A/N: Sorry for such a long hiatus! My life and Star War fic got in the way. Happy belated N7 Day, lovelies! Hope you enjoy this LONG update.


Shepard decided that Omega was simply not for her.

On approach, standing in the safety and security of the new Normandy's cockpit, she'd been awed by the eerie red glow around the gargantuan, mushroom-shaped structure, eager to pursue her first dossier from the Illusive Man and make some progress on their mission.

But that burgeoning optimism was dead on arrival.

Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob had barely landed when they were assailed by a turian messenger insisting they meet with the enigmatic "Aria." While Shepard had been impressed by Aria T'Loak's cavernous and flashy nightclub, Afterlife, the woman herself was notably less charming.

Aria was a beautiful but cold and arrogant asari, and while she had pointed them in the right direction for finding the coveted salarian doctor, Mordin Solus, her warning of the one rule of Omega ("Don't fuck with Aria") left a bad taste in Shepard's mouth.

But it wasn't Aria herself that turned Shepard off of Omega. It was the standard of living of its impoverished and ignored citizens, the general filth, the fear and paranoia engendered by the constant presence of the warring mercenary clans. Despite all appearances, Aria claimed that there was no leader on Omega because there was no government. Shepard could see why she would make such a claim, regardless of its obvious falsehood-no one in their right mind would wish to take responsibility for the sorry state of affairs on the station.

The gravity of the situation became apparent when Aria pointed Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob in the direction of the quarantine zone to find Dr. Solus. It had taken some sweet talking the turian guard posted at the entrance, but they had gotten inside, and were horrified by what they saw.

Now, walking among the mostly abandoned slums, Shepard wondered why they still bothered with the guards. No one in here was getting out. The turians had been doing their job all too well, and the sick and dying had been confined together with the healthy, wiping out blocks of population.

Her squad had only come across one survivor, a gravely ill and understandably angry batarian. Shepard patched him up with some medi-gel and vowed to send help his way when they located the doctor at last.
The batarian was surprised by her kindness, due in large part to the fact that the general consensus on Omega held that the plague was human bio-terrorism. The sickness had a pandemic scope and absolute mortality rate. Only humans and vorcha were spared from its deadly grasp, and considering the vorcha's decidedly simple and destructive nature, no one thought them capable of engineering so perfect a weapon. But Shepard knew instinctively that humans weren't to blame either. It just didn't make sense-what would any human have to gain from wiping out the slums of Omega?

She didn't have the time to ponder over such matters then. In spite of his questionable view of humanity the batarian had given them instructions on where to find Dr. Solus.

"I'm surprised you did that back there," Jacob observed suddenly, eyeing Shepard with interest as they made their way cautiously toward the doctor's location.

"Did what?" She had taken a liking to Jacob because he seemed honest and forthcoming. But she made it a point to remind herself that he was Cerberus, that there was a possibility he couldn't be trusted.

"Helped that batarian. I'm impressed. A lesser person would have left him, especially with that attitude."

"I . . . Don't follow," Shepard began. "It was basic decency. We've got no shortage of medi-gel, and he was dying-painfully."

"I believe Jacob is surprised that you would help any batarian at all. I have to admit that I am, considering your history." Miranda's cool voice betrayed no emotion as she made this observation. Not for the first time, Shepard felt herself bristle at the other woman's manner. The murder of Shepard's family, along with the rest of her colony, was hardly appropriate field banter.

"What happened on Mindoir was the worst thing I've ever been through, but I can hardly justify hatred of all batarians based on the actions of a band of rogues and slavers. Yes, Jacob, the one back there was about as friendly as Miranda here."

Jacob snorted.

"But I'd only be proving his suspicion of humanity right by leaving him to suffer."

Miranda scoffed, but when Shepard turned to look at her, she found her smiling. "How diplomatic. The Illusive Man might have been right. I think you're going to be worth every penny."


The doctor's clinic was protected by an imposing group of human guards and run by human assistants. They were all clearly fiercely loyal to the doctor, a fact that surprised Shepard due to the tension between humans and aliens because of the plague outbreak.

The found the eccentric salarian busy at work in a treatment room. Mordin wore a long white coat with red trim, but he neither looked nor acted like a typical doctor might. His movements were quick enough to betray combat experience, but frantic enough to remind Shepard of vids she's seen of hummingbirds back in school. He was a blur of movement, and when he spoke, his words seemed to run together, too.

"Not Alliance. No uniform. No reason to come out this far. No. Well-armed, but not mercs either. Aria tracking all merc activity. Human. Why would humans be interested in plague? Weaponizing? No, not scientists. Seems that—"

"Relax, Mordin," Shepard interjected, stifling a chuckle. "I'm Commander Shepard, a Spectre. I'm here to speak to you. We're only now finding out about this plague, but I need your help."

"Help? Oh, no. No. Too busy, too much to do. And what could you need my help with? Who sent you? Human . . . human interests. Not Alliance, must be Cerberus."

"I—Well, yes. That's right." Shepard shifted uncomfortably. On Omega the view of humans was already unfavorable. If the people here believed humanity had inflicted the plague on the alien races, they would naturally suspect Cerberus. Her connection to the organization might not bode well. She felt Miranda stiffen almost imperceptibly beside her.

"But what could Cerberus want with a salarian doctor?" Before Mordin could hurry into conclusions of his own, Shepard spoke up.

"The Collectors are abducting human colonies. We don't know why, but they are moving quickly and wiping out entire settlements. We need someone with your expertise to help us defend against their attacks."

Mordin's eyes widened. He lifted a hand thoughtfully to his chin as he pondered Shepard's news. "Collectors. One of the only races with the technology to engineer the plague. Interesting. Our goals may be similar. Common enemy."

"You think the Collectors are behind the plague?" Shepard asked, intrigued. Until recently, she hadn't even heard of them, but it seemed the Collectors were very busy stirring up trouble for humanity now. In any case, Shepard was just grateful that Mordin didn't blame appear to hold humanity reponsible. He seemed to be the only non-human on Omega who didn't.

