They charged.
Armoured boots clacking against the floor, tips of their batons glowing as they raised them over their heads, crimson lenses glowing...
For the briefest of moments Michael considered his options. Run back and draw them out? Defend through the doorway? He grinned. No...
He charged.
Shoeless feet thumping into the floor, broken pipe of what had once been a mech's arm held to his side...
They were armoured, armed, three. He was alone, dressed in nothing but pants and shirt, but at six foot two he was taller then those before him, bigger...and hungry for blood.
A lion charging the hounds.
The distance closed rapidly, yet memories still flicked before Michael's vision, memory upon memory of how he'd learn to fight. The brutality of the slums of Earth, the drilling training under the Alliance banner, the rigorous regime he'd put himself under after his failure at Elysium...
Yet at the end it was all instinct, partly drilled into him from his entire life...partly in his blood.
The distance shrunk between the two forces...and Michael was the one acting first.
Jumping to the left he placed his foot against the wall and kicked out...sending him hurtling towards the leftmost foe with a swinging right foot. The armoured foe tried to slide to a stop, to swing his baton down...but was too late to do either as Michael's heel struck him square in the chest.
With a shout the man was flung backwards, back hitting the window at the far end of the corridor with a loud crack of breaking glass before he with a thump bounced down onto the floor.
Spinning counter-clockwise with his momentum Michael brought his pipe up vertically, stopping the backhand swing at his chest from the centre-most foe's stun-baton an inch from his ribs. His left foot and hand moved forward, the former behind his foe's heel, the later gripping onto his visor. A sharp twist of Michael's body...and the armoured man was sent tumbling backwards with a muffled curse as he stumbled and fell.
The last one standing turned sharply from his charge, momentum lost with Michael's unexpected manoeuvre, turning to the right to face Michael his slashing swing lacked speed, making it easy for Michael to simply take a step back and let the weapon harmlessly pass his chest. The second swing had force though, a powerful backhand blow aimed at Michael's head...that struck nothing but air as Michael ducked low, pipe a blur as he smashed it forth.
There was a grunt as the twisted edge of pipe punched in between the armoured plates of his foe's right thigh...and then a strangled cry as Michael twisted the weapon in the wound and pulled it out in a shower of arterial blood...
The man fell, nothing but a dying wheeze escaping him as Michael ignored him, gaze moving up the corridor as he saw the man that had bounced off the cracked glass come running back, leaping over his still prone ally as he came down with a swinging baton...
Michael shot up straight...one quick step forward and he had moved within the swing of his foe, raised forearm of his left arm parrying his enemy's swing by the wrist...as his bloodied pipe disappeared in between his foe's visor and his throat. The crude weapon punched through the soft part of his foe's armour...before it with a crunch of breaking bones drove itself through the man's skull.
The ruddy lenses of the man seemed to glare at Michael, the two barely an inch away from one another...before Michael snorted and pushed his enemy away, letting the corpse tumble to the floor.
The last man was up though, right arm raising his stun-baton, chest heaving, red lenses afire...and his left hand moving down towards his holstered pistol.
Michael charged.
His left hand closed around his foe's wrist, stopping the descending baton from striking him as his other hand closed around his foe's throat, drawing a startled gasp from him even as the momentum of Michael's charge drove them forward...
Right into the cracked window.
With a crash of shattering glass the window gave way, sending the armoured man through the window...and with his left hand shooting out to grab Michael by the collar...him as well.
The room they were suddenly falling into was spacious...a large empty room save a line of lockers on Michael's left and right...he couldn't make out more as he hurtled downwards, drawing his knees up against the chest of his now flailing foe.
Someone shouted out a warning.
Then the pair crashed into the floor, the man underneath Michael crying out in agony as his spine snapped even as Michael rolled forward and with the impact, his knees only aching slightly as he came up in a crouch, finding himself inches from another person in similar armour to his foe. Only this one a woman, her red lenses glowing as she looked down at Michael in what had to be shock, the baton in her right hand hanging nearly limp in her hand.
And Michael could feel others around him, staring in shock, shock that would wear out in moments.
His right hand snapped out, gripping onto the woman's baton and jerking it down and to the left...right out of her hand. She called out, reaching towards the weapon...and Michael straightened with a backhand swing, catching her in the visor with a flash of light and a crack, the baton sending her spinning backwards.
Spinning clockwise Michael roared, drawing on anger to mute his confusion as he went at the still stunned foes. His baton caught a man in his armoured shoulder with a white light of exploding energy...and the foe went down even as a dizzying amount of movement occurred around Michael as the others leapt into action.
