thisavrou_log | An Ungodly Amount of Technobabble

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An Ungodly Amount of Technobabble

Who: Closed to Saren and Nihlus and Shepard later on.
When: Right after this debacle.
Where: Nihlus’ tech repair shop’s basement.
What: Reaper coding fun times! And potential reconciliation?
Warnings: Potential body horror?

It’s just the two of them, all of a sudden.

After the first six hours of generally uneventful but tech-heavy discussion, Shepard dropped out for a while. If anything did go wrong, she had a direct link to the biometric readings on his omni-tool.

Which... doesn’t stop Nihlus from being wary.

He’d had a chance to regain his composure after the meeting in the park, reverting to a more neutral professionalism. Asides from mediating a few stray bits of snark between Shepard and Saren, he’d kept relatively distant. Focused on the work.

They’d taken multiple deep scans of Saren’s body, mapping out the inbuilt systems: the picture they’d built wasn’t very pretty. Nearly all his bone mass had been replaced, but that’s about expected considering the construction of the Husk Sovereign had made of him. His peripheral nervous system was replaced or gone too, along with most of his vital organs- but those also weren’t too much of a surprise when you could basically peer into the guy’s chest cavity through his ribs. His central nervous system though…

There were more implants than a nervous system, really. The fact that Saren was still coherent at all was a wonder. If nothing else, there was some truth to the fact that Sovereign needed him: the Reaper had gone through some effort to ensure its herald kept most of his mind.

It was quite a process to sort everything out, but sped up significantly by the dissection reports (of Saren’s corpse as well as various Turian Husk variants), research data and the Geth translated coding that Shepard had left them with.

In the end, they find a suitable diagnostic access of sorts lined into the system and his spinal column just under the plating of his reaper arm’s shoulder blade plating. Probably the same access the Heretic Geths used testing out the implants after splicing them in.

“There we go,” Nihlus says as he finishes checking the connections hooked now hooked into Saren’s side. The holographic displays start pulling up the data, Reaper code translated through Geth into something they could… well, not entirely understandable yet, but it’s a start.

It looked like a mass of tendrils in this representation. Like some kind of amoeba. Compared to what Nihlus had seen of the clean, intuitiveness of Program coding- even next to Rinzler’s severely warped coding- this… looked rather horrific.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The silence between them hardly offended Saren, as he paid it no mind. It allowed him to focus on the project at hand instead and to truly see, for the first time, the horrors Sovereign bestowed on him after Virmire. The assessment merely concluded what he told Shepard before he died: he was organic and machine intertwined, a union of flesh and steel. So much that he wondered if he could even call himself a Turian. When you were more synthetic than organic could you claim to be part of a species? He didn't have the answer for that. He did see how Sovereign played him for a fool: with nothing left of his mind to corrupt, the obvious next step was his identity.

Saren felt oddly detached from the whole process, clinically removed. He supposed it made sense -- he was now more or less a stranger in his own body. It was certainly a different level of augmentation from just having to replace his arm with a synthetic one.

It should have disturbed him more, but instead Saren took it all in with a scientific curiosity.

"How fascinating," Saren murmured, eyes soaking in the coding. He was so intensely focused on the coding it was like Nihlus wasn't even there anymore to him. It should have been horrifying but instead there was a certain morbid beauty to it for Saren that pulled him in.

Dragging his gaze away from the code, Nihlus casts his old mentor a wordless stare. The reaction wasn't entirely surprising, knowing Saren as well as he did.

It's still disconcerting to see him looking at the borderline lobotomy and call it 'fascinating'.

All Nihlus could see was Sovereign's callousness: the code was a hideous, cancerous mess. It wasn't a seamless mesh to him so much as an inelegant mass made to short circuit any psychological act of defiance. It was far too close to Batarian neural control chips for comfort.

Stifling a sigh, the younger Spectre leans off of the table they'd been using over the course of the check-up. He copies the code with a few gestures, sending the original into back-up.

"I'm... going to start running the simulations then."

Pulling away, he shrugs his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves-

And oh, yeah, this is about the time Saren finds about that garishly, sparkly pink bionic right arm isn't it?

"This is a part of me, Nihlus. I let this monstrosity happen," Saren spoke with morbid astonishment, meeting Nihlus' gaze.

He didn't expect Nihlus to understand his reaction, and Nihlus' own didn't surprise him much. After all, the last time Nihlus had seen him, he was still a Turian. Still organic. The synthetic arm Sovereign crafted him was only a smaller part of a larger transformation process he hadn't been aware of then. Saren had been uncomfortable with the change...it had seemed unnatural to him, to the point where he kept his distance from Nihlus for the months that followed because he didn't want to be seen with it. He had kept it hidden as much as possible and refused to use it for physical contact. He wondered when that disgust and shame changed under Sovereign's influence, when he learned to accept it as a natural part of him and Sovereign's consequent "upgrades"...

