A/N: My head is throbbing for lack of sleep so I'll make this short. I am one of the many disappointed by ME3. But while the game disappointed on many levels, there were some beautiful instances where it shone. To me, the game is full of unfinished potential. Which is why I felt the need to write about my own take on it. Not sure if this will be an improvement or a complete failure (I'm think it may go the way of the latter), but the process is cathartic regardless.

I plan to incorporate many scenes found in the game and merge them with my interpretations. Because of this, the narrative will not be identical, so apologies in advance if this isn't what you're looking for.

I also plan to make this version of Shepard a little darker and more vulnerable to the stresses she faces. At this point, also not sure who her LI is going to be. Trying to choose between Liara and Kaidan and am leaning in Liara's direction for the moment.

Would love to know what you think!


Chapter 1

It becomes a little easier to see him now, as the shroud around the edges peels away. It's a standard replica of an Alliance shuttle that he holds in his small hands, and he pilots it around the limited terrace as only a child can. Undivided attention to an imaginary realm. There is no trick in freezing this instant, there is only the memory and what will follow it. She recognizes that it is an ominous future, and it is then that the soldier walks in, salutes her and frowns. She half-heartedly dismisses her official rank, brings attention to the fact that it has been stripped, and is then alerted to an unfolding situation. God, how she despises that term. A situation. Is it something that the weak have to use when they lack the courage to face the truth?

It isn't a fair comparison, she reminds herself. You've felt the hot and cold that only the nearness of death can elicit, and you've conversed with devils that leaders and governments never had to face in their combined lifetimes. Okay then, she concedes, it isn't a fair comparison.

They walk down a busy and wide corridor together. They are then joined by an old friend – a high ranking old friend. His face – its lines and contours scarred with burdens unfairly thrust on him – appears heavier than normal. All she needs is an unfinished sentence and a look in his eyes to tell her the worst.

It's the Reapers, isn't it? They're here, aren't they?

And now comes the familiar surge of anger. Anger borne of unheeded warnings.

What's the point in my telling them what they already know?

He tries to placate her and is partly successful.

Just talk to the defense committee – you've fought the Reapers up close – hell, you've killed one of them. The Alliance is ready to listen to you now, Shepard.

She chokes back a retort because he does not deserve this treatment. After all, he wasn't the one who needed convincing. And if he was right and the situation was as bad as he imagined, then there would be no time for grievances. At least not in this lifetime.

It's with an uneasy form of acceptance that she walks down these now-familiar hallways. And then, as if stepping out of a dream, emerges another old friend. Alive but a ghost. Kaidan Alenko greets her – Lieutenant Commander now – just outside the meeting room. It becomes clear to her that the committee is finished questioning him. She wants to stop the continuity of moments and take control, even if for a few minutes, and ask him what they want to know. What could she possibly tell them now that could save them from the Reapers? If the Reapers were on their way, then what the point to anything?

They're ready for you.

Yes, they've been ready for me for a while, she thinks to herself. Funny thing now is that she wishes that their attention would be focused solely on her and not on something ominous.

Okay. Let's get this over with.

The room is strange. The tall and massive windows provide her with an impressive look at the waters that surround Alliance Headquarters. Everything here is stately, almost regal – meant to eclipse those unlucky enough to fall under its scrutiny. She pays little attention to the goings-on of monitors and its attendees. A beautifully-polished oak panel towers over her, and behind it sit three individuals.

Her muscles involuntarily grow taut. What disbeliefs will they counter with today?

...something on our radar, and it's unimaginably powerful.

Is this a trap? A lure to get her to admit that her mind may be broken? What would they gain? They could lock her up. Get real – you are already locked up.

Commotion on the monitors and everyone's eyes fix onto the video feed. Its edges crackle with static. There is chaos in the background; a soldier's panic-stricken face comes into view. Smoke. Explosions behind him. A loud sound – it hurts many ears, but nobody covers them – and the video feed cuts out. It's Eden Prime all over again.

lost contact with Luna Base!

So soon. It was too quick. How could they ready themselves for this one? The committee casts pleading and questioning gazes on her.

