The door to the bridge hissed open with a hydraulic growl, and Commander Shepard stepped forward under the watchful gaze of two white-armored clone guards. The overhead lights burned clean and bright, reflecting off the burnished obsidian floors and steel-grey paneling of the command deck. It was sterile, perfect… imperial. Her boots echoed with every step.
She slowed as she entered the chamber fully, and her eyes caught—just barely—a towering figure at the far end, his black form silhouetted against the void of space through the panoramic viewport.
Shepard had fought her share of monsters, but something about that presence prickled against her nerves in a way she couldn't quantify. Her breath caught in her throat. The silhouette stood at least two and a half meters tall, unmoving, his cape fluttering slightly despite the still air.
Then, like a curtain drawing closed, another figure stepped into view—cutting her line of sight.
Slimmer, but no less imposing in his own right, clad in gleaming white armor that flowed with golden embellishments and stylized design. He stopped directly in front of her and bowed his head slightly.
"Commander Shepard," he said, the voice modulated, calm, but crisp and without inflection. "Welcome aboard the Excalibur. I am Sors Bandeam, Knight-Commander of the Imperial Expedition. I understand you wished to speak with a representative of the Empire. Congratulations—now you have."
Shepard gave a short nod, not quite sure how to read him. He was young. That much she could tell even through the modulation. But not green. There was something calculating behind that mask, something dangerous. She raised her chin and spoke clearly.
"I appreciate the audience, Knight-Commander. My name is Commander Shepard, former Systems Alliance Navy, former N7… and former Spectre." Her tone was cool. Formal. But laced with urgency.
"I'm not here for politics," she said. "I'm here because something is coming. Something big. I don't know what you've heard—if anything—but I need you to listen."
Sors tilted his head just slightly. "Go on."
Shepard inhaled sharply. "Two years ago, I touched a Prothean beacon. They were the dominant civilization before our own era, spanning and dominating the entire galaxy. The images it showed me—they were… I can't even describe them properly. Machines. The whole civilization wiped out. Burned down... by them, the Reapers. They're not some advanced Geth or whatever you might have picked up from the council official dcuments... They're real."
Her voice quickened slightly. "Each one is the size of a dreadnought. Armed, sentient, and capable of manipulating organics through indoctrination. Mind control. They've done it before, and they're starting again. I saw it firsthand when one of them arrived—Sovereign. It almost wiped out the Citadel. We stopped it. Barely. But there are more out there. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands."
Silence.
Sors stood still, processing. Not a twitch. Not a sound. Only the soft ambient thrum of the bridge and the dim pulsation of starlight through the viewport.
"…Red Queen," Sors said aloud.
From the nearby holoterminal, the crimson form of the Empire's AI shimmered into existence—an elegant humanoid projection dressed in the flowing robes of a ceremonial advisor. Her voice was smooth, immaculate.
A pause.
"Cross-referencing all databanks... Only vague mythos and inconsistent terminology. No physical records recovered during planetary scans. A few discarded fragments from what appear to be tampered Citadel files. Nothing substantial." She paused again. "Yet... what the Commander describes aligns with anomalies in psychological patterns found on numerous redacted action logs of certain political and military figures predating the assault on the citadel. Indoctrination is one of the plausible explanations lacking definitive evidence."
Sors stared at Shepard, his helmet impassive, unreadable. But in the Force, he searched.
She wasn't lying.
She believed every word.
But belief didn't make it truth. And in matters of the unknown, certainty was required. His mouth opened to speak again—
Hiss… klunk.
The bridge chilled as a low, rhythmic breathing filled the space behind him. Heavy. Mechanical. Timeless.
Hhhkk... psshhht. Hhhkk... psshhht.
Sors froze. So did the clone guards. Even the Red Queen dimmed slightly.
Darth Vader turned.
The sound of his respirator filled the silence with dread, and Shepard slowly shifted her gaze up—finally seeing him fully. No longer a silhouette. He was iron and shadow made flesh. He walked with purpose, each step slow and thunderous. The lights caught the curve of his helmet, the glint of his chest plate, the deep black folds of his cloak.
"The truth," Vader said, voice rumbling like distant thunder, "is not found in words. The knight order is still in its infancy, and practice would waste valuable time with no guaranteed result. Given the possible gravity of the threat, I deem it fit to intervene directly." He declared as his helmet tilted slightly towards the terminal where the Red Queen avatar had appeared.
A minor nod told him that it would be logged as such.
Shepard took a step back.
"There is a faster way."
Before Shepard could question what he meant, the Force clamped down on her like a vice.
She was yanked from the floor as if gravity ceased to exist—weightless, then crushed. Her eyes widened as the world seemed to blur and shift. Her limbs spasmed, unable to respond. Her head was ablaze with sensation—pain, light, sound. Memories.
The beacon. Eden Prime. Sovereign's voice. Saren. The attack on the Citadel. The blinding red of Sovereign's main gun tearing through space. The husks. The indoctrinated soldiers. Every scream. Every fire. Every hopeless minute came crashing back.
