Garrus hated being back on Omega. Looking around the streets, at all the people on the ground, rotting in their own filth. He could hear music faintly. A club, where people were partying and celebrating and enjoying life. While just a few feet away from the door, people keeled over and died.

“Nothing I did here ever mattered,” he grimly muttered. It couldn’t be denied. He could kill a hundred gang leaders; two hundred would replace them. Omega could not be saved. It was a waste of time.

Worse, he reflected, he knew that. He knew he was fooling himself. He knew that nothing he did would matter. He was just trying to waste time doing something that felt noble to do. He knew it would never matter.