"Yes. So will try to assist you. But first, must stop the plague. Cure already crated, must distribute it through air systems. Vorcha have shut down power to them. Must take them out and administer cure throughout the city." He turned his back to Shepard then and began typing feverishly at a console nearby.

"I'll take care of it," Shepard said quickly. She knew they had a lot of people to recruit and not a lot of time to do it, but it seemed unlikely that the doctor would be willing to help her without taking care of the plague victims first. She admired his resolve.

"Oh, and if you see a male human captive. Daniel. One of my assistants. I told him not to venture out. Didn't listen. Good assistant. Foolish boy. Please find him."

"We'll do our best," Shepard replied kindly. She nodded to Miranda and Jacob as the doctor moved away from them and got back to work at his console.

"Commander," Miranda said calmly. "Is it really advisable to—"

Shepard turned to her with a sickly sweet smile. "It is. Let's help these people so that we can move on, shall we?"

"Aye, aye," Jacob replied, smirking. Miranda merely nodded, but Shepard thought there was a little less chill in the Cerberus operative's striking blue eyes as the three of them set off into the slums, weapons at the ready.


Shepard panted hard, her back pressed firmly against the wall, sweat pouring down her forehead and obscuring her vision. The fighting had been hard going, and it wasn't over yet. Another vorcha came lurching at them, hissing in that peculiar pitch, and she poked her head around the corner out of cover, sighted her pistol at the creature's head, and fired.

It was a well-placed shot. One bullet was all it took and the vorcha's unsightly head exploded outwards in a fountain of blackish gore. Shepard had always been a good shot, but ever since her rebuild she noticed her reflexes were quicker, her aim steadier, truer. She hoped her stamina would eventually match her other new abilities once she got back into shape. For now, her body hadn't done a good day's work in years, and she felt it. Jacob and Miranda seemed unbothered as they reloaded their weapons and looked to her for instructions, not nearly so out of breath as she was. But their efforts when rewarded when she saw that they had apparently rid the entire slums of vorcha thugs. All was quiet, for a moment.

Suddenly, another vorcha came sprinting through the warehouse and threw himself in front of the console they had been fighting their way to. It housed the controls for the air system than ran through the slums, the system that Shepard needed to spread the plague cure through the air ducts.

"You don't come here!" he shrieked at them, gesturing at the controls behind him. Two other vorcha, armed with rocket launchers, hurried over to either side of their inarticulate leader. "We shut down machines," he went on. "Break fans. Everyone choke and die. Then, Collectors make us strong."

So Mordin was right after all. The vorcha were behind the plague's outbreak, but clearly hadn't created it. "What do the Collectors want?" Shepard asked. She knew there was no reasoning with them, but perhaps they would let some useful information slip before she, Miranda, and Jacob ended them.

"Collectors want plague! But you work for doctor. Want to turn on machines, put cure in air. But we kill you first. Agh!"

Shepard sighed and signaled to Miranda and Jacob to get into position. Holstering her pistol, she traded it for her favorite weapon: a modified geth shotgun. Her biotics tingled with adrenaline as she took aim and held her breath for the shot.


The hum of the newly-functioning air systems was soothing, and the formerly stagnant and smelly air that had permeated the slums was fresher and more breathable. Shepard felt reinvigorated as they neared the entrance of Mordin's clinic, but Jacob wasn't doing as well. He had been taking cover near the rocket explosion and his left leg was badly burned. Miranda had slapped on some medi-gel and Jacob didn't complain, but Shepard could see the pain hiding behind his ordinarily warm brown eyes.

On the upside, the explosion that had injured Jacob had also knocked down the wall of a room the Vorcha had been holding Daniel in, a hostage to sell to batarian mercs. As soon as they had taken down the vorcha and switched the air systems on with the canister of antidote inside, the terrified young man had emerged from the rubble. He was lucky they'd found him when they did.

"Th-thank you," he piped up from behind them as the group made their way back toward the clinic. His eyes kept darting around them nervously and he wrung his hands while they walked. Yes, Shepard thought, this one belongs in a lab, not a battlefield.

Mordin was delighted to be reunited with his assistant. "Daniel!" he exclaimed at their arrival, patting the young man on the back. "Thank you, Shepard," he said, turning his large, round eyes to her. "You've saved many today. Plague nearly wiped out entire slum. Would have done without your help."

"Yes," Shepard agreed. "I'm glad I could help. You should know that your suspicions were correct. The vorcha were working for the Collectors. But I still don't know why. Are you ready to help us stop them?"

"Yes. Daniel will be taking over the clinic. Good kid. I just need to finish up some things here. Will meet you back on your ship."

Shepard nodded before signaling Joker. "Send over the shuttle. We're done here for the moment," Shepard said over the comms."

"Roger that, Commander," Joker replied.

Shepard wrapped her arm around a protesting Jacob and helped him limp along as the trio headed to the drop zone. "Dr. Chakwas will have you fixed up in no time," she said encouragingly.

"Not quickly enough," Jacob ground out. "You have another dossier to look into here. Archangel. I wanted to be there."

"I need you in fighting form for our next destination. Besides, we've already scouted this station. I'm not worried. We have a new squad member who I think will be pretty comfortable working here."

"Shepard's right," Miranda said soothingly, laying her hand on Jacob's shoulder. Shepard was surprised at Miranda's kindness. She had half expected her to protest at the notion of taking Mordin out in the field before he had crafted a solution to the Collector's seeker swarms. Instead, she was being supportive and rational. It seemed her team was coming together well after all.


Back on the ship, Shepard read over the dossier for Archangel, the notorious assassin who had been wreaking havoc on the Omega underworld. He was described as a precise and lethal sniper. Scores of mercs had so far been unsuccessful at taking him down, and had apparently banded together to try and take him out in a coordinated effort. According to Aria, the warring merc groups, Eclipse, the Blue Suns, and Blood Pack, never worked together. Their operation was unprecedented and spoke to the threat Archangel posed and power that he really possessed. Shepard had to hand it to the Illusive Man, he had an interesting eye for people.

Probably because his eyes are cybernetic, she thought darkly, switching off her datapad and getting suited up for the mission.

