Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  Artificial sunlight beamed down onto the Citadel, bathing the pale grey station in a youthful glow, even as areas of the wards lay in near ruin. Pieces of the Reaper, formerly known as Sovereign, were scattered, but the bulk had come to rest within the Presidium lakes, cresting from the water like an abhorrent monument, and ever-present warning. The light had never bothered her before, but as Jane Shepard stood watching the crowds from her perch, she found herself longing for rain.

  Over the years she had served on so many different vessels, stations, and bases it became difficult to count. In the early part of her career, she found separation from Earth to be a challenge. Not because she was particularly fond of the place, it would never be home to her the way it had been for others. No, it was separating from planetary life altogether. In space, there is no sky above because it surrounds you, always. Most ships tried to instill a sense of normalcy, but there were some things that simply couldn’t be replicated. The little sacrifices, as she liked to think of them.

  Service within the Systems Alliance demanded sacrifice regardless of job or function. Some were obvious like personal space, privacy, or time. Others less so, like broken promises, disappointed family, and fleeting romantic entanglements. It took a million sacrifices, large and small, throughout the Alliance every day for humanity to keep moving forward. She knew this as well as anyone having given over half her life to it. It was a choice she made willingly, but that didn’t make living with it any easier.

  Six days had passed since the attack on the Citadel. Six days filled with expanding casualty reports, debriefs, mental and physical evaluations, damage assessments, and interviews with self-serving reporters who cared more about spectacle than truth. Recent estimates placed Alliance losses at just under two thousand, Turian numbers soaring to over eight thousand, and that wasn’t accounting for civilian casualties on station. All of them dead on her word alone. Each time she was thanked or lauded as a hero, the pit in her stomach grew a little deeper. She knew the comments were innocent enough, but after nearly a week spent poring through the names of those killed in action, they were the oral equivalent of a rusty blade slipped between her ribs.

    Fumbling around her jacket, Jane found the small box she’d carried, freeing it from its confines. The silver package adorned with bold red script was a thing of rare beauty outside human space, even more so because it was a gift. Mendez had palmed it into her grip as they’d celebrated her last night aboard Arcturus, her last night as a Death Hand. It was a unit tradition and a token of grim luck. Cracking the seal, she removed a single stick, bringing it up to her lips as she drew deeply, embracing the familiar sensation and memories that washed over her. Had it been only a year since she’d left? It felt like a lifetime.

  Forearms leaned against the railing of the maintenance bridge, she exhaled, watching as the smoke danced through the synthetic beams of light in soft pirouettes. It was almost peaceful, if not for the hulking mechanical mass staring back up at her.

  A soft chime rang out from her omni-tool, disrupting her moment of reverie. Swiping open the call, she was greeted by the familiar face of her brother. He sat at his desk, dark hair glistening from a recent shower. Bags formed beneath his steel eyes.  

  “Hi Dan.”

  “Hey kid. How’s life?”  

  “Oh, you know. Living the dream.” She took another drag.

  “You’re smoking again.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact, but they knew each other too well to avoid the subtext hidden within his words.

  “You know, the older you get, the more you sound like dad.”

  “Yeah, well, the older you get, the more you act like dad.”

  “I guess that means we’re both screwed then.”

  The faintest glimmer of a smile quirked his lips before quickly disappearing. “What’s the situation like?”

  She recalled her last conversation with the Council and grimaced. They were happy to use her name to suit their goals but privately had already started drawing back support. Her silence was mandatory, and they knew it. Even the Alliance was surprisingly tight-lipped about the whole affair. Now that humanity had earned a spot on the Council, it was more important than ever to keep perceptions high. Less than a week out from near ruin and it was already back to business as usual.

  “That bad, huh?”

  She gave him a half-hearted smile. “We’ve stemmed the bleeding, for now.”

  “Just do me a favor, don’t get lost in the politics. Remember the fight is out there. Sort the grain from the grit.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “If it was easy, you wouldn’t be doing it at all.”

  He wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t as if she purposefully made things difficult for herself, but some things simply didn’t come as naturally to her as they did for him. She’d spent her life trying to follow in his footsteps only to find herself tripping in them instead. More than a few times she’d wondered if he would have been in her place if not for the accident. Fate, she reasoned, was nothing if not cruel.

  “Do you ever miss it?”

  He quirked a brow. “Being on a ventilator for six months?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He winced almost imperceptibly as he shifted in his seat. He wouldn’t talk about it, but she knew the pain still bothered him. She watched as his gaze drifted to something offscreen, his face turning severe. He was still for long enough to make her wonder if the line had a delay.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go, but Jane,” He hesitated, pressing his lips together as he always did when contemplating something important. “Just take care of yourself, alright?”

“Yeah. You too.”

  She closed the comm, dismayed, slipping the spent stick into her pocket. Every time they spoke, it seemed a new distance had formed which wasn’t there before. His physical recovery had been one thing, but the calm, quiet demeanor he’d carried afterward was another. Growing up, he was the one she looked up to, the life of the party, always good for a laugh or cover while she snuck back into the house after a night out with friends. Now, he was grim and sullen. He checked out while speaking, lost in memory or thought. Most days she couldn’t manage to keep him on the line longer than a coffee break. She’d thought with time, he’d come back around, but it had been five years since his last mission, and the well had only managed to deepen. There was no going back to the way things had been before, they’d both changed far too much for that, but she wasn’t satisfied in settling for the way things were either.

  Taking one last glance as the station cycled over to night, she turned and made her way back down to the main thoroughfare. Leaving her hair down and her collar up, she tucked into the crowd, hoping not to get caught out by a lingering reporter or photographer looking to make a few extra credits. Out of armor, she was harder to spot, but in recent days there were few places she could go without being recognized even amongst other species which normally struggled to differentiate one human from another. If she’d had her way, she would have been in bed with some takeout watching the latest Blasto release. But her crew had been through hell, they deserved a night out, and the thought of a drink was sounding better by the second.

Chapter Text

  Gathered round a table, the pulsing of music thumped away overhead, as the crew of the Normandy shared drinks to their success. It was a much-needed reprieve after the gauntlet they’d endured, and Shepard was glad to see her companions in good spirits. They’d more than earned it.

  Garrus sat quietly, his eyes occasionally glancing over a Turian woman seated at the bar. Shepard had taken stock of the woman early on, warm brown plates with delicate white colony markings trailing across her face. She was tall, slender, and from what she could tell, physically sound. Clearly, she was attractive enough to capture his attention. For over an hour, she’d watched him stealing glances in her direction before quickly returning to his drink.