Ducking low Michael charged head first at the closest foe, head pushing in between the legs of the armoured man, his arms coming around each leg as he straightened, lifting the foe over his back as a flurry of descending batons came down...and the man on Michael's back screamed in agony...and then went silent.
Straightening fully as he moved forward Michael dropped his enemy and spun clockwise, backhand swing of his baton catching a lunging foe in the wrist, disarming the shouting woman even as Michael moved on, downwards aiming baton parrying another lunge as his left hand shot out to grab the lunging man by the shoulder...
A twist and the man fell backwards with a shout, his baton flying upwards...and Michael spun clockwise, left hand catching the weapon mid-flight as he ducked low under another foe's swing and slammed his right baton over the leg of his foe, then his newly acquired one into his abdomen... a wheeze and the enemy doubled over by the twin energy-discharges.
Shooting up straight Michael's left swung a backhand blow, smashing aside a downwards swinging baton even as his right was thrust straight into his foe's throat with an explosion of white energy.
He kicked out...and the now limp foe flew backwards and into a cluster of others, sending them all tumbling away as the one escaping the projectile came at Michael with a desperate cry.
Michael's left baton parried a downward strike up high, his right swinging round and into the woman's abdomen. She cried out...and her baton was sent flying by Michael's sweeping left weapon that swiftly came round to strike her in the leg, bending her...as his right baton came in a backhand swing into her visor, cracking it even as she was sent flying.
Ahead they were getting up, a total of five foes left...who inched back as Michael with a growl turned to face them...
One reached for his gun...and Michael lunged forth.
The closest made a desperate swing...and his weapon was caught between Michael's two weapons as he brought his leg up, smashing his foot into the thigh of the foe and pressing down. The man cried out, hand grasping at Michael's shirt as he was sent downwards...and only managed to rip it as Michael leapt over him, swinging wildly at the next hesitating foe, twin blows catching a black visor and sending the woman flying.
The two flanking the one drawing his gun both lunged...and Michael's batons swung inwards, catching the lunging weapons...pressing them down...then out...as he pushed in between the two and slammed the tips of his own weapons into the gut of both foes with twin cries.
The last man finally freed his weapon, the gun shaking as he brought it to bear...and Michael's right foot kicked out, catching the enemy's hand and driving the weapon up into the air...as the foe jumped to get it Michael slammed both his batons into the neck of the foe, sending him tumbling back with a dying gurgle.
Behind him there was a clicking of running boots...and Michael dropped his right baton as he reached upwards, catching the pistol as it came down, spinning round...and putting a round straight through the visor of the man that still held a torn piece of Michael's shirt in his one hand...
The man fell with a thump...and revealed a distant door, opening as three more foes came forth, their red lenses glaring at Michael as they aimed their pistols at him.
Silence.
The three didn't move, weapons levelled at him.
They're armoured, three on one, no cover...no way to miss...what are they waiting for? Michael bared his teeth in a defiant snarl, finger closing on the trigger. I did not bow before Sovereign, I will not bow to strangers.
And ahead he heard a dark murmur of their radios: "Neutralization authorized."
The three tensed, gripping their weapons tighter as Michael prepared to once more greet oblivion...defiant and shooting.
Then the one in the middle and to the right were violently pulled back, shouts escaping their visors as they lazily drifted up into the air, dark blue biotic energy surrounding them. The last flinched, began to look back...only for him too to be surrounded by a field of dark blue energy...that suddenly pushed inwards...
A scream and the man fell to his knees, then thumped face down onto the floor...as the flying two flailed...and fell to the floor to the sound of two shots.
Michael didn't lower his gun though, curiously eyeing the suddenly changed situation...or rather...the pair moving towards him.
One a dark skinned man, clearly built solidly under the dark bodysuit he wore – Michael recognised it as lightly armoured though, and no doubt carrying a shield-generator – the pistol in his hands raised next to his near shaven head as he regarded Michael with the calm look of a trained soldier.
The other a woman with the face of an angel...and the body of a demon, badly hidden under her white bodysuit...sporting a cold look on her face as she with an arched eyebrow took in the incapacitated soldiers around her as she kept her weapon trained on Michael.
Both suits sported the Cerberus insignia on it however...and Michael's grip on the pistol tightened.
"Well..." The accent of the woman held a tone of upper class in it...and arrogance. "...I see that the reports about our subject's...aptitude weren't all...exaggerated."
"Identify yourself or die." Michael growled, not interested in admiration of his handiwork.
The woman's head tilted back, the eyebrow arching even higher as she regarded Michael with cold blue eyes, showing no fear under his glare: "You are in simple clothes, have no omni-tool and no biotic powers, you cannot win."