Jacob was still on rest per Dr. Chakwas' orders, so Shepard would be taking Miranda and Mordin along for support. She headed to the shuttle bay to find her two companions waiting for her. Mordin was chattering rapidly at Miranda about Cerberus funding and the impressive capabilities of the Normandy. She was looking at him politely but when Shepard entered, Miranda's sharp eyes honed in on her and Shepard had to stifle a laugh as Miranda's cool gaze seemed to scream for help across the shuttle bay.

"You guys ready?" she asked, interrupting Mordin as he asked Miranda who had designed the technical lab's weapon upgrade station.

"Yes. Absolutely," Miranda blurted out, turning on her very high heels and stalking toward the shuttle.

"Ms. Lawson seems tense, Commander. Unsure if she is fit for combat in current state," Mordin observed. But Shepard could see the corners of his mouth curling ever-so-slightly. So he had a sense of humor after all.

"Careful doctor, she's a pretty dangerous biotic you know," Shepard warned, grinning.

Back on Omega, things were much as they had left them. It had been three days since Shepard had restored clean air to the slums and disseminated the cure to the infected inhabitants. As they debarked from the shuttle, EDI chimed in on the comms telling them that according to reports, Daniel was holding down the clinic well and that most of Mordin's human guard detail had stayed behind, happy to have a competent doctor in their neighborhood.

"Excellent! I knew he would do well," Mordin responded brightly.

"Glad to hear it," Shepard agreed. "Any leads in your data to help us find Archangel?"

"Aria T'Loak mentioned the mercenary alliance poised to assault Archangel's base of operations. According to my data, one of the mercenary recruiters is looking for freelancers to head the assault. He is working out of Ms. T'Loak's nightclub, Afterlife."

"Thank you, EDI," Shepard replied into the comms. "Let's head that way."

Miranda nodded her assent and took point as they headed past the long line of club-goers waiting to get into Aria's exclusive den.

The turian bouncer recognized them from the last time and merely grunted in greeting as Shepard stepped up to the entrance, loose strands of her hair blown back slightly by the swish of the automatic doors rushing open.

Inside the club, they walked by the stairs leading up to Aria's VIP perch and toward a suspect-looking batarian who was covered in cheap armor.

"You the merc recruiter?" Shepard inquired.

"Back there," he responded gruffly, pointing over his shoulder into a side room.

They proceeded into the dimly-lit space to find a human recruiter assigning orders and jotting down information, occasionally handing out weapons from a table behind him to those who applied unarmed.

When it was their turn in line, a light of recognition broke across the man's face. "You three looking to help out the mercs? Why?" He crossed his arms over his chest and assessed them with a concerned frown.

"We want to help, so long as the mercs are taking out Archangel," Shepard replied, matching his stance and standing up straighter.

"Hm. Okay. Sorry, you don't exactly blend in with the others who have applied. I've heard about you. You had a meeting with Aria herself. We just wanna be sure of your intentions."

Shepard made no reply, deciding the best way to handle the man was to match his tough manner.

"Well," he began, looking them up and down and then looking back at his datapad. "You're already set on equipment. Better than anything we could offer you. You get five hundred credits each upon completion of the job. One of you cannot collect the other's fee if someone dies. Understood?"

"What's the plan?" Shepard asked simply.

"I can't speak to that. If you accept your orders, you'll meet up with Tarak for specifics." The man was irritable, impatient, looking over Shepard's shoulder to the growing line of interested recruits behind her.

"Who is Tarak?"

"You must be new here. Tarak is the leader of the Blue Suns. He's a batarian. You can find him out near the building where Archangel has set up shop in a warehouse." He gestured to a map that he'd pulled up on his datapad.

"Alright. Thanks," Shepard said, turning and leading the others back outside.

"Five hundred credits for what is probably a suicide mission," she observed as they walked. The people here must be really desperate."

"Only as desperate as we are," Miranda returned. "And we're not even doing it for the money."

"True," Mordin agreed. "But some rewards are greater. Archangel may be a valuable asset to our cause. Very feared here, but also respected. A vigilante. He's an assassin, killer, yes. But only the criminals organizations need fear him. He could use our help."

Up ahead Shepard saw a batarian in blue armor with a white sun on the chest plate. He was waiting outside a garage-style structure on the street corner, and walked up to greet him.

"Finally they send me someone who looks like they can actually fight," he said appreciatively. "You here for the assault on Archangel?"

"Yes. Is there a plan?" Shepard was hoping for answers soon. Their strategy to turn on the mercs and save Archangel would go much more smoothly if she was briefed on the mercs' plan of attack. But with their status as freelancers, she doubted she would be trusted with many details or put in a position that allowed for much tactical maneuvering.

"There's a plan, but I'm not sure you'll like it. Archangel is unlike anything we've ever come up against, and he's been tearing through the hired guns. You three look like you can handle yourselves, though. I'll take you over to Tarak. He can tell you more."

Inside the garage, Shepard saw a small guard post of more batarians in Blue Suns colors standing around a large and formidable gunship. A decorated batarian warrior paced around it thoughtfully, inspecting the work of another who was making repairs and smoking a cigarette.

"Who's this?" the imposing warrior asked as they approached. The batarian who had greeted them outside answered first.

"These are our newest batch of hired guns recruited at Afterlife. They are going to help in the push against Archangel. You want to brief them, Tarak?"

"No," Tarak responded after a pause. He eyed Shepard curiously before turning away and hurrying off toward an adjoining hallway. "Have Sgt. Cathka do it. I need to prepare," he called.

The mechanic working on the gunship stood up straight before walking over to Shepard. He blew a cloud of smoke in her face before speaking.

Shepard wasn't sure if it was some sort of test to gauge her reaction, but she didn't cough, blink, or flinch, instead staring back at the batarian sergeant with disgust. This brand of rudeness and posturing was something you only saw among the ranks of lawless mercs.

"I'm Cathka. Tarak's second-in-command."

"You seem to be his mechanic," Mordin retorted. Shepard resisted an amused smile as she shot Mordin a warning look before turning back to Cathka. He merely shook his head at them.

