Interstitium

by AssaultSloth

Flashbacks, interstitial scenes, and backdoor dealings. A companion to ME2 focusing on characters and worlds, big and small.

14. Chapter 14, Purgatory, various

Purgatory – various

---

–

It was another nightmare.

She doesn't bother resisting anymore. Subject Zero's arms are strapped securely to her sides, but at the doctor's command her mind reaches out all the same. The glowing spider in her head clenches and gravity shifts sharply.

The weight thunders across its track.

Pain blossoms between her ears at the pulling in her head. She'd scream if she were lucid, but the drugs they've given her keep her quiet except for the frantic pounding of her hyperventilating lungs. Her hair – what parts of it haven't been shaved off to make room for electrodes – sticks to her sweaty skin in sheets.

Subject Zero doesn't hear the doctors' murmurs of excitement, doesn't hear the VI's voice drone out the alleyne field units she'd managed this time, doesn't hear the weight clicking itself back to its starting position, doesn't even hear the grinding sound that always seemed to swallow the whole facility from every side. She feels the pulling in her head as the doctors adjust her implant for the next experiment, but she can't find the will to struggle.

She sets her mind's arm down and waits for the next order.

Jack awoke with a start, catching a terrified cry before it could leave her throat. The smell of her own fear seemed to cling to her, and her nose wrinkled with disgust. Instinctively she tried to move, even as her restraints cut into her neck and wrists. Trapped. She was trapped. She was going to die. She kicked out uselessly, straining against the steel holding her back. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It took several seconds of muted struggle before she felt her energy evaporate and she stilled, hanging limply from her bindings like a doll. Her muscles burned with exhaustion, crying out for rest even while they twitched in place. Jack gulped painfully around the collar on her neck, listening to her trembling arms shaking the manacles. Her heartbeat slowed.

Her cell. She was in her cell. Or, rather, she was in a cell that Kuril had loaded onto the back of one of his little petting zoo ships and landed on some planet to intimidate the locals. The details swirled as they reappeared in her memory. Lieutenant Arbaros and the rest of Kuril's little stooges had rounded her and the rest of Purgatory's more intimidating inmates up for a little house call on the asari. The burn from the tasing-gun on the back of Jack's neck still lanced with pain, and she scowled. Fuckin' pansy ass guards outnumbered her ten to one and they were still too afraid to come into the cell unless she was half electrocuted to death. Little bitches.

She frowned as she watched her breath curl in front of her. They'd made planetfall but the chill of space still clung to the darkened room. Muffled voices came from outside – no doubt the warden arguing with some port authority or another.

Jack winced as the last of the flashback left her. She was the all-powerful bitch, not the little girl.

Fucking nightmares.

As usual, Jack's head swam with agony. Physical and psychological pain swirled together until they were indistinguishable, just a dull ache that was her constant companion. Her mind was a maelstrom, a pile of psychosis after psychosis with her great, spidery implant sitting at the top, its wiry legs pulling through every part of her brain. It throbbed, the same low glow of pain that she'd felt ever since Kuril had managed to activate the safety locks Cerberus had left in her head and robbed her of her biotics. She wished furiously that she had her biotics back – at full strength she could tear Purgatory a new sally port with her eyes closed – but no matter how she strained the spider remained quiet. Still, every time she thought she'd gotten used to it she'd feel a great, fiery jerk that hurt so badly she saw spots, as if her implant wanted to remind her it was still alive.

Still there, just sleeping. Biding its time. For now.

Just like her.

Jack stared around the cell with practiced eyes. She knew it was a long shot, but on the ground she had a better chance of escaping than up in space. Kuril rarely took many guards on these trips of his – he wanted to emphasize just how very dangerous his prisoners were.

Still, it wouldn't be easy. The entire cell was designed to be removed and carried by freight crane in one enormous piece, with no obvious weak points. And whatever she did, she'd have to do it quick. The cells were kept on the ship's back, exposed to the vacuum, so even if she managed to get a hole started if she wasn't out by the time the ship took off for its return trip to Purgatory, the only place she'd escape to is deep space.

And even if she did escape, what would she do then? The asari were stupid, self-righteous bitches but they didn't screw around about protecting themselves from other races. Add that to the fact that so few non-asari lived in asari space and she was looking at very poor prospects indeed.

And her head hurt. It was a bad day for standing up, let alone escaping.

No matter. Keep looking. In the corner was a mounting for some kind of automatic water dispenser, a remnant from the days when Purgatory and its accessories were part of some kind of intergalactic space zoo. Perhaps that could be broken through with the right application of force. Possible. Keep looking.

Jack licked the sweat from her lips and tried her best to control the shudders. Her arms were shackled behind her back (latched to what she was certain had once been a feed trough, like she was some kind of fuckin' cow or something), but she could feel them spasming in the dark, shaking her manacles so hard they cut into her wrists.

She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and tried not to think about the person who had done this to her.

It didn't work.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," she growled.

In the next cell, an eye opened in the darkness, its shiny gray tapetum reflecting the meager daylight coming from the crack between the cells. The krogan's black slit pupil surged as it landed on Jack.

A basso voice came echoing through the linked life support systems. "Kill me?" it asked, amused. "Kill me?" Jack glared daggers through the tiny window that connected them. She heard the clink of the krogan's heavy chains and the thud of its footsteps as it plodded closer, its slate eyes staring down at her. "Not so nice thing to say," he said, grinning widely. "Not so nice, not so nice."

Jack stood up as straight as she could manage, chained to the wall as she was. She would not be weak in front of this creature. "I'm not nice."

Platte Gottt rumbled with laughter, causing his dewlap to waggle beneath his scarred chin. "Platte think very nice, very nice," he said, giving her a lecherous smirk. "Jack is Platte's little asari, yes? Platte nice to you, you nice back." He stuck out his enormous pink tongue. "Very nice."

"I'm not an asari you dumb fuck," Jack snarled.

Platte still looked amused. He shrugged. "Could tattoo frills on," he said, looking her over. "Still space on the head. Or maybe lovely Gurshki, label you mine. Mine."

Jack felt her temper climb at the thought of blocky krogan letters on her scalp. Her sweat-slicked fists clenched behind her back and she felt the tickle of mass effect fields in her head. She imagined Platte's self-satisfied face being ripped in half by a well-placed blast, but with her implant turned off she could barely push him over, no matter how angry she got. "I'm not yours," she spat, twisting at her restraints like a speared fish.

Platte stared impassively at her. He was a mountain of meat – large even for a krogan – and the way his hump loomed overtop his blue-crested head was testament to just how well he ate, even in prison. His eyes were dark and beady, his face a map of scars, with two great gashes over his eyes that made him look like he was constantly astonished by everything that happened around him. Combined with his habit of distractedly repeating everything he said like a lunatic and Platte came across as one dumb fucker.

But Jack knew all too well that that was a dangerous underestimation – Platte was anything but stupid. As by far the largest prisoner on Purgatory, he was a force to be reckoned with in prison politics. In Purgatory, anyone who stepped out of line was liable to get shanked in short order, but with his armored skin and hardy constitution, Platte simply couldn't be touched. A stab wound would heal in a matter of hours, long after he'd torn the stabber limb from limb. The few dozen attempts on his life had all ended the same way, and the inmates had long since resigned to his rule. Platte had taken full advantage of his invulnerability, using it to gain a monopoly of the prison's contraband ring. Even the guards knew not to touch him (in fact, many of them were arguably more on his payroll than on the warden's), letting his various infractions slide in exchange for his help browbeating the rest of the prisoners into good behavior. As long as he remained helpful and didn't interfere with Kuril's business, Platte could do what he wanted. He really was the king.

And he had thing for asari. And as the Thessian Council insisted on extraditing all asari prisoners to their homeworld to be dealt with internally, Jack was the closest thing to an asari on Purgatory.

Lucky her.

"Mine," Platte repeated, staring lustily at her. "Your human drug make you mine, mine, mine." Jack's eyes narrowed in rage as the krogan thrust a hand inside a pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a tiny bag. "Just need time to remember, yes yes yes?" Platte asked, grinning smugly as he poured the heroin powder on the floor.

Jack let out a strangled cry. "You stuttery fucker," she said, teeth clenched in fury as she searched her vocabulary for a worse insult. "You… you… fucker!" (Oh well.)

Platte grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "Biotic head hurt maybe?" he taunted, stepping in the spilled opiate. Jack's eyes bulged in their sockets. "Need human drug to get rid of pain. Platte only way to get it. Only way, only way, only way. That make you his."

Jack stared despondently at the spilled powder. Just the sight of it made her jitters worse, and the pain in her head surged anew. She hadn't had a hit in days, and even that had been the fuckin' watered down shit she'd beaten out of Bimmy. To see the real stuff… It almost killed her. Some part of her demanded she make peace with the krogan, do whatever sick thing he wanted from her now, just for a taste. She needed it.

But what he'd done…

Her weekly shower is cold but it is one of the few pleasures in her life. She doesn't care that the guards see her, doesn't care that she's tied up. The feeling of water on her skin feels like freedom, feels like the day she escaped.

But today her guard opens the door and Platte is there. The self-proclaimed king of Purgatory towers over her as he calls in his goons – other prisoners and guards, their loyalties bought with contraband or violence. She knows why he's here, but he tells her anyway. It's not about sex, he says, it's about who is king (king, king, king). He tells his minions to begin.

"Not even going to untie me?" she demands as they start for her, and Platte stares at her in silence.

"Leave tied," he says, and she stares back. "Leave tied."

Seven human men versus one shackled woman. Even without her implant, even tied to the shower she is a terrifying force. Water and blood flies in every direction, and two are dead before they can touch her. But only two, and the others have her.

Platte watches

The spilled heroin vanished from her mind.

