The end of former SPECTRE Saren Arterius was as final as it was anticlimactic. Later analysis determined that Sovereign had been using the implants in Areterius's physical body as a sort of repeater array. Discerning the underlying purpose for this circuitous methodology is as difficult as one may imagine. Theories abound, from Sovereign employing pawns in all areas as a sort of paranoia, to the Citadel's Prothean 'reprogramming' requiring a proxy.

My personal theory leans towards the former. Shepard's information concerning both the Reapers and the shadowy entities they opposed brought all too much clarity to a galaxy filled with chaos. While tempting to attribute all seemingly random events to some vast shadow-war, the true genius lay in how these parties engaged without the obscuring veil of randomness.

As an example, the Furies employed by Asari upper echelons were indeed purposed to help acquire human industrial and commercial interests for Asari matriarchs – their ancient ranks saw two or three 'mysterious' suicides over this revelation. It isn't known if any of these entities were servants of the ancient foes of the Reapers. The few individuals I was able to interview did seem in honest shock about the death of their colleagues. From this it can be surmised that pawns are indeed secondary proxies, pawns of pawns that interacted with shell personalities no one could identify. Whether this is due to the Ancient Ones gathering forces to oppose the Reapers, or simple greed obstructing greed, is unknown.

It's all rather delightful, if one were to enjoy such paranoia. As the saying goes, 'Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.' Or as the great salarian philosopher Scar'eas'e said: 'Being paranoid is comforting. It means you think you're important enough to matter.'

I have to admit, my initial and usual interactions with Shepard were cursorial at best. He sent me suggested avenues of research, I gave him a few toys to field test. We exchanged information, of mutual benefit; his unique outlook on life allowed for better technological progress than I'd ever imagined, and my little gifts assisted his endeavors if I might be so bold. An advantageous match.

In this record I have recounted the first duel between Human and Reaper. Humans won, of sorts. Painful honesty induces the admission that the Reapers won as well; humanity had revealed powerful weapons and their ability to wage warfare – losing a single Reaper to grant a false confidence and inject confusion to a galaxy was a masterstroke. Imagining the fallout of utter chaos is difficult to imagine, had it been a complete Reaper victory.

Yet it was not.

If the eventual reader of my personal records will forgive a lapse into poetic license, a new era had begun. An era where humanity had seen the existence of a foe so mighty that three fleets were held at bay by a single vessel and its auxiliaries. This would change the face of the galaxy, not in biological composition, but in the direction of socio-technological development and progress.

I'd also request that the future reader grant respectful treatment of Miss Serena. She has been a dear friend and accomplished aid in my long exile.

Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer

~Project Ragnorak


Unknown Location

Systems Alliance Olympia-Class Station 0001-01-01 Alpha

Shepard sat at attention. It was a simple position, back straight, knees together, hands folded in lap. It demonstrated feeling at ease while maintaining a respectful attitude. There were ways to detect lacking sincerity – best to assume everyone knew. No secret was safe.

'Two men can keep a secret, if one of them is dead.' The saying ran through his mind. 'Well, forensics. But it's a thought.'

Stretching his back, Shepard took advantage of the motion to examine the room, careless movements of the neck betraying no hint of curiosity. 'Meeting room, good sized, too. Tacky decorations, looks like they just took off the vac-seals? Surprised they didn't want to take this to Arcturus.'

A solid, comforting presence could be felt in his right boot, the one weapon permitted on board. In most circumstances regulations prevented any weapons by non-enforcement personnel o base. But an N7, and in technicality a representative of major colonial interests, carried a few exceptions. The fact that it was a hand-crafted eezo-hardened blade made it even easier.

At the far end of the room, the door hissed open, letting a familiar figure enter. Several less-familiar entities followed, diverging to one side with what appeared to be expensive communications equipment.

"Shepard," the leading figure strode forwards, an easy pace that ate up the distance. "Sorry for the wait."

