Chapter 2
She might have appeared asleep were her glowing green eyes not open; unseeing and still.
Her arms were crossed serenely atop her armor clad chest, a calm mockery of the former Commander. The once proud N7 logo atop her chest piece shone ironically at her sneering audience.
Pale skin and freckled cheeks were harshly illuminated in the unnatural glow of the upright stasis pod.
She was but a trophy on display in a small room of sadistic achievements.
Unimpressed, the ship's guest rubs at his scarred chin. "How do we know it's the real deal?" His lips curve up in ill-concealed contempt, eyeing the female frozen in time before them.
A batarian answers him with a low growl. The four-eyed biped baring it's razor sharp teeth in a show of anger.
"500,000 of my credits to Cerberus say otherwise," the batarian snaps at the maimed and scarred human, grimacing through the long-gone human-organizations name. "The Illusive Man might have been a crazy bastard, but he sure as shit didn't half-ass anything." He gives a deep rumble. "You won't find any others of this quality. Last of a batch of three. The other two… didn't make it very long."
The crew of batarian's all chuckle at the fond memories this entails.
The man's single eye darts to the batarian, his calm demeanor giving away nothing of his inner thoughts. His two men, that closely flank their boss, are equally unresponsive.
The batarian slaver doesn't like them. It's a joke –an insult!- that there are only two of them, armed with naught but pistols. Who is this guy to question them? They're out numbered and out gunned. If it weren't for the promise of a large volume of credits he'd be bleeding out on the floor already.
"I want a demonstration," the human contact states simply. "Assurance that what you've promised me, and what I see before me, align."
Suddenly, the pilot's muffled voice cuts in over the comm. "Picking up abnormal activity in the vicinity, boss."
Glaring indignantly at the offending speaker box, the batarian in charge throws up his hands in dismissive annoyance. "Aaah, I'm busy!"
There is a moment of static over the outdated technology, and then silence.
"Useless," the batarian growls.
He faces the human contract, jabbing a finger in his direction.
"I don't owe you anything, human," he all but shouts. "You promised me 750,000 unmarked hard credits, I've yet to see any of it."
He pulls his assault rifle, slowly, from his back, holding it at his side in a show of dominance.
His anger rises when there is no change in expression from any of the humans.
"You're on my ship," the batarian reminds the lead human.
A few moments of tense silence tick past, the batarian's crew restlessly awaiting some kind of command, hands twitching excitedly for their varying holsters.
The human breaks the silence with a small chuckle.
"Your ship won't last another week floating out here," the human has the confidence to smirk. "You don't need to see your engineering room to know that. You don't even have enough money to fix your damn comm."
His voice loses all of it's mocking mirth, taking on a stern countenance.
"You need my money," the human tells the batarian. "All 250,000 credits."
The batarian raises his gun with a guttural shout, his crew taking up arms with like-minded cries of bloodlust.
The human's visage becomes suddenly stony, slight annoyance evident in the set of his single eye. His men brace themselves, but do nothing further.
"Enough!" the scarred man shouts evenly.
He suddenly punches his first to the floor, causing a shockwave of blue energy to pulse throughout the trophy room. Within the blink of an eye, every single batarian that had drawn arms was knocked back, their cries of alarm their only defense.
Shouts of confusion fill the small room and then all returns to normal, the human standing with his arms behind his back as if nothing had happened.
"I want a demonstration," the human repeats, demanding their full attention.
The battered batarian growls, shaking himself off indignantly, and crawling back onto his feet.
"500,000," the batarian demands through bared teeth.
"We shall see what it is that you have to offer first," the human tells him.
With an angered hiss the batarian jerks his head at one of his many stunned and annoyed crew members. The subordinate batarian turns around to follow through with his silent command. With a sharp tap of the screen that rests upon the wall beside the stasis pod, the crew member offers a growl of annoyance. The screen in question offers an agreeable sound in return and glows green.
The stasis pod slowly lowers to rest upon the floor, the crew shuffling nervously to the side, allowing their leader and guests to better see the pod in its new position.
"Activate it," the human demands, a glint of something cold and feral in his eye.
Offering another growl, the batarian slaver stomps toward the stasis pod, sneering down at the unaware inhabitants with bitter loathing. He lifts his wrist, tapping at the bright orange screen of his outdated omnitool with quick jabs.
There is a sudden hiss of released pressure, and the less obvious sound of multiple hands falling nervously to rest upon weapons.
The glass opens out as if on hinges, and a small puff of steam rises out from the pod. Within, the female appears as if she is covered in a thin layer of frost momentarily. This effect fades quickly, leaving behind the very real form of Commander Shepard.
The room is silent, all outwardly anxious, but for the smirking scarred man, patiently awaiting the reawakening of a long dead hero.
"Last of the Illusive Man's batch," the batarian continues nervously. "One of three he created in case the original died before he was done using her. I guess he didn't want to test his luck after the first one turned on him. He must've been desperate for credits right near the end, having been willing to auction them off." He laughs suddenly. "We had quite some fun with the other two." He eyes the scarred human. "They're the real deal," he assures him.
A gasp echoes throughout the room, and Commander Shepard wakes.