  “Are you going to go talk to her or just stare all night?”

  “What?”

  “The woman at the bar,” Shepard said, giving him a knowing look.

  “I, uh… I don’t think I’m her type.” He fumbled with his words and his drink, flustered by the sudden attention being placed upon him.

  “How are you going to know that by sitting here?”

  “Well, I… don’t think she’ll want to talk to me.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake.” Shepard stood, ignoring Garrus’ protests as she made her way over to the bar and tapped the woman on the shoulder. She turned to look down at Shepard who barely reached her shoulder even while seated. Up close, she was even more beautiful, her eyes a shade of vibrant lilac which shone in the club’s low lighting.

  “Sorry to bother you, but do you see that guy at the table behind me? Turian, blue markings, probably looks like he’s on the verge of imploding right about now.”

  “I see him,” she said, hesitant but amused.

  “Okay, well that’s my friend. He’s shy and more than a little awkward, but he’s a really good guy. Saved my life more times than I can count, and he’s been wanting to talk to you all night. Do me a favor and hear him out?”

  “I’ll listen, but I won’t promise anything more than that.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to.” Shepard moved to leave before turning around. “Oh, one last thing. If you hurt him, there’s nowhere in the galaxy you can hide that I won’t be able to find you, okay?” Shepard slapped the bar with a smile. “Good talk.”

  Returning to the table, Garrus looked ready to melt into the fabric of the booth. “You’re up.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her favorite character on Fleet and Flotilla is Casimir.”

  If the color could have drained from his face, it would have. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Shepard placed her hands on her hips. “I talked you up, you idiot. Now, go.”

  Garrus reluctantly rose from the booth, pausing for a moment, he spoke low so only Shepard could hear. “What do I do?”

  “Just… be yourself.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, though through his armor and plates, the gesture was purely symbolic. “If you can take down a Reaper, you can talk to a woman. I believe in you.”

  “Alright.” He took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, and set off.

  Shepard slid into his seat in the booth as he made his way over, discreetly watching the pair talk, studying every piece of body language out of the corner of her eye. They looked good together, perfect even. She could see them hitting it off, going home together, maybe even falling in love. She pictured Garrus with children of his own, tucking them into bed and teaching them how to hold a rifle. A beautiful life built off the seed that she’d planted herself. It left a bitter taste in her mouth that she tried to wash back with a drink. The longer she sat, the more she thought, and the more she thought, the worse she felt until her hands tingled, her stomach twisted, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might just extricate itself from her chest.

  Standing abruptly, Shepard excused herself, before pushing her way through the dance floor towards the back of the club. Slipping through a security exit, she stepped out into an empty alleyway, walked towards the railing and began spewing alcohol and bile down into the darkness below. Through the exertion, she heard the sound of a door opening behind her.

  “Oh, Shepard.” Tali rushed over to pull her hair back from her face. For several minutes she stood, one hand holding her hair, the other gently circling her back as the sickness turned to tears. Catching her breath, Shepard turned round and sank to the floor, resting back against the cool metal railing as she wiped her face with the backs of her hands. Tali followed suit, taking a seat beside her.

  After a moment, Shepard turned her attention to the slender Quarian. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Don’t be. I’m no stranger to illness, even the self-inflicted kind.” Tali said, wrapping her arms about her knees. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What’s there to talk about?”

  “Maybe that you’re in love with Garrus.”

  Shepard stopped, averting her gaze to the graffiti covered wall before them as the breath caught in her chest.

  “It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Does he know?” Shepard asked, low and serious.

  “Do you think he would be talking up another woman if he did?”

  The question lay heavily between them. Shepard was unsure she truly wanted to know the answer.

  “You didn’t need to do that, you know.” Tali gestured to the building. “Set him up.”   

  “Yes, I did. He’s my friend and I want him to be happy.”

  “But you love him. Why not just tell him and then you can both be happy?”

  “It doesn’t always work like that.”

  “Maybe if y—”

   Shepard sighed. “I can do a lot, Tali, but I can’t make someone feel something they don’t. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. I’d rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.”

  For several long moments Tali was silent, mulling over her words. She rested her helmet back against the railing with a thud. “Men are such Boshtets.”

  “Are they, or are we the Boshtets for putting ourselves through this?”

  “I like my version better.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “There’s only one thing left to do,” Tali said, turning to face Shepard. “We need drinks and dancing.”

  She laughed. “I don’t dance.”

  “You do tonight.” Tali pushed herself up off the ground before holding out a hand. “Don’t be nervous, that’s what the drinks are for.”

  She took the offered hand, rising from her seat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  “Thank me later.”

  “We should start a band,” said Tali excitedly as they headed towards the exit.

  “That’s… an idea,” said Jane, quickly grabbing the back of Tali’s suit before she drifted into a nearby booth. “Let’s start with some sleep first, huh?”

  “We need a name.” Tali hiccupped before carrying on, ignorant of any intervention. “Every great band has a name.”

   She laughed despite herself. “They sure do.”

  “Garrus!” Tali shrieked as he approached the pair, an amused expression donning his faceplates. “Sing for me!”

  “Uh, I don’t...” He looked to her for some sort of clarification as the Quarian sighed dramatically, swaying wildly in the process.

  “We need a singer.” Tali bemoaned to no one in particular. “And a name.”

  “Don’t ask.” Shepard shook her head with a smile as Tali hiccupped.

  Garrus chuckled. “Need a hand?”

  “Sure. I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

  “No,” he said, with a laugh that rang of mirth and embarrassment. “Things did not go exactly as planned.”

  “Come on, you can tell me on the way.” Jane motioned to follow as she made after Tali who’d begun to wander towards the exit.

  “Just be thankful she hasn’t pulled out the drone yet.”

  “Please don’t give her any ideas.”

  Leaving the bar, they took turns reigning Tali in from running off into the night, leaning precariously over the edge of the transit terminal, and shouting to anyone who would listen that Shepard was single. As quickly as could be managed on a busy evening, they wrangled her into a rapid transit car. The steady hum of the engine soothed the inebriated Quarian into a heavy slumber, much to their relief. Reaching the Presidium, Garrus carried a sleeping Tali as Jane led him back to her apartment. The accommodation was furnished by the Council, though she’d not spent much time in the place aside from a few scattered days of leave now and again. Punching in the code, she opened the door and brought up the lights.

  “It’s just through there,” said Shepard, pointing to a doorway across the modest living room.

