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Author's Note: The majority of these are drabbles done with prompts from the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers' Facebook page, and the supplied prompt and characters will be posted with each drabble. Please enjoy.

Anything Goes

Chapter One: Detonation

Prompt: Wrex + Cerberus/Ex-Cerberus


"Shepard is dead. And the mission has failed." - A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

Wrex looks up at Shepard's blood-curdling and then suddenly blunted cry.

The swirling, harsh dust of Tuchanka whips through the air. The heat presses down on him like the weight of the past. There is blood, hot and acrid, on the wind. Some of it his.

Wrex can see Shepard's form up on the platform, slumped against the rail, his legs bent at unnatural angles. Even from this distance, Wrex can see the former Spectre's shoulder and left side of his head blasted off.

Shepard is dead. And the mission has failed.

Wrex's blood rushes violently through him, his whole body enflamed with a wrath and a desperation he can taste along his tongue.

Hours ago, while on the Normandy, Shepard had called him from Tuchanka's surface to tell him about the "Cerberus" bomb. He had calmed (only barely) his rage at the turian Primarch and listened to Shepard. He had promised his assistance, boarding one of the Normandy's shuttlecraft while they waited in orbit for their commander.

Wrex never was good at waiting. He had landed in the midst of the battle between Cerberus forces and Tarquin Victus' unit. And he had plunged, full-force, into a fight that had started centuries ago.

A fight that had continued to go on.

Pointlessly. Endlessly.

Bodies upon bodies and fear upon fear. That was the unspoken bond between turians and krogan. The buried, threatening terror that had lived in their hearts for years. That had lived even within their own fucking planet.

A bomb. A promise. A haunting reminder that it never ends.

Wrex pants with the rage and exhaustion of the fight, his right eye blinking through a stream of blood along his face, his left arm broken and useless beneath the charred remains of his armor. He looks down to where his foot is braced against the chest of a Cerberus Centurion grasping wildly and painfully at the krogan's leg between gasping pleas.

Everything falls away.

Wrex wonders if they might have beaten the Reapers. If he might have lived to see it otherwise. He wonders if this moment isn't exactly what the krogan were headed for, all those centuries ago.

He levels his shotgun between the Centurion's eyes and pushes his heavy boot further into the man's chest until he almost crushes his lungs. The man chokes and cries, flailing his arms uselessly.

This, Wrex can still do. Put a bullet between the eyes of a face that reminds him how the past never stays buried. This he can still do. Before he is gone forever.

He pulls the trigger. The man's face is blown off. The bomb detonates.

Wrex wonders if the galaxy will forget him.

Or if maybe, just maybe, like the rippling wave speeding from the explosion, some corner of the universe might tremble at his touch.