A/N: I've actually been a very active writer, I've just been writing on message boards and the like.

Codex Entry: Psionics

Psionics are the subset of abilities that allow a person with sufficient willpower to use what is believed to be Elerium-based technology to influence the behavior of animate beings and the nature of inanimate objects. In the Systems Alliance, XCOM is noted as the authority on Psionic abilities and training methods due to Dr. Moira Vahlen's discovery of psionic awakenings during the First Alien War. Psionics are Awakened when a human with sufficient potential is exposed to active Elerium, with side effects that include brief periods of unconsciousness, hypothermia, and powerful hallucinations. While XCOM uses a Class system to denote the power level of Psionic Operatives and Civilian Psionics, the chart goes from 0 (Psionic Sensitivity) to 10 (Magus), with a Class X to denote beings with power equal to the Volunteer (see: INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE) or the Prime Ethereal (see: Temple Ship). When asked about the nature of the psionics, XCOM R&D Chief Noli Tygan said, following the Shanxi Engagement, "We are still guessing as to the exact nature of Psionics. While we originally labeled these abilities as 'Psychic' due to the first observed use of mind control, it is typical of our arrogance that we believed it was only the power to control and influence minds. What we are observing is far more widespread, far more potent, than that. If there are any beings in the greater universe who could tell us what these abilities are, it is the Ethereals. And even they may not know."

Fingers tap on the white desk. The vermilion light of the Widow Nebula plays against the white lights of the Presidium, muting out the frequent lights of the spaceship traffic. As the fingers tap, the hollow sound echoes in the clean, pristine office. White coat going past his knees, other hand folded into a fist against his back, the balding, older man looks up at David Anderson.

Anderson's hands are folded behind him. His gaze both on the ambassador and past him.

"Anderson," Donnel Udina says, "This is a clusterfuck."

Anderson nods, sighing. Eyes closed, shoulders heavy. "I agree with you on that, Ambassador."

"The Beacon destroyed. Eden Prime attacked." Udina taps his fingers again. "Has Shepard woken up yet?"

Anderson shakes his head. "Neither has Vasir. Have the technicians-"

"Salvaged Vasir's suit camera?" Udina shakes his head. "However, they found a redundant one which was not fried, but the image is vague at best." He raises a finger before Anderson can speak. "However, Shepard did transmit from her GREMLIN before the beacon was activated, so we have proof of Saren's actions."

Anderson nods.

"So," Udina continues, "Good instincts. Shepard will make a good Spectre, if she wakes up."

Udina turns to the window, both hands clasped behind him, wrinkles on the gloves indicating how tight the grip is.

"What about the dead Ethereal?" Anderson asks, "How angry is the Adventium?"

Udina hums. "Oddly? Not at all," he says, "Probably related to the Adventium Councilor taking Shepard as soon as the Normandy docked." His left hand beeps, and he raises it, revealing the omnitool. "The Adventium have released Shepard. According to them, she's been delivered to her apartment, and Chakwas is with her."

Anderson is gone by the time Udina has turned around. Udina sighs and pulls his chair back, sitting in it. He taps his omnitool again. "I need to see the Turian Councilor. And a bottle of Dextro alcohol."

"Understood Ambassador," the cheerful, female voice says, "Anything else?"

Udina grunts. "And the local XCOM field commander."

Chapter 2:

A Plethora of Creepy Companions

For most people, waking up to the sight of a serpentine woman who could swallow her whole would be a shock. Possibly heart attack inducing. At very least it would get them to back up, screaming bloody murder.

For Jane Shepard, it means that she's either on the Normandy or somewhere close, because she weakly smiles at the face of her friend and doctor. "Chakwas?" she asks, voice dry.

The Viper smiles, flicking her tongue and pressing a bag of water into Jane's hand. "Drink first," the chief medical officer of the Normandy says, faint hiss to her voice, "You've been unconscious for three days."

Many ships, especially Alliance ships, would pause at the prospect of an eight foot snake woman with decidedly mammalian mammaries as the chief medical office. David Anderson would then point out that they are venom sacks, and that Challin Chakwas has an excellent bedside manner. While rumors abound, the fact of the matter is that Chakwas views the crew of the Normandy as her children.

Her stupid, stupid, accident prone children.

Jane greedily empties the water bag, sitting up as she does so. That Chakwas' three fingered hand does not come down on her to pin her in place is the best sign she can get that she's not going to die.

"So to catch you up," the doctor says, sliding across the apartment, from the bed to the mini kitchen, "You've been unconscious for the past three days. Lieutenant Alenko has been asking for updates hourly, as has Chief Williams."

Jane swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Somehow, she's dressed in her blue, Alliance sweats. She didn't have those on under her armor. Who dressed her?

"Williams? She's onboard?"

Chakwas nods, handing Jane a cup of some sort of bitter brown liquid which Jane greedily drinks, and then realizes is not coffee but medicine. Watching the redhead choke, the snake doctor cocks an eyebrow and purses her lips. "Yes. She asked to transfer, and Anderson accepted, what with Jenkins..."

Jane chokes, looking up. "Jenkins died?!"

"No, no. He was wounded, severely," Chakwas responds, patting Jane on the shoulder, "The Titan armor that Alenko had him in saved his life, though he does have a long recovery ahead of him." Chakwas cups Jane's chin, turning her side to side. "Right. Anderson will be here to debrief you, shortly. My Omnitool's set to your vitals, so I can be back if there's any change."