  Following her instructions, Garrus carried Tali into the bedroom, carefully depositing her in the large bed. He laughed quietly as she sprawled out, her petite form sinking into the fluffy white sea of blankets. As he turned to leave, his eye caught a small picture frame set atop the bedside table. Picking up the frame, the pic displayed two human men smiling wide under a bright midday sun, a young boy and girl entangled in their arms. Amongst a mass of wild red curls, eternally frozen mid-laugh, her face was the perfect embodiment of happiness.

  It was strange, he thought, examining the small, rounded face which appeared to be missing a tooth. The woman he’d seen face off against the Council, Saren, and even Sovereign without the slightest trace of fear was once a child like anyone else, blissfully ignorant of the galaxy around her. Of course, she hadn’t been born a Commander, but there was still some part of him which struggled to envision her as anything other than the Shepard he knew.

  “Thank you for your help.”

  Garrus jumped, quickly setting the picture back down. Shepard leaned casually against the doorframe, watching him with a curious expression.

  “I wasn’t… I mean. I didn’t in—" he stammered, unsure what to do with his hands.

  “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” She smiled, trying to ease his nerves. “That’s one of my favorites.”

  “Your family?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced over at the bed where Tali was buried beneath covers. “How’s she doing?”

  “Fine for now. Tomorrow will be another story.”

  “Always is,” she laughed, pushing off the doorframe. “Can I get you a drink?”

  He followed her back into the living room, sealing the bedroom door as she peered into the fridge. “I’ve got water and… hot sauce.”

  “A tempting offer.”

  “Ooh, hold on a second.” She disappeared into a side room before returning a moment later, a dark colored bottle in hand. “Dual chirality brandy? It’s supposed to be pretty nice, and I’m ninety-five percent sure it’s not poisoned.”

  “Ninety-five percent?”

  “Well, it was a gift from Councilor Sparatus.” She took two glasses down from a shelf as he settled against the small island. “The odds are good, but you never know.”

  “Drink at your own risk then. I’m in.”

  “Good, because I’m pretty sure this is expensive, and I don’t like to drink alone.”

  “Happy to help.” He took up the offered glass and sniffed it savoringly.

“What should we toast to?”

  He hummed thoughtfully. “How about surviving the apocalypse?”

  “Seems as good a reason as any.” She lifted her glass to gently clink against his before taking a swig. “Damn that’s smooth.”

  “Definitely poisoned. On behalf of all Turians, I’ll safely dispose of that for you.” He grabbed for the bottle before his hand was slapped away.

  “Nice try.” She took another sip and stared down into her glass. “I might be a convert.”

  “Maybe that was Sparatus’ plan all along.”

  Shepard laughed, bright and clear, leaning back against the sink. “Insidious.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “What are your markings for?”

  “My tattoos?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, this one I got after boot camp.” She shifted so her upper right arm was visible, the symbol of the Alliance Marine Corps. Turning around, she pulled down the strap of her tank top down to reveal her right shoulder which was adorned with a black and red N7. “This one was for graduating N-School.”

  She reset the strap and turned to lift her shirt to reveal a large swathe of flowers, that enveloped her left side, different sizes and shapes spreading out in a kaleidoscope of color. The mass started at her shoulder and trailed down, disappearing beneath her pant line.

  “This one’s a memorial of sorts. My father was a botanist, and he used to say that the worst fires grew the most beautiful flowers. To which my dad would say ‘Honey, you don’t have to burn the garden down, we’ve got fertilizer in the shed.’” She pulled her shirt back down, smiling to herself. “I guess, it’s my way of keeping the people I’ve lost close to me.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. There’s more, but I’m afraid this is where the tour ends my friend.”

  Garrus laughed. “Understood, Commander.”

  “Okay, I’ve always wanted to know. Your colony markings, are they paint or tattoo or what?”

  “It’s a highly pigmented dye that stains the plate. The good stuff usually lasts for a few months.”

  “So, do you do it yourself or do you have to go to someone for that?”

  “I do my own.”

  “How do you keep your lines so even?”

  “Steady hand and a lot of practice.”

  “Well props to you. I’ve been wearing eyeliner since I was fourteen and I still can’t get them to even out.”

  “Huh, I didn’t think there was anything you were bad at. Other than driving, of course.”

  “Hey, now. You’re still alive, aren’t you? And there’s plenty of stuff I’m bad at.”

  “Like what?”

  “Dancing, art, dating, getting things off the top shelf. Take your pick.”

  “Well, saving the galaxy has got to help in the dating department. Half the Citadel must be lining up to take you out.”

  “Who’s got that kind of time?” Shepard chuckled, though the laughter contained no real mirth. “Honestly, I don’t exactly have the best tract record when it comes to romance. My last real relationship ended at gunpoint, so, I haven’t really been that inclined to jump back in the saddle if you know what I mean.”

  “Damn,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s…”

  “A long story for another night. What about you? Any girls pining over Detective Vakarian’s triumphant return to C-Sec?”

  Garrus barked out a laugh. “No, none that I’m aware of.”

  “Well then, it seems we’re both out of luck.” She smiled, refilling their drinks before raising her glass once more. “Here’s to having more fun.”

  “And more guns.” He added, with a clink.

  “Want to move outside? I could use a little fresh air.”

  “You’ve got a balcony?”

  “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got a pretty nice view.”

  She led him across the living room to a door which led out onto a small balcony with a single chair tucked away into the corner. The Citadel shone out against the night sky, each arm a cityscape stretching up around them and into the black. Garrus took in the sight with a reverence he hadn’t felt for the station since his arrival. If he tried hard, he could almost spot his apartment block at the tip of the Bachjret Ward.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “Yeah, there’s something kind of magical about this place at night. I wish my people could see it like this.”

  “Humanity now has a spot on the Council, pretty soon, you may just get your wish.”

  “I think your definition of soon and mine might differ slightly.” Shepard took a sip of her drink, staring out across the skyline. “We spent thousands of years dreaming about what life beyond ourselves would look like, whether it’d be peaceful, indifferent, or try to enslave us all. Generation after generation sending music, culture, and history out into space, hoping for a sign. Something that proved that we weren’t alone, that we were more than just an aberration.

  “And then, after all that time, we found what we were looking for at the end of a barrel. I don’t fault the Hierarchy for their response. Hell, in their position we probably would have done the same thing, maybe worse. What I will say is that for humans, especially colonists, the First Contact War was like every fear coming true at once. Not only were we not alone, but we were also under siege.

  “Despite everything, we doubled down and made peace. We share our knowledge, our technology, our land and in return we are repaid with animosity and skepticism. We’re deemed the problem if we ask for help. There’s a portion of humanity which has no desire to cooperate with the Council or other species, and I can’t blame them.”

