The first time it happened was chilling, but understandably so. Cutting through the wrong ally at the wrong time brought her face to face with a freshly taped off crime scene. She caught a glimpse of a quarian female, too still in a pool of her own blood, and felt a wave of hurt and regret that seemed only slightly disproportionate with the scene before her.
The next day it was a newsfeed. Treason in C-Sec. A still shot of a turian officer with blue facial markings being led away in cuffs. A bored news anchor informed the public that he had been caught hacking into classified files related to the activities of a council Spectre. The woman found herself entranced by the image, a nagging sense of injustice and loss tying her to the screen.
A night out with friends brought the next occurrence. A seemingly random bar fight, a Krogan mercenary jumped by a group of shockingly well armed thugs. Running for the exit with the rest of the bystanders, the woman finds herself pausing, looking back. The thugs shout something about "Fist," informing the Korgan that the Shadow Broker can't protect him. A wild thought – that she *could* protect him, that she had to – crosses her mind before her friends pull her through the exit.
She starts to seek it out, then, wandering the extranet and the wards, waiting for something to draw her like a lodestone. An obituary for Ashley Williams, one of many published after the attack on Eden Prime. A report on the dangers of excavation, mentioning the apparent suffocation of a Dr. Liara T'Soni at a dig site on Therum.
A report on the newest in ship design, featuring a concept picture for a stealth frigate that leaves her near to tears in frustration.
Finally, she finds her way to the hospital. A marine in a coma. Dark haired and handsome, even too pale and too still in his bed. She manages to sneak a look at his chart, key words jumping off the page.
Eden Prime.
Contact with Unknown Power Source.
Prothean Beacon.
A memory comes to mind, unbidden. Years ago, standing in front of the military recruitment office. Considering her future. Considering her path.
Walking away.
She is still standing in the hospital, chart in hand, mind whirling, when the attack starts.