28 They're Here

--> It’s happened. I knew this day was coming. I told my superiors, but no one believed me. Now they’re here. And we’re not ready.

But could we ever be ready, really? Could we ever prepare enough to match the Galaxy-ending force that has maintained a cycle of genocide for countless billions of years? Could we ever be ready for the sight of our fleets cut to ribbons and our streets swarming with enemies?

Maybe not. But we could have done more, should have prepared more. The Reapers should have been met when they came by a single, unified force drawn from all corners of the Galaxy to repel the common foe. But instead the Reapers have before them a Galaxy still fractured by mistrust and self-interest, politicians who refused to believe the existence of the threat when they had time, and who refuse to work together now that time is up.

The Reapers hit the Batarians first. I don’t know if there’s any of them left. That gave Earth some margin of warning, but not enough. First we lost contact with two deep space outposts, then communication with all colonies and outposts outside the Sol System. And before we knew it, the Moon had gone silent, and Reapers were landing.

I was in Vancouver when they hit, a nightmare coming down out of the clear sky, hellish blasphemies against the daylight that revealed their monstrous forms. Then the deaths started: soldiers and civilians, men, women, and children, innocents crushed beneath horrible feet of iron or burned to ash, individually or en masse, entire blocks leveled in an instant, whichever suited the humour of the merciless and implacable Reapers.

If the Reapers wished to simply destroy Earth outright, they could do it. We are hopelessly out-gunned, and there is nothing we could do to prevent them using their full firepower to reduce our planet's entire surface to ash and dust. But their purpose here is far more grim than that; the gruesome infantry the Reapers are deploying tell all too clearly their intentions for Earth. They’re not here to destroy us: they’re here to repurpose us. If they continue unchecked, if we can’t find a way to stop them, every Human that doesn’t fall in battle will instead serve as either raw material for building new Reapers, or worse, transformed into Husks, and set loose upon Earth as the Reapers mindless slaves to capture and kill more Humans. This is the fate that faces not just Earth, but every planet in the Galaxy.

The only reason we have any fleets left is because not all were directly in the Reapers path. Our technology had improved, thanks to salvage from Sovereign, but it’s still not enough. I saw a Dreadnought weather three direct hits from a Reaper before being destroyed. That’s a vast change in odds since our battle against the first Reaper three years ago, where its weapons carved through our ships like a knife through butter. But it’s not enough. The Reapers are still too strong, too many, and our ships cannot stop them.

I am sent by Anderson to persuade the Council to lend us aid. It should be him. He’s an Admiral, I a Commander. But he’s staying on Earth to lead the resistance. While I flee the scene of danger. It’s true that I’m a Council Spectre, but Admiral Anderson was for a time Councillor Anderson. He turned in his robes for his old uniform, seeking to do what he could in person to prepare for the Reapers, having faced only intransigence and willful ignorance on the Citadel. Now those same fools I must persuade to help us.

Perhaps Anderson sends me for the same reason that everyone else expects me to have a plan for stopping the Reapers; I was the one who warned everyone, first about Sovereign, then about the rest of the Reapers. I am inexplicably and absurdly credited with having killed Sovereign. I am the symbol of the resistance, known across the Galaxy as the one who warned and was not listened to, the one who killed a Reaper. If Earth falls, I must survive as a banner for the Galaxy to rally round. Anderson stays to fight, perhaps to die, so that hope can live.

I never wanted this. I’m a soldier, not an icon. My job is to kill the enemy and save lives through direct action, not look good for an audience of billions.

Admiral Hackett has ordered me to meet Dr. T’Soni at the Mars Archives before leaving the Sol System. The transmission was garbled, but he said something about “only way to stop the Reapers.” Is it possible that Liara dug up some Prothean information on a superweapon capable of turning the tide? It seems unlikely. If they had such information and lost, what more good will it do us? We’re scrambling to catch up late in the game, caught with our proverbial powder wet and flat-footed.

The Normandy is airborne, pulled out of retrofit by Lieutenant Commander Williams with but a skeleton crew. We are en route to Mars, leaving behind us our home to be crushed and burned.

I should be back on Earth. There's a lot of people dying there, and live or die, my place is with them. The world is going down in flames.

But I cannot, must not, will not, despair.

Never.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________