Shepard was seated at the table, head in hands, when Scot once again entered the room and asked to sit down. This time, however, Shepard – stunned and bewildered after his conversation with Joker – offered no response, and Scot slowly pulled a chair out, keeping one eye on the door as he took a seat. The younger man waited patiently for the commander to speak, but after ten minutes or so, it became clear that Shepard wasn't in the mood.

"Is everything all right, sir?" he asked softly, again to no answer. After waiting another moment, he rose and headed for the door.

"Is it all in my head?" Shepard asked so quietly Scot almost missed it.

Scot sighed and moved closer to Shepard but hung back a little, not wanting to crowd him. "Only you can answer that, sir."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping me," said Shepard, looking up from his hands. "I need to know whether I'm crazy or not. Whether what I remember is real or not. And there are some things I can't remember and I need to remember them."

"You'll remember in time," Scot reassured him. "Right now, you're trying to make sense of what happened to you. You're adjusting to a new reality and your mind is fighting against that, because it was so set on the reality it was accustomed to. I know you feel horrible, Commander, but actually, the fact you're uncertain and questioning yourself is a good sign. Try not to be so hard on yourself. The answers will come, if you'll let us help you."

Shepard groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "So help me. You said that Leviathan-" He paused, remembering what Joker had called the mysterious duo. "Their names are… Radley and… Pickwick?"

Scot nodded, a smile slowly blooming on his face. "Drs. Pickwick and Bradley, sir. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that."

"Right. You said they were going to show me something I'd find hard to accept? When are they going to do that? And what exactly are they going to show me?"

Scot released a soft sigh and sat at the table, watching Shepard for a few seconds before he spoke. "I'd prefer for you to see it, sir, and make your own mind up. If I were to tell you, you might not believe it, or be willing to watch the footage."

"What footage?"

"The Normandy is in dry dock right now, and has been taken apart and reassembled. The engineers and techs found… well, as I said, you should see for yourself. Drs. Pickwick and Bradley are off-site right now, but are standing by for when you're ready to view the footage."

"They're not here?" Shepard questioned. "So I don't see their faces again? Who are they? Why can't I see them in person?"

Scot shrugged. "It's just the way things have worked out. I guess I can understand why you'd be suspicious. We'll be speaking to them today – if you're ready to view the footage – but tomorrow they'll be here. How about you speak to them tomorrow? A proper meeting with no sedatives or masks. You'll see they're regular people, just like us."

"All right," Shepard reluctantly agreed. "Well, I'm ready to see this footage, Scot. I'm willing to admit that I was wrong but I need proof."

"Of course you do. I don't expect you to take our word for it." Scot rose and gestured for Shepard to do the same. "I'll take you through to next door. Are we gonna be okay? I'm not going to need to restrain or sedate you, am I? And no, that's not a threat. I don't enjoy doing it, Commander."

"What can I do?" Shepard asked. "I don't have a weapon or my omni-tool."

"You have your fists, Commander," countered Scot.

Shepard looked at Scot's nose and left eye, which bore an angry purple bruise. "Yeah… I'm sorry for that," he mumbled. "I know that you guys – whoever you are – can shut me down pretty damn quickly if I try anything. Besides, I don't even know where we are and I can't open any of these security doors. Where would I go?"

Scot moved to the door and opened it with his omni-tool. "I can tell you where we are, sir. We're at the AMTC on Mars."

"AMTC?"

"Alliance Military Trauma Centre."

"Never heard of it."

"That's not surprising," Scot replied as they walked through the doorway. "There's still a stigma attached to PTSD and other mental disorders. All of our patients are treated in the strictest of confidence and, in the majority of cases, are returned to active duty. Outside of family, the only other person informed of the patient's treatment is their commanding officer. The fact you aren't aware of us simply means that none of your crew has been treated here."

"Wait. The only other person informed is the commanding officer?" Shepard questioned. "So how did Joker and James hear about it?"

Scot paused outside the door to the next room. "They were there, sir, at your debriefing," he explained. "They saw what happened. Before he left just now, Lieutenant Moreau told me that he and Lieutenant Vega didn't rest until they'd learned where you'd been taken. The only people aware of your stay here are those two, the asari Liara, and, of course, Admiral Hackett. Lieutenant Moreau said that he, Vega and Liara have fabricated a story to explain your absence to the rest of the crew."

