4.
"What the hell happened out there?" Jacob demanded as soon as Mordin and Jack wearily exited the decontamination chamber, pinning both of them with accusing, angry looks. He barely gave them time to answer before whirling around and walking briskly towards the briefing room. The instruction to follow him needn't be spoken, and the two returning squad members shuffled after him.
"Unexpected turn of events," Mordin replied solemnly.
"Understatement of the fucking year," grumbled Jack, looking just as worse for wear as the salarian.
"I need answers," Jacob barked, just as they neared the briefing room door and the airlocks whizzed open to reveal the entire squad waiting expectantly.
Jack had barely set foot into the conference room before she was blindsided and slammed into the wall so forcefully that the wind was knocked out of her lungs, hazy stars swimming before her eyes. A strong, leather-clad arm glowing blue with biotics pressed heavily against her throat, the lack of oxygen blurring Jack's vision further.
"Miranda!" Jacob shouted in alarm, the woman in question looking angrier than he had ever seen her.
The operative ignored him, blue eyes filled with rage as she utilized her enhanced strength and biotic energy to suspend Jack against the wall, the tattooed biotic's feet kicking and scrambling to find purchase. Jacob and the rest of the squad looked on in stunned horror; hell hath no fury like Miranda Lawson pissed off.
"I want every bloody detail of what happened out there right this second, or I will not hesitate to rip you apart," Miranda hissed, leaning more heavily on the arm braced against Jack's throat.
"I'd…like to see… you try… bitch," rasped Jack, one hand clawing at Miranda's arm in attempt to pry it off her. The other hand raised a chair from behind Miranda's back with her biotics, levitating it with the intention of slamming it into the back of the unsuspecting agent's head.
"Stand down!" Garrus demanded, signaling at Jacob and Samara for assistance. Jacob forcefully dragged Miranda away from Jack, and Samara easily took control over the floating chair with her own biotics, settling it back down on the floor with a thud.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Jacob accused as Miranda painfully shoved him off of her, after wrenching his grip from her arms.
"If the cheerleader's got a bone to pick with me, let her," snarled Jack as she rubbed her hand against the darkening red line bisecting her throat. Garrus shot her a warning look, standing nearby to restrain her if need be.
Running a shaky hand through her hair, Miranda struggled to control her breathing. "She," Miranda spat, waving an angry hand at Jack, "has singlehandedly jeopardized the entire mission. And the fate of the damned galaxy."
"You sure about that, princess? Sure it's not about how I just lost you your little sex toy?" Miranda's nails dug into the palm of her hand. "And how the fuck is this entirely my fault?" the other woman shouted, glaring just as hatefully back at Miranda. "You don't have a damn clue about what happened out there."
"She's right," Jacob affirmed, settling a pointed gaze on Miranda, who still would not keep her eyes off Jack. "We don't have time for accusations. We need to know what happened out there so we can figure out where to go from here."
"Agreed," Mordin said. He had remained silent throughout the chaos that had just erupted between the two women, but he spoke up nonetheless. "Communications links were unstable. Explanation needs to be fully-detailed." He looked towards Jack, who had settled to scowling with her arms crossed instead of throwing Miranda murderous glances.
She rolled her eyes when Miranda continued to glare at her, but when she spoke, Jack's face showed just a hint of regret. "We didn't lose Shepard," she said gruffly. "Not exactly."
Mordin nodded in consent. "Not lost. Taken."
"By whom?" Tali asked in trepidation.
The defiant look on her face disappeared, and Jack's gaze faltered to the floor. "The Collectors."
.
.
.
She dozed lightly, as if her mind could not stop vacillating between sharp consciousness and the blurry haze of slumber, hesitant to make a decision.
A swift, brutal kick to the stomach made the decision for her.
"Fuck," Shepard gasped, curling immediately into the fetal position and clutching at her gut. It felt like all of her insides had been launched up into her esophagus, like someone had taken a bat to her midsection, going for the homerun. She felt nauseous. She felt suffocated. And for the first time in forever, she felt afraid, once all of her fuzzy surroundings clicked into sharp focus.
