Only the Lonely [Shepard]

Tagged : SHEPARD. SHEPARD. SHEPARD. | Words : 1503 | Notes : Nyes.

How did he beat this? How did anyone beat this?

Garrus Vakarian had asked himself the same mental questions many times in his life. The answers had usually come to him quickly - turians lauded themselves on quick problem-solving, after all, much like several other races. He'd asked those questions when he'd had a wall of resistance up against him in his attempt to incriminate Saren. His answer had been the decision to leave C-Sec and join the Normandy crew to bypass that resistance. He'd asked those questions when he'd found himself stuck on Omega with nothing but a rifle and a passion to chase down the worst criminals. His answer had been the squad and information network that he'd formed with Sidonis, mirroring Shepard's first squad. He'd asked those questions when he'd wanted Sidonis dead. His answer to that question had never been the right one, but at least the problem had been solved. Garrus made a career out of solving problems, especially the ones that let him take a long look down his scope and feel the recoil that resulted once he found the problem and ended it. He could adapt, too. Turians would say he'd been around too many humans and was too individualistic, but then, they wouldn't have assigned him as head of their task force if they didn't value his experiences in some way. Garrus would never feel as if his recent life had prepared him to answer every question about every problem known to the galaxy, but he sure felt more prepared today than he had at any other point in his life.

Yet as Garrus stared back at his beloved Palaven, the surface set aflame, and at the world-ending machines that stomped along the surface of Menae, Garrus could say that he had reached his limit of worth. How did he beat something that could leave Palaven a flaming shell?

He knew the answer wasn't important, especially not with Victus needing him to secure this flank, but Garrus couldn't help but feel like a wide-eyed, renegade C-Sec agent who was in over his head when he looked at the forms dwarfing the landscape and turning the largest, most well-trained military in the galaxy into their play-thing. Some task force leader he was.

"More batarians on the right," Garrus announced solemnly into his communicator, having taken up a rock outcropping as a makeshift sniper's nest and watchtower. He could feel the second sniper on his right shift her position even if he couldn't see her. Garrus was already in place, and turning to pry his shoulder out of his limited cover, he took a quick aim for the bulbous sack over the shoulder of one of the batarian husks. He didn't stay in place to see if his shot was enough to drop the horrible thing, but the spray of crimson and yellowish fluids was enough indication that it wouldn't be standing much longer. "Nice shot, sir," came the quiet praise from the other sniper from Garrus' omni-tool. The task force leader's only response was to reload with a fresh heat sink. It was good to hear that the troops were in slightly better moods than earlier, though. The current skirmish with Reaper forces - forces that weren't just a bunch of slobbering husks anymore, but instead deformed batarians and whatever else the Reapers could turn into a monster - was probably the first one Garrus had been involved in all day where he, or whoever was in command, hadn't lost at least an entire squad to a well-timed attack by the enemy forces. His team had already dropped the harvester plaguing them, but its dead hadn't led to a let-up in the assault. Garrus wondered if the words let-up could apply to the seemingly unending supply of husks that the Reapers could produce at any point on Menae or on Palaven at any time they wanted. Garrus again had to wonder how anyone stopped an enemy that could achieve tactical perfection without trying.

After a few more booms of Garrus' rifle and work done down on the ground by the rest of the unit, the Reaper forces were, for the moment, expended for as far as Garrus' visor would allow him to see. He leaned forward, propping his rifle against his leg, long enough to reach up and scratch exasperatedly at the plates above his tired eyes. "If you've still got rations, eat them. Not to ruin your mood after a victory, but you may not get another chance." Garrus informed the squad as they gathered at the base of his nest, their mandibles drooping in exhaustion but each of them standing as straight as they had been before the battle's start. Almost none of them even budged at first, before reluctantly swallowing their pride as turian soldiers and taking Garrus' advice. He himself hadn't eaten in well over fifty Palaven hours, but he'd been longer on Omega. Long periods without food were starting to become second nature. "I'll check in with General Victus. I doubt we made much of a dent in the pressure the Reapers were applying on his unit." Igniting his omni-tool and trying to ignore the unsettling feeling of the moon shaking whenever the Reapers in the distance took a step, Garrus pulled up Victus' channel and got nothing but static either way. Garrus gave another few frustrated taps to the buttons before dropping his arm with a sigh. "Damn, long-range communications are down. General Corinthus' camp must be in trouble."

