Dragonrise
patreon
Effects Of A Gamer 15
🕑 Added 2025-11-11 07:35:47 +0000 UTCArthur's fingers danced across the haptic display in the captain's quarters, each gesture more desperate than the last. The surveillance footage from Vasir's stolen drives flickered and stuttered, corrupted data bleeding across the screen in digital arterial sprays. Through the static, fragments emerged: his silhouette wreathed in biotic fire, a Spectre's body dissolving into particles of light, his hand extended as reality bent around it.
[Choice Echo Analysis: 95% probability of complete exposure if footage reaches Shadow Broker network]
The notification pulsed red in his peripheral vision. Ninety-five percent. He'd faced better odds against the seven Spectres.
"Ninety-two percent safe temperature on the drive core." Kal's voice crackled through the comm. "Eight hours until critical failure at current burn rate."
Eight hours to catch Vasir. Eight hours before his secrets spread across the galaxy's darkest information networks. Eight hours before everything unraveled.
The door hissed open behind him. He didn't need to turn; Santana's footsteps had a particular cadence when she was angry, heel striking harder, stride shortened by tension.
"That lance you threw at Vasir." Her voice carried the controlled edge of a detective who'd found a contradiction. "It collapsed solid rock formations. Sheared through reinforced bulkheads like tissue paper."
Arthur kept his eyes on the corrupted footage. "Combat situation. Adrenaline changes everything."
"Bullshit." She moved into his peripheral vision, arms crossed. "During your training demonstration last month, that same technique just pierced targets. Clean holes, controlled damage. You were holding back."
"Different circumstances require different applications."
"Different circumstances?" Santana's laugh held no humor. "Or different levels of trust? How much power have you been hiding from us, Arthur?"
The footage froze on a frame showing his face illuminated by biotic energy, eyes glowing with power that shouldn't exist in any human. He closed the display with a gesture.
"The mission comes first. Vasir has to be stopped."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give right now."
She stared at him for a long moment, dark eyes searching his face. "We've been partners for months. Saved each other's lives. And you've been lying to us the entire time."
Before he could respond, Jason's voice carried from the bridge doorway. "Boss, need to show you something."
Arthur followed him to the bridge, Santana trailing behind. Jason pulled up a tactical analysis on the main display, frame-by-frame breakdown of the Vasir fight overlaid with biometric data.
"Ran combat analytics on your performance." Jason's ice-blue eyes remained fixed on the screen. "Cross-referenced with your training demonstrations, sparring sessions, field operations. The math doesn't lie."
The display showed power output graphs, reaction times, biotic field intensities. The disparities were damning.
"Based on what you showed against Vasir, you could have cleared our entire training exercise in ten seconds. Not ten minutes like you did. Ten seconds." Jason finally turned to face him. "How much were you hiding, boss?"
Arthur felt the weight of their scrutiny, their trust fracturing like ice under pressure. Through the viewport, stars streaked past as they pushed deeper into lawless space.
"After we deal with Vasir," Arthur said quietly. "After we secure those drives and prevent my exposure, I'll tell you everything. The full truth. You deserve that much."
"Assuming we survive," Jason muttered.
Near the navigation console, Aethyta sat in lotus position, her ancient eyes closed in meditation. Without opening them, she spoke: "The techniques you used against Vasir, young human. The harmonic resonance, the gravitational manipulation, the way you folded space around your biotics."
Her eyes opened, millennium of wisdom focusing on him.
"It took my people ten thousand years to develop those methods. Countless generations of matriarchs passing down knowledge, refining, perfecting. You've been using biotics for what, a year? Maybe two?"
She rose gracefully, each movement deliberate. "You have access to knowledge you shouldn't possess. Understanding that should be impossible for your species to have discovered independently."
The bridge fell silent except for the hum of the drive core and the soft beeping of navigation systems. Arthur could feel their eyes on him: Santana's suspicion, Jason's calculation, Aethyta's ancient curiosity, even Kal watching from his engineering station.
"Seven hours, forty-three minutes to drive failure," Kal reported, breaking the tension. "Omega coming into sensor range."
Arthur moved to the viewport as the massive station resolved from a distant point of light into its full terrible glory. Five kilometers of repurposed asteroid, bristling with illegal modifications, ship graveyards orbiting like metallic funeral wreaths. No laws, no government, just Aria T'Loak's iron will holding back complete chaos.
"Vasir has a thirty-minute lead," he said, watching the station grow larger. "In Omega, that's enough time to disappear forever."
The lawless station loomed before them, a cancer in space where anyone could vanish, where secrets were currency and violence was conversation. Somewhere in that maze of crime and shadow, Tela Vasir waited with evidence that could destroy everything Arthur had built.
Behind him, his team prepared for insertion into hell, their trust in him cracked but not yet shattered. He had seven hours to stop Vasir, save his secrets, and somehow salvage what remained of their faith in him.
The ship shuddered as they entered Omega space, massive station visible through the viewport like a diseased eye staring back at them.
The Anira's Resolve shuddered as it dropped from FTL, drive core screaming in protest. Through the viewport, Omega filled their vision, a tumor of metal and desperation carved from ancient rock. Five kilometers of anarchist paradise where the only law was Aria T'Loak's whim.
"Vasir's shuttle signature confirmed," Jason called from tactical, fingers flying across his console. "Industrial sector, grid seven-seven-alpha. Near the Afterlife district but deeper, where the factories dump their toxic runoff."
