The commander had gotten on board the Normandy without saying a word. He walked slowly, each movement unfolding in an eternity as he had stumbled towards the elevator. Alenko asked for a status report, to which Shepard's only reply was "mission…completed. Finally," spoken in a quiet, hollow voice. Most of the team was celebrating, and Alenko couldn't deny that he was in a good mood too; they had just stopped an asteroid from wiping out the planet below. But the waves of emotion that washed off Shepard were too noticeable.

"What's next?" Alenko asked as the elevator door began to close. "I… I don't know," Shepard responded, each syllable being drawn out as if speaking were an impediment to him.

Alenko nodded his head. "Should I just tell Joker to park the ship for now?"

"Sure…" Shepard replied.

A person is more than an object. And by object one means a pencil or a gun; for us, the pencil is a pencil, and the gun is a gun, no more and no less. You cannot add to its ontological definition. But how does one define a person? It becomes the chief goal of our existence to do so, to stamp the meaning of our essential being, in permanence, just like we would do with a pencil or gun. However, people are not objects, and no matter how much we want to, we can never see ourselves as a "thing." For there is another layer in people that is hidden from us, sometimes even hidden from the owner, that gives them definition: the mind and soul. Still, we find it difficult to define this metaphysical presence. Sure, one can say that they are a good person, or a bad person, but does this truly some up the existence of a constantly changing being? Using adjectives is meaningless. The simple fact of the matter is that it is impossible to define what a person truly is; their essence is hidden.

We delude ourselves if we believe that defining our own existence can be accomplished by the adjective; how can a static, permanent word, define an ever changing and developing person? We cannot tell what something is if we depend on the singular instant; it would be like using a single frame from a movie to rate its cinematic worthiness; it's simply impossible. What separates us from the object is that we can never just be; we are always doing something, achieving something, working towards something. Could you honestly ever believe yourself not doing something and just existing as a rock would? No. Once we set up our goal and achieve it, it is never enough. The individual always strives for more, the next step on the ladder. It is so that we can define the individual by their projects and goals. Not what is the person, but how they go about achieving things. Not the adjective, but how they react to the world around them. We can understand the individual as an agent of change alone because this is where the soul intersects with the world. In no other place does it touch or change reality.

But there is a flaw in this existence and in always wanting more. If the person is to define themselves by the goals they set and what they strive to achieve, we must set a goal at the terminus of the last one. We must constantly be in motion, interacting with the world as we go about, to give ourselves meaning. This is the curse of our existence: happiness is a fleeting moment that's only achievable at the instant of success. The second after that, it deludes us, runs away from us, and we must again chase it. Human beings are like that, racing after one goal or another in the hopes of personal satisfaction; and then we do it all again. Does anyone feel happy after the achievement of a goal? Maybe only for 15 seconds. Then, it is only a memory and we are again empty.

Shepard found himself in a similar dilemma. He made it his goal to avenge his parents. And then he did. Now what does he do? Stop existing and sit in the chair to rot away his days? No! He must again fill the empty void. It was the source of terrible confusion and anguish for him. He had achieved what he so desperately wanted to do, and now it was nothing more than a memory. It is unfortunate that our evils do not leave our consciousness like our good works do. Shame follows you, throughout your life; it is not something you can just table away, or that leaves like fleeting happiness does. This manifested in another problem of anguish for John. The feeling of accomplishment had long ago passed, but the feeling of despair and regret did not. All his mistake, from the smallest infraction to the largest atrocities, never left him. They stayed with him; he carried them every day, and he would for the rest of his life. And in this, we can see what truly defines the individual. It is not a describable object like a rock, nor a word like an adjective, nor a fleeting action that fades in significance after its completion. What defines the individual is what always stays with them, grafted to their very core: our deepest regrets, our failed dreams, our mistakes, our fears, our pains, and our shame.

For John, when the metaphorical crutches that had held up his existence, his goals and aspirations, were kicked out from under him after their completion, he was dragged to the floor by everything that remained: the mistakes. In very real terms, he just lay on the floor of his cabin, sobbing, asking himself: now what?

