**If you are reading this, then I conquered the glitches. I apologize for the false e-mail updates.**

Author's Note: I was incredibly distracted from June to July preparing for the San Diego Comic Con, which was an absolute mind-blowing blast. I completely overhauled my twi'lek costume and I'm incredibly proud of the results. Sean and I scored two interviews for NBC and ABC. Yeah, I'm fucking excited about that.

Unfortunately, Bioware had very limited ME2 representation, which broke my heart. However, Adam Baldwin (Jayne, Firefly), Colonel Tigh (Battlestar Galactica) and a bunch of other guests from the autograph booth were sporting ME2 t-shirts. This apparently spelled disaster for me, as I discovered that I am easily star-struck AND obsessed with Mass Effect, so I just wheezed with googly eyes at these famous people. Lame-tastic.

I just started my last year of school. No victory laps for me. I'm almost out of here. Holy snaps.

And I guess it's about time for me to start wrapping this business up.

You are awesome readers and your reviews always make my day a little more candy-coated.

Keep the sass coming.

Hey Bioware… I looked for you at SDCC, but you were busy cheating on me. So I stole your franchise. SORRYNOT.

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Their footing was surprisingly flat for a blasted cave fissure. The ice below them obviously had compounded over the years, but a few moments of careful scrutiny revealed a deposit of gray beneath them; steel lost underneath layer after layer of frozen water. If this was in fact and functional tunnel, it had been a good long while since anyone made use of it. While that promised them a secure getaway, it did nothing to assure Shepard of its reliability. People didn't just get bored of tunnels. But hey, they'd endured plenty of calamities today alone. What was one more death trap?

Garrus had been spot on with his calculations and the grenade blast had blown forward without any back shot debris. The passageway acted like a funnel, sucking in the force of it and drawing the ice inward rather than threatening the stability of the cave. They proceeded eagerly and wasted little time with caution as to the structural integrity of the path ahead. Garrus was referring to his omni tool every few feet, relaying notes to Shepard about distance, depth, life forms, and all those other integral details that she was trying very hard to commit to memory. While Garrus had made it his business to track their progress and be useful, she earned her worth by arming herself with Wrex's Rosenkov and tapping her helmet every few moments in a vain, rather childish attempt to restore the higher functions of her HUD. Frustration won out in the end and she hissed loudly, removing her helmet hastily. She could practically smell the cowlicks she'd revealed but lacked the vanity to do anything about them.

"Shit… Garrus, can you run a diagnostic on this?"

He nodded and opened up a new window, typing away in some indistinguishable pattern. It took a few mere seconds for the turian to craft a readable 'you're screwed' expression.

"Omni-gel will fix the structural damage, but your chipset is offline. I can't do much about it down here."

The cracks were the list of her worries, "What can you fix with what you've got?"

Garrus paused, appraising the system, "Communications. We'll just have to stick to my scanners."

"What's your highest sensitivity setting?"

"Level four," Garrus replied apologetic.

Shepard grimaced, "We're going to have to tip toe out of here."

Garrus made his repairs in silence and the whole ordeal took less than five minutes. The time lost was valuable, but restored communication with the Normandy was absolutely worth the wait. The real test was whether or not the ship was actually within range of a com buoy, let alone the likelihood that their transmissions would be jammed by ERC. Cracks were smoothed clean and her HUD flashed as the two-way came online, alerting her to newfound channels. Shepard didn't dare test it so soon; even the smallest hail over a closed channel could compromise their position if their communications were, in fact, being tampered with.

She muttered her thanks as she reclaimed her helmet, fears ebbing away just a fraction as she found comfort in the soft buzz of her open channel. They resumed their pace without another word. Shepard began to imagine disastrous outcomes of their evacuation of the tunnel. What would greet them on the other side? A thirty foot drop? A welcoming party of ERC or worse? A geth tea party? The likelihood that luck would smile and deliver them into the loving arms of allies was laughable. Shepard's fortune was fickle and prone to extreme karma swings. As far as she could tell, no sin she'd committed warranted retribution from the omniscient powers. Unless fate counted murder, regardless of the intention, as a crime. If that was the case, then Shepard was in for a karmic tsunami, and she didn't relish the idea of being punished for doing her job.

