"The Plague" from Assassin's Creed II

XXX. Diseased

(Miranda)

Back on the Normandy, back on the mission.

Back in my same room, sitting on my same bed—all with a metaphorical new coat of paint, effervescent.

New beginnings now at the beginning of March. Shepard and I had spent a bit more time getting caught up with work after returning from home. And now, this brand new morning, I had some time before our briefing on the next mission. Nearly arriving to Omega, I kept an eye on the window across from my bed. Only the endless expanse of the Terminus Systems shined in a speckled brightness through the dark.

Sitting on my bed in my uniform, having just showered, I basked in this novelty, this change. Slipping one of my still-fresh chocolates into my mouth, I admired this milk sweetness, this craft of taste. Gazing at my bouquet of violet roses I'd set on my nearby nightstand, I smiled over the luxury of this rosy scent, and of how the smell blended with this chocolate melted in my mouth. Remembering my Valentine's date with Shepard about a week ago, I smiled more in fondness, from her wonderful first impression. Falling into the memory of her kiss, her reaction, I fell back against my pillows, letting myself be enamored.

I wondered exactly what that final gift from Shepard was supposed to be.

The one she had been too shy to give to me just yet.

Since returning to the ship, Shepard had maintained that fascinating distance about her.

At this moment, however, she was still thoughtful enough to message me appropriately. As I wanted.

[08:03:01] Shepard: How are you doing?

[08:04:20] Me: I'm doing well, thank you. Still in a quiet mood?

[08:05:32] Shepard: Yes.

[08:06:04] Me: Hmm, is that all you're going to give? You're keeping me in suspense, you know.

[08:08:01] Shepard: It's not something I can describe.

[08:08:29] Me: Then why not act on it, whatever this is?

[08:09:14] Shepard: Not now.

[08:09:59] Me: Of course not at this very moment. I mean in general. And if you won't do that, then at least give me a hint.

[08:11:02] Shepard: It's about power.

[08:11:16] Me: Yes, what about it?

[08:12:33] Shepard: I have next to no power with you. I don't know how to handle it.

[08:13:10] Me: Why do you need it, hm?

[08:15:02] Shepard: I don't want to get into it.

[08:15:29] Me: Then tell me what you want to do.

[08:16:04] Shepard: I can't do that, Miranda.

[08:16:40] Me: You're being awfully cagey. Do you plan on running away from me, then?

[08:17:11] Shepard: No, I wouldn't run from you. I'm done doing that. But there's something I want to ask you.

[08:17:20] Me: Ask away, then.

[08:17:59] Shepard: I was looking through the dossiers for our potential recruits on Omega. Professor Mordin Solus, Archangel, and Zaeed Massani. I noticed that you included one for me. Not a strict psychological profile. It reads more like a summary. Or a warning. What's this about?

[08:18:20] Me: Yes, that was meant for Ashley. To warn her. She still ignored it. I knew she would.

[08:18:28] Shepard: It's incomplete.

[08:18:35] Me: I know it is.

[08:18:45] Shepard: Who else knows about this?

[08:19:03] Me: We had one person in charge of writing these. I purposely didn't give her all the information about you. About your psychological profile. I wanted to keep it to myself. Among Cerberus, no one else knows the whole truth. Only I do.

[08:19:13] Shepard: So is that why you and I fit together? Is it a coincidence? Or are you using me?

[08:19:46] Me: I'm not using you, Shepard. I would never do that. In a way, this is a coincidence. It happened by chance. You and I both have similar troubles with forming meaningful attachments. And yet here we are today. I had always sensed this about you, about us together. Witnessing your mind for myself simply gave me the proof I needed.

[08:20:00] Shepard: That makes sense. It worries me, too.

[08:20:06] Me: Why does it worry you?

[08:20:24] Shepard: You're influencing me directly. You have a lot of power in the way you protect me.

[08:20:39] Me: Well, I don't believe that I'm the only one influencing you. I'm the major source. I'm protecting you, certainly. Though I'm not the only one within your mind. On a psychological level.

[08:20:54] Shepard: Then who else is it?

[08:21:04] Me: Shepard, don't be daft. It's obvious.

[08:21:20] Shepard: …you mean Tali?

[08:21:26] Me: Yes, of course. She is there.

[08:21:35] Shepard: How? When?! What the hell?

[08:21:42] Me: If you need me to spell this out, I will.

[08:22:22] Shepard: No, I don't want you to do that… I get the psychology behind this. I guess it's just embarrassing, that's all.

