I'm already working on the next one, hopefully I can update sooner this time around :)

Your cover's blown, nowhere to go, holding your fate

Loaded, I will walk alone

-Breaking Benjamin

They came at dawn.

Shepard wasn't ready. Nobody was ready. They were more silent, more prepared than she ever would have given them credit for. And when they hit, it was without mercy.

Shepard was dreaming. They were at her grandmother's wake in the gardens behind the estate. Everything was so green and lush, summer arriving in full, bright splendor in the middle of June. There were streamers dancing in the breeze, hanging onto the hedges and trees of the gardens; Shepard wasn't sure why they were there in the dream, since it was practically a funeral and all. She was thirteen and it was the first time she'd been back to Canada since she was six, the only time she'd be back, though she didn't know it at the time. There were butterflies there; they were bright orange and green.

Her mother was talking to her in the dream. Well, talking was kind—shouting might have been the more appropriate term. Her words, however, were strange, muffled, undecipherable, as though she was yelling at Shepard from underwater. She had a hold of one of her arms, too, shaking her. Shepard had done something...laughed inappropriately or had been running around the gardens when she should have been standing still with her head down, mourning her grandmother, a woman she had never met. It didn't matter what she had done, she was in trouble.

"What?" Shepard asked, frowning. "I can't understand you!"

That just made her mother shake her harder. Finally, some words made it through the fog. "Get up," Hannah screamed, "get up, Shepard, they're coming!"

Who's coming, she wondered, before she realized the voice wasn't her mother's at all, it was Kaidan's.

Shepard opened her eyes, head lolling as Kaidan shook her frantically. "Shepard, come on!"

"What's going on, what's happening?"

"The mercs," he said. He was pale, blood smeared across his face. "They came in the night."

Shepard didn't like the dazed look on his face. She grabbed his arm, gripping it tight. "You're not hurt, are you?" Tell me you're not hurt.

Kaidan shook his head. "I'm fine. But we're all going to be fucked if we don't do something now."

She sat up straight in the chair she'd been resting in, shoving back some of the hair swinging in front of her eyes. "Where's my gun?"

Kaidan stooped, grabbing the assault rifle she'd stolen just days before from the mercs. It was heavy in her hands when she caught it, checking the ammo. Not much, but it would do.

She led the way out to the trauma area and she was met with bedlam. If she thought the crash was bad, it was nothing compared to now. People were everywhere, collapsed on cots and slumped over crates, the smell of blood and fear heavy in the air. Those who weren't injured were screaming, praying, huddled in corners out of desperation. The sounds of crying rose like a wave, the noise deafening, the force of it nearly knocking Shepard back.

Both Shepard and Kaidan raced outside to where the battle had begun. The carnage was staggering, almost overwhelming, slapping Shepard across the face and waking up any part of her that might have still been asleep. Blood was splashed across the outside of the ship, across Jack, puddled in the mud, mingled with the rain and dirt.

From inside Jack's barrier, Shepard could see the mercs had amassed and were coming in droves. Everywhere Shepard looked there were batarians and vorcha, stacked all the way back on the hill before her. They were a handful of farmers with guns and dwindling ammo against hundreds and it hit Shepard right then and there with the same furious onslaught: They weren't going to make it.

As if he could read her mind, Kaidan grabbed her arm. "C'mon," he said bracingly. "Target practice."

She took a deep breath—and nodded. They were trained for this, they knew the score. He let go of her and they approached Jack. Kaidan could pass through easily, and he joined the ones they'd trained for this exact scenario (though she used the term loosely). Shepard, on the other hand, went to Jack.

"Sitrep."

Jack flashed a glare at her quickly. Her face was sweaty, her teeth clenched. "What?"

"The situation, Jack, what happened?"