Shepard did not have the energy to move, and he didn't want to either. He couldn't understand: why wasn't he happy? Today was a moment he'd been looking forward to and hoping for since he was a little boy. And now that he had completed his goal, which had taken almost the first three decades of his life, he was just as empty as when he had started. He was supposed to be happy, the one final piece that would make him be a normal person, like you and I. But he still wasn't. He had failed. He had endured pain and suffering, both of his body and his mind, so he could achieve what he had been looking for. And this is what truly hurt the most. Not the pain of existence that he had endured to achieve his goal, but the fact that it had all been for naught. He wanted nothing more than to dissolve into mush.

Shepard had no one to pick him up off the floor, dust off his shoulders, and tell him everything was going to be alright. He silently wailed again at this thought. Why was the universe so cruel? Why should he be the one to suffer alone, hated and reviled? Here, one can see the irony of ephemerality. He did not want to form attachments because he was afraid of them being taken away, which had so often happened to him; but humans are social creatures, not made to exist alone. He wanted something he knew would bring him pain. No, he told himself, just keep going. But he had to ask himself where he would go and what he would do?

Shepard closed his bloodshot eyes, unable to hold them open any longer. Images flashed through his mind, taunting him with all the things he had done. He was being tormented, even when all he wanted to do was rest. Existence was constant pain. WHY? He slowly dragged his body to his desk and tried to climb it. He was too defeated to use his legs, which remained motionless, as if he were a cripple. He blindly groped his desk, knocking things over or onto the floor in the process. His hand wrapped around what he was looking for: the thresher maw mandible. Its sharp, abraded surface felt rough in his hands as he caressed it, feeling every contour. Each slight deformity had a story of its own, one that only this mandible knew; like the mandible, Shepard was also littered with deformities and scars, and he knew the story of every single one. He squeezed the mandible in his hands, its sharp edges piercing even his rough skin, causing streams of blood to flow onto the floor. The pain was the only thing that assured Shepard that he wasn't in a nightmare, and that his agony was very much real.

"What happened in there?" Alenko asked her. It was 2 in the afternoon on the ship, and although most were tired, it was impossible to sleep after the day's events. She was replacing some bad circuit breakers on deck two's electrical panel. Having already finished her work, she closed the panel's door and picked up her supply bag, putting it over her shoulder.

In response to Kaiden's question, she just shook her head. She wasn't sure she could retell all that had happened in the adrenaline of combat. Now that she thought about it, she was sure that was the only thing that had kept her moving on that asteroid. "I…it's not my place to say," Tali finally responded.

Kaiden, however, was not taking no for an answer. "Sure, I can understand that," Kaiden said, "but I'm asking as your superior."

Tali's eyes widened in surprise. Had she done something wrong? "Oh, of course. I didn't mean to…" she began to say, only to be cut off by Kaiden.

"It's fine, Tali. It's just the commander didn't look so good when he returned, and he hasn't left his room in hours," he said. He hadn't even held the customary debriefing after the mission, nor given Joker a destination to head to.

Kaiden motioned for Tali to take a seat at the table. She put her bag down carefully, not wanting to damage to contents inside nor the table. She pulled out a chair and sat down, Kaiden mirroring her on the opposite side. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she nervously squeezed them. "What happened in the main complex?" he asked simply. He knew it had been a mistake to let the commander go there without the rest of the team; not so much for Shepard's safety, but for those he would encounter.

Tali tried to recall what had happened, but the memories were all fuzzy from the stresses of combat. So she began with what she could remember clearly, which was naturally the worst things she could remember. "The pirate leader named Balak had taken dozens of hostages,"

When Alenko heard this, he felt sick to his stomach. How many people had died, buried under that building? He knew they had died because known had returned with them.

"and tried to use them as leverage to escape," she explained.

Alenko balled one of his hands into a fist, angry; angry that Shepard could let all those people die; angry that he couldn't stop Shepard; angry that he hadn't tried harder. "I'm guessing Balak's plan didn't work," he said soberly.

