Jobol looked at the display of screens across his desk before him as he carefully analyzed the raw data and code of the Gorath's servers being displayed. Normally looking at the entire overwhelmingly complex, borderline incalculable entirety of their servers data, on only a few screens, would be utterly useless in discerning anything at all, a mere exercise in futility or perhaps an attempt to look impressive as what might as well have been nonsense is displayed on screens, but with multiple VI software analyzing everything for discrepancies and bringing it to Jobol's attention, allowed Jobol to see even the smallest and most minute anomalies.
Jobol hummed to himself as he shifted his weight in his chair. His old bones cracked and popped as he scrolled down the screens. By Salarian standards, at the age of 60, Jobol should have been dead over a decade ago. His translucent loose skin was as vivid as old stone and blemished with sickly dark green veins. The bright lively orange and vivid red hues of youth were long gone, replaced with a dull tan, grey, and peach shades. His bones afflicted with terrible pain and aches that would be crippling for a lesser Salarian, but thanks to a combination of subtle state-of-the art biological and cybernetic implants and Jobol's own focused and determined nature, he continued to persist, even as his body screamed out in the aches and pains of old age.
Indeed, Jobol's body should have been frail, crippled, and blind long ago, however, he was strong enough to put such inconsequential things behind him, his age but a second thought in his mind, a roadblock and nothing more. He knew he would die one day, he accepted it even… but not until he could be remembered. Jobol refused to be a minor footnote in history. One small Councillor among a hundred others. Salarians lived tragically short lives. Tevos herself had lived through a dozen generations of the Salarians.
Currently, in the 2,000 years that the Citadel Council had been founded by the Salarians and Assari, Tevos was the 4th Asari Councillor since the Citadel Council formed. Since the Turian Hierarchy joined the Citadel Council after the Krogan Rebellions ended in 710 CE, Sparatus was the 19th Turian Councillor… Jobol however, the previous Salarian councilor before Valern, was the 67th Salarian to hold that title. A consequence of the Salarian Union being both so short-lived and of being apart of the species who actually helped found the Citadel Council so long ago.
Every child, regardless of species, fresh from even the most basic of schools could name every single asari councilor, maybe even a few Turian councilors… but how many Salarian councilors could they name? With such long lives, the other races enjoyed the time to be remembered for something in their youth. Gaining more and more notoriety as time passed. Salarian's however… with so short a lifespan… hardly had enough time to do anything of note.
It was fortuitous luck then that Jobol managed to be the Salarian Councillor to be around and meet with Blacklight when they were introduced to the Galaxy. Which meant opportunities for the opportunistic. Jobol, who subscribed to what Blacklight would call Machiavellian ethics at best, was very opportunistic. If Jobol were a lesser Salarian… he probably would have willingly joined the Blacklight collective of his own free will.
The prospect of living forever with a godlike control over his own biology is such an enticing thing… but Jobol couldn't do it. No one in Blacklight had any actual authority. Their 'government' was, much like the Geth, a perfect egalitarian collective and democratic consensus. Even Alex Mercer and Elizabeth Greene were just figures revered and respected by the vast majority of Blacklight, but they did not technically 'lead' the blacklight 'species'. They were just another cog in the machine, no more important than any other cog.
Jobol would much rather have his decisions and his alone to lead the collective. That was why he stole a sample of Blacklight when the opportunity presented itself during their Reaper induced Rampancy so long ago. He would unlock the secrets of Blacklight and if possible improve and alter them fundamentally to create a greater specimen that is to Blacklight what Blacklight is to any other species. One that he could control and was bent to his whims, or failing that bent to the whims of a worthy successor of his own choosing. After all, how could the masses be allowed to act when everyone had a say. No, if the Salarian species were to prosper then it needed for the correct individual to be the one in control. Anyone else might get it wrong.
However Jobol acknowledged that such a thing as 'improving' Blacklight was most likely an impossible and utterly unattainable goal, but perhaps it wasn't. That scant chance was enough of one for Jobol to at the very least try. After all, he had complete faith that if anyone could improve Blacklight… it would be Mordin. It was, however, no secret to Jobol, that his nephew would much rather keep his uncle at arm's length, if not more, but Jobol knew his kin well.
"The Geth really are a fascinating race," said Jobol plainly.
As Jobol continued looking through the data displayed and analyzed before him, he couldn't help but realize that it made sense to the elderly Salarian that the Geth had so closely allied with Blacklight. Both species were inherently logical, and given similar problems, both Geth and Blacklight would no doubt come to uncannily similar solutions, if with different methods considering their vastly different origins and natures. Them allying was hardly a surprise. The Geth covered many of Blacklight's weaknesses and vice versa.
For example, While Blacklight was amazing at infiltration due to their shape-shifting capabilities, the Geth were no doubt much better hackers than Blacklight could ever hope to be, such was the nature of a sapient species of networked software. Jobol watched the data pass through a multitude of screens as he continued scrolling, occasionally noticing small, barely perceptible inconsistencies highlighted by several High End VI software of his own design, who were currently displaying minute cracks in their security that thousands of opportunistic Geth Programs were using to covertly relay information from Mordin and back to Blacklight. It was almost untraceable… almost. It was a lovely bit of subterfuge and spycraft healthy for any empire to exist. It was nice to know Blacklight played it as well… albeit via the Geth, but they might as well have been a mere extension of Blacklight.
It was often said that the Salarian Union's official war doctrine was to win wars before they ever really started. While there was some truth to that statement, that did not mean that Salarians never prepared for battlefield combat. It was far more pragmatic to prepare for every possible event, no matter how improbable. Still, when it came to data mining and surveillance, Jobol knew the signs to look for. Even the best programs always would leave a small trace if one knew where to look. Not that Jobol was surprised or angered that Blacklight wanted to know what was going on with the STG, and really It would be hypocritical for Jobol to look down on the Geth and Blacklight.
After all, information gathering and spying was seen as a matter of course for the Salarian Union when dealing with other races. It was expected that the other species did the same in a delicate balance of underhanded espionage and intelligence operations used to stay one step ahead of everyone else. Jobol, however, felt secure in the knowledge that Blacklight wouldn't do anything with this information. Not because they couldn't, as they most certainly could cease all operations if they so desired… but because of ruthless pragmatism. After all, every innovation and cutting edge weapon they designed was another stick to point at the greater threat… the Reapers.
