Bias
The pilot knew right away something was wrong. He only absently noted the dim passageway that led to one of what seemed like hundreds of identical doors in the huge residential structure. Each door was numbered, but otherwise there was little of note in the cavern-like hall aside from the occasional pair of shoes, and - perhaps ironically - a wizened-looking plastic plant.
Led by the commander, Alenko stumbled a lot, trembling visibly as little shocks of dim blue distortion traveled about his limbs like agitated phantoms. Joker knew Alenko was prone to migraines, had been around when the lieutenant had suffered them. He seemed used to it, quietly resigned to his hardship in a way Joker sympathized with. A certain tightness would develop around Alenko's eyes, then usually he just grumbled something about auras before retreating to his pod or the med bay.
But Joker had never seen the lieutenant act like this before. The tension in his gut mounted as Shepard stopped at one of the numbered doors and entered a perfunctory code. Opening with a grinding sound, the portal led right into a kitchen and dining space, lit by yellowish ceiling lamps. There was a small living room next to it, and a short hallway. The air smelled of stale disuse.
Joker had never really been exposed to biotic powers- the rare few who joined the Alliance weren't 'wasted' on naval positions. Various anecdotes reported that many of them never missed an opportunity to show off their special skills, but Alenko was quite the opposite. There were few things in life that could honestly be said to arrest Joker's outspoken personality, but one of those was a strong aversion to treating a friend like a circus sideshow. He was curious, to be sure, but the lieutenant seemed disinclined to talk about it casually, and the pilot had no interest in pressing the issue. Perhaps it was the development of an unspoken understanding between them that the two men treated each other as just that, even though neither could claim to be normal.
But curiosity lingered still, mingled with concern, and so Joker trailed along after Shepard as she led Alenko through the tiny kitchen and down the hall to a bedroom. It was sparsely appointed, with bare walls and a shuttered window.
Shepard talked to Alenko in reassuring tones, but he seemed to be getting increasingly agitated. Something about the cadence of his voice seemed off to Joker, in a way the pilot couldn't quite put his finger on. Suddenly the lieutenant shoved Shepard away.
"Why aren't you listening to me?" Alenko demanded, backing into the room. "I... I can't do it."
Shepard cocked her head. "Do what? Look-"
"What is this?" the lieutenant said, looking wildly around the room through squinted blood-shot eyes. "Why can't I just go back to A-4? Is... is this another test?"
"No... Kaidan, it's okay, just calm down," the commander said, her voice betraying mounting confusion. "It's just friends here."
"Who the hell are you?!" Alenko rasped. His harsh breathing hissed between his teeth.
Shepard's face fell. "W- What?" she said in a stricken voice. She stepped forward, spreading her arms. "Kaidan, it's me-"
"Get away from me!" Alenko roared, throwing his arm out in a wide arc.
Joker had certainly seen mass effect fields before, but never this intimately. The air seemed to bulge as the wave of distortion traveled outward, rippling blue. Gravity betrayed him, slewing sideways in a sensation that was sudden and wildly disorienting. Joker had experienced changes in gravity on board ship, but they were controlled, and he had ample incentive to be sure his fragile butt was firmly strapped into a chair whenever it happened.
A kind of raw fear clutched the pilot, the voice of every nightmare he'd had about an a-grav field malfunction. Reflexively, he grabbed the jutting frame of the inset drawers and clung to it for dear life as his feet lifted off the ground and his body slammed hard into the wall. He heard a crash and bang of metal, and the lights flickered.
The distortion passed quickly. As his feet found the ground again, Joker opened his eyes, still supporting himself with his arms by the drawer frame. At the far end of the room, Alenko stood fixed and staring, his mouth half open. For a terrible second, Joker really thought Alenko would kill them both. But suddenly, the lieutenant's enraged expression crumpled, and he seemed to fold in on himself, reaching up to clutch his head as he backed into the far corner and slumped to the floor.
"Uh, Shepard?" Joker said tentatively, not really taking his eyes off the lieutenant. He could hear Alenko mumbling to himself, a disjointed string of miserable apologies and names Joker didn't recognize.
There was a grunt from the far side of the bed, and the commander appeared, doggedly pulling herself up. She wagged her head a few times, shaking herself as she looked around. She shifted her shoulders with a brief pained expression as she padded toward the pilot.
"Joker, you okay?" she asked in a low voice.
"That wasn't fun," Joker quipped. "I think I've decided I don't like flying unless I'm the one controlling it."
"Lucky for us, that wasn't a very focused hit." The commander bent down and retrieved his crutches. "You should go," she murmured, holding them out.
"Uh, yeah, no kidding." He took the crutches and edged out the door.
He made his way to the cheap-looking metal dining table in the kitchen and eased himself into one of the chairs. A sullen ache settled into his shoulder from hitting the wall. After a few minutes, he realized he was staring down the hallway at the door and tore his gaze away. He looked down at his hands, spread out on the table, and went through a little mental ritual that had been habit years ago, running through the evening's events and making himself feel grateful for the fact that none of it had resulted in broken bones. There was a time when he would repeat such an exercise at the end of every day, but he'd come to consciously reject it. It reminded him too much of living under his parents' overprotective thumbs.
