Well, this is as far as I've edited so far. I promise I'll keep going this time. I'd prefer if people didn't read on from this point, as it hasn't been touched in forever, but hey, if you really wanna, go ahead.

Yay, longest chapter ever! I swear this all just appeared out of nowhere, and I'm actually very proud of it. :D

And please, please, please keep up the reviews! They inspire me and keep me writing!

Happy tenth chapter!

xoxo

THR

Chapter 10

Your name was Liz Shepard and you were trying to remember your old process of getting ready.

Garrus had gone downstairs to leave you alone, and now you could look at the mirror in front of you and contemplate what you had done to yourself and what you still needed to do.

Your time to examine your face was limited; you were able to observe how it had retained its gauntness and high cheekbones that made some people gawk and stare. Some said you had a triangular face, but you felt more comfortable thinking that it was heart shaped. The scars that adorned it were easily covered with makeup, which you brushed on with a swift yet shaky hand. God, when was the last time you had done this—it stung your open wounds and made you feel like shit. It didn't seem like a good idea to cover them up, but this was a date. Not only that, but it would be the first time that you wouldn't be breathing air that was totally filtered out. And the people—when was the last time you even saw a person other than Hackett or a stark doctor?

Your lipstick felt dry from lack of use and you had forgotten that this place was even stocked with beauty products. Makeup was a necessary evil for women in the galaxy, especially on the Citadel. After all, you were going out. If this was going to be your big, fat, illegal civilian return, you reckoned that looking nice would aid the process.

No matter how old you were, this whole thing still felt a bit foreign. Mascara was soon glided across your eyelashes (yes, you got some on your nose and you cursed as you wiped it off) and the apples of your cheeks were eventually tinted a hint pinker than before. Your lids turned dark and smoky from the compilation of pigments, and your appearance had changed from mental patient to something of a real, put together person.

You then realized that your hair was spilling across your shoulders in an uncontrollable manner. After retaining the same hairstyle for years, there wasn't much left that you could do with it. You could put your hair in an Alliance standard bun in your sleep.

Like you had done hundreds of times before, you grabbed hairpins that had been lying on the counter of your sink. With much trial and error came a rewarding payoff: a perfect chignon that put your previous style to shame.

You looked sufficient enough now that you had enhanced your appearance. Selecting clothing seemed like the next logical step and you were in your closet a few seconds later. There wasn't much to choose from clothing wise. Being homebound didn't exactly require much effort when it came to fashion. You had kept all of your clothes from the Normandy, however, which included a tight dress that had an N7 logo.

It had been your favorite outfit for shore leave and you remembered wearing it most of the time. You hadn't dared to put it on since your abrupt departure. It brought back too many memories—both disturbing and pleasant.

In an instant, your hands felt the slippery fabric and you smiled.

It felt nice to touch it again.

Your name is Joker Moreau, and you couldn't help but think that your current situation was precarious and amusing at the same time.

With a sling on your arm and a drink in your hand, you watched the occupants of the Purgatory Bar as they danced their problems off as if they were nothing at all. Every sort of race congregated in the bar, which featured exotic asari dancers and loud dubstep. You had been attending the nightly festivities since you first came to the Citadel. When EDI had had her own body, being here was much more fun. Making snarky comments about the patrons and debating over music made the nights go by faster. In addition to EDI's company, Shepard would sometimes stop by. Your role had always been guarding the table for her while she took a load off or decided to dance. Her skills at dancing were remarkably terrible; this was why you had the most fun when she was around.

Brittle bones never made for easy dancing when it came to you, but it didn't mean that you couldn't get drunk off of your ass and watch everyone else make fools of themselves. If anything, it was pure entertainment at its finest.

A few people were around you at the bar. A few turians and asari were assembled at one end, along with an elcor and salarian at the other. Being the only human, you kept to the center and didn't talk to anyone.

You knew that you were supposed to be helping out EDI right now, but not knowing exactly what she wanted you to do was putting a damper on your escapades. The one concrete thing that you knew for sure was that you had to acquire her systems. Without them, she would have diminished capabilities.

You had to finish what you started, and if that meant hauling the Normandy out of temporary retirement, so be it. Right now, though, the most productive thing that you felt like doing was people watching and trying to overhear anything that could be of use. You were well aware that doing this in a bar was futile, but it was an excuse to have a few beverages and think about how the hell you could pull off such a crazy, nonsensical thing.

You held your drink to your lips and took a generous sip. This had been your second glass of brandy, and you felt the need to stop while you were ahead. The flashing lights and the alcohol combined with loud music made your lack of ability to concoct a proper plan in your mind a little too apparent.