Sovereign's controlling you through your implants! Don't you see that?

The coding, along with each scan of Saren's body, was eye opening to the ingenious of Sovereign's methods. It presented him facts of how deep Sovereign's control over him actually ran. It was one thing to realize Shepard was right, but another to see the hard evidence with his own eyes.

He snapped his attention away from the coding when Nihlus went to move, and the first thing he redirected his attention to was the bionic arm attached to his student. It was kind of hard to miss.

"When did that happen? Sometime during your stay here, I presume."

"Considering you've been exposed to Reaper tech since the Relay Incident, I question how much of this was your choice at all."

Which- isn't absolving him of all blame, not by a long shot, but Nihlus is curious to find out.

How much of his present personality was formulated or at least influenced through contact with artifacts? How long a game can Reapers play and how long can Indoctrination last? Can exposure really plant the seeds for something to happen two and a half decades in the future?

On a more personal level, the possibility that the Saren he's known for the past eight years was and is entirely constructed by the Reapers...

For better or worse, it was an answer they needed.

As the coding starts lighting up from a bombardment of various calculations, Nihlus wanders over back to Saren's side, moving to carefully detach the cables they'd hooked into him. At the question, his eyes dart briefly down to his own arm and he shrugs awkwardly.

"The res tech comes with a price. Especially the second time." Setting the cable heads gently down on the tabletop, he runs his fingers over the ports to check for damage. "Sometimes it's your belongings. Sometimes it's memories. Sometimes it's a limb or two, or an organ. A bit more reliable than emergency resuscitation, but definitely not a perfected technology yet."

It didn't surprise Saren to hear Nihlus had uncovered secrets of his past he tried to keep buried. Saren had watched Nihlus' movements carefully after he fell off the grid, so he had known Nihlus took to investigating him. Why Nihlus decided to, he hadn't been sure, but he watched Nihlus get closer and closer to the truth as time progressed. It was why Sovereign took an interest in Nihlus as both a potential asset and a threat. It was also why Saren saw he had to take action somehow, he had realized he couldn't avoid Nihlus forever, couldn't keep Nihlus from getting involved since Nihlus was too curious for his own good...

"You're referring to the Monolith Desolas found," Saren muttered. It felt strange using that name again. "Do you realize what you're implying?"

Saren didn't bother to ask Nihlus about the investigation, why he started it or how he connected the pieces. Nihlus was as cunning and intelligent as he was. Of course he'd find out, and Shepard probably helped fill in the bigger picture.

He should have tried harder to keep the past where it belonged. Double checked he left no paper trail.

"How did you acquire a synthetic arm? From the ingress, or other tech?"

Saren stored away the rest of the info Nihlus gave him. Considered what it meant. Did dying a second time help Nihlus come to terms with Eden Prime? Is that why Nihlus wasn't interested in revenge?

"Do you think I'm wrong?"

Because he wants to be. Spirits, does he ever want to be.

Nihlus finishes wordlessly reattaching the cover plate and then moves to gather his tools up, placing them neatly back into their storage container. The box clicks shut and he's quiet again, hands still on top of the lid.

If Saren really was the creation of the Reapers, then how did he fit into all this? Why spend years creating a tool only to destroy it before Sovereign could use it? With all the connections Nihlus had, with all the information Nihlus had, he'd have been immensely more useful alive and Indoctrinated.

And... looking through his memories, he can't find any trace of ever helping the other Spectre with- well, anything Shepard had told him about Wrex's experience working with the man. No artifact hunting. No strange attacks on freight ships. It was all Spectre business through and through. Which was occasionally pretty damn shady, but nothing out of the ordinary for them.

Eyes narrowing unseeingly at his hands, Nihlus idly flexes his claws against the plastic. Maybe there's still a part of the big picture that he's still not seeing here. It'll have to wait until they've figured the coding out.

"I made the arm," he says, lifting the toolbox off the table and stowing it away. "It's still in the prototyping stages. Need to install more functionality into it."

More weapons, mostly.

"I don't know," was the blunt and callous answer Nihlus received from his old mentor.

Saren couldn't say. He was always so focused on the future, of finding ways to prevent the indoctrination from fully taking hold once he learned about the extent of its effects. He thought he was capable enough to monitor the situation. Wouldn't it be a laugh if it had always been too late to stop it?

"You're suggesting some sort of sleeper status. It's not outside the realm of possibility, given that I was directly exposed to it for some time," Saren mused.

It would mean that his whole life's work as a Spectre was, in some manner, influenced by the Reapers.