Tali shook her head, confusing Alenko. "In the beginning, it looked like Shepard was going to let him go," Tali explained, "but…but something happened."

Something happened with Shepard? No surprise there.

Tali continued with her story. "They started arguing and yelling at each other. About humans and Batarians, I mean." But there were still things she didn't understand about all that had happened. "Can I ask you a question, before we continue?"

Kaiden nodded his head. He didn't appreciate the interruption, but she was doing him a favor. "Go ahead," he said.

Tali tried to remember the name of the planet. Mindy. No. Minder. Yes, I think that's it. "What does, um, Minder, mean to Shepard?" she asked.

Kaiden's eyes narrowed, suddenly on guard. Even though she had mispronounced it, he knew what she was alluding to. Alenko did not like the commander. He was reckless and misguided; most of all, he never thought about other people. However, that was the difference between Kaiden and most people, and Shepard. Empathy. "Where did you hear that name?" Kaiden asked in a low voice.

Tali took a moment to collect her thoughts, trying to remember what happened through the haziness. "It's what sent him over the edge, what made him kill Balak," she whispered back.

Kaiden slowly started to put the pieces together, and as they fell into place, a fuller picture of the situation revealed itself to him. "Balak was responsible, wasn't he?" Kaiden asked. Tali only nodded her head in response.

"Oh my…" Kaiden stammered, standing up from his chair, his hands over his mouth. Shepard found him. "Holy shit."

Tali continued to sit in her chair, still confused. It was not a question of what Balak had done, the pirate had convicted himself of that already; it was rather a question of how it related to Shepard. Kaiden paced the deck, still in disbelief. Shepard had killed dozens of people all to satiate his revenge. Kaiden was once again reminded of how grateful he was not to be in Shepard's shoes. He returned back to the table, taking a seat once again.

Tali's questioned remain unanswered. If anything, Kaiden's reaction made her even more curious. She renewed her attempt at pressing for the information: "Why was Shepard so upset about it?" she asked.

Kaiden took a deep breath. "Have you ever wondered why the Commander is the way he is, does the things that he does?" he asked. Kaiden's question made her remember how Shepard had brutally murdered the three pirates at the fusion torch. Just the memory of it made her stomach turn. "Shepard was born on Mindoir. He was young when pirate slavers attacked, and he was one of the only survivors."

"Did his parents…"

"No," Kaiden replied before she could even finish the question. "He was an orphan, without any family." Despite his deep dislike of the commander, he couldn't help but feel sorry for him. All the things that Shepard had done were inexcusable. But that didn't mean the things that had happened to Shepard didn't make him sad. It would make anyone feel sympathy.

Tali was reminded of the children in the fleet whose parents had died in space accidents. Those fateful nights, when the constables would come to sit families down, and inform them of terrible news, always saddened her. It made her afraid that one day, that might happen to her. And then one day, it had. She remembered the loss of her own mother, and how she and her father grieved for weeks afterward. She recovered, eventually; but her father never did. In some ways, he even reminded her of Shepard: absorbed in his work and pushing people to the side. At least on the flotilla, she always had friends to look after her; she didn't know what she would have done without Auntie Raun. She was there when her father retreated to his research.

But Shepard was a human! One of the most ambitious and creative species in the Milky Way. In a few short decades, they had built a vast army, warded off the turians, and expanded into the galaxy like no other race before or since. Surely they could have taken care of one of their own. "So, he was adopted?" she asked hopefully, even though she had a bad feeling about it.

Kaiden again responded with a resounding "no". Kaiden was getting uncomfortable talking about the commander's past behind his back. But Tali deserved to know who she was taking orders from. "He wasn't so lucky. From what I heard, he grew up alone on the streets."

"Oh," Tali mouthed, in disbelief. That would never have happened to a quarian child, never in a million years.

"Rumor has it he was a part of a gang, but nobody knows for sure. Only he does," Kaiden said as he pointed towards Shepard's quarters.

"What's a gang?" she asked. She had the feeling that she needed to update her translator software. These communication slipups were happening all too often to her.