We fight or we die!

Are those her words? They feel alien. In her heart she feels the cold but steady spread of fear. We are going to die. We are all going to die. And we could have prevented it.

An unearthly light pierces through the blue sky into the waters in the backdrop. It is accompanied by a threatening groan and tremors that shake the earth beneath their feet. Too fast. All of this is happening too fast. The light – a beam now – traverses closer to them, as if searching them out. It is disintegrating everything it comes in contact with.

Too fast.


Her eyes opened wide suddenly. The jarring images from the dream resonated in time with her pounding heart. She remained curled on the bed, underneath layers of sheets, sweat-soaked and frightened. Her brain continued to crawl towards the shores of normalcy; ears listening for everyday noises, eyes searching for the familiar. The ticking of clocks, the dim glow of muted electronic equipment. Slowly and reluctantly, she pushed the bed-sheets off and sat up. Swinging her legs off the side of the bed and onto the floor, she padded towards an organized desk and turned on her datapad.

All her extranet activities were constantly being monitored and tracked. There was no contacting or seeking comfort in old friends. It would be cruel to drag them into all of this. Part of her wanted to disregard the consequences if only to hear a familiar voice for a few minutes...and her fingers almost wandered across the screen in that direction, but then she faltered and sighed. She clicked on images, and then pulled up a list of old pictures. A faint smile played on her lips as she clicked through the list. A photo of Garrus, Tali and Liara on board the SR1, in the Normandy's engine room. Engineer Adams was not a good photographer, by any means, but he was an enthusiastic one. Tali's face mask was blurry, Garrus had lifted one hand to his face at the wrong moment and Liara's eyes were closed due to an oncoming laugh. The glow from the illuminated picture lit up the darkness and beckoned to her.

She quickly turned off the datapad and placed it back on the desk. It was becoming easier to reminisce and wallow in fond memories now gone. If there was little at stake on the horizon, then perhaps she'd prefer to indulge in self-sympathy, but if she could afford that, then she would have little to spare for the troubles that lay ahead.

She turned on the desk lamp and rummaged around for a book given to her by an old friend. Kasumi had picked it out just for her. She thumbed through the leaves to find the dog-eared one that marked her page and continued to read on through the night.


At 7 a.m. he found her dressed in uniform reading a well-worn book. Her eyes flicked from the book to meet his gaze.

"You're up early," came the familiar voice – in an attempt to sound genial.

"As opposed to...?" she asked with a smile.

"My having to wake you up at 8 a.m. every day of the week like I've had to do with my teenage son."

Shepard couldn't help but laugh. It was a cheerless one.

"You think it's funny, do you? Being court-martialed, detained, grounded and stripped of your rank – and you revert to adolescent behavior?"

"If they're going to pin a label on me, Anderson, I may as well play the part." She put the book down.

"Yes, well, just try to be a little more congenial today, alright?"

"Oh, I don't know...I'm really in the mood for petty. I've rehearsed and polished smart-ass hard enough to make a Krogan blush. Just think – they can put it in their reports – along with the rest, and revel in it. And just when they think they have me where they want me – put on trial for war crimes or what-have-you – the Reapers will be here. Harbinger and his goddamn posse." She looked down and gave a grim smile, "Too bad neither one of us will be alive to rub their noses in it."

"Is that what you want? To throw out I-told-you-so's? To be proven right?"

"I want them to see what I saw. I want them to be afraid. I...I want them to pay some kind of price for wasting so much time on all this bullshit."

Anderson looked at her darkly. "You don't mean that."

