A/N: Hey guys, I'm back again with another update! First off, I wanna thank you guys for having made it this far! I never had any idea that when I first started out, I would be able to write almost 40 chapters of this. But it's thanks to you guys that I'm still chugging along! So thanks guys, you're the best!

Anyways, just a heads up, there'll probably be two more story arcs that I have to write out before I officially wrap up Remnants, so the end's in sight. Don't be disappointed though, I already have plans for a sequel once I finish this.

Well, I've talked long enough, so don't let me keep you from enjoying this latest installment.

Recommended Listening

Mass Effect 2 Atmospheric OST – Charges of Treason

MASS EFFECT: REMNANTS

Chapter 38 – Check and Mate

Wilkins bolts upright in bed, gasping for air. His entire body's covered in a sheen of cold sweat: remnants of yet another nightmare that has plagued him ever since returning from Virmire. The confrontation with Saren and the Reaper is still freshly burned into his mind. Upon his return to HQ, his body was burning up with a fever unlike any other. And so there he was, confined to his bed for several days as his operatives diligently continued their work. That's when the dreams started.

Nothing about the dreams made any sense. It was all just a jarring cacophony of images, but one thing remained constant – the voices. At first, they were just unintelligible whispers coming from the fringes of his consciousness but lately, they have been spilling out into his waking world as well. He attributed it at first to the dementia brought on by the fever but even as the fever broke a few days later, the voices in his head persisted.

The rational side of his brain pleaded with him to seek psychological help but Wilkins remained convinced that he had no time for it. The detour to Feros and then Virmire had already derailed his original objectives to capture Project Remnant as it is. Besides, he needed to hold it together for his operatives – moral was already at an all-time low after numerous failures in capturing the target.

Wilkins flips aside the covers and gets out of bed. He listens attentively for the voices in his darkened quarters, but his throbbing head drowns them out for the time being. A shrill dial-tone emanates from his omni-tool, indicating an urgent message. It's from Tara.

Sorry to wake you up, sir. The Broker's on vid-chat. He wants to see you immediately. I don't think he'll take no for an answer this time.

He groans outwardly. The Broker did call in several days prior but Wilkins was still too bed-ridden to take it. Well, there isn't any excuse now. No doubt the Broker's checking in for a status update. He composes the message to send back to Tara.

I'll be there as soon as I change.

Within the next minute, Wilkins strides out of his quarters towards the quantum-entanglement chamber. He passes through the main operations room and notes its emptiness. It's 3 in the morning in Terran Coordinated Universal Time and most of his other personnel are already sound asleep, leaving those unlucky enough to work the graveyard shift on duty.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, the Broker's holographic figure materializes in the communicator.

"Operative Wilkins, might I inform you that I'm verging on the disposition to terminate your operations indefinitely," the Broker speaks; his calm, business-like tone lending a vicious air to his threat.

Wikins grits his teeth at the Broker's threat and makes a conscious effort to mask his emotions as he prepares his reply. Maybe it's just the headache but there seems to be less love lost between him and the Broker these days.

"Rest assured, we have everything under control here, sir, even with the limited info that we've had to work with."

Wilkins catches himself a fraction of a second too late. It's never in his intentions to insinuate anything about the Broker holding back on him so where the hell did that come from? If the Broker caught on to it, he doesn't seem to be showing any signs of rising to the accusation. Wilkins plows on regardless.

"The target was last seen on the Citadel and my men there are already on the case. They're tracking the target's next destination even as we speak."

"I'm beginning to question the capabilities of your men, Wilkins. Their inability to detect the target while he was right under your noses doesn't speak too highly of their competency."

Wilkins suppresses the urge to make a sardonic retort. Frankly, he's starting to become less and less pleased with the Broker's orders to take the kid in alive. The target's starting to become more trouble than he's actually worth. If it were up to Wilkins, he would order the kid neutralized and be done with it.