[08:22:29] Me: Do you trust me to hold this type of power?

[08:22:40] Shepard: I don't have a choice.

[08:22:45] Me: That isn't helpful.

[08:23:12] Shepard: Miranda, I don't fucking know. There's just something about you. It's like my mind was full of patches and gaps and holes, and you filled everything up. I'm not saying you fixed me. You fulfill me in a way that isn't only a romantic thing. It's fucked up. It's even more fucked up how much I want to please you, because of this feeling. With this feeling.

[08:23:34] Me: Mmm, I don't think it's fucked up at all. This is between us. No one else has to know. As much as I fulfill you this way, it's a two-way street. I enjoy doing this for you. And I enjoy how and why you want to please me. Very much so. I'm not letting you go, no matter what someone else might think.

[08:24:00] Shepard: Okay… Thanks. I'm not going anywhere, either.

[08:24:09] Me: Even if you did try to run from me, I wouldn't let you. Have I made myself clear?

[08:24:25] Shepard: Yes, Miranda. You're perfectly clear.

[08:24:40] Me: Good. How do you plan on moving forward, then? In the short-term.

[08:25:02] Shepard: Focusing on the next mission.

[08:25:29] Me: Could our conversation possibly get in the way of that?

[08:26:01] Shepard: We'll see. I should go. I need to handle something else before the briefing.

[08:26:30] Me: Hold on a moment. If you insist on being evasive, then I want you to do something else.

[08:27:00] Shepard: What is it?

[08:27:21] Me: You should create a private frequency for us. You don't have to call me yet. But I want this to be available. Do this, and then I'll let you get on your way.

[08:27:43] Shepard: All right. I'll send you the request soon.

[08:27:52] Me: Thank you, Shepard. I appreciate it.

I didn't have to wait very long to receive Shepard's request.

Request: New Private Radio Frequency (Secure – Encryption Grade: Alliance-Standard)

Requester: Sol Shepard

Reason: Speaking in private when text isn't enough.

Requirements: Just the two of us.

Accept/Decline/Save for Later

Naturally, I accepted right away.

While indulging in a bit more of my chocolate, I spent this remaining time wondering as to Shepard's distance. Half-worrying about it. Half-admiring this change about her.

She just seemed so subdued. Pensive. Contemplative.

I wanted her to believe that everything would be all right with me. That she didn't have to keep hiding anymore.

Maybe for once, I could believe that I didn't have to keep worrying.

Both of our habits felt as a sickness, spreading over us like a plague. Diseased. Lingering over us, within us as old habits, old wounds festering.

We simply had to move on together.

After a while, once it was time for the briefing, I left my room.

Leaving to the elevator and heading to the command deck, I felt my constant desire to smile. I suppressed it, not wanting any of the other crew to spot me, and possibly spreading rumors. They should have known better not to, but I didn't want to take any chances. Even so, I expected that there was nonetheless something about me that was less…severe. I would never change myself to suit others, yet I couldn't deny this unusual lightness about me. A lightness that I labored to hide as much as I could.

So very light, because Shepard felt powerless and out of her element with me. Of course, I had no idea as to how or why. Something of our kiss had started this in her. I had every intention of seeing more; getting to the bottom of this; finding her secrets as my answers, candied and alluring as ever.

Delectable as it was desirable, I could taste my enjoyment, lingering over my tongue like that chocolate.

Arriving to the comm room, I found Legion here already, standing near the center table.

"Greetings, Operator Lawson," it said, as I took my place on the other side, opposite.

"Hello, Legion," I replied.

Legion observed me for a moment.

Feeling observed indeed, I asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"We have noticed a change," it stated. "Your hardware—your facial expression—suggests continuity. We find familiarity with Operator Lawson from Project Lazarus. Yet we have discovered ways to detect the nuance behind an organic's appearance. We did not wish to offend by ignoring these layered variables."

I scoffed, "Then what are you saying?"

"Are you experiencing errors in your software?"

Blowing steam, I demanded to know, "Legion, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Legion shifted its head flaps, and changed its approach: "You are different."

That stopped me in my tracks.

If a synthetic—a geth, no less—could notice this about me, then it was possible my efforts were useless.

I kept trying anyway, staying quiet. Not wanting to discuss this.

In an odd respect for my silence, Legion said nothing more.

Not long afterward, Shepard entered the room.