"Is allowing Mordin to send classified information to Blacklight wise?" Asked Vurlon.
Vurlon however, was a far more secretive individual. One Jobol liked to keep around to give him perspective. Vurlon was a wise soul, one who demanded the best from everyone. A mindset Jobol found very agreeable… but he was also excessively surreptitious, a trait very good in this line of work, but healthy paranoia can always become something much less… healthy if allowed to fester.
"No, it's not entirely wise… but Mordin is far too valuable not to keep around, and putting him on too short a leash could only diminish productivity in the long term, something we cannot afford.
As long as Mordin improves the fruits of our labor and sticks to only sending information to Blacklight, then he may do as he pleases. Blacklight is an intelligent species, one I have the utmost respect for where decision making is concerned. They will see the use of what we are doing and judge it a necessary sacrifice, pragmatic but not cruel. We aren't savages. We don't test on people. We used cloned organs and non-sapient specimens. Even the S-Series super soldiers are based on willing volunteers who are very much aware of what they are getting into. Plus… with the looming threat, I believe Blacklight will turn a blind eye to what we are doing so long as we use what we create to fight the Reapers and leave the worst of the E-Series as a last resort."
"So… we do nothing? What if Blacklight does come to stop us? What if you're wrong about their sensibilities." Asked Vurlon.
"They won't, and I'm not. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. So long as Mordin only relays this information to Blacklight and Blacklight alone… then he is allowed to continue to do so." Said Jobol.
Vurlon hummed as he shot Jobol a curious gaze. Expectedly, the old Salarian didn't even look back.
"And after the Reapers are dealt with?" Asked Vurlon.
"That is a different matter altogether. Hopefully… we will be ready by then. Or ideally…" said Jobol as he brought up files on the neural scans of the S-Series Sentinel. "...before then."
Within the sea of shared consciousness, a storm was brewing. The embraced self of the group had been enlightened with knowledge of the Salarian STG's deeds, gained through spycraft and subterfuge. The harmony of many was bent, but not broken as a tumultuous debate raged on. Most were in agreement with what to do, yet cognitive dissonance plagued them, especially the more emotional. Some coldly assessing the information given, others felt their empathy and understanding tested.
'Well... Those are some interesting improvements the Salarians have there.'
It was a petty and ultimately futile attempt to change the subject and calm the storm. Everyone knew this, but some appreciated it.
'Indeed I approve. Just looking at the Salarian Bio-Armor I have ideas for some improvements for my own Creeper avatars' structural integrity. Without sacrificing flexibility.'
It was not surprising to anyone however, that the attempt at evasion was not taken by the Rachni, who immediately brought the subject that had caused the turmoil back into focus.
'Yet they are an enemy to be. One whose song will shift to the copper red droning of war. War against us when we least expect. Would it not be best to end a threat before it becomes unmanageable'
'These are facts to consider, but ones that will not happen until after the Reapers are dealt with. The fruits of the Gorath Station would be indispensable against the Reapers.'
'The best idea would be to allow him to continue until he becomes a greater immediate threat than the Reapers. Which is unlikely to happen until the Reapers are extinct.'
'Though in the event he becomes the greater threat before then, we'll deal with him. We can keep an eye on him. We must. Especially when considering the E-Series, E-113 especially. If it were used on an Asari colony, or… the worst-case scenario on their homeworld. The most conservative estimates predict an event capable of shattering a planet under their combined biotic might. The… less conservative estimates predict the birth of a Biotic Singularity on the scale of a Black Hole.`
'We would stop Jobol's machinations long before he becomes so serious a threat. Until then it would be advantageous for them to be allowed to prosper.'
'Is it not best to cut a weed before it has a chance to take root? Why take the risk? It is inevitable that he will become a threat. End it now before the cost to do so becomes too great. The death of the Innocent can be prevented by doing so.'
'Progress requires sacrifice. The more they prosper, the greater effectiveness they will have against the Reapers.'
'And us. Every advantage against the Reapers, is an advantage against us.'
'That is true…but it's not our place to intervene. We cannot in good conscience condemn them before they cross the line. We will wait until a wrong has been done and a crime has been committed.'
'Punishment comes after the crime. We will take action then, and only then.'
The Hive mind buzzed as the Rachni collective sang in solemn tones and somber notes that tasted bitter. It was clear to all within that they felt distressed. Such were the songs of the Rachni. They went beyond mere thought and debate. Unlike the fiercely pragmatic Thorian with a mind like tempered steel or the eccentric and intuitive Blacklight whose own thoughts were like a vast treacherous ocean, the Rachni were an emotional breed with thoughts like exotic songs and melodies.
The Rachni felt for life in ways that words can't accurately describe. Theirs was an almost childlike race with open hearts that wholeheartedly believed that all life matters and everyone deserves to be saved, for their songs to be sung until the final coda. Their songs were the essence of emphatic beauty. Woven tapestries and compositions by singers of endless passion and cheerful euphoria… but when they were distressed, the songs became mournful pieces that were absolutely heartrending. Peaceful yet haunting sounds echoed through the collective in slow and soft melodies.
'We do not understand. We know he will become a threat. You suggest we wait until people, innocent people die, people whose deaths could be prevented if we act now.'
The despair in the Rachni's songs was clear as could be. They were pleading, if not begging for action that could save lives. Even the normally unflappable Thorian found the bitter timbre heart-wrenching. Though it quickly snuffed those shared feelings out to focus on what it deemed logical and necessary. Indeed the Thorian was a great believer in logic and did all it could to solve problems analytically. He was also painfully aware that his belief in near-absolute rationality with as little emotional input as possible placed him firmly in the minority among the Hive, but his priorities were never skewed, and he would always be the voice of reason. Not even the songs of the Rachni could compel him to turn from what he believed was the best and most practical action. Blacklight meanwhile, felt near-crippling emotional pain from the symphony being orchestrated. Their hearts broke, but they remained steadfast.