Garrus paused to think about his next move, but thinking was what had Garrus in awe. When he had time to think, he had time to realize how overwhelmed they were by the Reaper forces. When he had time to think, he had a chance to look back up at Palaven.

But when he looked, Garrus spotted something aside from the space-visible flames that were lapping across the planet's surface. He saw hope instead and watched silently as that hope flew overhead. A surge of energy rejuvenated him, but he didn't get too eager. Just because Garrus had heard that a certain ship had blasted its way off of earth didn't mean the reports were true. Not much had made it off of earth at all, from what he was hearing. "Sir! What was that ship?" Garrus' mandibles flickered eagerly. "That ship was either the best sign or the worst sign we've had all day. All of you get back to General Victus as fast as possible and bolster his forces. Antiv will take over command." He pushed himself to his feet, lightly dropping down from his nest with a bit of a slide. "I'm going to Corinthus' camp. If I'm right and this is a good sign, they're going to need me there."

Garrus was surprised by the ease of his trip back to camp - he ran into no more than a stray husk on a handful of occasions, and a spray of assault rifle fire was more than enough to take out the lot of them. It wasn't long, after Garrus had caught a ride with a small unit pulling back for supplies, until Garrus had reached the other border of Corinthus' camp and finally had a connection with the stalwart general. The communications tower was back up, and Garrus didn't have to wonder who'd brought it back and wiped out the husks in the area. "Looks to me like you found some help just at the right time, General," Garrus spoke into his omni-tool. "That would be correct, adviser. He really is as good as they say. What's your position, sir?" "Halfway there already. What is it that Shepard's after?" Garrus was surprised by the delay in the response. "The...primarch, sir. And he needs a replacement, soon. Fortunately, I've just found out who's next in line." It had been the worst news Garrus had heard all day to hear that the primarch's escape shuttle had been taken down during its escape attempt. Garrus had been worried that his father could have been on the shuttle - fortunately, he wasn't. Garrus waited out the response, lowering his head at his thoughts. "Adrien Victus."

Garrus's mandibles slowly shifted as he leaned back in his seat. Adrien Victus...of all the prestigious turians that the majority of influential members of the hierarchy wouldn't want to see as primarch, he would be at the top of the list. The traditionalists were going to be livid, if any of them were alive. But damn if they could spare Victus from Menae to begin with; he was the only one holding the forward lines. Now wasn't the time to start rambling about politics or their situation, though. Victus was primarch regardless; turian law was very strict about such things. "Understood, General. See if you can hail Victus, and if Shepard's at hand, get him back to your camp. I'll be there as soon as I can."

“It’s the moment of truth and the moment to lie,
And the moment to live, and the moment to die...”

So here they were again, playing delivery boys once more. After all the time he’d spent on house arrest, he’d almost forgotten how shitty his job could get, and how absolutely frustrating those in command could be. Shepard huffed and glared at the shuttle he’d be riding to get the Palavan’s moon, Menae. His objective was to get Primarch Fedorian and drag his sorry ass to the war meeting. Because the meeting couldn’t possibly take place until every damned race in the galaxy had representation, no, it would be unfair to leave the turians out, they were in this as well after all. It was like a class of school children where, if you dared skip one of them, all hell would break loose because everyone always wanted their say, no matter how important it was to act quickly. “ETA?” he asked, assuming Joker was listening. Joker always seemed to be listening, so when he received no answer, Shepard growled loudly enough to alert Cortez and James. “Joker! ETA?” he called again. What was it with people and not knowing how to do their damned jobs? How hard could it possibly be to answer a simple question like this? “Get your hand off your dick soldier, I don’t want to have to explain to the damned Council that we crashed into a Reaper on the way to Menae because my pilot was too busy jerking it to Hanar tentacle porn to be of any use.” That seemed to do the trick, as he received an answer almost straight away. Maybe he was being too hard on him, manning a ship this size and navigating it through a field of enemies couldn’t be easy. But then, he had been hired because he was supposed to be the best pilot in the Alliance navy, so Shepard felt it was within his rights to scold him whenever he was displeased with his performance. Which, admittedly, wasn’t often.