Already in her stealth suit, hair tied back once more, that essential professionalism reigned over her aura, despite her personal situation. She walked around to the head of the table facing the door, walking behind Legion and not me. Not avoiding me, although:

As she took her place at the head of the table, with her influence, I felt her aura waning.

When Shepard met my eyes, she found the barely-masked focus of my regard of her. Hyper-focused. Welding straight through her stealth suit, her many defenses with the heat of my stare. Unabashed. Unashamed. Only restrained for formality's sake. Only contained because we were not alone, and Legion was no stranger to making us notice its notice like this.

I smiled at her anyway, bordering on a knowing smirk.

Shepard gave herself away by clutching down on her back teeth, sharp jaws of hers jutting outward.

She then looked away from me, beginning the briefing: "We're almost at Omega. It's a space station out here in the Terminus Systems. Mostly lawless, with bands of mercs in charge of the so-called government and mining economy with the surrounding asteroids. We're looking for three of our recruits. The main one is Mordin Solus, the salarian scientist. The problem is, there's an outbreak of a plague on the entire station. Seems the spread's gotten worse while we took our time off. We'll just have to deal with it."

I did worry that there might have been other consequences to us taking nearly a month off to rest.

But Shepard remained nonplussed, resolute. Had we rushed off to find Professor Solus, the two of us may have been unfocused and unprepared. It was only a shame that the rest of Omega had to suffer.

"Aria T'Loak is the de-facto leader of Omega and most of its gangs," continued Shepard. "She should know more about where the professor is. We'll need to find her and see what she knows. I'm sure she's dealing with a shitstorm right now because of the plague. And if Dr. Solus is working on a cure, it's in her best interest to tell us where he is."

EDI chimed in, "She is currently located at Afterlife, a nightclub serving as the designated quarantine zone for the plague. However, it appears that Aria T'Loak will not simply allow anyone in. Refugees are required to pay the club's cover charge both to enter, and to continue staying inside. Those who are unable to afford the fees have taken to remaining out in the streets, begging others for assistance."

I noted, "I can't imagine Omega's citizens are particularly happy about this. They're bound to turn against Aria soon enough. She won't have enough of her mercs for protection if they're also sick."

"I'm thinking the same," agreed Shepard. "So we need to resolve the situation before it gets any worse. EDI, do you have any information on the plague itself? Are we at risk?"

"Humans are immune," supplied EDI. "The plague uses harmful genetic mutations to destroy a victim's respiratory system. There are numerous conspiracy theories on Omega that humans are also responsible for the spread of the disease, given their immunities. I can confidently speculate that your immunity is no coincidence. Perhaps it is a purposeful experiment."

"Then since there won't be any trouble, the three of us can handle this together."

Legion volunteered the obvious information, "This platform is immune to organic disease."

Shepard stopped herself from smiling. "Yeah, I figured as much."

EDI added, "The veteran mercenary soldier Zaeed Massani is currently on Omega as well. He is willing to join the team in exchange for a large sum of credits from Cerberus, after defeating the Collectors. If you would like to recruit him, you can find him before reaching Afterlife."

"Thanks, EDI. Miranda, Legion, let's go gear up and head out."

Shepard followed Legion and me to the armory down the hall. I wasn't surprised to find that Legion had procured its own version of the Widow anti-materiel sniper rifle, choosing an assault rifle as its other specialty-in-arms. Simple pistol and submachine gun mix for me, as always—light and effective. And Shepard of course found her same Widow from before, folding it and holstering the gun over her back.

She paused, however, over the matter of her sidearm.

Not caring about the reminders, or maybe needing them anyway, she collected her same Razer pistol.

Once we were all ready, we left to the bridge together.

Though as we reached the airlock, Shepard shocked me with such a subtle move, overt in meaning:

She held my hand.

Not for the first time, clearly. But she did it in full-view of the crew at their stations, already doing their best not to ogle in our direction. And she did it just as Joker turned to look behind his shoulder, behind his seat. He found us with such a shrewd smirk upon his face. Such nerve—Joker actually lit up even more once I scowled at him, not caring at all that I found his staring to be rude. Even though he had every reason to stare, given Shepard's gesture. I wouldn't let him know that I sympathized. Not at all.

Joker sent us off, his words laced with a roguish glee, "Be careful, guys. Don't die out there."

Knowing, Shepard advised him, "You be careful, too, Joker."

"Heh. I hear ya, Commander. I'll be good—I promise!"