Her gaze did not waver. "Sure I do. I mean, why not?" She scoffed and loosely waved her arm around her. "Look at the situation, David. They know there's something bigger than the Geth and Collectors out there. It almost destroyed the Citadel – that's as big a close-up as it gets. But they can't accept it. Despite the wasted resources...and the lives lost, they cannot accept it. You want to know why? I don't think it's human nature anymore. I think it has all come down to a matter of appearances, and playing the blame-game. No one wants to admit or accept that they're out-maneuvered. No one wants to admit that they've been out-smarted and out-gunned. The Asari don't want to admit that they can't understand Citadel technology. The Quarians don't want to accept that the Geth have evolved beyond their capacity of comprehension. Let's not even get into the Salarian and Krogan fiasco. And the humans? Our own military is so obsessed with a rogue black-ops group that with the Reapers rapping on our front door, they're aiming their sights on me. If they –"

"Shepard, that's enough!" Anderson pinned her in place with an icy stare. "I understand how you feel. You think I haven't been there? Remember Saren? Remember how the Council made me seem like an incompetent idiot? Of course I was bitter. I'll admit, you have the right to feel the same way, but life isn't about getting what you deserve. And I don't know how, but you'd damned well better pull yourself together and handle the situation better than this."

In a half-hearted stance of defiance, she said, "What makes today different than the rest, Anderson? They will only ask me the questions that they want to hear, they won't – "

" – snap out of your self-pity, Shepard. This isn't you."

As she sighed, Anderson hid from her a grim smile, knowing that he had won the small battle.

She followed, shoulders slumped, behind him. "Okay. Alright. Let's get today over with."


" – about Lawson?" came the female voice.

Shepard, seated at the other end of an imposingly long table, was jolted out of her reverie. "I'm sorry, could you please repeat the question?" she asked.

The woman, her collar buttoned all the way to her neck, sighed. "What about the Illusive Man's operative: Miranda Lawson? Aren't you aware of her whereabouts? A week ago, you did mention that you both parted on amicable terms."

"Your statement would imply that Miranda and I were previously on hostile terms..." murmured Shepard. "I do not know where Miranda is. She abandoned Cerberus, for heaven's sake. You do know what that means, don't you? You don't reject a three-headed hell hound without expecting some form of reprisal. It isn't as if she'd leave a forwarding address. Not even for me." One look from Anderson, seated next to Shepard's examiner, momentarily halted further retorts on Shepard's part.

"Noted." replied the woman, as she nodded in the direction of the stenographer – all the while mute and invisible.

Shepard caught the perfunctory gesture but remained silent.

The woman brought a hot coffee cup to her lips. She took a careful sip and continued. "And Mr. Taylor? Are you certain that he's cut ties with Cerberus?"

"I am not aware of Jacob's location either." Her brows furrowed. That was an interesting choice of words – cut ties with Cerberus. Why not 'what about Jacob Taylor – have you heard from him'? And why did they need to verify his now-severed relationship with Cerberus? Was it possible that he might have been trying to re-instate himself with the Alliance? She opened her mouth to pursue the matter, but was quickly silenced.

"That will be all regarding your former connections, Shepard. We do, however, have a few questions regarding Cerberus' operations." The woman looked down at her datapad. Her tortoise-shell glasses silently slid down the bridge of her nose. "At any point during your liaison with Cerberus, did you find out about other schemes that did not directly relate to your own?"

"No."

"Surely Operative Lawson must have mentioned some of those to you."

"Miranda Lawson was in charge of the Lazarus cell, ma'am," replied Shepard, "and each Cerberus cell functions independently of the others."

It was a clever way to operate, Shepard realized. If an operative was compromised, and was under considerable duress to give up information, they had no knowledge of data that pertained to other Cerberus undertakings. To some extent, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was in a similar position. She'd had a stellar career with the Alliance – up until now, at least – and given her accomplishments, she had expected more forgiveness; more give-and-take of information. But the Alliance was determined to keep her in the dark. She stared at her interrogator knowingly. "Surely you must have suspected this."

The woman frowned but didn't bite. "Fair enough, but let the record show that we find it highly unlikely that you remain completely ignorant of Cerberus' intentions."

Anderson – who had been seated quietly all the while – spoke up. "I hope you understand that the insinuations you've made border on slander. Shepard has been more than cooperative with us. It is my opinion that she has been very forthcoming with information regarding Cerberus' exploits. We wouldn't even be in possession of the new Normandy if this wasn't the case. Heck, she wouldn't have turned herself in if she truly didn't want to cooperate."