Jane nods. Turning, Chakwas slithers, slides out of the apartment, and on the way out she waves her omnitool at the bathroom door. The red circle turns green, and it opens just fast enough to not trip out the charging, four legged cuddle bundle that immediately tackle hugs her, chirping excitedly and pressing its head tentacles against her face.

Jane grins, petting her pet chryssalid, letting the tackle carry her onto her back. She lets the excited chirps and skrees become typical background noise, along with-

"Feed me feed me feed me feed me!"

Jane blinks. What was that-

"Feed me feed me feed me feed me!"

Jane looks down, slowly. Very slowly. She looks into the glowing, four puppy dog eyes of the chryssalid.

She hears the chirps and skrees. But she also hears, at the very back of her mind,

"You haven't fed me in forever and I counted!"

Which is all the prompting Jane needs to respond with a short, flat,

"What."

Jane Shepard is an engineer. She solves practical problems. Which means that every problem, every situation, has a solution. Or, at least, an explanation.

The remains of a varren loaf are now smudges on Chirples mandibles, and Jane sits, lotus position, across from her pet and companion. Hypothesis the first: She can now understand Chryssalids. Perhaps she can speak Chryssalid?

"Skree. Chirp chirp skree," she says.

Chirples tilts his head. She hears, as an after-echo, in her own voice, "Tax benefits."

Chirples chirp-skrees. She hears an after echo of, "What."

"Skree chirp skree chirp chirp?" she asks.

The chryssalid tilts his head the other way. Again, she hears an after echo in her own voice.

"Tittikaka."

Chirples chirrups. She hears an after echo of, "Why you do this?"

"Sorry," she sighs, and the chryssalid chirrups an acknowledgment. Hypothesis disproved. Her musings are cut short when the door chimes, and she climbs to her feet, walking across the apartment and tapping the green button next to the door itself.

"Anderson?"

"C-Sec," comes the reply, in the form of a low, deep and most of all smooth voice, "Commander Shepard, do you have a moment?"

Jane cocks an eyebrow. She looks down at her sweats, and rubs the bridge of her nose. She taps the door open button and is once more reminded that every turian she meets seems to wear some form of armor. It's either because of the jobs, or maybe they just like metal.

But this one is no exception. The catbird faced metal alien- this one with blue markings on his face- clicks his mandibles, looking at her, and then to the chryssalid staring at him.

"Huh," he says, "Is that a Chocolate Reaver?"

She nods. "Yeah, he's my pet."

"Smart breed," he responds, "I had a golden opal, and he was nice but he was the dumbest thing on four legs." He coughs, clears his throat, and clicks his mandibles. "Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec. Long story short, I'm trying to find out what happened with Saren Aterius."

Jane cocks an eyebrow.

"Let me buy you a drink," he adds.

Jane quirks her lips. "Five minutes," she says, "Let me change."

The flat heels of his shoes clap along the white archways of the presidium bridge. Above, he can see the floating symbol, the stick figure of an Ethereal, four arms open and holding four other hands, each of a different species. The symbol of the Adventium, the Ethereal government. Or, as it's called when one wants to be derogatory, the Ethereal Empire.

He is an ambassador, however, and so he must be polite and proper. Standing in front of the reception desk of the embassy, he locks eyes with the Viper manning the console, a headset folded out into a mic and earpiece so she can juggle the multiple communications and requests sent at any-

And then he feels it. Pressure. Pressure pulling him up. Not physically, but mentally. A massive, psionic presence at the back of his mind that blackens the world around him.

"Can you hear me?"

Yes,he thinks back.

The world is illuminated by a spotlight. A spotlight equally orange and blue, illuminating a forever silhouetted figure sitting behind a desk.

"Ambassador Udina," he says in a low, scratchy, commanding voice, "The crisis on Eden Prime is the first of many."

I understand. He does not speak in these meetings. He is still present in the physical world, and wouldn't want to be seen talking to himself. Who has been chosen?

"David Anderson."

Upon the pronouncement, Donnel Udina thinks long and hard. He comes to the most logical conclusion, given the implications.

Well shit.

And the world becomes the embassy once again. The Viper snaps her fingers in front of Udina's face, and he glares at her.

"The Councilor is ready to see you now," she says.

Udina nods, grunts an acknowledgement, and walks down the green lit path to the double doors at the center of the embassy.

"Why are we in the Wards?" Perhaps her uniform- the blue jacket, uniform pants, gold pips to denote her rank as Commander- was a bit much. She can, in fact, hear herself over the OONTZ OONTZ OONTZ of the trance music playing from every corner in the bar. "Isn't this where they dispose of the bodies?"

"Nah." Garrus flicks his mandibles, walking alongside her. "This is where they feed the bodies into the grinder if they're too conspicuous to dispose of."

She's only known him for a few minutes, but there's that part of Jane that wishes she could draw upon that family tradition of mad science and implant Garrus' voice into Alenko, and thus have the ultimate boyfriend. But she doesn't have a boyfriend, she thinks, and why is she thinking that? Must be the coma. Or the fact that she can hear Chryssalid thoughts.

"Anyway," Garrus continues, "This is Chora's Den. Good source of information." He coughs, brushing past a hanar flirting with a volus. "So, don't drink anything anyone offers you. Not because it might be poisoned but because they serve Dextro and Levo here."

"Someone once tricked me into drinking a dextro cocktail during my N3 training," she says with a smirk, "Didn't leave the bathroom for twelve hours."

"Same. Levo. C-Sec training."