"Rule of the job, Captain." Shepard found it within himself to give his one-time friend a smile while rising to his feet. "Hurry up and wait a while."

A light chuckle was the response he'd looked for. Anderson's expression remained intangible, but the outstretched hand clasped his own with firm confidence, as if they'd never argued.

"Before we begin," Anderson's voice lowered. "I wanted to say again, I'm sorry about-"

Shepard stopped the apology before it finished. "We both played the part of a fool, Anderson. I had other options too. Didn't need to throw a tantrum."

"Well, believe me, it was impressive," Anderson's tone indicated no lie, even if a hint of mischief was also present. "But I'll drop it if you will."

"Done." Shepard took a step back. His gaze swept to take in the additional personnel present. "Broadcast station? Cameras?"

"Recording for posterity," Anderson stepped closer again. "Oh, by the way. I have a message from Admiral Mikaelovich."

Shepard stiffened, moving even closer. "Understood. I hereby revoke the Fifth Freedom protocol, and all the powers they grant."

The expression of relief was invisible, but the dropping shoulders told much. "You already said it, but under duress and all that."

"Just glad it's over with." Shepard took a longer step back. "You're debriefing me?"

Anderson's hand made a dismissive gesture towards the recording devices. "The Council asked to observe. Hackett was supposed to do it, but he's receiving a promotion. Plus, well. You're retiring."

A sense of shock rippled through Shepard's spine. He covered it with a mild snort. "Didn't threaten anyone did you?"

The older man's posture shifted into nonchalance. Far too relaxed from what he'd been showing earlier, for anyone's natural progression.

"Anderson," Shepard's one word somehow mingled affection and exasperation."

"We have a job to do," Anderson said primly. "Are you ready?"

Sitting down, Shepard adopted the attention-rest posture once more. He settled back as far as it allowed and gave the Captain a courteous nod. "At your leisure, sir."

There was a moment of organized chaos, where Anderson sorted through a pocketful of data cards. Several went onto the table between the two, others were plugged into reading slates, the heavy versions designed for robust reuse. The quiet sound of hard polymers tapping on faux-wooden surfaces rose and fell in sharp clicks, in contrast to the soft words murmured by the technicians.

Anderson waited until the technicians gave a formal-looking nod. His shoulders adjusted a miniscule amount, changing his demeanor in some indefinable way. Gone was the affable nature, replaced by a stern master of the battlefield.

"This is Captain David Anderson, Systems Alliance N7, debriefing Commander Karl Shepard, N7 Plus, former Council SPECTRE. I am present with Commander Shepard, and four members of the Technical Support staff on the Olympia Station zero-zero-one, level fifteen, meeting room one-dash-one-dash-three-dash-eight."

Shepard took a deep breath, relaxing as Anderson went through the support staff's names, and further identifying characteristics. Simple After-Action-Reports were required for uneventful patrols. The end of a massive galaxy-wide hunt for a super-soldier took more effort.

He came to himself at the mention of his part, refraining from looking at the camera. "I confirm under oath I am here of my own free will."

"Thank you, Commander." Anderson picked up the first data pad. "Your reports are satisfactory, and have brought a great deal of information to light. Before we begin, I will verify that the Council has moved to grant you a tax-exempt residence on one of three different worlds, as a gesture of gratitude for your efforts."

'Bribe?' the first thought bolted through Shepard's mind in a burst of cynicism. 'No. Prothean data.'

Physically he gave a small nod. "Understood. Thank you."

Anderson hesitated, clicking one of the data tabs on the table. Then he slid it closer. "This is a list of available deeds. It is your decision."

Unstated was the knowledge that the Alliance would be watching the decision. Every service in the Council, Alliance, and private industry would be observing his choices. All because of the Prothean data sequestered in his brain. 'Not for anything I've done, just for a bunch of ancient memories. Great. Knew it was going to be bad, but not this bad.'

"Thank you."