"He values me because I can fix this thing. Archangel did a number on it the last time we tried to get him in the building he's holed up in. Besides, I'd prefer being here to dying out there trying to get to Archangel."

"How is Tarak planning to attack him?" Shepard asked. "In that gunship?"

"Nah, it's not ready yet. You and the other hired guns are the centerpiece of the plan. Archangel had a group of other mercs with him, but we took them all out. He's all that's left, but he has a good position. He's up on a high blood of a building that you have to cross a bridge to access. He's been tearing through our forces the second they set foot on that bridge, exposed.

"You and the other hired guns will run in on the bridge, try to stay alive, and while you're distracting Archangel, our special forces and the leaders of Eclipse and Blood Pack will run in and get him."

"So let me get this straight," Shepard began hotly. "All of the freelancers are just a distraction? Just fodder? This is a suicide mission."

"Hey!" Cathka spat, stepping closer to her. "You're just a freelance merc. You knew what you signed up for. Do you wanna get paid or not? Besides, you look like you can take care of yourself. So do it."

Shepard smiled and stepped back away from Cathka and his foul-smelling cigarette. She'd take care of herself alright. And she'd take care of his smug, murderous men, too.

"Will you be joining the assault in that thing if you get it up and running again?" she gestured to the gunship. All told, it didn't look that bad. Surely the repairs were nearly complete, and facing it in battle was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Of course not," Cathka replied, walking over to the gunship and laying a hand on the cockpit. "Only Tarak gets to pilot the ship."

"I see," Shepard replied. "Where do we rendezvous with the others?"

"That way," Cathka pointed to the hall Tarak had gone down. "You need to look for Jaroth or Garm if Tarak isn't around. They're the Eclipse and Blood Pack leaders. They can tell you where to go."

Cathka went back to work on the ship, kneeling down to look at something on the underside. It was when he ducked down that Shepard noticed a severed cord with apparently live wires that had been laid carelessly on the table next to Cathka's tools. It would be so simple. She could incapacitate him in one motion; he'd never know what happened. Then, the gunship wouldn't be repaired during the assault no matter what. But looking down at the defenseless man, Shepard felt surprised at herself for the thought even crossing her mind. Shaking her head slightly, she turned toward the hallway Cathka had indicated.

"Move out."


"I've fought him before. He isn't someone to underestimate, but he's just flesh and blood like anyone else. He's no fucking angel. He's disrupted our work for the last time, so get in there and show him that no vigilante can stand up to Blood Pack!"

Garm, the imposing krogan warlord who led Blood Pack, was pacing back in forth in front of the mercs and trying to hype up his men. He was covered in deep red and black armor adorned with a white skull symbol, and he was not someone Shepard looked forward to fighting soon.

Nearby was Jaroth, the decidedly less frightening salarian leader of Eclipse. But Shepard had dealt with Eclipse before and she knew not to underestimate the enthusiastic fighters. Jaroth was yelling about how Archangel had interrupted Eclipse cash flow and had to be stopped.

Tarak was nowhere in sight. A bad sign. If he was preparing to board the gunship, it would throw a major wrench in their plans.

But Shepard didn't have time to worry about it. They were mustered near the bridge, and with a yell Garm motioned his troops forward and a slew of freelance mercs and low-level Blue Sun, Blood Pack, and Eclipse soldiers ran out of cover and onto the bridge.

Almost immediately she heard the telltale blast of rifle fire. Intermittent "booms" so deafening she felt the ground beneath her vibrate. This didn't bode well. What if Archangel shot one of them before she was able to show her allegiance by turning on the mercs?

In any case, it was too late to second guess the plan now.


Garrus was tired. Possibly the most tired he'd ever been in his long and extraordinarily eventful life. He had been holding off the merc forces for two days straight, and he was running out of energy. And ammo, which was possibly the more pressing issue, because it didnt really matter how tired he got. Garrus was still the best damned sniper in the verse, as far as he could tell, but even the best sniper couldn't kill without ammo.

His eyes were swollen, twitching, and dry. His arms were aching distractingly from holding his rife up for so long. Worse, he was thirsty. When your body is running on the ardenaline that comes with being hunted, it tends to ignore baser urges like hunger, thirst, and a desire for rest, because survival kicks in, and escaping the threat is prioritized above sustenance for immediate survival.

But he had been fighting the threat for forty-eight hours and he could not ignore the hunger pangs or the insistent thirst that parched him anymore.
He took a shaky breath, aimed, and fired yet again, killing a krogan Blood Pack member with a glorious headshot. How many had he killed now? It hardly seemed to matter. They'd taken out his squad, and he was repaying them in kind.

Still, the scene of the carnage was a little unsettling. The bridge was so littered with bodies and steeped in multicolored alien gore that there was hardly room for the newest wave of disposable guns-for-hire to make their way along without climbing over bodies.

No time for remorse, he reminded himself. His life mattered more. Had to avenge his men, discover who sold them out. And make them pay.

The krogan killshot had emptied his rifle and he loaded another magazine, ducking away from the window as he did so. Only a handful of magazines remained. He needed a plan or he was going to die here. He was going to be overwhelmed and die in spite of his marathon battle to hold them off.

When the rifle was loaded he readied it again, his arms screaming their protest as he lifted the gun and peered through the scope for a target. As his eyes swept over the litter of wounded and dead on the bridge, he finally found a small group emerging from behind the cover of a barrier the mercs had erected at the start of the bridge.

As Garrus squinted through the scope on his trusty Mantis rifle, he honed in on the point position fighter of the group, a well-armed vanguard in flashy armor. He quickly realized that it was a hired gun. The tailored, inky black armor was an immediate giveaway as it bore no clan heraldry. But unlike the other sellsword mercs he'd seen, this one was an able-looking human woman. That wasn't something he saw every day.

But he still didn't know it was her. He might even have shot her, had it not been for his inexplicable decision to zoom in. Something about her movement was familiar to him, graceful but aggressive. Foolishly fearless. It intrigued him and reminded him of the only human he'd ever really gotten to know well. And as he'd zoomed closer with the scope, it was her hair that gave her away.