Passing through the docking cradle, we arrived at Omega proper, of the grit and grime of this space station somehow glimmering in darkness. The vague, yet pervasive beat of the club music at Afterlife had already reached us here. Metallic mauves and dull browns and blunted chromes of this space: the overhead pipes leaked and leaked, and the ventilation systems seemed halfway broken. Nearly blinding out the windows from this passageway, the view beyond the ship mesmerized me for a moment: that glinting, ethereal light out there past the mining stations. Such a beautiful sight marred by reality.

And this contrast, of walking past so many people—mostly batarians and turians—out in the streets. Most lying on the ground, helpless. Groaning and moaning in pain. Hardly able to breathe. Coughing in forced quiet or in bursts of fits. Crying out for someone to help them, save them from this agony.

Still holding my hand, Shepard guided me away from everyone. Legion followed close behind us as we reached the greater area of the promenade, just outside Afterlife. Here was where the majority of the plague's victim's had gathered, sprawled out over the filthy streets in packed droves. Most barely able to stand, they begged the club's human mercenary bouncers to let them in. Stone-faced and heavily-armed, the mercs wouldn't allow anyone inside without payment first.

I already felt dirty enough as it was, with this grime already seeping through to my skin—and then we found a human man who looked like a merc, kicking a batarian on the ground. I saw the muscled shape of his uncovered arm, his tattoos there before anything else; and his short, slicked cut of dark golden hair, standing out against the yellow and white plate of his armor. Terrorizing the batarian, he berated the sick person at his armored boots, demanding something or another in a hardened, accented voice.

The merc kicked the batarian one last time, hardest. "Fucking jackass. You think just because you're sick, that gives you a free pass? Not my fault you pissed off the wrong son of a bitch!"

Croaking out, unable to breathe—the batarian crumpled there on the ground, falling lifeless.

Shepard had us approach the mercenary. "You Zaeed Massani?"

Turning around, Zaeed's scarred face lengthened the pale blue luster of his injured eye, wrinkled and sunburned skin engorged around that single spot. Both of his eyes narrowed upon finding us, tempering only as his own recognition passed through.

"Yeah, I am," he confirmed, gruff and blunt. "You must be the great Commander Shepard. Heard a lot about you. Also heard we have a galaxy to save, taking out those Collectors."

"You sure about this? Not many mercs would take a suicide mission for the pay."

Zaeed justified, "Most mercs don't get an offer like the one Cerberus sent me. Your Illusive Man is paying me a lot of credits for this mission. Not the kind of thing I can turn down."

Shepard gestured to the now-dead batarian. "So is that what I have to expect from you?"

"That's just business," he insisted. "Batarian delinquent. Caused a huge mess for my client. Because of this goddamned plague, I didn't even charge my extra fees to bring the bastard back alive. What's done is done. So you can expect me to get the job done. No matter the cost. It's what I do."

"Then can I also expect you to follow my orders—no matter the cost? Because that is the job."

Zaeed smirked. "If you weren't the bloody Savior of the Citadel, probably not. I watched the vids. I saw you in action. Pulled off a hell of a feat with what you did. You command a lot of respect in this galaxy. That's rare. Maybe you could even say I admire that. Safe to say I've got no problem following you."

Satisfied enough, Shepard offered her free hand to him. "Welcome to the team, Zaeed."

Wordless in surprise, Zaeed appeared taken aback. Like he wasn't used to such things.

Still, he made himself return the gesture. He shook Shepard's hand in a firm understanding, grunting out his thanks. He then looked between the two of us—Shepard and me—finding even more surprise, eyes softening a bit. For obvious reasons. Looking back and forth to our interlaced hands, to our faces, he seemed to sense something between us. Yet he chose not to mention any of it, staying quiet instead.

"Go ahead and get set up on the Normandy. We'll need you in the armory. I'm aware of your arrangement with the Illusive Man, for your contract. We can deal with it later, when we have time."

"Yeah, all right," accepted Zaeed, heading off. "I'll go make myself at home; find my way around your armory and get to work. I'll be locked and loaded next time you're ready to get some killing done."

Shepard had us continue on, reaching the nearing blare of the music just outside Afterlife.

Towering high above this scene of disease and despair, the club itself didn't seem to care about Omega's suffering. The tall display of a video played over the entrance, of an asari stripper dancing to entice, instead coming off as pure mockery. Even the synthy dance music was strangely tone deaf at a time like this, playing on with such an attitude of unconcern. Uncaring to all who couldn't afford the fees to remain within the quarantine zone. Caring only to entertain the privileged few on this space station who could stay safe, continuing to line Aria T'Loak's pockets for her own gain. Unless she was just too selfish and cowardly to get her hands dirty and deal with the problem herself. That was always a possibility.