The other man appeared to understand. "Moving to the next item, the funds recovered from Saren's operations have been allocated. The Council has graciously agreed to donate their portion, matching your charity efforts."

Shepard's return expression contained malicious glee. "Very kind of them."

"There is the obligatory statue," Anderson pushed on, "Which has been ordered from Mindoir granite. I'm told it will be placed in the Presidium Commons, near the C-Sec waterfall, as its placement in the higher chambers would prevent its being seen by all."

His sense of schadenfreude burned into resignation. "I don't suppose they made it the pocket model?"

"Half-scale of the version on Elysium," Anderson's cheerful voice did nothing to hide its mirth. "Updated with your current armaments as well. We managed to encourage the sculptor away from the … experimental hardware, but he insisted your sword remain a part of the design."

"Good lord." Shepard broke form long enough to cover his face with one palm. "At least tell me I get to keep my shirt on this time."

"Full battle armor," Anderson's relentless good mood hammered on Shepard's soul. "A turian artist, from a long line of military experts in such things. I've found it interesting how the Hierarchy has a Department of Memorials and Honors, let alone family lines dedicated to it."

"Thank heavens for small favors," Shepard growled. Then sat up. "Sir."

Anderson's fingers entwined with each other, hands meeting above the table where his elbows rested. "Oh it gets better. The asari commissioned one of their own, for their Temple of Athame, a center for their Prothean research it seems. Given how it is patterned after the Ancient Greek style, it will come in a pre and post-humous version."

For a moment Shepard could see Anderson's wide smile, perfect teeth glittering. "Oh. No."

The grin widened, fading into the usual haze once more. "Oh yes. You're fortunate they elected to keep your arms intact. Venus de Milo was a great hit when it went on tour. Record-breaking attendance at every asari museum."

"They like broken statues? Six thousand years of science, literature, and music available. And they want that?" Shepard massaged the bridge of his nose. It didn't help understanding the asari mindset, but it did help the headache.

Anderson's shoulders made a lifting-falling motion. "They find it disarming."

A minor groan escaped Shepard's control. "You're in a good mood."

"You performed well, Shepard. That makes my superiors happy. That makes me happy. And in turn, it should make you happy. Continuing onwards. Assets from Saren's institute included a majority holding of ExoGeni. Can you please go into more detail about the efforts being made to recompense the colonists, since you purchased the rights yourself?"

It was an inevitable question. Multi-billion dollar decisions invited scrutiny, and he'd made more than a few. 'Not that many are public interest, but it had to be there.'

Settling back, Shepard called up the reasoning he'd fallen into during the Normandy's visit to Feros. There had been enough time to create enough red tape to stumble a Reaper, which gave him enough time to create authentic excuses. And paper trails. And enough defense mechanisms to deter the less serious competitors.

Hours passed. Details Shepard had forgotten were brought up from how he'd decided to take on the asari infiltrators on Noveria to the initial encounter with Geth on Eden Prime.

"Saren's plan to frame the STG backfired," Anderson's reading slate made quiet noises as it flipped to another document. "They took it personally. Every business he's worked with is receiving their full attention; they have a copy of your findings, of course. Your Red Team had interesting information on the Traverse economic situation, it looks as if Saren's pipeline was sending cloned krogan to mercenary groups. Excuse me," his hands came up in quotation marks. "Freelance contractor organizations. Can't forget that."

"Really?" that was news to Shepard. "That seems like a bad idea."

"It should," Anderson tipped his slate down, rotating it to Shepard's viewpoint. "The Council has to slap down cloning operations every few decades. Usually it's a self-fix situation; the process is expensive and difficult, two options most can't afford. But once in a while …."

The thought made chills run down his back. He shivered.

"My thoughts as well," Anderson took the slate back. "Part of the cloning machinery Saren was storing on Omega was stolen. Not a surprise. But it was high-grade equipment, no one knows where it went. Shadow Broker by my guess. Not your problem any more."