"Everyone else that was in that shower is dead," Jack threatened, glaring up at the krogan with renewed hatred. Her mind was awash with brutal memories – the look on her traitorous guard's face before she broke his neck, the sound of one of the rapists crushed behind the cell loading arms, the way Platte's second in command had pleaded for his life before she'd delivered the final blow.

" Not Platte's problem if Jack kill. That risk they took mess with Jack," Platte said, unconcerned. "They just want taste of Jack, Platte want to send message, win win for both, win win for both. Jack free to kill. Jack not depend on them. Not free to kill Platte." He shook his broad head. "You play nice, Platte give you drug back. You remember Platte king, Platte king, Platte king."

"It's just you and me now," Jack said, ignoring him. "You're the last one. I could rip your head from your fucking shoulders. How long do you think you'll last after I get out of here? I'll tear your balls off and feed them to you."

Platte shrugged. "Go ahead. Not work so well. Not so well." He chuckled.

The krogan turned at the sudden screech of the loading cranes. Their cells gave a great lurch – the warden was offloading them.

Platte turned back to her. "Time for action, yes yes?" He said, grinning down at Jack's furious face. "Kuril show his petting zoo, we look scary, he get money. We go back and do again and again and again and again. Maybe you be good asari for me again, hmm? Maybe give Platte what he wants, maybe Platte give what you want. Win win, win win."

Jack's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

–

Rule One for Not Getting Fucked Over: Everybody wants to kill you. Their mistake. Kill them first.
Rule Two: Everybody wants to think you're weak. Their mistake. Kill them.
Rule Three: Who needs a fuckin' rule three?

Jack pretended to sleep, but she heard everything. She was an ambush predator, a spider in a web. A scared little girl who just happened to be able to tear you apart with her bare hands. Unnoticed until it was too late. It was a skill she'd honed her entire life, a way to keep surviving. Crawl down into the darkest, quietest hole you could find and wait for someone to try to fuck you over.

Then kill them and leave their corpses by your hole as a warning. I am not a fuckin' scared little girl.

Kuril wouldn't fall for it – he was a two-bit bitch but he'd had her long enough to know what sort of trouble she could cause – but she'd learned more than once that luck favored the prepared. Maybe the guard sent to check on her would think the constant electrocutions were finally too much for her. A half second of hesitation might be all it'd buy her, but it might be all she'd need (in fact, it took less than a quarter second to slam a guard's mandible up into his brain – she'd checked). And so she hung silently even as the ship's cranes unloaded her cell block from where it was latched to the craft's back. The sound of frost-encrusted pistons thundered in her ears, all but blotting out the sounds of a bustling asari metropolis. She felt her cell shake as it was set upon the ground.

Kuril's voice was easy to pick out amongst the tumult. "I assure you," he drawled, "It's quite legal under Citadel law. Purgatory operates as an independent correctional facility covered by statute four-one-four-one-five-eight. In the event that I cannot support my prisoners, I am obliged to turn them over to the nearest council race planet." Jack could hear the smug grin on his face. "Allusus just happens to be the nearest such planet."

"And if we refuse?" a second voice asked. Shrill. Self-important. Asari. Jack sneered despite herself. Bitches.

"If you cannot provide for the prisoners I unfortunately must unload them in a manner and place of my choosing."

The voices came closer.

"This is ridiculous. This is blackmail!" the asari port authority said, offended. "Allusus is an isolated polity and sovereign planet under the decree of the Thessian Assembly! You can't just enter asari space and dump criminals on us!"

"I can provide all the legal forms on request," Kuril insisted, utterly calm.

"These aren't even asari prisoners!"

"No. No they aren't," Kuril agreed. Jack creaked open one eye for a moment, to see Kuril and a black-clad asari stop in front of Platte's cell. The asari was some government employee or another – as evidenced by her badge – but all the same her elegant robe glittered with a dozen different jewels. So it was a rich world, then, maybe even an asari core world. "As I've been reminded again and again by your beloved assembly, I am forbidden to hold asari prisoners." He tapped confidently on the bars to Platte's cage. "But tell me, do you recognize this one?"

"No," the asari insisted, frowning and crossing her slender arms across her chest. Jack watched her without moving. She would never admit it aloud, but she'd always found asari somewhat enchanting to watch. There had been so few girls back at the facility where Cerberus had raised her – she'd lived until her teens comparing herself to all the male staff thinking herself a singular freak – and so when she'd finally escaped and seen one of the elegant blue aliens that looked so much like her she'd been star-struck. Even after learning that all asari were self-involved bitches, she still hadn't lost it.

"You have me to thank for that," Kuril said smoothly, turning to the asari. His voice was the perfect gentleman's, and it almost made Jack wretch. "This is Platte Gottt."

"Goh-tuh-tuh-tuh," Platte corrected with a rumble, staring hungrily at the asari.

"Sterile krogan male. Some millennium or two old," Kuril said, ignoring him. "No prospect for offspring of his own, so he turns his tastes towards you asari. Doesn't care about the mind meld, just the power. Exactly how many maidens he's raped and killed so far I don't know, but believe this," he looked dramatically at the asari, "he's been doing it for longer than you've been alive."

The asari looked flustered, and stared at Platte with a new revulsion. The krogan was doing his part, licking his lips with his broad tongue. "Well, that may be, b-"

"Tuchanka won't pay for him," Kuril interrupted. "No cut in their plates what he does to you."

"I can't just-"

"And this," Kuril said, continuing to Jack's cell, "this is Jack. Human female. Petty criminal, murderer. Has killed her way across the scummier parts of the galaxy for a decade or so. Official records are pretty spotty, but she got pulled in adrift in a cruise ship. She'd killed everyone aboard. Seventy-four people. Half of them practically liquefied."

"She's a biotic?"

"Like you have never seen, matriarch or otherwise." He rocked back on his taloned haunches, chest puffed out. "You see, ma'am, the Suns take in some very unusual prisoners. Prisoners that require… unique facilities. Platte here can bend a smoke alloy bar as big around as your neck, and Jack can do it without touching it. I understand your hesitance, but believe me, no one wants these two on their planet. Taking them in as I have… it's a favor to the rest of the galaxy, in a manner of speaking."

"I fail to see-"

"Very well," Kuril interrupted, and casually summoned up his omni tool. "I am sorry, but you have forced my talons." There was a click, and Jack felt the clamps drop from her body. The cell doors thundered open.

For a minute her eyes widened in shock, then she was in motion.

Bad day to escape.

(Bide your time.)

But good day for some revenge.

She was out like a shot, diving straight past Kuril and the astonished asari for Platte, a furious cry on her lips. The krogan outweighed her by five or six times, but was so caught off guard he fell easily, tumbling to the floor of his cell in a heap. Jack shouted her throat raw as she pounded on him, infusing her fists with as much biotic might as she could muster without her implant's help. Even unarmored his flesh was like steel and Jack felt her knuckles split as she struck, but she didn't care. She just wanted him dead. Now.

Jack felt Platte's thick fingers wrap around her throat, then weightlessness as he effortlessly hurled her off. She tumbled painfully onto the landing pad, listening to his approaching footsteps as swarms of hovercars sped overhead. Asari on the pad were in a panic (Kuril had casually stepped aside to watch the fireworks with a bored look on his face).

"Very foolish!" Platte rumbled, bulldozing over an asari civilian who'd stepped in to stop him with her biotics. "Very, very foolish!" He thundered towards Jack.

Jack rolled to her feet and dove past him just in time. His heavy feet cracked the polished tile beneath them as he stampeded past. Jack's mind changed tracks and she sprinted back towards the cells. She could hear him thundering after her as she leapt for the latches hitching their two cells together. Her hands worked quickly, wrapping around one of the holding pins – a two foot metal stake – and with a biotically-infused jerk she tore it free.

She turned, pin upraised, just in time for Platte to sandwich her up against the cell. He struck her like a runaway train, smashing her head up against the metal so hard she saw stars. She swung the pin for his face but it was too late, and her wrist landed harmlessly in his hand. His fingers closed around her with a crushing grip.

Jack let out a pained cry as he squeezed.

He leaned in close, his gray eyes flickering.

"Not a nice asari, Jack," he said, his rancid breath curling across her neck. He squeezed tighter, and Jack thought she could feel her bones break. "Forgetting who is king again. You ever want drug again, you drop pin now." She glared daggers at him, ignoring the screaming in the background, the urgently approaching footsteps of the spaceport's security force. "Drop now, drop now," he repeated.

She dropped the pin.

Platte was grinning victoriously at her even as the security forces turned their tasing-guns on him.

–

The sound of the ship taking off thundered in Jack's ears, but not half so loud as the rush of battle. Her hands were dripping blood, her wrist already so purple from where Platte had grabbed her that she couldn't see her tattoo, and the asari security force had been none too gentle as they'd tossed her back in her cell and clamped the restraints back over her bruised body, but she felt better than she had in days. Her head felt lighter, more content. The omni-present itching for her next hit, the never ending ache in her brain, both had dropped to a smolder beneath the delirious joy of the fight.

"Is funny," Platte rumbled, barely audible over the wind howling through the space between their cells and the way his cell shook as the ship left the atmosphere. Jack turned to regard him, an uncharacteristic smile on her face. Platte grinned back at her. "Is funny to Platte that Jack not try to escape. But not surprising. Not surprising."

"I'll escape when I'm ready, Goat-t-t fucker," she said.

"Nah," Platte insisted, waving a hand. "Funny to Platte, but not surprising. Jack want to escape, but Jack can't. Jack can't leave Platte. Needs drug. Needs Platte. Wouldn't try to hurt him, not really. Never hurt Platte, never never never."

"No?"

"No. Jack mine. Platte's little asari. Couldn't live without him. Couldn't stab him. Never never."

Jack's smile widened, revealing blood-stained teeth. Something in it must have resonated in Platte, for he cocked his head to one side.

Platte wasn't stupid, after all. But he was doomed. Nobody fucked with Jack. Rule two, bitch.