Saren wasn't sure he liked that notion but his obsessive interest with Reaper artifacts made more sense. He had joined the Spectre's so he could find more of those artifacts and destroy them. Somewhere along the line, that became a mission to use them.

It would mean that he might not ever have had any sort of individuality at all.

"It's...impressive," Saren observed flatly. The ugly paint job Nihlus gave it didn't go unnoticed.

"Considering the fact that you're the one who conducted all the experiments on Indoctrination, you'd be a in a much better position to answer anything." Nihlus points out. "Everything I know on the subject is second hand and nothing that points to decades-long duration."

If Saren's in for blunt and callous, then Nihlus is in for batting it right back at him.

"When the Ingress pulled the Arca Monolith onto the Ship I'd been on, the res process reversed the Indoctrination for me." He moves around to the other's front, leaning his hip against a table and crossing his arms. "If it worked similarly for you and with how extensive the affects of Indoctrination should be at your pull point..."

Well, maybe not all the batting back is callous.

The comment on his arm gets an odd little crack of a smile from Nihlus. He knows what you mean, Saren.

"Don't worry. I'll pick an even more obnoxious color scheme for it soon enough." Making a show of examining the points of his pink claws, he flicks a mandible in a Turian equivalent of a wink. "Hell, maybe install a holo-projector or a reactive surface of some kind so I don't have to keep priming and painting everything over and over."

Imagine. Imagine the glowiest, sparkliest arm.

"Like I said, it's...possible." Saren hesitated. Sounded like he didn't want to discuss it. "I always had an interest in the monolith and artifacts like it afterwards. I never considered it was anything more than that: personal interest. I know that indoctrination works fast, but starts off subtle first."

The idea that his whole life after Desolas was Reaper influenced disturbed Saren more than anything else managed to. The tone of his voice was the first display of something resembling emotion he revealed to Nihlus so far.

"I'm not even going to ask how that's possible," Saren declared, in regards to Nihlus' casual mention of the Arca Monolith. The artifact that doomed Desolas, maybe doomed him by extension. "But...I understand your point. Your theory has some merit. The Relay Incident could have planted the seeds."

As much as Saren didn't like it, it made sense. He had always wondered why the monolith didn't influence him like Desolas. Like that human. Maybe it had, and he just never noticed.

"Wouldn't put it past you to do something as distasteful as that," Saren muttered.

Saren gets a rude face for that last remark, but Nihlus sobers up slightly afterwards.

"Without a detailed comparison of your psychological state before and after the fact, it'd be hard to prove or disprove." It'd have to have been a third party observer too, since Indoctrination by its very nature could interfere with a self-kept log. "Even then, it wouldn't have been an unusual interest to develop, especially with the security of Palaven at stake."

And especially since it took the life of his brother.

Casting a glance at the simulations still running in the background, Nihlus hums a low, contemplative note before moving, leaning off of the counter.

"Looks like we've still got a good couple of minutes before it sorts itself out." He drifts towards the mini-fridge in the back, carefully picking his way through the various equipment and cables. "You want anything to drink? There's water, a shitty protein drink shake and this alt-universe Tupari I found the other day."

There's a pause here, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

"Do you still drink?"

"Right, but it's not a theory we can dismiss. It's worth considering."

As much as Saren disliked it, he disliked this newfound uncertainty about himself even more. He was always sure of his ideals, his values, and who he was. Those parts of him were inflexible. That's how Desolas raised him. Now, he had to consider how much of his life was guided by the Reapers', on top of his paranoia that he could lose control of his independence at any minute.

"Yes, of course I still need to consume fluids and food. Is that all you have to offer? It's not up to your usual standards."

Saren sounded a tad disappointed.

"You implied being under the effects of indoctrination."

Edited 2017-03-27 01:39 (UTC)

"My 'usual standards' are going to seriously interfere with some meds," Nihlus answers dryly, grabbing himself a can of alt-Tupari before closing the fridge and nabbing a cup to fill with water for Saren. "But if you wanna go barhopping, I can drive you around. There's some pretty neat dextro-friendly spots near R1's central station."

"Oooor," he adds, planting the filled cup on the table, within reach. "If you're in for the anti-social binge-drinking, there's a list of places that'll deliver."

Which, Nihlus suspects, is probably more along the lines of what the other Spectre was looking for.

"When was the last time you had alcohol?" Cracking open the can in his hand, he gives Saren another critical once-over. "Before or after the implants? Because if it's before, I'm hanging around in case they don't mesh."

Did you miss this mother-henning? Bet you totally did.

At Saren's bit of non-questioning, Nihlus stops mid-sip, mandibles clamping down. There's a beat- and then he swallows, sets the can down, scowling quietly at it.