Shepard agreed. "What's next?"

Skilled fingertips slid across the tablet's surface. "Eden Prime, the Citadel, Feros, Noveria and Ilos. We've covered most of the timeline, and the financial aspect. Therapy, salarian forge donation, got it. Got it. I guess there's only one thing left to do then."

Shepard didn't let himself relax. Experience was a cruel mistress; too many operations failed at the very last possible moment. Murphy's Law had to have been written for someone like himself. "Sir?"

"A few questions from the Council, and then the farewell party. Your squads are waiting with the Normandy at hanger level two, docking bay Fifteen-See." The solid-built man turned his head towards the transmission devices. "Councilors?"

One of the technicians pressed a switch, and waited. When nothing happened, the group's dynamic grew alarmed. Two started hissing at each other over the controls while a third crawled under the table. AN electric-sounding pop burst from the depths, sending transparent images into being, orange-and-black representations of the Council.

Ignoring the singed-looking technician as he made his unsteady path from beneath the table, Shepard gave a courteous nod to the Councilors.

"Commander Shepard. Thank you for taking this transmission." Sparatus stood on the projection as he did in reality, talons clasped behind the small of his back. "On behalf of the Council, I would like to offer my congratulations on a successful operation, and best wishes in your retirement."

"Indeed," Valern's alien visage was visible to Shepard. Salarians were easy to tell apart, once you knew how to spot the melanin concentrations. "On behalf of the Salarian Union, I wish to tender my thanks for stopping Saren's mad scheme."

"Hardly mad, considering how close he came to success," Tevos's own unreadable face grew into focus, along with the rest of her form. All three Councilors held their projection in standard size, roughly a quarter of their actual height. The asari's focus turned, regarding Shepard like a predator perceiving a worthy foe. "Your diligence has given the Alliance and the Council a great service. With such an accomplishment, it only behooves us to demonstrate our gratitude."

Shepard avoided thinking of the land grant chip tucked away in a pocket. "Duty and responsibility are their own rewards, Councilor."

"True," the salarian Councilor's rapid speech broke in. "But to maintain the moral standing that good is rewarded and evil punished, we must ensure you are compensated in a suitable fashion."

"But that can wait." Sparatus's hands made an expressive gesture. To his left, both salarian and asari Councilors seemed peeved – or as close to it as politicians of their acumen would allow themselves to show. "Commander, this Sovereign was a massive construct. Do you maintain it is of Reaper origin?"

A dozen responses shot through Shepard's mind, ranging from biting sarcasm to a plea for the general good of the galaxy. Instead, he adopted a turian-esque posture, one hand flexing as if clenching a weapon's grip, and lowered his head just a touch, so the Councilor would be seen from below eye-ridges. "Councilor, I try to prepare for the worst-case scenario. But at best, this is a dreadnought made by a race unseen for three centuries. How many more could the geth have made?"

"Calculations suggest no more than half a dozen," Valern's firm tenor spoke up once more. "Even with unlimited labor, developing the technology and refining the materials needed for such a project takes time."

"Possible," Shepard made sure to give the salarian a grudging nod. "Probable. But I know the power of exponential growth. On platform builds a second. Both make one each. Four geth create eight, which beget sixteen. Then they make a factory, which does nothing but create platforms designed to make more factories. The quarians tell us the geth were designed for construction, hard labor. Worse," he let his voice drop into a warning bass. "They never. Ever. Stop."

"An excellent point," Sparatus intoned. His demeanor looked almost like that of a religious figure, learning of a holy crusade. "I will advise the Primarchs to prepare."

"For war?" Tevos's back stiffened, detectable even through the digital medium. "That will have a significant impact on the Council's economy."

"A subject for another meeting," the turian's mandibles were wide, inviting a challenge. "Rest assured Commander, I doubt the existence of these … Reapers …." His tridactyl fingers contorted in an air quote. "But the geth show aggression never seen before outside of their creators."