"They're ashamed of me," Shepard mumbled.

Scot ushered Shepard through the door as it opened. "No, sir. I guess they felt that this is something you should decide to share with other people, or not, as the case may be."

The two men took a seat in the room filled with monitors, and Scot touched a few buttons on the console.

"Yes?" said a thin, crackly voice.

"It's Scot, sir. Commander Shepard has agreed to watch the Normandy footage whenever you're ready."

"All right, just give us a while. We're with a patient at the moment. Stand by."

"Yes, sir. We'll be here." Scot cut the comm and turned to Shepard, who was staring at him, eyes narrowed. "What is it, sir?"

"You say these two doctors are off-site? Isn't that a little convenient? And why was his voice all garbled?"

"It's the dust storms," Scot explained. "Communication's never been great on Mars, but we manage. There are other facilities here on Mars, and Pickwick and Bradley are in huge demand. They really are the best at what they do. Again, I can see why you're wondering about them, but there's nothing sinister going on here, Commander. I guess we should have put more thought into how you'd perceive things."

"What other facilities?"

"Well, in this unit we specialise in disorders associated with memory, paranoia, delusions and hallucinations. Drs. Pickwick and Bradley are visiting a unit where the patients are extremely disturbed and pose a high risk to themselves or others. Sadly, the success rate at that centre is not as high as it is here. That's part of the reason the doctors keep a low profile – they can't risk any of the patients learning anything personal about them. That shouldn't be a problem with you, however. You're doing really well, Commander, although it might not seem that way to you."

A lull took the conversation as they waited for the doctors. After some time, Shepard spoke again. "There's one more thing that's been bothering me."

"What's that, sir?"

Shepard held up his hands and looked at them and his arms. "Shouldn't I have been more severely injured? Look at me – I have a few scratches and bruises but I was hit by a Reaper's beam! And don't get telling me it didn't happen – that's one of the few memories I'm certain of."

"No one's disputing that," Scot answered. "You were very fortunate. You were caught in the blast but you weren't directly hit by the beam. You escaped with some surface burns as well as several other injuries. When you were first brought in here you were given skin grafts. You've probably noticed that the skin on your left side is quite pink and sensitive."

Shepard nodded in agreement but stayed quiet.

"Your biotic implant was destroyed, however," Scot went on. "It was removed completely and you'll have surgery when you're physically stronger, at a time of your choosing. That's why you can't use your biotics – yes, I had noticed you'd tried several times," he added with a knowing smile.

"Huh," Shepard muttered. "So you're still maintaining that I survived the Reaper blast and was uplifted to the Crucible?"

"We're maintaining it because that's what happened, sir. You were seriously injured, but you did make it."

"And I'll bet you don't have footage of that, do you?" Shepard challenged.

"Not of that exact moment. The Reaper was somehow interfering with communications, which is why an airstrike was out of the question."

"So how was I able to communicate with Anderson inside the Crucible?"

"Unknown, sir," Scot replied candidly. "We don't have all the answers, either. What I can tell you is that once the Reapers were destroyed, the interference lifted and Allied troops were able to gain access to the Crucible. We do have footage of that."

Shepard looked at Scot in alarm and sat forward in his chair. "Can you show me?"

"Of course."

"Wait… don't you need to clear it with your superiors first?"

Scot shook his head. "They told me to show you whatever you ask for, if we have it. The reason they want to be present when I show you the Normandy footage is because they need to explain a few things, and they want to be able to answer any questions you might have. We want you to have as much information as possible, Commander."

"Show me the Crucible footage," Shepard ordered.

"All right." Scot tapped a few instructions into the console and the monitors were filled with grainy images. "It's a little wobbly in places – the guy recording this can be heard speaking, and it's fair to say that everyone was a little upset."

"Why?" Shepard asked.

"Well, see for yourself. I have to warn you, Commander – there's footage of Admiral Anderson on here. You might find it… distressing."

"Play it," Shepard said curtly, mentally bracing himself.