  “So, why do you?”

  “Because we need each other. Look how far we’ve come in just a year. Now imagine what we could accomplish in a century if we worked together instead of safeguarding our own interests. Turians have defended Council Space for thousands of years, but what if they didn’t have to shoulder that burden alone.”

  “I think the Hierarchy might have something to say about that.”

  “The Alliance and Hierarchy butt heads because we are far more similar than anyone would like to admit. We’re both stubborn, prideful, and fiercely protective. Sure, we have our differences, but those differences are what make us stronger. We complement each other’s weaknesses.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong but change like that doesn’t happen overnight. You need trust, and that’s a hard thing to come by these days.”

  “You trusted me, even when you had no reason to.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I knew who you were beforehand. I mean, I didn’t know you, but everyone at the academy heard about Elysium. Single handedly holding off a Batarian siege, it was like something out of a history vid. It was all anyone could talk about for months. Then I finally met you, and...”

  “It all went to hell,” she offered with a laugh.

  “It made sense. I don’t know how to describe it, but joining the Normandy just felt right. Like for the first time in my life I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

 “You’ll always have a place with us; you know that, right?”

  “Thank you, Shepard, but someone’s got to make sure this station doesn’t blow up after you leave.” He leaned up against the balcony. “If you could go anywhere, right now, with no repercussions, where would you go?”

  She thought for a moment, swirling her glass. “Somewhere warm with a beach. Swim in the ocean, lay out on the sand, maybe catch up on some reading.”

  “Sounds nice, except for the swimming part. Nothing screams relaxation like flailing and gasping for air.”

  “It’s one of the perks of being human, we’re very buoyant.”

  “And very squishy.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when you’re born without a stick up your ass.”

  “I was not born with a stick up my ass, thank you. I was issued one in boot camp.”

  “Part of the essential toolkit?”

  “Doubles as a weapon in a pinch.”

  Shepard threw her head back laughing, the blonde tresses dancing down her back. His eyes were drawn to the spirals, the way they moved was odd. Bouncy. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her hair like this before, usually it was tight to her head with a ball towards the back. What was it Ashley had called it? A tactical bun? He diverted his attention as Shepard caught his lingering eye.

  A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she studied him. “You want to touch it, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “My hair. You can if you’d like.”

  “Really?” He hesitated, trying to read her expression. In Turian culture, touching of the fringe was deeply personal, reserved for close family and mates. Humans were not so exclusive, he knew, but still he was curious.

  “Go for it,” she said, turning around so her back was to him. “I’m surprised it took you this long. Tali cracked months ago.”

  He shrugged and unlatched the seal on his gauntlets, setting them and his drink down on the chair nearby. Delicately he took a single curl in his hand, letting the smooth tendril slip through his grasp. The strands were fine yet flexible to the touch. It was strangely satisfying to run his talons through the mass of waves, watching them stretch out and spring back into place. He had just gathered a small handful when Shepard shrieked.

  “Spirits!” Pulling his hands back and away, his eyes pored over her in concern. The alarm quickly shifted to exasperation as she glanced back over her shoulder, caught sight of his face, and burst into laughter. His eyes narrowed as he took in her amusement. “Oh, you are evil.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” she gasped out through fits of laughter. “It was too easy.”

  “I thought I broke your hair,” he protested, sending Shepard doubling over, holding onto the railing for support as tears began to stream down her face. After a minute, she stood upright wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

  “Thank you. I needed that.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “Spirits,” she mimicked, devolving back into giggles. He chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his own as they stared out over the station.

  “Do you ever just want to shoot those lights?” He pointed down to a cluster of apartment buildings in the distance with lit antenna attached to the tops.

  “All the time.”

  “I bet I could make that shot.”

  “Fat chance. That’s thirteen hundred meters, easy.”

  “Whoa, my Avenger could handle that just fine. Now, with your widow…” He let out a sound that almost resembled a purr, a deep rumbling that resonated through the railing.

  “Over my dead body.”

  He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  “What you need is a better scope.”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They’d had this conversation a thousand times over. His scope was aligned with his visor. It was calibrated to perfection. There was no need for change. Shepard insisted that his rifle would be more effective if he upgraded the scope, but his version of effective and Shepard’s differed slightly. She was all about raw power and output, whereas he preferred things to be simple and efficient. He liked to survey the battlefield, bide his time and wait for the perfect shot. Shepard liked to destroy the Mako by driving up sheer-faced mountains rather than just going around. It was all a matter of perspective. 

  “My scope is fine, thank you.”

  “I’ll make you a bet. If you can beat me in a game of Skyllian Siege, I’ll leave you alone. If I win, however, then you’ve got to try a new scope of my choosing.”

  Garrus thought it over for a moment. “Let’s make it interesting. If I win, then you have to listen to nothing but Elchor chants for the next month.”

  Shepard set her jaw. “You’re on.”

  Tali arose, her head swimming as she groggily tried to gauge her surroundings. The bed was unknown to her, as was the dark room in which she found herself. The sound of a badly tuned engine ground against the inside of her skull, making her wonder just what exactly she’d got herself into this time. Quickly as she could manage, she wiggled her feet free from the fluffy prison, shifting herself up and out of bed. The world swayed beneath her as she stood, making her regret more than just her haste. After several nauseating moments, she steadied herself and made for the door.

  Unsealing the lock, she stumbled into the living room, ready to make her escape. A screen on the wall showed a group of strangely dressed humans fighting with swords. Before it, a small table housed a couple of glasses and a nearly empty bottle. Along the couch two entangled forms slept soundly, blissfully unaware of her intrusion. In the lambent glow she was able to make out Garrus. He stretched out along the length, his face buried in Shepard’s hair as she nuzzled into his chest. For a minute, she watched them, her mind aflutter. Quietly, she retreated back into the bedroom, at the last moment choosing to take a picture with her omni-tool just in case it all turned out to be an elaborate alcohol-induced dream. Resealing the door, she tucked back into bed, burying herself deep within the covers. Turning off the mic on her suit, she silently squealed in delight.

Chapter Text

  “Wait, I thought you were colonial defense,” said Tanaka, resting against the Mako.

  Jane sat atop a crate cleaning out her pistol slide while a group of armory techs gathered round her makeshift workstation. She shook her head as she returned the slide to the crate before her, exchanging it for the barrel. “I was assigned to a Marine detachment aboard the Agincourt. I was supposed to have shipboard duty, but there was a mix-up in the rotation, and I ended up getting sent down for shore leave early.”