His eyes widens at the thought that just went through his head. What has gotten into him these days? His loyalty lies with the Broker, not some stupid machine, damn it! He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths to reorganize his muddled thoughts.

"Wilkins? Have I made myself clear?" the Broker's voice snaps him out of his trance.

"Sir, would you mind repeating that?" Wilkins asks disconcertedly.

"I'm giving you one last chance on this, Wilkins," the projection draws a sharp intake of breath, clearly displeased with Wilkins's inattention. "Don't squander it away."

"You have no need for concerns about that, sir," Wilkins smiles with confidence that almost borders on smugness.

"Oh? And why should I not be, given your past failures?" the Broker challenges.

"There won't be any need to scour the entire galaxy for him. I have a feeling that the target is closer than we actually think," he responds.

There's silence on the Broker's end, as if he's actually taken aback by this show of insolence from Wilkins who has done nothing but faithfully taking orders from the Broker thus far.

"Very well then. I'm sincerely hoping that your actions will speak louder than words, Mr. Briggs. Broker out."

The white humanoid projection disappears into nothingness as the line disconnects, leaving Wilkins to nurse his thoughts alone in the darkened QEC room. He curses his insubordinate behavior which is becoming very uncharacteristic of him. He rubs his temples and just chalks it up to Saren's attempts at worming his way into his mind, trying to play him against the Broker for the Spectre's own gains. Whatever Saren's plotting, the turian's succeeding and this flusters Wilkins all the more.

He exits the closed confines of the room, and since Wilkins is already on a roll, he might as well indulge himself in another uncharacteristic act – pouring himself a glass of liquor; the harder the better. He makes his way through the darkened corridors towards the empty mess hall and raids the cabinets where the alcohol is stored.

With a full glass of ice and scotch in one hand, he heads to the one place in HQ that he hopes would probably prove soothing enough to lull his senses back to sleep. He steps inside a spacious room purposed as a lounge of some kind and programs the bulkheads to retreat from the observation window. Wilkins steps up to it, absent-mindedly admiring his reflection in the glass. Beyond the large, transparent glass lies the calming sight of Luna. The moon is in orbit just close enough for Wilkins to make out the terraforming structures on its milky-white surface below. Peeking out just beyond the edges of Luna, are the vibrant colors of Earth.

As much as it pains him to admit it, if the Broker does pull the plug on his operation, he would have to lose this privately-rented spacestation. And that would be a shame – he was starting to like it, having called it his home for the past ten years.

"Well, it wasn't easy but the guy's finally managed to spill," Aunt Lynn crosses her arms triumphantly.

We're all huddled in the living room, listening closely to the latest developments in the interrogation of our captive – who has been, without my prior knowledge, moved from the Vanguard into the basement below.

I sit next to Ranae as I try to swallow my disgust at the treatment of our hostage. It's a sadistic thing to do but as Uncle Leo has pointed out, we don't have much choice on the matter if we want to find out where their base of operations is located. I decide not to pry further into the matter, afraid of what I'll find in the basement. Ignorance is bliss, I guess.

"It's not the Shadow Broker's base per say, but it is their base out of which his men is operating," Uncle Leo continues. "Apparently, this whole operation is headed up by a man named Wilkins Briggs, and he's the guy who shot up the place and broke in here. You remember him, don't you, Nate?"

"How could I forget? I thought you were dead, for crying out loud!"

"On a hunch, I got in touch with some old friends in the Alliance and had some dossiers pulled up on him. Someone like him's gotta get his training from somewhere, right?" Aunt Lynn interjects. "And so I find out that this Briggs guy, he used to also be in the Alliance's black ops." There's a slight hint of awe in her voice. "Specialized in reconnaissance and retrieval; had a damned near perfect service record too. He was even considered an N7 candidate until he left the Alliance for private contracting work. And that's about where his dossier ends; he's been virtually undetectable since. My guess is that he's been in on the Broker's payroll – people pay highly for men with his kind of skills, especially when it involves retrieving stolen property."