Scot nodded once and entered a final command. The recording, fuzzy at first, finally resolved. Several humans – all wearing Alliance uniform – plus a few turians and krogans, were in the Illusive Man's command centre. Some were standing while others were crouched in groups around two prone bodies. A third body, which appeared to be a human male dressed in a smart suit, was unattended by the soldiers.

"It's no good, Major!" a frantic voice shouted from the first group. "He's been dead for-"

"I want him resuscitated!" ordered a human male with an English accent, who appeared to be the commanding officer. "This is David bloody Anderson! Understand? We are not going to lose him! We're not losing either of them!"

"That's Major Coates," Shepard observed, leaning closer for a better look.

"Sir, he's dead! We can't do the impossible!"

"Shepard! Commander Shepard! We've got him! Major, he's conscious! Wait – no, he's out again… Shepard! I'm Lieutenant Crosby! Can you hear me?"

"Major – I'm sorry. Anderson's lost too much blood. He's dead."

Major Coates rushed to the side of one of the men treating Anderson and crouched down, grabbing the admiral by the lapels. "David!" he yelled. "Come on!"

"Major! Shepard just said something!"

"What? What did he say?"

"I couldn't understand it, sir! He's in and out of consciousness!"

One of the men at Anderson's side clutched Major Coates's arm. "He's gone, sir," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry."

"I agree, Major," another medic added. "There's nothing more we can do. Please, we should assist with Shepard. We can save him."

Major Coates stood up, walked over to the Illusive Man's chair and stared at it for a second before kicking it, sending it sliding across the polished floor. "Bollocks!" he growled. "All right – the rest of you men see to Shepard." He then moved to the third body and glowered down at it. "Is this prick definitely dead?" he asked no one in particular, his tone harsh.

"Yes, sir," one of the soldiers replied with disgust in his voice. "It's a damn shame – would have like to have tortured the bastard."

Major Coates grunted, removed his pistol from his belt and unloaded a round into the dead man's body. "Just making sure," he said coldly before throwing the spent pistol at the corpse. "Talk to me."

"I think… I think we've stabilised him," one of the medics called, and Coates whipped around, quickly striding to Shepard's side.

"I need you to be absolutely certain, Lieutenant," Coates urged. "We can't risk moving him until it's safe."

"He's stable," echoed another soldier. "We're certain, Major."

"Right." Coates activated his earpiece. "Kodiak – we've got Commander Shepard for immediate evac. No. The admiral didn't make it. Yes, I know. Okay. Coates out."

There was a pause as the major waited to speak to someone else. "Coates here. I'm sorry, sir, but we couldn't save Anderson. Shepard's responded to treatment and is now stable and awaiting uplift. Yes, sir. All three men sustained gunshot wounds to the abdomen, which we believe caused the deaths of the admiral and the Illusive Man. I will, sir. Thank you."

Coates turned back to the men tending to Shepard and sighed. "Admiral Hackett wants you all to know how grateful he is for your care of our men. As am I. I know you've done your best. All right… let's get Shepard ready. The shuttle's on its way. I'll see to Anderson."

The major moved to the deceased admiral's side and knelt down next to him, Anderson's face clearly visible, while the activity around Shepard increased.

Noticing Shepard's rigid expression, Scot paused the vid. "I'm sorry, sir," he commiserated. "Would you… like some coffee? I'm going to have a cup."

Shepard silently nodded, not taking his eyes off the monitors. He didn't notice the coffee was in front of him until the steam from the cup began to tickle his nose.

"Well, sir?" Scot asked gently and carefully. "Do you still think we're making this up?"

Shepard reached for his cup and took a sip of the coffee, which tasted as bitter as ashes. He then set it down and moved a hand to his abdomen. "Who shot me?" he asked. "I don't remember that happening."

"We're hoping that you'll be able to tell us eventually, Commander. According to your original statement, you shot Admiral Anderson – while not acting of your own volition – and then shot the Illusive Man. How you got shot is a mystery."

"But I was shot," Shepard whispered in confusion, slipping his hand beneath his shirt and fingering the small, round scar on his belly.

"Yes, sir."

"When? How? Why can't I remember?"