Valern leaned forward, taking the focus back. "If you were to share your information on a closer level, it would make preparations easier for the Council."

"Any information Shepard provides will be shared with the Council and its representatives," Anderson spoke up. His own body language suggested respectful dismissiveness. "Already there have been updates in energy weapons production and shield development."

"Two industries the middle colonies support in bulk," Valern observed in a dry voice. "Nevertheless, your point is taken. This exchange was to convey our congratulations and remind the Commander of the options available. Actions further than this will need to be taken in other settings."

Shepard inclined his head in a slight bow. "As you say, Councilor."

"Good hunting, whatever path you take," Sparatus reached forward, and vanished from sight.

Valern followed suit, seeming content with the current exchange. The asari Councilor remained, however. "Captain, may I have a moment with Commander Shepard?"

In Shepard's peripheral, Anderson's feet went from a relaxed balancing act to a wider stance, full contact with the ground. "As you wish, Councilor."

The older man made a gesture at the technicians whom, after a moment, seemed to understand. The small group left the room, Anderson last, closing the door with a single indecipherable look.

"Commander," Tevos lost no time. "There have been several unfortunate disagreements in the past. This is not the time to make things right. But several interested parties have contacted me, regarding your agreement with House T'Soni. After today's celebrations I will need to discuss the particulars with your approved representative. Ambassador Udina is no longer your choice, am I correct?"

A surge of anger sent a wash of heat throughout his body. "You would be correct. I will arrange for a representative to find you."

"Very good." Her mien changed, relaxing into something watchful. "Lastly, a word of caution."

Shepard cocked his head. "Yes?"

Her casual watchfulness evaporated like the shoals surrounding some aquatic monster. Her true age and experience showed in that moment, honed to a surgical point. "If you ever enter my room again, I will make sure you regret it."

While confused, Shepard had enough sense to give another polite inclination. "As you say."

Tevos's wrath faded as if it had never been. "Good. I wish you best of luck in your retirement. Be well, Commander."

The transmission ended before he could respond. 'That was interesting.'

A few minutes later, the door slid open once more, and Anderson's figure hesitated outside. "Shepard?"

Lost in thought, Shepard brought his attention back to the captain. "Sir?"

"If you're done, you have a party waiting." Anderson's hand beckoned. "Come on. Let's stuff ourselves with unhealthy food and tell each other some lies, one more time."

That drew a chuckle. "Hah. All right Anderson. But only because it's the last time."

"Who said it would be?" the captain responded. "Who knows, maybe you'll be a politician next."

The look of horror Shepard slammed onto his expression was feigned, only in part.


Hanger Deck 3-01A

The Normandy was an incredible ship; Shepard knew. There were faulty parts, as any post-prototype creation would have. The air ducts leaked over the engine room, and the temperature controls around the hanger area lacked gradated settings. Its armor acted more as a sign of hope than actual defensive measures, and the entire ship tended to shake after more than two hours at lightspeed.

'But for all that, she's a good ship.' He raised a silent glass to the silent vessel where it stood. It seemed more than comfortable in the station's hanger, fuel pipes trailing down its external ports, carts full of tools racked in neat rows. Even the repair crew were taking the evening off.

'To them. Unsung heroes.' Another lifting of his glass acknowledged the crewmen so often unseen. 'Well. I see them. I sign their requisitions. But it's the principle of the thing.'

"Shepard."

There was only one alien that knew him so well, and had a voice deep enough to border infrasonic frequencies. "Wrex."

The big alien held a tankard instead of the small glasses the other crewmen carried. "Gonna go home after this, huh."

He sketched a brief shrug. "That's what the word is."

"Uh-huh." The ancient krogan studied him. "That's what they're sayin' all right."

