Steve Cortez

Steve's sitting with Vetra in her apartment. They've added some decor, something to make it a little more her, and stocking up on dextro groceries has helped her feel a little more comfortable being here. She's wearing a pair of human sweats with the ankles pulled up over her leg barbs, and the shirt that had come in her footlocker, and she's curled up in the armchair, bare feet dangling over the arm. They've both been drinking — her some of that Drossix Blue she'd bought, and Steve some dark, foamy, hopsy beer that smells gross to her — and the conversation alternates, between hilarious anecdotes about Steve's boyfriend or Vetra's sister, to more serious things, like the Pathfinder or coming here without a clue as to why or how.

"I'm from 2186," he explains. There's still a note of laughter in his tone after Vetra's told him about something Sid had done as a kid, but it's fading quickly. "The war was in full force, by then."

"What war?" she asks, looking over at him.

The way his head snaps up, Vetra thinks she just insulted his mother. But she holds his gaze steady, and he watches her, blue eyes searching for any sort of sick joke. Then he looks at his lap.

"When are you from, Vetra?" he asks.

"Depends on your perspective," she says. "We left the Milky Way in 2185 and slept for 600 years. It was 2818 when we all started waking up." That has Steve's full attention, and Vetra realizes that this is going to be a long, long conversation. So she pours herself another glass of Blue and settles back in her seat with a sigh.

And she tells him. She tells him about the Andromeda Initiative, and about leaving the Milky Way, the 600-year sleep. She tells him about the Nexus, and the Scourge, and the uprising. She tells him about the Golden Worlds and the Pathfinder. And he listens, hanging on every word. She could probably tell him that it was discovered humans evolved from varren and he'd believe her. But she keeps it serious. She tells him everything she knows, and then settles back in her seat and says, "Your turn. What war, Cortez?"

He takes a breath, then drains his beer and grabs another one. Vetra gives him time to let all of her information sink in, but soon starts to feel impatient. She sighs pointedly, and he nods.

"Sorry, I'm just . . . putting two and two together," he says. "Nobody really knew about the Reapers, I guess. Not publicly, anyway. Not on a broad scale." Between the Council refusing to believe Shepard until it was too late, and the population's willingness to overlook things that scared them, Steve can guess that nobody really knew anything about it. Including the people in the Andromeda Initiative.

He tells her about the arrival of the Reapers. He doesn't start with the beginning. There's no point in upsetting her with the finer details. It's done, for both of them, one way or the other. So he tells her about their arrival to the general public, when everything went to shit.

"I'd been hoping," he admits, "that you were from after me, but . . . in a way that would give me closure. That's selfish, I know. I just . . . I don't know anything. I don't know if Earth is still there. I don't know if any of my friends made it."

"You just wanted answers," she murmurs. "I get it. I'm . . . sorry I couldn't give them to you."

"That's not your responsibility," he assures. "I'll survive. I'm just glad to know that there's at least somebody who survived the Reapers." Survived, and escaped. That's important to Steve, even if his closest friends can't be counted among them. Maybe their family can be. Maybe their memories can still live on.