"Fuck if I know," she snapped shrilly. "One second I'm standing here falling asleep and the next thing I know, I'm being fucking shot at and swarmed by these motherfuckers." She cried out as a rocket blast slammed into her barrier, her eyes glowing a dark blue. Snarling, she fired back and sent an entire group of batarians spinning out with a warp field, their limbs twisted and mangled.

"Hey," Shepard snapped back, "you have one job right now: Defend. Leave the attacking to us."

"Hey, fuck you."

She took that as a good sign, looking out at their defenses. They had already been pushed back to the makeshift cover just outside Jack's barrier and it wasn't looking good. Along the ridge were pockets of mercs and from their vantage point, they had the ship and all the settlers pinned down. A lot of them were dead, scattered around the barrier as if they had rushed it, but more of them were scattered all the way back towards their camp, taking their time and firing from a dozen different places, their thermal rounds relentless, keeping Jack focused intently. For every one that the settlers managed to pick off, there were three more trained on them, firing in controlled bursts from the front, left, and right.

"Ready?" Jack asked, glancing at Shepard.

She nodded and Jack opened the shield just enough for Shepard to roll out. As soon as she was through, she was crouched, running, dodging the rounds blazing past her in shimmering heat waves, scorching just inches from her face. She slid in between Kaidan and Collins at the barricade, looking past him to Ryzak on his other side.

"Fill me in here, Chief!"

"We're sitting ducks here, Commander!" Ryzak popped a clip, the heat sink falling to the ground, smoking and hissing.

"Yeah, no shit. How many?"

"Can't get a good read. They're gonna keep picking us off until the cavalry gets here, ma'am." She looked at Shepard and Shepard could see the uneasiness in her eyes. "We got an ETA on that?"

"Not yet. The important thing here is defending these civilians. Collins, on your left!" Collins ducked down just in time, the round pinging off the barricade. "Keep your eyes open, now is not the time to lose focus."

They made ample use of the supplies that Liara had sent them, but it wasn't as though they had a full arsenal at their disposal, and they were quickly running low again. Shepard shot and yelled and covered her fellows, she threw grenades and yanked people down when they left themselves exposed. From beside her, Kaidan glowed almost permanently, throwing batarians and vorcha into the air, his victims spinning wildly and shrieking, but there were just too many, it was hardly making a dent.

"Collins, can you—" A shot whizzed past Shepard and there was an explosion of sound as it connected, an explosion of sound and red, red splattering on Shepard and the barricade, liquid on her lips, on her cheeks, her armor, her gun, everywhere. She looked down in horror at Collins' slumped body, his eyes staring, a significant portion of his head missing.

From beside her, Ryzak screamed. Heads turned. Rounds banged off the barricade.

He had just been next to her, breathing, heart pumping in wild anticipation. She had just been talking to him.

A scream crawled up Shepard's throat as well and she battled with it, forcing it back down. She looked up, meeting Kaidan's eyes. The same horror was looking back at her there, like a mirror. She tasted blood in her mouth, head going light and stomach rolling as she realized what it was, whose it was.

She took a deep breath and let it out. Okay.

She returned fire.

Shepard didn't know how long it was until she noticed. Everything was a haze of battered heat sinks popping around her, the vibrant energy whirling beside her around Kaidan, and the thermal rounds pinging off every surface. Maybe it was because of Collins that she didn't notice right away, until they were nearing the last legs of their ammo. Maybe she wasn't in the right headspace, everything a bit foggy by the battle, by the dead soldier right beside her.

Whatever it was, it took her a long time to notice. Too long.

The noise had increased, rounds banging against the metal of their barricades. Collins was the only casualty.

Slowly, Shepard turned, looking at Kaidan. He was looking back at her, perhaps recognizing it too. "Something's off," she said.

He nodded. "They're not trying to hit us. They're not even firing at Jack anymore. They're firing at the barricades. Why?"

Ryzak looked between the two of them, eyes flitting back and forth nervously. "What does that mean?"