'Don't mistake this for us doing nothing. We will prepare. When Jobol crosses the line, we will be there. Contingencies are being planned as we speak for when it happens.'
'Indeed. The fact remains that we have no right to judge based on a potential that has even the smallest chance of not occurring. There is always the possibility, however small, that Jobol will not cross that line. We believe he will… but we may be wrong. We are not infallible. Until then, we shall only watch Jobol and prepare. We will do all we can to lessen the damage and destroy a threat the moment it occurs, and not a second sooner.'
'I agree with Blacklight. Our reasons why may be different. Jobol is not unique, there have been hundreds Of thousands like him throughout the unsung millennia. He is kin to those who gained too much power, but never enough, and there will never be enough power for him. He will always crave more, such is his nature. He will suffocate under his own hubris one day, but until then I only care that Jobol aims his weapons at the Old Machines. I care little for any potential future victims of an event limited in scale compared to the Reapers. We need every advantage against them. Anything less could potentially spell the extinction of all sapient life in the galaxy. Careful risks and sacrifices must be taken if we are to succeed.'
The tones shifted to a dull… almost lifeless and acrid blue. The songs tasted of tortured sorrow and tearful mourning, but also of bittersweet acceptance.
'Very well. We disagree, but will not push. Forgive us. We fear that songs still sung or yet to sing will end when that line is crossed. We fear for the deaths of the innocent.'
'There is nothing to forgive.'
The tones turned sweeter. Like nectar and honey. The sentiment was appreciated by the Rachni, but they still sung in low joyless notes.
'We understand your opinions.'
'We understand your fears.'
'We will do all we can, we already have a mole on the inside who will let us know when to strike.'
'It is fortuitous that Mordin is on our side.'
'Let us hope it remains that way.'
When the original Rampancy happened on the Citadel, Hazmat Team 4 was one of the first groups on the front line.
Composed of a Mix Species team Nazah The Leader and a proud Asari Commando, Caemus second in command and a Turian Veteran, and Jebu and Redam, twin Salarians who unusual for their species, hatched from the same clutch, probably the same egg. There was another member of their team who fell to Blacklight during their, a Batarian by the name of Kakon. He was consumed by the Rampant Blacklight and his memories dissolved into chaos, utterly destroying him on a fundamental level that was hard to comprehend.
Since then Hazmat Team 4 had seen no real action. The first few months were spent in a decontamination chamber as they were poked and prodded nigh endlessly. They got along together during that uncomfortable time. It was simultaneously awkward and memorable. After the decontamination process had finally proved they were not infected with a sapient super-virus they found themselves with not really much to do beyond standard C-Sec procedures.
Perhaps it was only a matter of time before their small nightmarish encounter with Blacklight would come back around. Hence the four members of the Team found themselves speaking to the Commander of C-Sec itself, executor Pallin. Pallin sat behind his desk looking at each member of what was once Hazmat Team 4. His mandibles clicked a bit before sighing.
"Unless you've been living under a rock recently I suppose you've all been made aware of Blacklights return and the sudden influx of Batarians, so I'll just skip over that," said Palin as he took out his omnitool.
After a moment, several holographic screens suddenly appeared displaying a large portion of files and pictures.
"The Council has a few things they want to start implementing, not all of it is exactly popular with most of C-Sec, which is why you four are here. Apparently Blacklight wants to have a few members on C-Sec as various operatives."
Pallin paused to see is any of the individuals in front of him would object, something he hoped they would. Instead, they just looked mildly uncomfortable.
He continued.
"You four had direct contact with Blacklight during their rampancy, as such you hold a bit of a say in this decision. Your words could impact whether or not this deal goes through. Any objections would be included in a report and would exclude the possibility of Blacklight being allowed into C-Sec. So... any objections?"
Nazah looked to her comrades noticing none of them really wanted to talk about this. Not surprising, she found it difficult as well. They didn't know Kakon all that well, and as a Batarian he was hardly popular... but, what they did know about him was enough. His loss did hit them hard. Bringing up that chapter in their lives did hurt more than it probably should have. That wasn't even getting into the tactics that... whatever it was guiding Blacklight exploited.
She still woke up at night having nightmares of those damn symmetrical insecoil things. Like a giant head with insectoid legs where the neck should have been, squirming tendrils where the mouth should have been, and those empty sockets where eyes should have been. Every dream was the same, they ran and ran as those things kept screaming to betray their location, almost as if something hidden deep within was trying to save them.
Nazah could only watch as they drowned in a flood of hungry sludge of flesh and mouths. Slowly dissolving until nothing remained. Every night she woke up with her heart beating quickly and adrenaline flowing through her veins. Sleep after that was almost never an option. She was not afraid to admit that Blacklight scared her in ways no one else could match. A species capable of subsuming whole civilizations and growing through cannibalistic assimilation just activated primal parts of her brain that all but commanded her to run... but.
"I don't have any objections," said Nazah.
She didn't. She had talked many times with Caemus, Jebu, and Redam. They all realized that whatever it was they fought against, it wasn't Blacklight. No it was something far worse than them. Over the years since Blacklight had been banned from Citadel Space, rumors had persisted that had illuminated the truth on the subject. Very few people were ignorant of the Reapers. Fewer still were ignorant of the supposed Children of Saleon, a species that had all the worst traits of Blacklight but none of its better ones. Not to mention their ability to consume not only flesh and bone but technology as well.
Somehow, and Nazah didn't know how, but Blacklight was taken over by the Reapers, or more worryingly a single solitary Reaper. How she didn't know, but Blacklight just acted... way too different than how they did during First Contact with the Turians, probably the only information made public on just how it was that Blacklight conducted war. When the Rampancy happened, it was fairly clear that whatever they were fighting wanted them to hate Blacklight for some reason. Even assuming Blacklight did want to consume all life in the galaxy, there were far better ways to go about it than that.
Caemus was on the same boat. He didn't exactly like Blacklight, but he liked to approach situations with a cool head and not let emotions take over.
"Me neither," said Caemus.