The cold, hard ground beneath her was rough, a slimy dark brown covered in splatters of strange gray matter. The space was incredibly vast and cavernous. She could hear the sounds of her ragged breaths echoing. Shepard chanced a look upwards to confirm her suspicions, and when sights of what seemed like millions of orange-yellow pods endlessly spotting the ceiling, she knew exactly where she was: the 'abandoned' Collector ship from before.
"Shepard," rumbled a deep, growling voice. "I see that you are finally awake."
"That…tends to happen…when you kick someone that's asleep," she grunted, struggling to quell the urge to vomit.
The Collector, whose fragmented body glowed with an eerie burnt orange, and eyes lit up like bright headlights, chuckled easily. Shepard's heart sank.
"Human. Despite being nothing but a thorn in my side, I must admit your species does provide rather…interesting amusement," Harbinger noted, circling Shepard's prone form like a vulture over a carcass. The chirps of the Collectors watching the exchange seemed to taunt Shepard, their eyes not burning with the incandescent glow that the Harbinger-Collector's did, but shining with cruelty just the same.
With a nod of his head, Harbinger signaled for two observing Collectors to hoist Shepard to her feet, restraining her arms behind her back. Shepard grunted as the sockets of her shoulders complained, the muscles of her body strained and stretched in protest, and her weary legs refused to support her weight alone.
"I suppose it's a fair trade for how amused I'm going to be when I destroy all of you, once and for all," retorted Shepard with false bravado, voice breathless.
Harbinger tutted, feigning regret and shaking his head. "Your arrogance will contribute to your species' downfall, Shepard, just as your sentimentality contributed to your own."
Silenced, Shepard could only glare.
"Did you really think sacrificing yourself for your teammates would solve anything? They will die just the same soon enough. And so will you," taunted Harbinger, the circles he wandered around Shepard growing smaller and smaller in diameter. He paused, standing right in front of her, and Shepard felt like she was staring Sovereign in the face all over again. "All of this is futile, just as your failed mission was."
"It was not a failure. We got what we wanted," Shepard said defiantly, looking Harbinger straight in his dead, glowing eyes. She could only pray that the IFF went unscathed within Mordin's suit.
Harbinger looked at her for a moment, studying her. "Oh, Shepard. But they left you behind. Abandoned you," he said with mock sympathy. "And while you say they got what they wanted, they renounced what they needed." The solemn rumble of Harbinger's voice was interrupted by the resounding slap of the solid backhand across Shepard's face. "And what they needed was you."
The taste of her own blood filled her mouth. Harbinger merely laughed.
.
.
.
They came out of nowhere.
One second Shepard was blasting the hell out of the Reaper core while Mordin and Jack did their best to keep the husks at bay; the next, the core finally exploded, glass flew everywhere, and they all were tossed on their asses from the force of the blast. The husks had all disintegrated, whether they had been destroyed by Jack's shockwaves, incinerated by Mordin's flame, or killed by the explosion itself, and the only thing between the squad and the Normandy was the smoke and the trouble of getting back in time, towing the inactive geth the entire way.
That's when they came.
.
.
.
"We didn't know what the fuck was going on," Jack stated. "We just knew we had to get the hell out of there, and fast."
.
.
.
The entire Reaper structure itself began to rumble and shake, a loud, groaning sound reverberating around the room, as the gravitational pull of the dwarf star started to drag the derelict ship down.
"Move out," Shepard shouted.
Bits from the ceiling started crumbling down, as the three of them struggled and wobbled to their feet, and the sound of thousands of heavy, echoing footsteps suddenly broke through.
"We've got company," Jack warned as she hefted her shotgun back into her arms, already preparing to take aim at the unseen intruders. Behind her, Shepard and Mordin struggled with the dead weight of the geth as the footsteps of what seemed like an entire army grew louder and closer, almost enough to drown out the sound of the collapsing ship.
"Who the hell…?" Shepard muttered, staring suspiciously at the foggy entrance of the room. Suddenly the smoke cleared, and so did the Commander's confusion. She dropped the geth from her grip in surprise.
