The Citadel, as Shepard soon learned, was a very interesting place, so long as you knew where to look. Her newfound companion – who had introduced himself as Garrus Vakarian – was obviously adept at looking in the right corners. No matter how much dislike the woman harbored for Turians in general, this man in particular somehow skirted all of her misgivings and coaxed many a rare smile from her lips during the course of the day. He ignored social finesse to a fault, a trait that she found amusing despite herself. Even though his bluntness made her laugh more than once, it was something the Commander dearly appreciated. It was a rare thing to be found in the people of today, no matter what their species, and one that Lynn felt was beyond value. So much of personal interaction had been stripped down to fake smiles and beautiful forgeries that people flaunted instead of their true selves that someone such as herself felt little next to no motivation to go out and socialize. Small talk had never been among her favorites, and wasting hours on end discussing the newest fashion or the best looking actress of Council space was absolutely out of question.

The Turian she presently found herself in the company of, though, did none of those things. Like her, he kept blissfully quiet when he had nothing important to say, and appreciated the silence more than a river of empty words that people were so wont to fill it with. They were sitting at one of the dingier bars on the Citadel, waiting for one of the Turians' contacts to appear. While hanging around for the man to show up, the pair was taking a break from the day's rigorous investigation.

Well, truth be told, there wasn't so much investigating involved as was running up and down the wards in mostly futile pursuit of elusive and mainly shady individuals who may or may not possess information they needed. To add to the confusion, the human ambassador, Donnel something or other, had called Shepard numerous times, requesting her immediate presence. Claiming she was indefinitely occupied, the Commander had postponed the meeting on the following day and continued her search along with the C-Sec officer.

Despite her innate dislike of small talk, the woman had felt compelled to inquire after the Turian's motivations in helping her. After all, Saren was one of his people, and she could hardly see why he'd want to see him fall. During one of the many exasperatingly long elevator rides, she had voiced her musings. To her surprise, the officer responded quite heatedly, explaining that he had stumbled upon the Spectre's handiwork several times in the past and had never liked the Spectre to begin with. Her report on the Eden Prime incident had further increased his suspicions, so he personally requested to be assigned to the following investigation. Since he was one of the best investigators that C-Sec had – and he shared that with no small amount of pride shining from his eyes – he was put on the case without much deliberation.

Lynn was just about to ask the Turian why he was one of the best on the force, when the man they'd been looking for finally showed. The two burly bouncers guarding the entrance to Chora's den let him through without much check-up, which could only mean he was a regular. At that, the soldier's eyes narrowed and never left their quarry as he wove his way among the tables and enticing waitresses. His gaze did stray quite often, but to his credit, it didn't take him all that long to reach their spot at the bar. He flopped down on the empty chair beside the marine and leaned into her personal space as if she were one of the strippers dancing on the tables and hanging from the poles.

The Commander's yes were now nothing more than dangerous slits exuding displeasure and carefully restrained anger, but before her fist could be introduced to his gut, her Turian companion intervened. With apparent worry etched into his flanging voice, he quickly explained to the balding man that the marine wasn't someone to mess with and most certainly not someone to hit on. The woman in front of him crackled her knuckles to emphasize the point, and the clearly inebriated man finally grasped the meaning of the officer's warning.

"Well, girlie, I hope ya don't take it too hard. I'm betting you'll be sorry to be missin' out on old Harkin's attentions by the time yer gone," the man snickered drunkenly and Lynn had to lean back in an effort to avoid his alcohol-laden breath. She responded to his delusional boasting with an indignant snort and turned her gaze to the C-Sec guard. She mouthed her excuses and quickly slipped out of the club as she left the Turian to deal with the unpleasant man. Most of the time she had no problems consorting with his ilk, but the day's ordeals had worn her already infamous patience precariously thin, and the last thing she needed now was a violent break-down the media could hound her with. So rather than causing a scene in a back-alley bar like Chora's den, the soldier headed to the Normandy.

She could always continue her investigation tomorrow, when she'd had a good night's sleep and a fresh mind to deliberate their findings. It was getting late in any case, and she could feel the tiredness seeping into her bones. She'd be of little use to the Turian anyway, seeing how cranky she was becoming.