At length, the adrenaline of the past hour drained away into weariness. He shrugged out of the suit jacket and put his head down onto his arms. Sometime later, he jerked out of a half-doze when he heard a door open, and Shepard came down the hall. She stopped at the entrance and leaned against the wall, her face blank.
"All quiet on the front lines?" Joker ventured.
"I managed to convince him to take something for the migraine, and he finally fell asleep."
"Was he still... confused?"
"Yes," Shepard replied, voice flat.
Joker drummed his fingers lightly on the table, unsure of what to do. Shepard's numb expression was unnerving. He had a certain idea of what must be going on underneath it, but was at a loss for anything to do that might help. Shepard was his CO, the bastion of cool that was always supposed to know what to do.
"Shouldn't we go to a hospital or something?" he asked after a moment.
A grimace flickered across her face. "We can't risk it. They're waiting for us. If he hurts even one person..."
Joker opted for another tactic. "Okay, is this where you tell me what the hell is going on?" The question came out harsher than he'd intended, but part of him wanted to get a rise from her.
Shepard exhaled, then came over to the table and sat down heavily. "Have you been watching the news lately?"
"No, I do my best to ignore the outside world," Joker replied with thick sarcasm, "it's bad for my complexion."
Shepard ignored the snark and continued. "Then you may have seen the report that came out about a month ago, about the biotic in Sao Paulo that killed three people?"
"Uh, I think so... L2?"
"No... 3. The autopsy report concluded he had a psychotic break, possibly linked to interference from his implant."
"I thought L3 technology was supposed to be stable," Joker said, frowning.
Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Then two weeks ago, it happened again. Beijing. L3, PLA specialist. Six dead. Official autopsy reports the same pathology as the Sao Paulo episode."
"Official..." Joker repeated with a twist to his mouth. He was starting to see where this was going. "And unofficially?"
"We finally got our hands on the real report three days ago. The man was loaded up with a massive dose of narcotic, some hybrid of Red Sand and amphetamines. We had some people look at the chemical breakdown, and it wasn't a recreational mix. It was specifically engineered to provoke aggression. We did some digging, and there were three other incidents before the Sao Paulo one that might be related. They didn't get much media play because they didn't result in deaths, but the MO seems to be the same. They may have been Cerberus' test cases."
"Who's 'we'?"
"A small group of internal affairs and Ns."
Joker frowned, absently scratching his abnormally smooth chin. "Okay. Is Cerberus trying to discredit the L3?"
"Think bigger," Shepard said. "A few news cycles of this, and it's the perfect time for certain Alliance brass to trot out their new biotics regulations, and encourage member nations to adopt the same measures. Maybe you didn't hear about it, because it doesn't really affect you, but every human biotic with any sense is paying attention."
The pilot was silent for a long moment. "They're spiking the punch, aren't they," he said finally. "Trying to bias public sentiment so they can get their legislation through."
"It isn't hard," Shepard said, an edge of bitterness in her voice. "The truth doesn't sell as well as the fiction. The worst thing is, they're also making good biotics doubt themselves. I can tell you first hand- the fear for your own sanity can be insidiously poisonous. It's this kind of toxic bullshit that's infecting people like Major Kyle, driving the wedge in deeper every day."
"I don't get why Cerberus would be putting resources into making laws against biotics. I thought they were all for biotics."
"They're all for controlling us," Shepard corrected. "Anything that divides us from the general human population serves their purpose- they want us registered and weaponized. Us against them. Can you imagine it? A kid the same under the law as a military-trained commando? Throw a punch at someone in a bar, and go to jail for felony assault with a deadly weapon, just because you have an implant? And if they rile up negative public sentiment enough, then whatever Cerberus itself offers a biotic is going to seem appealing."
Joker considered it for a moment. "And tonight could've been their coup de grace, too. Big party of rich people and Alliance brass, and a famous and notoriously stable L2 flips out and makes a mess..."
Shepard nodded, nostrils flaring with barely suppressed rage. "Godammit, I was so sure that if they tried anything, they'd come after me," she growled.
"Huh?"
"We weren't sure if they'd try anything at all tonight. But..." she stopped and swallowed hard. "When they played their hand we were all looking in the wrong bloody direction," she said finally.
Joker shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of the titanic effort Shepard was putting into clamping down on herself. "Well... you can't take on the dreadnought 'til you clean up the fighter escort."
Shepard fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare.
"Better him than you, really," he continued blithely, "Alenko's wound up so tight he probably follows orders even when he's drugged out of his tree."
The stare turned flintier, and for a moment it looked as if Shepard seriously contemplated how much inconvenience it would be to discreetly dispose of one brittle-boned corpse. At length, she pushed herself up from the table and turned away.
"Get some rest," the commander said. "Backup will be here in a few hours."
It wasn't much, but at least there was some steel back in Shepard's voice. Joker watched as she stumped into the living room and threw herself onto the smaller of the two threadbare couches, curling up in an unhappy-looking ball.
He sighed, a long and silent exhalation. It was going to be an uncomfortable night.