AN: First off, a belated Happy Christmas to everyone! Hope you folks continue to stay safe and have lots of fun for the coming new year!

Now onto our story. . .

Present. Presidium, Citadel.

If there was one thing that Henall Valern's years in the STG had taught him, it was the value of patience. The hyperactive metabolism of salarians, combined with their comparatively short lifespan, made the very idea of slowing down seem ridiculous. But not to him. Valern had learned about the pitfalls of hasty decisions the hard way, which was why he always preferred to take his time before arriving at a decision.

Unfortunately, this part of his nature had earned him a reputation of being a particularly slippery salarian. Racism aside, Valern found it a bit hypocritical that members of species with much longer lifespans than his own attempted to make him out to be some kind of shadowy schemer just because he preferred to use his mind instead of blindly rushing into decisions.

But that was fine. Not everyone had seen the things he had. Not everyone had seen the real face of espionage and deceit, and the depths to which intelligence agencies could sink to just to gain an edge over their rivals.

Frankly, it was amazing he wasn't a paranoid wreck by now.

But that was a matter for a different day. Right now he had a decision to make. An urgent one.

Valern cast a look around the room, briefly meeting the eyes of everyone present. His large eyes rested a fraction of a second longer on Shepard, the human at the center of this mess.

If he had to be perfectly honest, Valern didn't really have an opinion about Shepard either way. He respected the soldier's skill and tenacity, but was far too wary of humanity's ambition to give her a wide berth like the others. Granted she had saved their lives two years ago, but that was part of her responsibilities as a Spectre; not to mention that her entire race had profited through that move far more than they had any right to.

A seat on the Citadel Council, a chance to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the giants of this galaxy. . . these were opportunities any of the other species would have kiled for. And that too in such a short time since they'd become a space-worthy race. Was it any surprise that the majority of the galaxy still held them at arm's length?

But his opinions on the human race aside, there was still a decision to be made about this whole Reaper business; and it had to be made fast.

Valern suppressed a sigh. Frankly, he still wasn't completely convinced of the existence of these so-called Reapers, though in his case it was because he'd personally seen some very elaborate hoaxes one too many times. He'd always held a firm belief that if something sounded too ridiculous to be true, it mostly was.

And yet. . .

And yet the fact remained that there were too many inconsistencies to completely dismiss the possibilities of the Reapers. Sovereign's mysterious origins (to his knowledge, the STG was still trying to uncover more secrets about the sheer technological prowess of Saren's flagship), Shepard's inexplicable death and resurrection, this whole Collector business. . . it all painted a very unsettling picture in his mind.

But it still wasn't enough. He needed something more. Something that could convince him that he was, in fact, making the right decision.

Then inspiration struck. "Doctor Solus," he said. "What is your professional opinion about the chances of success of this mission?"

The older salarian stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hard to say. Too many unknowns. Too little data on Collectors. Omega 4 relay unmapped. Complete mystery," he muttered rapidly. "However, have had chance to observe Commander Shepard's performance during missions. Believe she can get the job done."

And that, in Valern's opinion, sealed the matter. Mordin Solus may be a lot of things, but he wasn't suicidal. A legend of the STG like him wouldn't throw his weight behind the Commander unless he was really confident that she could pull this off. Heck, someone with his intelligence wouldn't even bother to sign up for this mission without a good reason.

He nodded decisively. "I support the motion to have one of our Spectres accompany Shepard," he said aloud. Ignoring Sparatus' vocal expression of disgust, he turned to Tevos. "Is there anyone you have in mind?"

The asari shot him a warm smile. "I was thinking of nominating Tela Vasir for his role."

Oh, that is well played indeed. . . he thought wryly. Vasir's loyalty to her Councilor was well-known, and it also confirmed his suspicion that Tevos had her own agenda behind all this. The extent to which the wily asari had gone to plan all this impressed him in spite of himself. He returned the brief smile. "A sound idea. Tela Vasir is a veteran Spectre and a formidable fighter. She will be a valuable asset to your mission, Commander."

"Thank you, Councilor," the human nodded.