Jack reached out with her biotics. Without her implant it was hard to aim, hard to form a cohesive field, but somehow she knew she could do it. Platte's cell gave a rumble. "Trying to hit Platte? Have not learned?" the krogan asked. Jack did not answer.

There was a ping as the other latch pin popped out of its socket of its own accord. Platte's enormous eyes turned to follow it as it slid through the cracks and fell, disappearing into the clouds beneath them. It finally dawned on him.

"Wasn't trying to stab you, dumbass," Jack said smugly as she turned her concentration. Platte's cell began to slide, inch by inch.

"Wait!" Platte shouted, staring fearfully at the slowly widening gulf between their cells. There was a hiss as their linked life support loops separated and closed off. His voice was hard to make out, even shouting at the top of his lungs. "Wait, Jack! You would not hurt Platte, would you? Platte nice! Nice, nice!"

Jack continued to push. The wind grew louder and louder as the planet shrank beneath them.

Platte frantically patted at his suit for a moment. "Can get your drug for you!" he shouted. "More drugs! Anything you want! Make you queen! Queen of Purgatory!" The ship gave a lurch and Platte's cell veered sharply to the side. He let out a bark of alarm. "Jack would like to be queen, yes?" he asked desperately, pounding on the window and staring at her with pitiful eyes.

"You never got it, did you, you dumb lizard?" Jack asked, grinning at him. "I am the queen."

"Please?"

Jack gave one final push.

"Fuck off."

–

Jack was in space before Platte's cell hit the ground, but she felt like she could hear the crash all the same. The sound kept her warm all the way back to Purgatory.

–

36 hours later…

–

Purgatory was a cold place. More a space station than a conventional ship, its slow pace and sprawling construction made for slow heat transfer and a terminally uncomfortable temperature. The cells had all been outfitted with heat lamps back when they were for the transport of animals, but now that they were for the transport of people, the sockets were empty and dark. A permanent chill settled on the prisoners and never, ever left.

So why was Jack so fucking hot? The sweat seemed to pour off of her exposed skin, slicking her wrists inside their chains and making her pants cling to her uncomfortably. A steady drip, drip, drip from the tip of her nose threatened to drive her even more insane than she already was, but no matter how she shook her head, she couldn't seem to stop its metronomic tattoo.

Jack shuddered in place, her head full with uncomfortable flashes, her eyes brimming with unbidden tears. The rush she'd felt attacking Platte had dissipated and the cravings were back in force, wreaking their punishment on her tortured body. Her head felt like it was boiling within. She hadn't slept a wink. Some part of her still tried to celebrate that the krogan had died, but that part was being rapidly buried under all the pain.

She heard approaching footsteps but could not find the strength to lift her head from where it hung. There was a screeching sound as her cell was opened and two pairs of armored turian feet entered her view. Jack's vision swam, but she knew the Gray Warden Kuril and his brown-beaking lieutenant Arbaros when she saw them.

She wished she could spit at them, cuss, something, but her body did not obey her. It shook in place but moved no more.

"Here she is," Kuril said slowly. Arbaros muttered some noncommittal agreement, but otherwise the two aliens were silent, simply watching her.

Jack took a deep breath. "D-did you scrape up your krogan boyfriend-d-d's remains y-y-yet?" she asked, trying to sound taunting.

Kuril just stared down at her with a mildly disgusted look on his face. He tried to act unruffled, but even in her condition she knew she'd dealt him a terrible blow. Platte had been of invaluable assistance to him and his guards, not just in intimidating cooperation out of the other prisoners, but also in trading information. The great reptilian pervert had had a long life and sharp ears and an uncanny ability to ferret out who might pay the most for each prisoner. A loose mouth on Purgatory inevitably ended with Platte, and the krogan had helped Kuril match dozens of inmates to the people they had wronged the most.

And now he was dead. Killed by Jack.

Kuril's disapproving gaze washed over Jack's form. She writhed about on the floor of her cell, her tattoos slithering across her back, her limbs shaking out of her control. Her screwed-shut eyes and the way she moaned through gritted teeth spoke of a pain that transcended the species barrier. But even in the throes of heroin withdrawal and with her implant dormant in her head, the static spikes fluttered around her cell like swarms of angry bees.

"To think," Kuril said, stooping down to her level as another feather-light biotic wave washed over him, "When we first brought her in she killed Captain Bragus in a single hit. We had to beat her senseless so we could get her through the sally port without her causing a hull breach." He shook his head. "A creature so powerful, brought so low by a little white powder. Humans for you, I suppose."

Behind him, Arbaros nodded. "Yes sir. I found her crying in her cell this morning. Looked even worse than this."

"Fuck you, bird," Jack muttered from the floor. "Wasn't crying."

"Of course not, Lieutenant," Kuril said, amusement clear in his voice. "She was celebrating! With Platte dead she's the top predator around her." He stared mercilessly at her with his predatory eyes, even as she seemed to be trying to fold her way through the floor. "Of course, she thinks she's safe now. But she doesn't know what I know."

Jack's eyes widened. With considerable effort, she managed to lift her gaze up to meet the turian.

"The f-f-fuck does that mean?"

"Luckily Platte and I had some interesting talks before she splattered him all across Allusus' northern hemisphere," Kuril said, grinning smugly. His mandibles flickered. "He had some interesting things to say."

"What were those, sir?" Arbaros asked emptily.

"Turns out little Jack does have a family that wants her back."

Jack's eyes widened in genuine fear. Oh shit. In the year or so she'd been here, Kuril had thrown every trick in the book at her to try and force her cooperation. He'd tortured her, starved her, beat her, everything he could think of, but she'd endured it all with a laugh. Nothing he'd ever done to her compared to where she'd come from.

And they wanted her back.

"I… don't leave families," Jack said, scrambling raggedly to her feet.

Kuril's mandibles flexed. "Ahh, but they never leave you, Jack. Turns out Cerberus has missed you."

Cerberus… Just hearing the name brought a foul taste to Jack's tongue. Cerberus. The fuckers who'd done… this to her. Who'd made her this. Who'd taken her away from the real world to grow up in a fuckin' lab. They were still alive. Thoughts of revenge and abject fear jostled for position in Jack's head.

Fear jostled harder. They were going to take her back. She wasn't ready. Couldn't face them, not yet. Not like this, with her body shaking, her implant asleep.

Jack started to scream. An energy that moments before would have been exhausting infused her limbs and she thrashed and roared and lunged for the warden with all her might. It wasn't enough. Her chains jangled loudly but held firm, and the turians stood by, unconcerned.

"Put her in cryo."

---

Three weeks later…

–

Entry 4080, (censored), primary specialist Dr. (censored)

S0responding to (censored) in accordance with predictions. Direct element-zero injection into motor neurons resulted in nodule accumulation at injection sites 3, 5, and 7. As in earlier subjects, some inflammation occurred, but immunosuppression regimen suggested by Dr. (censored) protected S0from any permanent damage.

Initial track-weight experiments calculate an average forward biotic field of 213.43 alleyne units, a 4.1% increase over (censored). During experimentation S0 focus visibly impaired, lost consciousness and had to be chemically revived three times. Dr. (censored) speculated these difficulties may indicate lasting brain damage from S0'sunsuccessful implantation surgery on (censored). Over-ear-implant has restored hearing to right ear but possible damage was more extensive than initially believed.

–

Dr. Chakwas set the datapad back onto the benchtop, catching a sigh behind her teeth. The medical reports Miranda had supplied on Subject Zero were hard to stomach, sometimes. Thousands upon thousands of entries describing in detail the destruction of a young girl's life in the name of military might. It was sickening stuff.

She rubbed at her aching forehead with the heel of one hand. There were times when she wished she had stayed on Mars. Not many, of course – she knew her place was beside Shepard and Jeff – and yet she could not help but miss the months on the red world where the worst cases she'd had to treat were coughs or broken ankles. It had been boring, she supposed, and yet after so many years treating bullet wounds, fuel burns, and biotically-shattered bones, it had been refreshing to see that some people in the universe still managed to go a week without running afoul of a krogan or giant geth or malevolently-possessed turian endoskeletal armature or what have you. There was peace out there.

Of course, there was only peace because of people like Shepard. That was what kept her going. If Shepard needed her to read hundreds of pages of notes on torturous biotic experiments, then by God, she would.

She picked up the datapad again and clicked to the next entry. Whoever had operated on Subject Zero had kept incredibly detailed notes, not counting the censoring throughout. It was all tidy and complete, good science if there ever was (when she'd shown it to Mordin he'd been enormously impressed), even as it dryly explained cutting out parts of a teenage girl's vertebrae to fit increasingly large experimental implants, drilling electrodes into her brain, and systematically breaking down any chance at a normal psyche she had. Chakwas grimaced as she read it.

She hated that she'd seen work like this before. And she hated even more that the last time she'd seen it had been in data Garrus had lifted from the scientists experimenting on Corporal Toombs – Cerberus scientists. Of course the Subject Zero notes contained no reference to the shadow group, but Chakwas couldn't help but feel suspicious that Miranda had access to such comprehensive information on their next recruit. The Cerberus logo on her uniform seemed to burn at her shoulders.

"Frequency should be…" Garrus, standing on the other end of the hangar's workbench with Tali, stared myopically at his omni-tool display, "Thirty-one seventy-five." He tapped a few adjustments into the control panel of a signal box.

"Got it," Tali chimed back, her own fingers fast at work.

"Awful convenient that Miranda had a remote control for our little super biotic," the turian said, deactivating his omni-tool with a gesture and returning to the boxes of other restraint gear Shepard had acquired in preparation for Subject Zero. The three of them had been working on and off for the past few days to get the ship prepared for restraining and treating a possibly-unstable super biotic. Garrus and Tali had outfitted the starboard observation deck as a makeshift cell, complete with a reinforced door, a self-contained life support system, and a basic complement of medical supplies. They'd all agreed they'd prefer if Zero didn't need to be locked up, but the danger she posed to the ship was simply too great to be unprepared. The whole crew had been on edge for days, wondering what would happen when the woman finally appeared.

