It was bad enough with how Hannah Shepard found out her daughter was alive. Through third-hand knowledge, almost as if she were an afterthought. And now to find her on the cover of some tacky magazine was another thing entirely. The title was flashy and popped up out of her omni-tool. Hannah rolled her eyes at it.
A parent shouldn't have to bury a child. That was sentiment she heard a lot as many offered their condolences.
But there was no body for such a burial. With that, Hannah fought against the reality that her daughter was lost as scattered ash over Alchera. For two years Hannah had allowed herself to slip into the fantasy that maybe, just maybe her little girl was still out there.
Well not little, but it was difficult for Hannah to see her as anything but the little girl who would dance and sing whenever she got excited. Who stood at attention when Hannah called for her. Only to salute incorrectly and fall into a fit of giggles as Hannah snatched her up for a hug. Or the little girl who she helped with homework or showed her how to shave over vid calls.
There had been too much lost time with her. All the birthdays and milestones she missed during the countless deployments. All those weeks and months built up, and soon she had become a woman that followed Hannah in her footsteps.
And then the vid calls became less frequent. Communication with her became cold and quiet at times. More time lost. That was just the nature of both of their work.
But that lost time had seemed to be worth it. To watch her daughter rise through the Alliance ranks. To be overwhelmed with pride when she was named the first human Spectre. Only to be hit by what she had fear, for her daughter to follow so quickly to the fate that most of her peers faced. And then that time Hannah believed she could always get back or make up for in retirement was finally gone.
For two years, Hannah had to live with those ideas. Two quiet years. Two years to believe her daughter was lost to her. Two goddamn years to think that her little girl's last moments were gasping for air or trapped on a burning ship, or…
Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose to allow herself to look away from her omni-tool and breath.
Maybe this was some jackass with enough money and time wearing her face. They had popped up on occasion. After Shepard had become a household name to the public as the Lost Hero of the Citadel.
They even had her scar that stretched across her face, from one cheek to the other. They were always off, in the slightest ways. But the resembles were always close enough to hurt, to pull at Hannah, to give hope that her daughter was still out there.
The woman on the cover, Alison Gunn, a leader of some mercenary group, did not bore such a scar. The scar of a little girl who use to make up ridiculous stories about how she got it. Fighting pirates, being attacked by a tiger, or Hanna's favorite, a mishap in extreme go-carting. When really she just fell out of a tree at school.
But she had that cocksure grin, the one her daughter had always worn, even as a toddler. A stance to take on the galaxy with a shotgun resting so naturally on her shoulder. That was without a doubt her daughter. Alive with a fire in her eyes.
What the hell was she doing?
It had been two weeks since Hannah sent that damn email. No response, it was still quiet.
It was most likely some Spectre operation. Hannah wanted to believe it was anyway. There was chatter of Cerberus activity within the brass.
Hannah signed and clicked on the issue. She waited two years; she could wait some more until her daughter was ready. At least, she finally knew. And hell, she might as well see what got her daughter or 'Alison Gunn' on the cover of Badass Weekly.
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