Tomorrow, the Commander reassured herself as she took a rapid transit to the docking bay, tomorrow everything will be better.


"Daj mne pospat' eše pjat' minut, mama," Lynn muttered into her pillow as her alarm started blaring into her ear. No matter what she said, though, the ear-piercing noise wouldn't cease until she dragged herself out of the bed and nearly smashed her Omni-tool into silence. There must have been a good reason behind her placing the damn thing on the other side of her room, but at this ungodly hour, the Commander could hardly see the wisdom of her precaution. Instead of trying to figure herself out, she stumbled into the bathroom, growling a vivid repertoire of expletives nearly no-one could understand.

Emerging a few minutes later and looking indescribably more ready to tackle the day, Shepard donned her armor and sighed with content as the weight settled on her shoulders. Yesterday she'd been forced to parade around the Citadel in her uniform so as not to insult the Council, but today there wasn't a breathing soul in the whole of the galaxy that could make her wear that suit again. With a ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips, the woman carefully strapped an SMG into her boot and a long, jagged blade into the other one. Many of her fellow marines had laughed at her when she insisted on bringing cold weaponry into fights that were now almost exclusively fought with either firearms or Biotics, but Shepard refused to let go of that last layer of protection. She simply couldn't walk around without her trusty knife in her arm's reach, no matter how much ridicule it subjected her to.

She wouldn't admit that she couldn't leave it behind because it was one of the last things that still remained as physical memoirs of her lost home on Mindoir, of course. Anderson had once questioned her about it, but even facing his kind visage, she blatantly refused to acknowledge the fact. It had saved her life on more than one occasion, when she had spent all of her clips and her Biotics were exhausted to a point where she could barely conjure a spark; that's where her knife had come into play. Not only was it razor sharp, it was also a weapon that hardly anyone trained to fight against anymore. It had become so obsolete, so utterly redundant in comparison to the superior guns and other inventions of the space-age, that many couldn't even remember ever using them as something else than kitchen utensils.

And yet when it came to close-quarter combat, a knife, no matter how out-dated, still made all the difference. When there was nothing else to fall back on than sheer physical strength and martial skill, a sharp blade held in a firm grip drew the defining line between life and death.

That's why Shepard wouldn't be caught dead leaving her room without it, no matter what others thought. Well, that, and the fact that it had been a gift from her mother just a few days before the disaster had struck. The Commander, naturally, always preferred to list the former reason and be done with it.

Feeling sufficiently ready to venture out onto the Citadel, the soldier quickly left the Normandy and took a rapid transit to the embassies. It wouldn't do to keep Udina waiting, after all.


"Are you crazy, Commander?" the ambassador's shrill, indignation-laced voice rang across the office.

The woman opposite him, to her credit, didn't snap at the politician, though she came pretty damn close. The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought to swallow the words threatening to spill from her lips. It wasn't easy, but her strict soldier's mentality kept her rough personality in check. When she was sure that speaking wouldn't equal to cursing the living hell out of the man, the Commander finally responded.

"Not in the least. And I don't see why cooperating with a Turian would make me such. He's proven valuable to date and seems genuinely invested," her speech was stilted, but what else could you expect when dragging your words through gritted teeth?

"Oh, so you think he's 'genuinely invested', do you?" the man mocked her as he made air quotation marks; ironically, he was repeating the very same gesture that had nearly driven the woman insane, what with the Turian councilor repeating it, ceaselessly, throughout the whole meeting. Shepard valiantly suppressed a sigh and instead chose to reply.

"Look, ambassador, I understand that you're concerned about this, and why, but I'm the one in charge of the investigation. Since I also happen to be the person who's gone through the N7 program, I suggest you let me take point on this and trust my judgment," her voice was still restrained as she spoke, but anger was slowly beginning to manifest itself in her eyes. A smart man –a perceptive man – would have taken the hint and backed down from a fight he obviously couldn't win, but the ambassador was not used to paying attention to people he believed inferior.