The wait was almost over. Shepard had boarded Purgatory an hour ago with only Jacob and Miranda in tow.

Of course, none of Shepard's old allies had approved of him going off alone with the Cerberus agents, but Tali had practically radiated worry since they'd docked. Behind her visor, the quarian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Convenient is one word for it."

Garrus looked up. "You think it won't work?"

"Oh, it'll work," Tali said. "Biotic implants are just simplified eezo drives. They're easy. Kaidan used to let me take his amp apart to see how it worked." She sighed, staring at a hologram of Subject Zero's skull (courtesy of Miranda) and the wicked amplifying implants implanted within. "Back before he started taking his jackass pills, that is."

Garrus shrugged. "I'd still take the cuffs and guns any day. If implants are so easy to turn off, why doesn't everybody just carry one of these programs?"

"Because most implants don't have an off function," Tali said. She pointed to the cluster of wires and prongs that clung to the base of Zero's skull. "Whatever this is, it's obviously experimental tech."

Chakwas looked up from her reading and sighed again. "The poor dear."

The two aliens – apparently having forgotten the doctor was even there – stared at her. "Dr. Chakwas? Don't tell me you feel sorry for her," Garrus said after a moment, one bony brow raised.

"I do," Chakwas insisted, staring unflinching up at the tattooed alien. She gestured to the datapad in her hands. "The poor girl was four when they started experimenting on her. She's had seventeen major brain surgeries. Been subject to ruthless psychological conditioning and thousands of druggings. Yes, Garrus, I feel for her. I'm glad Shepard has decided to help her."

"I apologize," Garrus said, bowing his head. "I did not mean to offend." The tall turian stared down at his taloned feet and Chakwas had to smile. Garrus was always so unfailingly polite, so afraid of misusing a human idiom and upsetting someone. Even the doctor, who knew him so well.

"Think nothing of it, dear," Chakwas said, waving one hand and returning to her reading. "I understand how turians feel about criminals. I only mean to say that it may not be entirely this woman's fault."

Garrus nodded, though he didn't look particularly convinced. He paused for a moment, clearly searching for the right words. "At least we're taking her away from Kuril," he offered eventually. "Her fault or not, I'd rather her be locked up on the Normandy than locked up with that fool. He's been making the turians look bad for decades, and Primarch knows we don't need any more of that after Saren. What a maniac."

"And Shepard went onto his ship, all alone with those two goons!" Tali huffed. Her movements were unduly forceful as she assembled a trio of large tasing guns.

"Eh. Kuril's a maniac but he should be smart enough not to mess with Shepard," Garrus said, unconcerned as he hunched over a pair of remote-activated mass field cuffs strong enough to hold down a krogan. "If the commander wants to leave us behind, that's his choice."

"It's a stupid choice. It's foolish!"

Tali's transparent worries aside, Chakwas couldn't help but agree. The thought of entrusting a known murderess to part of a mission to save the galaxy was already risky enough, but doing it with only the two Cerberus operatives in tow seemed a trifle foolhardy. She, at least, would have felt immensely safer if Shepard had kept his alien allies at his side. Still, Shepard was commander for a reason.

"Commander Shepard knows what he's doing," she said, interrupting the aliens' bickering. "He told us very clearly he did not anticipate trouble. Furthermore, Miss Lawson is the best biotic on board and a natural choice for restraining someone of Subject Zero's talents."

"'Miss Lawson' is a tresh'ta shesh'tet," Tali said (Chakwas didn't know what it meant, but couldn't help but grin at the quarian's animated ire. Ever the patient doctor, she'd held her tongue through two weeks of tending to Miranda's wounds, calmly enduring the XO's angry nitpicking about every medical move she made without so much as raising her voice, but she couldn't deny enjoying hearing her called every quarian swear word in the book.) "And Shepard's just taking her because he feels guilty for what happened on Horizon."

Chakwas nodded. "Of course he is. That's just his way." There were times when John Shepard acted tough, put on a mask to be strong for the men and women under his command, but Chakwas was one of the few who had seen his more fragile side. For a few worrisome hours after the team had returned from Horizon, when even Mordin and Chakwas hadn't known if Miranda would make it, Shepard had been an absolute wreck. It had been the same on the original Normandy when Kaidan's back was broken by a runaway geth, and again when Garrus had nearly died, and it was the same with Miranda. Shepard cared. "And as terribly foolish as that might sound to you or me," she continued, "believe me, it sounds even worse to him. He knows the risks, and he will do what he must. We need to trust his judgment."

"I trust Shepard," Tali insisted quietly, head down. "But you still should have gone with him!" she said suddenly, rounding on Garrus again.

Garrus just rolled his eyes.

Chakwas grinned as she returned to her reading. She had joined Cerberus to be with Joker and Shepard, it was true, but it was hard to describe just how wonderful it was to have Garrus and Tali aboard as well. In her time aboard the Normandy much of Shepard had rubbed off on Chakwas, but she'd come by her fondness of aliens on her own. Thirty years ago she'd been a bored, lonely doctor on Earth when First Contact was made and she was given a new life. Ten more years of schooling about aliens – it had made her family blanche, but she'd loved every moment of it. Chakwas counted herself among the many humans for whom the universe had opened up that fateful day. How wonderful not to be alone! In her time with the Alliance she'd met dozens of aliens who'd changed her life, who'd been friends to her in the realest sense, and Garrus and Tali were no different. Human or no, somehow they felt more like family than any of the Cerberus crew ever could. And it did Chakwas good to know Shepard had someone he could depend on when he was out breaking limbs for her to fix.

"Well," Garrus said after a minute, hefting up one of Tali's stun guns, "whatever Shepard thinks of Cerberus, he clearly doesn't trust this Zero woman to be as far as he could lift her." The weapon gave a deep thrum as he powered it on, causing flickers of light to course between its pronged ends. "This thing would put down an elcor, and we bought three of them."

"Makes you wonder why we're even recruiting her when we have to set up an arsenal just to…" Tali stopped in mid sentence, tensing up. Her helmet gave a few clicking whirrs before coming alight with scanning interfaces.

Chakwas looked up from her reading, curious, as the quarian turned around, scanning the empty hangar. "You alright Dear?" she asked.

"Yes, I…" Tali trailed off again, staring out into the empty labyrinth of crates stacked up in the cargo bay. She took a few silent steps. "I heard something." Her helmet continued to click and buzz like a mechanical bat.

"I didn't hear anything," Garrus said, cocking his head to one side.

"There it was again!" Tali squeaked, pouncing off towards the Kodiak. Chakwas and Garrus shared a look as the quarian disappeared from view. Technically, they knew Tali to have very sharp ears, but she'd been jumpy all afternoon.

EDI materialized at a nearby projector, casting a blue glow across their workspace. "All forty-two crewmembers are accounted for, Miss Zorah. None of my sensors detected any anomalous sounds above background signal in the past ten standard minutes."

"Thank you EDI," Chakwas said.

"You are welcome."

"I guess Tali really is worked up," Garrus said finally, shrugging as he returned to his work. "She needs a hobby. Besides worrying about Shepard, that is. Good thing we're just about done here."

"I heard it!" Tali grumbled as she came storming back up to the bench. She looked nervously over her shoulder. "Someone is in here."

"All forty-two crewmembers are accounted for, Miss Zorah," EDI repeated. "Dr. Chakwas, Mister Vakarian, and yourself are alone in the hangar. Would you like to inquire as to the location of a specific crewmember?"

Tali ignored her. "I know what I heard."

"None of my sensors detected any anomalous sounds above-" EDI stopped mid-sentence. There was a long pause. "Resource allocation override. Please stand by."

Garrus raised one plated brow.

"The Commanding Officer has activated his emergency transponder. Cyberwarfare suites in use. Please stand by. Please stand by. Please stand by. Please stand by." There was a sudden tumult as an alarm klaxon started up, filling the hangar with echoing blares.

Seconds later, Joker's voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentlemen, turns out it's not all go-io in the Purgatorio. Shock of all shocks, Kuril's actually a bad guy! Shepard wants Crotchpunch Squad to board and start takin' names." Garrus, Tali, and Chakwas looked up at the loudspeakers with confused faces. "Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed, that's you, let's go," Joker clarified. "Commander says no quarter. Everybody else, ready at your posts until further notice."

The alarms quieted as Garrus pulled his helmet over his head. In the windows above they could already see Grunt and Zaeed, guns drawn and suiting up on their way to the hangar elevator. It was only seconds before the ship was full of frenzied activity.

Garrus looked down at Chakwas and Tali. "So I guess I'm in Crotchpunch squad now," he said, his voice metallic and unnatural behind his heavy armored helmet as he drew his sniper rifle in one fluid motion. It extended fearsomely in his hands. "Not a bad name, really. Better than my old 'Honored Sartriviius Forward Gunnery Division', anyway."

Chakwas smiled wanly, clicking her datapad off. "I'll get my med-kit ready, shall I?"

---

–

Miranda ducked as another burst of assault rifle fire whipped over her head, shattering one of the smudged glass catwalk windows. Gunfire chattered from every direction.

They were lightly armed and outnumbered in the middle of a ship full of the galaxy's worst murderers and yet even as shards of glass rained down upon her, Miranda couldn't get her mind off of her hair. It was all she could think about as she popped up from her hiding space, took aim, and fired all in a fraction of a second. Her target crumpled as she dove back under cover.

It was just hair, she told herself. That's all it was. Nothing to get upset about. It was only hair.

Only about a foot of her previously flawless mane, hacked off by the scion's biotic warp. Only some hundred fifty thousand strands ruined at four credits per strand, only her hard-earned perfection marred for the month or so it would take her genetically-modified follicles to regrow. Only about a month of looking like… Chambers…

And that was very much something to get upset about.