The path began sloping upwards and Shepard was finding herself exerting much more effort to keep moving. Garrus didn't show any outward signs of struggle, but his pace slowed ahead of her. He'd taken point and Shepard had logically allowed it, despite the nagging instinct that drove her ahead. A functioning radar outmatched her desire to lead. Garrus wasn't a big proponent of needless chatter and his comments were usually clipped and helpful. She'd known talkative servicemen who couldn't button their lips no matter the assignment; routine patrol or rescue operation, they all had something to say about everything. These ones usually didn't last long as other officers discovered their shortcomings. Shepard hadn't known many of them, but their presence still irked her.

Another matter perturbed her and she pressed her palm to the wall for balance as a slip of ice gave way beneath her feet. They'd ascended a great deal and she could feel the air growing warmer. There had to be some source of an exhaust nearby; a sign of higher technology and bustling life. This was not necessarily a blessing given their hostile location. Shepard couldn't risk contacting the Normandy, nor did she dare try to position Wrex. It wasn't so much a matter of his reconnaissance, but just the simple relief that would flow from the knowledge that he was still alive.

"All right, Shepard?" Garrus inquired behind her. The scrape of his talons against the ice called her back to the present.

She nodded.

"Anything on radar?"

He shook his head, puffs of breath freezing in the air, "Negative. All quiet."

Shepard bit her lip, taking no comfort from what should have been good news. All was quiet… far too quiet. It may have been that they simply lacked instruments capable of reading the right frequencies, or the ERC had enacted intense cloaking. It seemed to be overkill considering they were already well concealed beneath layer after layer of glacier, set in a planet they already had practically complete control over… all suits aside.

"Maybe… Keep your eyes open and expect the worst."

Finally the unmistakable slate of a metal blast door came into view. Her heart leapt, but the joy was temporary. She had no idea where they'd surfaced or what exactly this steel slab was protecting. Garrus began his advance but she lifted a closed fist, freezing him. She took a few cautious steps forward, lifting the shotgun from her hip as she silently approached the door. Garrus obediently kept to her right flank as his rifle hummed to life. She cast him an expectant look, which he met and read with expert intuition, nodding 'no' as his sensors remained silent. Next came the task of breaching the doorway and surviving whatever lay ahead. There were no alternate routes, no detours through less conspicuous tunnels. This was the last stop. Garrus assured her that nothing lay behind the walls, but a level four upgrade package was very little consolation considering just how outnumbered and ill equipped they were in that frigid shaft.

One more tentative step forward activated the motion sensors and the great steel slabs groaned apart. They froze in tandem as they path unexpectedly opened before them. Shepard sighted her shotgun, though there was no quarry to target just yet. Still, instinct urged her to take up arms and prepare to fire, the slickness of her gloves squeaking softly as she squeezed. Garrus mirrored her movements without prompt, preparing himself for whatever lay ahead. But when the mist cleared and the mechanical efforts of the automatic door ceased, the silence revealed her dread.

Her aim wavered as eyes widened, unwilling to accept the scene in front of them. By the grace of her own obduracy, her mouth remained close and the surprise wailed within. At least twenty agents stood by rank before her, creating an impenetrable barrier or armored thugs. A myriad of species stood before them, expressions ranging from blank to sickly pleased. The forerunners wielded flashing weapons, armed and prepared to discharge as many rounds as needed to fell the intruders. Shepard's guiding voice screamed at her to disarm, to dissuade the mob before them from opening fire. Reluctantly, she let the shotgun fall to her side. She couldn't bring herself to look at Garrus; too many failures in a row made it difficult to meet his eyes. Once again, she'd trampled his trust underfoot and led them into a firing squad.

"Stand down, Garrus…" She muttered. Shepard could feel his hesitance, a brief glance, and then the rifle quieted as he relinquished himself to her authority. She could read nothing from him. No frustration, no anger, no disappointment. Just utter blankness. Perhaps it was a similar breed to the defeat that choked her then.

A burly human approached, the heavy grey armor encircling his neck giving him the figure of a massive bulldog. He possessed no weapon, but was followed out by two armed turians as he broke formation.

"Commander Ren Shepard, Garrus Vakarian: you are under arrest for conspiracy, assault of Elanus Risk Control agents, and coercion," the man rumbled, an executioner's voice.

Shepard's gaze hardened, voice monotone, "I'm not liable under your jurisdiction."

He sneered as his agents advanced. Garrus balked like an unsettled horse, but one of the turians landed a solid blow to his back, stifling him. Shepard was suddenly several feet closer with no memory of how she got there, teeth bared in a snarl as a chorus of pistols simultaneously took aim at her. Garrus groaned, but remained uptight, successfully subdued. Shepard let her hands fall back to her sides as they were surrounded.

