be an extremely self-sacrificing character. She was willing to put her life on the line on many occasions; and I almost feel like the scene with her surrendering to the white lion was foreshadowing her ultimate fate. If Allura does stay alive, then I feel like she would become queen of the new Altean colony, but would still leave on diplomatic missions across the universe. Altea IS NOT RECOVERED after all the space-time bullshit. The universe doesn’t just magically overlook complete time paradoxes to bring back dead planets. Allura and the Alteans have long come to terms with the fact that they will never get their original home back, but they can start anew. But, if Allura does die, then it damn well be a goddamn Iron Man from End Game moment. No cheap off-screen Deus Ex Machina, no half-assed goodbyes. Her sacrifice would leave a lasting impact through the universe/multiverse. We’d need a solid full episode of the Paladins (AND CORAN BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK DID THEY LEAVE HIM OUT OF REACTING TO HER DEATH) mourning her passing. Truthfully, the ultimate reason I believe they both might die is because I’d want to keep the final image of the series (before all the epilogue stuff). It’s such a profoundly beautiful image that perfectly encapsulates the sacrifices that Allura and Lotor made in order to bring peace to the universe. 

And that’s obviously meant to be Lotor right next to her. The figure is purple. You can see his hair, boots, even the outline of his skirt thing. Why would they put this in if Lotor was always intended to end up as a villain? The fact that they kept that silhouette after treating his character arc so poorly makes it clear to me that he was meant to have more of an overall impact on the story, but was ultimately thrown to the wayside just so the writers could go “WhAt A tWiSt!!!”

And that about wraps it up. Like I said, there isn’t one set storyline that I have in mind, because I have a few different ideas. IMO literally any path the story could’ve taken would be better than what we were given.  If anyone has any suggestions or feedback, feel free to comment/reblog and add your thoughts. Again, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve watched the series in full, so there may be some key moments I’m forgetting. What would you change?

[kriegisms]

100 Prompts - 001Birth

Inspiration Playlist: x x x

She isn’t long for this world.

She knows it as well as she knows herself. Knows every tract of land, every curve of the terrain. It is her, after all. Everything she is, everything she stands for. Or stood for; what she was and is has begun to change, she can feel it in her gut the shift of power over what she perceives as her place, her lands. Lands she has put herself on Death’s very threshold to protect, people that will soon no longer be hers.

Protect it from the creature who lies not far from her own broken body. Torn apart by this monster in human skin, the body lying within reach, his own sword sticking from his chest and a blood-curdling smile still plastered across his face. His eyes are still open, gleaming with his wrought carnage across their glazed unseeing surface.

They called him ‘War’. He was bigger than she was, likely due to his ever-imposing and brutal presence on the world. Maybe she wonders what will happen now that he’s dead, slain by her hand driven by rage and maternal instinct to guard. Will another take the mantle? Will there always be such a beast in this world that causes malady and destruction?

He inflicted heavy damages of his own, to be perfectly honest. Her body is torn, her ankles and parts of her lower legs splintered beyond repair. How she stood to face him after he broke her is a mystery she quietly and briefly entertains herself with before a final fleeting thought of how stained and torn her once-pretty dress is, smeared in dirt and gore. It was a gift to her from her people and she has sullied it.

Any semblance of structure is lost to her, punctuated with a wet cough, her arms shakily holding her lofted giving way and collapsing. Her mane, flowing and cloud-like, drops like dead vines to the earth alongside her, no longer wisping of its own accords. The final breath is a death rattle, the world fades to black and she finds peace in it.

The heartbeat is not expected, deep and pounding. Painful.

The ether is lost in a flash, a brilliant white light flaring across glazed eyes striking her back into wakeful agonizing life. Or something akin to it, at any rate.

Another thump in her chest, more forceful than the last. She gasps at it, her lungs greedily gulping in as much air as they can from being rendered inert. A wet wheezing hack erupts from her, her body starting to activate long before her mind does. It will be some time before she realizes on any conscious or subconscious level where she has been and come back from.