Arthur leaned over the display, memorizing the route. Two hours. Vasir had a two-hour head start in a station where you could buy new identities like coffee, where entire ships disappeared into chop shops within minutes of docking.
The comm system erupted in static before resolving into a harsh batarian voice: "Unidentified vessel, you are in violation of Omega approach protocols. Cut engines and prepare for……."
The transmission cut abruptly. The bridge lights flickered, then died. Emergency power kicked in, bathing everything in hellish red. Every console went dark except for the main viewscreen, which displayed a single message in elegant asari script:
Dock at Bay Seven. Immediately. This is not optional.
Below it, a signature: Aria T'Loak.
"She just overrode our entire system," Kal's voice carried shock through the comm. "Remote access through channels I didn't even know existed. Full administrative control."
The ship lurched, autopilot engaging without input. Through the viewport, Omega's docking ring grew larger, Bay Seven's markers pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Screw this," Santana moved toward the weapons locker. "We need to go after Vasir now. Every minute we waste….."
"Gets us killed," Arthur interrupted, his enhanced Intelligence parsing scenarios at superhuman speed. "Aria controls Omega absolutely. Air recyclers, gravity generators, docking clamps. She could vent this entire bay into space with a thought."
[Intelligence Check: Success - Tactical Analysis Complete]
[Aria T'Loak threat assessment: Extreme]
[Probability of station-wide hostility if refused: 97%]
"You're seriously considering meeting with a crime lord while Vasir escapes with evidence that could destroy you?" Santana's hand rested on her pistol.
"I'm considering not having every mercenary on Omega hunting us while we hunt Vasir." Arthur pulled up station schematics on his omni-tool. "We split up. You and Jason track Vasir. Aethyta and I handle Aria."
"Divide our forces in hostile territory?" Jason's tactical mind clearly rebelled against the idea.
"It's not ideal, but……."
"I know Aria." Aethyta's quiet statement cut through the debate. "Knew her, rather. Three hundred years ago, before she claimed Omega." The ancient matriarch's expression held layers of memory. "She has a particular gift, young human. She remembers everyone. Every face, every slight, every favor owed. If she's summoning you personally, it's because you've caught her attention."
"The human who told the Council to fuck off," Arthur murmured.
"Precisely. In her domain, that makes you either very interesting or very dangerous. Possibly both."
The ship shuddered as docking clamps engaged. Through the viewport, Arthur could see the welcoming committee: twenty-plus mercenaries in mismatched armor, weapons not quite aimed but certainly ready. Batarians, turians, a few humans, even a krogan leaning against a cargo container with studied casualness.
At their head stood a batarian in better armor than the rest, four eyes focused on their airlock. His omni-tool glowed, obviously linked to external comm systems.
"Open the airlock," Arthur decided. "We play this smart."
The pressure equalized with a hiss. Arthur stepped out first, hands visible but ready. The batarian lieutenant's four eyes tracked him with predatory interest.
"You're Morrigan." Not a question. "The human who discovered that eezo asteroid. Who makes the Council nervous. Who killed seven….." He paused, mandibles twitching in what might have been amusement. "Well. Allegedly did many interesting things."
"I'm here as requested."
"Demanded," the batarian corrected. "Aria doesn't request. She'll see you and the matriarch. The others stay with the ship."
"My team needs to resupply," Arthur said carefully. "Long journey. Ship needs maintenance."
The lieutenant's eyes narrowed, considering. "Two of your people can go to the markets. Under escort. The quarian stays with the ship."
Arthur glanced back. Jason and Santana had already geared up, weapons visible but holstered. Professional but ready. He gave them a subtle nod.
"Industrial sector," he subvocalized through their private comm. "Grid seven-seven-alpha. Find her."
Santana's return nod was barely perceptible. Jason's hand moved in tactical sign language: Understood. Radio silence. Execute.
"Boss," Kal's voice crackled through the comm. "Drive core's redlining. Micro-fractures in the containment matrix. We can't leave without repairs. Real repairs, not patch jobs."
Arthur closed his eyes briefly. Trapped on Omega with a dying ship while Vasir vanished into the shadows with his secrets. Every variable working against them.
"Do what you can," he told Kal, then turned to the batarian. "Lead the way."
The mercenaries formed a loose circle around them, professional enough to avoid crowding but clear in their purpose. Arthur and Aethyta walked through Omega's docking district, past ships in various states of disrepair, past dealers hawking everything from weapons to flesh, past the desperate and dangerous who called this place home.
The industrial sector branched off to their left, a maze of steam and shadows where Santana and Jason disappeared with their escort, hunting a Spectre who held Arthur's future in stolen data drives.
Ahead, the Afterlife club loomed like a neon cathedral, bass thundering through the deck plates, promising excess and oblivion in equal measure. Somewhere inside, Aria T'Loak waited on her throne, the Pirate Queen of Omega ready to judge whether Arthur Morrigan was asset or threat.
Behind them, the Anira's Resolve sat wounded in Bay Seven, Kal fighting to keep their only escape route from dying completely.
The batarian lieutenant gestured toward Afterlife's VIP entrance, where more guards waited. "Aria doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Arthur and Aethyta moved toward the club's entrance while somewhere in the industrial sector's toxic maze, Santana and Jason began their hunt for Tela Vasir.
