AN: Alright, I'm a little rusty when it comes to writing (sadly), but I'm going to attempt to create this story and keep it going. The beginning will be rough, because I'm running off virtually nothing when it comes to her life before Cerberus. Hopefully though, when it gets to Cerberus interaction, and the time that actually corresponds with Mass Effect 2, everything will be running smoothly.
All in all, this isn't going to be a cut and dry retelling of the game franchise, because Miranda has been sorely underdeveloped as a character, and far overdeveloped as a piece of ass for Cerberus to hide behind. Hopefully, starting from here and building forward, people will understand how I personally see Miranda, and I'll be able to form a better relationship between her and Shepard.
Like stated, I'm rusty, so if this and future chapters suck, forgive me as I try to get up to speed.
Her name was Miranda, and the name fit her well. Pristine, and only sixteen years old, she was the definition of beauty and the image of simple perfection. With skin forged from marble, and eyes cut from pure sapphire, she could slip a vice around the neck of any man, woman, and child she chose to enchant. With a winning smile, a mysterious personality, and a voice like velvet, every word she spoke was heard, and every wish she had was granted. She was spoiled, but not even her natural charisma could stop the torture her father put her through every night.
The warehouse she stood within was forged from the strongest metal known to man, and the ground below her was pure, rough concrete. Metal walls were placed all throughout the warehouse, and the lights that were mounted on the railings of the ceiling were dimmed to the point where she could barely see three feet in front of her. Nervous, her fingers clenched, and she felt the usual fire of her biotics circle her arms before the ominous blue glow painted her skin and circled around her as if the energy was a ferocious beast, curling around its master in hopes of protecting her from any form of danger. Logically, the doubts weighted down her mind as she recounted the information that human biotics were only so powerful, and that they leaned heavily on the amp that was placed within their neck, but in the presence of imminent danger, she knew she couldn't, and wouldn't fail.
The ground under her began to shake, and her head rose to view the hanging lights swaying back and forth. Vibrations shot through the concrete floor and went straight for her knees, making her wobble slightly, and pitch forward from the circle in the middle of the warehouse where she was always ordered to start. The second she straightened, she gasped, and watched as the heavy mech walked into the warehouse, and turned directly towards her. Raising it's cannon, Miranda quickly crossed her wrists, and threw up a small barrier before the mech shot a missile right towards her chest.
The force of the contact threw her backwards, and she cried out as she felt the concrete tear apart the skin of her back as she slid to a halt. The pain blinding, she quickly moved behind cover and clenched her teeth as the cool metal pressing into her torn back absorbed the numerous rounds of shots fired from the mech's main gun. Rising from cover, her biotics flared and she quickly overloaded the mech's shields, leaving it with only armor and its basic health meter. But the mech was a designed killer, and the failure of its shields activated something deep within itself that increased its rate of fire, and use of missiles.
Ducking back into cover, Miranda attempted to size up her situation, but the mech fired another missile that obliterated the wall she hid behind. Charging towards the other side of the warehouse, she rolled behind another slab of metal, but the sharp concrete grinding against her already torn back caused a shot of pain to pulse through her and cripple her thought process. Shaking from the stinging sensation, and eyes blurred with unshed tears, she pushed forward and attempted to lower her opponent's armor levels with one biotic shot after the other.
Stray bullets bounced towards her, and as she rose from behind the metal shielding, one of the high-velocity bullets slid right by her extended arm, and instantly tore the skin apart. Crying out in pain, she pulled her arm back and shrunk to the ground behind her cover. Clenching her teeth tight enough to cause headache, and pushing down the bile that was rising in her throat, she squeezed her arm before pulling her hand back to properly view the gushing wound. Torn flesh remained where flawless skin had been moments ago, and crimson, sticky ooze flowed steadily from the gash; slowly painting the concrete a sickening red-black color.
Grabbing for the bottom of her tank top, she ripped off a piece of fabric, and tied it around her arm. Head swimming, she turned back to her enemy and overloaded the mech once more, taking it's armor down to zero, and leaving it open for a final attack. Hauling herself to her feet, she remained out of sight, and waited until the mech was in a proper position before she fired her biotics and charged at the mech at full speed. Energy pulsed around her, and the pressure gauges routed through the warehouse tipped into dangerous levels as she slammed her glowing fists into the mech's hard shell and sent it crumbling to the ground.