Shepard had a strong suspicion Wrex knew things; he'd behaved a similar way when learning about the plague sweeping through Hegemony space, and of Shepard's apparent innocence. But it seemed with experience came a sense of tact, and the big alien said nothing.

"Where are you headed after this?" It was a clumsy evasion, but he owed the krogan too much to make a cunning lie to his face.

"Hmm. Been thinkin'." Wrex's tankard made a slow trip up, holding position as its contents emptied into his throat. "Ah. Been a while since I was at one of these things, not guarding anything. You know?"

It was a familiar experience, Shepard could agree. "True."

"Got some old contacts I need to look up," a thoughtful expression made its way across Wrex's face, slow as the tectonic forces but no less powerful. "Geth are movin' again. Reapers. That other stuff the Council was yammerin' about. Big Things."

"An interesting observation." That was a curious development. Shepard tilted his head, watching.

Mammoth shoulders rose and fell. "Might be somethin', might be nothin'. But an old friend caught up to me a few days back. My old clan is holdin' ground back on Tuchanka."

Shepard blinked. The phrase meant nothing to him; considering how much xeno-science studies he'd undergone, that was an oddity, even if not unexpected.

"Means they ain't growin', ain't shrinking." Krogan were adept at reading human confusion, it seemed. "Looking for anyone that might be interested in joining up again."

"That's an interesting way of putting it," Shepard sipped from his glass, non-alcoholic contents wetting his tongue for a moment. "On Earth, 'joining up' meant joining the military. Before the first World War, I think."

A low chuckle shook the krogan's hump. "Heh. Think that's why I like you. Mind is always on the hunt."

"And Tuchanka?" Shepard supported his cup-bearing arm at the elbow with his other hand. "Last I heard you gave up on it."

"Rumors," Wrex's crimson eyes caught his own. "Are an ugly thing. Thinkin' the galaxy might need a few soldiers soon. An' who's got more experience fighting than the krogan?"

A new voice entered the conversation. "That's awfully idealistic of you, Wrex. Are you sure you're Wrex, not an indoctrinated servant of something?"

"Garrus," Shepard raised his glass in greeting. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, you know," the turian flipped his three-fingered hand horizontal for a moment. "The ladies won't leave me alone unless I join you two ugly clowns. Needed the break, and what do I hear but plans to raise an army?"

"Might want to drop by, stay a while," Wrex's teeth gleamed in the hanger's lighting. "Maybe learn how to shoot from krogan that fought your great grand daddy's grandma."

"Tempting," Garrus's mandibles flared in an obviously playful effort at serious consideration. "But I'm not sure they could handle being both uglier and a worse shot than me."

The krogan snorted, clapping a hand on Garrus's shoulder. "Better see Chakwas for that. Turians get delusions if hit in the head too much. But think about it. Door is open. Shepard. You too."

Shepard noticed Wrex's hand dip towards his belt, resting above a compartment, not quite touching it. He gave a slow nod. "Need to visit some old friends of my own. Will keep you updated with my progress, maybe send a few toys your way."

"Got a few of our own I could send ya," Wrex looked down, thoughtfully. "A few thousand years sitting on their butt's means a lot of designs no body had time to make. Eh. A thought. Later, Shepard."

"Wrex." Shepard watched his friend pull away, giving the party one last look. Then the thought hit. Friend. He considered the aged krogan a friend. In turn that made the others friends as well, a thought he'd never expected to entertain at the beginning of the mission.

He looked for Garrus, and caught up before the turian had wandered too far. "You have plans?"

"Some," Garrus nodded. "Got asked to test for SPECTRE status. Old man isn't too pleased, but that makes it even better, right?"

"If you say so," Shepard decided to avoid that particular trouble. "Experience working with a SPECTRE, tracking one down, and all that."

"I can see them keeping me around for that," the turian's shoulders tightened. "But I fear it is more about the Prothean information than that. I would be good for tracking down rogue SPECTRE's, but they have the STG for things like that."