Alenko snorted. I guess they wouldn't have those on ships, he surmised. "Uh… like a criminal. Although, as I said, it's all speculation," he added. But if he was going to be honest with himself, he could definitely see Shepard having been one. Where else would someone learn to be so ruthless?

The conversation ended, and Kaiden and Tali just sat at the table, a quiet understanding having been reached: they no longer wanted to talk about this. Kaiden got up, deciding to go get some air on the upper decks. Down here, it was just too dark and gloomy, both from the lights and the conversation. Tali was left sitting at the table, alone and afraid. Eventually, she too got up and left.

Shepard awoke around seven pm, his omnitool beeping and flashing in his face. He looked at the caller ID: it was Admiral Kahoku. Except, this was his personal line, which was rather informal for him to use. Why should I even bother answering this? he asked himself. Nonetheless, he crudely jabbed his finger on the answer button until the call connected.

"Shepard, thank god you answered!" Kahoku whispered.

Shepard tried to sit up, and finding himself unable to do so, resided to leaning his back against the wall. "What…is…it," he mumbled as his eyes stared at the ceiling, glazed over.

"I found them, Shepard, I found them!"

"The thresher maw," he gasped.

"Here, I'm sending the coordinates to your omnitool. They're responsible for both attacks."

Shepard's omnitool chirped as the coordinates were sent over. Shepard was a little bit surprised that Kahoku came through; he never expected to hear from the man again. But here he was. "Who?" he asked simply.

To Kahoku, Shepard sounded different than last time. Whereas before Shepard was strong and confident, he was now barely speaking in little more than whispers and mumbles. But he did not have the time to consider this fact, let alone address it. Soon, he would probably be dead. "Cerberus. They used to be alliance, but they've gone rogue for years now. They're going to try and kill me."

"Where… are you…admiral?" Shepard said in-between ragged breaths.

"Forget about me. Shepard, you need to stop them. Go to the coordinates and see what you can find. I'm trusting you with…" Kahoku began to say before being cut off. A scuffle could be heard on the other end of the line before it went dead all together.

"Adm…iral," Shepard croaked in a weak voice, but there was no reply. All he could do was lay there on the floor, helpless to the internal conflict inside his mind.

They're responsible for Akuze! They could still have my men, alive, just waiting to be rescued.

No, they died. They died a long time ago.

So then I need to avenge them.

And then what?

Then…then I'll find their leader. And kill him.

And then what? Why do anything if you will always end up back at square one: the need to kill another person?

Because it's the right thing to do! I can't let them get away.

Right, wrong, what's the difference. We all die.

Shepard slumped back to the ground, lying down, defeated. He laid his arms to rest at his side, hitting the thresher maws mandible by accident. He grasped it in his hand, holding it like a dagger. Then die for the right reasons.

And what are the right reasons? he asked. But no reply came.

There are no good reasons to do anything; it is purely subjective. But one will live with their shame for a lifetime. Regret doesn't leave you until you die. It is a fate worse than death, for it tortures you every passing second in a way a good memory never would.

Tali and Williams were eating dinner in the mess. The former slowly ate her flavorless meal from the nutrient tube. For a quarian, eating was more like daily maintenance than a craving. You just ate because you were supposed to do so if you wanted to stay healthy. Food had no scent or flavor, nothing to entice the person to eat it other than the will to stay alive. See, that was the other reason you never saw on overweight quarian on the fleet. Even when they actually had food and didn't have shortages, eating was a chore. Williams, in a similar fashion, wasn't very interested in her meal either. She mostly just prodded the fried potatoes chunks and green beans with her plastic fork.

"Hey, how you've been holding up so far? I know it's been a hectic couple of days."

Tali shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, it's scary, going out there with the possibility of never coming back. It's not something you think about as a civilian."

Ashley nodded her head. "Ya, it's not everything it's cracked up to be in the media. That's for sure. But I find it fulfilling. Sense of purpose and something to be proud of."

"Huh." Tali remembered her conversation with Shepard, about being a soldier. Williams was noticeably more optimistic than him.