The woman pushed her glasses up her nose and regarded Anderson with a cool detachment. "We are not here to colour Shepard's reports with opinions, Captain, but with facts. And let me remind you that we are on her side. After this deposition, and when this case goes to trial – "

" – if you truly had her interests at heart, you would do everything in your power to prevent her from going to trial," interjected Anderson.

Cool detachment soon morphed into annoyed assertion. "Let me remind you...and with all due respect to your presence in this room...that you are here purely on a consulting basis. If we wanted a champion for her, we could have just as easily picked a Batarian off the streets."

The woman's sarcasm tested Anderon's patience. His eyes flashed. "Shepard did not go to Aratoht on a whim. She destroyed the relay there because it needed to be destroyed. She bought us time. And furthermore, she did this as a –"

" – I destroyed the relay because it was back door for the Reapers. There wasn't much time." Shepard shot Anderson a cursory glance. If he revealed the fact that Shepard had gone to Aratoht to recover Amanda Kenson – a close friend of Admiral Hackett's – from a Batarian prison, that would have dragged Hackett into this quagmire too. Her list of allies was slowly dwindling and she did not want Hackett to be among its casualties. Anderson leaned back into his chair, tense.

The woman gave Shepard a weary look. She took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. "The Reapers are not the topic of conversation, Shepard. Please try to refrain from bringing them into play – if for five minutes at least." She slipped her glasses back on again. "If I may continue?" Shepard issued a slight nod. "You were – for a short time – on a Cerberus-owned station. You claim that it was where they uh...resurrected you. When it was attacked, and while you escaped, did you manage to download any intel on research data or side-projects?"

"There were only recordings – brief progress reports – on my recovery process."

"Yes, we have the transcripts on file. But you've been on the inside. Is there anything there that might allude to Cerberus' operations that we cannot decipher? Resources, functionality levels, anything?"

"That particular station housed the Lazarus cell. I have no reason to believe that other unrelated projects occurred there."

"What about on board the Normandy? Did Cerberus make any requests on their behalf? Assign missions to you that only served their best interests?"

"There were about two or three. But I believe that these have already been mentioned to you and are on file."

"So you completed them, then? Willingly?"

Shepard paused and then looked down into her lap. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Why? Because you feel that you owe them?"

Shepard looked up, part the woman, past the questions and their transparencies. "Not...quite. They needed me, and I needed them. Their resources, anyway. It required compromise."

"Let me guess...you needed them to destroy the Reaper threat. So, just to make sure I'm understanding this correctly – you allied yourself with Cerberus to destroy a purely speculative threat? Do you believe that Cerberus invested billions in you because they were convinced that only you could defeat a mythological adversary?"

"Not a myth," said Shepard quietly.

"Hasn't it even occurred to you that Cerberus might have programmed you to be their own sleeper agent?"

"I...yes, but – "

"Do you finally understand the position we are in, Shepard?"

Shepard looked away, uncertain. Yes, it was easy to comprehend. Miranda had informed her that the most imperative goal of the Lazarus Project was to bring back Commander Shepard from the dead, just as she had always been. If she had been altered in any way – a control chip placed in her mind, for instance – the Lazarus Project would have failed. And Miranda never accepted failure. But surely there were things that the Illusive Man had hidden from her. The facts, as he had said once, were with him and no one else. It shifted the balance of power in his favour.

But she never felt an alien presence in her head. Never felt that she was fighting against her own will. And in this recognition, she knew that her only evidence was based on feelings. Nothing solid or substantial. A wave of self-doubt swept over her and could not find the right answer to the question.

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Anderson leaned forward in his chair and spoke quietly. "I believe we've moved beyond that. I can personally vouch for Shepard's loyalty to the Alliance. And if that isn't enough, the psychological and behavioural tests should give you the proof you need."

The glasses had slid down again, and the woman peered from above them at Anderson. "The analysis results are inconclusive. We've conducted the same tests on ex-communicated Alliance scientists and soldiers with similar results. And they were the ones who had sold the Normandy prototype designs to Cerberus."