It was almost time to go. Almost time to hop into the shuttle and hope the Reapers wouldn’t notice them flying towards Palavan’s moon. There was quite the battle raging on outside, so he figured now was as good a time as any to make a break for their objective. Securing his helmet and holstering his weapons, the Commander marched towards the shuttle and stepped inside, waiting for his companions to do the same. This turian had better not try to bullshit him when they got there. He was still sour over the fact that Earth had been taken right before his eyes, and Kaidan getting hurt had only pissed him off more. As much as that guy deserved a punch for having questioned his authority in the past, Shepard should’ve been the one to sock him in the jaw, not some damned robot bitch. The plus side to Alenko not being here was that he could pretty much do and say whatever he wanted without having to worry about disappointed looks and comments. Liara would no doubt try her damned hardest to fill his shoes though. Some things never changed.

The shuttle took off, and Shepard silently glared out the small window next to him. Palavan was done for, there was no doubt about that. His eyes glanced from the burning planet to the Reapers flying by overhead. A small part of him couldn’t deny feeling the urge to rub this in to the turian Council member once he got to see him again. He’d told them this would happen. He’d told them, time and time again, but they hadn’t listened, and this was the consequence of that decision. He wondered whether the man would attack him if he sarcastically airquoted the word Palavan. If he had any guts whatsoever, he would. But Shepard sincerely doubted that he’d be brave enough to try something. Thankfully for both of them, they’d never have to find out. Not even Shepard was a big enough asshole to go rub a tragedy like this in. The people of Palavan hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t asked for their leaders to bury their heads in the sand rather than prepare for the inevitable. He wouldn’t step on their memory just to get even with that prick, he was better than that, and the turian in question wasn’t worth it. He just hoped they were happy with themselves now, he really did. The blood of countless of innocent lives stuck partially to their hands. The Reaper attack would’ve happened no matter what, but with the right precautions, much of this could’ve been avoided. It didn’t need to be this way. Fuck the politicians for always waiting until it was too late to get their move on. “Vega, open that hatch,” he ordered as he stepped away from the window and reached over his back to grab his assault rifle. If he knew war well enough, and he most certainly did, they wouldn’t get to the Primarch without having to color the floor of this planet in a little blood first. And as soon as the hatch opened, his suspicions were confirmed. The landing zone was swarmed with Husks. It wouldn’t be for long though. Leaning forward some, he aimed his gun at a group that stood bundled together and started firing without a second thought, never once moving his finger off the trigger as he went through a small squadron of the fiends before they even touched the ground.. “Be ready, here we go!” the shuttle landed almost too smoothly, and Shepard quickly rushed out, guns blazing, to ensure the Husks wouldn’t make it to his shuttle. The combined firepower proved too much for the mindless creatures, and in less than a minute, the area was secured. “Stay sharp, we’re not out of this yet,” he informed them quickly before striding out ahead in search of a friendly face to tell him where to go.

From the surface of the moon, the destruction of the turian homeworld was hard to miss. The fire and smoke could be seen all the way out here, and although he knew it was impossible, he almost thought he heard the screams of those still trapped there. The commander clenched his jaw, but pressed forward all the same. This was war, and war was never pretty. People died, usually innocents. There was nothing you could do to stop it, there was nothing you could do to make it better. The only thing you could do was press onwards and ensure the same fate did not befall others. Keep your eyes on the target, don’t look back. For now, their target was to find Primarch Fedorian and get him off Menae safely. First they’d have to find where the turians had set up camp though. “You there!” he called up when he spotted one of them over on a makeshift outpost, “Which way to your base?” It seemed Cortez was a competent flyer after all, for their drop zone was only a few clicks away from where they were supposed to go, and as he walked through the gate and into the camp, he made a mental note to be sure and compliment the man on his talent later. “Who’s in charge around here?” he called impatiently, taking such huge strides that his companions seemed to struggle to keep up. The few soldiers he spotted seemed worn out, like they were ready to drop at any given moment. They still stood tall and proud however, like the battle somehow wasn’t in favor of the enemy. He offered them a simple but respectful nod as he walked over to where the leader of this bunch was supposed to be. He didn’t often show these small courtesies, but he considered these men worthy of them. It took a strong man to watch his home and people die before his very eyes without falling to pieces. It was a feeling that only a fellow soldier could ever hope to understand.