"It means..." What does it mean? There was a memory, something tugging at the back of her mind. ICT...in Rio de Janeiro... There was a training exercise they'd done, a whole unit they'd spent learning about it.

Why would they stop firing at us, yet continue firing in general?

It hit her all at once. "Oh, my god. It's a distraction."

"A distraction from what?"

There was a strangled cry from behind them. "Shepard!" It was Jack. Shepard whirled around, looking at the barrier. Jack's face was screwed up in pain. "Something's happening, I can't—"

An explosion cut off her words, an explosion from behind the ship.

The barrier flickered once, twice, and went out. Shepard could hear it coming in like the rain: Lines of fire making their way down the ridge, as Jack dropped to her stomach and crawled towards them.

Screams rose from the ship. The mercs were inside.

"Shit," Shepard said. "Fuck. Kaidan, can you—"

He shook his head quickly. "I'm tapped."

"We've got to retreat, now." Shepard raised her gun into the air, shouting, "Fall back! Protect the ship!"

They didn't bother waiting for her; all of them charged the ship, running as fast as they could, ducking rounds. Shepard watched two of them get shot right beside her, the sounds of screams growing louder as she ran to Jack, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the ship. "We need to get inside and start barricading these holes, got it?"

Jack's eyes were wide, her expression distant.

"Jack?"

She blinked, scowling. "Yeah, I got you. Let go." She turned and began running back to their shooting position at the barricade.

"Jack, what the fuck are you doing? Get back here!"

Jack kept running, ducking down behind the metal. Shepard ran; together with Kaidan, they got the last of everyone into the ship, but the sounds of gunfire were louder, children crying. "Check on the civilians, now," she told Kaidan, handing him her assault rifle.

"Shepard, what—"

"Now, Alenko!"

He hurried away. She looked out, dodging and ducking back in when a round pinged off the metal hull. Jack was still kneeling at the barricade, her head bent forward slightly onto her chest, almost like...she was praying.

Then Shepard heard the scream. It was unlike anything she'd ever heard before, tinged with dark energy, with power. She poked her head out in time to see Jack glowing as she clapped her hands together, sending a cosmic shockwave rolling up the hill. Shepard watched, both entranced and horrified, as it vaporized every merc it touched. The ones at the top of the hill had watched and understood; Shepard watched as they ran, scrambling back into the trees along the ridges of the mountain.

Jack's power flared brightly for a moment before it flickered and went out, falling away from her. Her body bent backwards like a bow—and she collapsed.

Shepard turned to Ryzak. "Cover me."

"Commander?"

"I said cover me. That's one of my crew out there and I'm not going to let her die."

Ryzak swallowed hard and then nodded, reloading.

Shepard looked out, waiting for a beat of quiet. The world around her seemed to slow as she took a deep breath, the edges of her vision wavering like the surface of water. She let the breath out—and ran.

Rounds immediately went off, remnants of the mercs left behind, the ones smart enough to get to higher ground. From behind her, she could hear Ryzak shooting in short bursts, pulses of fire and curses the only sound alive in Shepard's ears. She slid in the mud, slamming into the barricade with her shoulder; wincing, she reached for Jack where she lay. Her skin was clammy from the humidity and she was pale, but she was warm, alive.

Shepard patted her cheek. "C'mon, Jack. We still have shit to blow up."

As carefully as she could, she wrangled the smaller woman onto her back, all the aches in her body burning with light. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes for a second, taking another deep breath. When she opened them, the world looked blue, soft and dream-like. Time to go.

She ran. Jack was heavier than she looked, or maybe Shepard was just weaker than she was used to, becoming winded easily in the time it took her to get halfway back. Ryzak was still shooting, but she was yelling something too, something that Shepard couldn't make out over the dizzying sensation threatening to send her down and the pounding of her heart, the rasping of her breath. Jack's legs kicked into her thighs with every one of her steps.