Scot shook his head and shrugged, his eyes full of pity. "I don't know how, sir. But your memories will-"

"Commander Shepard, sorry to keep you waiting," said a voice through Scot's console. "This is Dr. Bradley speaking, and I have Dr. Pickwick with me. Are you ready to view the footage Scot has discussed with you?"

Shepard stayed quiet and glanced at Scot, who answered. "Sir, this is Scot. Commander Shepard is ready, but I should inform you that he's just viewed the footage from the Crucible."

There was a slight pause before Bradley replied. "Okay. And how do you feel about that, Commander?"

"I don't want to discuss it. I'm here to see this 'evidence' of my indoctrination."

Dr. Bradley cleared his throat. "Fair enough, Commander, you've waited long enough."

"You're the manager, right?" Shepard asked, straining to listen to the man's voice, which was distorted by the interference.

"No, sir, I'm the facility supervisor. Dr. Pickwick is the manager."

"I'm here," Pickwick added. "If you have any questions, ask away."

"Let's get started," Shepard directed briskly, feeling confident that what he was about to see was fake. His memories of the Crucible were hazy and dreamlike and he'd found it difficult to point out any contradictions or errors in the footage. He knew every inch of the Normandy, however, and was certain he'd spot something that he could throw back at these people.

"Scot, if you would?" asked Pickwick, and the young man again entered a command into the console, bringing up an image of Shepard's cabin.

"Pause that," Shepard said immediately, and Scot obeyed.

Shepard stood up and leaned as closely as he could to the screens, scrutinising every last detail. Of course Cerberus would know the layout of his cabin, but he'd changed several things since the Normandy had been claimed by the Alliance, so he would know whether he was seeing old footage or not.

As he looked, however, his heart began to sink. Just prior to the Normandy's leap through the Sol relay, Shepard had moved his private terminal to his bed, where he'd gone over the final fleet deployments. The laptop was exactly where he'd left it, as was his empty coffee cup. His N7 hoodie was slung across the back of his armchair, and his bed was neatly made as always. He very rarely slept in it anyway, as it seemed too big and empty – an indictment of neglecting a personal life in favour of his career. His well-worn couch bore testament to the many restless nights he'd spent on it, and his ass-groove – as Joker called it – was clearly visible and carved into the leather on the right-hand side.

Furthermore, he'd purchased a snapper eel on the Citadel only a few weeks earlier, and there it was, swimming happily around the aquarium.

The footage couldn't be more up-to-date.

He stepped back, panic gripping him around the throat like an icy claw.

"Commander?" Scot asked in concern.

"I'm fine. Begin playback," Shepard said around a bone-dry mouth, slumping into his chair.

The vid resumed and showed a section of the wall which had been stripped away, revealing the metallic framework, the endoskeleton of the Normandy. The destroyed wall was surrounded by a faint blue nimbus of light, similar in appearance to the biotic barrier Shepard was capable of erecting around himself and his allies.

"What's that?" asked the commander.

"Look closer," Bradley prompted, and Shepard craned his neck and squinted. "It's protecting what's behind the wall. Or, to be more precise, it's protecting the crew from what's behind the wall."

Shepard's heart momentarily seized up in his chest before beating wildly as his eyes found the top of a small, translucent sphere, which glowed with an iridescent, pulsing light. "What… what the hell?"

"Do you recognise that, Commander?" Bradley asked. "Several more of its kind were found throughout the ship."

"Where?" Shepard rasped.

"The shuttle hangar, Engineering, the CIC, the War Room and sick bay. There were others as well, but they were offline – either they'd malfunctioned or had been deactivated."

"What about the cockpit? The AI core?" Shepard asked, clinging to the hope that Joker had somehow become indoctrinated – therefore rendering the pilot's earlier words invalid.

"Nothing was found in either of those locations, not even an inactive orb, or whatever they're called," Bradley elaborated.

"And the crew quarters?"

"As I said, sir, we only found active orbs at those five locations."

"Okay. You said the shuttle hangar," Shepard went on, encouraged that his hypothesis about James might be correct. "Where Vega and Cortez spent most of their time."

"Apparently, Lieutenant Vega was the one who piqued the engineers' attention," Dr. Pickwick chimed in. "He was being treated by Dr. Chakwas for severe headaches – which she could find no cause for – and reported that they only seemed to occur in certain areas of the ship."

