Thane

Thane watched as his target made his way through the crowded streets of Illium. The batarian and his bodyguards had no idea they had been followed since they left the office hours ago and made their ways to various businesses that were fronts for the slave ring. The drell assassin patiently waited for them to near a secluded place so he could do his work.

His informants told him that the batarian had grown much more cautious in recent years. The target never left his office or home without his two bodyguards and completely stopped making public appearances. He was also extremely agitated, acting as if someone was supposedly after him.

The batarian had every right to think that. Every other leader in his slave ring had met an untimely and brutal death with no solid lead on the perpetrator. He likely knew who the mysterious assassin was, and the batarian knew he was next.

The slaver and his two armed bodyguards, a krogan and another batarian, eventually started to make their way to his apartment. The pace was agonizingly slow however. Thane noticed the third bodyguard, a turian in plain clothes who acted as a scout, was growing ever more cautious as they neared the home. The drell knew they hadn't spotted him, or there would be more panic. But he wasn't going to take a chance. He knew where they were heading. He took a different path to wait for them there.

They finally reached their destination half an hour after Thane did. The turian was the first to round the corner, his sharp eyes searching for anything out of place. He was decent at his job, appearing inconspicuous yet alert, and would probably have spotted most thugs and other, less subtle assassins.

But Thane was a shadow's shadow. He had no presence when he didn't wish one. He recognized the turian almost immediately and steered clear of the man. If his wary behavior wasn't enough proof, the pistol on his hip was.

The turian scout lifted his omnitool to his mouth and gave the all clear. Almost immediately, the batarian slaver and the other two guards came around the corner and hurried to the door. They were relaxed, seeing that their safety should be imminent.

When his target started to work on the door code, Thane finally began his approach. He was only paces away from the foursome when the door finally slid open. The two batarians quickly went inside, followed by the krogan. The turian was just about to enter when he finally notice Thane standing next to him.

"What the-"

Thane quashed whatever else was going to leave the turian's mouth with a hard punch to his mandible, forcing him into the room. The strike would have broken a human's or asari's jaw, but the turian's hard carapace meant the blow merely stunned him.

The drell noticed that the batarian bodyguard was busy covering the slaver as he hid in the next room. Now he knew that he didn't have to worry about killing him before he exacted some revenge.

He turned his attention to the slower krogan. He was just able to unholster his pistol and was trying to raise it toward their unannounced attacker. Thane kicked the back of the krogan's hand, causing his grip on the weapon to loosen. The assassin then jabbed his fingers into his enemy's eye, one of the only soft pieces of tissue on a krogan.

As the one-eyed krogan roared in pain and outrage, Thane turned his attention back to the turian who was leveling his weapon at him. He skillfully knocked away the pistol just as he fired, the errant shot embedding itself in one of the plush couches. Thane firmly grabbed the turian's wrist with his left hand, twisted, making him drop the weapon, and struck the back of his elbow. The arm bent in the wrong direction as the turian let out a pained yell. Their natural armor may protect them from physical blows, but the joints were just as vulnerable as other species.

Thane heard a frightening yell from the enraged krogan behind him, signaling a blood rage. The drell spun out of the way of the inevitable charge. The krogan missed the assassin and sunk his outstretch knife into the chest of the armor less turian. The civilian clothes gave little resistance, and the wound was deep and fatal. The turian's decision to forego protection for discretion cost him dearly.

The drell spun the turian, breaking the krogan's grasp on the knife and downed the krogan with a swift kick to the side of his knee. Thane removed the knife from the turian's chest and shoved him toward the batarian who had finally gotten his charge safely stashed away. The bodyguard struggled to stay upright as he dealt with the dead weight.

Thane turned his attention back to the krogan who was just standing and about to charge. The bodyguard crossed the small room quickly, head down and ready to crush the slippery drell. Again, Thane sidestepped the attack and drove his pilfered knife into the back of the krogan's neck.

The area was usually protected by a krogan's hump and thick head crest. But, when they lowered their head to act as a battering ram during a charge, there was just enough space to slip a knife between the two protective structures. If hit just right, there was a small spot that would sever the spinal cord and put enough pressure on the secondary neural tube that rendered the krogan paralyzed. The area was impossibly small, but Thane was brutally efficient with the strike.

The krogan crashed through a table and laid there in an unmoving heap. He wasn't dead yet, but Thane had one more to handle before he could finish the krogan.

The last standing bodyguard was finally able to throw the dead turian away and lifted his pistol toward the drell. Wasting no time, Thane threw a biotic push, knocking the man off balance. Noticing no shield flare, he unhosltered his pistol, took aim, and fired one shot. The batarian's death was painless.

Thane moved back to the krogan. He put two bullets through his crest, assuring his death. He then removed the knife from the back of his neck. He would need it for what was to come.

The eerie silence was broken by the slaver in the next room.

"Is that damned drell dead?"

Thane didn't answer. He walked to the door, which slid away as he got close.

"Kilran take you!" the slaver yelled when he noticed it was the assassin and not one of his bodyguards.