They walk side by side, past a trio of sectoids that look fervently for their pants, past a Muton getting into an arm wrestling contest with three Vorcha. "We are conspicuous," she murmurs.

"I'm in armor and you're in uniform. Of course we are." Garrus grins. "It means people will get nervous, and they'll slip up."

The light show disorients as much as the music, barely illuminating the asari dancers on tables, and giving Jane pause when they reach the bar. The bartender is human. Or looks human. Eyes go for the throat and she takes a step back, recognizing the tell-tale patterns on the throat.

"So stop me if you've heard this before," the bartender says, pushing up his sunglasses, "A cop and a Spectre walk into the bar. The bartender says, 'What can I get you?'"

"Just information, Chora." Garrus leans on the bar, staring at the Thin Man's shades. "Any word from Fist's benefactor?"

The bartender grins, an unnaturally wide smile. "Ask him," he says, and thumbs over to the turtle man leaning on the bar a handful of seats down.

A Krogan, Jane realizes. Built like a tank, but wired like a cannon. Red eyes, red crest, and red armor, staring at a half empty bottle of glowing liquid which she could easily mistake for fuel. One eye stares at them, and the Krogan snorts, as a well dressed man in black and grays walks out, the bar between them.

"Fist," the krogan growls.

"Wrex," the human says, "What do you want?"

The Krogan grins. "Got a message from the Shadow Broker."

The human nods, hands on the bar, eyes narrowing.

"What does the Broker want?"

"He wants me to pop your head off like a bottle cap and shove it so far up your ass it comes out your neck." Wrex chuckles, idly running his finger on the rim of his glass. "Okay, well. Really, the Broker just wants you dead. That's just how I'd do it."

Fist scowls. At least, attempts to scowl, but his best angry face pales in comparison to the placid, scarred mass of crag in front of him. "Get out of my fucking bar before I call C-Sec on you," he growls, turns, and walks. Past the bar, into a red-lit hallway behind it.

Chora snickers, and Jane walks over, cocking an eyebrow. "Excuse me-" she starts, but stops when the Krogan growls.

"For crying out loud, you meld with one Asari and everyone thinks you fancy the four fingers," he mutters, pouring himself another drink. Then he turns his red eye from her to the turian behind her. "Speaking of cross-species pollination. Garrus."

"Wrex." Garrus harrumphs, folding his arms. "Did you just threaten Fist in his own bar?"

"Sure did." Wrex pours the drink, and then takes a pull from his bottle. "I'm Krogan, after all. I'm violent, brash, loud, obvious. Probably drunk, too." Then he drains the shotglass. "And if rumors are to be believed, I can't even get on the Extranet without a getting my omnitool just loaded up with viruses and shit like that."

Jane opens her mouth to comment on how that is probably every Krogan stereotype she's heard, but is cut off by Fist screaming-

"Oh God!"

And then the sounds of heavy guns firing, followed by a body dropping to the floor.

"So there's no way I'm responsible for Fist being killed by his own security turrets." Wrex taps up his omnitool, and nods. "My work here is done."

"Damn it, Wrex, I needed to shake down Fist for information," Garrus mutters. He sighs, shoulders slumping. "Well, we'll just have to go through his desk when C-Sec gets here. Stay here, Wrex."

"Kiss my round craggy ass, Garrus." Wrex taps his omnitool again, and vanishes in a flash of light.

Garrus is silent for several moments. "The Zudjari were using those," Jane says, and reaches under her uniform jacket to unholster her pistol. "Come on, let's loot the office."

The Adventium Councilor is creepy. Very creepy. At the same time, to the surprise of humans when they first encountered the Adventium, not an Ethereal. Instead, the Councilor is a squat, small, well dressed humanoid with gray skin, an oversized head, and no mouth. The back of its head glows with purple and crimson light, its three fingered hands on the armrests of the crystalline throne at the center of the otherwise white room.

Flanking the Councilor are two Ethereals, floating in identical crimson robes and arms folded across their chests.

The crystals hum and flicker, and the Councilor raises a hand in greetings. "Welcome, Ambassador," Councilor Opheg says, "As always, our condolences regarding the unprovoked attack upon Eden Prime. How may we help you?"

Udina clears his throat, clicks his heels, and gives a short, slow nod. A typical greeting of respect among Sectoids, but he is never quite sure how much the Councilor is a Sectoid and how much it is something...else. "The Systems Alliance appreciates your condolences, and offers condolences for the loss of the Eidoleon's ship and crew, and the loss of the Eidoleon."

The crystal chair flickers. The Sectoid nods. "We accept your condolences. For the ship, which served the Adventium well. For the crew, who shall be missed by their Shipmaster for they served him well. But we do not mourn the Eidoleon. For flesh is temporary, and the spirit lives on."

Internally, Udina sighs. And maybe screams, for this is the closest he's going to get regarding a straight answer on why the Adventium isn't on a warpath over the death of an Ethereal. May as well move along.

"What is the Adventium's interest is Commander Shepard?" Udina asks, fixing the Sectoid with a gaze, folding his hands behind him. "An Ethereal, who was without escort, personally took custody of an unconscious Shepard when the Normandy docked, and then had her returned to her quarters three days later."

The chair flickers and the Sectoid nods. Short, and slow. Respect shown. "Shepard sought help on Eden Prime. The New One answered. The New One does not answer us."

The New One? Udina thinks on that. Thinks on the meaning of the term. The New One? Why does that seem familiar? "The New One?" he asks, "What do you mean, the New One?"

