As I write this note, I'm in Singapore and having the time of my life. I'm cramming as much as I can into every day, since this isn't exactly something that happens often. Unfortunately the downside is that I get less time to write, which is why this update is a little later than my normal pace. Still, I found the time to put this up while still here, so that's something.
A lot of people made a fair point when they responded saying that ME3 was the point where they missed having more characters, not ME2. Wrex needs to be where he is, Liara becomes busy when she takes on a tasking mantle, I really don't like Ashley, and Garrus signs on anyway. So you're right, not a lot to change in this particular segment. I think I might try to make their "guest appearances" more awesome though. Maybe find a way to get Wrex in on the Mordin mission. I guess time will tell.
Disclaimer: I don't own ME or HP. Anonymous reviews will be removed without exception.
Note: I'd like to thank Philosophize, who continues to help with my writing process. The idea for Harry's mindscape was his, so if you liked it, you know where to say it.
A slight breeze wafted through the deserted street he walked down, playing with his already unkempt hair with a ghostly touch. The houses he walked past seemed to be bustling with activity however, filling the air with a cacophony of lights and sounds. They were decoys, of course, designed to lure in those that would intrude upon his domain without invitation. What would happen to intruders if they entered one of these houses would...not be pleasant.
His eyes did not even attempt to mask the sense of sorrow and nostalgia he felt as he walked through such a familiar road. Memories reared their heads, unbidden and uninvited. But this was his domain, the one place where he could push them away firmly without fear of repercussions. And he did so. Now was not the time to be overwhelmed. He had work to do.
The houses seemed to be numbered with a glaring oversight, for immediately after #11 was #13. It was as if the street itself had forgotten that a house numbered #12 once lay in their midst. This too was his design, for that was the house where the path to his true memories lay. Recreating the effects of a Fidelius had been all too easy when he had progressed far enough in Occlumency. It helped that for the master Occlumens, his mind was his realm solely. Here, he was the secret keeper. And the secret had never been passed to another.
Even as he focused his intent, a disturbance was created between #11 and #13. It was as if a house had been squashed between the two of them, and now fought to resume its own shape once more. Wood flowed like liquid, clawing between the houses that imprisoned it. Even as the houses on either side seemed to move away, the wood resumed the shape it was meant to take, forming the bones of a ghostly house. Then color and stone began to flow through the skeleton, and what finally stood before him was a house, dank and intimidating. He could never bring himself to make it more cheerful. That was not how things had been after all.
He dithered on the threshold of the house for a few seconds, before finally working up the nerve to push the door open.
Dust. Every inch of the interior was filled with a thick coating of dust. Cobwebs seemed to take the place of tapestries, hanging copiously everywhere his eyes turned. His heart fell to his stomach. This was what he had been afraid of - nay, dreaded. His mindscape was in a state of complete and utter disrepair.
The Crossroads was a place of stasis. As a part of Death itself, they were as harshly unchanging as the entity was. Death would never change - not at its core, and neither would the crossroads. It was why souls could never stay too long in the Crossroads. The very essence of a human was dynamism. New stimuli, thoughts, feelings, desires and connections - a lot or all of these were at the very essence of the human experience. Indeed, of all living experience. He was certain that Death dealt with the souls of all lifeforms, though it had never said as much to him.
Well, I suppose the dust does make it look more like the original. Though that was before the Weasley mother got there. The woman knew how to clean, I have to admit he thought to himself wryly. Sirius had gone into shock at seeing the mansion look so clean. It had come as a consolation when Lupin announced that a few reclusive dark creatures still roamed the mansion. "Makes it feel more like home" he had announced jubilantly, making the Order stare at him as if he were mad.
A mindscape was much like an engine. It ran well while there was a steady supply of fuel - in this case, new memories, experiences and emotions, among other things. That supply had dried out over the centuries he had spent at the Crossroads, throwing his mindscape into the state he saw before him.
Well, first things first.
His eyes strayed to a large portrait of a sleeping woman. The woman was dark-haired and highly intimidating, even in sleep.
If Sirius had known the day would come when I'd voluntarily wake the old hag up, even a mental construct of her...I would say he was rolling in his grave if I didn't already know better.