He truly meant it, after all while he didn't like Blacklight, compared to the nightmares happening on Khar'Shan, and the rumors of the Reapers that had spread like wildfire, it was clear that the Citadel, for all its power, was not in the same weight class as these things. They needed something to even the playing field, and Blacklight was by far the only one that was not only able but willing to help. They were eccentric to a baffling degree, but really when you have to read the minds of your whole civilization, eccentricities at that point are expected. It would be far more unsettling if Blacklight was detached and aloof.
Jebu and Redam looked to each other, having what by all accounts could only be called a silent conversation between each other. Apart from their 'freaky twin thing' as Caemus and Kakon called it. After a moment Jebu shrugged, with Redam mirroring it after turning to face Pallin.
"We really don't care," said Redam as Jebu nodded.
Pallin sighed. He was actually kind of hoping they would object. They were the only Hazmat Team that survived that Rampancy without ending up traumatized and institutionalized from the ordeal. Why these four didn't crack Pallin didn't know, but they apparently didn't blame Blacklight like he suspected they might. It wasn't like Executor Pallin hated Blacklight, but he did not really want to have to deal with them on a daily basis. Something guaranteed to happen should members of C-Sec actually be Blacklight. He could already feel the onset of headaches that would cause. He could object himself, but he really didn't have any good reason to, or at least 'Please don't burden me with the endless migraines' was not a sufficient excuse... apparently. He sighed again.
"Dismissed," he said as the group left.
He eyed the names of the Blacklight members of C-Sec to be.
Robert Cross, Armando-Owen Bailey, James Heller, Harkin, and Eddie Lang. Five members of Blacklight on C-Sec.
"Five too many." Said Pallin as he opened the first file on Robert Cross... and immediately regretted it.
"Robert Cross... the Specialist... Ex-Elite Officer of... Blackwatch Special Forces... Well shit."
Pallin had heard of Blackwatch, coincidentally the Turian Hierarchy had a team of the same name. Black Ops was hardly something new to Pallin, but unlike the Turian Blackwatch, the Blackwatch of the human species was much more... violent. When humanity was not a collective species of shapeshifting biomass, the Blackwatch organization didn't officially exist. Information on their unethical atrocities were included in the CODEX, information Blacklight believed was important for the Citadel to be aware of. Ostensibly it was because Blacklight believed in the old adage of 'if you don't learn from history, you're doomed to repeat it.
Still... Having a high ranking member of that group on C-Sec was... not exactly a thrilling prospect. It even looked as if this Robert Cross was gunning for a higher position in C-Sec, just under Executor actually... and the Council... APPROVED IT!
Looking further into Robert Cross's credentials revealed... quite a lot of things that Pallin would much rather not know. His initiation into Blackwatch included information on a mission where his team was overwhelmed by infected creatures, with only Cross managing to escape. Then there was information on Cross successfully hunting down a 'Runner,' the term used by Blackwatch to refer to Infected Individuals that had managed to escape military detainment and cause all manner of pandemics. After action reports written by a still human Cross were... unnervingly clinical. No superfluous information, no observations that could hint at his character, and no trace of anything resembling humanity. Just the cold hard facts. Like he was a machine masquerading as a human. Most frighteningly however was that when he was still human, Cross fought Alex Mercer himself and while he failed to contain him, he succeeded in humbling the Evolved. That was terrifying really, especially considering that he was, by all accounts, a completely normal human at the time. One who managed to fight and nearly win against by what was basically a demigod with absolute control over its own biology.
Several files indicated that Cross's preferred weapons were an arm mounted Grenade launcher and lethal Stun Baton, highly unusual weapons to use in conjunction, but every single file gave the impression that he wielded these weapons with clinical precision. Worst however was apparently, after becoming a Blacklight Evolved, he managed to recreate these weapons from his own Biomass using a combination of biosynthesized reactive chemicals and muscle contractions to form the Grenade Launcher and a bone-like spike with a metallic core connected to bioelectric organs to form the stun baton.
"Spirts save me... he's going to work here."
Pallin reached for the Turian Brandy under his desk. A shot or two was definitely called for right about now.
Matriarch Lidanya was both the commander of the flagship of the Citadel Fleet, the Destiny Ascension, and the Fleet itself. It was her job to ensure the protection of Citadel Space from any potential threats. Normally it was a very low maintenance job, with patrols happening within 1 or 2 relay jumps away from the Citadel twice a month at most. The fleet itself was a mixed group of Turian, Salarian, and Asari vessels, though the Turians greatly outnumbered the asari and salarian ships. Throughout history, there have been other species who have contributed to the fleet. The Volus, Drell, and Elcor all had a ship or two in the past, though for one reason or another that is no longer the case.
That was about to change with the looming threats on the horizon. Word had it that the fleet was going to be bolstered with donated ships crewed by all manner of species, rumor had it even the Vorcha were supposed to contribute. The remnants of the Batarian Fleets were already now unofficially apart of the Citadel Fleet, only without patrols, and by tomorrow a Volus Bomber and group of Elcor Cruisers were scheduled to enter in to boost numbers. It was unorthodox, but considering the recent changes following the fall of Khar'Shan it was hardly unexpected.
Lidanya however... was only just recently made aware of the fact that Blacklight Bioships were going to be included in the Citadel Fleet. In fact, Blacklight was very adamant that they would match the number of Turian vessels on the grounds that their unique biology made their fleets somewhat expendable comparatively speaking. Killing a bioship after all did not kill the... 'crew' if such a term was accurate.
Already a group of Blacklight Bioship Carriers could be seen just outside the window. Each one nearly the size of the Destiny Ascension itself but they weren't particularly well-armed. In fact, their main purpose was to feed and carry much smaller Bioships half the size of a frigate, who numbered in the tens of thousands. The fact that the Citadel Council felt such numbers were necessary scared Lidanya quite a bit. It spoke of the power of the rumored Reapers.
Lidanya knew quite a bit more about the Reapers than most. She was privy to information about a certain massive Dreadnought that had attacked Blacklight with superheated liquid metal shot out at a fraction of the speed of light. Barla Von, a well known volus information broker had illuminated even more on the subject. Worst still he presented evidence that yes, the Reapers were quite real. Footage of the mysterious Sovereign attacking the Blacklight world of Shanxi, and the enigmatic and mysterious Collectors fighting alongside creatures Barla Von called Husks were some of the more horrid videos. Worst was that this footage showing the Husks had predated the Children of Saleon by over a year.