Panting, she attempted to stand from her crouched position, but only managed to stay on her feet for three seconds before she fell to her knees once again. Weakly, she looked at the carnage of the mech and sighed, feeling weak and on the brink of passing out from the mass expulsion of energy. Even though she knew how to use her powers, they weren't her own, and one of the greatest scares of her life was the rejection of the asari eezo nodes that were imbedded close to her heart nine years ago. She remembered loosing the week after her surgery, and remembered waking up sure she had come back from the dead. She had slipped into a coma when she was seven, and she knew her father couldn't care less.
"End," the mechanical voice echoed through the warehouse, and the lights brightened; revealing that Miranda was beaten up more so than she believed. The entirety of her right arm was covered in blood, and red liquid still continued to pulse from the opening. Every slight movement of her shoulders sent tears streaming down her face, and her exhaustion and dehydration sent her falling forward into an abyss of black.
Henry Lawson sighed as he watched from the surveillance area attached to the training warehouse. Cameras zoomed in on Miranda's unconscious form, and he felt a vague sense of annoyance rising before he reached over onto a nearby consul, and pressed a small red button. In the far reaches of his facilities, the medical officials were alerted and mobilizing to retrieve his creation for the fifth time in the past three weeks. Beside him, an armed soldier stood silent and menacing in the shadows; his face covered by a helmet. Turning to view the soldier, Henry shook his head and ran a hand down his face.
"I don't understand it," he started, his Australian accent thick and saucy. "She showed so much potential...but she's growing weak."
"Perhaps your training is too difficult," the soldier replied with a voice darker than sin, and an almost evil accent that Henry couldn't place geographically. "Heavy mechs are tough enemies, sir. It usually takes three men or more to take one out."
"But you saw her out there, she was doing everything right, but slipped up enough to cause serious injury," Henry stated, moving closer to the window were he could look into the warehouse. Sighing, he watched as the doctors moved Miranda onto a stretcher and rolled her out of the room with haste and a plethora of medical equipment in tow. "This is happening far too frequently..."
"Lower the intensity of her sessions."
"No. That's no way for her to learn."
"Keeping the intensity that high won't keep her alive either, sir."
"If she can't manage to stay alive under my guidance, then she isn't perfect," Henry spat, turning on his heel and facing the soldier with blazing brown eyes. "She isn't some pitiful child I found on the streets and bribed into doing this. She is a creation, and one that is supposed to be better then any human born of normal birth. She is powerful, but the frequency of her injuries have proved...troublesome. No doubt she'll be better in a few days, and that Niket kid will keep her company until then, but...as the days pass, I feel like she isn't enough."
"What do you plan to do then sir?" the soldier asked, his voice unwavering and his mannerisms unaffected by the scientist's outburst.
"I'll tell you," Lawson stated, stroking his chin contemplatively, before he moved to the consul and projected surveillance footage of his lab on the wall. "As we speak, my newest creation is growing in a solution rich in nutrients needed to sustain human life. She is Miranda's genetic twin, but I realize that genetics are as much chance as science, and though Miranda is close, she isn't perfect. This one though...I think she's it."
"But what of Miranda? There isn't need for two perfect humans."
"No there isn't," Henry agreed, turning to the horrifying soldier that seemed to meld into the shadows around him. "That's where I'll need your help. In one week, Oriana will be prepped for extraction, and will be introduced to life in this world. She will be monitored for stability for ten days, and if she proves healthy, I will order the official requisition to have Miranda terminated. This will be your job, as will be the disposal of her remains. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
The lights of the hospital wing were blinding when Miranda opened her eyes hours later. Her body felt numb and her extremities refused to work as she attempted to reach for anything solid to pull her back into consciousness. A soft grunt left her lips, and the slightest turn of her head blinded her with a flash of hot white pain. Tenderly, she felt a hand on her cheek, and she groaned pitifully as she turned to see who was by her side.