"While we're on the subject, perhaps we could discuss re-instating Shepard's Spectre status," David Anderson said anxiously. "It would be invaluable to her during this mission."

"I have no objections," Valern offered.

"Neither do I," Tevos said.

Everyone turned to look at the turian Councilor, who merely waved a hand dismissively. "Just do what you want," he growled.

"Then it is settled," Valern said, summing up the meeting. "Commander Jane Shepard, the Citadel Council hereby officially re-instates you to your position in the Special Tactics and Recon Division. You are hereby ordered to co-operate with fellow Spectre Tel Vasir and report to us after the completion of your mission. Any decision regarding these Reapers will be taken based on the evidence you submit thereafter. This meeting is hereby adjourned."

He paused and favored the human with a small smile. "Good luck, Commander. And I hope you will understand when I say that we sincerely wish you are mistaken about the Reapers."

"So do I, Councilor," she replied sadly. "So do I."

Shepard let out a deep breath as the holograms finally shut off. "That went well."

"Better than we could've hoped," Anderson agreed, nodding respectfully as Mordin Solus excused himself to give them some privacy.

"Yeah. I was pretty sure they were going to brush me off when Sparatus started his air-quoting," she scowled. "What's his deal anyway?"

Anderson shrugged. "Frankly, I'm not sure myself. I've worked with the man for two years and I know next to nothing about him, apart from the fact that he hates humans. Pretty sure we'd be having a very different discussion if he'd been allowed to have his way."

"Yeah. Tevos really came through for us back there. I'm pretty grateful, really."

"As am I," he said. "Still, it does make you wonder. . . why did she stand up for you back there?"

"Maybe she knows something the others don't," Shepard guessed.

"Maybe. Or maybe she's got her own agenda, her own plans for you," Anderson stated. "You'd best be careful while dealing with this Tela Vasir."

"I will," she reassured him. "Though I gotta say: I never thought I'd hear you sound so much like a politician, Councilor." She smiled to show that she was joking.

"Well, if I recall correctly, you are the reason I got this job, Commander," he smiled back.

"Guilty as charged," she grinned, before becoming serious again. "Speaking of which, everyone keeps calling me 'Commander', but I don't even know if I have that rank anymore. Alliance regs aren't especially clear on coming back from the dead."

"Admiral Hackett and I have already discussed that," Anderson said. "He's going to make arrangements to have you slip back into Alliance ranks. Officially, you'll be listed as working on a classified mission under the Fifth Fleet's command. That should take care of any questions about the last two years."

"That's great," she said brightly. "Thank you, Anderson!"

"Don't thank me until it's done. Getting your Spectre status reinstated was the first step; it shows that the Council still has enough faith in you to keep you on. We should be able to use that to steamroller any objections from Alliance command."

"Is HQ giving you guys trouble?" she inquired.

Anderson sighed. "I won't lie to you, Shepard. The loss of the Normandy and your. . . absence hit us a lot harder than we thought. The handling of the whole situation caused a rift in the leadership back home, and it hasn't been completely resolved yet. I don't know if it ever will."

Shepard accepted this somber news with a silent nod. "Speaking of the Alliance, I heard my mom turned down her promoted."

"That's right," he smiled. "Captain Hannah Shepard was offered a promotion to Admiral, but she turned it down. She's currently on the SSV Orizaba. Want me to get you in touch with her?"

"Yeah. . . no. . .no, I don't think so. It's just. . I'm not sure how to face her right now." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "There's so much going on and it's happening so fast. . ."

"I understand," Anderson said gently. "Let me know when you're ready to talk to her."

"I will." She paused. "What about my crew?"

"The surviving crew of the Normandy was reassigned, naturally. Mostly scattered all over the place. I only know about a few: Lieutenant Gregory Adams is currently serving aboard the SSV Kilimanjaro as an engineer, Lieutenant Commander Alenko is at HQ acting as an advisor for the BAaT program, Dr Chakwas is on leave and Lieutenant Moreau has been AWOL for a while now."

"Joker and Chakwas are with me," Shepard admitted. "They're part of my crew."

"I see," Anderson said neutrally.