She wasn't wearing a helmet—a stupid choice in his opinion, not that a helmet would do much against a shot from his Mantis. Instead, she had opted for a visor that went around the back of her head and displayed a small, glowing blue readout in front of her right eye, much like the one he usually wore. The visor did nothing to hide her pile of shiny black hair that was pinned messily atop her head. Perhaps that was why she'd chosen to forego the helmet. The station provided reasonably clean air for humans, and getting all that hair under a helmet must have been a nightmare. Not that Garrus knew what it was like to have hair, of course. But it was something that Shepard had constantly griped about when she'd had to wear her breather back when they'd gone out on assignment together.

Was it possible that there were two small but powerful female vangaurds carrying geth shotguns with an unmistakable swagger, topped off with sleek, black hair? Garrus doubted it. But there had to be, because she was gone. Shepard was dead. He'd come halfway across a galaxy to chase her memory away and she still haunted him, but that didn't make her any less dead.

Just in case, he zoomed in still further and caught the "N7" stitched onto her breastplate, saw the olive skin of her face, now marred by strange scars he hadn't seen before. But it was her small nose, her full lips, set in a hard line of concentration as she scanned the battlefield. And then there could be no doubt. Her clear, unusually vivid green eyes were the same as ever, and she lifted them then and locked them onto him.

Unlike Shepard, Garrus had the sense to wear a helmet. She wouldn't recognize him, even with a sniper scope, which she didn't carry anyway. But to his delight, she looked up at him, noticed his scrutiny, smiled, and then fell back a few steps, letting some of the other mercs pass.

She then signaled to two of them that stood to either side of her, a salarian and another human female in a truly ludicrous, high-heeled fighting outfit, and proceeded to fire on the other mercs!

He was astounded. How could this be? He'd seen the Normandy explode. He'd gone to Shepard's funeral and sat in grief-stricken silence as Alenko delivered the best damned eulogy he'd ever heard. Yet somehow, in spite of it all, there she was—saving him.

Before he had time to process this revelation, a flood of mercs began scurrying out of cover, realizing something was amiss. It wouldn't be long before they discovered that Shepard and her team weren't on their side.

With a last glance at his old friend, Garrus turned his attention to the enemy and fired at will, taking out the wave of mercs before they could effectively flank Shepard. As always, she was out risking her ass for some fool. This time, the fool was him. And he'd be damned if he let her fall again for his sake.


With a grunt of exertion, Shepard launched into a powerful biotic charge, knocking down the last merc standing between her and the stairwell. The krogan Blood Pack member crumpled to the ground with a thud. Mordin stepped up alongside her and planted a pistol shot into the krogan's helmet for good measure.

"Alright," Shepard said, gesturing Miranda over as they stood at the base of the stairs leading up to Archangel's floor. "He didn't kill or seriously injure any of us so the chances are good that he realizes we're here to help. But we don't really know much about this guy, so be on your toes and let me do the talking. Agreed?"

"Affirmative," Mordin replied quickly. Miranda nodded.

As they ascended the stairs Shepard felt a peculiar mix of excitement and dread. She was eager to meet the infamous vigilante but also still a bit worried for their safety. She had no idea how, given the chance, she was going to convince a rogue assassin to join Cerberus and face certain death to save the galaxy, especially considering that he was a turian. Aliens had thus far not responded well to her Cerberus affiliation.

As they came to the top of the stairs and rounded the corner, Archangel was there waiting for them, his gun lowered to his side. He was a tall turian in well-made blue armor and a helmet with a mirrored glass visor.

"Hello, I'm—"

"Shepard," a strangely familiar, dual-timbered voice finished for her. The turian dropped his gun to the floor with a clatter and reached up, removing the helmet.

Shepard's breath hitched and she felt a lump rise to her throat at the sight of her friend. After all that she'd been through, Garrus' friendly face was the most welcome sight she could think of.

"Garrus!" she exclaimed, forgetting herself and the watchful eyes of Miranda as she bounded into his arms.

Hugging a turian wasn't exactly comfortable, but she didn't care. With everything that had happened since the destruction of the Normandy SR1, she had abandoned all hope of picking up the pieces of her old life. But Garrus was here, in the flesh, hugging her back hesitantly, his chuckle of amusement at her reaction shaking them both.

"It's good to see you," her murmured softly against the top of her head. "I thought you were gone, but I gotta say, you look pretty good for a dead girl, Shepard."

She stepped back at long last, looking him over. He hadn't changed much in two years. Same mischievous blue eyes and confident stance. But his roguish grin had lost some of its luster. He looked tired and defeated.

"What are you doing all the way out here, Garrus?" Shepard asked.

"I came to Omega when I got fed up with the bureaucratic shit on the Citadel. I thought I could actually do some good here. There's no shortage of criminals to take out."

"Well, you managed to piss off every merc group on the station," Shepard observed, shaking her head at him affectionately.

"I had to work at it," Garrus replied. "I'm still surprised they actually teamed up to take me down."

"Yeah, they've all got a chip on their shoulders about 'Archangel,'" she teased, raising an eyebrow at him questioningly.

Garrus laughed. "Well, that's just a name they've given me. Personally, I prefer 'The Alpha of Omega.'" He grinned proudly at them.

Shepard snorted. "You give yourself that one, Garrus?"

"No," he said, but she caught his wink just the same. Good old Garrus. Shepard hadn't smiled so much since she'd been brought back.

She decided it would be prudent to wait until later when they had gotten to safety to explain to Garrus why she was on Omega and looking for him in the first place. "Alright," she turned to Miranda and Mordin. "We need to figure a way out of here."

"It's not going to be easy," Garrus said seriously. "That bridge has been helpful, funnels all of those witless idiots into scope. But it works both ways. We'd have to cross it, exposed, to get out of here."

"So, what?" Miranda asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "We just wait here for them to come and get us?"

"It's not so bad," Garrus reassured her. "This place has kept me safe for days, and with the three of you, we'll have an even better shot."