"Commander, while I appreciate your input, we are on the Citadel." Udina spoke with sarcasm positively dripping from his voice "And here, matters have to be handled in a slightly more… delicate manner, if you will. Dealings require tact and an aptness for diplomacy. And since I happen to be the person who has a degree in intergalactic politics, I suggest you consider what I have to say." The small man was nearly flailing his arms in outrage by the time he was finished with his little speech, and it took all she had not to roll her eyes at the ambassador.

"As you wish," the Commander all but spat out the sentence and turned on her heel before Udina could assault her with another tirade. Her armored boots clicked away on the corridor as she hurried out of his office and down the stairs that led to the embassies. Finally free of the smothering air permeating the officials' quarter, the woman slowed down her pace and continued across the presidium with a nearly leisurely stroll.


The first three days of the investigation came and went, but the evidence stubbornly refused to show. It wasn't helping that the Commander's nerves were constantly frayed because of her obligatory reports to Udina, who, in his typical fashion, couldn't miss the opportunity to lecture her on something on other.

It was, ironically, the ambassador's insistent babysitting and the lack of a lucky break that brought about some positive change.

"A Quarian? Really?" Shepard muttered in exasperation as she kept pace with new Turian companion. "Come on, couldn't he have gotten anything more reliable? A Chora's den gambler, maybe? Someone from the overnight cells?" The marine scoffed as she slipped into the elevator after the C-Sec officer. With a silent hiss, the doors closed and a tune that the designers of Citadel elevators apparently felt was calming and joyous started tearing through the commander's ears. Since their investigation was being conducted station-wide, the woman had been subjected to the exact same, repetitive melody for two days straight, and today was looking to be no different.

Commander Shepard leaned on the wall with a suppressed groan as she closed her eyes in an attempt to tune out the asinine music. As if some unknown god had finally pitied the woman, the melody petered off into silence as a reporter's voice sounded over the inbuilt loudspeakers. She opened one eye to pay attention for a few seconds, but she quickly realized that the news weren't important in the least and let the soothing darkness embrace her again. She was thankful for the lack of commenting on the Turian's part – most people would've already made remarks about her behavior by then – and let the tiniest of smiles curl her lips.

As they finally came to a stop the soldier slipped out as fast as she could and only paused to call out to the C-Sec officer. "Look, Vakarian, if you find anything useful you give me a call, yeah? I'm going to check out this other lead that Volus banker mentioned yesterday." And with that, she was gone.

The Citadel, which she had only visited a few times in the past, had now become almost as familiar to her as the many halls and floors of Arcturus station. To make a comparison in size would be pointless, but every ward of the space nexus was like a small world in itself. Quietly, the commander marveled at both the brilliance of its long-dead architects as well as at the efficiency with which the races of today had adapted to it. As her brisk walk took her across the numerous bridges, pathways and mezzanines, the soldier couldn't help but be dazzled at the sheer scope of the station as a whole.

Still, she had a job to do today, and sadly it had nothing to do with admiring the alien vegetation thriving happily in the many parks littering the presidium. She cast one last longing look to the wide open space before stepping into yet another elevator while praying to every deity she knew to spare her the horror of elevator music. The ride to the C-Sec offices was long enough as it was.

Whatever hopes she had harbored about discovering anything were dashed the moment she set her foot out the door. There, just a few meters away was the bulky Krogan she had briefly met on her first visit to Chora's den, two days ago. The creature was positively hulking, everything about it screaming about honed predatory instincts and peerless intimidation skills. The keen red eyes only served only to intensify the feeling of being evaluated as the alien's next meal. If she were anyone else, that alone would've been enough to send her screaming and flailing in the opposite direction; she was Commander Shepard, however, and it made her smile. Still, if the officers were dealing with the Krogan who was obviously more than a handful she doubted anyone would be willing to provide her with information on some bounty hunter.

After witnessing a rather heated exchange between the armor-clad alien and a trio of C-Sec guards, the Shepard was just about to turn around and leave when the Krogan leveled her with a gaze and stomped into her personal space before she could stop him.