"What about Ashley Williams?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Operations Chief Williams is still with the Alliance, but she's working on a special mission," he said finally. "It's classified. I can't say any more. Not while you're working with Cerberus. I'm sorry."

The last part hurt a bit more than she'd expected it to. "I'm not working with Cerberus because I want to, sir," she said quietly. "But I have no choice! The Alliance isn't doing anything to help all those colonists, and. . ."

Anderson held up a hand to interrupt her. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Shepard. I'm the last person you need to justify yourself to. It's just. . . this is a highly classified mission, and I simply can't take the risk of this information falling into the wrong hands."

"I understand," she conceded grudgingly.

Her mentor regarded her for a few moments before speaking again. "By the way, you should probably look forward to a promotion once Hackett reinstates you."

"Really?" she perked up slightly.

"You were posthumously awarded the rank of Staff Commander after your. . . temporary demise," he explained. "I think it's safe to say that the promotion will hold. You were due for one after the Battle of the Citadel anyway."

"Gee, thanks sir!" she said happily. "Oh, and while we're on the subject. . ."

"Yes?" he prompted.

The woman fidgeted slightly. "Do you think I could get vacation pay for the two years I was dead?" she asked hopefully.

Anderson glared at her slightly. "Don't push it, Commander."

"Now, you should probably get moving. The last thing we need is for Udina to see you here and. . ."

It was at this moment that Murphy's Law came into play, and Donnell Udina stormed through the door. "Anderson, we need to talk about. . ." He stopped in his tracks and stared in surprise. "Shepard? What are you doing here?"

Shepard was about to snap off a witty retort but Anderson beat her to it. "Udina! What's wrong?"

"'What's wrong'?" he repeated, putting on the legendary Donnel Udina Sneer™ #1, as only the true master could. "How about you explain why Shepard is here, and why I wasn't informed!?"

Anderson merely glanced around the office in a confused manner. "What are you talking about? There's nobody here."

Udina was taken aback, but then recovered quickly. "Are you calling me a liar, Anderson!?" he bellowed, puffing out his weak chest. "Shepard is standing right over there!"

"Shepard's dead, Udina," Anderson's stare was full of concern now. "She's been dead for two years."

"This-this is an outrage!" the ambassador said, though there was a definite note of panic in his voice. "She's-she's right there! Don't tell me you can't see her!" He pointed a shaking finger at the smug-looking redhead.

"Maybe you need to lie down a bit," Anderson suggested. "You've obviously had a pretty long day."

"This. . . can't be," he croaked. "I-I'm not. . ."

Taking her cue, the Commander stepped forward. "Wooooooo!" she intoned in a spooky voice, stretching her arms outward. "I am the ghost of Festivus past! I have come to haunt you, Udina!"

The older man was shaking from head to toe now, his face pale and sweaty. "This isn't. . . I'm not. . ."

"Why did you let me die, Udina?" she demanded, putting on her creepiest expression. "Why did you send me to my death?"

At this, the ambassador's legs finally gave way and he hit the floor, knocking himself out in the process.

Anderson stared at the unconscious man for a few moments before shaking his head in a disappointed manner. "'Festivus past'? Was that really the best you could come with?"

"Hey, cut me some slack! I'm crap at improvising at this stuff, and you know that!" she protested.

He straightened up and folded his arms behind him. "You have much to learn, my young padawan."

"I look to you for guidance, my master," Shepard said with a deep bow.

Light-years away, a certain drell sitting in the Shadow Broker's lair stared at his surveillance feed in utter shock.

"What in the name of Arashu did I just watch?" Feron wondered aloud.

Citadel. Zakera Ward.

Boo the space hamster was living the life.

A breakfast of delicious nuts, and the rest of the day spent on his exercise wheel; all the while enjoying the sights and sounds of the brightly lit shopping district from his cage.

Yessiree. Today was a good day to be a space hamster.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to last for very long.

Boo was almost thrown out of his wheel as his cage rocked violently. Taking a moment to steady himself, he blinked and looked upwards. . . .

And nearly had a heart attack on the spot.

Two large, blue reptilian eyes gazed back at him through the window in his cage. Even as he watched, a large tongue slithered out and licked a pair of lips, briefly exposing a massive mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

"Heh-heh-heh."