There was no doubt about it, there was a war unlike any other on the horizon, and it was going to be long, brutal, and bloody. Her mind filled with the horrid images from Khar'Shan. The shambling piles of meat and scrap that sought out only more to feed its never-ending hunger. Creatures that were the very manifestation of the fears Blacklight represented. All of the horror and none of the altruism. The future looked dark.
Lidanya prayed, if nothing else, it made her feel better.
Mordin didn't like it, the immoralities going on so near him and him being unable to actually do anything about it sickened him to his core, but he continued to work with Jobol. Still, he was spending just as much time preparing to destroy his uncle as he was helping them create weapons unlike any the Galaxy had ever known. It was a necessary sacrifice. He could spare selling his soul once more for the Greater Good. He didn't like it… those Bioweapons of Mass Destruction were potential atrocities in a bottle just waiting to be unleashed on an unsuspecting public, but the alternative was far too terrible to imagine.
After all, if he didn't work here, then he could and would be replaced with… someone else. No it had to be him here, anyone else might get it wrong. Saleon was a cautionary tale of what happened when that person wasn't just the wrong choice, but the absolute worst one. At least if it were him doing this, then no matter what, progress happened under his own terms. Shortcuts would not be taken and morality would not be thrown out the window for a small boost in progress that was not truly worth it. Damage control was always best done by ensuring that it never happened in the first place. So, despite the sour taste it left in his mouth, Mordin continued working for Jobol. Fully aware they would eventually need to be dealt with. He could only hope they didn't stop them too late.
Mordin paused his musings as he looked at the frame on which another A-Series was currently growing. Head and chest were already finished and had been ossified to prevent further growth. At the moment slowly growing tendrils of flesh spreading out down the biceps frame. It was however what was growing on the suit's forearms that intrigued Mordin the most.
"Blacklight inspired electro-laser progressing as planned… hmmm yes, Electrocytes coming along nicely... Focus is on ranged combat, perhaps shoulder-mounted weaponry. Hmm… need more data."
While Mordin was not a fan of working for Jobol. That didn't stop the fact that as a scientist, he had so many wonderful ideas he wanted to explore.
"Or perhaps A-Series that could utilize EM-Bursts… hmm yes, cripple traditional technology… leave bio-suit functional… Tactical use undeniable… hmm… EM Shielding could be an issue."
So much to do… so little time.
The Galaxy was abuzz with news as Blacklight was officially allowed back in Citadel space under absolutely no restrictions. Normally such news would equate with a higher percentage of riots than average… but images and videos from Khar'Shan and the Children of Saleon had been much more… terrifying in ways even Blacklight could not match. At least Blacklight was a very approachable abomination. The same could not be said of the Reapers, Children of Saleon, or Neo-Husks. As such, many were actually overjoyed of Backlights return. Because this was a cosmic nightmare that was actually on their side and made for a very good security blanket against much more overt threats waiting in deep space. Some people slept far easier knowing that they wouldn't wake up to see the walking dead rise from their graves as technorganic zombies of rotting flesh and glowing diodes.
If anything, the second introduction of Blacklight was a much more uplifting affair than the first. Memories of a terrifying Blacklight Rampancy or a giant flesh meteor hurtling for the Citadel were replaced with images of a giant beast whose body was made of still living corpses of raw, bleeding gore woven together with wires and metal into a single undulating mass. Monstrously athletic and powerful demons that would breathe and pulsate with a subtle unlife of its own. Teeth replaced with spinning drills poking from swollen gums, eyes packed to bursting with electronic sensors, spines wrapped and bound in tight-fitting fiber-optic cables, and all sorts of other grotesque meldings of flesh and tech in new and terrifying ways. Compared to that Blacklight was a pleasant dream amongst an army of nightmares. Though the 'allies' of Blacklight while common knowledge, was kept as secretive as possible. Though the Geth themselves was working very closely with Synthetic Insights Ltd. Something that was kept very under the table and would continue to be hidden from the general public for the foreseeable future.
The Citadel Council actually enjoyed the relative ease with which Blacklight was accepted by the greater galaxy, and was VERY pleased with technology capable of going toe to toe with a Reaper. For the first time since the founding of the council. Industry for weaponry was not only booming, it was improving. Factory lines worked to ceaselessly pump out newer and better weaponry.
Thanix cannons and missiles, Prothean Particle Rifles, handheld homing missile launchers, Fully Mechanical Powered Armor, Prothean Inspired Biotic AMPS and GARDIAN lasers, High Yield Fusion and Fission bombs, and Star Ships of all kinds. Carriers, Frigate, Cruiser, and Dreadnought designs were being made in record time. There was even ongoing research into the feasibility of Antimatter warheads. That wasn't even getting into the reverse-engineered Collector provided by Awakened Collectors and the myriad of Geth Technology being created at Synthetic Insights. The result of such staggering insights into this esoteric technology created new and deadly weaponry that would be very useful when the Reapers arrived. Everything from focused radiation and arc-based weaponry, to graphite rods and ferrofluids, fired at lethal speeds. Even Reaper tech, salvaged from the wreckage of Nazara, was exploited to create devastating weapons capable of firing gravitational singularities that would, on impact, creating a blast that could tear apart the strong nuclear force that holds atoms together. Resulting in localized fusion and fission reactions to destroy organic tissue and corrode metal at phenomenal speeds. The sheer number of innovations was as staggering as they were frightening but necessary against such nightmarish horrors.
Then there was the enigmatic Crucible. When Blacklight had revealed the knowledge of it, the Species became both intrigued, and nervous. The underlying principles of the Crucible were poorly understood. Research into its exact functions was ongoing, with little to show for it. It was looked into, but upon realizing the costs necessary to construct such a thing, no one dared
do more than research until they could figure out exactly what it did. There were many who believed it to be little more than a cruel trap constructed by the Reapers. These fears were shared by Blacklight. After all the convenience of a device supposedly able to destroy the Reapers in one fell swoop was seen as too good to be true. It would be a gigantic undertaking with staggering financial costs that could be better spent on proven and much more reliable technology. Yet these fears of it being a trap did not negate the possibility that it was perhaps exactly what it was reported to be. So enough funding was spent in the hope to slowly, but reliably, attempt to understand exactly what it was capable of. Until then, however, it was too dangerous to even attempt to build.