"... Outside of official requests put in with the Captains, the mail delivery system on the ship I'd arrived on was probably run by the Ingress itself: there was no one delivering the mail as far as we know. And asides from some kind of link to the recipient, the items tended to be random." Nihlus still suspects that that Ingress is sentient to some extent. Sentient and pretty sadistic. "The Monolith came in a crate that was stored in the cargo, addressed to me. I was busy helping with repairs around the ship at the time and... I didn't think to check it. By the time I did, I was under the thrall."

And then he cut Rinzler's legs off and nearly murdered Shepard. He doesn't particularly want to remember those details though and they were secondary pieces of information anyways.

"Fortunately for us, one of our crew members turned out to be a super-being of sorts and he blew it to smithereens before it could start converting all the organic crew into Husks. I died shortly after that."

Notice how Nihlus didn't actually talk about his experience being Indoctrinated.

"Before, and I'll take that list," Saren answered just as dryly. He grabbed the cup Nihlus offered, and downed its contents in one go. "I was simply making an observation, however. I'm not that reckless."

The casual banter felt nostalgically familiar. Like nothing had changed since Eden Prime transpired. Saren had forgotten what it was like to have this sort of companionship with someone -- someone who could keep up with you, ground you in ways you didn't realize you needed. He thought Benezia tried to fill in that gap. Benezia failed. She became another resource instead, like all of the other pawns that either feared or revered him. Nihlus always had a way of breathing life into him that was missing after he shot him.

Probably for the best.

Saren soaked in the exposition Nihlus delivered patiently, but it didn't answer what he wanted to know.

"The information is noted, but irrelevant." Saren pointed out.

"I want to know about the indoctrination. What do you remember from your experiences? What was it like for you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I mistook you for that guy who got smashed enough to go biotic fishing in the Presidium once," Nihlus remarks, smothering a grin as he flicks his TAB out and pulls up the list. "Must've been some other drunken fellow."

Any traces of amusement fades quickly after that, though.

Saren doesn't get an answer for a long moment, Nihlus just quietly staring at him from across the table. Eventually, he finishes sending the other Turian that list and slides the TAB back into his pocket before resting his hands on top of the table.

The hard, metallic edge of ozone in the air, Rinzler seizing on the floor. He can hear the glassy crinkle cutting through the program's legs, that awful, awful resonance-

Shhh, it's alright.

"It was noise."

There are scratch marks on the tabletop now and Nihlus stares at them, forcing himself to relax his claws. He's had months now. Why isn't it getting any easier to talk about?

"I thought... I was going crazy from working too much. The constant ringing, the headaches- and then it showed me Benezia." A brief moment of hesitation here, Nihlus regathering his words. His courage. "And it showed me... it showed me you. It used your voice. Made terrifying ideas sound good. Felt like blisses and salvation every time I did something the Monolith wanted."

Hadn't felt better in years. He hadn't slept better in years.

"The Indoctrination happened pretty fast. It was pressed for time and interested in getting as many people on the crew on its side before anyone noticed. Didn't work out."

Saren waited patiently for Nihlus to answer, and he listened patiently when Nihlus finally did.

He tried to picture in his mind what it must have looked like: Nihlus, pulled under the indoctrinations' song, like Benezia, like those he manipulated into working for him. Just another resource to be used and discarded. He determined it wasn't a notion he liked, calculated that his course of action on Eden Prime was the correct one. It spared Nihlus from potentially meeting that fate, didn't it? Because Nihlus eventually would have caught up with him, would have been exposed to Sovereign somehow, and then what...Would he have become exactly like he described?

"It takes what you value and corrupts and twists it," Saren summarized.

"It's difficult to gauge when the indoctrination started for me. I only know that Sovereign increased its effects after I met Shepard for the first time face to face," Saren began.

"I tried to recruit Shepard to the cause and Shepard...tried to persuade me that I was indoctrinated, tried to make me see the errors of my ways, even then. Her words bred uncertainty in my mind, and Sovereign sensed my conviction was beginning to falter. Perhaps for the first time, it was." Saren admitted. He wondered how differently things would have turned out if he fought harder. The end result likely would have remained the same.

"However, I was too close to Sovereign to think clearly, to think for myself. Sovereign took advantage of the proximity and that was when I was changed, as you see me now. I was persuaded to believe that a union was possible with the Reapers. Prove our worth through that union, and we could avoid extinction."

Since Nihlus recounted his experience with indoctrination, Saren thought he owed it to do the same. Perhaps Nihlus would see that their experiences weren't so different.

"Shepard was one of the few right choice I made before Eden Prime," Nihlus murmurs, something old and bittersweet wrapped up under his voice. "Cleaning up our messes, cleaning up our dear Councilor's messes, trying to stop the apocalypse..."