"How did you even wind up in this situation?" Shepard knew it wasn't the ideal time, but she was so curious. Garrus was smart, a brilliant strategist and deadly sniper. She didn't think it was like him to box himself into a corner like this.

"I let my emotions get in the way," he said, a hint of irritation boiling to the surface of his voice. "I tell you what, we get out of here and I'll be happy to tell you the whole damned story. Deal?"

"Alright, what do you suggest?"

"Let them send a couple more waves and take them out from up here. Wait for a break in their defenses and then take our chances crossing the bridge. Whaddya say?"

"Piece of cake," Shepard answered, offering Garrus a confident smile. Working as a team, the two of them had faced worse odds. She knew they could get out of this mess together.


He couldn't believe it. They'd actually done it. Garrus had started to accept that he was a goner after his first fourteen hours stranded in the perch, but he kept going out of sheer instinct and desire to take as many of the damned mercs down with him as he could.

When Shepard had shown up, he felt a little more hope, but still wasn't sure that the four of them could take on the combined forces of the three biggest and best-funded merc groups on all of Omega.

Yet here they stood, and almost the entirety of the merc forces had been wiped out. At his feet, that son-of-a-bitch Garm lied dead. Apparently he hadn't learned his lesson after their first encounter. Shepard had taken out Jaroth, too. Only Tarak remained unaccounted for.

But with so many Blue Suns dead and virtually no one to defend him, Garrus figured that Tarak might have simply given up, not wanting to risk his own skin in a losing battle.

He turned to Shepard who stood at his side, looking down at the slaughter below. She and that leggy brunette friend of hers had put on quite a show at close range while he and the salarian had taken down mercs from above. Now they observed the rewards of their labor and prepared to head out and make for the Normandy's shuttle out near Afterlife.

"We did it," he said to her in amazement. I can't believe it, but we did it. They barely touched me. If you hadn't come Shepard, I—"

The glass of the panoramic windows looking out onto the city behind them shattered suddenly in a cacophonous crash. Shepard instinctively grabbed Garrus by the arm and started looking wildly for cover, but he knew it was too late for that.

Shoving her to the ground, he made to hit the deck himself, blocking her from harm's way, but before he went down he heard the thunderous shots of an aerial missile launcher and the right side of his body exploded in unimaginable pain as a missile exploded against him. Tarak in that fucking airship.

Through the blinding, searing pain he could faintly hear the shrill pitch in Shepard's voice as she screamed his name. He was vaguely aware that he needed to move. Focusing his eyes, Garrus saw Shepard leap out of cover, taking an enormous grenade launcher from her back and firing at Tarak.

He dragged himself feebly, trying to get behind the cover of a column long enough to take stock of his injuries and see what he could do to assist Shepard, but before he had moved more than a foot, he heard again the thump of the airship's gun firing and felt the shock of the bullets making contact with his back as he attempted to crawl away on his belly.

But he'd been torn apart by gunfire and crawling seemed a ridiculous impossibility nowy. No, breathing was the real task. As he struggled to suck in a breath, even the small act of keeping his eyes open became too much, and it all went dark and silent.


It was snowing on Elysium. Kaidan had taken a shuttle down from the Grissom Academy station to have dinner with some colleagues planetside, but he hadn't expected the weather to be so cold and windy. As a Canadian native, he wasn't really bothered by it, though. If anything, the weather on Elysium reminded him of home, which was fitting; the planet had become a second home of sorts.

He spent most of his time on the station, working with the Ascension Project students, but about once a week he flew down to Elysium to see a vid or have drinks with the other instructors.

Today was a solemn day. Many of the members of staff had friends and families in other outlying human colonies, and more colonies were disappearing. Kaidan was concerned that the Alliance was maintaining silence about the attacks. He hadn't been able to establish a vid call with Anderson in weeks and the councilor wasn't returning his messages.

He hoped that some time with the others could assuage some of his worries, or that he could at least get some information. The mystery surrounding the disappearances was the most unnerving thing. How could so many people vanish completely without a trace?

Kaidan entered the crowded bar and removed his jacket, it tossing it over his arm and pushing through the crowd toward a booth in the corner where he and his friends ordinarily sat. The usual group was gathered. Kahlee Sanders, the famed biotic who had settled down as an Ascension Project instructor, smiled warmly at him. She had kind, pale eyes and short cropped blonde hair. As the senior member of staff on the station, everyone looked to Kahlee for guidance. She had been all over the galaxy and Kaidan knew she was a close, personal friend to Councilor Anderson.

When he'd first been assigned to the Ascension Project, Kahlee had taken him under her wing and guided him out of is crippling grief and into his role as a biotics instructor for the young teenagers accepted into Ascension. Kaidan felt indebted to her and to Anderson for having the foresight to place him in the care of such a capable teacher and mentor.

Next to Kahlee was Dr. Jazmin Sanchez. She reddened slightly as Kaidan's eyes fell on hers. They'd first met just over two years ago on the Citadel. Jazmin had been assigned as the assistant physician for the Grissom Academy, and had been celebrating with her friends at the Dark Star when one of them had recognized Kaidan at the bar. It wasn't his proudest moment. Apparently, Jazmin had been attempting to introduce herself, having been briefed by Anderson that they would be shipping out to Elysium together, but he'd been too irritated and preoccupied to stick around long enough to hear her say so. Their ensuing trip to Elysium had been tense and silent, but over the years they had become good friends working alongside one another on the station.

But Kaidain knew that Jazmin wanted more than friendship, always finding excuses to talk to him on the way to his bunk after work each night, sitting beside him in the mess at lunch every day. Just now her bronzed skin was closer to crimson under his gaze, and she averted her dark eyes, dropping her head so that her black hair fell in a curtain around her face. Kaidan wasn't sure when their easy friendship had turned into this uncomfortable tension, but he hoped it would resolve itself soon. His friends had talked him into taking her out a few times. It was nice. After all, Jazmin was a brilliant doctor and undeniably pretty; but he just didn't know if he could pursue a relationship with her. Even now, two years out from Shepard's death, the hole she'd left in his heart was still ragged at the edges.