As expected, it was Niket; one of the doctor's son who lived within the facility when his mother picked up a steady job caring for Miranda after her father's training sessions. He was dark skinned, with eyes as black as coal and scruffy black hair to match. He was a happy kid, and quickly befriended Miranda when they first met; taking her away from her boring nights sitting in her room and showing her the world that existed beyond the facility they both deemed as 'hell'. They spent countless nights on the roof, staring at the stars and talking about anything and everything that passed their adolescent minds. He was kind and caring, and every time she woke in the hospital wing, he was always at her side; holding her hand and caressing her cheek.
"There she is," he smiled as his fingers fell to link with her own. "Good morning beautiful."
A small smile touched her lips, and her fingers tightened around his own. "Hi, Niket."
"How are you feeling?" he asked, running his fingers along her arm in a gentle caress. "Do you need me to get my mom?"
"No, it's fine," she mumbled. "I'm still fuzzy from all of the sedatives. I can't feel much of my body except for my bloody back."
"I didn't see anything, but mom said it was pretty gruesome," Niket said sadly, his empathy for the poor, abused woman showing plainly on his delicate features. "You basically have road rash all the way down your back...except the concrete churned up your skin a little bit more."
"Thanks for the visual," Miranda huffed in disgust. "As if the pain wasn't enough."
"At least you didn't break anything, and that bullet to your arm didn't sever your brachial artery and cause you to bleed out. It was dangerously close, but a measly mech isn't going to take out Super Miranda, now is it?" he teased, absently playing with her fingers as she watched with hooded eyes.
"Yeah, well...I don't feel too super, and I'm sure my father doesn't either."
"Who cares what he says?" Niket asked, looking at her and tilting his head. "He may have created you, but everything you have become is your own accomplishments. You took down a heavy mech solely with your biotics. That's difficult for asari commandos."
"But I ended up getting scraped up off the floor," she muttered. "He'll see that as a failure. I do everything in my power to please him...but dammit, I'm not indestructible. And frankly, Niket...I'm scared what he might do because of it."
"Miranda...listen to me," he stated with a voice full of force. "No matter how crazy your father is, and no matter what lines he tries to cross in making you more perfect then you already are, I will always be there to protect you. Nothing, and I repeat, nothing will ever happen to you as long as I'm alive. Got it?"
"Got it," she nodded, smiling and tightening her hold around his hand once more before a doctor pushed their way through her doors and moved into her field of vision.
Standing side by side, it was obvious that Niket and his mother were related. They had the exact same skin tone, face shape, and deep coal-colored eyes. Not only that, but they both embodied a loving spirit that drove them to help anything and anyone that needed it. Their selflessness drove Miranda to envy countless times, but when she confessed her feelings to Niket, he was quick to tell her that she wasn't the one that needed to be jealous.
"Hi, sweetie," the woman she knew as 'Marge' said. No matter how many times she tried addressing Niket's mother with her professional title, the loving woman was quick to see her as her daughter, and demanded that she be called by 'Marge' and nothing else. "How are you feeling."
"Sedated."
"Perfect," Marge smirked, reaching up and tenderly running her fingers through Miranda's dark hair. "You took quite a beating today. I'm glad you woke up as quickly as you did. Are you feeling any discomfort? Your back, arm, or head bothering you?"
"I feel pain, and it's uncomfortable, but it hasn't reached the stage of 'unbearable' yet," Miranda murmured as Marge took care of her and Niket refused to let go of her hand.
"Well, I'm going to up your sedative dosage after a quick brain test. I want to make sure you passing out didn't damage anything, and that you're safe to go back to sleeping without a coma scare," Marge said, before she placed her fingers under Miranda's chin, and shined a bright light into her eye. After careful examination, she nodded, and pressed a button that allowed sedatives to travel through her IV and into her arm. "Get some sleep darlin'. You'll feel better soon."
Smiling softly, Miranda turned her head and drifted off to sleep, leaving Niket holding onto her hand and staring at her face that was marred by cuts from her fall. His mother settled a strong hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to her and smiled, before she turned to leave her son be. In a room full of silence, Niket brought his hands to his forehead and reveled in the feel of Miranda's cool skin against his own. Every part of her was soft, beautiful, and utterly perfect, but even after years of knowing her, he couldn't keep her out of the hospital.
Or out of his heart.