"Harbinger," she whispered.
.
.
.
"I don't understand," Tali interrupted. "How-"
"We don't know how they knew we were there, okay?" Jack said defensively before anyone could pin her with more accusing looks. The tattooed woman looked directly at Joker, accusingly. "And we don't know how they went undetected." He moved to protest, but Jack cut him off immediately, continuing. "The Collectors were just…there," she said flatly. "And there were a fucking ton of them."
.
.
.
Despite busily leveling his pistol at the masses of Collectors before him, Mordin still had to voice his thoughts aloud. "Too many to kill. Outrun them? No. Blocking entrance. Distraction? Implausible, perhaps—"
"In case you haven't noticed, this place is collapsing. We'll all die here if you don't get the hell out of the way," Shepard shouted to the possessed Collector-turned-Harbinger.
If Harbinger could smile, Shepard assumed that that was what it would look like on the face of a Collector. "We are limitless," he rumbled, as did the destroyed Reaper around them as it continued to crumble. "If merely one of us dies, a hundred more will replace him. But you, on the other hand…"
"Fuck this!" Jack shouted, letting loose a spray of shotgun shells at Harbinger.
They merely bounced off his barrier, however, and the hundreds of Collectors simply took aim at the three of them, holding their fire.
"Can you not see the inevitability of your fate, Shepard?" taunted Harbinger. "You will all die here. And soon, so will your entire species. You will have salvation through destruction by those infinitely your better." He paused, attempting sadness in his voice. "It is a pity, Shepard. You could have been useful."
Shepard looked as worried as Jack had ever seen her. The grip on her pistol tightened as hardened blue eyes stared into the dead, glowing ones of the Harbinger-Collector, and the muscles in her jaw visibly clenched.
.
.
.
"She just got this weird fucking look in her eyes," Jack said softly, staring unblinkingly at a spot on the wall behind everyone else. "I still don't know what the fuck she was thinking." The crew watched her expectantly as she swallowed with difficulty. "And then she just…"
.
.
.
The gun fell to the metal walkway with a seemingly deafening clatter.
"Shepard, what the fuck are you doing?" hissed Jack.
"Commander?" asked Mordin hesitantly.
Shepard ignored them, her gaze still locked Harbinger. "I could be useful," she said softly, approaching the hordes of Collectors and the possessed leader with determined footsteps. "If I go with you."
"Shepard!" Jack yelled, stunned.
"Stand down!" Shepard shouted without a single look back. "That's a goddamned order, Jack!" She slowed to a halt, standing in front of Harbinger with only a few meters between them. Shepard had never seen a live Collector this close, especially one possessed by Harbinger himself. The glowing eyes were just as unnerving up close as they were from a distance. He towered over her, the height advantage forcing her to look up at him. His barriers hummed from around him, the magma-like brightness beyond the cracks of his skin seeming to emanate heat. Shepard could not stop the sweat that dripped down her forehead, that doused her palms and the back of her neck. Despite her perspiration, Shepard had never felt colder or clammier.
"Commander, must extremely advise against-" Mordin interjected nervously.
"Here's the deal," Shepard said firmly, ignoring her teammate. "You're going to get the hell out of the way. You're going to let them leave right now, and I'm going to watch you do it," she said, gesturing towards Jack and Mordin.
"You are arrogant, Shepard," Harbinger noted calmly.
The smile she gave was devoid of any humor. "No. I'm telling the truth. Because I know that for whatever depraved reason, you value me. You could use me. You said so yourself." She paused for a moment, as if steeling herself for something. "I will go with you if you let them go. No funny business. No tricks. Just let them go, and you have me."
Jack practically foamed at the mouth, storming towards Shepard and the Collectors despite the Commander's orders. "Fuck if this isn't the stupidest idea I've ever heard, Shepard!" she growled, body already glowing blue with biotic energy. "You can't—"
Shepard whirled around, the look on her face the likes of which Jack had never seen. Her bright eyes spoke of determination and resignation, rage and devastation, control and helplessness; Jack suddenly felt three inches tall and twelve years old again, stuck inside a Cerberus cell and powerless. "I said," the Commander said in a soft tone that belied her conviction, "Stand down, Jack."
