A/N: Hello and welcome to my interpretation of the events after Mass Effect 3 if Shepard chose the Control ending. A big thank you to Bioware, of course, for the creation of this amazing universe and characters. I'd also like to thank missmeggo for being my beta, and to everyone who reads and supports my work. My update schedule will be more erratic than usual, but expect weekly updates. Enjoy!

You did good, son.

I'm proud of you.

I'm


Major Coats woke with a start, sitting up quickly in his cot, his only memory of his dream a flash of blinding blue light. He distractedly ran his fingers through his cropped hair, trying to recall more details before they slipped out of his mind like sand running through his fingers.

Was Admiral Anderson there? And Commander Shepard?

Feels like so long since I just sat down.

He was surprised when he ran his forearm over his forehead and it came back wet with sweat. The dream was so vivid at the time, but now it was almost entirely forgotten. With a sigh of resignation, he threw his legs over the side of the cot and opened his omni-tool to check the time.

"Shit," he growled. It was 0820 hours already: his meeting with Admiral Hackett started in ten minutes, and he was half an hour away from the temporary Alliance headquarters. Skipping changing his socks, he slid his feet into his boots, threw aside the sheet he had thrown up as a privacy screen, and began to speed walk through the makeshift camp towards HQ.

The camp was a fucking disaster, to put it mildly. It was one of many scattered across London, and it was part hospital, part distribution centre, and part sleeping quarters. Quarians, turians, salarians, krogan, and humans were working in unison - at least for the moment - in an attempt to begin search and rescue operations for those lost, provide medical treatment for those injured, and beds and food for the few that were able-bodied. The place reeked of excrement, death, and desolation, but they were alive, which was more than could have been said of their fate a week prior.

When the camp's occupants began to thin out, he broke into a light jog to speed up the process to HQ. Not that it helped much: the ground was so covered in rubble and dead bodies it was more of a hike than a run.

Billions dead. Yet he was here, alive, drawing breath, and doing everything he could to help.

It would have been what Monica wanted.

His pregnant wife and their daughter, Julia, had been killed during the first attack on Vancouver. At the time, Anderson had sent Coats on a scouting mission in the Traverse. Part of him wished he had been with Monica and Julia in Vancouver that day. He would have never had to learn of their deaths, he would have never had to witness the horrors of the Reaper War. But if he was dead, he would have never helped Commander Shepard coordinate the attacks on what civilians were beginning to call "S-Day", and he wouldn't be rebuilding Earth today.

He wanted a coffee. He wanted a cigarette even more. But luxuries such as those would be hard to come by for the foreseeable future, so he settled for chewing on his last piece of mint gum.

He slowed to a walk when he reached the doors of the British Library. The guards stationed at the doors saluted him and allowed him to enter without question.

Their lack of suspicion concerned him. The exact nature of the Reaper defeat had yet to be determined: they had retreated, but they had not been outright destroyed. They could be amassing for a second attack at this moment; comms were limited, so it was impossible to ascertain where the enemy forces had retreated to. Who was to say they didn't still have indoctrinated agents?

Dozens of Alliance soldiers milled around the library, their expressions weary and their arms filled with stacks of paperwork. He glanced into a meeting room and spotted Dalatrass Linron speaking with Primarch Victus; it was clear that the Dalatrass was frustrated as she threw her arms up in the air and raised her voice at the turian, who appeared nonplussed by her agitation. Coats climbed a flight of stairs and finally reached Hackett's temporary office.

He swung the door open and saluted smartly as it clicked shut behind him before clasping his hands behind his back in a parade stance. Hackett was seated at an oak desk with papers piled so high that Coats could only see him from the neck up.

"I apologize for my lateness, Admiral."

"It was easier when we had transports to take us across town instead of just our feet." He gestured towards a plush pair of chairs in front of the desk. "Please, sit."

Coats obliged. The Admiral seemed to have put away some of his formalities, at least for the moment.

"We have two matters to discuss today, Major. First, the Charon Relay." Hackett input a command into his terminal, pulling up a live feed of the relay. He turned the monitor so Coats could also see it.

As soon as Coats saw what was happening to the Sol System's relay, he let out an audible curse and his hands balled into fists at his side.

Reapers, a dozen of them, were massed around the relay.

"We can't say with any degree of certainty what their plan is, but I have a few hypotheses. When Shepard activated the Crucible, he could have damaged them extensively and forced a retreat. However, that wouldn't explain why they're staying in our system, unless the relays were damaged in the blast. They also could be attempting a new style of warfare where they cut us off from the other systems, and hence reinforcement and supplies. Why they would do that considering the success of their full-frontal assault is inexplicable." Hackett took a moment to smooth the creases on the front of his uniform. "My most optimistic guess is that somehow Shepard managed to use the Crucible to rewrite their code, rendering them helpless."

Coats idly scratched at his cheek; he hadn't had access to an omni-razor in a week, and a beard - with a few more greys than he was comfortable with - had begun to sprout across his face. "Do we have any more information at all?"

Hackett solemnly shook his head. "The only way that we can get more information is to get a ship out there. We barely have any able-bodied men or ships prepared for travel, but finding out the nature of their actions is absolutely vital."