"So thought Sovereign." Michael retorted evenly, then nodded down on the floor. "And so thought these guys."
A little smirk appeared on the woman's lips at that, but no answer as she leant back on her heels, pistol staying aimed at him as the two held their ground.
Silence.
Then the man speaking, voice calm and curt: "Miranda, we're not here to fight him." Michael's eyes darted from the woman's, ignoring the way she smirked at her perceived victory as he looked at the man, the brown eyes looking back stoic as he spoke: "Commander Shepard, I'm Jacob Taylor, this is Miranda Lawson, Cerberus."
"I got that." Michael's gaze flicked down to the marking on Jacob's bodysuit. "A lot of trouble to kill me...and here I thought digging the body up so one could kill a foe again was just a saying..."
"You know you died?" Jacob asked, lowering his weapon with a surprised look on his face.
Burning...cold...no air...
Michael blinked, then nodded, holding back a shuddering breath as he growled: "I remember yes, and now I'm here...didn't know one could bring people back from death...but I wouldn't put it past Cerberus and their mad science. Rachni, Thorian zombies, biotics...and now bringing back the dead, quite a resume."
A small snort escaped Miranda at that, the dark-haired woman shaking her head as she slowly lowered her gun, the way she held Michael's gaze making him lower his in turn, if only to disarm the situation. Can always charge later...lowered tension benefits my position... "I gather you disapprove of this massive project to bring you back to life? By the reports I've read I thought you would appreciate a second chance."
"Depends on who gives it." Michael replied. "Now, who are these types? Your henchmen?" He gestured at the bodies littering the floor...and tensed as a small laugh escaped Miranda.
"These?" She snorted, a small foot kicking out at one of the corpses. "No, someone let them in...and hacked every mech in the damn base...someone now dead." A cold smile appeared on her lips at the remark.
"He made a bad choice then." Michael dismissed the cold smile, irritated. "Now...who...are they?"
The two Cerberus officers exchanged glances...then shook their heads as Jacob replied: "We don't really know."
Miranda shrugged, not sounding all that interested: "Possible the Shadow Broker's troops..."
"Shadow Broker..." Michael tensed, memories flicking by, memories of a Volus offering information from the Shadow Broker...helping. "...why would he attack me?"
"We don't know." Miranda shrugged again, tossing her hair back, frowning in irritation. "The Shadow Broker and Cerberus had quite the struggle over your remains...we're unsure what the Broker wanted...profit perhaps...you should be grateful, the Illusive man has spared no expense in bringing you back."
Illusive man... Michael blinked, remembering the stacks of reports he had read of Cerberus when he had fought them...there was nothing good in any of them. "I'm sooo grateful...except there's always a reason...isn't there?"
Miranda stayed calm...but Michael noticed how Jacob awkwardly reached up to rub the back of his neck. The woman just tossed her hair back though, coldly regarding Michael: "Why don't you ask him then? This station is going down in flames, not that it matters, we would bring you to him anyway."
"Bring me huh?" Michael retorted, grip on the pistol tightening. "And what if I don't want to?"
"Then you can stay here." Miranda replied with a defiant toss of her head, gaze moving up and down him with cold amusement. "A sad waste of two years of work and so many billions..."
Michael felt...cold.
"T-two years...?" He blinked, taking a step back, baton falling from his left hand even as his right tightened on his gun. That's not...memories didn't all happen yesterday...but two years...! "Th-that can't be..."
"You weren't in the best of shape when they brought you here, Commander..." Jacob replied, shrugging even as he eyed Michael carefully. "...it took a while."
"I..." Michael lowered his head for the first time, feeling...tired. All...gone...my friends...they think I'm dead...they have thought so for ages...and the Council...Go-no...I...my fight with the Reapers, they will no longer even be half willing to...I...dammit...Garrus...Tali..."...see."
"Shepard, we're in a hurry." Miranda growled. "More of these troops will arrive soon and even if they fail to find us the base is falling apart, we need to leave."
Only silence answered her.
An exasperated sigh. "Shepard, decide, now."
Decide...choose...I...have to choose...
Michael tensed, arms tensing...as he struggled.
Reapers still exist, but...no God...no reason...no...friends...all...no...they live...and I will keep them alive...I do not surrender...
Silence.
And to fight I must leave.
"I will come with you..." Michael looked up, narrowing his eyes at the angelic woman that might as well have been made of cold marble...an equally cold smile on her lips. "...for now."
The smile died, turning into an irritated frown.
Jacob however spoke calmly: "Fair enough."
Michael nodded to them in turn.
"Then lead the way."
8
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8
Thanks to Abydos Jackson for always being ready.