The Blue Stag Lounge was an upscale establishment considering its unfortunate location on a backwater colony. Clouds of thick cigar smoke lazily drifted upwards, only to be sucked into oblivion by the vacu-air detoxifier. Deep blue, leather booths lined the walls. Each high-backed and situated in such a way as to lend a tad of privacy, it just screamed functionality over aesthetics given the owner's tacky taste in furniture. The Lounge had become a frequent hangout for pilots stopping to refuel or the random tourist, eager to see what colonial life offered. Not like you'd get a decent picture in here party people.
Joker gingerly limped over to the bar, his crutches providing the stability his legs could not. "Hey. I uhh… I'm meeting someone. Chelsea, she's wearing a red ribbon."
The barkeep, a grizzled, middle aged human male, eyed him momentarily before nodding towards the back wall. "Arrived when we opened. Must be sweet on ya. She's been waitin' for hours son."
"Thanks. I'll head there now. Hate to keep a lady waiting."
Placing the crutches in front of his feet, he used his body's momentum to swing himself forward, making certain the staves took the brunt of his weight. Yesterday's adventure involved far too much walking, resulting every bone in his legs screaming in protest at the slightest ounce of pressure.
Chelsea was sequestered in the far alcove, her mousy brown hair was tied back with the now infamous red ribbon he was told to look for. Her face was sweet, even innocent looking. A far cry from the dubious secret agent he expected. She glanced up from her datapad, greeting him with a warm smile. "Mr. Moreau I presume?" She said, extending her hand.
Joker sat before accepting the handshake, reaching across the table. "Yeah. And you must be Chelsea."
"I am. I am." She pulled a small, silver object from her purse. With the press of a button, it hummed to life. "For security purposes." A sheepish grin. "I'll be frank, we'd like to hire you as a pilot. You'd be flying a Geneva class frigate for the time being, but I'm certain you'd be on board for the … permanent position we have in mind."
"You really don't beat around the bush huh? Listen, I don't even know who you people are."
"We are… or were… an offshoot of the Alliance. For now, we need assistance in our investigation into the missing human colonies."
"But you're no longer Alliance?" He queried, eyes narrowed. "And a Geneva Class ship is no lean feat."
"No. We broke away due to philosophical differences. However, as I said, I believe you'll be more than satisfied with the job offer." Her chipper voice put him at ease for reasons he couldn't quite identify. Maybe it was as simple as the pretty face that went along with it. "Listen, I understand your skepticism. But if you'll come with me, a short trip promise, I can show you what we're all about. Your mission. And your future ship."
"And this mission has something to do with the reapers?"
"Someone has to fight back otherwise all is lost. Or do you disagree Mr. Moreau? Given the fact that The Alliance, along with all of Council space, officially denies the reaper threat, we have to be cautious so as not to draw attention to ourselves. That could result in any number of unpleasant altercations – something we cannot afford with extinction knocking at our door. Surely you've noticed the news-feeds? Human colonies are vanishing into thin air. We believe the reapers are behind it."
"You have evidence?" He scooted forward, suddenly much more interested.
"They're harvesting us… specifically us. Why we don't know, but we have to find out. And we need help."
Joker leaned back, running a palm over his face. "Alright. Alright. How long will this trip take?"
"Three days. Pack light. If you accept the job offer, I'll shuttle you back to Tiptree where you'll have time enough to gather your belongings. Or we can provide anything you might need should you opt to stay. The choice is yours."
"Hah. In case you haven't noticed, my medical condition means I have a bunch of crap I need to bring along. I can't exactly 'pack light.'"
"Our state of the art medical facilities can provide you with anything you might need Mr. Moreau."
"I take it this means the job comes with full benefits?"
"And a sizable raise." Chelsea scribbled something on a slip of paper before passing it to him. "I believe you'll find this more than satisfactory."
"This… is…" His mouth hung open, staring at the absurd number. "…triple what The Alliance paid me."
"As I said, we have deep pockets, we only accept the best, and we're willing to pay for it."
Fifteen hours and a dizzying descent into an unknown star system later, Joker found himself traversing the sterile, crisp halls of none other than a Cerberus facility. It was almost too perfect, in all honesty. Really. He'd fallen for the spiel, hook, line and sinker and now he was about to face whatever grisly fate met Kahoku when he encountered the shadowy organization. Although, he had to admit, thus far they were treating him like royalty. When they landed, he was immediately gifted a medical-assistant mech that was supposedly his to keep, regardless of the decision he made. The thing walked with precision and didn't creak and moan every time he leaned on the contraption for support. It was a nice change from his broken down model back home.
Chelsea bid him goodbye when they turned the corner and he found himself face to face with a shapely woman whose ice-blue eyes looked like they were considering knifing him in the gut. "Uhhh… Hi. I'm Jeff Moreau, but you can call me Joker. I'd offer to shake your hand but..." He bobbed his head in the direction of the mech supporting one arm and the cane tightly grasped in the other. "They're kind of occupied."