Vader's hand was still outstretched. His black-gloved fingers flexing as his mask loomed over her.
The pain was exquisite. A spear driven through her mind, dragging up everything—shoved out into the open.
Then, just as suddenly, she dropped. Reality returned.
She hit her knees, gasping.
Vader spoke again.
"She has seen them."
Shepard coughed once, struggling to rise.
"She speaks the truth… as she knows and has seen it."
Sors glanced from Shepard, still recovering, to Vader, who had returned to gazing out the viewport—unbothered by the revelations.
No further elaboration. No orders. Just confirmation.
Shepard rose slowly. Her legs still shook. But her voice was steady.
"I told you," she said, glaring up at them both. "I'm not here to waste time."
Sors was quiet, his arms folded behind his back. "And perhaps you haven't. The Emperor will want to know of this."
He stepped closer.
Though she was still reeling from the mental probing Vader had inflicted upon her, she stood tall—head high, voice measured, armor worn like a second skin.
Sors Bandeam inclined his head ever so slightly in her direction. He spoke with the cold assurance of someone who wielded authority as a weapon.
"You and your crew are not our enemies," he said calmly. "Your vessel will remain untouched. I give my personal guarantee that the Normandy will be permitted to remain under Imperial protection—until we can establish a safe corridor for your return to Council-controlled space."
Shepard gave him a sharp look. "I appreciate the gesture… but there are still things I need to do in the Terminus. Intel to follow up on. People I promised to help."
Sors' visor dipped toward her, unreadable beneath the faceplate. His voice grew colder—less patient.
"That will no longer be possible."
Shepard arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
"The entire Terminus System will soon be under lockdown. We're already repositioning. Your window of movement is closed. Permanently." - he said.
Shepard frowned... And suddenly it clicked.
All but one of the major entrance points into the Terminus routed through Omega.
It wasn't a single strike.
It was an entry way—and soon, Terminus would be cut off, both politically and physically. It would then belong to the Empire.
Her breath caught. "You're taking the entire system…"
Sors said nothing, but the confirmation was clear in his silence.
"...Damn." She exhaled,a wry smile in her face.
Shepard turned without another word, the implications weighing heavy in her mind. Whatever she'd hoped to accomplish in the shadows of the Terminus—was now off the table.
Two clone guards fell into step behind her, escorting her without word. They stopped only at the doors to the main corridor, where a squad of B2 droids took over, their heavy metallic limbs clanking against the flooring as they silently escorted her toward the hangar where the Normandy waited.
Once the doors hissed shut behind her, the bridge grew quiet again.
Sors remained where he was, staring at the floating spiral of the galaxy. The crimson marks of conquest bleeding outward from Omega like blood in water. The Terminus would fall. That was never a question.
But even as he watched victory unfold… he felt no elation.
The red glow of a new window flickered across the tactical feed.
Dozens of distant signals. Could be incoming from any side at any time. No official fleet signature. Tens of thousands of dreadnought-scale vessels, entering from far beyond any explored sector. Unknown.
And even more dangerous than any existing civilization they had already come accross.
The Reapers.
Lord Vader had confirmed them. A threat that had apparently returned, possibly aware of the Empire's presence through subtle indoctrination or latent agents.
Sors exhaled through his teeth, his fists clenched behind his back. Could they infect droids? The Red Queen's mind was an amalgam of Force-attuned logic and encryption. A being unto herself. Could she be corrupted?
Unlikely... Very Unlikely.
He had thought things were going a little too easy... was this the real test the God-Emperor had prepared for them?
The war had changed.
And time, limited as it was... was starting to evaporate.
He turned on his heel and stalked toward the main command table, rotating the tactical display with a flick of his wrist. The starlit network shifted, Terminus territories blazing bright with new deployment markers. Automated red lines marked the paths of multiple fleet movements.
Sors lowered his voice to the nearest comms droid.
"Transmit priority order to all fleet commanders and captains within the Operation Terminus sphere."
The droid's head swiveled to him, optics glowing red. "Order encoding?"
Sors stared at the galaxy.
The words that came next tasted like steel and thunder.
"All forces are hereby ordered to switch to Cleansing Protocols. Targets of strategic insignificance are to be neutralized without engagement. Alpha-Level strategic holdings are the only exceptions to this directive."
The droid repeated back for confirmation. "Cleansing Protocol confirmed. Awaiting final instruction."
Sors stepped forward. "Under the grace of the God-Emperor, I authorize the full deployment of strategic weaponry."
He said as his back straightened even further if that was even possible.
"Implement Base Delta Zero protocols on all viable systems."
The bridge dimmed.
Behind him, the Red Queen appeared in holographic form—her crimson gown billowing with data-coded elegance. Her voice was chilling in its certainty.
"Protocol authorized. Cleansing in the name of the Emperor."
The command went out.
And across the void, lights began to ping back from the map—one by one, confirming and acknowledging the order.
