Legion followed Shepard into Afterlife, and immediately felt harsh vibrations of the loud music resonating through its platform. It did not understand the preoccupation organics had with this type of sensory stimulation- a constant barrage of sound that could lead to auditory damage. Normally Shepard-Commander would have two armored squadmates with her whenever she left the Normandy, but upon arriving at Omega she informed the crew to "take the night off with drinks on [her]." A few of the other squad and crew members were happy to do so, but Legion thought it should adhere to normal mission parameters and stay close to Shepard in case of combat.

As it looked around, it noticed certain behavioral patterns in the organics. They were choosing to intoxicate themselves with poisons and move their bodies in all sorts of abnormal ways. Legion concluded it would have to do some extranet research on this subject after it returned to the Normandy.

Within a minute of arriving, Shepard leaned over the bar, gesturing at the Batarian bartender to pour her a drink. Now Legion was even more puzzled; even Shepard-Commander was acting differently upon entering the club. "We do not comprehend the organic fascination with self-poisoning, auditory damage, and sexually transmitted disease," it remarked as Shepard downed the brightly-colored drink. Oddly, the bartender had disappeared to the other side of the bar.

Suddenly, Shepard-Commander collapsed. Legion did not hear her over the loud music, but it felt the thud of her body on the floor beside its platform. The geth programs within its platform immediately simultaneously exploded with input.

Shepard-Commander.

Hundreds of programs exclaimed at once.

Shepard is down.

Legion knelt beside Shepard, checking her vitals.

Shepard did not appear to be injured. What happened?

She is unconscious.

Her pulse has quickened. It is possible her body is going into shock.

She only took a drink.

Shepard-Commander?

Was it poison?

Was the drink poisoned?

Legion's optic flicked around the room. The other organics were distracted, intoxicated. Some even laughed. The geth did not understand.

"Help," it said, but its voice was drowned out by the noise. Legion now felt it understood the organic feeling of "panic."

Pick up Shepard-Commander.

Careful.

Pick her up.

The platform picked her up and held her in its arms. Shepard was dead weight.

She needs medical attention.

Is there time to return to the Normandy's med bay?

Legion hurried down the halls outside of Afterlife, carrying the Commander. The loud music was muffled by the walls.

No, there is no time.

Is there a medical clinic on Omega?

Checking records. No knowledge of "clinic on Omega."

"Help," Legion called again, but it was interrupted by Shepard, who had begun to cough and sputter.

Her body is expelling the poison.

What do we do?

Lay her on her side.

This could lead to choking.

No. Audio recordings of crew's conversations suggest unconscious, intoxicated organics should be laid on their side. Any vomit will be safely expelled.

Legion lowered Shepard to the floor as gently as possible, and turned her onto her side as she continued to cough. The floor was dirty, cluttered with crates, and some organics—a few batarians, vorcha, and one human—were sitting or standing in the hall. Legion decided to request help from the human.

"We require assistance. Shepard-Commander is unconscious and suffering from acute alcohol poisoning, but this was an unexpected reaction," it informed the man.

"'Shepard?' Is that your friend?" The man stood up. He looked unsettled by the talking geth in front of him, but he cautiously approached the two anyway. "What happened?"

"She approached the bar, and ordered a drink. Soon after, she collapsed. Please help us." There was a hint of desperation in the geth's voice.

"Alright, alright, calm down. Just keep her on her side like that. Do you have any medi-gel?"

Medi-gel. 1,183 programs within this platform, and not one had thought to administer medi-gel. Legion brought up its omni-tool and applied some of the gel over Shepard's visible arteries. To be honest, it didn't know what it was doing. The geth had never had to perform medical procedures on a human before.

Within seconds, Shepard stopped coughing. Legion placed its fingers on her neck and noted that her heart rate was beginning to even out again. Then, the geth felt the urge to do something it had never done before.

It gently swept Shepard's hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, and held her head with its hand. Legion had once concluded that her code was superior to other humans—and yet, here she was, in critical condition from mere alcohol poisoning. Perhaps Shepard's life was more fragile than it previously seemed.

Several programs chimed in.

We must protect Shepard-Commander at all costs.

This must not happen again.

We were afraid.

Shepard-Commander will recover. Recall that she has already died once.

The man who helped Legion stood by them, cautiously keeping an eye on things, yet not wanting to intervene. He eyed the geth up and down nervously, and Legion noticed, but it did not care. It kept its optic fixed on Shepard-Commander, monitoring her breathing.

Shepard began to stir after a few minutes. She lifted her head weakly and sat up to the best of her ability. She seemed confused, and glanced up at the man standing in front of them.

"Alcohol is toxic to most carbon-based organics," Legion noted. "This reaction was beyond expected parameters."