She heard it before she felt it, echoing around their valley. That was the way it went, wasn't it? Speed of sound, Doppler effect and all that. It afforded her the split-second thought to realize Oh fuck before she felt it, slamming into her back like a punch, knocking the breath out of her, seeming to radiate everywhere, pitching her forward into the mud. Jack rolled off her, head lolling. Ryzak screamed a war-cry and launched out of the ship, shooting wildly. Shepard dazedly heard a cry echo from somewhere along the ridge and she smiled to herself. Got him.

The sky moved overhead as she stared at it. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire, like there was a hot chain attached to the bone and someone was yanking. The devil, her mind conjured forth. The devil's pulling me home.

"It's not the devil," a voice said, dragging her into the ship. "Not yet, anyway."

Something slid alongside her; Shepard turned her head to see Jack laying there.

"Not that my word counts for anything anymore, but remind me to tell someone to give you a battlefield commission when this is all over. You deserve it."

Ryzak looked down at her, her face coming into Shepard's focus slowly, blurring in and out. "Gotta live through it first, ma'am."

She sounded so much like Ashley that Shepard smiled, letting her eyes close. "You remind me of someone..."

A shadow fell over her again. "I'm real sorry about this, Commander." A hand came down and slapped her across the face, hard.

The pain shot her back into consciousness, into her body. Shepard sat straight up, cursing at the pain in her shoulder; she grabbed for it, hands met with wet, sticky fabric. "God dammit, Ryzak. I'm taking that battlefield commission back."

She almost grinned. "No, you're not." She dragged Jack away from the doorway and began pulling crates from the corner. "C'mon, Commander. You said so yourself, we need to get all of this boarded up."

"You do that," Shepard said, crawling to her feet unsteadily. "I need to find Commander Alenko."

"He went to the med bay. I—" Another loud explosion rocked the ship, sending wires and dust raining down in equal measure. Shepard reached out to the wall to steady herself, the flashbacks hitting her harder than Ryzak ever could: Red lights pulsing, steam hissing, Kaidan's grip on her arm and then—silence.

"Commander?" Ryzak was coughing.

The silence, the loss of breath—she couldn't breathe, couldn't find the space in her lungs to draw in the air, there was no air, just the silence of space, just the knowledge that she was going to die—

"Commander!"

Shepard pulled herself back from the edge. You're fine, she thought, taking a deep breath, then another. She filled her lungs with air, fighting through the pain of her shoulder, through the fog threatening to take her over. You're not dying. You're here, now. Get it together.

Clearing her throat, she pointed at Ryzak's gun. "Got any ammo left for that?"

She nodded, handing it over.

Shepard reloaded and left Ryzak to stack the crates and take care of Jack. She only hoped that when she returned, the young chief would still be alive.

She raced in the direction of the med bay, the screaming rising to a fever pitch, following the sound of gunfire. Her head was racing with a mantra, get to the med bay, but she couldn't seem to move fast enough, her shoulder throbbing with every move of her body.

She rounded a corner as fast as she could, running smack into a vorcha. It snarled at her, raising its gun, but she was faster—she shot it in the chest three times, kicking it out of her way when it took too long to fall. They're in the ship, they're in the ship. Shepard pulled apart one of the partitions they'd put up, tripping her way into the makeshift med bay only to be met with desolation.

Bodies. There were bodies everywhere. Not like before, when they had been injured or sleeping, no. These were dead bodies, corpses, what was left of people. And they were covering the floor, draped over crates and cots, some still flush with the promise of life, as though they had just been shot minutes before. Thinking of the explosion, Shepard realized they probably had. Too large, she thought, looking at them. These bodies are piled too high.

Against the far wall, the mercs had blown a hole in the wall, the metal torn back and gutted. Kaidan was there with Indira and a handful of the others they had taught to shoot, managing to hold most of them back, but some were still pouring in through the cracks in their defense, setting up cover and spreading throughout the room.