Beside Jazmin, Dr. Jiro Toshiwa seemed to notice her discomfort. The friendly and boisterous young Asian-American man was at ease even in these situations. His calming demeanor was only one of the reasons that he'd been appointed the head physician at the Academy, and he had become one of Kaidan's best friends.

Jiro patted Jazmin on the knee and then extended his hand to Kaidan. "Good to see you, bud," he said, gesturing to Jazmin and Kahlee to shove over so that Kaidan could sit.

"Thanks, Jiro," he replied, sliding into the booth. Jiro grabbed the empty glass in front of Kaidan and filled it with beer from a pitcher in the center of the table.

"Thanks," Kaidan mumbled when Jiro handed him the glass. The beer was cold and bracing, a welcome luxury after a long day at work.

"How's it going, guys?" he asked, looking over at the others. He could feel a sense of trepidation in the air that went beyond his recent awkwardness with Jazmin. They were hiding something.

"I'm well, Kaidan. Thank you," Kahlee replied smoothly. "It's looking like we are going to get approved for that grant I asked you to petition the Alliance about. We'll have new combat simulators for our biotics trainees and new implant replacement possibilities for any of our students who were incorrectly outfitted at the inception of their abilities."

"That's great," he said, nodding. Jazmin continued to stare at her lap, and Jiro looked determinedly down into his beer. "Is there something else?"

Kahlee sighed heavily and moved a hand up to her forehead, rubbing distractedly at her right temple. "There's been some . . . troubling news."

"Well, lay it on me," he said impatiently, feeling a heavy dread settle in his stomach even as the words left his lips.

Jiro cleared his throat then and smiled at Kaidan, his even white teeth glinting in an easy expression of nonchalance. But Kaidan knew better. "Do you remember when the news broke about two weeks ago that Freedom's Progress disappeared?"

"Yes. But that's nothing new. Like you said, two weeks ago. What happened? Wait, did they find them?" It seemed unlikely that the colonists had been found safe and sound, judging by the others' strange behavior. Kaidan hoped desperately that they hadn't discovered all of the colonists dead. Morale was already very low on Elysium, another predominately human settlement. If definitive proof was released that the missing colonists had all been murdered, all-out panic would ensue.

"No, they didn't find them," Kahlee answered. "There was a quarian on pilgrimage staying with the colonists. He was injured while there, but he survived the disappearance and was picked up by a quarian rescue team. We are only now learning of this, as he had departed prior to the arrival of the Alliance recon squad."

"So we have a witness?! A living witness?"

"Yes and no," Jiro chimed in. "The quarian that survived whatever took place suffered damage to his environment suit that impacted his nervous system. He was very disoriented afterward. His testimony is confused and also a bit hard to believe."

"What does he claim happened?" Kaidan wished they would stop beating around the bush and tell him what was going on. But it seemed that they were prolonging some big revelation as long as possible.

"The quarian claims that the human colonists were abducted by the Collectors, a rarely seen alien race that supposedly hails from beyond the Omega 4 Relay. They work through intermediaries to carry out various jobs across the galaxy. Their current goal seems to be human abduction. Whether they are working independently or as hired mercenaries is unclear." Jiro paused and took a long drink from his beer.

"I've heard of these Collectors," Kaidan mused. "But you're right, this story is farfetched at best. Why would they come after humans? We haven't found any bodies. How can they manage that scale of abduction, and for what purpose?"

"No one knows. No one knows much about the Collectors at all," Kahlee replied sadly.

"But this seems like good news. We have something to go on, to actually investigate," Kaidan said in frustration. They finally had a lead, even if that lead had come from a sick quarian. It sounded like it was worth following up on at the very least. Prior to this news they had no clues whatsoever.

"It is good news," Jiro said, again trying to feign optimism. But Kaidan wasn't fooled.

"Please, guys. I've had a long day of being hit in the face by teenagers practicing Shockwaves. I'm tired. Just tell me whatever's really going on here."

Kahlee sighed heavily. Kaidan was shocked to see tears sparkling in her eyes before she went on. "The sick quarian's testimony was backed up by his team. One of his associates, Prazza, petitioned the Council to reprimand a human squad that allegedly interfered with their rescue efforts and almost kidnapped the sick quarian for information about the Collectors. He claims that Cerberus operatives were going to take the quarian without his consent until they intervened."

Kaidan scoffed. "Sounds about right. I get it now. You're all worried that the other races aren't going to want to help us with the missing colonies now because, as usual, Cerberus is being about as diplomatic as a drunk krogan."

"Sort of," Jiro said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Another quarian from the mission sent a message to the Council imploring them to ignore Prazza's story, claiming that while Cerberus was present on Freedom's Progress, that they cooperated with the quarian squad to get their injured comrade off-planet and, with permission, only took his Omni-tool for research. This other quarian is an old associate of yours, Tali'Zorah."

"I remember Tali," Kaidan said, smiling warmly at the thought of the bright young girl. "It's a good thing she was there. I'm surprised to see her defend Cerberus after their conflict with the Migrant Fleet in the past, but I trust her on this."

"Well," Kahlee went on, "she wasn't defending just any Cerberus operatives . . ."

"What do you mean?"

Jazmin looked up finally. Her deep brown eyes locked with Kaidan's. "It's her," she said, her voice sounding oddly frantic and strained. "The Cerberus operatives . . . their squad was led by Shepard."

Kaidan's eyes narrowed and he sat back against the cushioned booth, scowling. "Is this some kind of a joke? Do you think this is fucking funny?"

"Kaidan—" Kahlee began, quietly.

"NO," he interjected. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Why would you say something like this?" he demanded, turning back to Jazmin angrily. "You know how hard it was for me to get past what happened to her. You know how I—how I felt about her."

"We do know," Jiro said calmly, laying a hand on Kaidan's shoulder. "That's why we wouldn't tell you this unless we were sure."