He slammed his hand forcefully into the wall near the portrait, waking the sleeping woman with a start. Immediately she swelled imperiously, insane eyes darting around her as she cried:
"FILTH! SCUM! DIRTYING THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS!"
Then her eyes fell on him, whereupon she literally looked close to exploding with rage.
"YOU! SPAWN OF MUGGLE-LOVING FREAKS! DESECRATOR! I OUGHT TO-"
He rolled his eyes and muttered "Mute." Immediately the sound was cut off, leaving her gesticulating wildly as she mouthed even more obscenities. She was the addition to his mindscape he could never quite get used to. But as a sentry, she was unmatched. Any intruder into his mindscape would not make it past the threshold undetected while she kept watch, for in the end, she was a creation of his own mind and could not betray him.
"Right. Guarddog's awake. Now, I need some help getting this place back into shape," he muttered as he looked around the mansion. He had added two other intelligent facets to his mindscape. Two friends who had stayed with him until the very end, when he had made the decision to depart from the living world. Two friends who had insisted on being added to his mindscape, that they might help him even in death.
"DOBBY! KREACHER!"
His voice echoed through the silent halls for a moment, before the house elves appeared in front of him with simultaneous cracks. His heart constricted slightly as he saw the familiar sight of Dobby bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement, even as Kreacher looked at him with a slightly surly expression. That had never changed, even when the two house elves had been been some of the oldest beings alive after a point.
"Nasty master finally be remembering us," muttered Kreacher, earning an ugly glare from Dobby.
"Harry Potter be greatest wizard ever! Black house be nasty. Cutting elf heads off!"
"Good master not let us sleep for hundreds of years," shot back Kreacher, making Dobby's ears droop slightly.
"Dobby be bored and alone," the normally cheerful house elf admitted, staring at the floor fixedly.
He looked at the two of them with amused exasperation. He had taken hours to ensure that these facets of his mind were as close to the original as possible. Their personalities, everything. But at the end of the day, they paled in comparison to the actual house elves, for they were merely crafted out of his own mind as part of his mindscape.
"I'm sorry I forgot you two. BUT I do have a helluva present as an apology!" he finished grandly, gesturing at the mess that surrounded them.
"This all be for Dobby?" asked Dobby, surveying the dust and dirt around him with wide eyes.
"Master be bribing us with work," muttered Kreacher, though even he looked marginally less surly at the prospect of working once more.
He grunted as Dobby tackled his leg with a hug, determined to squeeze the life out of his limbs in a show of affection.
Maybe I shouldn't have made them too much like the original.
"Harry Potter really be best master ever!"
I never could understand how they're excited by the prospect of work he thought amusedly as the house elves sprang into action. He had built them into the very core of his mindscape, which meant they could help him build it back up to the mark. Of course, it was really a part of his own mind rebuilding the rest of it. The mechanics of creating semi-autonomous entities within his mindscape confused even him at times, for theory had not exactly been the focus in the middle of a war.
The kitchen door bulged ominously as he drew close to it, as if it was barely staying closed. He edged towards it gingerly, having a good idea as to what was straining against it so heavily. Even as he drew close, the door fell open of its own accord.
A flood of angry-red letters burst into the hallway, the kitchen no longer able to contain the full amount of the letters. He almost yelped, but managed to contain himself at the last minute. This was how alien memories or information was presented to him. It was a system he had devised for when he used Legilimency on his enemies, looking for information about hideouts or names or anything else he could use.
Well, when I came up with the system, I wasn't expecting a lifetime's worth of memories to enter my mind at once he thought plaintively. Each letter had to be opened and inspected before it could be integrated with his mindscape. Voldemort had waged mental warfare like no other, and sometimes even memories had been set as dangerous traps, designed to implode within his mind when inspected.
Wonder how snakeface is doing in his special little place in the afterlife he mused almost fondly as he surveyed the massive pile of letters he had to sift through. Death did not take kindly to people who tried to cheat it.