Shepard's heart leaped and she tasted blood in the back of her throat, her eyes darting to the far corner. She couldn't see from here. Ducking down behind a row of cots, she walked as fast and as quietly as she could, hurrying to the far end of the med bay. She could hear batarians talking; she peeked out around a crate that had fallen on her side. There were three of them and it sounded as if they were planning a flank maneuever.

She was just about to move forward when she stopped, frozen. A body was lying in her path, a person that she had just spoken to hours before. It was Anais, her eyes wide and glassy, staring at the ceiling. Her once-olive skin was now marbled and freckled with blood. She was reaching for a scalpel that was several feet away from her, glinting in the half-light.

Shepard took a deep breath through her nose, biting her lip so hard it cracked, bled. She took another, tried to steady herself. Sweat slid down the side of her face, dripping down from her chin to her arm. She flinched when it dripped to the floor, as though it would make an audible sound that would give her position away. In, out. Simple as that.

In, out.

Shepard moved.

She was up in a flash, firing. She got the first batarian and the second before either of them even knew she was there, and shot the third one in the head as he was raising his gun. She let out a shaky breath, lowering her weapon for only a moment to breathe. It was back at her shoulder a second later as she cleared the area, taking down another vorcha and a salarian before she made it to the back corner of the med bay.

It was quieter there, darker and eerie. All she could see in the dark were lifeless forms bent into impossible shapes, the geometry of the dying. It made her heart beat faster, her breath coming in short pants as her head spun. It wasn't looking good but still, she kept telling herself she's a smart girl, she's fine, she crawled to cover, to safety. She had to.

She saw the bed before she saw Shanna. It had been knocked over, set up as cover in defense of the corner. Shepard almost smiled. She was smart, setting up the bed to hide behind. Shepard was sure that she'd approach and Shanna would be scared, of course, but she could coax her out and they'd find her mother and—

Then she saw her. Them. She saw them clearly when her eyes adjusted, saw the bodies crouched together in that corner, hiding behind that bed.

They must have died instantly, Shepard thought. Shanna was curled up impossibly small for a girl her mother's height, her long legs drawn up to her chest. Her eyes were open, bright green—just like mine—and accusing, chilled. Saskia still clasped Shanna in death, hugging her daughter to her, the two of them entwined. Saskia had shielded Shanna's body with her own.

Shepard couldn't breathe. The ship swam before her eyes and she reached out a hand to steady herself, her grip on her rifle faltering, her arm falling limply to her side.

Happy birthday. That was the last thing Shanna had said to her.

Something happened in Shepard, then, something she couldn't explain. She closed her eyes and it was like a fog settling over her, a cold calm, like the expectant pause before a tornado hits, the dark shadow sliding over a city as a tsunami rises. It was the same kind of silence and chill of London on a foggy morning, just before dawn. It was the quiet of a snowfall, the sharp, bone-deep chill of an impending blizzard. It fell around Shepard's shoulders like a cloak melding to her shape, a perfect fit, and she welcomed it. For the first time since she'd died, she felt steady, clear. She was the first breath of winter, the clenched aching jaw of fury, the darkest plum bruise on paper-thin skin.

She took a deep breath. Checked her ammo. Raised her gun.

She walked away, out into the fight.

Shepard woke, again, to gunfire but it was different this time: loud, thrilling, triumphant.

She was, to her surprise, outside. The thunder had come again, but it was barely-there under the sound of missiles firing. Looking out over the jungle, the ruined ground and destroyed ship, she could just see the edge of an Alliance vessel, a shuttle, chasing out the last pockets of mercs. Another one zoomed overhead and somewhere far off, she could hear a deep voice, heavily accented, yelling. Her lips curled up in a smile for the briefest of moments. Vera.

There was a sniffle beside her. The smile fell away.

Her neck hurt when she turned, but she wanted to see. A boy was sitting next to her and he looked vaguely familiar. She must have made some noise because he looked at her and the recognition hit: it was Corvus, Marcus' son. She almost smiled again, realizing that he was taking care of her now. He still looked weak and shaky, but he was at least sitting up, so he was better than her already.