Shepard paused. "They'd make you a SPECTRE just because you were along on Feros?"

Garrus sighed. "And Ilos, and Eden Prime, Liara, and most importantly, you. If you let anything slip, could I find a clue? I can hear them now: 'You're a detective, of course you can. It is your duty to help the Council regain any lost secrets of the Protheans.'"

The thought rolled through his mind like a heavy wave. "I'm … sorry."

"Don't be. I knew what I was getting into back when I was asked to join you." Garrus once again flicked his talons in a calming gesture. "Besides, it'll be a nice story to tell someday. Vakarian and Shepard: Saviors of the Citadel."

"Shouldn't it be Shepard and that Bosh'tet?" Tali approached. Her own drink was a sealed cylinder, attached to a port in her arm. Her mask tilted downward, and Shepard could make out swallowing sounds. "Sorry Garrus, you know we love you."

"That makes one of us," Ashley wandered closer, dragging a reluctant Kaiden along with. "Oh don't worry about it Kaiden. It'll wash out."

"Do I want to know?" Shepard raised an eyebrow at the two, letting it ascend still higher as the two began to give the floor a thorough scrutiny. When the little study started to incorporate a shuffling routine, he relented. "Fair enough. How have you been doing, Ashley? Getting familiar with being a hero?"

"Honestly? This will make it harder to get posted anywhere worthwhile. First grandpa, now me." Ashley leaned back and groaned. It took work to study the ground, it seemed. "At least I have a few stories to tell at family reunions. Don't have to hear the same old thing over again."

"Time off in Vancouver for me," Kaiden put in. "Been a few years since I was last home."

"Good, good," Shepard took another sip. Drinks were an integral part of any social gathering, whether alcoholic or not. Those less gifted in social chatter needed a technique to distract attention, or provide an excuse to not speak.

Fortunately he was saved from that fate by the approach of one more familiar figure. Liara had never eschewed the laboratory coat he'd first seen her wear, but there were new weaves in the fabric, metallic threads and barrier plates incorporated into the material. The lack of armor grated, but it wasn't as if the armor she'd be rated to wear would do much better. Biotics tended to rate light armor, and asari chose hardware lighter than that.

For some reason Shepard got the sense she was nervous. 'Tense hands? No. Stiff shoulders? No. Tendril rigidity …? Is that even a thing?'

"Shepard, there's a visitor for you." Her face was tilted in his direction, which was normal. A pity he couldn't see her eyes.

"Oh? Any reason they couldn't come in …?"

The asari's omni-tool buzzed, flaring a peculiar brand of color he'd thought native to his own equipment alone. The fact she'd picked up on his modifications, and incorporated it into her own was an interesting concept – perhaps she was more intelligent than he'd thought. Or less naïve. But that particular light frequency came from only two people in the galaxy – which meant his brother …?

Shepard glanced at a side entrance, one where the security systems would be minimized. "I'll check it out."

"It's safe to talk there," Liara murmured. He could almost see that her lips weren't moving. The sound quality told more, but the fact she was going through the effort was interesting. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Shepard took a pace back, letting the group circulate amongst itself. They allowed it, mingling in a way evincing camaraderie.

'Lot of work to do,' he had to admit. 'Cerberus is out there. Reapers are out there. Hegemony will swing at anything they think won't hit back.'

For some reason the thought was somewhat disheartening, far more than expected. It seemed like the galaxy was trying to crush his hopes, above even his own high standards. More work could've been less than thrilling, but to this level?

Making his way to the door, he started running through the possible countermeasures the many and varied enemies could perform. That ended when the first door hissed shut, leaving the second airlock to begin its slow opening. Something was warning him, a sixth sense that had never steered him wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

"Hello, Karl."

A familiar face stood there, looking at him. One of the few visages he could yet recall, from the dark hair and blue eyes to the detached ear lobes. They mirrored his own, even to the same behavior patterns. Then it connected: he was seeing features in real life presence.