“General,” he greeted the turian with a quick salute, but didn’t bother beating around the bush. He figured the general would prefer a direct approach as well, as this wasn’t exactly the time to go exchange unnecessary pleasantries. “I was sent here to pick up Primarch Fedorian and escort him off the planet, where can I find him?” The brief silence should’ve made it clear enough that he wasn’t gonna like what Corinthus had to say, but as obvious as it should’ve seemed, Shepard still struggled not to downright start cussing when he heard the Primarch was dead. Great. That was just perfect. So what now? The whole point of this mission had been to pick up the Primarch… would his body suffice? Probably not. His death had better not lead to some sort of complex procedure where a new Primarch had to be elected or some bullshit like that. With his luck though, that’s probably what was going to happen. More sitting around debating meaningless things while the Reapers merrily skipped through the galaxy, destroying planet after planet. There had to be a special place in hell reserved for the ones who made this stuff up. As he brooded on this, Liara and Corinthus spoke about a hierarchy… oh… so there would be no elections then? He just needed to figure out who the next poor sob in line was and then they could drag him along instead. That was good news, good enough in fact that Shepard didn’t even feel that annoyed about the fact that he had to go out and slaughter a few more Husks so the Comm Tower could be repaired. Hell, slaughtering Husks was one of the more entertaining parts of his job, so how could he complain? “Leave it to us General,” he spoke in his usual loud and proud tone of voice before marching past Liara and James, his eyes aimed towards where he assumed the tower was located. “Let’s do this.”

The trip to the Comm tower was rather uneventful, and even getting to the tower itself wasn’t half as difficult as General Corinthus had made it sound. Maybe he was just worn out and over exaggerating a little, or maybe Shepard was just so skilled at the art of killing that he could do the work of a small battalion of turians all by himself. Alright, Liara and James were there as well, but still. “Liara, get to the Tower and fix that thing,” he barked over his shoulder when he spotted another bundle of Husks heading their way. As confident as he was of his skills in pretty much everything, even Shepard was realistic enough to know an Asari scientist would probably get the job done faster than he could. Shepard was a soldier, not some sort of wimpy technician, his idea of fixing malfunctioning machines was to give it a few good smacks and hoping for the best. He didn’t think Corinthus would appreciate it if Shepard made the problem worse by hitting the panel nearby a little too hard and accidentally breaking it, so it was up to T’Soni to handle that headache. Rather than wait patiently for the Husks to come close enough to shoot with his assault rifle, Shepard reached for his sniper rifle instead, and knelt down on a small slope near the tower. Sniper rifles weren’t his forte, but he could still fire one decently well, especially against opponents who simply ran straight at you. Those were pretty hard to miss. Peeking through the visor, the Commander sought out the biggest threat, a Husk that looked slightly bigger than all the others, and carefully aimed for its head before pulling the trigger. A cocky smirk made its way onto his face as he saw the creature crumple to the ground, though he didn’t bother making eye contact with James. He could brag later, now was killing time. He peered through the visor again and picked his next target, and then a third. By then, the Husks were close enough to take down with his tried and true assault rifle though, and Shepard quickly climbed back to his feet. “Make me proud James,” he didn’t give his companion a chance to respond as he immediately started firing again, the noise drowning out anything the other man might’ve wanted to say.

It took Liara a while to get back down from where she’d been working, and Shepard silently complimented himself on his decision to send her up there rather than going up himself. If it took Liara a while, it had to be complicated. A few slaps wouldn’t have fixed this problem. When he spotted her blue head pop up beside him again, he nodded a silent greeting and then reported back to the General. So far so good, Corinthus should be able to contact Palavan Command by now. “Let me know when you’ve got something, I’ll help your men until I hear from yo-“ his voice was cut off by a rather bold Husk throwing itself straight at him. In a reflex, Shepard grabbed onto the creature’s head and bashed the back of his gun into its face a good dozen times before carelessly tossing the now still body away from him in disgust. How dare that Husk assume he had superior upper body strength than Commander freaking Shepard?

“Commander Shepard, come in, I have information from Palavan Command, please return asap,”

“On our way!” he replied. As the wave of enemies slowly came to an agonizing halt, silence fell over the battlefield once again. Silence didn’t necessarily mean safety though, and Shepard carefully looked around, gun still drawn for any surprise attacks. It wasn’t until James confirmed the area was secure that the Commander relaxed his posture some, though he still didn’t put his gun away. “Well done, let’s go.” Hopefully whoever was next in line was around here somewhere, and not chilling out on some other planet light-years away. If that’s where he was though, that’s where they were heading. But first things first, they had to get back to the encampment.

WORDS: 2351 | TAGGED: Garrus | OUTFIT: N7 uniform | LOCATION: Menae | NOTES : Planned to split this into two posts, but meh!