The guttural sound caused the little hamster to reflexively lay a few pellet sized. . . er. . . presents on the floor of his cage. Closing his eyes, he sent out a silent prayer to all the furry gods of existence, begging for help.

Turns out today was still his lucky day.

"Hey Grunt! I'm back! What's that you've got there?" a voice suddenly said.

"Er. . ." Before the predator could think of a response, Boo's cage was quickly snatched out of his hands. The space hamster blinked as the reptilian blue eyes were replaced with a pair of beautiful emeralds.

"He's so cute!" the new creature squealed. "You were buying this for me? Oh Grunt, you shouldn't have!"

"Er. . . I was going to eat that. . ." the beast mumbled.

But the green-eyed creature didn't seem to hear him. "That's really sweet of you, Grunt! But I can buy him myself. And that reminds me, I really should start giving you an allowance!"

"Hmmm. An allowance?" The predator rumbled thoughtfully. "Alright, I guess."

"Great! Now let's just get our newest member home." The green-eyed giant reached out to pat his cage affectionately. "Don't worry, little guy. I'll take good care of you."

Boo heaved a small sigh. This one seemed, if possible, even more hyperactive than he was. But it was still better than getting eaten, so what the hell. . .

A space hamster could do worse.

Unfortunately, Commander Shepard was finding it a little bit difficult to channel her hamster's optimism right now.

"9,200 credits!?" she exclaimed in utter disbelief. "That's daylight robbery!"

"Ma'am, please," the store clerk said nervously. "As I just said, proceeds from this purchase will. . ."

"I heard you the first time!" Shepard snapped. She then took a deep breath. "Look, can't we work out a discount or something?"

"Our store doesn't offer discounts to Citadel employees. . ."

"But I'm a Spectre!" she protested. "And not just any Spectre, I'm the Spectre. I'm Commander Shepard!"

"Commander Shepard?" The asari blinked in surprise. "The Commander Shepard?" It was then that she noticed the red and white stripes on her armor, and the distinctive appearance of the human female. "Goodness, it really is you!"

"That's right," she said smugly. "Now, about that discount?"

"Yes. . . well. . . I suppose we could arrange something for the Savior of the Citadel." The asari quickly activated her console. "Please, just speak an endorsement into here."

Shepard cleared her throat. "I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel."

"Excellent, thank you! With the discount, it will be 7,666 credits."

After paying for her purchase and arranging to have her hamster transported to their ship, Shepard rejoined the others. "Not too shabby, Commander," Zaeed grunted. "You know how to haggle, I'll give you that."

"Thanks Zaeed," Shepard said, her eyes slowly scanning all the other brightly lit shops in the area. "Say, this just gave me an idea. . . ."

The rest of team took one involuntary step away from her. "I got a very bad feeling about this," Zaeed murmured.

The slow evil smirk that crept over Commander Shepard's face would have made a certain furry green-skinned recluse feel proud.

An hour later.

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel."

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel."

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel."

It was that a very happy Commander Shepard made her way back to the docking bay. With Grunt and Mordin flanking her and Zaeed bringing up the rear, she whistled a jaunty tune as the sound of her own voice rang through the wards. Occasionally, she paused to glance at her account balance and smirked at all the credits she'd saved.

Yessiree. Today, was a great day to be Commander Jane Shepard.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that wasn't going to last very long.

"Commander Shepard? Commander Shepard, a moment of your time please!"

She blinked as a woman in a long dress stepped into her path, a camera bot hovering in the air beside her. "Khalisah bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News," she introduced herself.

"Er. . . have me met before?"

"I interviewed you two years ago, when you first became a Spectre?" she reminded her. "You punched me when my questions hit too close to home."

"What? No way! I wouldn't do something like that," Shepard said defensively.

"I have the whole thing on camera, Commander," Khalisah said, firing up her omni-tool.

As the recording started to play, Shepard's mind flashed back to the day in question.

Two years ago. . .

"Can I help you?" Shepard growled.