  “Let me get this straight.” He folded his arms.  “You ended up on Elysium was because of a paperwork error?”

  “Basically.”

  Draven let out a laugh, sitting with her elbows on her knees. “No offense, but you’ve got the worst luck, Commander.”

  “Or the best,” Jane said, with a shrug. “Just depends on how you look at it.”

  “I prefer not being shot at, so I’m going to stick with my answer.”

  Jane resisted the urge to smile. “A logical choice.”

  “So,” said Grieco, watching her carefully. “How did it happen?”

  “The Blitz?”

  The whole assembly nodded.

  “Well, I was at the bar wit—" Her story was cut short as an impact rocked the ship, sending bits of pistol sliding across the deck. Jane opened a comm link to the bridge as the group scattered, rushing to action stations. “Joker, report.”

  “Enemy ship of unknown origin. I’m trying to give us some breathing room, but they’re not making it easy.”

  Abandoning her pistol, she ran to the lockers, slipping into armor. “Somebody give me a damage assessment.”

  Adams, Chief of Engineering, came over the line, his voice garbled amongst the sound of alarms. “Hull breach on deck one, fires on decks two and three. We’re losing engine stability rapidly. Anymore and we’ll need to evacuate.”

  “Call it, now.” Jane commanded, catching herself on the wall as the Normandy took another round across the bow. She pulled a supply crate off Grieco which had become dislodged, pinning his leg. Helping him to his feet, she flagged down Ashley. “Help him to a pod as quick as you can.”

  She nodded, assisting the technician as Jane continued up to the crew deck where Liara was busy trying to put out a fire near the mess while overhead a monotonous voice barked out evacuation orders on repeat. “Liara, leave it.”

  “But I can—”

  “There’s no time,” she said firm, turning to make her way back upstairs to the bridge. “Get yourself and any crew you can find into the escape pods, now.”

  “Where are you going?” The Asari called out over the din.

  “To get my pilot,” she said, continuing up the stairs. Jane secured the last seal on her helmet as amber light filled the corridor, signaling the ship had turned over to emergency power reserves. Keying the command console to the CIC, her breath caught as the doors slid open, revealing the true extent of the damage.

  The hull was torn open exposing the room to the inky black sky which lay beyond. Stars shone brightly down onto the galaxy map where only an hour prior she’d stood with Pressly, making jokes at the Council’s expense while plotting their next course. She bore little hope that he, or the rest of the command staff had survived the initial attack. Though her heart ached with the loss, there was no time to dwell.

  Sealed within the bridge ahead, she could see Joker still frantically keying at his station, trying fruitlessly to pilot the doomed vessel. She took quick deliberate steps, carefully avoiding debris which floated about the airless room. The mass effect generators in her boots were all that remained tethered to the deck and those would only last so long as the ship retained power, which waned with every passing second. A single misstep now spelled certain death, and that was something she simply could not abide.

  “Joker, it’s time to go!” she called, approaching the pilot’s chair.

  “No,” he snapped, flicking through displays with lightening precision. “I can still save her!”

  “It’s over. Now, get your ass moving or I swear, I will drag you out of here myself.” His hands came to a stop, hovering briefly over the controls before dropping in resignation to his lap.

  “Alright. Help me up.” She pulled his arm up and over her shoulder, slipped a hand behind his back, and lifted him to standing, earning a groan from the pilot in the process.

  They worked back through the CIC and down the corridor to where the final pod sat awaiting their departure. Unweaving herself from Joker, she keyed open the door to the sound of incoming fire. She shoved him forward into the empty pod just as the blast hit. The force cleared her feet, launching her across the deck where she slammed hard against the bulkhead. Pain seized her leg as hot blood began to flow within her suit. After a few agonizing seconds, her slick gauntlets gained purchase on a warped piece of wall plating where she braced for a moment’s respite.

  Through a gaping hole in the hull, she saw the enemy vessel’s weapons blaze, preparing to release another torrent of fire down upon them. Across the room Joker had regained his footing, and stood within the pod, waiting for her. Knowing there was only one thing she could do, Jane locked eyes with him and smiled before punching the override command on the panel beside her. Forgive me, she thought, watching as fists pounded against the sealed doors in vain; the pilot’s face painted in a look of abject horror. The silent protests soon disappeared into the black as the pod was ejected from the heaving carcass of her ship.

  She turned back to the sky above and took a deep breath, the seconds stretching into an eternity as she stared down her own demise. Deep down, she knew it had always been coming to this. Facing death was inevitable, but she had hoped when the end finally came there would be a gun in her hands. Life always had a funny way of getting the last laugh. The final blast tore her from the ship, sirens blaring throughout her suit as she collided with wreckage, trying and failing to stop the weightless descent.

  In the end, there was no gun, no immaculate escape, no Blasto-style gratuitous last stand. Instead, she was cold. Not the kind of cold that sent a shiver up the spine, but a volatile sort that burned and seized, like diving headfirst into a pool of liquid nitrogen. It forced the air from her lungs and wreathed her bones in lead until all she felt was the insurmountable weight of exhaustion. A thousand expanding stars danced across her vision as her body helplessly fought the coming of the tide. Her will was negligible compared to the immensity of the void calling her forth. There was no fight to be had against the vacuum of space, its desires were merciless and absolute.

  A torrent of jumbled memories flooded her mind as she began to lose consciousness. She saw herself running carefree under a honeyed sky, kneeling before her father as he took his last breath, screaming as metal tore through flesh, the face of her first love, washing blood off shaking hands, laughing with Vakarian under the Mako, a Star of Terra pinned to her chest, laying in the grass while her brother pointed out constellations, setting foot on Earth for the first time. It all came and went in an instant, slipping through her grasp like grains of sand on a distant shoreline. The dark cradled her within its icy embrace as the sonorous drumming behind her ears subsided, beckoning her into a long overdue slumber.

Chapter Text

 The transit terminal was abuzz with activity as Garrus stood waiting for a rapid transit. After a grueling triple shift, the first and only thing on his mind was going home and crawling into bed. If he was lucky, he might even get a few solid hours of sleep before he was called back in.

  In the months following Sovereign, tensions amongst the populace had begun to boil over. Whole sectors of Tayseri Ward had been relocated, but the majority which remained were still without power or water. Overcrowding in Aroch and Bachjret led to an increase in everything from petty theft to homicide. Quarantine measures had to be placed on a sector within Zakera ward to control an outbreak of Teukrian flu raging through the Asari and Human populations. C-Sec was spread paper thin trying to maintain order and civility throughout the station and had begun recruiting en masse to stem the tide. As far as he was concerned, it was a war they were losing.