"You are outside Citadel space and therefore responsible for your actions, Spectre or no," the man sneered.

Shepard's face softened as she bade defeat away.

"I'll speak to your supervisor about that," she growled.

"That's the idea," the man rumbled as the turian agents shoved them forward. The crowd began to disperse, parting for their exit as they were ushered deeper into the garage. All around them, crates were loaded into inconspicuous shuttle craft, armed guards overseeing the transport. It was then that she knew exactly why such a bitter environment might appeal to a double-dealing agency. The secrecy and unmonitored shipping proved ideal for the trafficking occurring under their noses. It was the complete lack of krogan participants that gave them away.

And here they stood, exercising false authority over her in a mockery of justice. It would be a fool's trial, a game played for the sick fun of it. The lot of them trooped through the din of dishonest work. Shepard dared a glance at Garrus, who appeared quite disgruntled after the blow. Much to her surprise, he met her eyes as they marched in silence, seeking thoughts within the piercing blue. But he was guarded, then, gears turning behind the curtain.

Fear was catching up to her as the trekked up a set of narrow stairs. They were deep within enemy territory and their captors answered to a warped authority. These were terrorists and the law protecting them in that den of treachery was as enduring as a shield of glass.

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The weight of Aguila's death hit Toombs' men hard once the dust settled and the damage splayed out before them. Shepard's crew, on the other hand, remained impressively stoic. Her team knew the risks of their occupation and had come to terms with the likelihood of sacrifice before graduation. These boys here never expected more than a few dirt devils during their time out here. Death was such a distant, foreign idea. But Aguila's body lay before them, a cruel reminder that there was no such thing as a safe assignment.

The bright side to this debacle was the reunion with both Golderg and Brahms' humvees. Their passengers had all faired immensely better and the worst injuries of note were superficial scrapes. They stood atop a dune, consulting their maps while the rest of the crew surveyed the horizon. Goldberg and Brahms stood side to side, helmets off and heads shaking.

"We're still about twenty clicks from the drop zone... We could-"

Goldberg interjected, "Toombs' men are spooked. L.C. says to scrub the pickup."

Heresy eased few fears so Shepard interrupted, leaving the rest of her team to regroup and prepare Aquila for transport.

"Our humvee's shot and I don't trust these boys to get anything done today," Shepard spoke quietly, eyes wandering to the cluster of soldiers pulling the zipper up on Aguila's body bag. Ghatori was attempting to maintain a conversation with Lao, but to little avail. The man was still wide-eyed and effectively stunned by the realization that Akuze had finally claimed one of his own.

Geo-Tech hadn't invested enough in their well-being for Shepard to reconsider her decision to abort. Frustration nagged at her; not because of what they'd abandoned, but because she was realizing just how green these soldiers were. The Lima had produced a fine squad of apt marines and Shepard couldn't imagine dealing with anyone less capable than the emissaries of their old vessel.

"Shepard!" Colonel Toombs called from behind. She pivoted as best she could have given the resistance of the sand beneath her boots. He sidled up to her, perspiration clear through the gap between his visor and chin guard.

"It's going to be a tight squeeze, Shepard," Toombs muttered, his disappointment resounding clear despite his efforts to contain his malcontent with their mission status. Even Toombs couldn't deny the blow Aguila's death had dealt and his own hands betrayed him, fidgety.

She made no immediate reply, but performed a quick head count of the troops awaiting transport.

"Divide them up. Evenly. I want Goldberg at the wheel. You'll ride shotgun with me."

Toombs didn't complain about his demotion from driver to passenger. She could see the cracks of his visage widen, revealing the fatigue building within.

With a nod of assent, Toombs turned and issued the orders, to which the men and women eagerly obeyed. Shepard turned for Goldberg's attention when a chorus of ear-piercing shrieks resounded behind her. Her pulse quickened as she stumbled to face the cacophony and found a handful of her marines doubling over, tearing their helmets off. O'Callahan stumbled into view, his rifle in hand without prompt. He had managed to suppress the overwhelming signal and found his way to her, wide eyed and urgent.

"That's it! That's the jamming!" he screamed.

Ghatori called from just down the dune, squinting against the incessant screeching, "I've got major seismic activity here!"

Shepard took his word for it as the firmament rumbled beneath the sea of sand.

"Get to your humvess! Go, go, go!" Shepard screamed as she began the agonizingly slow run through the sand.

