Garrus Vakarian Mass Effect 2 Novels & Stories

The Usurper's Shadow ​POV: General Vesh (Elara Vance) ​The walk from the Alpha’s private wing back to my command center felt like a death march. ​Outwardly, I was General Vesh—a towering construct of white steel and dark cape, moving with the measured, predatory grace of a conqueror. But inside the armor, I was suffocating. My hands were shaking so violently I had to curl them into tight fists to keep the metal gauntlets from clanking against my cuisses.

" The air is clean. She's not here. She's nowhere." Barzil looked at Wolfy. The Tactician was rocking back and forth, muttering numbers. "Zero point zero," Wolfy whispered. "Mass index zero. Thermal signature zero." "She is not zero," Guller’s voice said. Barzil looked down. Guller was standing at the base of the dais. He was bleeding from his nose and ears. His robes were torn. He looked like a corpse that had been reanimated. But his eyes were open. And they were looking up.

“This is the main terminal. If I can breach it, I can upload a destructive virus—something they won’t be able to counter.” Alara nodded, trying to steady her nerves. “Then let’s do it.” As Ryen began working, alarms blared across the chamber. The alien guards turned, their elongated limbs tense and ready. Ryen’s fingers slowed for a moment as he felt the weight of what they were about to do. “Time’s up,” a deep, resonant voice boomed over the chamber’s speakers. An alien figure stepped forward—taller, more commanding than the others, adorned with glowing symbols that shimmered like fire. It was the ship’s commander.

The ambient air around the gun was visibly warping, the localized gravity already buckling under the sheer hydrostatic tension building inside. Standing on the elevated command gantry above the engine was Commander Vane. The former Chief Siege Master of the Empire looked like a walking corpse. Half of his face was heavily scarred from the palace collapse fourteen years ago, his left eye replaced by a crude, scavenged mechanical lens. He wore the heavy, plated iron armor of the old Imperial Guard. He saw me walking through the chaos of the canyon floor. "Architect!" Vane’s voice boomed through a rusted mechanical megaphone, echoing off the canyon walls. "You're too late! The compression is lo

he commanded and started walking towards the nearest of the bodies, a large man in iron-studded leather armor with a broadsword under his palm. Squatting next to the man, he placed a hand on his back. He dropped his head in relief when he felt the man's chest rise and fall. "He's breathing," he called back to those gathered. He turned the man over so his face was no longer hidden and stared at him. A red beard covered his face and grew down his chest, braided at the end in an ancient style. Brodi could remember his father wearing his the same way. His face was covered in mud as were his armor and leather leggings. "They have all traveled," Finn said, coming up and standing next to him. "They

He had a glutton smile on his face. They all mentioned about their strength, expertise, and weapons of choice. Next was a pretty girl, with a curvaceous frame and laid back expression. "My name is Mira Decker. I am a Grenadier. A damage dealer and also proficient with swords." "My name is Rina August. I am a scout. Good with reconnaissance and many blades including daggers and long swords." A petite build with short hair followed them. "My name is Guss Novak. I am good with close-combat and also a paramedic specialist, good with shields and broadswords." Nervousness was apparent on Guss's face.

To them we were just shadows. We reached the central storage bay. It was a massive hangar. In the center sat a device. It looked like a missile without fins. It was silver and sleek. It was hooked up to a series of tanks filled with green gas. And standing next to it was Garrett Vance. He was wearing a hazmat suit with the helmet off. He was typing on a keypad attached to the missile. He was surrounded by six Reapers. These were the elite. They wore black armor and held heavy energy weapons.

His digital face was twisted into an expression of manic, volatile hatred as he saw Vivian step into his inner sanctuary. ​"You're too late, Vivian!" the avatar shrieked, the digital image rippling with a violent green frequency as the dreadnought's primary systems finished their cooling cycle. "The thermal reactors are stable! The automatic containment lock has just unsealed! I hold the absolute steering codes for the entire continental vanguard corps, and I’m going to turn this basin into a graveyard before the sun sets!" ​But before Garrett could execute the master firing command, the primary system terminal behind his avatar suddenly flashed a bright, unexpected violet text—one that didn

“Like mental clones.” Roman nodded grimly. “That’s what Zagreb was. A test site.” Eden dropped the file on the table, her breath short. “Then what’s Phase II?” Roman stood. “We’re going to find out. But we need someone who knew her on the inside.” “Who?” He hesitated before answering. “An old ghost. His name’s Callen Vos. Used to be her handler. Until he defected.” Eden raised an eyebrow. “Defected and lived?”

a cold, disembodied voice echoed through the vault. The voice didn't come from a speaker, nor did it come from Malakor's grid. The geometric violet carvings on the obsidian towers suddenly shifted, rewriting themselves into a sharp, digital matrix. From the darkness of the central sphere’s upper catwalks, a solitary figure descended, floating down on a platform of localized anti-gravity runes. It was General Vane.