Scot glanced at Shepard, who fell silent, wearing a heavy frown.

"He wasn't the only one," Bradley continued. "Several staff members reported unusual headaches during the last few months of the Normandy's service. Most of them were based in the areas where the orbs were found. From our reports, Lieutenants Cortez and Adams urged the retrofit team to conduct thorough tests on those areas, as omni-tool scans had turned up nothing."

"Why wasn't I informed about this?" Shepard asked himself.

"Maybe the crew thought you had bigger concerns?" Scot ventured. "Our records show that you were being treated by Dr. Chakwas for eczema and acid reflux, which she believed were exacerbated by stress and lack of sleep."

"You have my confidential medical records?" Shepard demanded in disbelief.

"We have everything, sir," Bradley clarified. "Admiral Hackett wants his best soldier treated and returned to him ASAP, and will stop at nothing. I'm sorry if you feel that we're invading your privacy, but Scot could have a point. It's likely that your crew didn't want to trouble you."

"Or they considered me unapproachable," murmured Shepard with what sounded like regret in his voice. "Which is even more likely."

"They respect you, Commander," encouraged Scot. "That's what counts."

Shepard's eyes glazed over and he reached for his cup again, but did not drink from it, only stared at the contents. Yes, his crew respected him – perhaps a little too much. All he'd cared about was accumulating war assets and getting the job done, and he'd pushed himself and his crew hard to achieve that. Very hard. Yes, they respected him – if respect meant they snapped to attention and followed his orders without hesitation – but respect didn't occupy a chair next to him in the mess or fill his empty bed. Had he ever been there for his crew, or been a friend to any of them?

"Sir?" Scot prompted.

"Show me the rest," said Shepard wearily, his stomach roiling.

Over the next several minutes Shepard watched in silent horror as the rest of the footage was played, showing the discovery and containment of the orbs in several sensitive areas of the Normandy. "This couldn't have been accomplished by one person," he said aloud.

"That's what we thought," agreed Bradley. "It would have taken at least a small team to co-ordinate this. Commander – which of your crew had unrestricted access to these areas?"

Shepard clasped his chin and stroked his jaw as he narrowed down a list of names. "Several people… but there was only a handful who had top security clearance as well as access to all of those areas."

"Who, Commander?" Scot asked.

"Well, me of course, EDI, Lieutenant Adams, Chief Donnelly, Joker, if he had a mind to… wait. That doesn't explain the War Room. I was the only one with security clearance to enter there, besides any delegates or dignitaries we had on board."

"But the orb was found in the ducts beneath the War Room," Bradley pointed out, and Scot replayed that portion of the vid to remind Shepard.

"Then that only leaves the engineers," Shepard concluded. "Adams…" He shook his head. "No. Adams is Alliance through and through. He refused to join Cerberus. He's out of the equation."

"What about Donnelly?" Pickwick asked. "He was with Cerberus, as were EDI and Joker."

"And so was I," Shepard angrily defended. "EDI and Joker were not responsible for this."

"Those orbs were similar to the ones you found in Dr. Bryson's lab, with slight alterations," Bradley stated. "The only two crew members with you during your investigations there were Lieutenant Vega and EDI. If you're going to count Vega among your suspects, you need to count EDI, as well."

Shepard jumped to his feet and slammed his palm down on the console. "She was an AI, damn it!"

"So are the Geth," Pickwick pointed out. "Their relationship with the Reapers is well documented. And I need not remind you that EDI was originally programmed by Cerberus."

"Joker removed her AI shackles!" Shepard argued vehemently.

"Do you know that for certain, Commander?" ventured Bradley. "You only have his word for it. Is it possible that Lieutenant Moreau lied to you? That EDI lied to you? She was capable of deception."

Shepard turned his back on the monitors, his trembling hands clasped over his nose and mouth. Their claims were outlandish, but no more so than the accusations he'd levelled at James. Their argument ran through his head, and Shepard's assertions now sounded so paranoid, so… outlandish. He'd also accused Joker of joining Cerberus only because they let him fly. Well, that was true. But had Shepard needed much more coaxing than that to abandon the Alliance because they refused to believe the Reapers were a threat?