"Yeah? What do you want?" the commander quirked an eyebrow and didn't even blink as she returned the challenge in his gaze.

"What do I want, human?" The Krogan let out a dry laugh and narrowed his already small eyes at her. "You are the one poking your pesky little nose it business that doesn't concern you," he growled and leaned even closer, towering above her.

Shepard refused to take a step back as she lifted her chin in defiance and retorted: "Just little old me wondering if anyone ever gets anything done around here, is all. I mean, three officers just to talk to you? No wonder people complain about Citadel security," she let her stoic mask crack under the grin that wormed its way onto her face, lighting up her green eyes as well.

"You think a single man can take me, human?" he bellowed and bared his teeth in what Shepard assumed was the Krogan equivalent of a smile. "Whole squadrons have failed to down me, " he shook his head as he puffed out his chest with pride. "No-one fells Urdnot Wrex! Remember that, human."

"Wrex?" Shepard blinked in surprise and gave the alien another once-over. He is decked out in some heavy-duty armor. And with a shotgun that size… the soldier quickly realized that she was talking to the very contact the financier had recommended she seek out. "Well, I'll be damned," she grinned and offered an equally armored hand to the Krogan. "I was told you were the man to talk to if I ever want to find evidence against Saren. Any truth to that?"

"I don't care much about Saren, human. What I do care about is the money I'm being paid for the head of one of his men, though," he added as his red eyes sparkled with a hunter's passion. "As far as the Spectre is concerned, you'll probably want to know about the Quarian that's trying to sell his secrets and went to the wrong man for the job. That'd be my boy, Fist."

"Come again?" the soldier did a double take at the mention of a Quarian. Wasn't Vakarian going on about one this morning? Were they talking about the same person? The Citadel, after all, was a gigantic place with billions of both permanent and transient residents. God alone knew how many Quarians were on the presidium at the moment, let alone the rest of the station.

"I said Fist, human. Is something wrong with your hearing?" he growled, obviously annoyed. "In any case, I see no conflict of interests here. You let me do my job, I let you do yours, and we both walk away richer and happier. That sound about right to you?"

"Why should I trust you? As far as I know, you could be working for Saren too," Shepard's eyes narrowed as she engaged the Krogan. "Killing the intermediary is the usual order of business when it comes to shady organizations. If one human marine gets killed in the crossfire…well, I'm sure it'll be a tragic accident everyone will mourn."

"Ha! I like you, human. You've got a quad, talking to me like that. Still, I don't care about your paranoia. You can either work with me, or expect me to get in your way and kill your target before you can talk to him. I don't think you've got much choice here, human. That is, if you want to conclude that investigation of yours," with that, the mountain of armored plate turned on the spot and began to walk away. He was almost halfway down the hall before Shepard swallowed her pride and called out after the Krogan.

"Wait! You can work with me, but only under one condition," she started with a grim look on her face.

"Ha! I'm listening, human," the bounty hunter replied with a toothy grin on his face.

"We do things my way. No unauthorized improvisations on your part, no bullshit, no backtalk. You follow my orders, and mine only. Cross me, and this relationship ends with a round in your pretty skull. Are we clear?"

The Krogan blinked a few times as his grin spread, and then he punched the commander in the shoulder. With a wince she bit down the groan, never happier that she had decided to put on her armor that morning.

"We're good then. Follow me," she replied curtly and turned on her heel.


Later that same day, a far more relaxed Shepard returned to the Normandy. Despite the blood that she had literally wiped off her hands mere hours ago, the commander was looking forward to the morrow. Her gambit concerning the Krogan bounty hunter had paid off well, and combined with Vakarian's intel from the med bay, her crew was now another person richer.

Or, well, that's what Anderson was trying to convince Shepard the Quarian was; a great addition. Sure, her recording had helped her bury her military boot up that bony Spectre's ass, but that was about it. Considering what her new mission was, taking on people with little next to no combat experience was like voluntarily dragging along a couple of ballast sacks. Shepard had told Anderson as much after the briefing with the Council, but the captain was adamant in his wishes.

She, as the dutiful soldier, had obeyed with a frown on her face.