Prologue
Alexis Shepard straightened the black knit top as she regarded herself in the mirror. Blonde hair, tucked behind her ears, on the verge of being too long for regulation. Just the hint of make-up, enough to cover the dark stains under her eyes and a touch of lip gloss. Non-descript black clothing, shirt, pants, boots – the only items on board that fit her that were embroidered with that symbol. No, these clothes were better, even if there was no real place to hide a sidearm. You're going to be in the middle of an Alliance district on the Citadel. You won't need a gun. The mental reminder did little to reassure her. She'd feel better with a gun, but Hackett would frown on that.
I'm pulling strings to try and get you reinstated. I need you to get checked out so I can get you working for us again, Commander.
Two years dead, and a denial of what she had been through, and Alexis still jumped at his orders. Hell, she'd jump at the orders of practically any commanding officer. If it meant that she'd get her reputation back, that she could be working to stop the Reapers. What was to come. There's no time. No time to rest. No real time for this, but I don't have any other choice. Taking one last glance in the mirror, she steeled herself for whatever was to come and headed out of her private quarters on the Normandy, leaving her half eaten breakfast on her table. For now, it was time to report to the Kithoi Ward.