Shepard squirmed in her chair uncomfortably. She did not like where this was going. If the topic of the day's questions deviated from its path, the woman would be quick to set her straight. How had the subject shifted so dramatically from Shepard's knowledge of other Cerberus activities and onto the possibility that she might be an inadvertent pawn of the Illusive Man? Of course, during the last few weeks the insinuations were there, but they never threw so direct a question her way as they had done today. They were trying too hard – but for what, she couldn't understand.

"All I'm saying is," the woman went on, "if Shepard was to develop a temporary alliance with Cerberus prior to her death, it would make this a whole lot easier on us and her – she would simply have to answer a few questions and that would be the end of it. But Cerberus re-built her, for Christ's sake. These are the same individuals who infected their own people with the Thorian spores. If there is a goal, and only one means to it – no matter how unethical – they will follow through. They aren't a benevolent entity and they certainly didn't resurrect Shepard from the kindness of their hearts."

"You're right, they brought me back because human colonies were vanishing, and the Alliance was too bogged down in paperwork to investigate." Shepard retorted.

"And what makes you so special? Why not pick one of their own?"

Silence.

The woman's tone softened. "Look, I have nothing personal against you, Shepard. For all we know, you could still be you and your mind un-tampered with. But you could also be a time-bomb waiting for the right cue, the right stimulus. To reinstate you would be taking a very substantial risk."

"So what can I say then?" Shepard looked at the woman earnestly. "If you won't reinstate me then let me go. Let me go back to a civilian life."

Anderson took in a deep breath and let it out sadly. Weeks of lengthy interrogations and accusations were taking its toll on the soldier he had come to mentor and respect. She was lodged firmly between the proverbial rock and hard place, and after fighting to get out with no success, she was beginning to resign herself to the inevitable.

"We can't do that either," the woman replied. "But there is one option."

Anderson held his breath, and glanced at Shepard. He waited for the woman to continue.

"There are some medical procedures that might help us clear all of this up. If they work out well and to your advantage, we'd have you back with us. No unnecessary demotions. "

"What kind of medical procedures?"

"I am not at liberty to say. All I will tell you is that we require your consent to go through with it."

Shepard sat still for several moments – confused. Anderson, now on the edge of his seat, could almost hear the amalgam of queries and self-doubt that battled within Shepard. He was simultaneously flooded with the same emotions, and he couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.

It was then – during the tense silence – that he chose step in. "She will probably need time to think on this. Give her a day or two."

Shepard burst out of her thoughts and shot Anderson an annoyed expression. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and the remained silent.

The woman raised her eyebrows as if surprised. "Can't Shepard speak for herself?"

"I – " began Shepard hesitantly, "I think maybe the Captain is right. I would like the time."

"I would have thought that you'd jump on this opportunity, Shepard. These don't come around very often. We really could save ourselves a whole lot of trouble."

Her voice grew more confident. "Probably. But I would like the time to think this through nevertheless. I suppose, then, we'll have to call it a day and pick up from where we left tomorrow. It would be prudent of you to make a decision by then."

The woman stood up, gathered her datapads in silence. Her stenographer did the same and they both exited the room. As soon as the door was shut, Shepard spoke. "What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know," replied Anderson, "but I don't like it."

"What kind of medical procedure is it? Has it been used on other Alliance soldiers?"

"I don't know." repeated Anderson. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. His lips then parted, as if to say something, but the words retreated.

"I feel as if I'm in limbo," remarked Shepard. "I...don't know what to do. I want to refuse, you know – that's my first impulse. But what if this is really a good opportunity, like she said? Can we afford to pass this up?"

"I would advise against committing to either of your choices right now."

"But you heard her – they need to know by tomorrow."

"Listen to me, Shepard. There is something wrong here. Why didn't they give us any details? If this test is truly the best way out, why bring it up now – two weeks into your deposition? If my instincts are right, both options sound pretty bleak." He turned away his gaze and pondered something silently. "Look, maybe – just maybe – we might be able to put a third choice into play."

"How do you mean?" Shepard studied him carefully. There was a small fire in his eyes – one she hadn't seen since the first Normandy was grounded.

"Don't let it worry you for now. There is some thinking I need to do."

"Wait, but what about – "

"Go grab something to eat. I'll be in touch."

And with that, he was gone.