"I—"
Harbinger chuckled. "You realize what you are suggesting, Shepard?"
Jack and Mordin both felt as though they couldn't watch, felt the desire to cast their eyes downward in shame and resignation. But Shepard merely stared Harbinger directly in the eyes, and said:
"Yes."
.
.
.
There was dead silence throughout the conference room, and horrified looks covered the faces of all of the crew, save for Miranda's.
"You fucking bitch," Miranda hissed, her face contorted in rage. "How could you let her—"
"What the fuck else was I supposed to do?" screamed Jack in retaliation, sounding less angry and more defensive and hopeless that she had intended.
Mordin nodded. "Yes. Tried to dissuade the Commander, but—"
"It wasn't their fault, Miranda," Jacob said. "There was no other way, and Shepard made her decision."
"A damned stupid one at that," Kasumi muttered, shaking her head. "Oh, Shep."
"While most noble a sacrifice," Samara agreed calmly, "It was not very well thought out."
"Indeed," Thane murmured.
"Regardless," interrupted Garrus. "We need to do something. Shepard, if anything, bought us time. Tell me you still have the IFF," he said, turning towards Jack and Mordin.
The salarian produced the Reaper IFF from his dirtied suit, handing it to Joker wordlessly.
Tali stuttered, seeming to look for answers that none of them had. "There…but there must be something we can do," she said. "We can't… we couldn't just let her…oh, Keelah."
A wavering but strong voice broke the silence that overtook the room with a loud clear of the throat. "While Commander Shepard is-" Miranda's voice faltered here, and she visibly struggled for words. "—gone, I am the commanding officer aboard this ship. We don't know what they plan on doing with her—"
"The cowards might have killed her already," Grunt growled, pounding a fist in frustration.
"We don't know that," Miranda hissed in a brief loss of the composure she was so desperately trying to maintain. She breathed deeply through her nose, running a hand through her hair once again. "But…nonetheless," she said, in the same detached, harsh tone, "I…I will inform the Illusive Man immediately, and we will begin installing the IFF. You are all under my orders as of now, until—" she cleared her throat uneasily. "Until the Commander gets back," she added softly. "Dismissed."
And with that, Commanding Officer turned Acting Commander Lawson left the room without another word or another look.
.
.
.
"Insolent human. Do you see how insignificant you are, how pathetic your species is? What good was all of your resistance? Where has it led you?"
Shepard said nothing, focusing on breathing past the mind-numbing pain that consumed her, the agony that ate away at her mind. The wound on her shoulder steadily dripped blood, and her arm dangled listlessly from her side. A sadistic chuckle rasped over the sound of her ragged breathing.
"Don't you see?" boomed the deep voice. "You'll always end up on your knees, bowing before your betters." He knelt down in front of her, and she spat blood in his face in defiance.
In an instant, she felt the wind knocked out of her as he stood and swiftly kicked her in the gut, nudging her over after she jack-knifed towards the ground, grunting and feeling like throwing up. She wouldn't, though. And she wouldn't make a damn sound. She lay flat on her back, panting, while her working hand clutched uselessly at her stomach.
He towered over her, cutting an imposing, dark figure above her prone form. He lifted his foot, and let his boot rest gently against her bleeding shoulder. The slight touch alone was enough to cause white to blur the edges of Shepard's vision, but she could feel him steadily increasing the pressure as he lingered above her, and she was biting the inside of her lip so hard it bled. She would not give him the satisfaction of her cries.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Shepard?"
Furious blue eyes gazed defiantly up at him as she struggled to breathe, to remain conscious, but she said nothing.
If those eyes could even show expression, show emotion, they would show pity and derision. But instead, Harbinger merely said what in could only be construed as glee, "You will know pain, Shepard." With that, he put nearly all of his weight onto the foot that crushed Shepard's wounded shoulder, chuckling all the while.
Shepard screamed.