As a repeat of that privilege, Aria's bouncers allowed us to enter Afterlife straightaway.

Deeper echoes of the music from inside: these sounds pulsed and thrummed all around. The entrance hall flamed in red from the digital screens along the side walls, blazing on for the empty couches we walked by. Aside from this unusual vacant feeling about the hall, everything else appeared normal enough. Even more so once we actually entered the main club, senses opening to the full music:

More flames raised along the perimeter of the area, more enticement from the asari dancers, and more unconcern from those populating the place. Looking around, I'd never felt such a sense of whiplash, going from one place to the next. If I hadn't seen all of those people suffering outside, I would have never guessed that there was anything wrong at all, compared to what went on in here. Aside from how packed the club was, there was really no indication whatsoever that Omega was in a crisis.

Business as usual, the dancers entertained Afterlife's guests, pole dancing along the center catwalk.

Humans, batarians, asari, turians, krogan, and salarians enjoyed themselves at the bar on the far side.

More mercs and bouncers patrolled the club, keeping an eye on everyone.

Various other people sat at the tables on this level, and the other slightly raised one, laughing and drinking together in pure ignorant bliss. They didn't even notice us walking past them.

Pulling me out of my thoughts, Shepard leaned closer to me, squeezing my hand to get my attention.

"Miranda," she said, fairly neutral.

Even so, this quiet edge about her had me wanting.

I replied, "Yes?"

"Earlier this morning, I took a closer look at the ship's facilities. One of the VR programs caught my eye."

Caught off-guard, I wondered why Shepard chose to bring this up all of a sudden. Especially here.

Feigning ignorance, I asked her, "Which one do you mean?"

She specified—"The one for after hours. Insomnia."

I stayed quiet.

Not wanting to answer her.

Unable to find the words to describe this.

I did plan on telling her. I wanted to tell her everything about it. Just…not now. Not until I was ready.

Getting the hint well enough, Shepard decided against prodding me further. She said nothing more.

Ascending the stairs in the back, we reached Aria's platform. Nearby, more people sat at their tables, completely absorbed in amusing conversations with one another. A few asari strippers remained in the area, using the walls to dance against. Unsurprised to learn that the great Aria T'Loak was an asari, I was more thrown by her batarian thugs stopping us, performing a scan. Apparently unbothered, Aria remained perched on her couch, sitting there in her outfit of white and black. Surrounded by her thugs, she observed us. Intrigued by Legion. Glossing over me—aside from noticing where my hand was.

Aria watched Shepard much more closely.

Long legs crossed one over the other, wrists folded over her lap, she waited for the scan to finish. Aside from twirling the tall black of her boots on occasion, Aria remained oddly still. Intensity of her narrow, sharpened eyes, and the violet of her skin aglow in this flamed lighting: something about Aria seemed to click beneath the surface, the cogs of her mind ticking on and on. Such a strange patience in her regard of Shepard, in her observations. Such a deliberate darkness behind those eyes. Unknown. Unreadable.

"They're clear," announced the thug, stepping aside.

Shepard stepped forward with me, asking out of formality, "You're Aria?"

Eyes perfectly trained on her target, Aria remained self-possessed: "I am. I know who you are. What you've accomplished. Let's do us both a favor and skip the introductions."

"I take it you have an explanation for what's going on here?"

Aria gestured to the couch, curved and cornered, adjacent to her. Black leather inviting.

Shepard guided me to sit first, before taking her seat next to me.

Manners, always, as I expected from her. And a slight show of protectiveness, with her sitting closer to Aria's side. Shielding me a bit from Aria's nearly-intrusive gaze, observing me now. Noticing the way Shepard treated me. Picking up on the reasons.

"So?" prompted Shepard, annoyed. "You're the Queen of Omega, aren't you? You and your mercs run everything around here. And yet there's a plague wiping out nearly everyone on this station. Are you taking care of the problem or not?"

"I'm dealing with it," claimed Aria.

"How? By sitting here on your throne while your citizens are out dying in the streets?"