Resigned to his fate, he picked up the first envelope. The envelope immediately burst into a silvery flame, burying itself into the mental projection of itself. A wave of memories washed over him. Memories of a childhood spent looking into space from an intimate distance, of a childhood surrounded by soldiers and discipline. The child - no, he had always wanted to be a soldier. Military blood ran through his veins, as did the voice of command.
He opened his eyes as he allowed the memories to assimilate with his own. It was disconcerting, to suddenly feel like he had lived two different childhood. On the one side, his own childhood full of neglect and cruelty. On the other, a childhood in an environment where he had been loved, though never coddled. But he could no longer identify one as his own and the other as someone else's. Both childhoods were his now, as contradictory as it was to his rational self. This was what it meant to truly assimilate another's memories as his own. Hannah Shepard was now his mother, as much as Lily Potter was also his mother.
He shook his head and picked up the next envelope. This would be one long Occlumency session.
Captain's Cabin - Normandy SR2 - 7 AM
"YES! I AM NO LONGER HARRY OR SHEPARD! I AM...SHARRY!"
"Shepard, you appear to to be exhibiting verbal signs of delirium. Shall I send Dr. Chakwas to assist you?"
"...No, EDI, thank you."
"Very well, Commander."
"Hey, EDI?"
"Yes, Shepard?"
"Any chance you can keep this little incident just between the two of us?"
He cranked his neck to either side, hearing satisfying noises that alleviated the stress his muscles were feeling. He had used the entire night to work on his mindscape. Strangely, his mind did not feel tired or sluggish. Occlumency never brought with it the fatigue that would have followed a night of continuous work, for reasons he had never concerned himself about. Pondering such questions had always been Padma's terrain, and he hadn't wanted to encroach upon her territory.
Who am I kidding? I just sucked at trying to figure those questions out the voice in his head rebutted mercilessly, even as he strapped on his armor. The casual clothes available in his locker had been twice the amount of awkwardness, with none of the protection that the armor offered. Luckily, they were almost upon Omega, or so Kelly's message to his terminal had read. The horrible casual clothes could be replaced when he landed.
Kelly Chambers had been a contradiction from the moment he had met her. She had broadcasted absolutely no negative emotions, and if anything, was honestly excited about being part of his crew. But the function she performed put him on his guard heavily. Psychology was rather scary, in a way legilimency was not. While far more inaccurate, it could be a deadly tool if wielded correctly, as it relied on things his Occlumency could not block or control. Above all, it was impossible to dislike someone who was so...earnest and open.
Well played, Twinkle Eyes he thought bitterly as he finished strapping on his armor. He had no doubt that Kelly was serving a hidden agenda, even though she herself was unaware of the fact. That she wasn't conscious of it just ensured that he couldn't ignore her or treat her with hostility.
Very well played, twinkle eyes.
The sight that had most worried him at first had in fact been the least problematic. Joker had been so relieved to see he was alive that he didn't even seem to notice that Shepard was different. Or perhaps he had, but chalked it down to two years of being dead. Either way, Harry had enjoyed the camaraderie with Joker greatly, especially the pilot's dark sense of humor. So long as he didn't do something too out of character, he was safe as far as the pilot was concerned.
He moved swiftly to the elevator, feeling more in control than he had in millenia. He had been able to completely assimilate most of the information left over from Shepard's time, including muscle memory. He now felt like the inhabitant of this body, rather than a visitor. The one part of Shepard's mind he hadn't touched was the part where Shepard's moral codes and outlooks on life were housed. That stack of envelopes was still in his mindscape, untouched. He didn't want to sacrifice the outlook on life he had now, for his own outlook was the product of centuries, while Shepard's outlook was merely the product of a couple of decades. His own might be more cynical, but it was also the more tried and tested outlook.
Well, leaving that aside, I now have a mother who's still alive. That's weird he mused with some amusement as he as he reached the galactic map. Chambers was already at her station, looking as cheerful as ever.
She's got enough goodwill in her to make up for all the others on the ship he thought amusedly, remembering the interaction between Miranda and Kelly when they had first boarded the Normandy. It had been such a stark contrast that he had burst into laughter, which did nothing to endear himself to Miranda, though it had broken the ice with Kelly, who had looked to be in awe of him for the first few minutes. It reminded him uncomfortably of the Boy-Who-Lived period of his life.