"Where are the other Reapers?"

"We don't know. We have no way of knowing. All of our other monitors were shut down in the blast - frankly, it's a miracle this one is still in operation - and all of our comms are down. We might as well use two tin cans connected with a string at this point."

"This mission sounds suicidal."

Hackett pinched between his eyes as another headache threatened to start. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not in the wake of the potential destruction of the galaxy, but his headaches had been increasing in severity and frequency over the last six months. He feared that he would succumb to the same ailment which had claimed his father: brain cancer.

He would not allow himself to go down in a hospital bed, surrounded by apologetic family members and nurses with pitied expressions. When Steven Hackett leaves this world, it will be an honourable death for humanity.

"That's why I'm volunteering myself," Hackett said. "I won't ask anyone else to do such a risky mission." He stood and began to pace, his fingers laced behind his back. "I'll be taking a small crew of dedicated soldiers with me, just enough to run the ship. We only need to get a visual on the Reapers, so we'll attempt to stay out of striking range, but I'll have a live feed going to headquarters so any information we gather will not be lost, regardless of the outcome of my ship. We'll be taking something small and stealthy, although we all know that stealth systems never stopped the Reapers."

Stopping behind his desk to rest his hands on the edge, he let out a short sigh. "That brings me to my second point. Admiral Anderson and Commander Shepard have both been declared MIA. They were both on the Citadel at the time of Crucible activation, and you and I have seen the wreckage. They'll be classified as KIA within two weeks. Considering that my upcoming mission is likely one way, we will be short two more Admirals at a time when we need strong leadership figures."

"Admiral-"

He held up his palm to silence Coats. "Difficult times call for difficult measures. I want you to fill Anderson's position when it opens up. I don't expect my expedition to depart for another three weeks, so we'll be promoting you as soon as he's declared KIA."

Coats stared at Hackett, his mouth agape. This was insane. Hackett, the leader of the Alliance, the man required to spearhead humanity into a brighter future in lieu of the Reaper war, was sending himself on a suicide mission? Even more strange, he wanted to promote Coats to a position of leadership, entirely passing the position of Rear Admiral? Had they truly lost that many high ranking officers during S-Day? "Admiral, what's the sitrep on our Fleets?"

Hackett's normally stoic demeanor momentarily faltered, and Coats watched his shoulders slump and his eyes darken. "We lost half of the First Fleet during battle, and another ten percent sacrificed themselves so the remainder could retreat. The entire Second and Fourth Fleets were wiped out. We lost about a third of the Third and Fifth Fleets during the retreat. The Sixth and Seventh Fleets weren't engaged by the Reapers so they remained largely intact, and we lost about eighty percent of the Eighth Fleet."

"My God," Coats whispered. "We lost half of the entire fleet."

"You can see why my need for a replacement Admiral is so dire."

"I'll accept, of course." Coats knew he would be a fool not to. "But I have one condition."

"Which is?"

"My first mission will be to scout the relay."

Even in the face of deviance, Hackett's stoic demeanor did not waver. "Why?"

"You're needed here, Admiral. A hell of a lot more than I am. You can rally the people and bring them together to start a brighter future for humanity. That's something no other Admiral - or person, for that matter - will be able to do. If we send you on a suicide mission, we might as well give up on humanity."

Hackett slowly sunk into his chair, the weight of his people weighing heavily on his shoulders. "I don't have a family anymore," Coats continued. "They were lost during the initial attack on Vancouver. All I have now is my people, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect them, including sending myself into the fire."

Hackett rubbed his chin in thought. It appeared he and Coats were at an equal standing: the only thing they had left was their duty, and they would do that duty, regardless of the cost. He didn't want to save himself, but he did want to oversee humanity's restoration if the opportunity presented itself. The thought of the potential cancer still lingered in the back of his mind, but he had a chance to achieve so much before sickness rendered him helpless. "I'll set my own conditions. Effective immediately, you're promoted to the rank of Rear Admiral. Departing in three weeks, you'll take the SSV Alamance to investigate the Charon Relay. You'll take a crew of my choosing. When you return, you'll be promoted to Admiral." He turned to face the window, gazing out on the city. The majority of the buildings had been reduced to rubble and ash; the library was the largest intact building, which was why it had been designated as Headquarters. Rain began to fall from the slate clouds in large drops, a warning of a storm to come. Although he desired to see the sun, so long covered by the darkness that came with the Reapers, he desired even more to see the rain wash away the detritus of war.

"One more matter before you're dismissed, Rear Admiral." Coats couldn't help but start at the new title; he had become accustomed to Major Coats, and as with every promotion so far it would take some time to adjust to Rear Admiral Coats. "Off the record, I'd like to request that you bring a friend of mine with you on your mission. Consider him to be an adviser."

"Who is it, sir?"

Out of the shadows stepped a man Coats knew only by reputation; he sported heavy armour and had a Viper sniper rifle strapped to his back. Like Coats, he hadn't had access to an omni-razor in some time and his cheeks and chin were covered in gray grizzle, and his one blue eye glinted in the office's lighting. Zaeed Massani growled, "I heard he's an expert on suicide missions."