The perky yeoman had been begging for permission to style Miranda's newly-shortened hair for days, but Miranda had so far managed to hold her at bay. It was bad enough looking normal, she had no intention of looking like a harlot. As soon as Chakwas had finally released her from the medical bay she'd barricaded herself in her office and painstakingly cut her locks back to symmetry. Watching the fallen strands pile up on her sink had hurt worse than the broken bones.

She knew her mind should be on the mission (as a matter of habit alone, of course – she'd already plotted out and memorized every minute detail), but she couldn't help but find her thoughts returning again and again to the unusual lightness of her head. It wasn't childish or vain, she reasoned, it was practical – her beauty was part of her, and with it compromised she had just as much right to feel uneasy as Jacob would without his shotgun or Zaeed without a tall tale.

"You alright, Miranda?" Miranda snapped out of her trance in an instant, eyes flitting to Shepard's concerned face. The commander was hunched behind a bulkhead up ahead of her and Jacob, calmly replacing the sinks in his rifle as rounds flew past his head. Miranda was more than a little astonished to find her free hand had once again crept up to smooth down her hair. She dropped it in a flash, silently cursing herself for her inattentiveness.

"I'm fine," she insisted, frowning. As if to prove it, she leapt up and felled another mercenary with a neat shot to the neck.

It wasn't enough. "It's just hair, Miri," Jacob said from his own position. "You look fine. Stop messing with it."

"I'm not messing with it," Miranda hissed back, tossing him a venomous glare. "Would you two stop treating me like an infant? I'm fine! If we could all focus on the battle instead of my hair we'll be out of here in no time." She looked pointedly away from them until they turned their attention elsewhere.

She was fine, more or less, but it had been a close call. The husk scion's attack had diced through her like a molecular blade, cleanly cutting through bone and flesh alike. During one of the half dozen or so operations he'd performed on her, Dr. Solus had told her he'd run the numbers and estimated the scion's field's magnitude at at least eight hundred alleynes – more than six times the average human biotic's best effort and four times Miranda's. It was more than enough force to split steel – a fatal attack for the average human.

But of course Miranda was anything but average. The millions of credits of engineering that had gone into her had once again saved her life, mending torn sinew and skin a hundred times faster than a normal human. Mordin and Chakwas had had to install micro-struts on seven bones to help them find their positions, but a few surgeries and a week of bedrest and Miranda was back to her old lethal self. Even the scars were already fading.

Of course, that hadn't stopped Shepard and Jacob from coddling her. Both of them had made absolute nuisances out of themselves ever since Horizon, hovering over her with unwanted offers of help.

Technically, Miranda knew Shepard's attention was a good thing – she'd been astonished when she'd realized just how guilty the man felt over her injuries, and had known immediately that it was her chance to gain some of his trust. She'd even briefly considered the merits of playing up her injuries, but that thought had quickly passed. She didn't care what the Illusive Man said, she wasn't about to play the damsel in distress.

But as much as she knew it helped her ultimate goals, something about Shepard's newfound care upset her. She'd lied and manipulated her way into the trust of dozens of people in Cerberus' name before without a second thought, but somehow Shepard was different. She knew he was only giving her a break because he felt guilty (about something that simply wasn't his fault – she was the one who overlooked the husk and gotten hit during a critical mission), and found herself longing for something more genuine than that. She wanted Shepard to see her perfection, to respect her, to want to trust her.

The man was stubborn, irrational, and depressive. He treated her – her – like just another grunt, and not like the paragon of humanity she was. He was… unfair. And yet she wanted him to like her.

Ahh well. He'd invited her and Jacob to Purgatory, leaving his old alien comrades on the ship, as if to send a message of peace and trust. Miranda could see the way he kept stealing glances at her – as if he was expecting a blade in the back at any moment – but at least it was something. Progress.

"Sometimes," Shepard was saying between bursts from his assault rifle, "I wish that I could go somewhere where everyone was not secretly gunning for me. Just once!" He'd been talkative this mission – again, more a forced sign of cooperation than genuine camaraderie, but again, progress.

Jacob didn't seem to mind, and chuckled. "You and me both, Commander." He paused. "I got another heavy behind those beef bays."

Shepard turned to stare at him, confused. "Those what?"

Jacob pointed to a long set of metal cubicles mounted against the wall. "Beef bays. Fodder bays. Load up a cow in each bay, holds them in and keeps them from getting distracted while they eat."

"Huh," Shepard said. He stood and fired, causing Jacob's heavy to pitch over backwards, dead. "Cool."

Jacob shrugged. "Saw them a lot on the farms on my homeworld. We didn't think they were very cool at the time."

"Took it for granted, then, Jacob," Shepard said. "I'd kill to live on a goddamn farm. I swear, when all this is over I'm going to find the most out of the way chunk of dirt I can and grow the biggest, filthiest beard the universe has ever seen."

Miranda rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "Thank goodness I spent two years of my life on you," she said blankly. "I would hate to deny the universe its biggest, filthiest beard."

Shepard shrugged. "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it." He casually killed another guard who'd stepped up to throw a flashbang. "These guys wouldn't dream of attacking me if I had an intimidating enough beard."

The last bullet fired and quiet overtook the catwalk. The three of them stopped and listened – muffled shouting came from the floors below, but of the dozen or so guards who'd ambushed them as soon as they'd broken their way out of outprocessing there was no sound.

Shepard sighed audibly.

"I apologize, Commander," Miranda said automatically, scanning the hall, gun still drawn. "I had considered the possibility of a betrayal attempt, but I assumed Kuril would be smart enough only to do it when we were in the cell blocks."

"Don't worry about it," Shepard said. "We already hit the emergency button. We'll just sit tight until EDI takes over the station and the big guns I asked for get here."

Miranda did a little mental calculation. Joker had promised to send his 'Crotchpunch Squad' straightaway, so with any luck they were already on the station. She had little doubt the combined talents of Garrus Vakarian, Zaeed Massani, and Grunt could beat their way anywhere in the ship they cared to go, given time.

But they didn't have time.

"Shepard, we can't risk it." Shepard looked at her, a confused look on his face, but Miranda pressed on for more reason than one. "Kuril is unpredictable. He may attempt to escape the station with Subject Zero."

Shepard looked dubious. "I don't think so. We can wait for the rest of the squad."

"Shepard. Subject Zero's brain alone represents more than forty million credits of cutting edge biotic research, not to mention her enormous combat potential. Can you imagine what she could do in the wrong hands?"

Shepard's face fell. "Miranda…" He looked between the two Cerberus agents, his blue-gray eyes boring into them, the gears in his mind clearly turning.

It wasn't hard to guess where his hesitance was really coming from. Shepard's critical talent was commanding a squad, and where some commanders ran their units like a machine, he ran his like a family. He earned his allies' trust, got them to trust each other, and only then turned them into a weapon.

And he didn't trust Cerberus, and they all knew it. Defending a narrow chokepoint was one thing – he needed every gun he could get – but storming a fortified position took Teamwork. Coordination. Interdependence. "Shepard, you can trust us," Miranda said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "We can follow orders. We're on your side."

"I didn't say you were going to turn on me," he said warily, not bothering to deny their implied accusations. Miranda's mind scrambled for an angle of attack. Deep down, she knew Shepard wanted their loyalty. He wanted to believe everyone could be friends. But he didn't, not when he still saw them as terrorists, as bigots, as killers of the innocent. Shepard wanted peace in the galaxy, but he wasn't foolish enough to think it already existed.

"Shepard," she said, "someday we are going to find ourselves in a position where we can't wait for Vakarian. If we're going to beat the Reapers, someday you're going to have to find a way to trust Cerberus."

"We can do it," Jacob chimed in. "Please."

Shepard grimaced for a moment, eyes still searching for the answers on their faces. They looked at him expectantly.

After a pregnant pause, the Commander cocked his rifle. "Jacob, you take point. Miranda, rear with grenades. Let's get moving."

–

The facility had gone rogue, he'd said.

They'd used that excuse together so many times, she'd said. Did he really expect her to believe it?

It wasn't what she thought, he'd said.

It didn't matter what she thought, she'd said, and the Man had reluctantly agreed. Miranda would do as she was asked, whatever it took.

But she didn't believe him for a minute. She saw all the signs, all the Cerberus fingerprints all over the reams of information the Illusive Man had sent her about Subject Zero and the Teltin facility. They'd tried to cut out anything overly incriminating, but Miranda saw through it with ease. Most of the time she was the one doctoring documents to keep Cerberus in the clear – she wasn't about to be fooled. Whatever Zero was, Cerberus had made her that way.

And the Illusive Man regretted it.

It hurt, though, to know that he was keeping things from her. She was his loyal servant, complicit with him in some of the shadiest plots in history, actions that the public would never – could never – understand were for their own good. For years she'd calmly carried out assassinations, torture, even terrorism at his command. He trusted her – and her alone – into his inner circle, used her brilliant mind as a mirror for his own, and between them they were humanity's best hope at survival.

But he didn't trust her with the full story behind Subject Zero.

He'd stared at her with gleaming eyes as she'd batted his excuses aside, one after the other. In the end he'd frowned but he'd let her do her job, an unspoken agreement between them not to talk about what he'd been trying to keep from her.

She knew why, even through the Man's unreadable expression. He worried Subject Zero's story would hit too close to Miranda's own, make Miranda question herself. Question Cerberus.

Question him.

She could hardly believe it. Did no one trust her?

Still, seeing Zero for the first time brought a chill to Miranda's spine.

"Wow," Jacob was saying, staring down through the window into the cryo-containment block. "That's Jack?" Next to him, Shepard's face was grim.

"Affirmative," EDI – having since overwhelmed Purgatory's networks – confirmed from a nearby console. "Prisoner's life signs and implants match records for Subject Zero. According to ship logs, Subject Zero has been incarcerated cryogenically for twenty-two days."

