Bleak Resurrection
By Elementals Advocate
Prologue
Captain David Anderson starred out into the blackness of space, and pondered. It was not a usual state for him. Normally, he would be moving, always with some assignment or goal to attain, but for now, he pondered, seeing without really seeing the star speckled void before him.
He was sequestered in a small, private viewing port located on the belly of Arcturus Station, normally used for exhibitions of space craft to new cadets or visiting dignitaries. Now, with the audio emulator's turned off and the lights turned down, the rare ship which passed did so in absolute silence and shadow.
It was quiet. Too quiet; like the calm before a great storm.
A whirr sounded behind him, and Anderson turned in time to see the door open and a man in a Systems Alliance Officer's uniform and wearing the collar tabs of a Major in the Alliance Marines step inside. Though shadowed by a short brim of his hat, Anderson recognized the lined, distinctly Asian face in front of him.
"Ah," said the man in deep, careful tones. "I thought I would find you here." He strode to the window and looked out upon the void.
Anderson studied the man in front of him. Despite being half a head shorter and nearly fifty pounds lighter than Anderson, the Asian radiated the same aura of controlled power and authority. Not surprising, considering that he too was an N7. "You're a long way from Buenos Aires, Director Asagi."
Major Hiroto Asagi nodded his head affably. "I am. And its Sub-director Asagi now, don't forget."
"Bullshit." Anderson's reply was terse and without humor. "You still run the N-School, even if it is from the sidelines. And that's why you're here, isn't it? You're here for the Spectre conferences.
Asagi smiled, affable as a doting grandfather. "But of course. Despite my current position, I was Director of Alliance Special Forces Training for nearly seven years, after all. And many of those now under consideration were trained by my hands."
"It's going to be Shepard, isn't it."
Asagi turned his head and raised one grey eyebrow. "I will admit, Commander Shepard is on my short list of candidates. But I trust that what I say will have little impact-"
"You can cut the act at any time, Hiroto-sama." Anderson's use of the honorific was ironic. "We both know that Shepard's the only man with all the requirements necessary to make it as a Council Spectre. He's got the experience, the reputation, and the drive. He'd be perfect. Except he'll hate it. And he'll hate us for electing him!"
Asagi turned fully and regarded the Captain with what could only be described as polite scorn. "Anderson, we've known each other for a long time. We both graduated N7 in the same class; you, the first, and I the oldest. While you and the others earned your bloody stripes on Shanxi, I was teaching the next generation what it meant to fight the way we do. It's brutal, it's ugly, but it's necessary. And no other organization in this galaxy recognizes this philosophy better than the Spectres, and no other person in this Alliance better performs these duties than Shepard. You may know and love the man, Anderson. But I know the monster that lurks within the man. And all Spectre's are monsters in one form or another."
Anderson leapt from his chair and seized the sub-director by the arm. "Damn it Asagi! Shepard's just started putting his life back together. Can you honestly tell me that you think he doesn't deserve a break?"
Asagi's arm twitched beneath Anderson's grasp, steel-wire muscles bunching and twisting like a bridge cable under enormous pressure. "What I think," Hiroto said quietly, relentless, "doesn't enter into this. There is only what must be done. Shepard will either rise to the challenge, or he will die in the attempt. It is his way. It is the Spectre's way. As you well know." Hiroto drew out the last four words like a blacksmith drawing steel.
Anderson recoiled, folding back into the row of chairs. Hiroto gave a short, sharp bow. "Good day, Anderson-san," before he turned and left the room.
Anderson sat again in the darkness and silence, eyes staring blindly into the void, remembering another time and place. Of a boy, not fully grown into man, lying near dead on a pebbled beach. Then that same man-boy killing gangers with furious ease in the streets of Vancouver. Of burning all the pieces of a life on the streets in a burn barrel before donning a new life like a new set of clothes. Anderson had watched as that same boy grew in a matter of years into a war-hero, a husband, a widower, and a feared killer, always wearing his life like a set of clothes while something inside writhed in rage, longing to get out.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
"God help us." Anderson said into that silence, praying desperately that someone, somewhere would hear him. "God help us all."
Authors Notes
I've been holding this story in my mind ever since I first started playing Mass Effect 3 in Spring of 2012. Since then I've covered all three games, read the books, and done hours of research on the wiki's and forums, and not least of all, deviantart. Now, I'm actually going to publish a fanfiction for the first time. I'll try and bring out a new chapter at least once a month until I hit my stride. Read, review, and enjoy everybody. This is going to be an adventure for all of us!