As Markus finished recounting the harrowing tale of the Protheans, Shepard's eyes narrowed with growing suspicion. He stood up, his anger rising, and took a step forward, his voice filled with accusation.
"You knew," Shepard said, his voice tightening with emotion. "From the moment you came to this galaxy, you knew about the Reapers, yet you did nothing," he shouted, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
Markus, standing still, raised an eyebrow. His helmet, which had been firmly in place, gave no indication of the thoughts behind it. Despite the apparent calm in Markus's posture, Shepard's accusations continued to pour forth, his frustration evident in each word.
But then, without warning, Markus raised his hand and with a subtle shift in his stance, Shepard found himself suspended, as though an invisible force had gripped him. His body was held aloft, unable to move. The crew watched in frozen silence as Shepard struggled against the invisible hold, his body tense with the effort to break free.
Markus began to step toward him, his voice cool, yet dripping with contempt. "Tell me, Shepard," Markus intoned, his words laced with authority, "did you not learn that I loathe this kind of behavior? Did you not understand that I detest any 'lower' being having the sheer audacity to question me?"
The crew, seeing the intensity of the situation, instinctively reached for their weapons, but before they could make a move, they froze. Dozens of Black Widow rifles, drawn from the shadows, were now aimed at them. Silent, waiting, and terrifyingly precise. Markus's power was on full display.
Markus reached out with a gloved hand, gripping Shepard's chin firmly, forcing him to meet his gaze. The helmet vanished, revealing his face, cold and impervious. "Know your place, mortal," Markus said, his voice low and threatening. "Or perhaps I will be the one to do the harvesting... not the Reapers."
As Shepard's breath quickened, the realization of his vulnerability washed over him. For all his heroism and determination, he was nothing in the face of Markus's overwhelming power. The crew, their hands still hovering over their weapons, were unable to act, paralyzed by the sheer force of Markus's will. The cameras, positioned strategically across the room, recorded every moment, capturing the tension, the power struggle, and the unmistakable shift in control.
Shepard's mind raced, his body unyielding against the hold. The weight of his own helplessness was something he had never experienced in such an intense way. He had always been the one in control, the one leading his team to victory, but here, now, Markus stood as an immovable force, and Shepard, a mere mortal, was nothing but a plaything in his hands.
But despite the crushing weight of his situation, Shepard's spirit didn't break. He locked eyes with Markus, refusing to look away. He had faced countless enemies before, but this was something entirely different. Markus had shown his hand, and Shepard knew that he had no choice but to comply, at least for now.
Shepard remained suspended in the air, his body held by Markus's telekinetic grip, as the weight of his own impulsive actions settled in. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in frustration. His heroism, his natural tendency to stand up against any force, any injustice had brought him to this moment. And now, as he hung helplessly, it became painfully clear: he had been reckless.
He cursed himself. His uncontrolled behavior, his inability to keep his temper in check, had put not only himself but the entire crew in danger. The weight of his pride stung, as he realized that in his desperate need to confront Markus, he had played right into the hands of a being far beyond him. Far beyond them all.
As Shepard struggled to regain control of his breathing, he sensed the tension of his crew behind him. Garrus stood tall, his sharp eyes narrowing with frustration. Mordin, with his calculating mind, clenched his fists, eyes flicking between Shepard and Markus, his usual calm demeanor fractured by the danger of the situation. Miranda, still flustered by her own awkward situation, also cursed under her breath. They all shared the same thought, the same unspoken frustration.
They had seen the signs. The moment they had entered the Omega 4 Relay, everything had been different. They were aboard the Raven now, and they were surrounded by Markus's shadowy forces, those ominous, ethereal beings that had been hinted at but never fully understood. Dozens of rifles, poised and ready, all aimed at them. Each of them knew that, just like Shepard, they were at Markus's mercy.
And it was all because Shepard had acted like the foolish hero he had always been. The man who rushed into situations, thinking he could fix everything with sheer willpower and bravado. The man who thought he could command a force that was far beyond him.
Now, here they were, trapped, powerless in the face of a being who could obliterate them with a simple command. They cursed Shepard silently, each of them wrestling with the frustration of being caught in this impossible situation.