"Commander!" Kelly greeted brightly, though she was noticeably more formal than she had been before, "We're about to dock at Omega."
"EDI, what's the status on Jacob and Miranda?" Harry asked easily, nodding at Kelly. He was rather excited by the prospect of having more people on the team - people who weren't quite as affiliated with Cerberus as the Cerberus agents were. Jacob had told him straight out that he had never fully trusted Cerberus. Harry's regard for the man had increased exponentially after that. Blind trust was never a good thing, for it reminded him too much of the Order. Without questioning and innovation, they had only proved to be a temporary obstacle for the Death Eaters.
"I have informed them both. They will join you when you are ready to disembark."
"Thank you m'love," he responded cheerily, while Kelly shot him an amused look.
"Somehow I imagined Commander Shepard being more...well, strict," she informed him.
"Only when it's necessary. And sometimes for fun," he winked mischievously. He was definitely in a good mood today, not surprisingly, for it had been the conflict within his mind that had made him irritable and distant. With his mind in order, he found himself thinking more clearly, especially as far as the world he was in was concerned. Now he knew what each term signified, and would no longer confuse galaxies with solar systems, or a thermal clip with a "heat weapon thingy".
That was an especially embarrassing one he pondered idly as he flicked through his "private" terminal that was no doubt bugged by at least a few people in Cerberus. The Illusive Man appeared to have sent him some weapons and armor, clearly a gesture of goodwill. The correspondence from specific people he left for later, though the name 'Anderson' caught his eye before he stepped away from the terminal.
I can't keep avoiding these people. I'm going to need every single one of them and more if I need to beat these Reapers.
Even as he thought of the word 'reaper' he felt an ancient rage burst into a sun-like radiance within him. Death was not happy with these entities taking upon its work and perverting the boundaries between life and death.
He was more confident about interacting with these faces from the past now that the level of his assimilation with Shepard was very high. Indeed, he was Shepard in a lot of senses. But first, he had some recruiting to do.
"EDI, send me the dossiers of the people I'm gonna have to find in Omega. Oh, and a spot of tea for for the shuttle please."
Omega appeared to be a slightly more advanced version of Knockturn Alley. Harry immediately felt more at home as his mind made the association. For as much as that alley had been a place of fear for him the first few years, it had become an invaluable part of the war against Voldemort. It had not been too long until he felt completely at ease as he strolled through Knockturn alley. And now he found himself looking at a much larger version of it.
They had only just begun venturing into Omega, when already they found themselves being approached by a batarian. He was clearly an enforcer of some sort, if his gait and the reaction of the people around him was anything to go by. He smiled slightly at the sight, but otherwise ignored the batarian even when he had all but run into him. This seemed to ignore the batarian immensely. He was probably not used to being ignored on Omega.
Jacob looked as stoic as ever, but Harry had the feeling that he was not comfortable in the least with his surroundings.
It makes sense. Jacob has lived the life of an honorable soldier. Everything in Omega must go against his principles.
"Blasted scavengers," growled the batarian, waving away the many life forms that had already begun to surround them, no doubt seeking to exploit them in some manner.
"I've heard better opening lines," he deadpanned, seeking to bait the batarian some more. Anyone who couldn't control themselves well was not worth his time, not in the long run. The true reins of power would always be held by those with control.
"Welcome to Omega...Shepard," sneered the batarian, pronouncing his name as if it would be a great blow to his confidence. It was a well thought out move, for both Miranda and Jacob looked visibly surprised that his presence had already been detected in Omega. But he knew full well the power that these criminal communities possessed - an information network that could rival even military organizations. It was why criminal presence had been tolerated so openly in Magical Britain.
"You have me at a disadvantage, buddy," he replied with false cheer, showing no visible reaction to his name, "And I don't think you'd take kindly to any of the generic names other races call you."
There it was, a flash of anger. Batarians had always held a grudge against humans, he knew as much from John's memories. Miranda had the ghost of a smile on her face. Clearly she knew what he was trying to do.