The Sectoid raises its hands, tenting them. The chair flickers. "Perhaps the Systems Alliance refers to the destroyer of the Temple Ship by a different title?"

And Udina actually lets the surprise show on his face, and he breaks diplomatic decorum. Given the circumstances it is understandable, and neither the Councilor of the Ethereals show disapproval.

"Well son of a bitch," he breathes, "The Volunteer."

They went through Fist's desk and found a communications log between Fist and a representative of the Shadow Broker, regarding a Quarian girl. Promising, as the Alliance- or more particularly XCOM- were on good terms. She made a mental note to contact Kaidan, and have his contacts follow up on the Quarian. The turian had paperwork, and she had a headache, and Jane Shepard keeps going over the situation in her head as she walks out of the elevator, walking down the apartment building hallway towards her-

"REEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEE-" clatter-clatter-clatter

She heard that. Not just the thoughts but the high pitched shrieking coming from overhead. Thankfully still in the general vicinity of her apartment which means he hasn't punched through the duct grates. "God dammit he got into the Sad Cabinet."

She sprints down the corridor, opening the door and darting into her apartment. Immediately, her eyes go to the fridge- and she sees that it is still whole, unmolested, no holes. Which means no fridge demons. But, the cabinet above the fridge has a Chirples-sized hole in it.

Thankfully, what she keeps in that cabinet- freeze dried ice cream, snacks, ramen, and other comfort foods- are so loaded in chemicals even a Chryssalid egg can't find any purchase-

"REEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" clatterclatterclatter

On the other hand, a sugar loaded chryssalid is now bouncing around the ductwork in the ceiling. "Chirples you get down here right-"

"Commander Shepard?"

She turns to the doorway and sees the Quarian girl standing in it. Shorter than her, wide hips, patch on her arm and in a gray and lavender encounter suit that for some reason has a hip skirt, but Jane's honestly only met a handful of Quarians in her life anyway so that's probably normal-

clatterclatterclatter

Both look up. The quarian girl sighs. "You were just in Fist's office," the quarian says, raising a hand and a finger, "You're looking for me."

"Why am I looking for you?" Jane asks, folding her arms.

"Because I have audio proof that Saren has gone...what's the word..." She taps her fingers together, "Rouge? Red?"

"Rogue?"

The girl nods, the mouth piece on her helmet glowing. She adjusts her hood and the mouth piece glows again-

clatterclatterclatter

"Bosh'tet," the girl says, "Excuse me, they're probably stuck up there!" The girl climbs onto the fridge, grabbing onto the hole in the cabinet and peaking her head into the ductwork above.

"Um, what are you doing-" Jane starts.

"It's the Hopper who's been following me," the girl calls back, "They've got a shitty sense of direction and they keep getting lost in the ducts and-"

"REEEEEEEEEEE-"

Which, to Jane's newly acquired ability to translate the thoughts and words of her four legged, cuddle happy companion, is rendered in the back of her mind, via echo and mental emanation, as exactly what she thought it would.

"HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGS!"

True fact: Chryssalids are anti-cats. Where a cat keeps its spine compressed to allow astounding flexibility, a chryssalid keeps theirs extended, so when they leap at something they can compress themselves to allow maximum impact. Hence, when Chirples launches himself at the quarian, he is almost half his normal size, and wrapped completely around her head.

Which does nothing to muffle her scream when she falls out of the duct and to the floor with Chirples hugging her face.

Codex Entry: Slarak

The Slarak (pronounces Lalak) are the supposedly unmodified versions of the aliens known as the Thin Men in the First Alien War, with the males (Thin Men) and females (Vipers) possessing one of the most exaggerated versions of sexual dimorphism currently observed among spacefaring species. When encountering the Slarak, humans were surprised by how similar the Thin Men were to their infiltrator and shock-trooper counterparts, with the only observed modification the removal of pheromone glands which, when combined with their natural flexibility, turn them into what is described as 'Sexual Chocolate'. However, this dimorphism, combined with their bi-chirality, has lead to several theories as to their origins, with the predominant being that the Slarak species as it is currently known was the result of Temple Ship modifications, with the population descended from a breeding population left behind on their current homeworld. It should be noted that little of this theorizing comes from the Slarak, who as a society do not concern themselves with their origins. Thin Men are noted hedonists, which combined with the bizarre method of reproduction performed with Vipers leads to them being very popular with females of several species. Vipers, due to the medicinal properties of their naturally produced 'venom', and societal pressures towards families, are a common sight in in medical professionals. Additionally, with their wide lower body musculature, large bust (see: Venom Glands), and natural undulating movements, they are also second to the Asari as subjects of interspecies romances in media, such as the long-running romantic comedy "Sam and Shallie," about a Human trying to fit in with his Viper wife's family, while going to ridiculous lengths to hide his past as an XCOM soldier.

The shrieking comes out almost metallic, impossibly high pitched, with a tremor that resembles a movie monster more than a living being. In contrast, the Chryssalid's chirps are significantly softer, and at least thanks to the current weirdness that is Jane Shepard's life much more understandable.

"HELLO MY NAME IS CHIRPLES AND I ALREADY LOVE YOU."

"Chirples! Get off her, right now!"

She may not be able to speak Chryssalid, but she is a pet owner, and a responsible one. She can't tell whether or not her room mate, companion, and cuddle junkie can understand her words, but he certainly gets tone. Hence, Chirples quickly disengages, lengthening his spine and skittering off his newest cuddle target. The quarian girl doesn't stop screaming, scrambling up against the bed and pointing an accusing finger at the mantis like pet.