Kaidan shrugged away from Jiro's touch and stood up, glaring down at them all. "Sure? How in the hell can you be sure that a dead woman was leading a squad—a Cerberus squad at that—on an abandoned colony right after a Collector attack. Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"It's Tali's testimony, you said yourself that you trust her. Additionally, you might remember that I spent some time on Omega years ago. I still have contacts there. She was seen yesterday, and has apparently been there for several days. She cured a plague decimating the turians, batarians, and vorcha in the slums. She also led an assault on the mercenary clans that were planning a coup on Aria T'Loak and smuggled an assassin going by the alias 'Archangel' off base onto a Cerberus vessel. She's been . . . busy, and we don't know why. We thought you should be told."

Kaidan was at a loss. None of this made sense. Curing epidemics and saving people sounded like Shepard alright. And it was true that he trusted Tali. But this had to be some kind of mistake. Shepard was gone. It had taken him almost two years to come to terms with that reality, but he had. He knew that as much as he had wished it was all a nightmare, the murder of the woman he loved was all too real.

And if somehow, somehow, Shepard had managed to survive, she would have contacted him. He had faith in that. She had never proclaimed love for him or anything so dramatic, but the connection they'd shared was real, and Shepard would know that Kaidan would be suffering in her absence. If Shepard had lived, she would have seen the news vids across the galaxy mourning her supposed death. She would have known that there was a huge misunderstanding about the destruction of the Normandy and would have set out to rectify it. She would have found Kaidan and the others, and together they would have gone out on assignment again, found another ship, another job, another reason to risk their asses together.

Most of all, if Shepard had lived, she would never have allied herself with a pro-human, anti-alien terrorist group like Cerberus. It was against everything she fought for, everything she wanted the Alliance and the Council to represent. None of this made any since. As much as he wished she was alive, it simply couldn't be true. Besides, none of them had any proof.

"I suppose there isn't any way you could prove any of this ridiculous hearsay as actual fact?" Kaidan asked.

Kahlee smiled sadly at him. He'd seen that look. Seen it a thousand times since Shepard's passing. It was pity. Wordlessly, Kahlee lifted her arm and tapped at the buttons on her Omni-tool, pulling up a vid and tilting it toward Kaidan before playing it.

It was a short news vid narrated by a female reporter. "In a bizarre turn of events, the supposedly deceased Commander Shepard of Alliance fame was spotted here on Omega today, fleeing with an injured turian mercenary known as 'Archangel,' the salarian Dr. Mordin Solus, and an unknown female Cerberus operative." The reporter's voice was played with a short clip of video footage that continued on a loop. In the clip, a woman who Kaidan suspected with the "unidentified Cerberus operative," walked briskly ahead of a salarian who supported a bloodied turian, holding him up by the left arm. The turian himself was gravely injured and splattered with shiny, blue blood, but Kaidan recognized his facial markings and the rifle strapped to his back all the same. It was Garrus. Supporting Garrus' right side was a small woman with thick black hair and lovely green eyes. Her armor was damaged and her shoulder almost completely exposed, but Kaidan could make out the Cerberus logo on her chestplate, across from an N7 logo that adorned the other side. She appeared to be injured and her face was badly scarred, but there could be no mistaking her.

How many nights had he lied awake haunted by the image of her face? It was seared into his memory like a brand. There was no denying that the woman in the news vid was in fact Shepard. The reporter continued her narration as the image switched to a view of an enormous nightclub. "Aria T'Loak, owner of the Afterlife nightclub, could not be reached for comment. But a source close to the asari claims that the Cerberus officer you've just seen in this vid was indeed on Omega, identified herself as Shepard, and worked to assist Aria with conflicts throughout Omega over the last week."

For the briefest moment, Kaidan felt the sweetest, most incandescent joy of his entire life. She was alive. For years he had wished for nothing so desperately as this—her life, breath in her lungs, a beat in her heart. Anything just to know she was out there somewhere. Now, his wish had come true and it appeared that Shepard wasn't dead after all. His bliss was so heady that he felt lightheaded, faint. For one mad instant he considered running out of the club and catching the first flight he could get to Omega. He would investigate where she'd gone, find her, and hold her. Oh, God, to hold her again . . .

But slowly, reality set in and Kaidan faced the ugly truth. Shepard was alive, and she hadn't contacted him. Shepard had never been dead. Because when people died, that was the end. There was no coming back from death. Technology had leapt forward when the alien races had all come together in cooperation throughout the galaxy, but only so far. Resurrection was still impossible. So for two years, the woman he loved, the woman he thought might love him too, had allowed him to suffer alone, in vain. Had allowed him and everyone else she knew to believe that she was dead. She had deceived them all and let them mourn her while she double-crossed them and worked with Cerberus, with terrorists.

Kaidan almost wished for his prior ignorance. The despair of losing her was worse than the knowledge of her duplicity, but only by so much. The dejection of knowing that she'd dropped him so callously and deceived him so completely was surprisingly sharp. The extreme fluctuation in his emotional responses to what he'd just been told was jarring. He felt physically ill and had to grip the table for support. He was acutely aware of the others' eyes on him, but he was far past caring about that now.

"Kaidan," Kahlee said softly, her tone steeped in concern. "Just breathe. Relax. It's going to be okay."

Taking a deep breath, Kaidan straightened up, releasing his grip on the table. "I have to go," he said simply.

"Kaidan, wait," Jazmin said, standing. But Kaidan ignored her; walking briskly away from them, he shoved unceremoniously through the densely-packed bar and out into the snowy night. He realized then that he'd forgotten his coat in the booth, but he left it behind, making for the shuttle. He had packing to do, leaves forms to fill out.

After a moment's consideration he realized that he needed to give Shepard the benefit of the doubt. Maybe things weren't what they seemed. This was Shepard. The love of his life; the strongest, smartest, most compassionate woman he'd ever known. These rumors simply couldn't be true. He needed to go to the Citadel and see Anderson in person. The older man's silence over the last couple of weeks suddenly made sense. Kaidan realized that Andersen had heard the same rumors, and was trying to work them out before talking to Kaidan. But he wouldn't be stonewalled. He was going to confront the councilor in person and get to the bottom of what was going on with Shepard. He owed her that much.