He raised his pistol and began to fire. The batarian was able to get off two shots, both of which reflected harmlessly off Thane's biotic barrier, before the drell closed the distance and knocked away the gun. The assassin punched him, cracking his jaw and knocking him to the floor.

Thane schooled his face to show no emotion and emitted an unsettling sense of calm. Inside, however, was a torrent of hate, anger, and malice toward this filth that stole his wife from him.

"If you expect me to beg, you will be horribly disappointed, drell," the batarian spat from the ground.

Thane didn't care what the batarian did, honestly. He just wanted his vengeance. He punched the man again before straddling him, pinning his arms down with his knees. Later, he would have to find some cord to tie him down, but this position will suffice for now.

The batarian struggled and began to really thrash when he noticed the knife coming toward his face. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut as he guessed what the man was after. The drell forced one of his top eyes open with one hand and slid the knife across the eyeball with the other. The batarian let out pained grunts. Thane's similar ministration to the other top eye elicited a yell.

Thane then turned his attention to the lower eyes. They were larger, giving him room to do more extensive work. He forced the eye open, placed the tip of the knife behind the eyeball, and began to scoop it out. The man under him shook and struggled violently. His tortured cries seemed to echo in the small room.

When Thane was done scooping out the last eye, he stood and searched the apartment for some way to fasten the slaver to a chair. Tonight's work was going to be long and tiring. He didn't need to be wasting strength on holding the batarian down.

There would be no prayers for either of them tonight.

It had been a two weeks since he finished avenging Irikah's death. When the Illium police forces found the room, they were disturbed by the brutality Thane inflicted on the batarian slaver. They promised the people of Illium that they would work tirelessly until they found the perpetrator for such a heinous crime. "The city's streets will be safe again," they said.

There were still no suspects.

Thane now found himself at a crossroads. He had finished what he had set out to do and didn't know what to do next. It had been close to ten years since he left Kolyat in the care of his uncles and aunts. The boy would be almost a full adult by now and would have no need for his absent father. The last time he saw a doctor about his Kepral's Syndrome, they gave him eight to twelve months to live. It was very little time to accomplish much.

A light buzzing broke his thoughts. He lifted his omnitool and accepted the vidcall.

"Thane!" an overanxious salarian yelled. "I'm going to go ahead and guess that you are the one that visited the batarian you asked me to find."

"I appreciate your help in the matter, Irik." He didn't want to confirm the young salarian's suspicion. "Your information was invaluable. I wish you would allow me to pay-"

"Out of the question. You saved my sorry butt all those years ago. I owe you more than I can ever repay."

Thane gave a small nod in acknowledgment. "So what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Oh right!" His face dropped out of view, and there were sounds of shuffling. "When I heard about the batarian, I thought you might need another job. Ah, here it is." He popped back into the screen with a datapad in hand. "No one is willing to take it. Everyone thinks it's too dangerous."

He thought for a moment. There was little reason not to take the job. There was no one depending on him. If he didn't die on a mission, his life will be taken slowly by his condition. His soul was already in a battle sleep, dead to the world. It would be only a matter of time before his body followed.

"The danger does not bother me."

The salarian brightened. "Excellent. She is an asari politician by the name of Nassana Dantius. I'll send you all the information I have on your target. It's not much, but I'll put you in contact with another information broker that could help you more. She's newer to the game, but good."

"That is high praise, coming from you." Thane knew the salarian didn't give out compliments lightly and even less so when it came to his competition.

"Well, I hear she helped take down that rogue Spectre two years ago. If that doesn't earn you some respect, I don't know what will," Irik cleared his throat. "Anyway, her name is Liara T'Soni, and she has an office right on Illium."

Miranda

Miranda tried to concentrate on finishing her next report to the Illusive Man on the status of the Lazarus Project, but something was bothering her. There was a nagging worry, and she couldn't figure out what had irked her. It had been with her ever since she left the lab and its lone subject with the night shift.

She finally gave up on the report and left her small living space to head back to the lab. Miranda had spent over two years of her life trying to bring back humanity's first Spectre. She wasn't about to let some small, overlooked mistake cost her all of that time and credits. This project would not fail while she was in charge.

She made her way through the Lazarus Research Station, an old, defunct research station that was upgraded and repurposed to fit the Lazarus Project's needs. All around her was evidence of the extent Cerberus was willing to go to achieve their goals. This station alone cost half a billion credits to retrofit, and its sole purpose was to house Lawson's project.

And then there was the Lazarus Project itself. Already costing over three and a half billion credits, Miranda was sure they were going to be shut down for overspending. But the Illusive Man kept funneling them credits each time she requested. She had stopped being surprised by his deep resolve in achieving Cerberus' goals long ago, even as she continued to respect him for it.

It wasn't like the Lazarus Project had been at a standstill either. They had some of the greatest minds in science and medicine working with them to help piece their puzzle back together. They made great strides in medical science that challenged many preconceived notions and found ways around the limitations of the human body: multiple fractures in the skeleton were corrected by osteoblast activation and bone grafts, cardiovascular system restarted by a cocktail of anticoagulants and revitalizing solutions, and nerve damage was overcome by augmenting the nerves through the use of precise biotic pulses. Almost everything done to their lone subject was cutting edge tech.