The woman down below looked the part. Cryogenic incarceration was an old idea but a foolish one. Experiment after experiment had demonstrated that humans only lasted a few months under ice in all but the most advanced facilities, and primitive rat-trap cryo units like Purgatory's could cause permanent damage in only minutes. Subject Zero's tattooed skin was the black-purple color of a day old bruise underneath a layer of frosted sweat. Her breath was fast and ragged, wet with red-white mist at every exhalation. Her dark-lidded eyes were frozen shut, and her entire body convulsed in frantic shivering fits.

"Jesus Christ," Jacob was saying. "Is she going to be alright?"

"Affirmative," EDI repeated. "Thawing process is underway. Life monitors detect no grievous organ damage. Core body temperature rising to safe homeostatic levels. It is unlikely that Subject Zero will regain consciousness for at least thirty standard minutes."

As if she'd heard EDI's statement as a challenge, Subject Zero's bloodshot eyes bolted open in a flash. The monitors by Shepard's hand blipped frantically as her heartbeat surged. Microphones picked up her strangled cry of rage with terrifying clarity.

Miranda stared down at the struggling woman. For a fleeting moment, she felt her world crumbling. Cerberus had gone too far. Her heart felt for the creature below, trapped and terrified, captured inside of the pain that had been installed into her skull, the conditioning that had made her into an animal.

But that feeling passed. Miranda's sympathy bled away as the convict started spouting the foulest invective she'd ever heard. Words that would make Omega blanche. Miranda frowned. Cerberus hadn't done this. Experiments, perhaps. Painful surgeries, perhaps. But this… Miranda refused to believe it. Cerberus hadn't forced her to cover herself with tattoos and kill her way across the galaxy. This woman had done it herself. She was a filthy wreck, imprisoned for strings of unnecessary murders, addicted and weak and furious. She deserved no pity.

"Commander Shepard," EDI said. "I can release Subject Zero on your command. Alternately, the entire cryogenic cell can be ejected and transported onto the Normandy. Mr. Vakarian's squad has moved past the main sally port into cell-block four, but has encountered significant enemy resistance. It will likely be twenty standard minutes before they can assist."

Shepard shook his head. "No time for that. What's Kuril's position?"

"Warden Antus Kuril is in cell-block two, attempting to quell the riots. He is well-armed."

Shepard nodded. "We'll pay him a visit. Do you have access to Zero's implants?"

"One moment." There was a pause. "Accessed. Subject Zero's implants are currently in maintenance mode. She will be unable to amplify any biotic fields." Shepard nodded, rubbing at his chin.

"You're not really thinking of turning her back on, are you?" Jacob asked.

"She'll be fine," Miranda snapped. "She's a bloody murderer, Jacob, not a child."

Jacob looked at her, confusion on his face. For a long moment, the three of them stood in silence, watching the convict rage against her captors.

At length, Shepard spoke. "Miranda," he said. "What's the Cerberus policy on repaying traitors like Kuril?"

"Immediately and entirely," she said.

Shepard grinned. "Then turn her on, EDI."

---

–

She would never admit it aloud, but Davis has always been her favorite. He always ties her bed restraints just a little looser than everyone else. He always lets her walk for herself when she's able, doesn't just carry her. And his eyes were that oh-so-pretty shade that made her feel all melty and confused.

He's also the first to die. In the confusion of the moment, he notices the unlatched cuff just a little too late. Zero's arm flies up to meet him and it's like a truck landing on his jaw. There is a flash of blue and Davis' head snaps back with an audible crack. He crumples, dead.

Zero's restraints follow soon after.

Jack's heart threatened to explode from her chest as the thawing drugs coursed their way through her body. So… cold. So fucking cold. She could barely hear herself think over the chatter of her own teeth. Her skin screamed for mercy.

In front of her, three LOKI mechs watched impassively, oblivious to her pain. Their faces were blank, their enormous limb motivators still, but all the same electricity crackled in the air as they revved up their arm-mounted tasing-guns.

Jack tried to shout out but no words would come. Anger and fear seemed to dominate all thought and she managed a strangled, primal cry but no more.

Zero is in top form today. She wonders if the doctors would be proud of her abilities even as she lifts one and tosses him through the concrete wall like a missile. Alarms blare in every direction. Rain touches her face as the ceiling caves.

There was a sudden click, somewhere behind her head, and Jack quieted. Her eyes flitted accusingly up to the catwalk above her cell – where even now she could see three murky forms watching her – before the pulling started. Her implant was awakening. She roared in pain as the hooks took hold, filling her thoughts with a heavy buzzing. She remembered this torture.

She welcomed it.

Dr. Rodriguez is crushed under the weight he'd forced her to push so many, many times. Chela's head bursts like a grape, smashed from every side. Zero is flooded with pleasure. She takes the long way out, towards the staff dormitories.

Narcotics flooded Jack's brain for the first time in so very, very long, and her pain was replaced by euphoria. Her head lolled back on her neck, momentarily overcome.

Fuck Platte and his heroin. This is what she needed.

Then she remembered where she was. What had happened. What Kuril had said.

Cerberus…

The reassuring presence in the back of her skull pushed her nerves, and it was enough. Jack's restraints tore like tissue paper. The LOKIs made their move, but it was already too late. Jack dove into them like a hurricane.

Now there is fire, thick oily fire that even Pragia's relentless rain cannot quench. Zero hears the screaming, smells the blood, and follows it like a shark in the water. She tears her way through the courtyard where the other children could play.

The LOKIs perished in a flash, torn limb from limb by the whirlwind of destruction that was Jack. Chips of shattered pistons and lost bolts fell like rain as the last of them crashed into the ground with a screech. Out of the corner of her eye Jack saw the three observers from above disappear, making for the door with their guns drawn, but she was too quick.

The wall couldn't stop her. Her brain flooded with pleasure as she reared up and, blue waves spiking around her fist, tore it down. Alarms blared so loud they threatened to burst Jack's remaining functional ear, but she didn't hear them. She tore into the cell block. She had to get away.

The children turn on her. The guards turn on her. The gun turrets turn on her. Even the janitor.

They all die.

Jack was a symphony of deadly motion as she swept into the cell blocks. Blue light plumed around her limbs. Tables – bolted to the floor – upended and flew across the courtyard where the less dangerous inmates exercised. Big, small – it made no difference to Jack. She lifted an unlucky prisoner and dashed his brains against the nearest railing. Others she just sent toppling away, ricocheting down the corridors like zero-g ragdolls.

The prisoners knew to fear her when her implant was off. Now that it was on, they were in an absolute terror, scrambling in all directions to escape her rage. She ignored their pitiful screeching, the way they pissed themselves in fear. For a moment she paused, surveying the destruction as she racked her brain for her next move. Cerberus was coming, and as much as she would love to meet the people who'd done this to her, she wasn't ready. She had to survive. Bide her time. Keep surviving.

She needed to get off of this fucking ship, and fast. That meant stealing an escape pod or something.

Her brain screamed at her, demanded she get back to the fight, and she complied. All her worries were smoothed over under bloodlust as she tore one of the cell-loading cranes from its base and hurled its end into one of the raised catwalks, sending shattered glass in all directions and forming a crude bridge to the upper levels.

She leaves the Teltin facility, darting into the jungle without a backwards glance. Brambles pull at her flimsy medical gown, drawing blood in a thousand places, but she runs on. Her throat is raw from screaming, her skin bruised from the futile defenses of the other children. She's hungry, she's exhausted, she's terrified.

And she's free. The rain falls in sheets, the chlorophyll smell fills her nose. She's free.

–

Jack skidded into the batarian mercenary knee-first, sending him scattering like a bowling pin. He crashed into the wall with a pained grunt and slumped to the ground. His turian companion was next, his blue-and-white helmet cracking under Jack's biotically-accelerated fist. She felt but did not feel his bladed lips cut her knuckles and his long canines bury themselves in her wrist. There was a satisfying spurt of blue-black blood and he was still.

She raged on, the thudding footsteps of her combat boots echoing off the empty halls in every direction. Her head thundered with a thousand thoughts. There were corpses everywhere – mostly guards – but only few were her own doing. Something was happening. Someone was killing off the prison staff. Maybe a prisoner riot?

Whatever it was, it was good news for Jack. More distraction to cover her escape.

A delirious smile stretched across her lips as she bounded on, her blood singing with the high of battlesong.

…Until she hurtled around a corner and smack into a great, towering wall of armor. She bounced off the krogan, landing painfully on her back on the cold steel floors. The krogan turned, an enormous shotgun in its hands, and stared down at her with icy eyes.

The krogan's gun thundered, but Jack was already gone. She rolled to the side with fantastic speed, swinging her foot in a low arc beneath the mighty reptile. Blue energy flared from her boot's toetip as it made contact, and the krogan – practically a thousand pounds of muscle, bone, and steel – crashed to the ground with a surprised howl. Jack followed up with a biotic push, sending him stumbling over the railing into the maintenance trench below.

She heard gunfire erupt. Only a split second barrier saved her – one bullet flashed to a stop just inches shy of her forehead. The blue-armored turian who'd fired it cocked his rifle and took aim again.

"Holy shit!" another gravelly voice shouted, this one from an old, scarred man. "Hold fire! That's her!"

"That's Zero?" the turian asked. His gun barrel dipped in hesitation, just a few inches, but that was more than enough. Jack launched herself at him in a fury, striking him in the midsection. He doubled over in pain, rifle clattering to the floor.

"That's her!" the man repeated, holstering his assault rifle and pulling out a smaller weapon as Jack rounded on him. He took a wide stance, hands at the ready, mismatched eyes boring into hers. He'd fought biotics before.

It didn't matter. She hurled a wave of energy at him, lifting him up in the air before crashing him back downwards. He let out a snarl of colorful cursing (including a few Jack hadn't yet included in her own repertoire).

Jack yelped as she was knocked to the ground, sandwiched under the armored bulk of the turian. He leveraged his weight against her back, trying to pin her arms down against the floor. "Listen! Zero!" he shouted. "We don't want to hurt you!"