"What?! Is?! THAT?!"

"He's Chirples, he's my pet chryssalid-"

"Why do you have a pet chryssalid?!"

She did take a course on comparative xenobiology, so she knows that the Quarian homeworld had no insects or arachnids. It's possible that the freakout is due to that. And Chirples hugging her face.

"Can I get you something to drink? Water?" Jane shrugs, Chirples having taken up position behind her. Screams have become high pitched yelps and eeps, and then Jane hears a soft clicking behind her and turns to stare at the single, unblinking eye. And then it's Jane's turn to back away, drop onto her seat, and scream at the Geth that is now in her apartment.

The Geth raises two plates on either side of its glowing eye, and sits down with deliberate, natural and languid motions. Chirples skitters in front of Jane, lengthening his spine and making a loud chirrup, which Jane translates as "Go ahead bitch, try something" in deed if not in word.

The front door shifts, vibrates, and opens. Pistol first, Kaidan Alenko enters, with a shout of, "Commander!"

The Geth turns its head to Kaidan, the white light shrinking in time with an iris closing. "No!" The quarian waves her omnitool, on all fours and waving at the Geth. "Stand down you bosh'tet! Stand down and lie down!"

The Geth obeys, stretching its limbs out, arcing its back and curling itself into a compact ball. The eye goes dim and the Geth goes quiet. The quarian girl lets out a held breath. "Okay, they're in low-power mode," she says, eyes still on Chirples, who stands taller and chirrups in victory.

Jane coughs. Chirples turns to her, and squats down, giving her four glowing puppy dog eyes. "Captain Anderson wants to see you," Kaidan interrupts, holstering his pistol, "And...what did I just walk into?"

Jane sighs, picking herself up off the floor. She extends a hand and helps the girl up. "This is..." Jane gives her a questioning look.

"Tali'Zorah nar Rayya," the girl says, "I have audio proof Saren has gone Rogue."

Kaidan nods. "Bring her, too."

David Anderson stands in the office of Ambassador Udina, and briefly wonders if he could, say, access his computer and look up what sort of fetish sites Udina visits on the Extranet. But, on the other hand, Udina would probably have some sort of protection on his search protocols. Like having no such links due to being very boring.

He folds his arms, leans against the desk, and waits. And then he feels it, the faint pulling, and the world goes dark. The light comes down from on high, and illuminates the silhouette of the man at a desk.

"Captain Anderson."

Anderson clasps his hands behind him and nods. "So. I've been chosen?"

The silhouetted man seems to shift in place- no apparent motion, but there seems to be a change. Even staring at him, Anderson feels something...off. "You are aware of what this is."

"I've been around a while." He allows himself a small grin. "You'd be surprised who I talk to."

"Then we will cut to the chase, then." The hands fold in front of the face. He hears the sound of cracking knuckles. "There is a crisis underway. We require leadership, unconnected with the organization. Insight and ability which has been overlooked intentionally, to better direct forces in the days to come."

Anderson nods. "I accept. However, I have one condition."

"We have seen your request. It is acceptable." The hands lower to the desk. "A full inventory of the resources available will be sent to you. We have much work to do."

The room, the world, goes black. Intentionally, Anderson thinks, to add dramatic weight to the last word.

"Commander."

Anderson opens his eyes and finds himself back in Udina's office, just as Udina enters. "So you've been contacted," Udina says, walking past Anderson and to his desk. Anderson turns on one heel, following the ambassador as he sits down.

"You knew?"

"He contacted me before he contacted you. That's why I called you to the office, so you don't look like you're talking to yourself."

Anderson blinks. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Right. I forget you were-"

Udina raises a finger. He leans forward and folds his hands over his mouth. "As you imagine," he says, "We will not make your...temporary promotion to Field Commander a matter of public knowledge."

Anderson nods, folding his hands behind him. "I will have to step down as Captain of the Normandy." He narrows eyes, a far off look. "And I have an idea for a cover story."

Chirples was left back at the apartment, keeping a careful watch on the shut down Geth. Staring it down with four glowing eyes and claws at ready to defend its master, food, and territory from this synthetic intruder.

Jane walks alongside Tali, Alenko following. Both are quiet, and Kaidan would clearly be concerned if not for the fact that the two have their omnitools out and the screens hovering over their eyes, and have been talking via text the entire walk over.

XOShepard: So what's with the screen name?

SpacePrincessTali: Friend suggested it. My father's an Admiral.

XOShepard: I knew the last name sounded familiar!

SpacePrincessTali: I think you're the first human who recognized it. -_- You're not one of those quarian fetishists, are you?

XOShepard: Not yet~

SpacePrincessTali: Good answer. So anyway, I find this Geth and it's been possessed by something- Korval is yelling at me to hack it, like my omnitool's a wand or something.

XOShepard: Tell me about it. No idea how many times Jenkins yelled at me to hack a batarian mech like I can just take it over that easily.

SpacePrincessTali: I know, right? So he's yelling, and the Geth is shooting at us, and I throw a flash grenade at it and rush at it.

XOShepard: Let me guess, hardline connection?

SpacePrincessTali: And here I thought there'd be a language barrier.

Jane and Tali both raise their fists, and briefly fist bump. Kaidan cocks an eyebrow, but thinks nothing of it. The walk leads them from the apartment blocks to the embassies, and to the green hued door which opens to reveal Captain Anderson and Ambassador Udina. Both girls switch off their omnitools, Jane standing at attention and Tali tapping her fingers together by her waist.