"So we know enough that this guy's not to be messed with if he's managed to get the Broker's attention. But what about the location of this base of theirs?" Ralak flatly points out from where he's seated at the couch.

"Ah, the base! Right, well, we're right under it," Uncle Leo says.

Everyone sans Aunt Lynn throws a puzzled look at the turian's enigmatic remark.

"Care to elaborate, Leonus?" Dad says, equally confused.

Uncle Leo clears his throat. "What I mean to say is that they're operating out of a spacestation stationed somewhere within Luna's orbit. They're literally less than two hours away from us!" he exclaims, his flanging voice a mix of incredulity and enthusiasm.

"Goddess, that's awfully close by. We're literally hiding right beneath their noses. Don't you think this is a pretty big risk to be taking?"

"Trust me, we're in the last place they'd look for right now," Uncle Leo smiles reassuringly.

"Which really is convenient too. If they're holed up in a spacestation, we can at least limit the collateral," Aunt Lynn pipes up, rubbing her chin. "That'd make things a hell of a lot easier."

Ralak crosses his arms, looking unimpressed. "So, what you're saying is that we get onboard and blow the damn thing out of the sky? I know that's one way of crippling their entire operation for sure."

"Woah, just hold on a minute," I get up to my feet. "Destroying a spacestation is one thing, but what about all those people inside?" I look around in slight shock at the implications of their proposed action. "So you mean we're just going to go about killing innocent people too then?" I say incredulously, my voice rising in pitch. "How's that going to make us any better than the Broker's men?"

"Son...look –"

"This just isn't right! Nobody else has to die all because of me!" I don't realize that I'm close to shouting now.

"Enough!" Aunt Lynn yells in a drill sergeant voice, silencing the entire room as she commanded our attention. "There are still too many unknown variables here before we can even come up with a plan! We don't know how many people they've got on the spacestation, how many of them are armed; where their information servers are located; and we don't even fucking know how to get in there! So until we get the information about them, we don't have a plan, not yet."

I meekly sit down, now feeling a bit foolish at my outburst. I clearly jumped the gun on that one.

"But what I do know is this," she resumes as she paces around the room, formulating a plan of attack. "We're going to need a hell of a miracle to pull this off with the manpower and expertise that we currently have."

"So that means I'm coming along for the ride too, right?" I venture to ask, despite knowing full well the answer I'm going to get.

Everyone with the exception of Ralak throws at me a look as if I've gone crazy.

"Are you out of your mind, Nate? This is way too dangerous for you!" Uncle Leo exclaims, eyes widening in surprise.

"Nate, I understand your intentions of trying to help, but this is something that you can't possibly help with," Ranae gently assuages me.

"Then teach me how to!"

"Nate, the whole reason we're all doing this is to keep you safe and that takes first priority. You're the key to solving the mystery of the Reapers and helping save this galaxy. How would you be of any help if you were dead?" Dad reasons with me.

"And besides, why the hell would we deliver you right into the hands of our fucking enemies!?" Aunt Lynn scoffs.

I feel a wave of anger building up inside of me with every second I hear these belittling remarks of theirs. My fists are literally shaking from the pent-up emotions that I've tried bottling down.

"That is it!"

I shoot up once more to my feet, knocking over the coffee table.

"I've had it with all your excuses of trying to protect me and to keep me safe!" I yell at the top of my lungs, nostrils flaring. "This is my fight, just as much as it is everybody else's! Why can't you all see that?" I take a deep breath and continue on my tirade before I can give anybody a chance to respond. "I go to bed night after night, haunted by the faces of those I've seen die right in front of me. Aurania, and all those people we've had to kill…and I've thought about how I'd feel if I lost any one of you, and I almost nearly did a couple of times! Uncle Leo..Nazreil...Ralak, I don't know if I can even bear the pain of losing you guys!"