.
.
.
Miranda slumped into her office chair, telling herself that the sting of unshed tears in her eyes was only borne from the excessive amount of cigarette smoke that irritated them. She buried her hands in her hair, unblinkingly staring down the keyboard on her desk, until the door to her office opened.
"How did it go?" came the soft voice.
The Cerberus operative sighed, lifting her head up. "About as well as expected," she answered flatly. "He shouted. He chainsmoked. He threatened to fire me."
"And?" Jacob prompted, sensing that there was more.
Miranda leveled Jacob with a simple stare, her tone matter-of-fact. "And he stated that if I did not manage to get the Commander back, then on the off-chance we all survived the onslaught of the Reapers, he would terminate all Cerberus protection for Oriana. Not to mention reveal to my father where she lives and personally hand her over himself."
"Jesus," he breathed. Jacob settled onto the chair across from Miranda's desk, slumping into it as well. "Are you okay?"
Miranda clenched a fist. "How the hell do you think I am, Jacob?"
He held up a conciliatory hand. "Dumb question, I know. But about what happened before, in the conference room…"
She stiffened, a cool, detached expression coming to her face. "I admit that that was unprofessional. I would apologize to Jack if I didn't think she would kill me as soon as she saw me. It won't happen again."
Jacob looked at her dubiously. "Miranda, it's okay. You're talking to me," he said reassuringly, only to be cowed when icy blue eyes stared back at him.
"I know exactly with whom I'm speaking, Jacob. I don't need you or anyone on this ship to treat me like some grieving widow right now."
"I'm not—"
She exhaled sharply. "Operative, please continue your work on installing the new weaponry for the ship. And on your way back to the armory, check with EDI and update me on the progress of the IFF installation in approximately two hours."
Jacob hesitated to leave for a moment, looking unsure. "Miranda…"
When she looked at him again, it was like staring into the eyes of the woman he met years ago, devoid of emotion. "You have your orders, Jacob."
He nodded, biting back a sigh. "Yes, ma'am."
.
.
.
"Do you see, Shepard?" Harbinger asked, toying with the particle beam in his hands. "That little flesh wound I gave you earlier," he said, gesturing towards the caked blood on her shoulder, "is nothing compared to what I will do to you next."
"Go…fuck…yourself," Shepard gasped, struggling to sit up. It hurt to even think.
"I do not do this for my own entertainment," Harbinger reasoned, watching her as she managed to crawl the few feet over to the wall, leaning against it and panting heavily.
"Could've fooled me," she whispered, her voice rough from screaming. One of her eyes was swollen shut, and dried blood on her split lip made it difficult to speak. Her ribs creaked as she shifted, trying to find a position that didn't cause her more pain. There was none.
A deep chuckle resonated through the empty room. "Everything has its purpose, Shepard, even if you refuse to believe it."
"Like how destroying humanity has a purpose?" Shepard asked sarcastically. "Save it. Hearing you talk is more torture than the little love-taps you keep giving me," she taunted.
Harbinger shook his head, not rising to the bait. "To begin anew, all must be destroyed," he said ominously.
She snorted, a raspy, forced laugh escaping her. "So that's why you value me? As a little toy to kick around? Why didn't you just 'destroy' me on the spot? Aim for the head this time. Shoulder wounds aren't necessarily fatal, you know."
Laughing again, Harbinger approached Shepard's sitting form. "Oh, Shepard. You do not yet understand what plans I have for you."
"Enlighten me then."
He knelt so that his gaze was level with hers. "Your physical form is not what I value most," Harbinger explained. "It is your mind, Shepard. And soon, I will have control over it," he said gravely, bringing the particle beam up to her face, shoving it against her chin.
Despite the gun against her face, Shepard maintained her defiant, one-eyed glare. "Like hell you will," she hissed. "You'll have to kill me first."
"Something like that," Harbinger rumbled agreeably. "Remember, Shepard," he said, pulling the gun away. "To begin anew, all must be destroyed."
With that, he flipped the gun around and slammed the butt of it sharply against Shepard's skull with a crack.