The bass hit Arthur's chest like a physical force as they entered Afterlife, the sound so deep it bypassed hearing and went straight to bone. The club was a study in controlled chaos—asari dancers writhing on elevated platforms, their biotics creating light shows that painted the crowd in shifting colors. Krogan bouncers stood at strategic points, massive arms crossed, watching for the first sign of violence that crossed from entertaining to bad for business. The air reeked of ryncol, red sand, and a dozen other substances that would kill a human in seconds.
Every species in the galaxy seemed represented in the writhing mass below. Turians nursed drinks that would dissolve human stomach lining. Batarians conducted business in dark corners, four eyes tracking multiple conversations at once. A hanar floated near the bar, bioluminescent skin pulsing in time with the music while its drell companion whispered translations to a salarian who looked deeply uncomfortable with the entire establishment.
"Upper level," the batarian lieutenant gestured toward a guarded staircase. Two turians in matching black armor flanked the entrance, assault rifles held with the casual competence of professionals who'd killed enough to find it boring.
They ascended through layers of noise and smoke. The upper level was quieter, though the bass still thrummed through the floor. Private booths lined the walls, each a kingdom of vice where deals were made that shaped the Terminus Systems. Guards stood at regular intervals, a mix of species united only by their willingness to kill for credits.
At the far end, on a raised platform that let her survey her domain, Aria T'Loak held court.
She lounged on what could only be called a throne, though it took the form of a curved couch that emphasized both comfort and dominance. Black leather that probably cost more than most ships, arranged to frame her like a masterpiece of danger. The asari herself was a study in contrasts: skin a deep purple-blue that seemed to drink the light, features sharp enough to cut, eyes ancient and calculating despite the youthful perfection of her face. Her armor was custom, black with red accents that suggested blood without stating it, form-fitting enough to show she relied on more than guards for protection.
Two asari commandos flanked her, their faces hidden behind helmets, bodies ready for violence. The space around Aria seemed to bend, not with biotics but with pure presence, the weight of someone who'd claimed a lawless station through will and ruthlessness and held it for centuries.
"Arthur Morrigan." Her voice carried despite the music, rich and amused and dangerous. "The human who killed seven Spectres and made the Council blink."
Arthur's face remained perfectly neutral, his enhanced Intelligence analyzing every micro-expression, every possible response. "Allegedly."
Aria laughed, a sound like silk over steel. "Allegedly. I do so enjoy humans. You lie with such commitment." She gestured lazily, and one of her commandos produced a datapad, holding it where Aria could see without moving. "My sources in the Shadow Broker's network are quite specific. Seven Spectres enter a Prothean ruin. One human leaves. Bodies consumed by biotic energy that shouldn't exist."
"Shadow Broker agents don't lie?" Arthur's tone carried just enough skepticism to be interesting rather than insulting. "For the right amount of credits, they'd swear the protheans were a boy band. An agent isn't the Shadow Broker themselves. They can be bribed, misled, given false intel to spread."
For the first time, something shifted in Aria's expression. Not uncertainty exactly, but recalculation. Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him with an intensity that had broken stronger beings.
"Interesting." She leaned forward slightly. "Either you're telling the truth, which makes you clever enough to fool the Broker's network. Or you're lying so well that you've made me doubt reliable intelligence. Either way, you're more interesting than most humans who stumble onto my station."
She rose from her throne in one fluid motion, moving with the predatory grace of someone who'd never lost a fight that mattered. Three steps brought her close enough that Arthur could smell her perfume, something alien and intoxicating that probably cost more than his monthly C-Sec salary.
"The question," she said softly, dangerously, "is what I do about an alleged Council-killer in my station."
"I'm here hunting someone," Arthur said, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Tela Vasir. She has intelligence that threatens my operations. Once I deal with her, I leave. Clean, quiet, no complications for Omega."
"Vasir." Aria's smile was a weapon. "Yes, I know. She met with Shadow Broker agents ninety minutes ago. Industrial sector, warehouse seven-seven-alpha-nine. Still there, last my people checked, uploading encrypted data to the Broker's network."
Arthur's Intelligence stat practically screamed as he analyzed her words, her posture, the tiny tell in how her fingers moved. She wanted him to find Vasir. More than that, she wanted to see what would happen when he did.
[Intelligence Check: Critical Success - Motivation Identified]
She wanted chaos in the Shadow Broker's network. Someone to challenge the monopoly on information. Arthur succeeding meant a crack in the Broker's armor, a weakness she could potentially exploit.
"Your window is closing," Aria continued, returning to her throne with the same predatory grace. "Whatever she's uploading, it'll be in the Broker's hands within the hour."
"What's your price?"
"Smart. Most would have run off without asking, then wondered why they died badly." She settled back into her throne, one leg crossed over the other. "Simple terms. If your fight with Vasir damages my station, you pay. In credits or blood, depending on my mood and the extent of the damage. Omega is mine. Every deck plate, every recycled breath of air. You break it, you buy it."
"Accepted."
His omni-tool chimed. Santana's voice, tight with tension: "Found the warehouse. Eight hostiles outside, mix of species, professional kit. Vasir's definitely inside, thermal signatures suggest active data transfer. How do you want to play this?"
"Coordinate received," Arthur replied, then looked back at Aria. "I need to go."
"Of course you do." She waved dismissively, already turning her attention to another matter. "Do try not to die, Morrigan. You're the most interesting thing to happen on my station in decades."