Despite the way she phrased it, Commander Shepard was far from being in a helpful mood. She'd just found out that she'd wasted her credits in buying the HMWA VI barely a week before its successor, the HMWA VII came out. Now, despite having using it for a little over a fortnight, the turian Requisitions officer was refusing to refund her credits, claiming that they had a strict "No-Return" policy. He even had the gall to say that he thought she was being a little too picky, since there wasn't much of a difference between the two rifles anyway, but that was just his opinion.

Personally, she thought he was being a cheap racist bastard, but that was just her opinion.

"Khalisah bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News," she said formally. "Would you answer a few questions for our viewers?"

"Look miss, I'm kinda in a hurry here. . ."

"It's just a few questions, Commander. Nothing to feel shy about."

"I'm not shy!"

"So you don't mind answering, then? That's great!" She activated her camera bot before the other woman could say another word. "So Commander Shepard, what does it feel like to be the first human on the elite Spectre team of the Council?"

"Well. . ."

"Is it true that you're already being asked to disregard the Alliance's orders and report directly to the alien Council?"

"What? No! I. . ."

"Is it true that the Council has been secretly developing a special breed of mind control worms to take control of human minds by burrowing into our ears?"

"Lady, are you insane. . ."

"Is it true that you've sold your soul to your alien masters? Is it true that you're secretly feeding them inside information to take over Earth and enslave all of humanity by. . ."

The last thing Khalisah saw was an armored fist headed right at her face before her world dissolved into blackness.

Present.

"Okay. . ." Shepard said slowly. "I'll admit that could have gone a lot better."

"So you'll give another interview then?" Khalisah asked cheerfully. "That's great!"

"Wait! I never said. . ."

Once again, her protests went unheeded as the reporter activated her camera. "So, Commander Shepard," she began. "Sources claim you were at the heart of the Presidium during the Battle of the Citadel. It's fair to say the course of the battle hinged on your words. If true, you told Admiral Hackett to assist the Destiny Ascension, costing hundreds of human lives and securing the continued dominance of the Citadel Council."

Shepard cleared her throat. "Well. . ."

"Is it true that you purposefully sacrificed your own species to save your true alien masters?"

"Of course not!" Shepard objected. "And you're not even letting me answer. . ."

"It's true, isn't it?" Khalisah pressed on. "You really have sold your soul to the aliens with mind-controlling parasites!"

"No. . ."

"That is, of course, assuming you had a soul to sell in the first place. . ."

"GAAAHHHH!" Shepard roared in rage. "I'VE," she put her left foot forward, "HAD ENOUGH," she cocked her right arm, "OF YOUR" she swung her fist forward with all her might, "DISINGENUOUS ASSERTIONS!"

WHAM!

The stunning blow swept the reporter clean off her feet, bloody fragments of her teeth flying out from her mouth. Without so much as a scream of pain, Khalisah bint Sinan al-Jilani hit the floor, completely out cold.

Zaeed took one look at the fallen reporter and shook his head. "Goddamn, that was intense."

"Hmmm. . . 'disingenuous assertions'," Grunt rumbled thoughtfully. "A great battle-cry! I like it!"

"This," Shepard panted hard. "I knew. . . this was a mistake. Hey Mordin, could you. . ?"

"Already taken care of." He gestured at the camera bot lying in a smoking heap at his feet. "Also wiped out memory core, just to be safe."

"Thank you," the Commander said gratefully.

"No matter. Aware of the therapeutic value of punching obnoxious reporters." He glanced at the unconscious woman. "Have a favor to ask. . ."

"No, Mordin. We are not going to take her back to the ship just so you can use her for your experiments," she said flatly.

"For science," he insisted.

"No. Just no. You want a guinea pig so badly, you can simply use Chambers. Look," she shot a wary glance around the shopping district. "I'm not entirely sure if my newly reinstated Spectre status will protect us from this. Let's not stick around to find out."

And so the Fearsome Foursome walked away from the scene of the crime, leaving Khalisah bint Sinan al-Jilani to reflect on her poor life choices. Whenever she woke up, that is.

1 hour later. Citadel.

Alone in a dimly lit office in the Lower Wards, a volus typed away rapidly at his console, pausing every now and then to check something from the pile of OSDs on his table.