Now they were almost finished. There were a few minor problems left to tackle. Some of the muscles and tendons were still in the process of regaining their previous strength through the use of electrical shock to contract the muscle tissue. A few ribs were rebroken recently when they tested the excitability of the intercostal muscles, and those were still mending. The digestive system still needed to be acclimatized to solid foods again after living off fluids and pastes. The vocal chords were shredded by an oblivious tech that overstimulated its muscles. And there were still parts of skin that had not yet fully regrown after some addition surgery to implant more cybernetics. But the subject was whole with all of the essential internal systems working nominally.

All in all, the Lazarus Project was becoming a success. While she never counted her chicks before the eggs hatched, Miranda was optimistic about the chances.

Everyone felt how close they were to finishing rebuilding the subject. There was even a running joke told by the other staff members when they believed Miranda couldn't hear them.

"The king didn't need all of his horses and all of his men for Humpty Dumpty. He just needed Ice Queen Lawson."

The saying was especially popular with her staff.

It didn't bother her, of course. As long as their benchmarks and goals were met, they could call Miranda whatever they wished.

She finally entered the sterile lab environment that housed the lone subject of the Lazarus Project. Inside, the chief medical officer, Dr. Armand Wilson, was alone. Miranda found that odd. Usually, there were at least two staff in here at all times, monitoring and recording the various instrument readings. It set her on edge.

"Law-Lawson?!" Dr. Wilson exclaimed once he noticed her presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I am checking in on the subject," she said as she crossed the room to the monitors. "I am the lead on this project, Dr. Wilson. I may come and go as I wish. Is that a problem?"

"Of-of course not," he stammered. "I'm just surprised that you are up this late is all," he added almost as an afterthought, like an excuse the doctor was trying to convince her with.

Miranda didn't respond. She was too engrossed with the strange readings coming from the instruments.

"What are the new estimates for the sedative drip?"

"Eighty milliliters per hour."

"Are you sure? That sounds low," she pressed.

"Yes, I'm sure. It's enough to keep him in an induced coma. I did the math myself."

Her eyes flashed to another monitor that was showing increased activity. "Then why are the brain waves so erratic."

"What?" Wilson said as he searched for the screen in question. He seemed to be purposefully obtuse.

"There!" she said, pointing. "On the monitor. Something's wrong."

He finally found it. "He's reacting to outside stimuli, showing awareness of his surrounds."

Miranda saw something she hadn't see from her subject for the two years they had been working. Its – no – his head moved by itself, without the use of electrical stimuli. She approached the table, hoping to keep the man calm.

"My god, Miranda. I think he's waking up."

"Damn it, Wilson! He's not ready yet. Give him the sedative!"

She looked down at her patient. His large, brown eyes were full of questions, questions he couldn't form. His breathing grew frantic and shallow, and his heart rate steadily increased. He was shifting, threatening to hurt himself more and set them back months.

"Shepard, don't try to move," Miranda said as calmly as she could. She grabbed the wrist of his hand that he was trying to bring toward her and gently set it back down on the table. "Just lie still and try to stay calm."

"His heart rate is still climbing. His brain activity is of the charts." Wilson was growing uneasy. "Stats pushing into the red zone. It's not working!"

She moved to the station he was at, pushing him to the side, and taking a look at the alarming numbers. "Another dose. Now!"

Wilson typed the command into the console. Almost immediately the alarms stopped blaring, and his stats returned to normal.

"Heart rate dropping. Stats falling back into normal range."

Miranda walked back to Shepard as his breathing slowed and movement settled. His eyes had that glassy sheen to them that told her the sedative was working.

"That was too close. We almost lost him," Wilson said.

She couldn't stop the scowl from forming. "I told you your estimates were off. Run the numbers again."

She turned back to her sub-, her patient. His neck relaxed and finally set his head back onto the table. But his eyes remained open, watching Miranda. She felt like they, even in their drugged state, were examining her, piercing past the walls she built around herself. The gaze reminded her of her father, and she felt very much like a little girl again, hoping that whatever either man found inside of her would make them proud.

Eventually, Shepard closed his eyes and drifted back into the medically induced coma, but the feeling lingered. Miranda shook herself awake and reminded herself that she was no longer a child. The last thing she wanted in this galaxy was her father's support. And she sure as hell didn't need the first human Spectre's approval either.

All she needed was to finish the Lazarus Project without killing the man she spent two years bringing back.

Author's Note:

Would you look at that. I'm actually early. Hopefully that makes up for me missing a week.

As I was writing Thane's part, I was struck about how very un-Thane-like he was acting. No philosophical debates, no grim efficiency, no prayer. It almost made me rewrite his entire part, but then I realized Thane was acting un-Thane-like while he hunted his wife's characters. I just hope I brought some of his regular personality back in the short bit after the fight.

And Miranda is just Miranda, proud, intelligent, and somewhat aloof. We'll see if that changes.

As always, thanks for reading and please review. Reviews and followers make me happy.