She kept the humvee in her sights, but it rocked and pitched about as the world turned against them. The flock of them fled for the safety of armored transport, but their feet were sinking. The foundation failed them as they ran for their lives.

Shepard made frequent efforts to chase the panic of death from her mind, to accept only the mission and the circumstances surrounding it, regardless of the known odds of survival. Greet every challenge with a plan, conquer every foe with counter efforts. Never lie down and never, ever, succumb to the paralysis of fear. But as the dunes fissured beneath them, the ignorance faded and she could no longer stomach the ignorance that came with the idea of survival, no matter the cost.

There was an undeniable chance that they would all perish without ever igniting the engines.

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They were deposited unceremoniously in a narrow holding cell, the walls of which were hastily carved out of glacial rock. The containment screen slid shut as their turian escorts disarmed them and said their goodbyes with two swift blows from the butts of their weapons, leaving Shepard and Garrus all the more agitated. As soon as they were left to their own devices, Shepard delivered a swift, ineffective jab to the tempered glass. The sound reverberated mockingly back at her as the screen refused to give. Shamed and frustrated, she slumped back and tore her helmet off. One hand slipped through jet hair while the other let the armor hang limply at her side.

She expected Garrus to chastise her, to let loose the dry wit and snide critique. He said nothing until she was still, his eyes cautiously settling on her.

"I think we may have confirmed a few rumors…" Garrus said quietly, little more than a vibration through the stagnant cell air.

Shepard snorted; a heavy-hearted sound, "It's the Second Strike all right… discovery of the fucking century."

And here we are, gift-wrapped and ready to die.

"So what do we do? Prepare for the worst?" Garrus gestured towards the visible corridor, two armored grunts standing guard.

"Or something like it. They may kill us, but that would raise a few suspicions and put their delicate operation in jeopardy. We went after them… We're probably more of an unpleasant surprise…" Shepard mused aloud, playing the various scenarios in her mind while she tried to imagine the motivation for their incarceration.

Shepard's death would result in a terrible backlash from the Alliance. The Council, not so much. Spectres disappeared quietly, regardless of the failure. There would be no retaliation or vengeance enacted in her honor. It would take some time for C-Sec to realize that one of their top agents had been claimed by a backwater terrorist organization long thought dissolved. Since he was already on indefinitely leave with them, there was no guarantee that anything would be done. Whoever was in charge of this operation would most likely avoid a messy end, unless there was some fool-proof method to completely hide their deaths. It would be a bold, idiotic move, but a headstrong, infuriated person might just possess the balls to do it.

That would spell out certain doom.

Footfalls drew her attention to the door as a salarian approached the cell, followed by a small armed entourage. The guards entered first in a touching display of subversion. Garrus and Shepard backed away slowly, keen on avoiding any further brutality while they remained unarmed.

"You two lucked out. The chief has requested your presence and you would do well to come quietly."

"Who might that be," Garrus demanded.

The Salarian tilted its narrow head, wide black eyes disappearing momentarily behind thin eyelids. "No one of importance to you, agent Vakarian. This invitation was extended to Shepard."

"Vakarian goes too, or I don't budge," Shepard replied flatly.

The air exploded around her as an open fist collided with her jaw. She stumbled backwards, reeling from the strike. Garrus had put himself between the salarian and his commander, but the second assault did not come.

The guard stepped back in line. The salarian appeared completely unmoved.

"The terms are non-negotiable. We will escort you to the chief's office without incident, or we will express our discontent to your turian friend."

Shepard caught Garrus' eyes and attempted to plead as much as she could with that one look, begging for his compliance. "Garrus…" she practically whispered, her demands unspoken. but fully felt.

The request wasn't settling. His mandibles twitched noticeably while her tried to swallow the dilemma. It was a simple order and she was almost touched by his resistance to the idea. As much as she wanted to latch onto his arm and march into the unknown, this was another opportunity to endanger them. Without her, he might actually survive.

Garrus nodded and fell back, sullen. Shepard stepped up with a quiet inhalation, struggling to keep her hands at her sides while each guard approached and took hold of her arms, leading her out the door without giving her time to glance back at her squad mate. Someone roughly slid a blindfold over her eyes and she bit her lip. She didn't know if she would have even been able to handle watching him drift from her sights. That was one blow she would not recover from.

"Sorenson! Move it!" She shoved the soldier from behind, propelling the marine towards the humvee.