"Nate, we're not – " Uncle Leo's expression wavers on sympathy and he makes a move to pacify me.

"No, Uncle Leo, you listen!" I cut him off, intent to get everything off my chest. "I'm sick and tired of always having to be the deadweight, sitting by the sidelines while all of you fight my battles for me! And I'm sick and tired of every one of you telling me this isn't my fault!" I let the words sink in for good measure. "It damn sure is my every bit of fault, goddamn it! How do you think I feel when all I can do is sit there helplessly, watching you guys take a bullet for me?!"

I can feel the onslaught of the tears as I continue, "I know how all of you feel about protecting me, but has any one of you ever stopped to consider how I would feel? And if all of you get killed while up there on the spacestation, then what? What about me?! I might as well be fucking dead than to be left all alone!" I rapidly brush away the tears from my eyes. "And besides, Aunt Lynn says that this job's gonna need all the help it can get. So for the love of God, let me help!" Gone is the fiery fervor that when I first started out my tirade; now, I'm almost on my knees, pleading for them.

"You've seen me – I can hold my own. So just show me how I can help and I promise you, I'll do my best…" I sob.

Through the tears that cloud my vision, it's hard to make out anyone's reaction. All I can hear is the stunned silence of everybody in the room. It doesn't really matter anymore to me. I've said all that I wanted to say and the cathartic release just took everything out of me. The anger that initially buoyed me is no longer there and I feel like there's nothing left in me to keep me standing.

Just as I'm about to give up and retreat upstairs to the confines of my room…

"Alright, son. You made a good point. You'll get to come with us."

"W-what?" I mumble, unsure if I'm hearing things.

"Nick! You can't possibly be serious!" Uncle Leo's exclaims, staring at Dad in disbelief.

Dad turns to Uncle Leo, silencing the turian with a grim yet resolute stare. "He's my son, and it's about time I took responsibility too. Nate's right – this whole mess is my fault to begin with. And it's only right that we both shoulder our part of the blame to make things right again."

"Well, if you're serious about this, then there's no way I'm gonna be able to change your mind now," Aunt Lynn exhales in a low, resigned sigh. "I know just how strong-headed my own little brother can be sometimes," she lets out a small smile.

Uncle Leo closes his eyes and rubs his temples, shaking his head. "Spirits, all of this is going to undo all those years of hiding and running." Nevertheless, the turian lifts his head and meets Dad's gaze with a determined expression of his own. "But I've come this far with you, and I'll trust you on this one too, Nick. Whatever happens, you know that I'll always have your back," he places a reassuring grip on Dad's shoulder.

"He'll be my responsibility, Leonus. I won't let anything happen to him; I'll stake my life on it."

"I know you won't," the turian nods in full agreement.

"If we're all decided on this, the kid's gonna need some serious training. Someone's gonna have to at least whip him into shape so he doesn't get us all killed when we're boarding the spacestation," Ralak says, a small grin tugging at his features. Seems as though he's also taking his share of reveling in my victory.

"Good point, Ralak," Uncle Leo says before turning to me, "And your training will start first thing tomorrow; and we'll be doing it for as long as the time we need to start preparing our plan of attack."

"Ranae, you'll have to pick up the pace with your biotic training. No more messing around, get down to the real stuff ASAP," Aunt Lynn remarks.

"Understood," Ranae nods.

"As for combat training, you'd be getting it from me. And don't expect me to go easy on you. Are we clear on this?"

"Crystal," I smile, thankful that they're finally putting their trust in me. I wipe away the last bead of tears away from my eyes.

I won't let you guys down, you'll see.

A/N: Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter! Oh, and for those who left me the messages and reviews (you know who you are), big shout out to you guys for taking the time to help read and critique my work! I'm glad that you guys are enjoying it and also for helping me point out some errors I made! Thanks, guys.

Until next time!