He should have been there with her. He should have been there to vouch for her, to fight for her, alongside her. He should have followed that gut instinct and turned when he heard Saren unholstering his pistol. He should have reached out to Saren long before it ever got to that point, should have been by his mentor's side after he'd lost his arm. He should have- should have- Spirits-

The directionless helplessness was the worst part. The disconnection. He thought he'd gotten over it after the months of recovering from the res, but now it's welling up again.

"... Saren...."

Whatever he's about to say gets interrupted by the notification sound of the simulations completing. Nihlus glances over at the screen before turning briefly back to the other Turian. There's something haunted in his eyes. He seems to make up his mind and drops the subject for the time being however, moving silently away from the table.

With a few gestures, he splits the readouts into different screens. The first screen was all the scans they'd taken with the various functions of different implants now neatly outlined and labelled. The second screen was pure coding. The third screen listed all the pings that the computer had done throughout the simulation and that was the one Nihlus was scrolling wordlessly through.

After a moment, he sighs in quiet relief.

"Most of them are dormant. The ones that are active are critical to life supporting functions."

Flicking his hand, he sends the readouts over in Saren's direction for the older Spectre to read through.

"You're clean, at least where the computer's concerned."

Saren hated Shepard. Shepard's constant meddling was the unexpected equation that ruined all of his carefully laid plans. She was a constant thorn in his side, somehow always keeping up with him. She got under his skin in a way that no one else managed to. Questioned his control over the situation when she should have joined him, planted the seeds of doubt in his mind that led to his conviction faltering when he had been so sure he was doing the right thing...that he was above the effects of indoctrination...

She made him see the reality for what it was. He should have hated her for that, yet he couldn't help but incline his head in acknowledgement, a grudging respect forming. Shepard seemed to have achieved what they failed to, what he saw as an impossibility. He couldn't hate her for that.

Wordlessly, Saren read over the readouts himself. Double checked them once, twice. Scanned over them for any room of error. Set them aside. Spent at least the next thirty minutes silent, fingers occasionally tapping the table.

The Reaper coding was dormant, probably to remain that way given multiple factors. Sovereign was gone, most likely destroyed by Shepard. The Reapers were potentially eradicated. He had crafted most of his Spectre career around gaining knowledge about the Reapers, about finding out how to destroy them and their artifacts, how to utilize them, and now it was all for nought. He could sympathize with Nihlus' directionless hopelessness. Couldn't comprehend where he fit into this, what this meant.

So despite the good news, his own internal struggle and paranoia did not allow him to celebrate that declaration.

"Where do we go from here?"

Honestly, Saren, considering Nihlus... are you really surprised that his would-have-been protege gave you that much trouble?

"Well, you have a talk with Shepard and she'll walk you through what happened up until her pull point. Should be back any minute now, really."

Especially now that he's shot off a message to her about the results.

"After that... your bet's good as mine. Take a week to settle everything. If you need help with finances or moving furniture or just to talk about how fucking weird this afterlife is... well, I'm here. My hours are 1000 to 2200 at the moment though, unless anything's planned in advance. Pretty much drugged up for the rest of it."

In which case, the only thing that'll wake him up is an emergency stim boost. Considering there's a chance that might make his heart explode from the sudden shock, it'd better be a pretty damn good emergency.

"The Ingress here opens up to new locations pretty much every month. The last few Exploration Categories have been pretty fucking weird and dangerous, but it might be something to keep yourself busy with if things are getting too domestic."

Saren narrowed his eyes, observing Nihlus critically. That was it. No more demands. No more questions. No more threats.

"That's all? I killed you, and you have nothing else to say?" Saren didn't sound like he believed that.

"I killed you, and you're offering me an invitation to talk later?" He also didn't sound like he understood that, either, or the lack of judgment on Nihlus' part.

From the doorjamb, there's a pointed clearing of the throat. Shepard, expression carefully neutral, leans back against it, shopping bag hanging from one wrist — and a pistol very obviously holstered on her thigh. Bad cop.

"Heard we were in the clear, so I brought some celebration."

She wiggles the bag — shockingly, a solid, not a liquid.

"Hope everyone's hungry for dextro curry-simulacrum." Good cop.

In a few long strides, she's at the table, dragging a chair over, and unpacking the meal, eyes flitting around the room at the connections, wires, screens — and Saren himself. Shepard's eyes linger on him for a long moment, before inclining her head to Nihlus.

"So. Let's see 'em."

Indoctrination-free Saren. What had Nihlus said? If Indoctrination turns up negative... Then we will deal with that.

Somehow.

It was time to somehow. Anchoring her TAB on the table, she flips open the haptic screen.

"Guess that'll be one of the things we can talk about."

