Javik finds his way into the starboard cargo one day when the Normandy is docked at the Citadel. The "Diana" human has left, presumably to file another banal and meaningless report, and so there is nobody there to disturb him when he kneels and presses his hand to the smooth metal floor. Perhaps it is because he has only recently arrived, and the "Diana" human has more or less made this room her own, but he does not expect the flood of images that assail his senses.

Beyond the floodlights and the faint buzz of the camera drone he tastes blood and fury, and they pull him in with surprising strength. The human who resided here before thought highly of himself, thinks Javik, took pride in survival in a universe that does not acknowledge it and never will: a simple primitive clambering up a pile of corpses so that his own might rest at the top, scrabbling at dust and bones for a sign that he might someday be remembered. It is as pitiful as it is laughable.

And yet.

And yet there is something riveting about the river of memories that flows through this room. In the undercurrent he scents the unmistakable metallic tang of vengeance, not a people wronged but a single man, as blinding as it is insignificant, and it sings to him in a language he cannot help but understand, a bright twisted wire that binds him to the human as surely as it must have bound the other members of this crew.

He stays for a long time, longer than he ought to, and only when the sound of voices in the corridor outside reaches him does he finally take his leave.