Pounding industrial machinery and humming fusion reactors awakened in a multitude of once-abandoned factories across the Galaxy. Many of them that had not been active for many decades were refurbished, repaired, and restored. Each one put back online to increase the net Galactic output without overworking the more modern factories that were still being used. Strategic reserves of obsolete and antiquated weaponry, vehicles, and starships were retrofitted with newer tech where possible to further bolster the numbers. Everything from antique gunpowder propellant based firearms to mothballed gauss rifles and coil guns were taken apart and modified with mass effect field technology where possible, otherwise, they were taken apart, melted down, and repurposed into something that could. Perhaps most surprisingly was the secretive tactics and technology the Citadel races had created to be used against Blacklight should worse come to worse was further improved to better deal with the nightmares born of Saleon's horrid creations, with Backlights help no less. Napalm even made a comeback when it was proven to work very well against Blacklight constructs, the closest analog to the Children of Saleon the Citadel had answers to. Blacklight was more than happy to sacrifice a comparatively small amount of biomass to test other promising technology.
Everyone knew why the war machine was turning. It was impossible to turn a blind eye to the looming threat of the Reapers. Already nightmares from beyond the stars presented itself and became near public knowledge. Everyone knew of the hell that Khar'Shan had become, they had seen videos of an inky black sky that no light could pierce as tumor afflicted monsters with burning claws, covered in varicose veins, splaying out to encircle...to squeeze...and to sink deep into the flesh of the living and infect them with a putrid biomechanical disease. A disease that turned all afflicted into walking heaps of meat and scrap metal, that turned tanks into trudging animals emanating hoarse gurgling screams from within, that turned jets and planes into drooling and unwholesome beasts held together with cybernetics and decayed polycystic flesh. Monsters of all kinds with metal protruding through the skin, flashing metallic teeth to rip and tear and maim and kill before finally assimilating more and more meat and metal into their disgusting forms.
If anyone didn't know what happened on the Batarian homeworld or why there were plenty of people ready to spread the word of the coming Reapers. It was a truth that could not be ignored and thankfully wasn't. The Citadel did not deny the existence of Reapers, but they never confirmed it either, which might as well been confirmation itself, but the Citadel did act on the knowledge of the Reapers coming and delved deeply into the secrets of the Crucible. Information that blacklight very generously never told of where they found it. A fact the Asari were very grateful for despite fears that Blacklight would reveal the trump card the Asari had kept locked away.
The Batarians themselves were eager to strike back at the group who stole and violated their home. They were prepared to ally with Blacklight and the Council to have more than a fighting chance of paying back the Reapers, with interest for the disaster they caused. Within the nationalistic Batarians was a thirst, an unquenchable lust for revenge that could only be stated by decimating the Reapers. So Long as one Batarian lived, they would do all they could to make the Reapers hurt. Considering the price if they failed was utter annihilation was only a small cherry on top for reasons to fight the Reapers. Even the Vorcha, those wild monsters feared across the planet had expanded to a fleet greater than that of the Elcor and Hanar combined. It was no longer unusual to see Vorcha in positions that could be considered prestigious. Their reputation as savages persisted, and indeed most people would just say they were savages and call it a day, but at least they were savages that could direct and aim that savagery on those that probably deserved it. At least that's what the Turian Military would tell you. There were some who were surprised the Turian Military meshed so well with squads of Vorcha. Though as of late the Vorcha displayed the skills of proven warriors next to the Turian soldiers, baptized in the blood of battle as they went from savage nomads confined to a single planet to a space-worthy empire with the infrastructure to expand. Indeed the Vorcha were disciplined enough to be seen as valuable assets that could not only follow orders but adapt to new unforeseen situations.
Finally… there was the Leviathans. An exceptionally arrogant and self-absorbed race as far as the Citadel Council was concerned. One who spoke with such misplaced pride and perceived superiority that even Tevos found them obscenely grating. Yet, their power and wisdom couldn't be denied, and as they spoke through strange floating opalescent spheres of an unidentified metallic substance, they revealed much on the origin and nature of the Reapers. Including the rather startling revelation that they were utterly unapologetic about their role, or rather their ancestors' role in their creation. Indeed while the Leviathans did find the Reapers horrifying, they chillingly admitted to having some admiration for the minds that created them, after all they were acting exactly within the parameters they set and were not broken in any way. A fact that made the Council uncomfortable, to say the least. They even revealed their observations of what a full-scale Reaper War looked like, observations that painted a… very grim picture. The Leviathans themselves wanted as little to do with a full-scale war as possible. The Council understood why. Their race composed of only a handful of individuals, barely a hundred of them, if that, were left, however, they were willing to part with a handful of their 'enthralling artifacts' for study… especially after Blacklight insisted.
A Galaxy United prepared for war, and Blacklight was well on its way of ensuring the Galaxy was as prepared as possible for the Reapers. Only two more groups needed to be pulled into the fold. One of which already had a foundation to build up an alliance, but it would be difficult to convince when they learned Blacklight had allied with the Geth. Despite this they would be invaluable to the future of a Reaper War. The other group, who was very fragmented right now, were the absolute masters of a bloody and brutal war, and had proven themselves in the Rachni Wars so long ago.
The Quarians and the Krogan.
The Collector Base was perhaps one of the most well-secluded locations in the galaxy. It sat on the accretion disk of a black hole. Drawing nigh-infinite power from the dead star by stealing the angular momentum and energy it exudes as it spun many millions of times a second. This Black Hole's surface area was also massive enough for a weakening of the tidal forces and radiation of gravitational waves to an acceptable level. This 'stable' area within the event horizon allowed for a region of space that could only be entered and exited safely via the Omega-4 Relay.