  Flicking open his omni-tool, he scoured through messages in an attempt to stay lucid as he waited, the queue inching forward at an Elchor’s pace. The din of the terminal fell to a hush as a crowd began to gather around one of the station’s displays. Gasping and soft murmurs pervaded the mass as they stood fixated. Curiosity getting the better of him, he wandered over to get a view of whatever had them so enraptured and felt as though the world had suddenly given out beneath him.

  Across the screen, a picture of Shepard was featured alongside the words ‘Commander Shepard 2154-2183’ as a reporter relayed details of the Normandy’s attack and destruction. The world around him faded into the background until all was lost beneath the steady beating of his heart. He saw people sobbing, holding, and comforting each other, but all he felt was hollow. Shepard, his commander, his friend, his guiding light was gone. He was supposed to have her six, and when she'd needed him, he wasn’t there. No touch, consolation, or empty platitude could make that right.

  Part of him yearned for a miracle, the kind he neither believed in, nor bothered thinking much of, until he’d met her. It was such a human concept, miracles. Turians had no use for sentimentality, not when there was work to be done, and there was always work to be done. He supposed he wasn't a very good Turian then, because all he could do was hope beyond hope that they’d got it wrong. She would rise from the rubble like she’d done the day they’d faced down Sovereign. She had to.  

  Pushing through the crowd he began to wander back through the terminal in a daze, unsure of where he should go or what he should do. He could hear a broken keening and realized after several long moments that the sound came from him. Without destination or purpose, he began to walk. Block after block, street after street, he walked until eventually arriving at the door of his apartment. He couldn’t be certain how he’d got home, or even what time it was, but found that he didn’t care.

  The next few weeks blended into a blur of alcohol, pain, and regret. He went through the motions of living but felt void aside from the white-hot anger which coursed through every fiber of his being. He was angered at the way the Alliance had so callously used and discarded one of the best friends he’d ever had, at the Council for washing away all the work she’d died for, at old friends who wished him to move on with his life, at his father for his callous disregard of any sign of real emotion, at the red tape binding him in the prison of a life he no longer cared to consign himself to. Shepard had trusted him, given him purpose, and made him feel, for maybe the first time, worthwhile. Without it, he was lost.

  Night after night he had the same dream, that he was back on the Normandy. Shepard would wander over for one of her late-night chats while he repaired whatever fresh hell she’d wrought upon the Mako that day. She’d ask questions until he said something remarkably stupid, she’d cajole, and in turn he’d make her laugh. For a moment upon waking, it felt as if everything was as it had been before he remembered, and the pain began anew. He’d never speak with her again, never fight at her side, never see that wicked smile she’d flash before doing something decidedly insane. He would have given anything just to hear her laugh one last time.

  Unable to recover Shepard’s body, the Alliance held a memorial in her honor, which had left him feeling as empty as her casket. All of the Normandy’s remaining crew were in attendance, all except Liara whose absence he found particularly strange. It wasn’t like the soft-spoken Asari he knew to miss something so important. Wrex had even cleaned his armor for the occasion. Admiral Hackett began the ceremony, followed by speeches from each of the councilors which, if he didn’t know better, might have sounded genuinely heartfelt. He on the other hand had spent the entire time thinking how much she would hate the whole affair. The Shepard he knew would be livid if she saw the passing of twenty-one crew members swept away as a footnote while she was aggrandized like some sort of righteous martyr.

  He did his best to avoid calls from nearly everyone after that, but none more so than his father. The great Castis Vakarian could not understand why his wayward son had left in the first place, to follow a human Spectre nonetheless, and was resolute in his return to normalcy. To Garrus, however, nothing felt normal anymore. He found no purpose in his labors, no warmth in the bare apartment he once called home, no peace in his surroundings when around every turn he’d see her face staring back at him from a new Alliance recruitment poster. It was all he could do to keep from screaming at the walls.

  It was in this morose state that he found himself talon deep in yet another narcotics case. A large quantity of red sand had been confiscated during a routine bust, which had become his task to source. With enough digging, he’d followed the trail back to Omega which was, as far as the executor was concerned, a lost cause. No amount of evidence or pleading was enough to convince his superiors it was worth pursuing, and once again he left for home feeling worse than when he’d started his shift that morning.

  Frustrated and alone, he’d just sat down to begin his nightly ritual of brandy and cheap takeout when there was a knock at the door. Begrudgingly he got up and strode to where a neatly uniformed Turian stood holding a datapad.

  “Garrus Vakarian?” he asked, a note of recognition buzzing through his subvocals. “Package for you, Sir.”

  “I didn’t order anything.”

  “It says here that it’s for you,” he replied, gesturing to his list. “I just need a signature.”

  Reluctantly, he took the datapad, signed, and returned it to the man. In exchange, he was handed a small white rectangular box, neatly wrapped with a cerulean band. Closing the door, he took the box over to the small dining room table and removed a small note affixed to the package.  

Please accept this as a token of my appreciation for your unwavering courage. May it serve you well in all your future endeavors, as you have so loyally done for me.

                                                 -JS

  He read it through again and again, his mind torn in a frenzy of emotion. For a long while he paced before the package, unsure if he truly wanted to know what lay within. Finishing his drink to stop the trembling in his hands, he delicately removed the band, took a deep breath, and opened the box. Inside, nestled within a pressed foam molding was a custom HMWSR Mark X recon scope, the same model she’d used herself. Two blue lines traced the sides in a mimicry of his own markings. At the base was an engraving, etched in flowing Turian script.

  To thine own self be true

  For a moment, he was hesitant to touch it. The standard model cost more than his annual salary; he didn’t even want to think about how much a custom version would run. Tentatively, he ran the tips of his fingers across the cool metal, savoring the final connection he had to the woman who’d changed his life irrevocably.     

  Despite his exhaustion and several glasses of brandy that evening, he found that sleep would not come. He spent the night staring at the ceiling, her words running through his mind in an endless loop, wondering what she might have done in his situation. The next morning, he rose early, packed what little remained of his belongings into a bag, and boarded a transport vessel bound for Omega.

Chapter Text

  It started with a pull.

  The sensation was gradual at first, a warm pressure that settled within and without. It ebbed and flowed like a river in the dark, silently networking through canyons and valleys, in search of the ocean.