"Corvus."

His eyes flashed and he jumped to his feet, startling her. "Um. Commander Alenko said to come get him as soon as you woke up."

"What about your father? Where is everyone? Is Jack all right?"

Corvus' mouth worked soundlessly as he blinked rapidly. "Uh," he finally managed. "Commander Alenko said immediately." Before she could protest, he was staggering off toward the ship.

Shepard discovered new wounds in his absence, waiting for Kaidan to arrive. Her shoulder was throbbing dully from the gunshot, a heat spread across the skin there, a pain that made her hiss whenever she touched it—plus two more, one at her hip, and another had gone clean through her forearm, she could feel it. She felt certain if there hadn't been a bandage over it, she would've been able to see straight through her arm.

She tried to pull herself up into a sitting position, but the exertion must've sent her under again because she woke to Kaidan gently shaking her.

"Hm?"

"Shepard, it's me." Kaidan took Corvus' empty seat; the boy was nowhere in sight. Kaidan, too, was nursing a bandage, his arm done up in a makeshift sling, a mess of scrapes and bruises covering his face and neck. The shadows under his eyes were the deepest and darkest she'd ever seen, and his stubble was approaching a fully-fledged beard now. How long have I been out, she wondered, looking around dimly.

She must have said it aloud because he said, "Almost four days. You passed out right as Vera got here. She's been running interference ever since."

"Four days? But..." She raised a hand to her head, feeling along the bandage there. "What the fuck?"

"Do you remember what happened?"

Shepard shook her head. "I remember...the mercs attacked. Collins got—he died. Jack passed out, I got shot, Ryzak—shit, is she alive?"

Kaidan nodded. "She's fine. Says you mentioned someone giving her a battlefield commendation. I'd have to agree with you."

"I was delirious," she grumbled.

"She deserves it." He tilted his head. "What else?"

"Inside the ship, there was Anais and then..." She swallowed hard, remembering now: the bodies curled up in the corner, holding each other for the last time. "Saskia and—and Shanna." She lowered her hand, covering her eyes and biting her lip. She wasn't going to cry, not now. "Fuck," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Yeah," Kaidan said so quietly, she almost didn't hear him. "Yeah, they're dead."

A thousand things were going through her mind. We should've done more. We should've protected them better. We should've saved them, all of them. But how? What more could they have done? She cursed the Alliance in her head, cursed their bureaucracy and their stubbornness and their pride; she cursed herself and her inaction and the stupid, meaningless heartbreak that had led her to Pragia in the first place. It had killed a precocious fifteen-year-old girl and her mother. It had nearly killed them all.

She was shaking, she realized, out of anger. She didn't want to just blow up the Cerberus base with Jack, she wanted to torch it, torch the whole goddamned planet. Let it fucking burn out in the depths of space, so hot and so fast that it became a neutron star, a dead hunk of metal, and then blow it the fuck up again. Wipe it off every galaxy map, erase any mention of it from history, make sure no one remembered it ever again.

None of it explained how or when she'd gotten shot two more times. She moved her hand away from her eyes.

"Kaidan," she said slowly, quietly, "what happened after that?"

He didn't say anything for a long time. When he finally did speak, he didn't look at her. "I've never seen anything like that, Shepard."

"Like what? What happened?"

"We all saw you walk out of the ship. You should've died—it was suicide. But you just...I've never seen anyone move like that before, not even you. It was like they couldn't touch you." He shook his head, finally chancing a glance at her. "You cut them all down. Even when they shot you, you didn't stop. You mowed almost every single one of them down, forcing who was left to retreat. What Vera's been taking care of the last few days are the stragglers."

"I..." Why don't I remember this? "That can't be right."