"Hey, Jahleed! What're you doing?"

The volus let out a deep sigh. "It's called 'working', Chorban," he wheezed. "Ever heard of it?"

"Meh," the salarian muttered, stuffing a few insect-like crisps into his mouth. "Let's go hit a few rounds on the quasar machines."

"We did that only three days ago."

"Exactly," Chorban exclaimed. "It's been three whole days! Do you know how long that is in salarian years?"

"No I don't, and right now I couldn't care less," his partner replied firmly. "I've got to finish these reports by today."

"Pffft! Reports!" Chorban stretched back and put his hands behind his head. "Like that's of any benefit to us."

"As I recall, that is how we make money to fund all our entertainment trips to Flux and Chora's Den," Jahleed reminded him.

"Please! We both know the money we get is barely a fraction of what we deserve," the salarian scoffed. "This research is the first of its kind! We should be publishing before the entire galaxy, presenting it before the Council; not holed up in this. . . this smelly little hole!"

"More likely we'd end up in prison," Jahleed muttered. "Or have you forgotten that what we're doing here is strictly illegal?"

"Yeah, yeah," Chorban yawned. "Look, all I'm saying is, why are we even working so hard? All these reports are for whose benefit exactly? And before you say Archangel, I should remind you that we haven't heard from the turian even once in the last few months."

"Maybe he's busy with other projects," Jahleed suggested. "This can't be his only line of work, could it?"

"Or maybe he doesn't care anymore," the salarian countered. "Maybe he's lost interest in the Keepers, and us, altogether."

"Or maybe," a flanged voice interjected. "He's wondering what exactly you guys are doing with all your funding money."

Jahleed nearly died of shock as their benefactor suddenly materialized out of thin air. Behind him, Chorban shrieked and fell out of his chair.

"So," the turian drawled, fixing them both with a menacing stare. "I'm starting to understand why your requests for credits keep increasing by the month. Gambling and strippers, guys. Really?"

"B-b-b-boss," Jahleed stammered. "W-w-we were j-j-just going to. . ."

"We're working hard, I swear!" Chorban screamed from his position in the floor. "Honest!"

"'Honest' is a word I would never use regarding you two," Archangel said. "But it doesn't matter, I'm not here to listen to your excuses." He casually took Chorban's abandoned chair as the salarian got to his feet. "Now, your last report said you had something important to show me."

"Well. . . yeah, we did. I mean-we do," Jahleed wheezed, looking to his friend helplessly.

"Er. . . yes. Of course," the salarian cleared his throat. "We've uncovered something pretty important about the Keepers."

"I'm listening."

"In our initial reports, we'd mentioned that we studied the Keepers' genetic makeup," Chorban explained. "We found out they'd been bio-engineered, and since then we've been analyzing a bunch of different tissue samples from around the galaxy to see what they were engineered from."

"And you found. . .?"

"Nothing," Jahleed interjected. "No matches whatsoever, even after studying hundreds of different organic samples. So we decided to date the tissue samples and see if their age could give us a clue."

"What we found was shocking to say the least." Chorban fumbled with the pile of OSDs on the desk. "Take a look, sir."

Archangel studied the information carefully. "You compared it to Sovereign's wreckage!?"

"There was a lot of salvage being sold on the black market after the attack on the Citadel," the salarian shrugged. "We just bought it and analyzed it on a whim. Imagine our surprise when we realized that it was not metal but bio-synthetic tissue we were looking at!"

"So we ran another comparison using that, and we were stunned. Get this: according to our findings, the Keepers were engineered millions of years ago. . . by the same people who made Sovereign!"

The turian's face might as well have been made out of stone. "I see," he said neutrally.

The two researchers exchanged uncomfortable looks. "Sir. . . I don't think you understand what this means," Chorban said nervously. "This suggests that the Citadel wasn't really made by the Protheans! It may have been made by something far older, with the Keepers as organic guardians. And what's more, based on our genetic readings, they're supposed to react to. . . something, some signal or something. . . about every 50 thousand years. You can measure genetic variances; it's a bit like comparing rings on a tree to see the drought years."

