Ann Bryson's world seemed to have turned inside out, upside down, then put through a point and inverted. What had once been a routine dig site, reminding her vaguely of certain deserts back home with the sandstone forms and figures, had turned into a hellish nightmare complete with actual demons—or something close enough.

She shuddered as one of the winged Reapers buzzed past. It didn't look like it should be able to fly as well as it did.

Her father believed it took proof that something didn't exist. He'd been open-minded about most things.

Her mother believed in angels. According to her, angels were 'the hands that reach for you, grasp you, and drag you from dire circumstance.'

Ann always preferred the feathery wings and white raiment for aesthetic reasons, but she'd never really given the concepts of angels and demons much attention.

If 'demon' was a word to describe monsters or a variety of really evil things, then the Reapers more than qualified.

And because for everything there was an equal and opposite (Sir Isaac was more right than he knew)…well. She'd never expected angels to wear Alliance armor and carry enough firepower to outfit three additional soldiers.

"Gone," the bigger of the two men said, shaking his head over Hopkins. "Are you hurt?" he asked, calm and reasonable, as the other man and Shepard watched the multitude of Reapers out there.

Ann blinked, her mind going blank. He hadn't asked if she was alright… "No, I'm not hurt."

"That's a lot of Harvesters. What do you call a, uh, a flock of Harvesters? Or is 'flock' good?" the shorter man demanded of the female marine.

"A combine," Shepard answered dryly. "Where do they all come from?"

"You know, I'm reminded of that rabbit-thing and a jar of Martians. Just add water: instant invasion."

"Can you run?" the medic pressed.

"Ye-es," Ann agreed slowly. She shook herself again. "Yes, I can run. Are you…" her eyes slid to Hopkins.

"Yeah. I'm sure," came the even answer of someone who'd seen too many corpses to be mistaken when he said Death passed through.

"Seriously?" Vega asked. "A combine?"

"Like the farm implement," Shepard returned wryly. "But the irony's not lost on me, now that you've pointed it out."

"Shepard, she's good to go." With that, Alenko helped Ann to her feet.

Shepard looked away from the Harvesters, her bright eyes flashing behind her visor. "Good. Doctor, we work on the buddy system—Alenko's yours today. Stick close to him, he'll look after you."

Alenko squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Come on."

Vega and Shepard took one last look at the 'combine' before heading out the back of the prefab 'office.'

Ann withdrew into her own thoughts as the party began to move cautiously, discreetly, pausing only long enough for one (or all) of the marines to snap images of the ancient wall art.

It still floored her how something that old was still in such good condition. More than 50,000 years old, and the pigments were still clear—not pristine, but what would be?—the images still intelligible.

"Doctor, you found an artifact, correct?" Shepard asked.

"What? Yes," Ann nodded, wetting her lips. "It's just up ahead."

There was more than the artifact up ahead: the Reapers were already there.

Shepard's words suddenly began distorting, and when Alenko pulled her down, Ann nearly fell over. It was as if something had grabbed her by the ankle was dragging her down, down, down into the deeps. It was cold, a suffocating cold, and so dark she forgot for the moment what light was. She'd never believed such an abyss could exist, but there was no other word for it and there were things in that abyss—

Something exploded. Something physical, but then her brain seemed to explode, too. Ann gasped, coughing as if to rid herself of gallons and gallons of water. Shepard's voice was sharp. Suddenly it was too hot, too bright—

"I'm really starting to hate those things," Shepard snarled to agreement from Vega.

"Ann, you need to get up," Alenko said, sounding as if he was repeating himself as he pulled her to her feet, letting her hang off his shoulder.

Ann found her feet, looked up to find Shepard regarding her. "I-I'm okay. Just-just dizzy."

Shepard detached her canteen and handed it over, but there was something in her eyes that said, quite clearly, she knew the dizziness had nothing to do with dehydration. "Our pilot's going to pull in as close as he can, but we're going to have to run. You see that shuttle, you run as hard as you can. Don't look back. Don't think about whether we're okay—don't even think unless it's 'x-more meters.' Okay?"

Ann nodded. She'd never been much of a runner, but she suspected Reapers were not only sobering, but good motivation.

"Alright. Ready?" Shepard asked, glancing at Vega.

He nodded twice, then the two marines threw themselves out of cover and started forward at a hard run.

Alenko hung back with her, keeping them at a brisk but not a flat-out pace…not until they saw the shuttle, the colors weathered and eroded but still definitely Alliance. "Go!" Alenko yelled, the bark in her ear echoed by Shepard. The push against her back got her going.

The shuttle began to bounce as she sprinted, aware that running absolutely wasn't her thing. She focused, as she'd been told to do, but knew she was moving too slow.

"Clear the door!" Alenko shouted, nonsensically as far as Ann was concerned.

She screamed as the direction of gunfire turned, but not because the gunfire shifted: something picked her up, wrapping her in a shell of blue fire and shoved her into the shuttle. She passed through the door, staggering to a halt in the cabin. Hands, firm and insistent, took hold of her and shunted her to one side as Vega, Alenko, and Shepard jumped into the cabin, still providing suppressing fire.