Garrus's face, a grim picture of tension. He didn't speak, he never needed to. But the look in his eyes said everything.
Mordin adjusted his glasses, muttering something under his breath, probably a string of expletives in his native tongue. He wasn't one to be caught in situations like this, especially not because of someone's impulsiveness.
Miranda, ground her teeth in irritation. She had warned the Illusive man. But now, they were paying the price for Shepard's recklessness.
It wasn't just about being in a life or death situation. It was about the fact that they were all trapped because Shepard, in his eternal quest to save the day, had failed to understand the true scale of what they were up against. The danger Markus represented wasn't something that could be handled with mere bravado. And now, with the full force of Markus's power surrounding them, they were all paying the price.
Shepard took a deep breath, his mind swirling with the consequences of his rash outburst. The weight of his impulsive words and actions bore down on him as he quietly cursed himself for losing control. This was not his usual demeanor, this was reckless and undisciplined. But he was not alone in this outcome. Garrus, Mordin, Miranda, and most probably all his crew too, cursed the idiotic heroism that had led them to this point. They had crossed into the unknown, beyond the Omega 4 Relay, aboard the Raven, surrounded by Markus's shadowy forces, and now they were all on the wrong side of dozens of barrels. All because Shepard had acted without thinking.
He closed his eyes, his face tinged with regret, realizing just how precarious their situation had become.
"I... I apologize for my reckless behavior," Shepard finally muttered, his voice heavy with regret and realization.
Markus, his eyes still as sharp as the coldest steel, held his gaze for a moment, studying Shepard as one would an errant child. Then, without responding to the apology, he turned his attention to Garrus, who stood at the ready.
"Ah, Garrus," Markus's voice carried a smooth, aristocratic edge, "you shall assume command of Normandy's crew during the operation. My forces will be tasked with ensuring that all of you are kept... in check."
There was a pause as Markus's eyes swept across the room, his presence overwhelming. He continued, his voice dripping with an air of authority and disdain.
"From the moment your commander elected to perform such a tragically comedic display, your team's status has irrevocably shifted. You are no longer guests aboard this vessel, but rather, suspects," Markus's tone turned sharp, though still remarkably controlled. "Understand this, and understand it well: any transgression, any move against me, shall result in the utter obliteration of your team and the destruction of your home worlds. I do not make empty threats, Garrus," he added, his words crisp and resolute.
A light smirk flickered behind Markus's mask, his voice now laced with an eerie calmness. "Of course, you are free to test me. But I would advise against such a... foolish course of action," he finished with a chilling, almost pleasant undertone.
The crew remained silent, the full weight of Markus's words settling heavily upon their shoulders. Shepard could feel his heart pounding, but there was no turning back now.
Garrus, though his posture remained stiff, gave a slow nod, accepting the burden Markus had placed upon him. It was not a choice, but a responsibility thrust upon him. The quiet exchange between them spoke volumes, but neither of them needed to say a word.
The tension in the air was thick, and Shepard knew, he was no longer in control. Markus had made that crystal clear.
As Raven approached the Collector base, a lone Collector vessel drifted from its docking bay. The ship hummed with ominous intent, its engines flaring as it powered up. Without hesitation, the vessel turned, locking its sights on Raven. It was preparing to unleash its main weapon, clearly aiming to target their ship.
Markus, calm as ever, stood unmoved at the command deck. He spoke to Onyx, his tone as cool and confident as ever.
"Onyx," he said, his voice carrying across the deck. "Take control of all Collector vessels and lock them down. Now."
Onyx's voice came in immediately, smooth and controlled. "Understood. Command initiated."
The Collector vessel, which had once seemed like a threat, began to slow, its movements jerking to a halt as Onyx seized control. The weapon charge that had been building faltered, then fizzled out. The vast space around the Raven fell into a strange silence, punctuated only by the hum of Markus's power.