One hand claws at her chest, gripping it as another heartbeat thumps, threatening in its tenacity to kill her again before she has a chance to fully revive. They come more frequently but no less ferocious. Her existence reignites around this pulse, driven by solid instinct alone to push herself up with her free arm. The foundation is shaky at best, but it holds long enough for her to stabilize herself with her other hand, dirty fingernails leaving grimy scratches in her skin, deep enough to bead dark blood just barely to the surface along her throat and upper chest.

It is a little easier to breathe without the burning, her heartbeat steadying and no longer explosive. She is stable for a second when her abdomen cramps painfully and she loses the lock on one elbow. It sends her sideways before she balances again, the loose arm pulled to put pressure on her middle.

The whimper that escapes is punctuated with a heave. She tries to hold it in, attempting to exercise some sort of primitive subconscious control, unaware of the scratched lines tracing all across her body. Blood rises like dark pearls before, with a wet tearing noise, they rip open. The shock of feeling it happen simultaneously is the final tether on that basic control and with a final heave, she empties her stomach much against her will onto the ground in front of her.

She hasn’t noticed yet that it is not actually blood that leaks from her new stripes, not even appropriate vomit. Black and oozing, staining everything it touches a sickly shade of very dark green. Her hair falls in front of her face, dripping with the same ooze, no longer voluminous. She has all of a half-second to contemplate this turn of events before the next few violent stages of the transformation happen.

It starts with a tingling sensation under the skin, from head to toe. Curious, until the muscle in the areas under and around the striping wounds bulk and tighten, wrenching a cry of surprised agony from her gasping maw. The feeling of her teeth growing and shifting in their places makes her tighten her jaw against it, clenching the now-fanged jaws together as though the pressure will make them stop.

The sight is indescribably hideous, a mass of vague human shapes and little semblance to the being it was before. Beneath the mass, she still holds what she can only assume was what she was before. She feels everything in this space between space, a tiny hole between the body she was and the ever-shifting blob that is pushed into its place.

The stripes begin to heal, knitting grotesquely together as she continues to leak ichor from every opening and orifice, her watering eyes dripping black tears behind a veil of oily tendrils attempting apparently to melt into the ground around her and take her with it.

With the healing striped scars comes something more pressing. The splintered and shattered ankles and legs are slowly pulling themselves back into alignment. It hurts like fiery coals have been injected into her skin and when they are nearly done, only then does some conscious thought manage to tell her that something has gone horribly wrong in this process, but it doesn’t know what exactly is wrong.

The tingling sensation returns, behind her eyes before the migraine comes. Strong enough to blind her, to make her feel dizzy and nauseous again, her arms wrapped at her middle in an attempt to keep herself from throwing up. It lasts for a fair while, she loses track of how long exactly. It ebbs out like a slow tide, the last appropriate precursor before the blob of goop pulls and shapes and solidifies itself back into her.

Besides the staining on her skin, her hair is the only remnant of the ooze that she simply is, a metamorphic beastly creature that has no one face it can use. She will mostly keep the face she can remember and knows the most familiarly. Her mane, however, will be no more cloud-like and wispy as fog, but oily in its constant movement and as black as the void that spawned it.

She thinks individually, fully aware of what is happening when the main ordeal is over. Her brain functions enough to barely croak out her name as though afraid she will forget it. She thinks in maneuvers and movements, strategies and tactics and equations. She thinks like a general and will perform like a soldier. It is the only thing she knows now.

It all comes flooding back to her from before her change and for the first time she can actively remember, she hates. Her land and country are no longer hers. She feels empty and alone and now she hates. Hates the horror War, lying nearby, his body growing cold and grey and starting to crumble to ash and dust beginning with his extremities. Hates the Polish monarchy what sent little Germanic crusaders to sweep in from the south at the behest of this monster she has slain. Hates that she no longer feels her earth, her people. It leaves her feeling none but pure, raw rage.

She would cry bitter tears here, would declare revenge on those responsible for what she is now. Except now she doesn’t know why. Like a flash, it is there and then gone and she remembers none of why she feels this cold empty loneliness. She merely assumes this is what she is supposed to feel at any given time, and accepts this and the feeling of wrath that is residual of her final thought.

She concentrates on who she is, but draws a complete blank. She no longer remembers the name she had before, but a new one flashes like bright red letters:

War

War. Her name is War. This is the name she is bestowed, the identity she remembers.