No. His reasons for working with Cerberus had been just as mercenary as Joker's. Cerberus had offered him unlimited resources, a ship and a crew, and Shepard had accepted them with very little argument. Anything to get the job done.

"Lieutenant Moreau has been with me right from the beginning," he said firmly, turning around and uncovering his face. "If he says he removed EDI's shackles, then he removed them. I assume the Alliance is investigating the discovery of the orbs aboard the Normandy?"

"That's correct," answered Pickwick.

"Then why the hell are you wasting my time trying to figure out who's responsible?" he demanded. "Let them do their jobs and, oh, why don't you do yours? Aren't you supposed to be demonstrating how I supposedly became indoctrinated?"

Shepard folded his arms and glared at the console, an indignant, righteous fire igniting inside him. The thought that Joker or EDI had been involved in some way was laughable. But that led him to a further conclusion, which did not sit easily with him: He'd been wrong about James.

These people were wrong about Joker and EDI, but the evidence they'd shown him appeared to clear the young marine from any wrongdoing – if the footage was real. Whether it was real or not, though, the evidence against James had seemed so compelling to Shepard only a day or so ago, but now it was flimsy at best.

Had these people – whoever they were – been right? Had Shepard suffered a breakdown of some kind? And was he now coming to his senses?

Or was he being manipulated? And for what reason?

"Here, Commander," said Scot, gesturing at Shepard's chair. Shepard took his seat and crossed one leg over the other, his body language and demeanour more assured than Scot had seen since the commander's arrival at the facility. "I'm going to play back some of your personal logs," the young man told him. "You might find what you're about to see disturbing."

"I'm ready," Shepard declared confidently, doubtful of Scot's claim.

Shepard's face, which wore a faint smile, flashed up on the monitors and Scot activated the audio.

"Vega has gotten a huge N7 tattoo on his back. Hell, I was enthusiastic about joining the programme but he takes it to another level. I'll keep his feet on the ground, though, and continue to tell him he's not all that. I doubt the cocky bastard believes me, though. I think he'll do great."

"What's so disturbing about that?" Shepard asked Scot.

"I'm just playing a couple of earlier logs, so you can see the contrast between them and the later ones."

"Okay."

The next vid showed a more sombre-looking Shepard, who stared out of the monitor for a minute before speaking:

"I did something today that… I don't know. If there is a hell, then I might have just secured my place there. It was necessary, though. I've been charged with accumulating as many Allied forces as I can, and that's exactly what I've done. This is my job. I'm glad Mordin saw sense in the end. I thought for a moment I'd have to… okay. That's enough. End recording."

"Next one," Shepard ordered, his tone defensive.

Sensing Shepard's discomfort, Scot quickly brought the next vid up.

"Got another damn headache. I snapped at EDI earlier because she kept asking questions about what humans would do in certain situations, and my head was pounding… ha, you already know this, don't you, EDI? She gave me a great comeback. Serves me right. I'm gonna eat in my cabin again today. I'm not sure I'd want to be around me at the moment. I guess this crew's getting used to the fact that their commander's an asshole. So long as they remember who's in charge."

Scot glanced at Shepard, who'd taken his eyes off the monitors and was examining his coffee cup, appearing troubled.

"You want me to play the next one, sir?"

Shepard nodded, heavy frown lines etched on his brow as he looked up.

"Can't sleep. My head… I-I dreamed about him again. The funniest thing happened. I was in Engineering earlier, not even sure why I was there, I just felt… drawn… well, I saw him on the walkway above the engine core. At least… I think I did. Maybe… maybe it was a dream? I need to get some sleep. Take some down time. But I can't. There's so much to do. I keep snapping at everyone. I see this look in their eyes, like they're automatons and they carry out my orders but don't really want to… I need to start instilling into people how important this mission is because I don't think they're taking it seriously enough. They're telling me they need shore leave. Well, you know what? The people of Earth don't get shore leave, and this is who we're doing it for! EDI, schedule a conference for zero six-hundred hours. All senior staff. They need to be told."

"That's enough," Shepard said quietly, and Scot paused the vid. "Okay, I was… rambling, there. And I was irritable with the crew. That's no secret. But it doesn't prove I was indoctrinated. Exhausted, maybe."