"Fuck that," Jack snarled, kneeing him in the groin. He rolled off of her in a painful heap.

The turian's voice was pained as Jack sprang to her feet. "EDI?" he grunted from the ground, "Think we could get that off button pressed sometime in here?" Jack reared back a fist, preparing to bring it down on the turian's head, when a calm feminine voice answered him.

"Of course, Mr. Vakarian. Subject Zero's implant returned to maintenance mode."

Jack's fist came down, but this time there was no blue flash, no spatter of turian bone chips. This time her knuckles slammed harmlessly down on his visor. She heard the sound of her fingers breaking with the force.

Jack howled in anger and surprise for a moment before the pain came. Her head exploded with agony as her implant retreated. Her high dissipated in seconds, leaving only suffering behind it.

And then the krogan hit. The alien's fist hit her temple with tremendous force, sending her slamming down onto the grating. Stars flitted in front of her eyes as the second blow connected, crumpling her nose.

"Grunt, grab her!" the turian was shouting, and Jack felt two powerful arms encircle her waist. She struggled through the fountain of blood streaming from her broken nose, flailing with her legs and desperately reaching out with her mind for some kind of hold, some way to escape, but the krogan's iron grip held solid. His skin felt like concrete under her fingernails. Each time she thrashed the alien squeezed a little tighter, until her eyes threatened to pop from her sockets.

The turian stood, panting as he pulled off his helmet, revealing a scarred face and glittering blue eyes. Jack could see the confusion on his face even through the river of blood covering her vision.

"Jesus Christ," the human was saying as he stumbled back to his feet, rubbing the fresh gash on his forehead. "No wonder Shepard wanted her."

The turian stepped forward, mandibles flicking. "We don't want to hurt you," he repeated. "We just want to bring you to our commander."

"Fuck you!" Jack snapped, spitting a bloody glob onto the turian's face. "Fuck Cerberus!"

The turian shook his head.

From behind Jack, the krogan's voice rumbled. "Are we sure we don't want to hurt her? I could just squeeze and we could say the guards got her."

The turian rolled his eyes. "Right, Grunt. The guards got her and smashed her between their hands. I'm sure Shepard will buy that." He gestured down the hall. "Come on. We need to get off this thing before it goes down. We'll let Shepard deal with her."

"I'm not going anywhere with you Cerberus bitches!" Jack howled, still kicking futilely at the krogan's groin.

"We're not Cerberus. Listen to what Shepard has to say and maybe you won't go back into another cell."

"You're not… Cerberus?" Jack asked, voice quieting. Had Kuril lied to her? "Bullshit. What about Kuril?"

"Kuril's dead. Shepard killed him ten minutes ago."

Jack stopped struggling. Her eyes narrowed in thought. It could be a trick, of course. Could just be Cerberus in disguise. But if not… it was her ticket out of here. Whoever it was had the keys to her implant, anyway. She quickly came to a decision (and besides, it wasn't like she couldn't just turn on them later. Rule 2.)

"Fuck yeah," she said, staring at the turian, "then take me to him. I want to piss on that fucker's corpse."

The turian's mandibles flickered in disgust, but Jack ignored him. She craned her neck to try and look the krogan in the eye. "And you hit like a fuckin' girl."

---

Two hours later…

–

Subject Zero stared at him, and Shepard stared back.

The woman hadn't said a word since she'd stepped aboard the ship, other than a few choicer profanities about Miranda and anyone else she'd come across on her way into the darkest underbelly she could find. They'd given her a wide berth for a few hours before Shepard had sent Chakwas to see to her wounds. The doctor, stubborn as she was, managed to last all of ten minutes before storming out of the maintenance bay.

Now it was Shepard's turn.

He couldn't deny it – he was scared of Subject Zero. Somehow he felt comfortable rubbing elbows with monsters of the like of Garrus or Grunt, armored creatures who could snap his neck like a toothpick if they so chose, but when it came to the deadlier members of his own species there was a gulf of uncertainty there. Chalk it up to having seen humanity's cruel failures first hand, perhaps.

Zero paced restlessly around the room like a caged beast, her eyes never leaving Shepard's. She twitched and scratched at her bruised skin, snarling under her breath. She stank with blood and sweat and fluids Shepard didn't care to guess at, but none more than her restless anger, which seemed to press in from all directions.

"Are you going to say anything?"

"Already called you a fuckin' pussy," she said, prowling through the red emergency lights. "Not much more to say."

"Hmmm…"

Zero seemed to take his contemplative expression for something it wasn't, and rounded on him. "Don't try it, fucker," she said, waving a tattooed finger in his face. "Don't sit there and try to understand me."

"Alright," Shepard said, shrugging. "So then talk. Tell me what to understand."

"How 'bout 'we ain't got nothin' to talk about'? Only reason I'm here at all is for those fuckin' databases. Come back with those or get the fuck out of my face."

Shepard frowned. "I have Tali working on it, Zero. It'll probably take a few days, but trust me, if the information exists, she can get it."

"Don't call me Zero," she snarled. "My name is Jack."

"Alright, Jack. I'll get you that information. I promise. But you're going to behave in the meantime."

"What am I going to do when you've got your finger on the fuckin' button?" she asked, gesturing towards her head.

"I don't see you as the sort of person who needs her biotics to be dangerous."

Jack actually smiled, and Shepard immediately knew he'd won some small victory with her. "Damn right, Shepard," she said, grinning evilly. "You cross me and I'll slit your fuckin' throat."

Shepard couldn't help but remember Zaeed's advice from a few weeks ago. He couldn't assume Jack would cooperate with him out of friendship. He had to speak her language. "You harm any member of my crew and I'll have the professor cut that thing out of your skull," he said. "Then we'll drop your brain-damaged ass right back in jail. Got it?"

Jack just scowled, but Shepard could see he'd hit the right note with her. "We done?" she asked, resuming her relentless pacing.

"Do you need anything else from me?"

"I'm guessing you're too boyscout to have any heroin on this ship, so I guess not. Get out." She flicked her bald head towards the stairs.

Shepard sighed, turning to go. "I'll talk to Mordin, see what he can cook up for you." He ignored the muttered obscenities he heard behind him as he scaled the stairs.

He was tired. Again. He'd come a long way since Freedom's Progress. He still wasn't back to the shape he was in before he died (Chakwas told him he probably never would be), but he'd made progress. He could run, he could fight, he could stay up and work without passing out. But it took it out of him. There was too much to do, and too few hours in which to do it. He needed sleep, and he only had a few hours until he had to start working with Garrus on a plan to find their next recruit, a drell assassin. He was so tired.

He frowned. Too bad. He'd beaten the grim reaper, and it had come with costs. If he wanted to beat the rest of the reapers, that'd come with costs too.

But two hours of sleep wouldn't hurt anything. He headed for the elevator.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Shepard stopped in his tracks and turned to stare sheepishly at a very severe looking Dr. Chakwas, who tapped an impatient foot, bathed in the blue-white light of the ship's eezo core down the hall.

He looked longingly up the sairs. "My quarters?"

Chakwas 'tsk'ed, shaking her head. "Not until I've had a look," she said, ushering the commander to the nearest bench. "I swear, Commander, you have me fixing up every person in sight and then think I'm going to ignore this?" she indicated his hand, where one of the Blue Sun incendiaries had scorched his armor, burning away most of the delicate undermesh. "Sit."

The Hero of the Citadel knew not to argue with Dr. Chakwas and obligingly slumped down. He relinquished his hand to the doctor, who carefully peeled off his armored bracers and glove, revealing blistered skin beneath. "I swear, it isn't that bad, Helen," he whined.

"Don't you Helen me. I don't care if you are a zombie, you can't just leave a burn untreated." The air was heavy with the smell of alcohol as she dabbed at his injuries with the corner of a recyclable plastic towel. "What if it had gotten infected? You'd be out of commission for days. You know we can't afford that. And when was the last time you slept?"

"Yes ma'am," Shepard said, hanging his head. "Sorry ma'am."

"That's more like it," she snapped, though Shepard could see the smile in her eyes. His blisters cleaned, she withdrew a roll of medigel-coated bandages. "Hold here." Shepard watched her as she worked, carefully unrolling the bandages with a rote precision that spoke of decades of experience.

"Is my biotic going to make it?" he asked.

"How should I know? The poor dear wouldn't let me near her. All I managed to learn was that I'm apparently a harpy-nosed hagbitch."

"She's sharp, I'll give her that," Shepard said, shrugging. Chakwas chose that moment to give the bandage a good tug, causing him to wince in pain.

"Well, as far as this hagbitch can tell, she's as fine as we could hope," she said, voice falling serious. "A few broken fingers she'd probably best let me tend, but other than that, more or less intact. Though I can't say the same for her mental state."

Shepard sighed, resting his chin on his free hand. "I hope she pulls through. I can't have a person like that on this ship if she won't behave, even with Garrus and Tali keeping her implants offline." He shook his head. "She really hates Cerberus."

Chakwas smiled as she closed her medical bag and returned Shepard's glove to him. "Then at least you'll have something to talk about, won't you dear?"

Shepard grinned as she ascended the staircase, leaving him with his thoughts. Whatever he'd told her, he didn't know what he'd actually do if 'Jack' proved more trouble than she was worth. Probably call Anderson, see if he could find a place that could help her. Maybe even the Ascension program. Of course, after he'd called in the damage to Purgatory, he doubted if Anderson would be keen on doing him any more favors. The disabled prison ship was going to take an army to stabilize, and as they'd pulled out of the Osun system EDI's scanners had detected no fewer than forty ejected escape pods that would need to be reclaimed. Shepard didn't envy whoever had to clean up this particular mess.

But at least they'd gotten away with no serious injuries. Zaeed's split head looked pretty bad, but Chakwas had managed to force him to sit still long enough for a bandage and promised soon he'd be back to his old cheerful self.