Markus began moving with purpose. He walked toward the airlock, His WL1 Summons, alongside his Matriarch Summons, followed him in perfect unison, their movements as smooth and coordinated as if they were an extension of his will. A group of twenty WL1 units flanked the Normandy crew, their stoic, armored figures towering over the crew. These WL1 units were massive, imposing constructs, their matte black armor absorbing all light around them. Each of the units stood perfectly still, rifles at the ready. Their weapons, sleek and formidable, were designed with a chilling precision, pointing directly at the Normandy crew, their aim unwavering.
Markus moved without need for any vessel. The air itself seemed to bend to his will as he stepped off the edge of the Raven's dock, launching himself effortlessly into space. His power surrounded him, a forcefield of arcane energy protecting him from the vacuum as he soared through the dark void towards the Collector base.
As he glided through the expanse, he turned his head back toward the Raven. His voice echoed across the comms, light and almost casual, as if remembering something important at the last minute.
"Oh, how silly of me," he chuckled, the sound almost playful. "I forgot. You can't disembark on your own."
He then summoned two dragons similar to Kamish's size. Massive beasts that appeared in the vacuum of space, hovering gracefully, their wings beating in the void. Markus's voice came again, this time more commanding.
"Normandy crew, step onto the dragons. We're heading to the base."
Without question, the Normandy crew did as instructed, stepping onto the dragons, which immediately took flight, their massive wings beating as they began to soar toward the Collector base. Each dragon adorned with glowing runes and ethereal scales, was a reminder of Markus's otherworldly power.
The crew, still in awe, watched as the dragons carried them toward the entrance of the Collector base. Their speed was impressive, cutting through space with ease, the blackness of the void swallowing their movement as they neared the imposing structure that stood before them. It was time.
Markus had led them to the precipice of the unknown, and now, they were about to face what lay within the Collector's base. The stage was set, and they were mere players in a far larger game than they could understand.
The dragons gently landed on the surface of the Collector base, Normandy crew dismounted, stepping off the ethereal beasts with a mixture of awe and unease. Markus stood calmly, his powerful figure towering over them. With a simple thought, he stored the dragons. His voice, casual and unperturbed, broke the heavy silence.
"Would you prefer to walk, or should I arrange some mounts for you and your team?" Markus asked, his tone almost friendly, as though there hadn't been any mention of destroying their home worlds mere moments ago. The crew exchanged glances, hesitant to reply at first.
Garrus, took a moment to process the situation. His sharp mind weighed the options. Walking through an alien base filled with unknown dangers would only give them more exposure. Yet, the prospect of mounts in this eerie place felt unsettling in its own way. He glanced at Shepard, who nodded in silent agreement.
"Mounts," Garrus replied, his voice firm. There was no reason to waste time walking when they could be more mobile.
Markus raised an eyebrow, his lips curling ever so slightly into what might have been a smile, though his face was still hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet. He started to summon, and the ground around him rippled slightly as his forces started to materialize.
With a low growl, 50 Abyssal Wolves appeared. These creatures were massive, each standing at over three meters tall, their obsidian armored bodies shining under the eerie lights of the Collector base. Their eyes glowed an intense, turquoise, same shade as Markus's eyes. Their bodies rippled with immense power. They were formidable, built for both speed and resilience. These creatures hunted in coordinated packs, their intelligence and agility making them perfect for both offensive and defensive maneuvers. Each wolf bore the heavy, polished black armor that seemed to shimmer and absorb light, making them appear even more menacing. They crouched down obediently, waiting for the crew to mount them.
Markus raised his hand again, and another twelve Abyssal Wolves emerged from the ground, just as formidable as the first. He seemed to prefer having his troops in solid numbers. Without further delay, Markus summoned fifty Phantom Blade Masters emerged. These warriors were ethereal, their forms flickering like shadows in the dim light, their bodies fluid, and their weapons deadly. The Phantom Blade Masters were clad in sleek, dark armor, wielding twin blades that seemed to shimmer with a deadly, unnatural glow. They were agile, fast, and lethal, one moment, they appeared as wisps of shadow, the next, they were closing in on their enemies with incredible speed and precision. Their weapons cut through air and enemies alike with deadly grace.
