A long story with short chapters. Eventual Shakarian. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

Commander Shepard sits in her cabin, meditating. She feels the reality of the situation bearing down on her. Through the haze of her adrenaline rush, the truth of her situation had momentarily become nebulous. She wrings her hands as she sits at her desk, looking halfheartedly at her personal terminal. There is so much writhing in her head, screaming and clawing at her thoughts like a wild animal.

She wonders about Kaidan and where he is, and what he would say if he knew that she was a cybernetic creation forged from dead meat. Her thoughts turn to Liara, and Shepard hopes that she made it back to the Citadel safely. Knowing Liara, she was probably excavating a ruin on some distant planet, studiously immersing herself in her work. Dozens of other faces flicker across her consciousness as her face tightens into a frown. She flexes her hand, trying to remember what it felt like before dying.

Dying.

The phrase alone makes her jolt. Dying was something she never dreamed of, something that still feels strange on her tongue. She remembers the last moments of her life, flung out into the endless chasm of space. She remembers her lungs, struggling for air and her vision blurring as her brain starved for oxygen. Yet here she is; she remains the same, save the scars lining her body. She caught sight of the ugly marks marring her form as she changed out of her armor and into a casual, Cerberus-issued outfit. Violent pink marks trace her torso and her thighs, crawling up her back and down her arms. She touches her face softly, fingertips lightly skimming her scars. She had never cared much for looks, but the scars make her seem meaner, more violent. She doesn't like the effect; she looks like a mercenary.

She tries to find a reason why she was given a second chance. She served as she could, and stopped Saren from destroying the Citadel. She died naturally and should've stayed that way. Why me? She fails to answer that question with any conviction. Instead she breathes deeply, relishing the feeling of air in her lungs. She still remembers her death vividly: the gasping for air, clawing at her oxygen tubes as she spun weightless through space.

Shepard had always been a soldier. She followed orders unquestioningly and upheld her duty to the Alliance. She lived simply as she could, carrying out her orders to the best of her ability. She was a marine, after all. Her life was her weapon and her weapon was her life. Speeding across the galaxy gave little time for existential crises.

But here, in her spacious cabin, she feels the insidious quiet settle upon her. Her thoughts are screaming at her where they were once overpowered by the roar of gunfire and battle. She is in the eye of the storm, raging relentlessly around her, and all she can do is endure the silence. The present suddenly seems incredibly tenuous. Her life seems such a precious, fragile thing, whereas before she rushed into conflict without doubt or fear.

She puts her head into her hands and presses her palms over her eyes. She can barely breathe for a moment, as if there's some great weight on her chest. She knows she can't wait much longer; the dossiers on her desk await her inspection and the Collector threat grows with each passing minute. She again must spring into battle, guns blazing and heart afire. But she feels almost dead, the fire of her soul extinguished to a small spark. She wonders if Cerberus tampered with her brain, if she was just some AI programmed to think it's Commander Shepard. The thought sends chills down her spine and she does her best to dismiss it.

Miranda had imparted the importance of recruiting the salarian doctor first, and Shepard glances at his dossier. Miranda Lawson immediately rubbed Shepard the wrong way; she was smug and arrogant and Shepard disliked her on sight. Still, she was a piece to the puzzle of Cerberus and their intentions in rebuilding her. She supposes she should keep her enemies close, anyways.

"Alright, to Omega then," Shepard mumbles to herself as she picks up two more dossiers along with the salarian's. The shady Archangel and ruthless mercenary, Zaeed Massani. Shepard rises from her desk and begins to peel off her clothes and change into her armor. If there's one thing that she's sure of, it's that Omega will be comfortingly familiar in its filthiness.