=====================
High Orbit Over Omega Station
The lights along the central command bridge of the Endurance flickered red the moment the encoded message was received.
"Transmission acknowledged," droned the comms droid, its synthetic voice devoid of tension. "Cleansing Protocol confirmed. Base Delta Zero authorization received from Lord Knight Commander."
The captain stood motionless at the fore of the command deck. His officer's uniform shimmered faintly in the ambient glow of the bridge's starfield displays, his gaze locked on the outline of Omega Station—still faintly visible against the slowly swirling clouds of the Omega Nebula.
Beneath the shadows of the stars, that station had once ruled this sector like a corrupted throne.
Now, it would be cleansed.
He turned sharply to his left. "Activate the Silencer."
The matte-black unit at his side immediately began relaying commands.
"Authorization received. Beginning Silencer warm-up cycle. Routing primary power from all non-essential systems."
The deck hummed as a low, thunderous vibration began emanating through the ship's spine. Across the Endurance, relay nodes locked into position, and massive cooling systems spun into high-gear. Through the reinforced viewing ports, one could see it—the long, angular protrusion beneath the belly of the Endurance, now glowing faintly with charging energy.
One by one, across the bridge, various droid officers began their reports.
"Silencer beam matrix at 40% charge. Cooling manifold online."
"Target acquisition algorithms in progress. Prioritizing Omega's central reactor cluster."
"Calculating compensation curves. Omega's rotational vector… compensated. Adjusting for potential plasma feedback due to detonation proximity."
"Fleet-wide broadcast has confirmed safe distance margins. No atmospheric overlap."
The energy thrumming through the ship grew louder, deeper, pulsing like the breath of a slumbering giant. The crew droids stood still—silent, unmoving—while one final set of glowing digits counted up in the holospace above the firing console.
The captain stared at it for a moment. The numbers ticked upward. 84%… 91%… 97%…
"Silencer beam at maximum efficiency," reported the tactical droid.
"Target locked," confirmed another. "Main fusion core at Omega Station selected. Predictive modeling confirms catastrophic overload threshold. Chain-reaction: 99.89% probability."
His hand twitched only once—barely perceptible. One last hesitation. Then…
"Fire."
From the Endurance's underbelly, the faint hum transformed into an earth-splitting roar.
A line of pure crimson energy—thicker than a capital ship—lanced forth in a split second, moving with impossible speed and precision. It struck Omega's midsection like a divine scalpel.
Not even a moment passed before it burrowed into the central reactor.
OMEGA STATION – 0.3 SECONDS POST IMPACT
IMPERIAL SENSOR FEEDS (ABOARD ENDURANCE)
"Instantaneous core overload confirmed."
"Structural containment breach spreading—Sector G to K collapsing."
"Radiation surge off the charts—emissions exceed redline tolerance."
"Explosion imminent. Chain reaction accelerated."
"All 1,823,583 life signs extinguished."
In an instant, Omega—entire—lit up like a dying star. It erupted from within.
Massive tremors tore through the station as the central core shattered, overloading every adjacent power conduit and fusion buffer. The surrounding hull splintered and twisted like paper soaked in acid. Shockwaves burst outward in concentric rings of red and white fire.
Massive titanium struts broke apart like bones. Entire habitat blocks were flung into the void. The external docking rings vaporized within milliseconds, while the twisting remnants of Afterlife's skeletal tower could be seen spinning in the wake of the detonation.
The Omega Station and its inhabitants were no more.
Just fragments.
Just debris.
ABOARD THE EXCALIBUR - PRIMARY HANGAR BAY
The hangar was eerily quiet. Shepard, Garrus, and a few others were gathered near the Normandy's lowered ramp, still in tense silence after their return.
A prompt pinged through EDI's systems, and she immediately redirected an alert to Shepard's omni-tool.
"Commander… I believe you will want to see this."
Drawn by the sudden intensity in EDI's voice, Shepard looked toward the open hangar doors. The others followed. The void beyond was calm.
And then—it wasn't.
A pulse of deep, angry red lit the darkness as a megalaser sliced through the nebula, visible even from kilometers away. It struck Omega dead-on, and for a moment nothing happened—before the entire station erupted like a ruptured sun.
The deck rumbled ever so slightly. The distant sound—muffled by vacuum and shielding—felt like thunder on the edge of a dream.
Even Garrus stood speechless.
Jack slowly leaned forward. "Holy shit…"
Shepard's eyes narrowed. "..."
Behind them, standing near Shepard, Mordin muttered, "Most curious. Previous engagements and force deployments suggest intent to capture... Sudden increase in drastic measure reflect a major change in operational parameters. Outside influence may be applicable." His eyes flickered briefly towards Shepard whose eyes widened at that.
Only wreckage remained—a drifting graveyard where Omega had once been.
No final messages. No survivors. No warning.
Just obliteration.
Shepard stood staring wide eyed at the floating wreckage... it was because of her, the million or so souls on Omega had all vanished because of her.
She had asked for them to listen and they did... and she had no idea how many lives would become collateral damage because of it...