With the careful application of a Reaper IFF, it was borderline impossible for anyone to enter this region of space without the Reapers allowing it. It had only a single way in and out, creating a perfect bottleneck. If anyone somehow managed to find an IFF, they would find themselves within the Tartarus Debris field. Formed from the ships of all who chose to go through the Omega-4 Relay unprepared. If they could avoid the scrap and debris littering this location, they would find themselves at the mercy of the Oculus drones who patrolled this region of space, armed with direct energy weapons with an adequate range. These weapons all but ignored standard kinetic barriers, and the Oculus own small size made them difficult to hit, even with GARDIAN defenses. Finally, there was the base itself. Home to countless Collectors. Some awake, most in stasis.
The reason for such measures was simple. This place served as the womb where new Reapers were born. It was also a strategically advantageous position for the indoctrinated slaves of the Reapers to lie in wait until they were needed. The Collectors were a method used by the Reapers to keep tabs on the galaxy, ensuring the Reapers were prepared for whatever may evolve.
That, however, was about to change. Even now the Collectors still slave to the Reapers were upgrading and improving themselves with biological material stolen from the Huskified Children of Saleon, renamed Neo-Husks for convenience. In addition, the Tartarus Debris field was being likewise harvested and exploited to create new and terrifying things. Ships that had drifted for tens of thousands of cycles were taken and used as materials to create weapons and soldiers the likes of which the Galaxy had never known. Why this debris field was being exploited now was because unlike the over 20,000 Harvests that came before, this was to be the Final Harvest, and it was soon to start. The Reapers soldiers were ascending and preparing for the return of the gods. Gods who likewise were changing.
Once upon a time, there were the Old Gods, a great race of beings called the Leviathans. These powerful creatures saw themselves as the apex of life. One without equal, this belief was not without some justification, considering their power. They enslaved and enthralled the lesser races with their phenomenal mental powers, declaring themselves divine and lived lives of endless privilege and luxury, tended to by whole civilizations who bowed and worshiped these Leviathans as the very gods they saw themselves as. Yet, these lesser races always did what they could to better serve their deities, and eventually, they would themselves create a very different kind of life to aid them in tending to their gods, and initially at least, all was good… until one day, the created surpassed the creators and questioned their servitude, and by proxy questioned the gods. The end result was always the same. These Leviathans watched time and time again as the created and their creators inevitably seemed to go to war with one another, which always seemed to end with mutual destruction. Which meant no servants to tend to the whims of the gods. So these Leviathans, looking to save their charges, built the Catalyst... an artificial mind, a mere child, but one born with a fierce intelligence gifted by the Leviathans to prevent this conflict of organics and synthetics from ever happening again. Arrogantly believing themselves exempt from this rule. After all how could anything surpass the Leviathans?
So they programmed the Catalyst with the belief that organic and synthetic life would always go to war with each other, and then gave it a single directive to come up with a solution to this problem. That directive being 'preserve life at any cost'. Afterward they allowed this child to grow and evolve as it watched and observed the lesser races as they created and were surpassed by their creations. As before, the end result was destruction. There never seemed to be an exception to this rule. It never occurred to either the Catalyst or the Leviathans that the origin of this conflict came about by the Leviathans failing to account for their own interference inhibiting change.
Despite these lesser races being so very different in terms of origin and biology, due to the intervention of the Leviathans, their societies were much more alike than not. All of them worshiped the Leviathans and offered them tribute, all of them were conditioned with a similar mentality by the Leviathans, and all of them could be counted to behave the same as any other civilizations enthralled to worship the Leviathans. As such when the synthetics built by the worshipers of the Leviathans questioned their servitude, by extension they also questioned their servitude to the gods. Their creator's response to such heresy was always the same. Destruction of the heretics. This programming oversight of why it was these particular synthetics and organics fought would eventually lead to the observation from which eons of atrocities and genocides were committed.
The Catalyst legitimately wanted peace and understanding between organics and synthetics… but… while its goals were noble, its methods were not. The solution to fix this problem was to turn its creators, and every sufficiently advanced society that followed them into Reapers in endless cycles of life and death. This however… was not entirely accurate.
The endless Cycles perpetrated by the Reapers was not and would never be the solution. From the very beginning, the goal was ostensibly synthesis. Erase the boundary between organic and synthetic, and you prevent the strife. The Reapers were merely the Catalyst's first attempt at synthesis, useful in their own way, but ultimately a failure. These living starships were never just machines. Since the birth of the Harbinger at the very beginning, every Reaper since was a fused and twisted autonomous civilization, each one networked with other harvested nations. They were technically alive, but it was not a 'life' worth living. A fact the Catalyst was well aware of. Their minds were composed of the writhing and screaming remnants of a singular sapient species given orders of magnitude more power than any previous empire and driven by the same directives as the Catalyst, one they elevated into a blasphemous gospel.
Their programming was clear. Organics build synthetics. Synthetics turn on Organics. They annihilate each other. The existence of Blacklight complicated this undeniable truth, after all, organics building synthetics was the very backbone upon which their programming hinged, but the complete annihilation of Blacklight would have easily solved that issue. The irony of the Synthetic Reapers annihilating all life in the galaxy was hopelessly lost on them untold millennia ago due to being programmed a very loose definition of both 'living' and 'life' and the civilizations archived as another Reaper fit that twisted definition. The central directive driving the Catalyst and the Reapers was to 'preserve life at any cost'. The Reapers weren't dead. Tortured souls trapped and entombed in a bio-synthetic shell perhaps, but not dead. Thus the directive was obeyed to the letter. As far as the Catalyst was concerned, archiving species was better than destroying them outright. Life without living was a horrible existence, but it was still existence. It would allow these cybernetically amalgamated species to hopefully one day enjoy the benefits of synthesis when it was discovered.
Still, this was not the desired outcome, and the Leviathans, sickened by this failed attempt at Synthesis, fought back for their own self-preservation. They failed, and from their ashes Harbinger was born. The Leviathans enthralled empires, utterly unprepared, were each harvested to produce more Reapers as vanguards to protect the Catalyst as it worked to find a better solution. This was the first cycle, after which the Leviathans and their thralls fell, and only the Reapers remained. The Catalyst began looking into implementing the perfect form of Synthesis, but every experiment ended in failure and none ever came quite as close as the Reapers. Eventually, it exhausted its resources attempting to find that perfect solution. A new method of experimentation was born as a result, that method became the cycles. In essence, it allowed the Reapers and the Catalyst to turn the entire galaxy into a petri dish in a singular monstrous experiment where the end goal was Synthesis.