"Harry." Shepard took a step back realizing what was about to happen. "Wait …."

The figure turned to face the other members of his squad. "Hey Karl. Nice work on the Citadel, although now I've got a big centerpiece I can't really talk about."

"It happens," Shepard felt a smile tug on his face.

A moment of silence stretched out, sending the burgeoning sense of paranoia into overgrown near-panic. For once, Shepard began to think of an exit strategy, getting away from his brother. The man that had stood by every decision, supported his entire career, the man he'd gone to war to protect. The last man whom's face he could still see ...

Harry heaved a sign, shoving hands into pockets. "There's an old friend that's wanted to see you for a long time, Karl. Mistakes were made, but it's long past due we talked it out. I won't make you – but this is the last chance we'll have to make things right."

Shepard felt his heartbeat through his ears. Guilt and relief in equal measure strained for supremacy. Then, at last, he bowed his head. "You might be right. Maybe."


Liara watched the human vanish into the airlock, and caught a brief glimpse of the second figure looking so similar. For someone as strong as she knew Shepard to be, this could either break him, or heal whatever ardat pursued his soul.

'Did I overstep?' idle wondering locked part of her mind into analysis patterns, something academics could do at any moment. Some devoted too much mental capacity to the art, rendering them socially awkward. No one else seemed to notice, even Wrex whom she suspected of being better trained than he let on.

Her omni-tool buzzed a soft vibration. Excusing herself, Liara took a few steps away, placing her communication on pause, then looked at the device.

Thank you.

The note was not signed, and the source had no code. She was certain if she attempted to dig into its origins that there would be countless pratin trails leading to nothing, until long after the original trace cooled beyond usefulness. Still, Liara smiled. 'No. I did what was needed. Thank you, Shepard. For everything.'


A/N:

So. That's it. I wrote and posted my first story here in May, 2013 and this chapter comes to a close in January, 2022. If anyone had told me I'd be writing fanfiction for nine years (and beyond), I'd have politely requested they get their head examined. And yet it's done wonders for my writing skills, and boosted my creativity to entire new levels. I've written for new genres, acquired contacts in other continents, actually made friends ...?

Thanks must first be given to NightStride, the author that graciously agreed to beta-read my work back when Early Discovery was a bare-bones plan. He's hammered my scrivenings into something more legible; if anything is confusing, it's all me, not him.

Thanks also to the reviewers! I do this for free, and you review without compensation. MarketCrash, Scarease, AJGuardian, JotunSquid (Guest), The Prime Cronos, and to all of you, thank you for the ideas and encouragement. I'm surprised by the lack of taunts, but while this story might not have the most numbers, I believe it has the best quality readers. Like that little restaurant down the way, you guys have provided incredible value for a little story.

I have to mention Oklina, of course. Without giving away any information, our talks have been wide-ranging, and helped me grasp different aspects of character creation I'd not quite worked out; thank you!

Plans: there will be a ME2, and eventually, ME3 story. I'm also writing stories on another account, ChuckTheElf; mostly Harry Potter and The-Genre-I-Lost-A-Bet-And-Had-To-Write. If I'd won, a friend would've been doing a fanfic on Pride and Prejudice; he didn't lose, so ... that happened. And I think I did a good job, considering. Contiuing with writing, I'm planning to finish Klepto and Glory To The Imperium, as immediate works, plus a few other tales on my other channel.

This story has carried me through undergrad, Master's and into professional teaching. I'm applying for corporate lab work, manager/QC overseer sort of thing. If that happens then I'll be moving, and life will be confusing for a while. But one constant I'll fight to keep is reading and sharing stories.

There will be a couple Epilogue chapters for Unwelcome Discovery. Any suggestions on scenes we didn't examine? I didn't get into romance too much, that's pretty hard for me not gonna lie. But we'll see if that can come in ME2.

One last time, I'm glad this little tale could entertain. Excelsior!