"I know who you are. My name is Miranda Lawson, that's Miss Lawson to you, and I'm the head of The Lazarus Project, which I'm told you will be privy to. First, I'll have you know, that you are the only person outside of my team who knows exactly who we are… restoring. And I take security around here extremely seriously."
"Uh. Yeah. Sure. I won't say a word. But I gotta admit, I'm not sure what it is that you're about to show me. I mean, really, what makes you think I'll work for Cerberus? Aside from the fact you'll probably bury me in an unmarked grave if I say no? Or just space me, that'd be easier. Less fuss."
The woman loosed an irritated sigh and beckoned him to a large observation window. "I believe the view will speak for itself."
The blackout curtains parted, revealing a top-of-the-line med-bay. The only bed was occupied by a man who looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder. Covers pulled to his abdomen. Electrodes extended from various machines to his scalp and chest, monitoring every breath. Petite shards of metal poked up through the skin, pins he thought to himself, as if they were reconstructing the cheek bones, holding them in place. But that face... he knew that face...It took his mind a few moments to process what his eyes were seeing. Unbeknownst to him, Joker had dropped the cane, his nose pressed against the glass. If it weren't for the assistant mech, he'd have fallen to the floor.
"Shepard. Shepard?!" He staggered, bewildered, to face the woman standing beside him.
"He's humanity's only hope. Cerberus is dedicated to his full revival and rehabilitation. We will pour our last resource into him, and his mission to stop the reapers, if we must."
"He's … alive?!"
"Actually, he's regained consciousness several times, a sure-fire sign that our project is a success. Right now, he's in a medically induced coma while I perform some delicate procedures. We're on schedule for him to be fully restored in a solar year, give or take a few months."
"He's… alive." Joker was smiling from ear to ear, blurting out loud what his mind was still coming to terms with, forcing it into reality. "He's alive!"
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Yes. He's alive. Now would you like to see our progress on rebuilding The Normandy? After all, once he's up and about, you will be flying her, should you choose to accept the position."
Later that evening, Joker sequestered himself in the staff dormitory – his temporary quarters until his first assignment. The Illusive Man wanted him monitoring human Terminus colonies. He was to shuttle scientists around until Shepard was ready for his own mission.
His mind was spinning. None of it felt real. Shepard was alive, and Cerberus was rebuilding his baby. After a quick message to family, letting them know he'd accepted the offer and would be sending some much needed credits home, he pulled up the last email Garrus sent. A pang of guilt stabbed at him now that he finally read the note with sober eyes.
From: Garrus_VK2180
To: YourBigDaddi24
Since I haven't heard from you in months, guess I should start a memorial wall and put your name on it. Joker: Death by Ryncol.
Y'know, I actually have some exciting news, that I'd be thrilled to share, but no one really seems all that interested in setting up a secure call. Then again, since you can't keep your trap shut, I probably shouldn't tell you after all.
So, whatever man. Hope you're alive.
From: YourBigDaddi24
To: Garrus_VK2180
Hey Garrus,
Uh. Yeah. I'm alive. Sorry I didn't get back to you. I was a little busy crawling around at the bottom of a bottle. I'm doing better now… got a new job.
From: Garrus_VK2180
To: YourBigDaddi24
You're apologizing? Are you dying? Did you develop a brain tumor? I hear the latter can drastically alter someone's personality. I'm on messenger for a bit longer before I have to go. Hop on if you have a moment.
FB96: No tumor. Also, fuck you man.
GV: Oh ho! So he's alive and well after all. What's the new job?
FB96: Actually, I can't really talk about it. But I'm flying again.
GV: Sweet. Some sort of top secret Alliance thing I bet.
FB96: Yeah…. Something like that.
FB96: So what's this news anyhow?
GV: Can't say unless it's a secure connection, which, sorry, but this isn't one.
FB96: Here I am, all trussed up and curious too.
GV: I live to displease what can I say.
FB96: Well, I should catch some shut eye. Take care okay?
GV: Wow.
FB96: What?
GV: Since when are you … nice? Seriously, you might need to get a scan. Brain tumors are a serious business.
FB96: Fuck off. I'm going to sleep.
GV: That's more like it.
GV: Night man
Joker closed his omni-tool and laid back marveling at the whirlwind the past 24 hours had been. Shepard was alive. There was hope on the horizon. He wanted to scream it from the mountain tops yet Miranda had sworn him to secrecy. And that woman was not to be trifled with. She'd introduce him to the business end of an omni-blade at the slightest hint he'd betray that secret.
But Shepard was alive.
Tomorrow, he'd be back in the pilot's chair. Maybe his current ship, the Yukatan, wasn't as impressive as the Normandy but freedom was within reach. Tomorrow, he'd kiss the ground goodbye, escape the stifling cage his broken, frail body chained him within, and fly.
There is a fairly lengthy author's note on this chapter published to AO3 if you're interested. :)