"Moklan," the batarian replied tightly. It took him a moment to realize that he was introducing himself, and not cursing him in a different language.
"Well then, to what do we owe the pleasure?" he asked easily. He had poked at the batarian for long enough to get an idea about the kind of personality he had. He would no doubt need the aid of Aria T'Loak - there was no doubt that she was the power in Omega - for him to navigate Omega effectively. So he wouldn't outrightly turn anyone hostile. Not yet, at any rate.
"Aria wants to know what a dead Spectre is doing in Omega. I suggest you make Afterlife your first stop in Omega."
She must really be used to instant obedience. I would hate to disappoint her he thought with mock sincerity. He could not afford to present the image of a subordinate. But he didn't have to tell Moklan that.
"Well why don't you run along and arrange for refreshments, and I'll turn up there in a few minutes," he dismissed Moklan brightly before walking past him. To Moklan's credit, the batarian didn't try to physically stop him.
"Well done, Shepard," Miranda spoke in a low voice, "Keeping them on their toes."
His eyes widened at that, and he was glad the duo behind him couldn't see his surprise. He actually had seen to it that a bottle of wine had reached Miranda for her performance on Freedom's Progress, which had softened her stance towards him, but only slightly.
I...I'm going to pretend that never happened he swore to himself shakily. Perhaps the fumes on Omega had gotten to her.
"UGH!" grunted a voice, and his eyes flicked back to the sight in front of him. A man in a yellow and steel-like armor had just kneed a batarian viciously in the stomach, causing him to drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. A man who looked a lot like a dossier he had been sent while on the shuttle.
"That's one of the potentials, Shepard. Zaeed Massani. Brutal son of a bitch," Jacob spoke in a low voice, distaste clear in his tone.
"You Zaeed Massani?" he asked blandly, wishing heartily that this particular batarian had been Moklan. Wouldn't that have been a sight to see.
"Yeah, that's me," the man replied gruffly, turning around to face them.
Soul brother! Harry's inner voice called out, recognizing the familiarity of Zaeed's accent. It was one he had not heard in a very long time.
Right. Calling a stranger my soul brother is creepy, even by my standards he snorted internally as he studied the mercenary. He was rather old, which meant he was one hell of a soldier. One did not get to age in the mercenary lifestyle without being good at what they dead.
"Heard we have a galaxy to save. What a pain in the ass," continued Zaeed, turning back and kicking the batarian to make sure he was down.
"Escapee?" Harry asked conversationally, ignoring the batarian's plea for help.
"Yeah. This one pissed off the wrong people. Jellyfish, most of 'em. Easy money," he grunted, facing Harry once more.
"Saving the galaxy also means a legendary payoff, Massani. Do this, and it's a few less jellyfish you have to fish for."
"You don't have to tell me. Your Illusive Man can move a lot of credits. Enough for me sign up for a suicide mission."
Harry snorted. He gathered most of the people in the know felt the same way.
"I don't know about you, but I'm not planning on dying just because we need to do what no one's ever done before."
Zaeed laughed harshly, "You're alright, Shepard. Let me just get this one squared away."
He gestured to the batarian with the pistol in his hand, and the unfortunate mark staggered to his feet, still looking disoriented.
"I assume the Illusive Man told you about our arrangement?" Zaeed asked him, making him frown by a miniscule amount. He tilted his head slightly in Miranda's direction.
"He thought it would be better if you heard it from the horse's mouth, since you have the final call on hiring," came Miranda's usual tone. He nodded slightly.
"Picked up a little mission before I got contacted by Cerberus. Vido Santiago. Leader of the Blue Suns."
Even without actively using Legilimency, Harry could feel the hatred and anger radiating off the mercenary. It wasn't poisonous in a way that it had taken him over. Soldiers often developed a funny way of holding on to anger and revenge without letting it overpower them. It made some of them great fighters. But this emotion was old. Rooted. And directed at this Vido Santiago.
"He captured this refinery on Zorya and he's using the workers there as slave labor. The company wants him gone."
"And you need my help to do it," affirmed Harry. It wasn't a question.