"Anyways. . whoever did this. . . well, around the last time this signal went off would be around the time the Protheans disappeared. And it's scheduled to go off sometime around now. If any of the old tech still works, they could have some nasty surprises waiting for us."

As expected, this got a reaction out of Archangel. He let out a deep breath. "You're right. This is disturbing," he muttered. "Tell me, have you managed to find out more about this signal?"

The two of them shifted awkwardly on their feet. "Well, yeah. . . we tried," Jahleed mumbled.

Archangel narrowed his eyes at them. "What did you do?"

"Erm. . . well. . . we. . ."

"What did you do?" he repeated sternly.

"Perhaps it'd be better if you saw it for yourself," Jahleed suggested nervously.

The turian sighed and got to his feet. "Show me."

They led the way into an inner room in the apartment. "You have to understand," Chorban blurted out, wringing his hands. "We knew you'd want to know more about the signal. . . so. . ."

They paused before a door, and at Archangels' glare, hesitantly moved to open it. The electronic lock opened the doors with a swish to reveal. . .

Nothing.

"And just what am I supposed to be looking at?" Archangel asked, a bite of impatience in his voice.

Jahleed pointed at a small puddle of dried up sludge on the floor. "That's all that is left of it now."

The turian's mind seemed to race a mile a minute. "You guys kidnapped and brought a Keeper in here for study!?"

"Well. . .'kidnapped' is probably too strong a word. . ."

"I don't care what the word is," he snapped. "I want to know how you guys managed to get your hands on a live Keeper and bring it all the way here!"

Chorban flinched slightly. "It was Jahleed's idea. . ."

The volus shot him a fierce glare. "I-I devised this special kind of spray to preserve the Keepers' tissue samples," he explained nervously. "Then I started thinking: what if there was a way to use this spray to capture a Keeper?"

"We eventually figured out that it was theoretically possible to contain a Keeper if it was placed in a biotic field seconds after being sprayed with the preservation fluid. But neither of us are biotics, so we decided to get help."

"From whom?"

"Well. . . there's this asari who frequents Chora's Den a lot," Chorban said. "One day we saw her arguing with the manager over paying her tab. So we offered to settle it for her if she did us a small favor."

"So you just grabbed a random asari and brought her all the way here with a stolen Keeper!?" Archangel asked incredulously.

"She was drunk out of her mind," the salarian said defensively. "There's no way she'd ever be able to track us back all the way to this place with that much alcohol in her system!"

"Spirits! Only you two would be capable of pulling that off," the turian sighed. "Alright, so you managed to dupe someone into kidnapping a Keeper. What happened next?"

"Well, we tried to isolate it in this room, blocking out signal frequencies to see what would happen. Naturally, that didn't go so well," Jahleed sighed.

"The thing just went berserk! Even started screeching a little before it exploded. However, we got something interesting out of that too." The excitement was palpable in Chorban's voice. "Just before it turned into goo, the Keeper broadcast a pico-second long signal with a unique frequency. It was much too fast for us to analyze the signal itself, but enough for us to trace where it went. And guess what we found?"

"What?"

"The signal was headed towards somewhere within the Citadel," the salarian said happily. "Possibly from somewhere within the Hidden levels!"

"And just what are these Hidden Levels exactly?" Archangel inquired.

"Contrary to what most people believe, the Citadel has never been fully charted out," Jahleed explained. "Only seventeen levels on this place are currently in use."

"And the rest?"

"Are still a mystery," Chorban said in a hushed whisper. "Every few years, the STG will send some explorers down to the hidden Levels. And get this: none of them have ever returned!"

"That sounds like something out of an urban legend," Archangel said.

"It does, but we think we have evidence that it's more than just a myth," Jahleed declared. "There's something down there in the deepest levels of the Citadel which is controlling the Keepers, and through them the whole Citadel, using some kind of signal; and whatever it is, it's been doing this for millions of years!"

For a long time the turian remained silent, simply staring into the empty room. Just when the other two started feeling nervous, he spoke. "You two have done well. Very well, in fact."

"We have?" Chorban asked in surprise.

"You have," Archangel agreed. "You might not know it, but you just helped me figure out something very important right now."