You were very well aware that EDI's old hardware might no longer work. Once the Reapers had been destroyed, all synthetic technology had been eradicated without a proper explanation. It was not likely that the hardware would even be intact. If it was even usable, you would have hit a stroke of luck.

What made your assignment even more difficult was that you didn't know the location of the Normandy to begin with. She had been the best ship you had ever laid your eyes on. Being her helmsman had been an experience delivered from God himself.

Suave controls and an intense driver core were a few of the things that made the vessel so perfect. You couldn't have conjured such a stunning ship in your own mind, and you were amazed that she was now nowhere to be found.

As expected, whatever spare time you had when you weren't trying to reprogram EDI was spent tracking down your beloved ship. The only info you had was that she was on the Citadel, which didn't help you very much at all.

"Think, Joker. Think!" you said to yourself in your head.

You put your glass down and rubbed your forehead in agony.

This mission was starting to get a little too unruly.

If there was one place you never liked going, it was Omega.

Omega was like the Terminus System's sick response to the Citadel. Crime was rampant, drugs were common and innocence went there to die. Years of violence had plagued the lively asteroid turned spaceship, and now it was a place for terrorists, ne'er-do-wells and outcasts who wanted to come to a place where anarchy was supreme. The asari didn't call it "The Heart of Evil" for nothing.

You mission here had been planned out and given to you from the Illusive Man himself. You were to get two recruits for you mission to stop the Collectors.

On this visit in particular, though, you were looking for just one of them.

Archangel.

Your quest to locate him landed you and your crew in a bar known as Afterlife. The outside appearance made you want to vomit; dirty individuals lined up and stunk of B.O and recreational drugs while people screamed in the background. The occasional gunshot was not uncommon, and the pollution made the place hotter than it needed to be. The place was like a red hued greenhouse and you wanted out. Getting inside was a harder task than it needed to be. Crowds of whining people blocked the entrance while apathetic bouncers gave monotonous declines to those that were not good enough to get in. Once you were inside, though, you felt a bit of relief.

Afterlife's interior was a bit more appealing than its exterior. Walls featuring LED lights with flames licked the ominous hallway that led to the entrance. Batarians and other various races lined the perimeter. Some of them had the nerve to yell obscenities at you or make remarks about Aria's need to see you.

The name Aria T'Loak did not ring a bell to you until you first arrived on Omega. By then, you could quickly tell that she was one bad bitch.

If there was a single ruler that could be pulled out of the living hellhole that was Omega, it would be her.

The double metal doors parted, and the core of the multi-tiered club greeted you with air conditioning, the smell of free flowing alcohol and melodic beats. Dancers made love to their poles as less endowed patrons gawked, while some individuals promised their eternal love to the empty shot glasses in front of them. Others screamed their passion for Aria as loud as they could; it was as if a drug had been released into the air that made everyone feel some sort of high. A few stable looking mercs dotted the area as well, and they didn't look promising. Tables were also scattered around the club. Some of them were full while others had people in them that looked downright creepy.

"Find Aria." they had ordered you. You scanned the tempting bar and tried to see through the red light that was identical to the warm shade outside. If you were a de facto leader, where would you hide?

After some careful espionage around the location, you ascended up some stairs and went into the upper level of the club. Its lighting was mellower, and the view of the dancers was impeccable. Your crew followed you into a small lounge room. That was where you saw her.

The deep purple of her skin looked pristine against her white and black suit, which was tight and neatly pressed. Bodyguards of all races surrounded her with a menacing look, and they didn't hesitate to raise their weapons to you when you approached.

The asari known as Aria did not budge, though. She looked out over her club through a window, her arms crossed. You could tell that she was contemplating something, but as you stepped towards her you suddenly realized that you would never figure out what that was.

Once you had gotten within five feet, she gave you and her guards the signal.

"That's close enough." she ordered, sending her numerous protectors into a massive frenzy. Miranda and Jacob—whom you still had mixed feelings about—pulled out their pistols while you held onto yours in your pocket. This bitch was good at her job and you knew this.

At this point in time, though, you still thought that nobody was better than you.

You carried yourself just as grandly as she did. Your shoulders were broad and poised and your hand was fingering the pistol on your waist.

She must have detected this, because with a nod of her head the guards ceased.

After a quick omni-tool scan and some protests on your part, you were invited to come closer.