"I'm good. Hell, I'm among the best. But I can't take out an entire bloody occupying force. So if you need me on this little mission of yours…"
"Fair enough," agreed Harry, even as the batarian prisoner began to run away, no doubt thinking that they were too engrossed in their conversation. Zaeed brought up his gun immediately, but Harry struck first, hurtling biotic-like energy that hit the batarian, making him collide into the nearby wall.
"Saves you a shot," he shrugged. Zaeed nodded and began to walk towards the escapee, "Better turn this bounty in before it tries to jump off a railing. I'll be locked and loaded next time you need me."
"I like him," Harry informed his squad cheerfully before proceeding to walk deeper into Omega.
"Not sure that's a good thing," Jacob muttered as he followed behind.
Harry grimaced as the bartender placed a glass in front of him, with what passed for firewhisky inside it. Dust and grime coated the glass so thickly that he had no idea what the original glass had looked like. The bartender knew him well, but it was certainly not reflected in his service. Perhaps it was better. A clean glass in a place like this would stick out like Albus Dumbledore's style statement, or lack thereof.
"I wonder if these bastards actually buy these glasses this way," grimaced Neville, surveying his own glass with distaste.
"It would explain why all dirty glasses look uniformly dirty," Harry muttered as he gingerly pushed his glass away from him. He wasn't here for the alcohol anyway.
"Oh please," snorted Neville, pulling out a hip flask that contained the liquor he distilled from his own greenhouse "You love this place."
"It's one of the few places where people don't give a shit about who you are," shrugged Harry as he took in the noisy ambience with a peaceful look on his face. It was a disproportionate expression, for a bottle had just smashed into the wall near him, showering the wooden floor with pieces of broken glass.
"They also don't give a shit about anything else. Unless they actually physically-"
"Don't...complete that sentence. Please. We all know those blots on the walls aren't decorative paint," grimaced Harry, all traces of the previous peace gone.
"Just be thankful we have cleaning charms," muttered Neville, taking a small sip from the hipflask.
"Got a smoke?" came a third, slurred voice, and the duo turned to face Mundungus Fletcher, who looked as much a pile of rags as ever as he stood near Harry's seat before sidling into the empty chair between them. He immediately reached for the glass of firewhisky Harry had pushed away before downing it in a single gulp.
"But not even your overpowered cleaning charms are going to make a difference here," Neville spoke acerbically as he surveyed Mundungus. Trying to steal a Longbottom heirloom was not the best way for anyone to endear themselves to the Longbottom scion.
The bum-like man chose to not acknowledge the remark in any way. Perhaps it was fear from the consequences he had faced after the attempted theft. Harry had never seen a Venomous Tentacula be used so...creatively It was hard to read the thief's facial expression, given that most of his face was covered with wrinkles or hair.
"Got yer ruddy information," Mundungus muttered as he searched the pockets of his patched overcoat, bringing up items that looked vaguely illegal as he did so. It was nothing Harry didn't already have. Cones of silence were predominant, not surprisingly so.
"Anytime you're ready, Dung," Harry spoke idly, gesturing to the barmaid to refill the thief's glass. Fletcher actually functioned better with alcohol than without, which was something of a miracle given that his profession required stealth.
"Ah screw the paper," Mundungus gave up, preferring instead to accept the refill that the barmaid charmed to their table, "Madame Valerie says to tell you she accepts your offer."
Harry suddenly sat up straight, green eyes gleaming with intense focus. There was no trace of the idle man who had lounged in the dingy bar. Neville was no different.
"What changed? The last time we contacted her, she told us she had no interest in taking sides."
Mundungus looked uncharacteristically serious, "The Death Eaters. A low level one entered her business, chose a girl. Thirty minutes later, she found that girl tortured and dead in one of the rooms. The Death Eater was sloshed outta his mind, yelling about how scum had no place in the new order that would begin soon. He's...dead now."
"I told you that was one woman you didn't want to piss off," Neville shuddered slightly.
"Amen," Mundungus nodded earnestly, "Found that out the hard way when I...Anyways, she tells me they started it, and she'll be damned if she doesn't finish it. All the information she gets is yours. From her establishment and others. You've got the entire network boy. And all because one idiot Death Eater thought they didn't matter."