"Shepard," Udina says, inclining his head to Tali, "Who is she?"

"Ambassador, this is Tali," Jane says, hands folded behind her, "She has audio proof of Saren's betrayal. In addition, she was being hunted by Saren." Anderson and Udina both cock a skeptical eyebrow, and Jane continues. "I was approached by a C-Sec officer named Garrus Vakarian to accompany him to Chora's Den, which is owned by a former agent of the Shadow Broker. The Broker was approached by Tali for protection in exchange for the information, but Fist chose to contact Saren to hand her over to him."

"I was jumped by some agents of his after I arrived at the Citadel," Tali interrupts, "It wasn't pretty, so I contacted Fist. Turns out the bosh'tet's a backstabber."

"Which is probably why the Broker had him killed," Udina says, rubbing his chin, and taps his other hand on the desk, "Right. Well, that fills in the blanks. The audio evidence?"

Jane opens her mouth, but Tali folds her arms, tilts her hips, and narrows the glowing eyes behind her faceplate. "Oh no. I've been shot at, tackled, and face-hugged over the last day. I'm not giving anything until I get guaranteed safety."

Anderson mouths 'face hugged' and stares at Shepard, who weakly shrugs. "We can do that," Udina says, hands folded in front of his mouth, "The Citadel wouldn't be safe. The Normandy would."

Anderson turns to the ambassador. "Vakarian already requested a posting," Udina says, "The moment he found what ship Shepard was on, he was chomping at the bit. We've also received a request from the Muton on Eden Prime to be transferred to the Normandy. Apparently he wants to serve with Williams."

Jane blinks, cocks her head slightly. "Okay," she says, and shrugs, "If Captain Anderson is fine with that."

Anderson coughs, and for the first time in memory, he seems uncomfortable. At least, to Jane's eyes. "I'm stepping down as Captain of the Normandy," he says, "The ship's yours, now." He straightens up, and nods to Udina. "Shepard. Let's take a walk."

The purple fingers take the glass, and raise it. "Ptaikos," he says, "He was the second helmsman of the ship. His youngest son has passed training, and will follow in his father's footsteps. His legacy will carry on."

Around the table, the dozen mutons and one human woman nod and call out. An untranslated bit of Muton language- loosely translated, it says, 'So it will,' but carries more meaning than that. Tsoriokos taught her how to pronounce it, before they came.

They raise their glasses and drink- it burns down Ash's throat, but is definitely not the strongest thing she's ever drunk. Not by a long shot. Which is good, because it joins the other two dozen empty shotglasses in front of her.

Tsoriokos raises another glass. "Oepika," he says, "She commanded the soldiers, and fought many battles. Her sons follow in her foot steps and strive to be recognized as elite. Her legacy will carry on."

The mutons and Ash call out, and drink. More drinks passed out, more names honored, and eventually Ash walks alongside the muton, out of the drinking hall and into the too-bright lights of the Presidium. "Thanks for inviting me," she says. Bereft of sarcasm, genuine.

Tsoriokos smiles and nods. "It gladdens me that you appreciate the ceremony," he says, "We keep the alcohol weak in these celebrations, so we can speak of many fallen. All of my crew, they all had children. Their children will carry on their lineage, much like you do."

Ash cocks an eyebrow. Walking alongside him, they pass an arguing pair of humans, a couple of Krogans trying to fish in the reservoir, and a Hanar, a giant pink jellyfish, being lectured at by a turian in C-Sec blues. "So what does that mean?" she asks.

Tsoriokos folds his arms over his broad chest, the purple of his uniform coat ruffling. "You are military. Like your father, like your grandfather before him."

Ash folds her arms and purses her lips. She opens her mouth to protest, which is, as according to fate, the point where the Hanar starts screaming.

"This one! This one has seen the face of the Enkindlers! This one has seen the truth!" The turian C-Sec keeps yelling at the hanar to move along, the Muton and human walking over. He just watches from the balcony, holding up a detached sniper scope. No rifle- just people watching. Everyone needs a hobby.

Kind of funny when a Hanar goes nuts.

"This one has seen the Metal Black and Anti-God! This one sees the song not sung, the sour note and silent chorus-"

Which is when the turian shocks the Hanar, dropping it like a wet pink bag of rocks. And the human starts yelling at the turian until the Muton separates the two. "Fucking Muton. Wanted to see a fight."

Wrex closes the scope and twirls it in his hand. Pushing off the balcony, he walks back into his safehouse on the Presidium. Into the darkness, red eyes scanning side to side. The lights were on when he walked out.

"I paid the utilities," he growls.

"That's correct. I turned the lights off."

Urdnot Wrex is many things. Unarmed is not one of them. No sooner does the voice speak than he has a pistol in hand, firing towards the source. One bullet hits and dings on armor, the other shots hitting air.

His intruder, his guest, moves. Fast, quick. A punch towards the throat designed to disable, not kill. Metal and leather drive into the side of Wrex's neck and he feels his nerves fire, pain flaring through the entirety his body before going numb.

He then grabs the wrist and swings his intruder into the far wall.

"Two spines, bitch," he growls, and changes out the pistol for the shotgun he keeps in biotic pull distance, "So, let's have a talk. Lights."

The lights comes on, florescent lamps illuminating the sparse room. The fake walls he keeps his special gear behind, the simple floating screen for his soap operas, and the couch next to his mini fridge. Standing across from him is a man- a humanoid at least, in long white robes and a large straw hat obscuring his face.