"Commander," Bradley said, re-joining the conversation. "Even then, you were showing signs of paranoia, and there's evidence of hallucinations."

"It could have been a trick of the light. Migraines can cause visual disturbances. I was getting a lot of migraines."

"Do you remember seeing the boy in Engineering?" Bradley asked.

"I'm… not sure what I saw."

"And you mention being 'drawn' to Engineering," Bradley added. "In later personal logs you mention being similarly drawn to other places on the ship – the shuttle bay, the CIC, even when you weren't needed there. A few times you mention finding yourself in the War Room with no clear memory of how you got there. There are more sightings of the boy. You also mention being drawn to sick bay but you fought against going there. Why was that, sir? Why didn't you tell Dr. Chakwas about the headaches, the hallucinations, the feelings of persecution? The blackouts, because that's what they were?"

Shepard blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. It just seemed… normal. I didn't question it. I… can see now that I was ill, but at the time…"

"Commander, all of those symptoms – headaches, paranoia, isolation, hallucinations, blackouts, irritability – as well as acceptance of those symptoms, are commensurate with indoctrination," Pickwick explained. "Sure, some of them can be explained away by physical or mental fatigue, but you were constantly drawn to the locations where the orbs were found, and often couldn't remember how you got there. We can show you more personal logs if you need further proof. There are dozens of them, and they don't make light viewing."

"No," Shepard mumbled. "I remember them. I…" He stood up and looked at the door. "I need to lie down. I don't feel-"

Scot sprang from his chair and caught Shepard around the waist as his knees buckled, and guided him back to the chair. "Sirs, Shepard needs some rest," he told his superiors. "He hasn't eaten anything."

"All right, Scot, take care of him. Try to encourage him to eat. We'll talk later. Bradley out."

"Why-why am I getting a headache now?" Shepard gasped, clutching his head as a searing pain shot through it. "I don't even have an implant… damn!"

"It's okay, sir," Scot soothed as he rushed to prepare a syringe. "I'm going to give you a shot. Please don't fight me."

"I won't, just make it stop," pleaded the commander, his face contorted in agony.

"Hold still, sir. It'll be over in a second."

~o~O~o~

Later that day

"I think he's ready for Hackett," the manager decided as they watched Shepard sleeping through the two-way mirror.

The supervisor folded his arms. "No. I disagree."

"Reasons?"

"Reasons?" repeated the supervisor. "Don't you think he's got enough shit going around in his head after what he's seen today?"

"Yeah, and this is exactly the right time for him to speak with Hackett. He's doubting himself. He's wondering whether we've been right all along. And have you noticed that he hasn't referred to us as Cerberus today? We need to capitalise on this. Talking to Hackett will give him his focus back."

"Not yet," the supervisor insisted. "At least let the poor bastard get some sleep."

"You seem to forget that we have a job to do here, and we don't have much time to do it!" argued the manager, squaring up to the larger man. "Do I need to bring the boss in on this?"

"Don't threaten me," hissed the supervisor. "The boss will say the same damn thing. Yeah, we need to get results, but not at the cost of Shepard's sanity. He said himself that this can't be rushed!"

"He said that, but I'm getting update requests from him every half an hour. He's putting the screws on us."

"I don't care what he's doing! Shepard is a person! Maybe your ambition has made you lose sight of that? He'll crack again if we're not careful!"

The manager pushed his jaw out in defiance but did not argue. "All right. Scot. You've spent more time with him than us. What do you think? Is he ready or not?"

Both men turned to the young man, who was standing a short distance from them. Scot moved closer to them and watched Shepard for a moment. "My opinion is, we should let him get a little more sleep and then some food. But… I also think he's ready. He's very strong-willed. This could give him the proverbial kick in the pants."

The supervisor glared at both men. "Okay," he huffed, moving to the door. "I'll just sit in here and shut the hell up."

"And while you're shutting the hell up, there is a problem in the Sol system, in case you'd forgotten?" retorted the manager. "We need to get Shepard's ass out there, not to baby him!"

"Whatever," came the reply as the door slid closed, leaving Scot and the manager alone.

"Have some food sent in," ordered the manager, "and wake Shepard up. Gently," he added sourly with a glance at the door. "I'll have Hackett on standby."