"What?"

"Nothing," Tali replied sadly.

Ashley put down her fork, crossing her arms. "Come on. Spit it out. Unless you did something wrong," she teased.

"Well, no, it's just that…uh, not everyone shares your view of being a soldier."

It quickly dawned on Ashley what Tali was talking about. "Oh, come on. Don't listen to that man. He's the last person you want motivation to do anything from."

Tali and Ashley both started laughing quietly, mostly because it was true, and the way Ashley said it was funny.

Ashley waved her fork in a circle in the air as she began talking again. "So, since you're new at this soldier business, learn anything while running around with humanity's spectre?"

Tali considered this for a moment. "Uh…well I think I need to work on my aim," she said in a slightly elevated tone.

Ashley noticed Tali's voice and raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, I swear."

"I'll just ask the commander later, then," Ashley threatened.

Tali held her hands up in the air in a sign of surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you," she conceded. "I kind of, um, well… see the thing is there were these pirate…"

"You're stumbling all over the place."

"When I fired, Shepard wasn't in the way but then he was and then he got hit. It wasn't my…"

Ashley didn't even give Tali time to finish her sentence. "You shot the commander?! I'm surprised you're still with us!"

Tali put her head in her hands. "But it was an accident. I don't think he noticed it was me."

Ashley made a show of slowly clapping her hands.

"I don't understand how you can find this funny," Tali complained. "I could have killed him!"

Ashley shook her head, her laugh becoming a quiet chuckle. "I'm sure a lot of people have said that over the years. For better or worse, it hasn't happened." She took a swig of her drink. "Especially in that new fancy-shmancy armor of his."

"Where'd he get it?"

Ashley shrugged. "No clue, but I'm 100% sure it is not from the alliance. No way they'd approve that face mask."

"Well, he is a spectre now. He can break the rules if he wants to," Tali offered.

Ashley swatted her hand through the air. "Girl you don't know nothing. He's been breaking the rules since before becoming a spectre. I'm pretty sure they just don't care."

Tali took another bite of her nutrient paste. While it was tasteless, she did need a moment to collect her thoughts. Might as well eat. "What else came in the shipment? Well I mean besides his armor. All those crates can't be his."

Ashley stared at Tali in shock. "You didn't get your stuff yet?"

Tali looked back at her, a little sad. "Well, I'm not a real soldier. I…" she gulped, "didn't believe he would bother."

Ashley reached across the table and put her hand on Tali's shoulder. "How about we go get your stuff after you're finished. I'm not really hungry anymore anyway." Ashley should have been more suspicious of the girl. She was basically a vagrant from a species with a terrible reputation; but after meeting her, and seeing the determination and self-reliance she had, Ashley couldn't help but be reminded of her sister.

"Then we can go now. I'm finished as well," Tali replied.

The duo got up from the table and placed their trash in the receptacle. They began to walk towards the elevator as they heard the opening of a door behind them. By the time Ashley turned around to see what had caused the noise, the commander was already walking towards their direction, determination in his strides. "Commander," Ashley saluted.

He didn't even acknowledge her presence as he continued marching towards them. Upon closer inspection, she could see that his palms were covered in dried blood. "Wait, Shepard. You're injured," she tried to say as Shepard walked passed them, but it was no use. She'd seen that wild look in his eyes once or twice before and there was no stopping him.

Shepard was barely aware of Ashley and Tali as he walked by them. His mind was fully focused on the task at hand. He took the stairs two at a time, and his hand trailed the railing, leaving some dry patches of blood from his injury. Once he reached the command deck, he began to shout orders. "Pressly, plot the fastest possible course to the Yangtze System in the Voyager Cluster. I need to get there: Now!"

Pressley stood at attention at one of the navigation computers. He'd been looking forward to getting off duty at the end of the hour, but that now looked like it wasn't going to be a possibility. "Yes, sir!"

Shepard continued to walk down the deck, towards the cockpit. He couldn't see the comm officer from the night before, but he realized she must work the night shift. She wouldn't be on duty now. "Joker, get underway immediately. Pressley is sending you the route now."