"Yeah I saw you," Wrex grumbles, "You walked by that hanar before he started ranting. You slip him something?"

"Observant. Good." The accent is weird. Posture's off. Wrex keeps his hand on the stock but pulls his finger away from the trigger. "You have instincts. Skills. I want to hire you."

He lifts off the hat. Wrex cocks an eyebrow.

"The fuck are you?"

The hand, the artificial hand, whirs when he clenches it. Sitting up on the hospital bed, Richard Jenkins examines his new hand- the artificial skin has been set over it, and when he pokes the fingertips with his real hand's nails he can feel pain- or an approximation of pain.

So it feels real.

He looks past the hand, at the two stumps resting under the covers. According to Alenko, the Titan suit was what kept him alive. And he was fighting well after anyone else would have collapsed from blood loss, and him being a...human wall like he that was the only reason they survived until the remaining Zudjari teleported out. Staring at the stumps, Jenkins listens to the sounds of the varied monitors, the floating screens that list off the amount of damage he took.

Enough that his military career is effectively over. "Mister Jenkins."

He glances at the door of his hospital room and stares at the woman who just entered. Then stares some more, and blinks. Tall, long black hair, and holy crap he must be dreaming. "Yeah?" he chokes.

The impossibly beautiful woman walks in- sashays in, every motion practiced and draining his will to question these circumstances. Draining it like with some sort of syringe. "Mister Jenkins, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Lawson. I'm from XCOM."

He makes a sound. Less a word and more a confused grunt. Holding up a datapad, she taps the screen, looking it over, the glasses on her face only accentuating the appearance of a drop-dead gorgeous scientist and Jenkins realizes it may be his newest fetish.

"So, you've been severely injured," she says, accent a purr running up and down his spine, "And your military career, as is, is effectively over. But, based on recommendations from Lieutenant Alenko, XCOM may have a use for you."

Jenkins nods. "Like...new limbs?" Well, he does have a voice. A squeaky voice.

"More than that," she says, folding the PDA under her arm, folding her arms under her chest, "We can rebuild you. We can make you more. I believe you saw one soldier who was in a similar situation when you were on Eden Prime."

Jenkins nods. The words click, and he remembers. Not robots, Alenko said.

Cyborgs. And so, Richard Jenkins says the words that are most appropriate to the situation.

"Even in death I still serve."

Lawson narrows her eyes. Her small, knowing smile becomes a straight line. "You're not going to die."

Jenkins shrugs. Lawson sighs. "I'm not the first person to say that, am I?" he asks.

Lawson shakes her head with a put upon groan. "No. No you are not. Bellator in Machina, Mister Jenkins." She holds out the PDA to him, with a long contract and waiver with a check box at the bottom. "Please go over the waiver before you-"

Jenkins clicks the check box. Lawson stares. And Jenkins looks past her to see, through the window of his hospital room door, Captain Anderson and Commander Shepard walk by.

As they walked, Jane listened. She listened to the reason why for some reason, Anderson was going to step down as CO of the Normandy, and she was going to be given her first ship command. Also, for some reason, Jane could focus on the story, and not the fact that she was going to be given a command. She, an XCOM dropout.

But she listens, walking with her commander along the white balconies of the Presidium, along paths she hasn't walked before. At least, hasn't walked without a leash and Chirples in a harness, walking with her companion along parks and lakes and taking in the nature and beauty of the heart of the galaxy.

"So, let me get this straight," she says, walking with Anderson through the doors, holographic letters above spelling out the name of the politician the hospital is named after this year, "You and Saren worked together. You were in Spectre training, and he sabotaged your mission, getting you drummed out of Spectre training." She taps her fingers against her palm, passing a female muton in doctors greens and two patients on hover beds she's pushing along.

Jane continues, holding up a finger. "And despite this being...ten? Twenty years ago? You think this will turn you into a vengeance obsessed and unprofessional maniac."

Anderson perks his lips, shifting the growing grin from side to side. They pass by a clear door, and Jane briefly glimpses a rather attractive woman talking with Jenkins.

"So," Anderson says, "Your opinion?"

Jane turns back to Anderson. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Bullshit."

Anderson's smirk becomes a smile. He nods, slowly, with a small laugh. "Yes. It is."

Jane props her hands on her hips. Almost as tall as him, considerably younger, Shepard still manages a presence. Which, when compared to David Anderson is much like a candle versus the targeting laser of a large gun, is still considerable.

"I can't tell you the real reason," he says, "Not yet. But I probably would have stepped down for this anyway."

He folds his arms, shuffling to the side. She does as well, a trio of waist high snake people followed by a proud Thin Man father passing by. "Shepard, I'm getting old," Anderson says with a sigh, "Sooner or later, I'm going to go from commanding a ship to commanding a desk. I'd rather that be on my terms."

"The Normandy costs more than some fleets, Captain."

Anderson nods. "Which is why I'm trusting her to you. I've already put through the commendations, Shepard. She's your ship, now."

He turns and continues walking. Jane sighs, slumps her shoulders and follows him, through the shuffling crowds of aliens and humans and doctors, and towards a particular hospital suite, where a familiar snake woman is waiting for them. "Chakwas," Anderson says, "Any change in status?"

Chakwas shakes her head, glancing from Anderson to Shepard. She cocks a hairless brow and narrows her eyes at Jane, giving her a verbose look that says, 'You'll tell me everything. And include alcohol.' "No changes," she says, opening the transparent door behind her and sliding in, "I'm not surprised. The doctors have fixed everything they could, but the damage was extensive."