When she spun around to reveal her face, you couldn't help but revel in her beauty. Her facial markings were a deep violet, and a permanent scowl gave her an odd bit of promiscuity. Her figure was a mixture of slender and curvy, and you suddenly understood why everyone downstairs either wanted her or wanted to be her.

"I have questions." you said, your voice husky. She didn't even bat and eyelash.

"And I have answers." she retorted. "That depends on who you are, of course."

You scoffed. This was a struggle between two powers and you were determined to win.

"You're the one who runs Omega and I'm a dead Spectre. I think that makes my track record just as good as yours."

It didn't take her long to burst out laughing. Aria turned to her window again and spread her arms out as if she were a religious figure.

"I am Omega." the Asari jeered. "And everyone who's anyone comes to me when they need information."

You took a step back until she gestured for you to sit down. After finding a comfortable spot on the other side of the couch, you got down to business. She had deemed you worthy of her help and you weren't about to refuse it.

"Before you say anything else, I think you need to know how profound I am on this wasteland of a spaceship, Shepard." she continued. "I'm the boss, ruler, queen…however you'd like to put it is fine. And we only have one rule."

You waited for her to continue. Until she did, she gave you a piercing glare with her cool eyes.

"Don't fuck with Aria."

You figured that playing it cool would be the best thing to do in this situation. You were now just starting to realize the utter importance of Aria T'Loak on Omega.

"I can work with that." you replied with a glower just as fierce. "And I have similar rules."

She promptly ignored your last comment and changed the subject.

"Cut the crap. I know you're here for Archangel and he's in hot water right now." Aria explained. "The Blue Suns, the Eclipse, and the Blood Pack want him dead, hence their temporary alliance to take him out. Hell, over half of Omega wants to have him gone. You're gonna have a tough time if you don't know what you're doing. Getting him out of his greater good bullshit isn't going to be easy."

"I want him alive." you interjected. She chortled at you before talking again.

"That's different. Most people here are out to get him because he's still convinced that he can do Omega some good."

Her voice was like a purr; every word she said had you on the edge of your seat.

"The people here know that there is no good here. He's been pissing everyone off."

You nodded and rested your arm on the back of the sectional couch the two of you were sitting on.

"If he can piss everyone off, then he's the guy I need."

Once again, she did something to ridicule your response.

"You're an odd one, Shepard." she pondered. "And you can't have him unless you get to him. Mercs have been holding him off at a rendezvous point and rumor has it that they're hiring anyone with a gun to get to him."

After a long period of silence you looked her over and scowled.

"You're saying that I get recruited as a merc and go rogue to get to him?"

With a small nod, Aria gestured you towards the stairs.

"There's a private room for recruiting downstairs." she barked while motioning. "Go get drafted and find Archangel. But don't blame me if neither of you make it out alive."

With that, the guards escorted you and your crew downstairs and all dialogue between you and the purple woman ceased as fast as it had started. You didn't know how to feel about the curtness about it all, but one thing that you knew for sure was that it has been both insulting and intriguing. There was nothing left to know about the illusive, deceiving Aria T'Loak until you would meet her again.

Now it was time to find Archangel.

Your name was Garrus Vakarian and you were fixing your armor as you looked down into the bustling Presidium nightlife.

You had renounced the Citadel since you had left C-Sec. All of the corrupt talk and disobedience could only be tolerated for so long. The façade put up by the Council was bad enough; after what they did to Shepard, your respect for them was gone. Other than your little bit of trust that you had for C-Sec, the Citadel was dead to you.

Going out wouldn't be as bad when you knew that you had Shepard with you. You were determined to make this busting out celebration enjoyable for her. As much as you wanted to be in that apartment alone with her, your judgment told you that she needed to get out.

You were even far enough to consider it a real date.

Even if it was in a bustling, dirty nightclub, it might bring back more pleasant memories for the both of you.

When you heard the sound of shoes descending down stairs, you turned around and greeted your date with a turian smile.

Shepard stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for you. Her hair was neat again, and the dress she was wearing was very familiar for the both of you. Although she had gotten a lot softer since she was relieved of duty, a hint of toned muscles could still be traced in her arms and legs. They were readily exposed and you took them in like the scent of a luscious flower.

"Shepard, you look—"

"Badass and ready to bust out? Yeah, I know. Hopefully I don't blow a gasket. Like I said—I think I might be crazy."

The normal response from her elicited another smile from the both of you, and you walked to the elevator together.

However, as you entered and watched through the shattered glass windows before your plunge to the exit, you couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy.

Your name was Garrus Vakarian, and you knew that something was going to happen tonight.