The Phantom Blade Masters mounted the Abyssal Wolves, their weapons held ready. Markus turned toward his forces, his command clear and unwavering.
Markus then summoned another 100 Magus units. These Death Magus were cloaked in dark, flowing mantles that absorbed the surrounding light, their presence almost oppressive. These spellcasters channeled destructive arcane energy, their eyes glowing with eldritch power. Each Magus was a master of elemental fury, capable of unleashing devastating, targeted attacks or overwhelming bursts of destructive magic. They were a force of raw power, and Markus used them to keep the enemies at bay ensuring that nothing came close.
Alongside the Magus units, 100 Matriarchs appeared, each a towering figure of ancient power. Clad in the armor Markus designed. Their eyes glowed with biotic energy, and they wielded tremendous control over the battlefield, able to manipulate and disable opponents with their potent biotic abilities. The Matriarchs' mere presence commanded respect and fear, as their powers could rend apart entire squads with a mere gesture.
Markus turned his gaze toward the Magus units, giving them a specific command. "Do not kill the Collectors. I have use for them. Keep them alive, but ensure they do not interfere with the operation."
Finally, Markus raised his hand once more, and 20 Dragon Priests materialized before him. The Dragon Priests were powerful individuals, bearing the marks of their ancient lineage. Clad in ornate armor, they stood with an air of authority, their eyes shining with arcane knowledge. These beings were not just spell casters, they were healers and buff specialists, their knowledge of ancient magic allowing them to mend wounds, bolster allies, and maintain the strength of their forces throughout battle.
"Keep them in top condition," Markus ordered, his voice clear and commanding. "I expect nothing less than perfection."
"Keep the seeker swarm away from me and my forces," he ordered the Matriarchs and with that, his troops moved swiftly to take up positions, surrounding the Normandy crew and securing the area.
As the units organized, the Normandy crew watched, their shock evident on their faces. Cameras, recording every moment, captured the unfolding scene. The summoning of these forces, the deadly precision with which Markus commanded them. Garrus, Liara, and the others were still processing the sight. The scale of Markus's power, his absolute control over these beings, was overwhelming. The crew had come to understand that Ghost was not someone they could simply comprehend. He was a force, beyond human, beyond anything they had ever encountered.
Garrus, his voice subdued, broke the silence. "We're... ready," he said, though his eyes lingered on the amassed forces, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his features.
Markus turned toward him, his voice calm and assured. "Good. Let's begin."
Markus's forces surged forward with remarkable speed, the ten Matriarchs expertly holding back the seeker swarm, their biotic barriers shimmering as they deflected incoming attacks. The remaining units advanced, confronting the Collectors at the first gate. With a mere thought, Markus disintegrated the gate, reducing it to atoms. The Collectors, undeterred, raised their weapons, preparing to engage Markus's forces.
Meanwhile, the Normandy crew stood in stunned silence, witnessing the overwhelming display of power. Garrus, his mandibles twitching with frustration, turned to Shepard and muttered, "I hope you're done playing the hero, Shepard." He gestured toward the unfolding battle. "'Cause I don't fancy seeing Palaven reduced to rubble 'cause you couldn't keep it together."
Mordin adjusted his glasses, his voice tinged with concern. "Markus's capabilities far exceed those of the Collectors and Reapers combined." He glanced at the ongoing battle.
Jack crossed her arms, her expression a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Seriously, Sehpard?" She shook her head. "You went toe to toe with that... thing?" She glanced at the chaos unfolding outside. "And now we're stuck here, hoping we don't get vaporized."
Zaeed, ever the pragmatist, couldn't hide his skepticism. "This is beyond any payday I've ever seen." He eyed the battle warily. "And I've seen some nasty jobs."
Liara, her voice barely above a whisper, as she looked at Shepard, her eyes reflecting a mix of fear and disbelief. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"
Shepard stood motionless, grappling with the enormity of his earlier actions. Seeing Markus effortlessly conjure shadowy beings and manipulate reality, he recalled Markus's earlier words: "They are my creations." A heavy weight settled in Shepard's chest as he realized the gravity of the situation.