  Next came the whispers. An empty chorus of broken voices, half-formed questions, and misspoken phrases ringing out through the void. They churned in discontent, begging to be heard. To be known. The cacophony of fear and confusion stirred something within the depths, something primal and dormant.

  There was laughter, distantly familiar, comforting.

  The voices slowly gathered form and shape. Brother. Father. Mentor. Lover. Friend. They called out for answers, for purpose. Their insistence grew until resolving into harmony, screaming out a single question in unison. What do you want?

  No response came.

  Flickers of light shone through the darkness, swirling colors becoming images. Faces without names, landscapes torn by warfare, glimpses of armor. The abstract became distinct, vivid. There was a flash of green, a scar, a symbol. The image of a woman staring across a reflection, her eyes fierce and focused. Something moved in the dark, gaining purchase.

  Me, it thought.

  The chorus rallied, adamant whispers voicing their agreement.

  A name, she thought, I have a name.

  “Shepard.”

  Jane turned to find a Turian sitting patiently in an armchair by a window. The dark plates along his face were adorned with elaborate white colony markings which networked around piercing emerald eyes. His lithe frame was swathed in heavy armor, the plating dyed a shade of deep crimson, polished so that it glistened in the early morning light.

  “Nihlus,” she said, hesitantly. “What are you doing here?”

  “A question with many answers.” He folded his hands across his lap. “The one you’re looking for is to guide.”

  She gazed back at him in confusion. “A guide for what exactly?”    

  “Death.”

  The silence which followed was palpable. “You mean I’m…”

  “Yes,” he said, confidently. “And no.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You are both and neither, chaos and order, singular and infinite. You are the shape between the shadow and the light which casts it. You are something new, Jane Shepard.” He rose from his seat, beckoning her to the door. “Come, let me show you.”

  She followed cautiously, stepping out and into the light.

  She winced, raising her hand like a shield, letting her eyes adjust to the bright surroundings. She recognized the sweeping architecture, the smell of recycled air and polished metal. Upon her first encounter with the station, she’d found the grandeur of it all nauseating. Perhaps, that was more due to circumstance than any real discomfort, but it seemed such a distant memory that she found it difficult to recall.

  It took a moment before she noticed just how quiet it was. No, not quiet. Silent. There were no people milling about, no rapid transit cars humming between destinations, no C-Sec officers on patrol. It was as if everyone had simply vanished.

  “Hello? Nihlus?” Shepard called out, the sound bouncing lazily through the air. She stood for a while before resting her hands on her hips. “Fantastic.”

  Crossing the bridge which divided the Presidium, she headed towards the markets. Storefronts, normally glittering with signage and holographic advertising, were all blank like a slate wiped clean. She continued meandering through the station, a growing unease building in the pit of her stomach. There was something foreign and unnatural about being alone in such a public space. It was unnerving just how clean it all was, like a staged house being shown to a prospective buyer.

  As if drawn to the great tower which loomed over the station, she made her way back and began her ascent. The atrium was a spectacle by design. Vaulted walls led to a glass ceiling, giving the appearance of stretching endlessly into the sky. Stairways branched along either side of the main corridor, connecting a series of platforms where on a normal day politicians, financiers, and societal elites mingled, sharing their secrets and underhanded dealings. Blossoming trees lined the path to the central staircase, dropping tiny pink petals that clung to her boots as she began to climb. Within the Council Chambers, she found Nihlus standing alone at the podium, staring out across the station.

  “Where is everyone?”

 He turned round to face her, clasping his hands behind his back. “They are gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Humanity, along with the greater species of your time will perish. Lesser species that have not evolved enough to pose a threat will flourish in your place until it is their turn to face the same fate as it has been for millennia.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You are an anomaly, Jane Shepard. A single line of faulty code in an otherwise flawless system, but you are not complete.”

  The landscape fell away, descending into perpetual darkness that stretched out in all directions. Before her, a crystalline lattice rose up out of the dark, its spindling branches stretching out to her in offering. At their tips were shards that suspended and twirled weightlessly like jagged stemless fruit. Each shard contained an image, a sliver of time frozen in glass.

   She took stock of the images, glimpses of friends, family, bootcamp, weddings, wars, and everything between. “What is this?”

  “Your memory. Your body will be born anew, but your mind is not yet formed. You must decide what to prioritize. You must decide who you are.”

  Her gaze fixed on him. “You want me to choose my memories.”

  “Yes.” Nihlus stood firm as a statue, unphased.

  “Why?”

  “You are not infinite, Jane Shepard. Efficiency requires simplification.”

  She tilted her head. “And what happens to the ones I don’t choose?”

  “They will degrade; some may be lost entirely.”

  Shepard turned away, setting her hands on her hips. “How can you ask me to do this?”

  “A decision must be made. We cannot make it for you.”

  “This isn’t like clearing out your wardrobe, this is my life.” She rounded back, observing a faded image of her father, the face obscured around the edges like an abstract painting. She reached out to trace the shard. “They’re all I have left.”

  His voice was cold and clipped, without the slightest trace of empathy or compassion. “Service demands sacrifice.”

Chapter Text

  Jane sits alone on a lumpy mattress, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest, the only thing left in the world that’s truly hers. The fur was worn in several spots, and it was missing an ear, but that didn’t matter. At one time, it had sung, but it had been a long time since the singing died. She wears a dress, a fluffy abomination complete with ruffles. Her red hair is pulled back so tight her scalp aches. Her shoes are shined, and her suitcase is packed. She wants to be out with the other children, making art and playing in the dirt. Instead, she’s here, alone, forced to wait. It’s torture.

  There’s a lot of that these days.

  A boy walks through the empty dormitory. She doesn’t recognize the face. He’s taller than the other kids with dark hair that’s been pushed back and away from his face. His clothes are simple, but clean and he moves with a rigid grace expected of someone far older. He sits on Abigail’s bed across from her own.

  “Hey kid.” He smiles warmly like he’s greeting an old friend.

  She glares back. “I’m not a kid.”

  “Of course not.” He gives her a look like he knows more than he’s saying. “My name’s Daniel. What’s yours?”

  “Jane.”

  “And who’s that?” He gestures to the bundle in her arms. She holds the rabbit closer, guarding it from prying eyes.

  “Flop.”

  “I had one just like it when I was little. Isn’t it supposed to light up?”

  She hesitates before nodding. “He’s broken.”

  “Maybe I can fix him, I’m good at fixing things.”

  “You won’t hurt him.” The warning was as much a question as it was a statement.

  “I won’t.”

  She eyes him cautiously. “Pinky promise?”

