Garrus Vakarian Mass Effect 2 Novels & Stories

I assured him. “Again, can’t wait.” He sarcastically said, but I could’ve sworn there was a glint of relief in his eyes. “Enough of this gushy talk, tell me, how do you feel?” “Normal.” “Ok, good start. Come smell me.” Max asked, sticking his neck up for me. I took a whiff, sandalwood, but this time I sneezed at the smell. “Perfect. You're cured for the time being. Now let me go find a way to get rid of these urges for the beast, but not the beast’s sister.” Max began walking out mumbling something along the lines of, “can’t live with um, especially when they don’t let you kill the one thing that could ruin our clan.”

As they rounded a corner, a massive figure stepped into their path—a guard clad in advanced tactical armor, a heavy machine gun in his hands. “Down!” Damian yelled, pushing Sage behind a crate as the guard opened fire. Bullets tore through the air, sparks flying as they ricocheted off the walls. Damian and Maya returned fire, but the guard’s armor absorbed the brunt of their shots. “This guy’s a tank!” Maya growled. Sage’s mind raced. The guard’s visor glowed faintly, a sign of the thermal optics integrated into his helmet. She spotted a ventilation panel above his head, the faint hiss of pressurized gas escaping from it.

Her face went from terrified to ghostly pale. "No," she whispered. "It’s not possible." The lead guard stepped forward, raising a heavy pulse-cannon. The light of the corridor caught the serial number etched into his shoulder armor. It wasn't an AetherCorp designation. It was an ISS Registry Number. "Victor?" Mina’s voice cracked. The guard paused. He tilted his head, the mechanical hiss of his Oxygen Rebreather (a device that recycles exhaled air to allow for longer underwater missions) filling the silence. He raised his hand and slowly unlatched his armored helm.

It was that top-grade armor. No wonder. That thing was paper-thin and still held up under a full-power hit. That kind of craftsmanship was definitely something only the Spirale Clan could pull off. Ewan's expression darkened. "Gideon, I'll give you one last shot. Stop fighting and surrender. Otherwise, you'll regret it." He gestured to the war machine behind him. "Unless you really want to see what a Quark Warbot can do." The Quark Warbot let out a deep rumble as glowing light surged through its core. The thing was primed and ready to fire.

The false wall groaned and slid open. Vorian stood framed in the doorway, not with an army, but with six of his most hardened, surviving mercenaries. They were battered but alert, weapons trained on us. Vorian himself looked worse for wear—his fine clothes were torn and stained, the wound at his ribs seeping fresh blood, but his violet eyes shone with a manic, triumphant light. He held a modern, compact submachine gun with casual ease.

The Spire’s core was just ahead, a pulsating, white-gold heart that radiated a frequency so powerful it made my teeth rattle in my skull. I reached the maintenance hatch—a circular plate of reinforced obsidian. It was locked with a biometric seal. "Vessel 002 detected," a cold, feminine voice echoed in the pipe. "Identity: Zora Vane. Status: Rogue. Biological purge initiated." The liquid around me began to boil.

Navarien replied, his lips twitching into a slow, remarkably human smile. He turned his celestial, forest-green gaze directly toward Riheirk and Brynn. The Vanguard Commander immediately tightened his arm around Brynn’s waist, his body stiffening as his blue eyes flashed defensively. Navarien’s gaze lingered on the fresh, dark jasmine mate-mark proudly displayed on Riheirk’s neck, and a look of genuine, solemn remorse softened his majestic features.

Both Rail-Turret are charging energy and the Choppers already lock down the target, but Varniant type won’t surrender and risen to fight back. “Uh, guys. What happened to that skin?” said the GLT-class. Varniant’s shiny skin is varnished. “Preparation complete, all Turrets standby.” Said the operator. “Fire!” said the commander. Rail-Turrets and Choppers releasing barrage of bullets and missiles to Varniant type, but Turret’s projectiles are reflected to the city and shoot down a Chopper. “Varniant type … still alive.” Said the operator. “…! Wh-what happened …?” said Samuel.

Frank muttered. “Doesn’t seem like a repeat offender, and this is gangster get up. Double holsters, an ammo belt and even body armor.” A faint rumble echoed, the two both saw the sensory spike in their HUDs. Wasting no time, they both approach the door, guns at the ready. A war visor could see behind walls from at least ten yards and as they neared the door the images of five men were in sight.

The beds are equipped with advanced biometric sensors, monitoring our vital signs and adjusting the firmness and temperature to ensure optimal rest. Access is given through our eyes or biometric screening which is done before formal entry into the barracks. The walls of our room are lined with holographic displays, providing real-time updates on our mission objectives, tactical briefings, and personal communications. We also have access to Vortex's personalized AI assistant, EVE, who helps us manage our schedules, training, and equipment.