Shepard clearing her throat signals the end of that conversation at any rate. Saren gets one last mysterious little smile before Nihlus turns to greet her.

"Dextro curry-simalcrum sounds really amazing right now," he says, turning to help her unpack the food, organizing the plastic cutlery and napkins. It's been six hours of work and he hasn't had a bite since waking up: Nihlus was starving.

"Heeere you go." Saren gets a box cheerfully shoved at him without preamble and then Nihlus is wandering back over to Shepard's side, taking the readout screens with him.

"Alright, so," he talks as he lays out the screens in front of them, pointing to the relevant pieces as he starts explaining. "Here's all the readouts we took. The only codes still active are related to life support functions- the rest of it's dormant. I also pulled up the timestamp from his systems, converted it from Geth to Standard, and confirmed his pull point."

Flipping the lid of the box he'd claimed for himself open, Nihlus forks up some of the meat.

"Outside of the implants, the Ingress seems to have reversed the Indoctrination effects the same way it did with me. Considering how far along he should have been by that point, I didn't see anything indicative of remaining brainwashing. His personality's a lot closer to the Saren I knew four years before Eden Prime."

Yeah, that heart to heart wasn't just reconciliation. Sorry buddy.

Edited (timeline stuff >:v) 2017-03-31 02:09 (UTC)

"Guess so," Saren let out an irritated huff, and scowled as the box was shoved toward him. Saren didn't open it just yet, but instead he directed a critical gaze toward Shepard as she joined the two of them, matched her frank stare with one of his own. Tried to rationalize away the hatred that immediately surfaced at the sight of her.

Tried to remind himself all of their interactions were marked by a situation bigger than either of them, that she was right, and that she tried, multiple times, to persuade him to see differently.

Nihlus picked Shepard to mentor for a reason, and clearly, he was right to. He could even see how similar they were in certain respects.

"Shepard," Saren greeted flatly.

"I'm going to presume this isn't poisoned."

It's almost a joke, coming from him.

Nodding as Nihlus talks, she pauses at Saren's deadpan, shooting him an thoughtful look, one eyebrow partially raised at the quirk of near-humor. Well, like for like.

"You got it. Figured if I wanted you dead, I could just ask nicely. Or switch the labels."

Here, she taps the red "L" sticker on top of her own curry-simulacrum. Likewise, Saren's unopened container still sports a bright blue "D".

Turning back to the readouts, she lets her finger trail down the screen, occasionally sliding along an intriguing line, and finally tapping the converted timestamp.

"That lines up. But he was under for a while — start believing something as fact long enough, and it's going to stick around for a while, like it or not. It's going to take time."

And patience. I am not myself, I never will be again. That Benezia had chosen death was probably the only reason the galaxy hadn't seen their first Banshee 3 years earlier. But this wasn't the Milky Way. Nihlus had come back from it — there was no reason not to try with Saren, too.

Except for the whole "brutal raging racist asshole" thing. Anderson's mission alongside Saren had been circa '65 — not a recent development. Narrowing her eyes, she flips a page on the readouts, letting a slow exhale of breath out through her nose. To hell with it: she'd reached across the aisle for much less. And Saren had died with dignity-- and her respect.

Crossing her arms, Shepard gives Nihlus a careful look, then half a shrug. "But it's enough to work with for now. I'm happy to bring him up to speed."

'Brutal raging racist asshole' was unfortunately the flavor of Saren Nihlus was most familiar with. Well, maybe somewhat mellowed out a few years after Anderson and Avitus- but only somewhat.

"Learning about what will happen can help begin correcting any misinformation the Indoctrination instilled," Nihlus points out after taking a bite. "A lot of his brainwashing hinged on his service to Council Space after all, and the lack of alternate possibilities. We can chance it out and keep him in the dark, but sowing distrust in the onset seems counter-intuitive to me."

Easier to monitor a guy who isn't actively avoiding them after all. And if the Indoctrination wasn't as deeply rooted as the worst case scenario, then it's easier to build trust on a solid foundation.

A foundation Nihlus should have tried to build with Shepard to begin with.

... Still need to apologize to her for all of that sometime. He casts the woman a quiet look over his box before turning to peer at Saren.

"Like I said before, I know it'll be difficult to accept everything you will read, see and hear here at face value. But we've been entirely removed from the events of our home universes and proof of reality is hard to come by."

Spirits knows, Nihlus didn't exactly handle things smoothly for the better part of a year. Two years, even, but he's ignoring stoner bug planet.

"You do not have to immediately accept everything, but I ask that you at least consider it and to give it time. Preferably before doing anything brash."

Saren huffed irritably, aggressively ripping the container open before taking a stab at the contents on the inside of it with his fork. He experimented with it suspiciously, lifted some of it to his mouth with wariness.

