As a soldier in the turian military, it was your duty to fight to the last man. Whether that last man was you or someone you didn't know, it didn't matter. If someone got up out of the rubble after the battle, then the battle was worth it, fully. No matter what or who you fought.

At least until the Reaper War.

The strongest military in the galaxy, torn apart by forces beyond your very comprehension within weeks. The hierarchy in pure chaos. Your own former friends and allies harvested and turned into horrific things that completely shattered your worldview. Somehow, you survived, scraping by day by day on one of Palaven's moons, Menae.

General Corinthus had been commanding you and whatever remained of your unit, at least until you were transferred to a different team that required more hands on deck. You dashed through whatever trench or dip in the ground you could find, doing your damndest to keep on the move and out of range of those things that were once fellow turians. Not to mention the husk swarms.

Through some miracle, you got to the other station in one piece. After spitting a thousand prayers to the Spirits, you made your way to one of the small metal towers on the moon. Soldiers around you dashed from place to place, yelling orders or updates.

Finally, you see an officer who looks to be in charge, and you instantly speak with him. Panting heavily and trying to lift your gun, you catch his attention.

"You're the new guy; no time for introductions," General Victus says. "I got my own squad, though, and they're not the ones you were sent for." He looks behind you, giving an approving nod to someone. "It's his men you need to help."

Behind you stood Garrus Vakarian -- the most legendary turian in recent memory.

"Welcome aboard, kid. Time to put you to work."