Jane pushes ahead, past Anderson and next to Chakwas. Lying on the hospital bed, oxygen mask over her face, and the only sounds the faint beeping of the life support equipment, Tela Vasir rests. Within Jane, something wells.

Pity?

Sympathy?

Regret, for a potential mentor, potential friend?

"Oh what the fuck-" Chakwas yells out.

No, Jane realizes. It was not any of those things.

No, it was an enormous sphere of violet light. Mirroring her long time friend and doctor's sentiments, Jane has time to yell out the exact same thing before the darkness overtakes her.

Darkness becomes light. Becomes memory. Not her own memory, but something built into a deeper memory. I see, a voice says, but not her own, I see. Very interesting.

Jane Shepard opens her eyes and finds herself on a train. A nice, sleek, shiny train circling a shiny city which is shiny enough for her to figure out is a metaphor. Or maybe something from the Beacon. She opens her eyes, looks down, and confirms she is not naked.

She then looks up and locks eyes with the Ethereal sitting across from her.

"Bwha?" It is, when all is said and done, a mature and sensible reaction to the situation. "Abwha?"

For one thing, the Ethereal is naked. Cloakless, sans helmet, it has its two smaller arms folded on its lap, and its two upper arms draped over the back of the seat. Its four eyes meet hers, and its shriveled, mouthless face cocks to the side, waiting for her response.

The Ethereal is also glowing bright blue. Jane is silent for several moments. Maybe minutes. Then she puts everything together.

"Eidoleon Ialamos?"

Ialamos was the name of the body I wore, and with its death the name will be remembered, but is not my true name.

The Ethereal gestures towards himself. Herself? Itself? And nods.

This is my true self, my self as it is outside of flesh. Please, call me Asaru.

Jane blinks. She is reasonably sure this is all in her head but she blinks anyway. "Are you in my head?"

Yes.

She's silent for several more minutes. "Oh my god. You gave me a straight answer." She rests her face in her hands with a groan. "Anderson doesn't give me a straight answer but the Ethereal in my head does."

Asaru nods. This is faster.

Asaru gestures towards her. She looks up, and between them there form pictures. Images. Framed images. "What are you doing?" she asks.

Trying to understand. Through images.

The images flow by. Still images. Ones she recognizes. "Are you going through my memories?"

Nothing private. I am looking for pictures.

She blinks. They are framed. As in, she recognizes the framing. "Those are family photos."

Asaru nods. The steady stream stops. A picture of her family, before she was born. Before her mother was born. Her grandfather, his brother- the one who settled on Mindoir during the great colonization rush. But when they were younger, in the prime of their life.

With them are their parents- her great-grandmother and great-grandfather.

Interesting.

"What? My family? My great-grandparents were dead before I was born." She cocks her head to the side. "I know my great gramdma worked for XCOM when she was younger."

The New One approached you. Smiled at you. She avoids us, shuns us.

Jane blinks. "Annette."

Her name when she was like you. She avoids contact. There is something...

Asaru trails off. Another picture- of her great-grandparents. But younger. In their prime. A photo, but not framed like a family portrait. Rather, it is them. But there is also a stiff looking man in a green turtleneck, and an older man with receding white hair. Her great grandmother has a labcoat, and her hair is red, not gray, and her great grandfather...

Her great-grandfather is wearing a uniform. A gray and black uniform with a green sweater underneath the jacket, his own hair a reddish-brown and with a beard the same color. And Jane realizes she inherited some of his features. His nose, his smile.

Interesting.

"No shit," Jane responds.

The train, the metaphorical monorail, vanishes. Jane Shepard wakes up on the floor of the hospital room, surrounded by an equally flattened Chakwas and Anderson. She idly reaches a hand up, moaning from the headache.

"Well, you're just full of surprises."

A blue hand grabs Jane, and an awakened, healed, and hospital gown clad Tela Vasir pulls her to her feet.

Vasir was awake. Alive. Standing in the hospital room, and changed from her hospital gown and a green tunic and pants, arms folded and listening to Jane explaining what had occurred since the Beacon. Sans, of course, the Ethereal in her head or the fact that she could talk to her chryssalid.

"So the Quarian girl has audio evidence," Vasir says, counting off, "I have eyewitness testimony, and yours, and the video you got as well."

Jane nods. Vasir grins, and pads her fist into her palm. "Call up Vakarian. I wanna watch him giggle like a schoolgirl when he realizes we just nailed Saren. I'll schedule a meeting with the Councilors."

Jane nods, ear to ear smile on her face. She has a mentor. Multiple mentors, but one of her mentors is back. And approving of her, which gives her the fuzzies. Warm fuzzies. She turns to Chakwas and Anderson, opening her mouth to possibly repeat what Vasir just said in front of them, possibly to make some sort of declaration. She's not sure what.

But she notices that both of them- her friend and her other mentor, are standing several steps away from her and looking at her with concern. "What?" she asks, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Chakwas turns to Anderson. Anderson nods. And from a counter next to the door, Chakwas takes a mirror and slithers over, holding it up in front of Shepard.

Jane stares into the mirror. Her eyes go wide.

Her purple eyes go wide, in particular at the sight of both the purple eyes and the shock white hair. Her response is sensible, measured, and completely understandable given the circumstances.

She screams, loud, long, and at length. Followed by a short, breathy,

"Oh what the fuck."

End Chapter 2