"Which is?"

"None of your concern," he said firmly. "But this does merit a reward. I'll make sure you get a bonus for this excellent work."

"Really?" Jahleed exclaimed.

"Of course. And I'm going to get your research budget padded up a bit as well. Your next assignment is to continue researching these Hidden Levels. Get me whatever you can find."

"We won't let you down, Boss!" the volus said happily.

"I know," he said shortly, walking back to the exit. "I'll have the credits transferred shortly. In the meantime, compile all your findings in a report. I want to study it later."

"Consider it done, Boss," Jahleed declared.

"Say. . uh. .. can we get a little extra for our. . .um. . .entertainment expenses?" Chorban requested.

The turian paused at the door to glare at him, but his mandibles seemed to flutter slightly in amusement. "Don't push it." With that, he disappeared into thin air.

For a few minutes the two friends just stared at the spot where he'd vanished. "Damn. That is so badass," Chorban muttered.

Jahleed merely nodded in silent agreement.

As he walked towards the Presidium, Garrus activated his visor. "Liara, did you get all that?"

"I did," she confirmed, her voice ringing through his earpiece. "That is some very disturbing news, Garrus."

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "Spirits, Liara, I've been an idiot."

"What are you talking about?" She seemed confused.

"I ignored something that was right in front of me all along. Something that all my training at C-Sec should've led me to deduce easily by now." He snorted slightly. "Boy, would Dad be pissed if he ever found out. . ."

"Garrus," Liara said cautiously. "You're not making any sense."

Garrus exhaled as he leaned against the railing of the Presidium lake. "All this time I always assumed that the Reapers controlled everything from the shadows. Literal shadows. I assumed that they ran their operations from their hidey hole in Dark Space, but that's not how it works at all."

"It's right here, Liara! The core of the problem! The reason the Citadel turned out to be the Catalyst, the reason they were able to take over it so easily and transport it all the way to Earth. . ."

A sharp intake of breath signaled that his friend had finally caught on as well. "By the Goddess! Garrus, you don't mean. . !"

"I do," he said softly, his eyes taking in the vast expanse of the Presidium; the tranquil beauty of the structure now warped by his realization of the ugly truth. "The very core of the Reapers, the nerve center of their network is right here. . . inside the Citadel! It's always been here! It's how they're able to observe all the species of our galaxy, how they determine the right time to launch their invasion, how they know which species needs to left alone and which need to be harvested. . ."

"That' the real genius behind their plan. It doesn't matter what we do; as long as the Citadel, and by extension the relays are still there, we'll always lose. As long as the cycles continue to build their way of life around this place, the Reapers will always win!"

For a long moment Liara didn't respond. Then she spoke. "How are we going to fight them now, Garrus?"

"I don't know," Garrus admitted, still looking over the Presidium. "Spirits help me, I don't know. . ."

AN: So, I might have gone a little overboard with the humor in this chapter. But I with the holidays, Star Wars and so many things going there was no way I could resist. Plus, I firmly believe that there's no such thing as too much laughter.

And yes, Tela Vasir is going to be a part of Shepard's squad now. Not as a regular member, but she'll definitely be a part of the more important missions.

A major plot point has also been explained in this chapter. I've decided to stick with the idea that the core of the Reapers' intelligence is housed within the Citadel. It's not that unbelievable when you consider the ending of ME3. Not to mention I've always found the idea of Harbinger controlling his ground troops and reacting in real time while still being in Dark Space a bit ridiculous. But if we assume that whatever signal he sends is routed through the Citadel, it's possible that there's an advanced QEC thingy that allows him to possess the Collector General in real time, and through him the rest of the drones.

Naturally, this will be a lot more relevant in the final installment during the Reaper invasion. It sure won't be easy on our heroes.

Oh, and since the next update will only be a week later, I'd like to wish you all a very happy and prosperous New Year in advance. :)

Next up: Shepard and Garrus set off to add a crazy convict to their mentally unbalanced squad. Elsewhere storm clouds are gathering on the horizon as the most ancient of all Reapers prepares to make his first move against our heroes. What'll happen next?

Stay tuned to find out :)