"I think I'd prefer the poison over this garbage," Saren sniffed after taking a bite, disgust clearly marking his features.

His mandibles drew taut against his jaw. But instead of interjecting their psychoanalyzing, he listened patiently and observed the manner in which they interacted with one another as he continued to eat. Tried to get a gauge of their relationship and a read on Shepard, tried to match her to the woman who grudgingly earned his respect.

He inclined his head over Nihlus' words of caution, bit down a scathing remark that threatened to spill out.

"I'm listening," Saren said. This was his only opportunity to learn about the aftermath of the Reapers. He wasn't going to risk that.

When Nihlus does chance his look at Shepard, he'll find she's already looking straight at him. When their eyes meet, she raises her eyebrows once in unison, the barest twitch of a smile. Well, well. Building trust from the outset? It may have just been the Saren connection, but she'd take it — after all, not only was he listening and using her advice, he was recommending it. You really know the way to a girl's heart, Kryik.

The connection lasts no more than half a second, and she's back at the screen, scrolling through a few lines before turning in her seat to open her own box of food, barely preventing an eyeroll at Saren's food snit. "I'll keep that in mind next time I order out for you." Ass.

For a luxurious minute, she eats a few spoonfuls of her own meal, chewing at a speed one might consider "contemplative", but given the circumstances and audience at hand, was more likely to be interpreted as "passive-aggressive". Taking a swig of water, she cracks her knuckles over her head, and crosses her arms, relaxing back into her chair.

"You want to stay for this, Nihlus, or get some rest? I think I can take it from here if you've got anything else you need to take care of. You already know what happens."

Raising her line of sight to his, her expression is clear-eyed, capable, oozing natural charisma and confidence — far cry from their last conversation on the Reaper's "end". I've got this. I'm okay.

Trust me.

It wasn't exactly like his previous approach worked here, now did it?

Beyond the smile he returns her for that look though, Nihlus carefully keeps over-familiar reactions in check: this, at least, is one thing he's not ready to show Saren yet. He suspects Shepard wouldn't particularly fancy it either.

Instead, he watches the preceding stand-off with carefully smothered hilarity, hiding the amused slant of his mandibles behind the lid of the takeaway box. Under the pretense of shoving more food into his mouth, of course.

"I've got some actual paid work to catch up with," he intones after swallowing when Shepard addresses him again. "But I'll be close by. If either of you need anything, just holler."

She still gets a pointed look before Nihlus straightens up. He'll trust that confidence. But he's got security in the room and he'll know if he's needed- especially if the topic become too hard for her again.

To Saren, he tosses a playful little wink and sternly adds, "You behave yourself there," before smoothly ducking out.

Edited 2017-04-03 00:12 (UTC)

Saren snorted in derision, but didn't interrupt as Nihlus departed. He could deal with Nihlus later, intended to until he was satisfied and there were no loose ends between them.

With Nihlus gone, Saren instead redirected all of his attention onto Shepard, fixing her with a frank and almost curious stare. He wondered how much of that bravado and confidence she exhibited was sincere, how much of it was just for show. Shepard was certainly formidable opposition, with enough fire and spirit to match Nihlus, but he wondered if she was as unperturbed by his presence as she let on.

"You could drop the posturing," Saren scoffed. "I was a Spectre. I know how to play that game as well as you do."

Saren leaned back, almost comfortable.

In the face of Nihlus' departure he was met with something more familiar. True, he and Shepard could not be as clearly defined as enemies anymore, but their relationship was hardly as complicated. Facing Shepard was more manageable in that regard.

"So much for our final confrontation," Saren baited halfheartedly.

"Even with my indoctrination status assessed, I must admit I'm surprised you're willing to trust me with anything. If the positions were reversed, I don't believe I'd be so open. For all you know, I could still be a liability and I am, after all, a disgusting traitor to the galaxy. The crimes I've committed against the galaxy, against humanity, against your friends, are horrendous. I am even indirectly responsible for the demise of one of your companions."

Saren paused, tried to gauge a reaction from Shepard.

"I am a monster, simply put. Yet here you are, offering me answers you cannot possibly believe I deserve."

Arms crossed, Shepard listens, watches Saren lay out his case—against himself—through half-lidded eyes, expression hard, but neutral, almost passive.

It felt like another lifetime ago— maybe because it had been. Should I lead with that? The three of us are all birds of a feather, now. Hell and back. It was a pithy, pessimistic, throw-away comment that she'd never venture out loud, but there was some truth: despite their clashing, their disagreements had been ideology, and morals. Grey scale stuff, coloured with Turian-grade racism, a product of his time. On the most basic level, away from Reaper strategy, they were on more even ground — especially now.