She tries to stand, to find where she belongs. There is a sharp jolt of burning agony up her legs from her ankles, causing her to fall again with a sickening crackle. She looks down at them, bared from beneath the torn skirts of the destroyed dress to see a subtle disparity between her lower legs and the ankle joints. The bones reformed, but the main break did not line up correctly. A purse of her lips, she knows now that the misalignment is permanent to her.

Unable to move, unable to remember what it is she is supposed to be doing or was doing, and feeling fatigued, she curls up where she is. It isn’t long for her to drift silently off into a dreamless sleep, hoping as she leaves the waking world that the nap will help her remember what her purpose is.

She is awakened by the sound of pounding hooves. Her eyes open slowly to take in her surroundings to determine if she needs to defend herself or not. The corpse next to her is hardly anything but moistened grey ash, piled around a sword stuck in the ground. But that is not what catches her attention besides passing glances.

Three massive horses are circling her continuously, going around and around and around her. Their riders are like something out of a horror story, told around a campfire by travelers to both ease the time and warn others of what lurks in the dark beyond the firelight.

One is grey and waxy, the perfect masque of ill. One misses their bottom jaw. One is hardly a skeleton with skin stretched on it.

The horses are not normal either; an emaciated white horse, a dark brown one with bright green eyes, a grey one with gleaming eyes of fetid copper. All of them fly a tattered black cloth from the back of their saddles, rogue tendrils and threads clawing futilely at the air as the three continue their endless circling.

Just beyond them is a larger circle of other horsemen, a normal-looking human cavalry of fair size, all flying the black cloth from saddles and bridles. The tack and armor on these horses vary from horse to horse. This is no standard cavalry. Unlike the three of the inner circle, these stand still. Or as still as a horse can stand at rest. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious to their presence.

New movement draws her attention forward, toward a stocky little man of dark skin and pale gold smiling eyes, almost as striking as the massive horse he leads. The beast’s head is trying to toss against the grip on its bridle’s chin strap and in lieu of not having such freedom, it ripples through its body instead. It is purely black, save for the flashing red eyes. An indeterminate breed, monolithic yet elegant. When it bares its teeth, it displays prominent canines in its upper and lower jaws.

The man stops in front of her and there is silence for a moment before he offers his free hand toward her. She takes it tentatively and he pulls her up to sit on her knees, but no further.

“You should probably mount your horse.” he tells her in a hushed tone.

She shakes her head, not even questioning why she understands him perfectly. Her voice is still rough, cracking from disuse. “I cannot stand. I think I hurt myself.”

He looks over her shoulder to where she favors her broken ankles and his lips purse behind his magnificent beard of greying red thoughtfully. He looks over his shoulder, lets go of her to wave a few others in the outer circle to him. A couple dismount, a few others in infantry uniforms run between the tight ring of horses.

“Help the commander mount her horse.”

She wonders why the rank for someone who has woken with no recollection of anything but her name and condition before she is suspended between hands and placed precariously on the saddle; the horse is surprisingly still during mounting. The soldiers run back to their positions as she takes the reigns offered her by the handler who greeted her and it is almost like magic. With someone on its back and the reigns in their hands, the massive beast becomes easy to control. Which is a good thing, considering she is unsure how to handle something as volatile as its display showed earlier. As if on cue, the other three horsemen circling slow down and file in behind her.

“We will have to help you with those ankles. We’ll head for Damascus; their metalsmiths are some of the finest. Wouldn’t hurt to get you a better saddle too.” the greeter says.

She shifts in the saddle a bit, aware that it was made for someone at least twice her size. The one before perhaps.

The man walks toward the sword sticking out of a pile of ash on the ground, pulling it up and sliding it into a hidden sheath at the left-front of the saddle before looking up. “I am Balthazar of Midian. I’m one of your generals for the Legion.”

“My name is...” She pauses, trying to remember her name. All that flashes is the one word, the concept. The idea. Surely, she has something different to offer...

At her confused silence, Balthazar picks up the slack. “You are War.” he assures, taking hold of the stallion’s bridle again and leading her and the others off toward the east. “You have much to learn of your new purpose.”