Now magic began to swirl around Harry's form, wild magic that moved with a life of its own, flaring with an intensity that made the air thrum. The barmaid looked as if nothing was happening out of the ordinary, while the patrons were too drunk to care. Choosing this place as a base had been one of his better decisions.
"Neville my friend, the war is already half won."
Harry sighed as he surveyed the situation around him. Music beat into his eardrums with a primal pulse, and colors ducked and wove around the dark room in a way that was hypnotic. And there were the batarian bodyguards who were holding him at gunpoint. Miranda and Jacob had responded enthusiastically with their own weapons. He ignored the scene around him, preferring instead to look serenely at Aria T'Loak, who was simply surveying the scene before her with indifference.
"I doubt you invited us to your er...headquarters just to hold us at gunpoint," pointed out, shooting a glare at a batarian who shifted his gun even closer to Harry's face after he spoke. He was tempted to melt the gun through his hands, but resisted the impulse.
Asari. Beings who possess some form of Legilimency. Thankfully, they seem to need physical contact and lots of concentration to do that.
His heart clenched as his mind brought up how John knew this. Liara T'Soni. John had loved her, and it had left its mark on his body. But love was an emotion connected to the soul, so while Harry would feel greatly affectionate towards the asari scientist, he would not love her. He tore his mind away from the subject, for it raised issues he had no idea how to handle. And the asari in front of him was perhaps one of the most dangerous beings in the Terminus systems.
"Maybe I'm whimsical. Maybe I decided to cash in on the many, many bounties placed on you by people you pissed off," Aria spoke softly, eyes glinting dangerously as she surveyed them. He couldn't risk using Legilimency on her, not without knowing whether or not asari could detect it.
"Maybe you will at that," he replied evenly, "But money is hardly a problem for the ruler of Omega, is it?"
At this a faint smile made its way to the asari's lips, and she sat down delicately, surveying him for a few seconds longer before finally gesturing to a seat next to her. Immediately the batarians holstered their weapons and returned to their positions. Apparently the drama was over. He signalled for Miranda and Jacob to stay at a reasonable distance, and they did so, though they continued to survey the batarians warily.
"I hear you run the best information desk on Omega," he began brightly, seating himself comfortably on the couch.
"I don't run anything," Aria cut across him, laughing slowly though there was no mirth in her eyes "I am Omega. But of course you need something. Everyone needs something. And that's why they come to me. Ruler, queen, information desk, I don't care what you call me, as long as you remember the one rule you need to follow on Omega."
She IS Omega? Do they even make clothes in the planetary size? spoke the snide voice in his mind, but he resisted the impulse to voice the thought out loud. Something told him Aria didn't get to where she was with a sense of humor.
"What's the one rule?" he asked curiously.
"Don't. Fuck. With. Aria." she spoke slowly and clearly, authority lacing every syllable. There was no overt hostility, only power. His expression grew serious in response.
"Wouldn't dream of it, unless you give me reason to. Like trying to kill me or my people," he responded coolly, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Normally I'd call that suicidal," Aria hissed in response, and the guards on either side of her tensed.
"But. I know of your capabilities. So tell me, what brings you to my territory?" she finished, and the hostility left her poise as she leaned back against the couch. Immediately a server climbed up the stairs, bearing drinks he didn't know the name of. He wisely left them untouched, preferring instead to focus on the remaining people he had to hire.
"Doctor Mordin Solus. I know he's on Omega, but I don't know where," he began. It was the optimal place to begin, as countermeasures depended entirely on his capabilities.
"The salarian," replied Aria immediately, a smile on her face, 'I always liked that crazy bastard. He can shoot you as easily as treat you."
It's the salarian Madam Pomfrey! shouted his inner voice.
"The entire area he's in has been quarantined because of the plague. Good luck getting in, better luck getting him out. He's trying to cure the plague," she finished off handedly. He frowned. This made things complicated. He would need to learn more about this plague as well as the quarantine measures before he could even attempt to retrieve Mordin.
No plan survives first contact huh. I want to smack the guy who said that he sulked internally, but was already moving on the next question.