Arthur and Aethyta descended back through the club's layers of sin and sound. As they reached the main floor, Aethyta spoke quietly enough that only Arthur's enhanced hearing could catch it over the music.
"She's testing you. Aria doesn't give information freely. She wants to see what you're capable of, whether you're worth cultivating as an asset or eliminating as a threat."
"I know."
"Do you? Because that warehouse is almost certainly a trap. Not from Aria necessarily, but Vasir's had two hours to prepare. She knows you're coming."
They pushed through the crowd, past a turian and quarian engaged in what looked like a drug deal, around a krogan who'd passed out standing up, his friends taking bets on when he'd fall.
Outside Afterlife, Omega's recycled air hit like a slap after the club's processed atmosphere. The industrial sector stretched below them, a maze of pipes and platforms and poisonous fog where anything could hide.
"Boss," Jason's voice crackled through the comm. "We're in position. Got eyes on the warehouse. Definitely a kill box setup. They're ready for us."
Arthur started moving, Aethyta keeping pace despite her ancient years. The warehouse coordinates pulsed on his HUD, a red marker in a gray world. Somewhere behind those walls, Tela Vasir was uploading his secrets to the Shadow Broker, each passing second bringing him closer to exposure.
"We go in hard and fast," Arthur said, his mind already calculating approaches, angles of attack, probability of success. "Before she finishes that upload."
The industrial sector's toxic maze swallowed them, and somewhere ahead, Santana and Jason waited in the shadows, ready to assault a fortified position held by a Spectre who knew they were coming.
The catwalk groaned under Santana's weight as she shifted position, her scope tracking the eighth guard for the third time in as many minutes. The industrial sector's toxic fog provided decent concealment, but the acrid smell burned her nostrils even through the breath mask.
"Pattern's consistent," Jason murmured beside her, his tactical scanner painting the warehouse in false-color overlays. "Two-minute rotation on the door guards, roving patrol every ninety seconds. Professional work."
Through her scope, Santana studied the guards' armor. Matte black with no insignia, but the way they moved screamed ex-military. Turians by their gait, batarians by their four-eyed helmets, one krogan whose massive frame made the assault rifle in his hands look like a toy.
"Active data transmission confirmed," Jason continued, fingers dancing across his omni-tool. "Heavy encryption, multiple relay points. She's bouncing the signal through at least six proxies before it reaches its destination. Based on the packet size and transfer rate..." He paused, calculating. "Fifteen minutes. Maybe less if she compresses on the fly."
"Where the hell is Arthur?"
"Here."
Santana nearly jumped out of her skin. Arthur stood behind them on the catwalk, having approached without a single footstep she could detect. Aethyta materialized from the shadows beside him, moving with the fluid grace that made thousand-year-old matriarchs so terrifying.
"Dramatic entrances are going to get you shot one day," Santana hissed.
"Already been shot. Multiple times. The experience is overrated." Arthur crouched beside them, his eyes taking in the warehouse layout carefully. That strange quality again, like he was reading something invisible to everyone else. "Show me what we're dealing with."
Jason pulled up the tactical display, thermal signatures painting the warehouse interior in reds and oranges. "Eight outside, minimum four inside based on heat patterns. Vasir's signature is here, center of the structure, consistent with active omni-tool use. She's got backup terminals running too, probably redundancy in case we try to cut the primary feed."
Arthur studied the display for exactly three seconds before speaking. "Frontal assault triggers their defensive positions. They fall back to chokepoints here and here while Vasir completes the upload and escapes through the loading dock. We'd win the fight but lose the objective."
"So what's the play?" Santana kept her scope on the guards, noting how they checked their six with religious consistency.
"Overwhelming force, two vectors." Arthur pointed to the warehouse roof. "You and Jason hit the front entrance, maximum noise and violence. Draw them forward, make them commit to defending the obvious breach. While they're focused on you, Aethyta and I punch through the roof directly above Vasir. I neutralize her before she can complete the upload or escape."
"You're taking the most dangerous position," Santana said flatly.
"I'm the only one fast enough."
"That's bullshit and you know it. You're putting yourself directly in Vasir's line of fire while we're playing distraction."
Arthur turned to face her fully, and for a moment, the mask slipped. She saw exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of secrets pressing down like gravity. "After this," he said quietly. "After we stop her, I tell you everything."
"Everything?" The word came out sharper than she intended.
"Why I'm really doing this. What I'm preparing for." He paused, something dark crossing his features. "What's coming."
"All of it?"
"All of it. No more lies, no more half-truths. You've earned that much." He looked at Jason, then Aethyta. "All of you have."
The moment stretched, the toxic fog swirling around them like a living thing. Below, one of the guards lit a cigarette, the cherry-red glow visible even through the haze.
"Alright," Santana finally said. "But if you die before explaining, I'm following you to whatever afterlife you believe in just to kick your ass."
"Fair."
Jason checked his assault rifle's heat sink, the soft click of the mechanism loud in the quiet. "Frontal assault means we need maximum disruption. Frags?"
"Three each," Santana confirmed, patting her belt. "Plus flashbangs."
"I can provide biotic cover," Aethyta offered. "Barrier strong enough to give you thirty seconds of advance under fire."
"That's all we need." Jason pulled up the warehouse schematic again. "We push to here, force them to defend this corridor. Creates maximum distraction for minimum exposure."
Arthur stood, his form already beginning to shimmer with biotic energy. The air around him warped, reality bending in ways that still made Santana's brain hurt to watch. "Synchronized assault. When you breach, we move."