"Shepard, we all saw you." He shook his head again, still in disbelief. "The look on your face...You were brutal, terrifying." He looked at her, dark eyes fastened on hers with an intensity she hadn't seen from him in days. "Awe-inspiring."

That felt open-ended. "But?"

"But..." He trailed off.

She watched as Kaidan looked out across the jungle, his expression unreadable. She listened to the distant humming of the shuttle, heard the brrrap—brrrap! of more fire, the thoom of the shuttle's guns, Vera shouting orders in her thick South African accent.

He turned back to face her. "But it was like there was nobody in there anymore. You weren't you. You were..." He shrugged, his hands falling helplessly. "War."

Shepard shivered. Before she could say anything else, he stood, leaving her alone again. She watched him walk away, watched the stiff lope of his legs as he crossed the ground to the ship, watched the tired way he held himself, the defeat in the hunch of his shoulders. For a victory, it certainly didn't look or feel like one.

Shepard laid back, closing her eyes again. Her head was pounding, but her stomach was twisting at the thought of what he'd said. That had only ever happened to her once before, when she was twenty years old. It was during the Skyllian Blitz. She had been on leave and had fully intended to party the entire time she was there—until the pirates arrived.

It was all retaliatory stupidity: The batarians were lashing back at the Alliance for their expansion and anti-pirate movements, and the desire of one man to become the pirate-lord of the Terminus Systems. To this day, it still grated on Shepard's nerves that such idiotic motives could lead to the carnage and destruction she'd seen.

The SSV Agincourt took care of most of the ships from orbit, but some broke through. When the Marines on leave wanted to run and leave the colonists, Shepard convinced them to stay—with a gun to their heads. They certainly left that part out of the ceremonies afterward, and out of the history lessons.

She didn't really remember what happened, only catching flashes of it to this day. She remembered there had been a family there, a man and his wife with their little asari daughter. She had freckles on her nose and her eyes were lavender, that Shepard remembered, would always remember. The grenade had gone off right next to her, right next to them, and her ears rang, her vision tripling and swimming in distorted waves. One of the Marines was shouting to her, dragging her up by the shoulder, yanking on her arm and it hurt, and she tried to tell him to stop but then he was pulling her out of the range of another one and they were blasted backwards.

When Shepard's vision finally cleared enough for her to make sense of sky and ground, she saw the craters left behind, saw what remained of the marines nearby, of the colonists. They'd blown a hole in the fortifications she and the others had put into place.

There was nothing left of the family.

That was where it got hazy. Everything that happened she only learned afterward, from the people who had been with her, who had seen it happen. She went wild, but not in a frenzy; it was more calculated, controlled, bloodshed and there was no emotion in it, no heat, nothing but the blinding white-cold. She wasn't cruel, but she certainly wasn't merciless, either, shooting even the ones who pleaded with her. One batarian sliced her face with a knife; all she remembered was the quick burst of heat, the pain rising to her skin, and the blood splattering her shirt later.

She didn't remember repairing the hole in their defenses with batarian bodies and what was left of a truck, its side blown open by the explosives. She didn't remember the body count. She didn't remember Vera flying over and intervening, just like she was on Pragia now.

She only remembered waking up two days later to the sterile white walls of the hospital, the nurses looking at her with fear, whispering behind their hands. The doctor herself had been the one to tell her what happened. Fugue state, she called it. Dissociative amnesia. It was triggered by the stress of her environment at the time. She wanted to do additional tests on Shepard's psyche.

Vera barged in, not giving her the chance to tell them yes or no, kicking them out so they could talk. She handed Shepard a datapad with a video message from Anderson on it, telling her she was going to be awarded the Star of Terra for her heroic actions.

She waited until Vera left the room before she dropped the datapad and collapsed in on herself, crying. She felt confused and afraid without being sure why.

The only message from her mother was: Good job. Congratulations on the Star.