He silently accepted his misstep, praying that the Admirals wouldn't deem him unfit for command. If their roles were reversed, he knew he would question his leadership. But now, all he could do was hope that their combined strength would see them through this unprecedented ordeal.
Mordin pointed to an Abyssal Wolf, which was under heavy fire from several Collectors. The wolf collapsed for a moment, only to rise again, its dark, armored body seemingly unaffected by the barrage. Mordin gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief. "They're really... immortal," he murmured in awe. "This... this can't be true. This shouldn't be true. It's pointless," he muttered faster, his mind racing with questions.
Shepard closed his eyes, contemplating his actions and their consequences. He understood now what Markus had meant when he said that even a single one of his forces would be enough to defeat the entire Normandy crew. It was becoming more apparent just how far Markus's powers reached, and how outmatched they were.
Markus's forces continued their forward push. The Phantom Blade Masters, mounted on Abyssal Wolves, moved with incredible speed, too fast for the naked eye to follow. They dispatched the Collectors with precision, striking their enemies with the precision, amputating them, and leaving the rest to the Magus and Priest units to tend to the wounded. Every encounter followed this same pattern. Swift, efficient, overwhelming.
The group pressed on towards the Human Reaper larvae, their destination in sight.
The Human Reaper, a strange creation, hovered before them. It was a large mass of processed humans and Reaper technology, its form in the early stages. The Reapers creating a full fledged Human Reapers, harvesting the colonies to add to their ranks. Normandy crew couldn't help but shudder at the sight, the weight of their discovery sinking in. They witnessed the proccesing of captured human beings on their here. Now they understood What and Why of it. This was the result of what they had been fighting against all along. Abductions and manipulation, twisted into something monstrous.
Markus stepped forward, his hand outstretched as he used his reality manipulation. With a thought, the air around the structure rippled, and Markus focused intently, examining the superstructure, understanding its purpose and intricacies. His power flowed through it, he used his subjugation afterward to take command of it, asserting control over the incomplete human reaper as easily as one might command a soldier.
At this point, a group of Collectors reached the platform, their weapons raised and ready to engage. Markus, however, raised a hand, halting his forces. With a mere gesture, the opposition ceased their movements as well.
Then, Markus spoke, his tone calm and measured. "Ah, Harbinger," he greeted, his voice almost jovial, but underlaid with a sharp edge. "I was unable to greet you last time. You and the others were quite busy with your... Harvest of the Protheans."
Harbinger, the leader of the Reapers' forces, slowly approached Markus in a body he overtaken. He looked directly at Markus, its movements deliberate, almost as if it were listening and responding to Markus's words. Harbinger's ability to take over and control any Collector, speaking through them with their voice and gestures, made them an unnerving presence.
"You are an anomaly," Harbinger said, its voice booming with authority and cold disdain. "You disturb the Harvest, Ghost. Your actions are a hindrance."
Markus chuckled softly at Harbinger's statement, unfazed. "Oh, don't be too sentimental, Harbinger," Markus said, his voice dripping with casual amusement. "I'm quite sure you have misunderstood the Leviathans when they spoke of saving the Organics."
At the mention of the Leviathans, Harbinger froze for a moment, a flicker of confusion and realization passing through its eyes. The Leviathans, ancient beings who once created the Reapers, were a secret that the Reapers had long guarded. No one should be able to know about them, especially not an outsider like Markus.
Harbinger hesitated, then released its hold on the Collector's body, stepping back. "No one should have this information," it thought. With that, Harbinger abandoned the Collector's body, leaving it to Markus's mercy.
Markus looked at Collector whom harbinger has released, his own forces standing at attention, waiting for his next command. "Well then," he said, his gaze turning cold and calculating. "The Collectors are mine now. Let us continue."
The Normandy crew watched in stunned silence as the events unfolded before them. The power Markus wielded was unlike anything they had ever encountered. The truth of what they were facing, and what they had just witnessed, began to sink in. This was not just a fight for survival. It was a clash of forces beyond their comprehension.