Goldberg hit the hood of the transport at the same time as Shepard, heaving and spitting sand before the guard screen descended to cover her face. Her voice exploded in Shepard's ear, "I only count five of us here!"

"What?" Shepard gaped, spinning around to see nothing but exploding fissures, geysers of sand and flailing limbs.

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Shepard tried to focus on mapping her steps as they walked, grudgingly reliant on their guidance as their bizarre procession continued. Minutes passed and what began as a tangible path became a dizzying maze. Turns and stops, circles and ascensions. Stairs appeared and then disappeared just as soon beneath her feet. All part of the grand death trap.

She could hear the mechanical clanking of lifts and carriers, heavy loads prepared for transport to their black market clients. A nuisance she once thought eliminated, risen from the grave and haunting her, an everlasting reminder of the mission failed.

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"Bannon! Brahams!" No reply. Only the roar of raging sand. Screams erupting as the second humvee rolled into view, pitching from its stationary place. It rolled away, bounding as if it weighed nothing.

A body flew past. Shepard's throat tightened as she failed to discern whether the soldier was living or dead, and she never saw it hit the ground. It simply blew out of sight.

The winds increased tenfold and visibility worsened immensely. She could barely make out the crackling in her two-way. No voices heralded hope. No one came to her call.

She groped around the standing rover, scrambling to the driver side door. Shepard threw it open, panting heavily as she peered inside for a head count. There were none. No one had been able to take safety within the humvee and there were no clues to point her towards where they had actually gone.

There was nothing but the buffeting storm and relentless howl of the wind as they were swept up with the dune.

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A gruff hand pushed her through the threshold and forced her into the chair, but the blindfold remained. Shepard listened as three pairs of feet trooped out the door and the silence of her new surroundings engulfed her. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled as some internal alarm blared.

All other circumstances aside, something was terribly wrong. A piece of another reality had slipped in and become part of the hideous amalgamation. One horror fused with another as her instinctual urge to run overcame her. Robbed of both her sight and freedom, there would be no release from panic's hold. Only the unshakable terror that held her heart.

"I did the math, you know. The odds of us meeting like this were so astronomical that I feel like we can classify this moment as an achievement," the tormentor's voice raced across her skin, summoning long-dormant memories and resurrecting emotions so ancient that her brain couldn't decode them.

The voice sighed, "Though the terms of our encounter are certainly less than favorable. But, nevertheless…"

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Marines were reduced to silhouettes within the raging sandstorm. As soon as Shepard locked one in her sights and pressed on to pursue them, their image dissolved into the chaos. Everywhere she turned, illusions. Soldiers disappeared before her very eyes, though screams and cries for help rang true in her radio.

What hope could be found out here? Life threatened to cease here, to bury beneath sediment over time only to be found months later, when there was substantial desire to find them.

The sand dropped away as a tremor forced another fissure open. A plume of sand shot upward and she balked, retreating a few paces backward as she beheld the unnatural sight. But the sand did not abate and a terrible cry accompanied this explosion of fragmented rock. Pupils shrunk to pinpricks as flesh was revealed. Not the flesh of a human, or any animal she recognized. Foul, armored meat stretching up in a column, topped with a gaping hole surrounded by vacillating appendages. It was thicker than any tree she'd encountered. Louder than any living creature she could name. It sounded as though it had just escaped the deepest pits of hell, screaming from the madness induced from eons of suffering.

It stopped ascending and arched downwards, tilting its head to the ground. Rings of teeth, tentacles… All the assorted parts deemed disgusting by the majority of the human race. It was a terrible hybrid of so many fears.

And two of her own men dangled from its mouth, devoid of legs. The thresher maw had emerged.

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The hand drew her blindfold away and she narrowed her eyes against the light, urging herself to focus quickly at the man kneeling before her, eye level and dangerously close.

Her heart skipped a whole beat and Shepard wanted so very badly for it to cease its rhythm as the realization bore into her. Dread swallowed the words in her throat and blood boiled. She choked on betrayal and sat frozen as she tried to trick herself. Shepard's eyes were vengeful organs, creating scenes of unimaginable atrocities. There was no other explanation for the scene before her. She closed her eyes, praying to the blackness for his figure to vanish, and opened them… to no avail.

"…It's good to see you again, Shepard."

Chief McDowell still crouched in front of her, a false smile plastered to his face.

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If you didn't see that coming, then damn. Sorry? Take from it what you will. Like always, review if you want another chapter. Thank yoooou.

Rest in peace, David Cooper.