They descended from the catwalk in silence, each checking weapons to prepare. Santana's shotgun hummed as she activated the incendiary ammunition module. Jason's rifle's targeting laser painted brief red lines through the fog as he calibrated the scope. Aethyta's biotics cast purple shadows that danced independent of any light source.
Arthur pulled something from his belt, a device Santana didn't recognize. It looked like a grenade but wrong, covered in geometric patterns that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.
"What is that?"
"Insurance." He pocketed the device. "In case things go badly."
They reached the staging point, a maintenance alcove forty meters from the warehouse entrance. Through the fog, the guards looked like ghosts, their forms wavering in the toxic haze.
"Comms check," Jason whispered.
"Clear," Santana confirmed.
"Likewise," Aethyta added.
Arthur simply nodded, his attention focused on the warehouse roof. His biotics flared brighter, the energy condensing around him like armor made of twisted space.
"On my mark," Jason said, bringing his rifle to ready position. "Three..."
Santana thumbed the safety off her shotgun, feeling the familiar weight settle into her stance.
"Two..."
Aethyta's barrier shimmered into existence, a purple wall of force that would give them precious seconds of protection.
"One..."
The word had barely left Jason's lips when Santana moved. The first grenade sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing exactly between the two door guards. The explosion sent them flying, one turian's arm separating from his body in a spray of blue blood.
Jason's rifle spoke in rapid bursts, each shot finding its mark. A batarian's head snapped back, his four eyes going dark simultaneously. The krogan roared, bringing his assault rifle up, but Santana's second grenade detonated at his feet, staggering even his massive frame.
Through the chaos, she caught a glimpse of Arthur and Aethyta, their combined biotics launching them skyward like rockets. They arced through the toxic fog, two figures wreathed in purple fire against the industrial decay of Omega.
The warehouse guards recovered quickly, too quickly. Return fire erupted from multiple positions, assault rifle rounds sparking off Aethyta's barrier. It held for exactly twenty-eight seconds before shattering like glass, forcing Santana and Jason into cover behind a loading crate.
"They're moving to defensive positions," Jason called out, snapping off shots between bursts of enemy fire. "Just like Arthur predicted."
Above them, Arthur and Aethyta landed on the warehouse roof with barely a sound. Through her scope, Santana saw Arthur's hand begin to glow with that impossible energy he'd used against Vasir, reality warping around his fist as he formed a Graviton Lance that shouldn't exist, preparing to punch through reinforced steel like it was paper.
The Graviton Lance erupted from his fist with the force of a collapsing star, no longer restrained by the need for subtlety. The warehouse roof didn't just break; it disintegrated, metal and concrete vaporizing in a perfect circle as reality itself seemed to scream in protest. He and Aethyta dropped through the molten edges into chaos.
The interior blazed with emergency lighting and the glow of multiple terminals. At the center, Tela Vasir stood before a massive holographic display, her fingers dancing across haptic interfaces with desperate speed. Data streams cascaded across the screens, progress bars filling with damning evidence.
87% UPLOAD COMPLETE
"Too late, Morrigan," Vasir said without turning, her voice carrying savage satisfaction. "The Broker will know everything. Your little massacre, your impossible abilities, all of it streaming across the galaxy as we speak."
Arthur's mind shifted into overdrive, Temporal Flux activating with a thought. The world crystallized into slow motion, each second stretching into minutes of tactical analysis. He could see everything: the upload counter ticking toward 88%, Vasir's hand drifting toward the pistol at her hip, four Shadow Broker agents raising weapons from defensive positions, Aethyta beginning to form a biotic barrier, dust motes hanging frozen in the air like tiny planets.
[Intelligence 30 + Temporal Flux: Tactical Analysis Complete]
[Priority: Prevent full data transmission]
[Secondary: Eliminate all witnesses]
[Time to 100% upload: 47 seconds real-time]
The terminal had to die first.
Arthur's Pulse Cascade formed in his palm, not the controlled bursts he'd shown his team but the full devastating potential he'd kept hidden. The biotic energy condensed into a sphere of pure destruction, warping light around it like a miniature black hole. He released it in a chain of explosions that rippled through the warehouse's electronic infrastructure.
The primary terminal detonated at 89% completion, showering the room with sparks and molten circuitry. Secondary terminals erupted in sequence, their screens going dark as the cascade found every connected system. The upload died with a electronic shriek, leaving only partial fragments transmitted to the Shadow Broker's network.
"No!" Vasir spun toward him, her face twisted with fury. "Months of work! Weeks of careful positioning, and you just….."
She moved with the speed that made Spectres legendary, her body wreathed in biotic fire as she Charged across the warehouse. The impact should have shattered Arthur's ribs, driven him through the wall. Instead, his Endurance absorbed the blow like it was a child's punch. Vasir's eyes widened in shock as she bounced off him, stumbling backward.
"What are you?" she snarled, immediately transitioning into a Reave that would have liquefied a normal human's nervous system.
Arthur's Void Shield manifested without conscious thought, a barrier of absolute nothingness that simply erased her biotic attack from existence. The energy didn't dissipate or get absorbed; it simply ceased to be, violating every law of physics Vasir understood.
"Impossible," she breathed, then launched herself at him with renewed fury.