"We heard whispers that Archangel is in Omega. Some sort of trouble with the mercs?"
Aria laughed harshly, "Trouble is understating it. This guy pissed off the Blue Suns, the Blood Pack and the Eclipse. He's been raining hell down on those bastards, but the way I hear it, it's only a matter of time before they get him."
Right. That moves him up the priority chain. Anyone who can piss off three mercenary groups is gonna be a great addition.
He stood up before nodding at Aria, "Thanks for the help. We're gonna head out and see what we can do."
"Whatever. You wanna get close to Archangel, the merc recruiter over there is your best bet," was the only reply he got, with Aria already turning away to look over her club.
"So, Jacob, pop quiz for you," he spoke as they headed away from the bodyguards, "What does it take to pummel three of the biggest mercenary groups as well as a dangerous plague?"
"...I need a drink," muttered Jacob as he headed towards the bar with a nonplussed look. Miranda had already begun to bark instructions through the comm network, leaving him to take in the ah...interesting sights around the club. A veritable ocean of new and untried liquor glittered invitingly at him. He decided to join Jacob at the bar counter. But then a horrifying sight caught his eye.
"Jacob, look at these glasses!"
"What about them, Shepard?" asked Jacob, already downing his first glass of whatever it was he was drinking.
"They're...they're clean!" Harry exclaimed, looking horrified at the notion of a criminal bar having clean glasses.
"What d'you mean? They're supposed to b- You know what? Never mind. Just drink," Jacob sighed, gesturing to the bartender for another glass.
Cerberus Headquarters
"Sir, we have the latest report EDI sent about the Normandy and Shepard," spoke the aide, and the Illusive Man looked up from the many reports he was reading through. Information would have to be reorganized before it reached his feed, which was why the priority reports were delivered to him separately as soon as they were received.
"Anything of note?" he asked the aide, even though he had already begun reading it at a blistering pace. It gave the aides a sense of pride to know their opinions were valued. It ensured loyalty.
"EDI continues to flag Shepard's behavior as erratic, even after she was asked to take his particular situation into account. She ranked it at the lowest of priorities, but I'm curious as to why it's there at all. She's definitely smart enough that she should be able to pick and choose."
"It. Not she. It," stressed the Illusive Man, glaring the aide. It was distressing, how they had begun to treat an expendable tool as a human being. Giving the scientists the liberty to pick its voice had been a mistake. "Does it specify any future steps that need to be taken?"
"No sir. Sh- It merely notes the continuation of erratic behavior."
"Then leave it. We have other matters that require our attention."
"Yes, sir. About Project Overlord...should we enlist the Commander's aid?"
The Illusive Man took a deep drag of the cigarette in his hands, seemingly looking idly out into space.
"No. His sentimentality will lose us a valuable asset. Continue to analyze the situation. We bring him in only if all other means fail."
"Very well, sir."
"Has Shepard begun his recruitment?"
"They've already found Zaeed Massani. The credits for his services have already been sent."
The aide paused here, as if regretting the expenditure of so much money on one man. But he was in no mood to accommodate questions or doubt. His cold expression told the aide as much, and the man quickly continued his report.
"The latest report seems to hint at them going after Archangel next, but it's too early for us to be sure."
The Illusive Man hesitated before dismissing the aide.
"Send a salvage team to the Lazarus station. Tell them to recover every file they can on Shepard. We'll have our analysts run them in different angles and gain some insight into Shepard's behavior."
He had invested considerable resources into bringing back the Commander. A defective revival could not spearhead the charge against the reapers. He would not allow it to happen.
The number of reviews continue to exceed my expectations. I love it. It encourages me to write, knowing so many people like the story enough to drop me some very detailed ideas and analyses to help me along. I may not have been able to reply to all of them, but I read and took every single one into account. So thank you for that.
Now, another significant question for you guys:
How would you like to see Cerberus handled in this story?
It's a huge part of the plot, obviously, so I can't promise to go with a route that makes me uncomfortable. But if I'm given ideas that I actually like or can accommodate into the story, what hopefully emerges will be a great story.
As always, drop me a line letting me know what you think about this chapter.
SK.