They gave her some time off, and after a few weeks, she was all smiles for the cameras at the Star of Terra ceremony. Her mom made a lot of speeches about her and there was even a documentary, though Shepard didn't take part in it herself. It all felt like a dream she couldn't wake up from. Eventually they stopped talking about her—for the most part—and the documentary only ran on the anniversary now and sometimes during the holidays. Shepard was certain it would fade, even if what few memories she had of the event never would.

Now, however, she didn't feel confused. She didn't feel justified, she didn't feel shocked, she didn't feel angry. She didn't feel very sad, either, though she knew she should have because of Saskia and Shanna.

She didn't really feel much of anything.

Without waiting for Vera, Shepard fell back into an uneasy sleep.

When Shepard finally woke again, she felt better, more complete physically, though she was confused, her mind muddled. She was inside now, laying on a cot, looking up at a metallic silver ceiling. The ship, then. It seemed calmer now, but she was always going to remember the people who had died, all the ghosts still lingering around her like smoke. Her muscles were stiff when she moved, struggling to sit up, and her arm was still burning with a dull ache.

A hand was holding her down.

Shepard blinked, looking up. Standing there was a tall woman with dark skin that glistened in the light with a thin sheen of sweat from the humidity. Her short blonde hair was slicked back from her face, just a few strands hanging down over her forehead. There was a white eyepatch covering her left eye, the other one unblemished and narrow, the iris so dark it was nearly black. She had a cigar clamped between her pouty dark lips, the end of it still smoking.

Vera Hawkins wore nothing but her regulation pants, her boots, and her undershirt, her Alliance officer jacket nowhere to be found. Her angular face was sharply shadowed and contrasted by the one source of light, a lantern on the floor, and it made her seem half-demonic as she grinned down at Shepard.

"Doc said not to get up too fast," she said, her South African accent music to Shepard's ears as she removed the cigar with her free hand and exhaled plumes of smoke that obscured her face. "You've had a hell of a time, Shep."

"Hawkins." Her voice was hoarse, her throat rough and scratchy; she coughed several times to clear it and her shoulder throbbed. "I'm so fucking glad to see you."

Her grin widened. "When Anderson said you were in trouble, of course I mustered everyone I could. Your mom'd kick my ass if she found out I left you to die on some shithole of a planet in the arse-end of space." She eyed Shepard shrewdly through the smoke. "What the hell are you doin' out here, anyway?"

"It's...a long story," Shepard said, shaking her head. "I don't really want to get into it right now. I assume you heard about me and the Alliance."

Vera nodded. "Rough stuff, that. Cerberus, though, eh? That's a bit weird."

"Yeah, but they did rebuild me. And they're the only ones willing to do anything about these colonists." She gestured around. "You've seen what's going on out here. The Alliance doesn't give a shit."

"It's fucked up, but that's the bureaucracy for you." That sharp eye was still focused on her and Shepard wasn't ashamed to admit, even silently, that it was unnerving. She felt like she could see into every secret part of her, tearing open every filing cabinet of memories in her mind, going through them at a wild pace. "But Cerberus, Shep. Look, just...take it all with a grain of salt, yeah? Keep your head on straight, trust your instincts."

It sounded so much like something her mother would say. Shepard nodded. "I will, I promise." She took a deep breath, sitting up. Vera's hand fell away, allowing her the movement. "That is, if we get out of here."

"We will. I cleaned out the last of those mercs for you. The settlers are chock full of meds and food now, I promise you that. It's your turn."

As if in reply, Shepard' stomach panged, rumbling piteously. She'd forgotten almost entirely about food; no wonder she felt so weak. "That's probably a good idea."

"Good." She moved around Shepard's makeshift bed, grabbing a duffel bag from the floor and tossing it onto Shepard's feet. "New clothes for you. I'll have them bring in food, you can get yourself cleaned up, and then we can do this."

Shepard frowned, reaching for the duffel bag. "Do what?"

Vera looked back at her from the doorway. "The funeral."