Her omni-blade materialized in a flash of orange light, the monomolecular edge capable of cutting through nearly anything. She struck with the skill of decades of training, targeting joints, arteries, vital organs in a blur of motion that should have been too fast to track.
Arthur's Dexterity and Temporal Flux turned her assault into a slow-motion dance. He sidestepped her blade by millimeters, each dodge calculated quickly. His Intelligence predicted her attacks three moves ahead, reading the micro-tensions in her muscles, the shift of her weight, the pattern of her breathing.
When she tried to Warp the space around him, he countered with a Graviton Lance that tore through her biotic field and sent her crashing into a support pillar. The impact cracked the reinforced concrete, but she rolled with it, coming up firing with her pistol in one hand while maintaining a biotic assault with the other.
"Persistent," Arthur noted, his voice carrying an edge of respect.
He stopped holding back entirely.
The first full-powered Graviton Lance punched through the warehouse's eastern wall like it was tissue paper, the gravitational distortion leaving reality scarred in its wake. The second carved a trench through the floor, exposing pipes that immediately began venting toxic steam. The third missed Vasir by inches as she desperately dodged, but the shockwave sent her tumbling across the debris-strewn floor.
Arthur formed a Singularity Pulse between his palms, compressing gravity until light itself bent around it. When he released it, an actual gravity well formed in the warehouse's center, pulling everything toward it with inexorable force. Crates, debris, and two unfortunate Shadow Broker agents were dragged screaming into the anomaly before it collapsed, leaving nothing but empty space where matter had been.
"This shouldn't exist," Aethyta whispered from her position near the breach, her ancient eyes wide with something approaching fear. "Eight hundred years I've lived, studied every form of biotics known to asari science. This is something else entirely. When i was training you i didnt think you were that different."
Vasir struggled to her feet, blood streaming from a dozen wounds. Her left arm hung useless, dislocated or broken. But her eyes still burned with determination as she gathered her remaining strength for one final assault.
Arthur saw her intention before she moved, his Luck stat singing a warning as probability aligned. She wasn't aiming for him anymore; she was going for Aethyta, planning to use the matriarch as leverage or a human shield.
Time dilated further as Temporal Flux pushed to its limit. He could see the exact path Vasir would take, the precise moment she would grab Aethyta, the words she would use to negotiate. All of it played out in his mind like a vid he'd already watched.
He moved before she did.
The Graviton Lance formed instantly, reality tearing as he thrust his hand forward. Vasir had barely begun her lunge when the lance punched through her center mass, the gravitational distortion turning her torso into a rapidly expanding void. She hung suspended for a moment, her expression shifting from determination to surprise to understanding.
"The Broker," she gasped, blood frothing on her lips, "will find out who you really are. What you really are. This isn't over."
"Let them try," Arthur said quietly.
Vasir collapsed, her body hitting the warehouse floor with a wet thud. The partial upload she'd managed would tell the Shadow Broker something, but not everything. Fragments without context, pieces of a puzzle with most parts missing.
The warehouse's front entrance exploded inward as Santana and Jason burst through, weapons raised. They'd clearly fought their way through the external guards, both splattered with multicolored blood. Jason's rifle swept the room professionally before lowering as he took in the scene.
"Holy shit," Santana breathed.
The warehouse looked like a war zone. Half the structure had collapsed, gravity distortions had left impossible wounds in the walls where space itself had been twisted, and scorch marks from biotic detonations painted abstract art in carbon and ash. Vasir's corpse lay in an expanding pool of blood, her midsection simply gone, erased from existence.
And at the center of it all stood Arthur, not even breathing hard, biotic energy still crackling around him like purple lightning.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of ruptured pipes and the distant sound of Omega's industrial sector continuing its toxic work. Arthur could feel their eyes on him, see the questions forming, the pieces clicking into place. Santana's detective mind cataloging every impossible detail. Jason's tactical brain calculating the force required to cause this level of destruction. Aethyta's ancient wisdom recognizing something that shouldn't exist in any known species.
They stood there in the wreckage, the truth hanging between them like another corpse, waiting to be acknowledged.
The warehouse fell silent except for the hiss of ruptured pipes and the distant clang of settling debris. Jason moved through the carnage with professional efficiency, his omni-tool scanning the destroyed terminals.
"Primary server's completely fried," he reported, nudging a smoking circuit board with his boot. "Secondary backups are slag. Whatever that pulse thing was, it didn't just destroy the hardware, it corrupted the data at a quantum level."
"What about the upload?" Santana asked, keeping her shotgun trained on the Shadow Broker agents' bodies out of habit.
Jason pulled up the transmission logs, his fingers dancing across the holographic display. "Transfer protocol shows 89% completion when the connection severed." He paused, double-checking the data. "But here's the interesting part. The Shadow Broker's network uses a verification system, full packet authentication before accepting data transfers. Anything less than 100% gets flagged as corrupted and purged from their servers."
"You're saying nothing got through?" Arthur kept his voice neutral despite the relief flooding through him.
"Nothing usable. The Broker's paranoia about data integrity just saved your ass." Jason closed the display. "Whatever Vasir was trying to send died with these terminals."
Arthur knelt beside Vasir's corpse, activating her omni-tool. The device flickered to life, displaying her recent files. Most were encrypted beyond immediate access, but the surveillance footage she'd stolen was right there, recently accessed.
He opened the files, and immediately understood why the upload had failed to matter.