Joker's chair rotated around so he could face the commander. "Whoa, wow, didn't we just like, I don't know, save a planet from extinction? Thought that we deserved a little break, but I guess not."

Joker felt a mysterious force surround him, and he turned his head to look around. Gradually, he found himself floating a couple of inches off the chair. He realized it was Shepard. The blue energy emanating from him was a pretty good hint.

"How you return to that chair depends on your next words," Shepard snarled. "Choose carefully."

"Alright, alright, I'm on it. Sheesh." As soon as he was set down on the chair again, his left hand gripped it for dear life. He'd have to fly with his right hand for now, at least while Shepard was here; easy work for him. Joker began making the preparations to leave. He started by hailing traffic control on Terra Nova.

"This is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to undock and leave the system."

Silence.

"Again. This is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to leave. Terra Nova, please respond."

"We read you, Normandy. But you're going to have to wait until we can get someone to confirm your verification. We've been on high alert since this morning."

Joker was about to respond when Shepard jumped in. "This is Council Spectre John Shepard. We are going to be leaving immediately. If you would like to file any complaints, you can send it to the citadel council. Thank you for your cooperation," Shepard stated with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He leaned over Joker and pressed the button to discontinue the conversation.

"I'm not responsible for that," Joker complained as his hand's began to work the controls.

Now, Shepard paced the command deck as he tried to contact Anderson. While he waited for the call to pick up, he was acutely aware of the personnel working around him: monitoring different communication frequencies, watching the radar, helping to plot the course, and a myriad of other functions that Shepard himself could never hope to personally accomplish or understand. He was a dumb grunt, condemned to die on the battlefield. But these people, they were experts in their craft, and unlike Shepard, it produced something productive rather than taking it. Screens flashed with more technical data around him, taunting his ignorance. He was sure that down below in engineering, Adams, Tali, and the rest of the engineering crew were hard at work, ensuring the engines ran at peak efficiency. So much work, all of it focused on the sole pursuit of dragging his sorry ass from one end of the galaxy to the other.

"Shepard!" came Anderson's voice. "I was planning to call you later tonight to congratulate you, but you beat me to it!"

"Yes, yes, Anderson. Thanks."

"For a man who just saved an entire planet, you sound rather gloomy. What's bothering you, son?" Anderson asked with concern in his voice.

Shepard tapped his foot impatiently. "That doesn't matter." He truly believed that he didn't matter. He had utterly convinced himself of this for a long time. So much so that even when one of the only people who knew him asked him the question sincerely, he wrote them off. That's why he could enter combat with such blind ferocity: a general disregard for his own life of an almost suicidal magnitude.

"Rear Admiral Kahoku has just been kidnapped by Cerberus. Thought the alliance might want to know." Kahoku's life would no longer be on his mind. At least Shepard had that off his shoulders.

Anderson was quiet for a moment as the full meaning of Shepard's words hit him. "I'll deal with this immediately. Thank you, Shepard," Anderson replied as the line cut out. Anderson felt guilty; he wanted to talk some more with Shepard, see how he was doing since he'd become a spectre and taken command of the Normandy. But the kidnapping of an admiral would take immediate precedence over an everyday conversation.

Shepard was alone again, even though he was surrounded by people on the command deck. But he was no use to them, not until they reached the Cerberus base. This thought saddened him, even though he was wrong; he just didn't know it. Everyone on this ship respected him; some even looked up to him as the only hope to find Saren and put a stop to the madness out there. Shepard just refused to believe it; he didn't want to believe it because he knew that if he did, he might get attached to them, and then when they died, he'd be all alone again, in more pain than before. He had a bad feeling that just his presence put everyone's life at risk. Death had followed him throughout his years, like a curse. He knew it was only a matter of time now.

Author's note: Maybe I put too much philosophy here, but I thought it would be fitting to explore the thought process after the events of the last chapter. Influence from Lacan and Sartre. If you think it's too much, let me know and I'll redo this and make sure not to do it again. On the contrary, I can bring more. The choice is yours.