  He rises from his seat and offers his little finger out to her. She hesitates, unsure whether to trust the boy before her, but accepts the offer. He kneels as she reluctantly hands over the toy. She sits beside him on the floor, watching for any signs of betrayal as he lays Flop across the bed, feeling around for mechanical components. His eyes light up as he finds something within. Carefully he weaves a finger through the hole where an ear should be and begins to tinker blindly. He bites his lip as he concentrates.

  After a minute the rabbit sputters back to life, blue eyes shining with rekindled energy. The voice box, aged from disuse, garbles a song off key that echoes throughout the room.

  “You did it!” Jane bounces with excitement, unable to contain her joy. She wraps her small arms around his neck before pulling away, ashamed by her outburst. She wonders whether he’ll be mad or accost her for being too loud. Instead, he laughs.

  “That’s what brothers are for.”

   She sits back on her heels, looking down at the doll in her lap lovingly. “I’ve never had a brother before.”

  “Well, you do now.” He shifts to a seated position, so his back is resting against the bedframe. “So, what video games do you like?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? Haven’t you played any?”

  She shakes her head.

  “I’ve got a ton a home. I’ll teach you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. My favorite has got these big mechs that fire lasers. It’s awesome.”

  She smiles for a moment before it fades beneath apprehension. “What’s it like? Your home.”

  “It’s a lot smaller than Earth, but there’s fields and trees and animals. And there’s a big waterfall where we can swim. My dads take me every summer.”

  She likes the idea and is saddened when she realizes it can never happen.

  “I’m not allowed to swim.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sick. Mama says water makes it worse.”

  He gazes back at her in confusion. “You don’t look sick.”

  Her eyes find the floor. She wishes that were true. She doesn’t like doctors, or needles, or medicines which make you sleep. Mama told her that people wouldn’t understand, and Mama was always right. If only she was better, maybe then she wouldn’t need a new family.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, gathering his hands in his lap. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She looks back up as two men approach, led by Ms. Rachel, a short stout woman who was responsible for her current hair and attire.

  “Jane,” she says, overly sweet. “This is Elias and Amir; they’re going to be taking care of you.”

  She glances up from her seat on the floor at the towering figures and wants to run and hide. The taller of the two squats down and gives her a wide toothy grin. His eyes are green like hers.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jane.”

  She sits quietly and hugs Flop tightly to her chest, avoiding his eyes. She doesn’t like talking to strangers, especially grownups.      

  “It’s okay,” Daniel says, holding her hand.

  She looks back, and for a moment, she believes him.

  “Hello.” Her voice is soft and low.

  “I know this must be a lot for you right now, but we’re going to try and makes things a little better. Alright?”

  She nods. She wants to believe it’s true, but history taught her not to get her hopes up. Everything good was always followed by something bad. But maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

  A static whine begins to fill her ears, steadily increasing in volume, as pain blossoms behind her eyes. It spills over, coursing like rage, until every atom screams in white-hot agony. Her limbs seize violently as if caught within the caustic grasp of some unseen enemy.

“Come on, Jane,” Daniel calls, his voice a distant echo in the storm. “It’s time to go home.”

  She tries desperately to cry out, to hold on, but feels the memory slip away like a piece of driftwood carried out on the tide. All falls silent beneath the sound. In a torrent of cascading pressure, she opens her eyes.

  The world crashed back in a rush of sensation. A cacophony of alarms and blinding lights assaulted her senses. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded and her eyes watered as she lifted heavy hands to her face. A contraption was fixed about her mouth. She clawed and tore at the device until something gave way. Pulling, she gagged unconsciously as she began to remove a long tube from her throat. In her panic, it seemed to keep going forever, like a magician’s handkerchief drawn from a sleeve. The moment it was finally freed she hurled it across the room, where it landed with a wet slap.

  Taking a few gasping breaths, she moved to roll onto her side and felt herself slip from the edge. The ground rushed up to meet her before she could raise her arms to break the fall, knocking the newly acquired air from her lungs. For a few long moments she lay strewn across the cool metal, trying to regain her breath and a modicum of clarity. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant and burnt ozone, a combination which meant she was in a clinic of some kind, ship or station bound given the steady hum of engines reverberating through the deck. A thousand questions pressed for attention as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting. Slowly pushing herself up to hands and knees, an intoxicating wave of nausea overtook her, sending questionable stomach contents spewing along the deck.

  “Shepard, you need to get up.” A disembodied voice, soft yet piercing, cut through the fog.

  “Where am I?” Jane asked, wiping a hand across her mouth as she sat back against a table leg. The worst of the nausea had subsided, though she felt heavy as if her very skin was weighing her down.

  “There’s no time to explain,” said the voice in a tone of forced calm. “In the corner of the room, you’ll find a closet with some armor and a pistol. Suit up and make your way to the escape pods near the aft docking bay, I’ll meet you there.” The line cut out, leaving Jane alone once more.

  She rose from the floor, white knuckled fingers clinging to the exam table as she acclimated her legs to standing as if they’d forgotten how. Scanning the room, she found the closet the woman had mentioned and began to make her way to it. As promised, the closet contained a set of Onyx heavy-grade armor and a Carnifex pistol. Her brow furrowed as she examined the glossy black plates, adorned with a single white N7 across the chest. She couldn’t say exactly why, but her gut told her it was wrong.

  Tucking her reservations aside, she slipped off her dressing gown and nearly collapsed as she stared down at her naked body in horror. A web of scars spindled out across her flesh, radiating with a golden amber light. Running her hand down her arm, she could feel a warmth emanating from the marks. Sweat beaded her brow as she tried to steady her breathing and the rising panic caught in her teeth. Reexamining the room, she took in the breadth of equipment and wondered what exactly had been done to her. She went still as her eyes caught sight of a symbol painted across the far wall, an orange diamond flanked by two parallel sweeps.  

  Cerberus.

  The blare of the alarm brought her attention back to the present. She grabbed for the undersuit. The thick weave was tight to shimmy into but brought a feeling of security when finally sealed. She quickly assembled the plates with practiced ease, and felt a familiar weight settle onto her joints. The armor systems hummed to life as it synced with her omni-tool and implants. The rush which followed was extraordinary. She felt connection, simple and infinite. It was hard to distinguish where her body ended, and armor began. The reverie was followed shortly by confusion then concern. Retrieving the pistol from the closet, she moved to the door, her armored boots resonating across the deck with every step.

  She hit the lock with more force than intended, splintering the glass panel, though the doors slid open anyway as if avoiding her wrath. Stalking from the room, she scanned the corridor and followed the sound of gunfire.