The footage was destroyed, not deleted but fundamentally corrupted. Where there should have been video, there were fragments of light and shadow that hurt to look at. The audio was white noise punctuated by electronic screams. The biometric data showed impossible readings, energy signatures that spiked into ranges that didn't exist on standard equipment.
"Boss," Kal's voice crackled through his private comm. "That interference you're seeing? Your biotic output during that fight created massive electromagnetic distortion. Whatever you did, the energy signatures overloaded every recording device within fifty meters. The footage is beyond recovery….quantum static at best."
Arthur closed Vasir's omni-tool, allowing himself a small smile. "The intel's trash. Corrupted beyond recovery."
"So we're clear?" Santana lowered her weapon, exhaustion suddenly visible in her posture.
"Completely."
The sound of boots on metal announced new arrivals. Twenty of Aria's mercenaries filed into the warehouse, weapons lowered but ready. Their leader, a scarred turian with a cybernetic mandible, surveyed the destruction with professional interest.
"Half the structure's compromised," he announced, running calculations on his omni-tool. "Gravitational scarring on the load-bearing walls, reality distortions that'll need specialized equipment to stabilize. Contained to this warehouse, minimal spread to adjacent structures."
"Damage assessment?" Arthur asked.
"Fifty thousand credits covers it. Aria's already factored in the disposal of bodies and discretion regarding tonight's events."
Arthur transferred the credits without hesitation. The turian's omni-tool chimed confirmation, and he nodded respectfully.
"Message from Aria," he added, handing Arthur a secure datapad. The screen displayed elegant script:
Impressive work. The Shadow Broker's network has a new gap in its coverage, and gaps create opportunities. When you're ready to discuss business beyond Council constraints, you know where to find me. My station is always open to those who prove their worth.
P.S. - The human concept of "overkill" apparently doesn't translate. I approve.
Arthur pocketed the datapad as they made their way back through Omega's toxic maze. The industrial sector's poisonous fog seemed thicker now, or maybe it was just exhaustion making everything feel heavier. They walked in silence, each processing what they'd witnessed in their own way.
The Anira's Resolve sat where they'd left it, docking clamps still engaged, hull scarred but intact. Kal met them at the airlock, his environmental suit smeared with coolant and hydraulic fluid.
"Drive core's stable but not flight-ready," he reported. "Micro-fractures throughout the containment matrix, power couplings fused from the overload. I can fix it, but I need forty-eight hours minimum. We're stuck here."
"Do what you need to do," Arthur said. "We're secure for now."
They gathered in the ship's briefing room thirty minutes later. Santana had washed the blood off her armor but kept her sidearm holstered, a new habit since seeing what Arthur could do. Jason sat with his back to the wall, tactical positioning even among allies. Aethyta occupied the corner chair, her ancient eyes studying Arthur with renewed interest. Kal's image flickered on the comm screen, connected from engineering but clearly paying attention.
Arthur stood at the head of the table, feeling the weight of what he was about to reveal. No more lies. No more half-truths. They'd earned this.
"Twenty-three years from now," he began, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what he was saying, "a species of sentient machines called the Reapers will return from dark space to exterminate all advanced organic life in the galaxy."
Silence. Complete, absolute silence.
"They're not invaders in any conventional sense," Arthur continued, activating his omni-tool. The Prothean beacon data flooded the room's holographic display, star charts and extinction patterns painting the air in light. "They're harvesters. Every fifty thousand years, they return to cull civilizations that have reached a certain level of development. They leave behind just enough technology, the mass relays and the Citadel, to ensure the next cycle develops along predictable paths."
"That's..." Santana started, then stopped, her detective mind already processing the evidence floating before her.
"Insane? Impossible?" Arthur pulled up more data, archaeological records, stellar phenomena, mathematical proofs. "The Protheans weren't the first. Before them were the Inusannon. Before them, countless others stretching back millions of years. Each civilization thought they were unique, special, the pinnacle of evolution. Each one was harvested like crops in a field."
Jason leaned forward, his tactical mind immediately jumping to the strategic implications. "The Citadel. It's a trap."
"The greatest trap ever devised. It's actually a massive mass relay connected directly to dark space where the Reapers wait. When they return, they seize it first, decapitating galactic leadership in a single strike. Then they use our own relay network to spread through the galaxy, systematically exterminating all space-faring life."
"The Keepers," Aethyta whispered, understanding dawning in her ancient eyes. "They're not maintaining the Citadel for us."
"They're maintaining it for the Reapers. Have been for millions of years."
Arthur brought up images from the beacon, trying not to flinch at the familiar horror. Worlds burning. Ships the size of dreadnoughts swatting aside entire fleets like insects. The synthetic scream that drove people mad just from hearing it.
"This is what the Protheans saw in their final days," he said quietly. "What they tried to warn us about."
"How do you know all this?" Santana's question was sharp but not accusatory. "How does a human with no military background know about an extinction cycle that predates any known civilization?"
"Because I found a Prothean beacon. A complete one, not the damaged fragments the Council hoards. It downloaded everything directly into my mind. Their history, their technology, their desperate last warning to whoever came after."
It wasn't the whole truth, but it was truth enough.
"The energy signatures," Jason said suddenly. "The impossible biotic techniques. You're using Prothean methods."
"Modified and adapted, but yes. The beacon didn't just give me knowledge; it changed something fundamental about how I process and channel energy. I genuinely don't understand the mechanism. I can feel the techniques, execute them, even improve them, but explaining why they work?" Arthur shook his head. "It's like trying to explain color to someone born blind."