And trust? If they didn't have trust, they had nothing. Literally. Thisavrou wasn't the Milky Way, but an ounce of prevention was still worth a pound of cure. If now wasn't the time to hit the clean slate button, when was?

Letting out a slow exhale of breath through her nose, she reaches out, swiping her TAB screen closed.

"Everyone deserves another chance, Saren, and you haven't done anything today that says otherwise. You cooperated with all our demands, and even assisted with some of them." Uncrossing her arms, she shrugs, palms open. "I'd be lying if I said I was ecstatic to see you, and I'm sure you're not exactly jumping for joy, either. But to me? You're old news. What your body turned into in the council chambers was a prototype for reaper shock troops I faced across the galaxy. Anything you think you have against me, that you think you can do to me, has already been done."

There's a beat of silence as Shepard hands rest on the table, eyes locking to Saren's, burning determination radiating off like heat. "This isn't our galaxy — hell, it's not even our universe. I'm not sitting here with a secret grudge, waiting to take you down, and what you deserve doesn't enter into it, not anymore. So I'll extend my olive branch, and hope to hell you take it, because you need it a lot more than I do — you're alone, out of your element, and stripped to a shadow of who you were. We're back at square one. If you can meet me there, even grudgingly, I'll tell you anything you want to know. I don't give a damn what you think of me, and I'm sure it's the same for you — but here and now, we build on trust, or we don't build at all."

Edited 2017-04-05 02:37 (UTC)

Saren crossed his own arms in turn, matching the casual pose Shepard exhibited, and he listened carefully as Shepard laid out her own case. Shepard didn't rise to his bait, and Shepard didn't give him the emotional reaction he was purposefully attempting to provoke by being open about his deeds. Saren knew that came with a certain risk, but he wanted to appraise her character, put her through a test of sorts to find out who he was dealing with. He was not disappointed in that regard.

This Shepard was every bit as blunt and willful as the one who opposed him. It added credit to her words...and her offer.

"I suppose your olive branch is sensible, given that you can't exactly kill me permanently and the law and order here isn't so typical," Saren mused. Saren uncrossed his arms, and his fingers tapped on his side of the table. He would lose parts of himself bit by bit if Nihlus' information was correct, but it was hardly a final solution. It would be a waste of resources and time and only short-term, and Shepard didn't seem like the type to settle for the short-term if his reading of her character was accurate.

Saren fell silent as he considered her offer. A second chance. Trust.

It was not exactly absolution and he would never be able to redeem himself for the crimes he committed. He didn't believe Shepard thought so, either. Still, that didn't matter and it wasn't the heart of the conversation.

"Trust is a bit too strong of a word, I think," Saren pointed out after some time, though without any heat.

"I understand your sentiment, however...and I believe I can grudgingly start anew at square one."

Like Shepard concluded, it wasn't as though he had a choice in the matter. Especially if he wanted resolution for what became of the Reapers, since she held the key to those answers.

Right, on to business.

"You said my body was a prototype. What became of me after I died?" Saren cut straight to the heart of what he wanted to know.

For a moment, Shepard watches Saren's face, a hard look, her line of sight dragging across his faceplates with a concentrated intensity, remembering every last damn feature. Finally, she nods once: a single, resolute gesture. Peace, then — at least, for now.

Dragging the curry back over to herself, she opens it, swallowing down a quick spoonful as Saren opens the floor with his first loaded question. It was as good a place to start as any. Partially out of reflection, she taps the spoon on the side of the takeout container, letting her mind drift.

"You changed." It's a pithy response, and she rallies, rubbing her chin, frowning. "Sovereign took control of your corpse, burned away everything but bone and your cybernetic implants. You were just a mindless, attacking machine, speaking with Sovereign's voice."

Her tone is neutral enough, but something about recalling it out loud is enough to make something crawl uncomfortably in the back of her mind. She'd initially attributed it to the memory of the fight—but it was more than that, something much more visceral: And I could be one control chip away from the same damn thing. Expression unchanged, she presses on, choosing her details with care.

"Anything that didn't have physical leverage was held in place by Reaper energy combined with your own biotics. Movement was fast, erratic — like a Geth Hopper — jumping from wall to wall, or crawling on all fours."

Pausing, she shoots Saren a thoughtful look, regarding his unburnt form, and briefly counts her, and Nihlus' blessings. Maybe it was better he'd never have a chance to see it. "I'd expected Sovereign to have a back-up plan, but even with all the husks, reanimation wasn't on it. Guess I'd just figured your living body already counted. I didn't make that mistake twice."

When the husk of Saren had eventually fallen to the ground, none of them had stopped attacking, even as it burst into flames. Not until his final remains had been exhumed into ash had they wrenched their fingers off triggers.

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