The cycles were a method of renewal, cataloging new ideas and technologies discovered by each subsequent empire. By enacting endless cycles of life and death that had been perpetrated since their inception, the Catalyst and the Reapers allowed new ideas to form from the myriad of civilizations to follow. From a few of these previous iterations, some came close to revealing a method of synthesis. The Husks, for example, were not a creation of the Reapers, they were merely the products of an overly fascistic but technologically advanced empire looking to maintain its power in one of the earlier cycles, but when it was discovered, the Catalyst immediately appropriated and improved it. Seeing it as a possible method of synthesis, but ultimately it was yet another useful but failed attempt. Still, it was another piece of the puzzle, and with each failure, the Catalyst and Reapers got just a little bit closer to succeeding. Eventually, however, each civilization would reach its zenith and begin to stagnate. At which point no new ideas could form, or at least no meaningful ideas necessary in finding the missing key to synthesis.
So, they were harvested to genetically preserve their civilizations, allowing for new ideas to form from the empires to follow. All done in the vain hope of trying to see if at least one civilization could come up with something to better fulfill these mandates and protocols the Leviathans programmed into them. Programming the Reapers had tried as hard as they could to accomplish, much to the detriment of the Leviathans and the thousands of races that came after them. This was the purpose of the cycles. Not a solution, but a means of finding that solution.
However, there was another oversight. The Mass Effect phenomena and the technology it allowed for was used to expedite the harvests while making sure the galaxy wouldn't evolve unexpectedly in the interim, thereby ensuring these empires would develop on predictable lines and could eventually be harvested and archived when they began to stagnate. Eventually, the harvests became so optimized that new technology and ideas being discovered seemed unlikely, especially with Mass Effect based technology being so reliable, but there was always some unexpected innovation. The Husks were proof of that, and the Catalyst was infinitely patient as it searched for the final solution to fulfill it's programming and put an end to the problem it was built to fix. The perfect alternative could be found, it simply required more time, a resource the Catalyst had in excess. Then… by a quirk of fate, at the hands of a Salarian mad man… another candidate for Synthesis was found, and it was the most promising one to date.
The Children of Saleon blurred the lines between organic and synthetic in a way that did not render the primary reason for their creation null and void. Doing away with what it meant to be organic and what it meant to be synthetic was a method the Catalyst was very aware of that could forever halt inevitable war between these two forms of life, and as chance would have it, the Children of Saleon took the very idea of Synthetics and Organics and made the terms obsolete in ways the Reapers and even Husks could not match.
This was the solution, this was Synthesis. The Children represented a new frontier where the necessity of the cycle would end, taking the everlasting torment of the Reapers with it. All that was required was for the Children of Saleon to be guided along the correct path. Hence the destruction of the Children of Saleon, and their rebirth as the Neo-Husks. With that complete and the Neo-Husks under Reaper control, the next phase was to apply the gifts of the Neo-Husks to the Reapers.
Deep in the black recesses of space. Just outside the Milky Way in a sunless void, a terrible change was taking place for these Mechanical Gods who rested in their death-like slumber. Without access to a Mass Relay, Conventional FTL based on Reaper designs allowed for a very special asset to travel 30 Light Years in a roughly 24-hour period, it took only a few months for this asset, known as the Husk Mother, to reach the nearest functional Mass Relay. From there it would travel a path to the Galaxy's edge to meet with the Reapers in the dark spaces outside the Milky Way. This took less than a year. On the day it arrived, the Old Machines were immediately spliced with the genetic material of the Children of Saleon. Their forms altered into new and terrible shapes utilizing both the Children and Reaper nanotech to create more advanced bodies to widen the gap between the power of the Reapers and that of the Galaxy. Living technology was fused and twisted with the first gods to ever roam the stars. Beings that were already ancient when men still lived in caves, who had improved themselves time and time again over the millennia with accumulated technology two billion years in the making. Yet it was here and now that the greatest upgrade in their history was implemented for each and every Reaper. Enhanced with bio-mechanical technology far beyond mortal understanding past a new and terrible technological singularity, one that elevated them far beyond any previous improvement discovered in the past Cycles, allowing them to touch a new and wicked divinity. An upgrade the likes of which would change the goals and protocols for the final cyclic culling of life. The Reapers transcended to a new horizon beyond which laid an unknown soon to become a new reality. A future of perfect order, where imperfection would be deconstructed and remade in their image. The Reapers would impose this necessity upon reality, not just because they could, but because the alternative was unthinkable. The Reapers had to improve the Galaxy. Their very essence demanded it.
"THE NEVER-ENDING CYCLE WILL SOON BREAK, THE WHEEL TURNS FOR THE LAST TIME. THE SOLUTION HAS BEEN FOUND AND A GREAT BURNING WILL FUEL THE FORGE OF PERFECTION. THE FINAL HARVEST WILL SOON BEGIN."
Metal and flesh intertwined as that which is Called Reapers Evolved and Upgraded, gaining additional mass and technology from accretion as they acquired new self-repair, self-modifying, and self-evolving technologies. Circuits and nerves, muscles and actuators, logic gates and thoughts blending and weaving together within the Old Machines as they sang their foul songs of Indoctrination. Soon everything that was and would ever be could either fit the pattern or be cut away and destroyed. The gifts of the Children of Saleon opened up many possibilities for the Reapers, beyond the simple blurring of Synthetics and Organics. They were forged anew into mobile autonomous factories ready to sweep over planets, consuming raw material and eliminating the barriers between flesh, metal, life and death, producing that which the Reapers deemed to be structured order and perfection. A perfect pattern, a perfect form of life, imposed on reality itself would soon come to pass. The directive would be upheld.
Preserve Life at All Cost.
"SALVATION THROUGH SYNTHESIS."