Markus's forces continued to subdue the Collectors, both on the base and in their vessels, which Onyx locked down. With his unwavering control, the Matriarchs and Magus units methodically neutralized every Collector, their power undeniable. As the battle came to an end, Markus turned to the Normandy crew, his posture composed as if addressing an audience in the midst of a performance.
With a mocking flourish, he bowed slightly, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I trust you enjoyed the show," Markus remarked, his voice light, yet tinged with a chilling amusement. "For as of this moment," he paused, eyes glinting with cold calculation, "Seventeen minutes and thirty five seconds have passed since we landed on this base." He clasped his hands behind his back, straightening up with an air of authority. "Thus concludes the operation of the Collector base," he continued, voice firm. "As per our agreement, I shall claim the base and everything within as my payment."
Shepard opened his mouth to speak, his mind racing with questions and objections, but before he could say a word, something sharp and cold pressed against his throat. A Blade Master, swift and silent, had already placed his double blades at his neck. Shepard froze, eyes widening as Markus turned slowly to face him.
Markus's gaze was unyielding, his expression calm and collected. "You have lost the right to speak to me ever again," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "try and we shall see what else you may loose" he added, the threat clear in his words. The atmosphere shifted; it was a warning, an undeniable command that left no room for defiance.
Then Markus shifted his attention to Garrus, his gaze moving with predatory precision. "Is there anything you or your team would like to add?" he asked, his tone dripping with casual interest.
Before Garrus could respond, Mordin, the intellect of Normandy's crew, stepped forward. His voice was steady but filled with an underlying concern. "Will you continue the abductions now that we understand the full extent of this situation?" Mordin asked, his sharp mind already processing the implications of what they had discovered.
Markus chuckled, the sound rich with dark amusement. He tilted his head slightly as he regarded Mordin, appreciating the Salarian's perceptive nature. "Ah, Mordin Solus, always the sharp mind," he praised, his voice carrying a strange blend of admiration and something darker. "But why would I need to abduct humans?" Markus's gaze flickered briefly, with a thought, a perfect replica of Shepard began to materialize beside him. The clone's form was flawless, its appearance identical in every way.
In a matter of moments, another two clones appeared behind the first, followed by four more. The Shepard clones stood there, lifeless and still, like eerie reflections of the real Commander.
Markus turned to Mordin with a smirk. "As you may have noticed doctor, I do not need to abduct anything," he said, his voice filled with eerie calm. He gave a small, almost dismissive gesture, and with a thought, all the Shepard clones vanished in an instant, leaving only the sound of silence hanging in the air.
Mordin's eyes widened, his mind racing to comprehend the full implications of what he had just witnessed. "Impressive," Mordin muttered under his breath, though his words were filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Markus simply stood, his expression neutral, waiting to get the full control of the base as he summoned engineers and tech experts for this purpose.
With the Collector base fully under control, Markus stood at the helm of his forces, observing the area around him. His presence was commanding, his will shaping the battlefield as the last remnants of resistance were wiped away. His forces moved with precision, a well coordinated machine that left no room for escape. They made their way toward an airlock, the faint hum of Raven, floating silently nearby was what greeted them when they reached the point they entered the base.
Markus turned, his voice steady and firm. "All forces, return to me," he commanded. With a thought, he dismissed all the summoned units, the ethereal presence of the Blade Masters, Abyssal Wolves, and others vanishing into nothingness. Only the Matriarchs, Dragon Priests, and Magus units remained, left behind to operate the base in Markus's absence.
Markus gave a single, deliberate order to the Dragon Priests. "Keep the Collectors alive. Their usefulness is not yet exhausted," he said, his voice cold and calculating. His summons, ever obedient, nodded in acknowledgment.
With a swift motion, Markus lifted the Normandy crew using his telekinesis, each of them floating gently into the air as if weightless. They drifted toward Raven, while Markus himself simply flew, gliding effortlessly through the air. The crew watched in awe, some expressions filled with a mix of disbelief and resignation as they were lifted toward the ship.