Shepard rose to his feet and headed for the elevator, taking one last moment to stare seriously at Garrus, who stood, rifle ready, next to Tali's console, listening for a tumult from below that meant their new biotic had snapped. He felt bad giving Garrus another ne'er-do-well to watch over, but the turian hadn't complained.

Tali, on the other hand…

Shepard shuddered. Ahh well, she'd forgive him. Tomorrow he'd order a search for the source of her mystery noises. He felt bad, he really did. The little quarian was only looking out for him. Still, if today was any indication she needn't have worried. Miranda and Jacob had followed his orders to the letter. They didn't have the easy familiarity that his old squad had won through months of ground engagements together, but they'd found his rhythm and settled in as best they could, and Shepard had to admit they'd made a formidable team.

He nodded, content, as the elevator doors opened to his quarters. The lights flickered on as he stepped inside, dropping his burnt gauntlet to the floor with a thud. The bed beckoned to him, and nothing was going to keep him from it.

There was a deadly clicking sound and Shepard froze as he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press up against the back of his neck.

"Don't move, Shepard."

He grimaced. Nothing but that.

–

---

Codex entry: excerpt from Introduction to The Artist's Guide to Biotic Sculpture by Thomas Keynes, first published in Exotic Biotic Monthly, April 2182

Let me be the first to welcome you to the fascinating world of biotic sculpture!

Humanity has come a long way since First Contact. In so many ways we are bigger, more sophisticated, and more intelligent than we have ever been. Collaboration with our galactic neighbors has led to unprecedented cultural growth, but in the field of biotics, it is easy to forget we are still newcomers.

I first encountered biotic sculpture in 2174, in my visit to Thessian-based Ampiria Technologies for a rare glimpse at the science behind asari amp manufacturing. While there, my patrons treated my companions and I to a bit of culture at the Nelgilia Hall's annual Jali gala. The display I saw there forever changed how I look at biotics.

Like most humans, we had spent years seeing movies about biotics, human and otherwise. We'd seen fictional action hero Duncan Trask biotically trounce evil armies with his bare hands. We'd played the video sims that put you in the shoes of an asari commando. We'd watched as Earth champion strength biotic Helga Desmond lifted a mid-size spacecraft on galactic TV. We knew what biotics were for.

They were for lifting heavy things. They were for crushing your enemies. In short, they were tools.

So imagine our surprise when we saw the Jali performance of some of the galaxy's most reknown biotics, strained to their talents' formidable limits without lifting so much as a pencil. Plumes of blue light trace most biotic fields. Before that day, myself and the other leading human biotics believed them just a side effect, just an artifact. But no more. The asari showed us, that day, that the coronae could be things of beauty, crafted into shapes beyond compare. We saw two asari summon an unmistakable likeness of the Thessian skyline in midair. We saw oceans, we saw deserts, we saw abstract swirls of form and volume that touched us in the deepest parts of our hearts. It was without question the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Naturally, we knew we had to introduce this art to our species. For years, now, we have been traveling the galaxy, interviewing the best biotic artists of several species, learning their techniques, their philosophy. Later this year, the first book in what we hope to be a series of advanced how-to manuals on biotic sculpture for a human audience will release, but for those of you with patience and luck, we've provided a quick starter guide right here. You can practice these techniques in the safety of your own home, and in no time you'll be creating beautiful blue paintings of your own!

Disclaimer: This document was written with human biotics in mind. Though many of the concepts remain the same for non-human biotics, non-humans should consult their physicians before attempting any of the advice in this article.

Biotic basics – For those of you uninitiated to the world of biotics, I wanted to start with a quick primer on the basic biology involved. In short, biotics for combat, art, or otherwise operate on the same principles as the mechanical mass effect fields used in dozens of modern technologies ranging from communications to spacecraft. Any mass effect field can be rationalized into three parts. 1) element zero – element zero's interaction with itself is the source of all mass effect fields. This rare material is still poorly understood, but when exposed to 2) a positive or negative electrical current over 3) a distance, element zero releases dark energy in a field around itself, negating or enhancing mass within. The magnitude of the current and the distance over which it flows control the shape of the resultant field, with larger fields requiring exponentially larger currents to produce.

So, as within an FTL engine, within a human biotic all three elements can be found. Element zero accumulates inside of discrete nodules along most neurons, consolidating due to its own self-attractive nature. When electrical impulses travel down these nerves, a current is provided across subsequent element zero nodes, producing a weak mass effect field.

Unlike in asari, most human nerves are highly branched and conduction along their lengths is a complicated process, only somewhat voluntary. Controlling one's biotics rests entirely upon controlling the precise activation and speed of nervous impulses, which is not always possible. To rectify this difficulty, human biotics depend upon 'physical mnemonics', simple muscular movements that can, with persistence, be subconsciously linked with the firing of certain nodes. Some of these mnemonics are shared across most humans, but most biotics end up having to discover their own set of gestures in order to build up the appropriate muscle memory.

This publication contains many fine articles on beginning and advanced biotic theory, which I recommend you explore if you are just getting started with biotics.

Biotic technology – Human biotic technology is already very diverse with multiple internal and external situations – along with augmentative surgeries – available, but all systems follow the same general principles.

Though element zero nodes in the nervous system provide the potential for very precise control over biotic fields (incidentally, exactly why completely technological biotic weapons have not been pursued with much enthusiasm), the currents involved are very weak, drastically minimizing the strength of produced fields.

To combat this problem, most human biotics used biotic amplifiers. Amplifier systems typically come in two pieces, a basic implant – little more than a mechanical translator that is surgically implanted onto the back of the brainstem in order to give easy access to the major nerves – and an external, removable amplifier. Most amplifiers work by sensing nervous impulses associated with biotic fields (again, usually by recognizing well-practiced mnemonics) and introducing a much stronger electrical current into the appropriate nerves for a few milliseconds. These stronger currents allow the production of more powerful fields. Amps of this sort are the source of the well-known static charge buildup on most biotics – excess charge tends to build up under the skin until it can be discharged. Amps primarily act to increase field strength – not accuracy – but high quality amps can contribute towards the latter as well by only enhancing the biotically-active nerves (and not, for instance, the rest of the nerves used in a given mnemonic). More advanced amplifiers enhance their users' accuracy and power even further with the injection of a harmless conductive fluid into biotically-active nerves, essentially laying down permanent 'wires' for faster electric propagation.

Other, more radical technologies for improving biotic strength or accuracy exist. The safest and most widespread of these are 'eezo suits', usually lightweight wire armatures worn outside the skin but beneath clothing. These suits are wired into the biotic's implant and contain carefully positioned element zero nodes throughout their lengths. When they read a biotic impulse from the implant, they produce their own current, and subsequently their own mass effect fields. Unlike conventional amplifiers, eezo suits do not actually alter the fields produced by the nervous system, but rather create sympathetic accessory fields – fields at the same shape and position as the primary field – to enhance strength. Eezo suits are safe and effective but tend to be prohibitively expensive for most biotics.

Surgical options have been explored by many companies and militaries to maximize biotic abilities as well. Element zero injection into the brain or spinal cord sometimes has a dramatic effect on field strength, but due to shift in node positions often requires a complete restart on biotic training and, more importantly, more often than not causes serious immunological side effects. More expensive and dangerous yet is neurosurgical eezo implantation, in which specially made element zero nodes are implanted into specified nerves to enhance field creation without risk of disturbing preexisting nodes. Some researchers are even experimenting with new implant/amplifier systems that exist entirely within the brain – sometimes in several pieces – and include powerful magnetic fields that can be tweaked remotely in order to rearrange eezo nodes into optimal orientation in the body. Theoretically node misalignment is the largest barrier to field strength and accuracy, and this technology thus represents a potentially enormous increase in biotic strength – but most doctors agree surgeries of this sort are unethical, and in fact legislation proposing the banning of these deep-brain implants is due to enter the courts later this year.

Measuring biotics – A quick note on the measuring of biotic fields. Biotic field strength is typically measured in Alleyne units, named for the famed asari biologist Alleynea Taris. Alleyne units are mathematically similar to Newtons of force, but are weighted to describe the accuracy of the force in 3d space. Most biotic fields may represent enormous forces, but the vast majority is wasted by fighting against the field's intended direction.

While many biotics go to enormous efforts to improve their maximum Alleyne capacity, this is generally not necessary for biotic sculpture. Clean, unidirectional fields may be the goal for strength or combat biotics, but biotic art is about manipulating coronae into beautiful shapes.

Continued…

–

---

A/N: Bum BUM BUUUUUM...

What's this! An update on a reasonable time frame! Be still my heart!

Yes, it's true! I really wanted to get this chapter done for you guys. I hope you like it. It's been through some fairly major revisions to get to where it is now. In fact, my beta convinced me to cut a fairly large chunk of it (a few thousand words on Kuril) because it didn't contribute much to the story. I found this one one of the harder ones to write for a number of reasons. The main reason is that I've read Rock Steady, which does such a stellar job with Jack that I felt I really had to work not to just copy it. That's the main reason, as well, that I've taken a few more liberties with Jack than with other characters. In any case, I apologize for the somewhat... darker content of this chapter. It's not my usual plan to write about rape and use fuck every other sentence, but I could see no other way to write Jack.

So now the bad news: the reason I wanted to get this one out quick is because tomorrow I head off to a new state to begin my PhD program. I do wish to be clear - I have no intention of abandoning this fic. I have way too much fun writing it. That said, I do not know what my time situation is going to be once I get started. Point is it's quite likely there will be a good sized interval before you see chapter 15 and find out just who felt the need to hold Shepard at gunpoint.

And I was right. Chapter 15 went pretty smoothly. It ended up being more humorous in tone than anything else I've done, I think, so I hope when you do finally see it you enjoy it.

As for who it's about? Astute readers of the past two chapters should already know.

As always, thanks for everything, everybody. Do enjoy!