Kal's image leaned forward on the screen. "The engineering principles you've shared, the theoretical frameworks that shouldn't work but do. They're Prothean."
"Partially. Combined with my own understanding, filtered through whatever change the beacon made to my nervous system." Arthur pulled up Aeon Industries' corporate structure, the hidden facilities, the resource allocations. "Everything I've built, every credit I've accumulated, every piece of technology I've developed, it's all for one purpose: ensuring humanity is ready to lead the galaxy's defense when the Reapers return in 2183."
"Why humanity?" Santana asked.
"Because we're outside the established power structures. The Council races are too entrenched in their ways, too convinced of their superiority. The Reapers count on that arrogance, use it against them. Humanity is new, adaptable, not yet calcified by millennia of tradition. We can think differently, act differently, unite the galaxy in ways the current powers never could."
"You're talking about revolution," Jason observed.
"I'm talking about survival. The old ways, the Council's bureaucracy, the species' mutual distrust, it all needs to change or we all die. Every human, asari, turian, salarian, krogan, quarian, all of us. The Reapers don't discriminate."
Aethyta stood slowly, her movements deliberate. "Eight hundred years I've lived. I've seen patterns, cycles of rise and fall that I attributed to natural societal evolution. But this..." She studied the data again. "The archaeological inconsistencies, the technological leaps that never made sense, the way certain historical records just stop. It fits."
"You believe him?" Santana turned to the matriarch.
"I believe the evidence. And I believe what I saw in that warehouse. No species in the current cycle should be able to do what Arthur did. If he says it's Prothean knowledge adapted through some neural change, it explains what shouldn't exist."
Arthur looked at each of them in turn. "I need people I can trust. Not soldiers or employees, but partners who understand what's at stake. You've seen what I can do, but I can't do this alone. The Reapers aren't just powerful; they're patient, insidious. They have agents, indoctrinated servants who don't even know they're compromised. Fighting them means being ready for betrayal from any quarter, at any time."
"Indoctrinated?" Jason's hand moved unconsciously to his sidearm.
"Exposure to Reaper technology causes a gradual mental degradation. Subtle at first, just dreams and compulsions, but eventually, complete overwriting of personality. The victim becomes a tool of the Reapers while believing they're acting of their own free will."
"That's why you've been so paranoid," Santana said, pieces clicking together. "The security protocols, the compartmentalized information, the way you watch everyone."
"Paranoia keeps us alive. The moment we assume we're safe is the moment we've already lost."
Silence settled over the room again, heavier this time. Arthur could see them processing, weighing everything they thought they knew against this new reality.
Finally, Jason spoke. "Twenty-three years to prepare for a war against machine gods." He looked up, ice-blue eyes steady. "Better than dying of old age wondering if I made a difference."
"If this is real," Santana said slowly, "and that data is convincing as hell, then every case I've ever worked, every criminal I've stopped, it's all meaningless if everyone dies in two decades." She met Arthur's gaze. "I'm in. All the way."
"Keelah," Kal's synthesized voice carried awe. "A real purpose. Not just survival or profit, but saving everyone. My people, the fleet, having a future beyond just wandering." His image straightened. "You have my complete commitment, Arthur. Whatever you need built, I'll build it."
Aethyta was the last to speak. "I've lived long enough to see the same mistakes repeated by every generation. Maybe this is why. Maybe we've been cycling through the same patterns because something has been farming us." She smiled, dangerous and ancient. "I think it's time to break the cycle."
Arthur felt something ease in his chest, a tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. "Thank you. All of you."
"So what's next?" Jason asked, already thinking tactically.
"We prepare. Build resources, develop technologies, identify potential allies and enemies. The Council can't know, not yet. They'd either try to control it or dismiss it as insanity. Same with the Alliance. We work in the shadows until we're strong enough to operate in the light."
"And in twenty-three years?" Santana asked.
"In twenty-three years, we save the galaxy."
They dispersed slowly, each heading to their quarters to process the revelation in their own way. Jason paused at the door, looking back.
"That thing you did with gravity in the warehouse. Can you teach it?"
"I can try. No guarantees it'll work for anyone else."
"Worth a shot." He left, already planning training regimens.
Santana lingered longer. "You've been carrying this alone for how long?"
"Too long."
"Not anymore." She squeezed his shoulder, a simple gesture that meant more than words could express, then followed Jason out.
Aethyta was the last to leave. "The asari have legends," she said quietly. "Stories of cycles within cycles, of watchers who observe the rise and fall of civilizations. My mother used to tell me they were just tales to make children behave." She paused at the doorway. "I'm beginning to think our legends are memories."
Then Arthur was alone in the briefing room, the weight of leadership and terrible knowledge settling back onto his shoulders. But it felt lighter now, shared among people who understood, who chose to stand with him despite the impossible odds.
A soft chime drew his attention, and text appeared in the air before him, visible only to his eyes:
+5000 XP. LEVEL UP 19→20. STAT POINTS: 5. GACHA ROLL EARNED.
Comments
PhotoStorm
nice to jave everyone on the same page and know what there fighting for. so shepherd would prob be what 5 now. is mc planing to mentor her 🤔 am guessing she'll be biotic?
Elias
Arthur was dancing on a knifes edge with the others but now that he has brought them in he can focus on preparing for the Reapers and.... preparing for Shepard when the time comes