Once aboard the Raven, Markus walked towards the meeting room, his steps purposeful. He waved a hand, signaling the appearance of refreshments, as though the entire operation had been nothing more than an afternoon stroll. "Refreshments," he ordered, the simple word carrying an air of finality. As the crew assembled, still processing everything that had occurred, Markus ordered "Onyx, leave this space. We are returning to Omega 4 Relay."
As Raven performed the jump back to Omega 4 Relay, Markus's eyes narrowed. With a single thought, he activated his subjugation ability, his power extending to the massive device. In an instant, the relay fell under his control, its massive, ancient machinery shutting down at his command. The massive structure, once an unreachable, dangerous force, was rendered inert. Its vast power neutralized, leaving it nothing more than a monument to its former self.
Markus stood, his eyes cold as the crew watched in stunned silence. The reality of what he had just done was settling in, the enormity of his actions clear in every motion. Raven began to move, its sleek form gliding through space as Onyx, now in control of the Normandy, maneuvered the ship to a position next to the Raven.
As Normandy crew left, Markus gave one final order. "Onyx, activate invisibility." he teleport the ship back to the Collector's base. The ship's form began to shimmer as it activated its invisibility systems, becoming undetectable in the vast expanse of space.
In a moment, the ship was gone, transported back to the Collector's base, leaving the crew to ponder the unsettling power that Markus commanded, a power that no one in this galaxy had ever seen before.
As the Normandy crew filed onto the ship, the atmosphere was thick with tension and unspoken frustration. Shepard stood in the middle of the room, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on him, each glance filled with disappointment. He didn't have to wait long before the storm began.
Garrus was the first to speak, and his words hit like a hammer. He turned toward Shepard, his voice laced with fury. "I thought you were a good leader, Shepard," he said, his tone sharp. "But what the hell was that back there?" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "How many times have your Admirals warned you? How many times have you ignored the risks and gone after a force like tha.. that monstert?" His voice trembled with anger as he continued, "I thought you had the instincts to stay alive, but you can't keep making reckless choices like this. I will not risk the future of may people, my home world to an impulsive man child, the hell with you and your heroism."
With one last scornful look, Garrus turned and stormed off, leaving Shepard standing there, numb.
Mordin was next, his words delivered with a cold, clinical precision. "You are unfit for command, Shepard," Mordin stated bluntly, his voice laced with detachment. "I suggest re-education or a demotion. Clearly, you lack the requisite skills to lead." Without another word, Mordin turned and headed for his lab, leaving Shepard to reflect on the cutting judgment.
Others followed in quick succession:
"I don't understand, Commander. I thought you were smarter than this. We trusted you, and now... we're in danger because of your actions." intoned Tali giving Shepard a quiet but hurt glance before leaving. Jack, never one to sugarcoat things, spoke bluntly. "I've followed you through a lot, but that was beyond reckless. Don't expect me to cover for you next time." she quipped while leaving. Zaeed, with his usual gruffness, shot Shepard a bitter look. "You really screwed the pooch this time, Shepard. I thought you had a bit of common sense. Guess I was wrong." Kasumi, her tone a mix of disappointment and concern, sighed softly. "I thought you were better than this, Shepard. You've always been the one in control and with a plan, but this... it was dangerous, and for what?" she vanished, activating her stealth. Speaking more softly than the others but still with clear hurt in her voice, added, "We've fought together, side by side, Shepard. But I can't pretend I understand why you would confront a being like Ghost. I thought I could trust you." Was Liara's words while she was leaving as well.
As the last of the crew walked away, Shepard stood alone in the middle of the room, the weight of their words crashing down on him. His mind raced with their accusations, each one a knife twist in his gut. He had put them all at risk. His reckless outburst had endangered everything.
With a heavy heart, Shepard moved toward the communication console, his hands trembling slightly as he typed in the commands. He uploaded the operation footage, knowing full well the consequences. The screen flickered, confirming the transmission to Admirals Hackett and Anderson.
Sinking into his seat, Shepard closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for the call. He knew what was coming. No one would spare him, not after this. He had made his last mistake against Markus, one that could have cost not him but Humanity at large. His position, his command, and the trust of the people he called allies. were on a shaky ground.
He waited, the silence in the room oppressive, until the call would come.