Narrowing her eyes further, as an affront, Aria knew this was all she could do. She had no avenue, no right to take offense over Shepard's impatience with all this. Some amount of self-awareness kept her as composed as she was, appearing cool and in-control. Though I could only imagine how far Aria had to bend her ego to keep from snapping out of anger. She knew that her ass was on the line. She knew that it was only a matter of time until the citizens outside of this quarantine zone began to revolt. And so, as compromised as she was, all she could do was sit there with this humiliation, explaining in simplicity:

"I have someone working on a cure. A salarian doctor by the name of Mordin Solus. As far as I know, he's finished doing what I asked. The only problem is that he can't distribute the cure across the station. My people haven't been able to get in and help. Maybe you'd like to do something about that."

"Maybe I would," allowed Shepard, easing the edge off a bit. "Where is he, and why haven't your people been able to help him distribute the cure?"

Aria was kind enough to explain, "Mordin's running his own clinic down in the Gozu district, in the slums. As you can imagine, there's a street war currently going on there. The Blue Suns and the Blood Pack are fighting over territory. They're making a point to get rid of my people, since they know we're working with Mordin. The mercs don't want this plague to go away. In their eyes, it's good for business."

"Just how is something like this good for business? Only humans in the Blue Suns are immune. And the vorcha in the Blood Pack, I guess. Vorcha are immune to every disease. That leaves out everyone else."

"Don't be naïve," chastised Aria, defensive. "I know you have eyes. I don't have to spell out this situation to you. Anything that leaves me vulnerable is good for their business. And it's bad for mine."

Shepard scoffed. "You're worried the mercs will steal the cure, aren't you?"

"That would be one creative way to hold leverage over me, sure. Realistically, I doubt they would be that calculating. Though I do have reasons to be concerned. About someone smarter deciding to pay me a visit instead. You and I both understand that it's only a matter of time. So, as you can see, there's a certain urgency to what's going on. I'd…appreciate it if you and your team took care of the problem."

"Damn right you'd appreciate it. That's the bare fucking minimum. You think I'm running a charity?"

Aria sneered. "I'd be in your debt."

"Fine, then," accepted Shepard. "We'll find Mordin and help him distribute the cure across the station. If any of those mercs get in our way, we'll take them out. You said he has a clinic in the Gozu district?"

"He does. Follow the fighting and I'm sure you'll find the clinic in no time."

"Understood. After I deal with this cure, there's someone else on Omega I need to find. Something tells me you'll have plenty of information to share. As a small fraction of that debt you mentioned."

Masking her rage, Aria gave only sarcasm, "Something tells me I'll be all too happy to share it with you."

Shepard stood up with me. "Then I'll be back later on."

"And I'll be here—later on."

Leaving with Shepard and Legion, I couldn't escape this pervasive feeling. That Aria somehow watched us now, far past where her eyesight could technically allow. She had invested a great deal of trust in us, after all, given the urgency of the situation. If we failed, then her reign as Queen of Omega was over. So I wasn't surprised that this feeling followed us through to the residential district's entrance—and beyond.

Reaching the slums, such a heavy fog of despair weighed down the atmosphere. Abandoned streets compared to the piles and piles of plague-infected victims lying around near Afterlife. Piles replaced instead with groups of burning corpses all around. Bodies of the sick set on fire by the Blue Suns and Blood Pack mercs warring over territory: I could hear their gunshots in the far distance, as near-endless noise of anger and aggression.

That stench from the corpses…

Shepard had us move as far away as we could from that awfulness, convening for a plan of attack.

"Aria wasn't kidding about the street wars," she noted, glancing around. "This is a mess. I have a feeling it's only going to get worse as we go from here. Once it's time to help Mordin distribute that cure, we might have our work cut out for us. We'll need to play it by ear at that point. For now, we focus on getting to the clinic in one piece."

I brought up, "She did say to follow the fighting. Sounds like it will definitely get worse farther in."

Shepard pulled up her enemy radar. "Looks like it, too. There's a clear path to the clinic, anyway." She gave me her orders: "Miranda, I want you to take point. Head in whatever direction the mercs lead us in. Handle yourself in combat as you see fit. I trust your judgment."

"Understood, Commander," I replied, readying my submachine gun with incendiary ammo.

"Legion, hang back and snipe with me. We'll follow Miranda and cover her flanks from a distance."

"Order received," confirmed Legion, retrieving its Widow. "Setting ranged targeting priorities."

Shepard retrieved her own Widow. "Move out."

Pushing forward through this foul stench, around the piles of burning bodies, I led the way through the slums. Nearing that noise of fighting, I found the vorcha from the Blood Pack and the humans from the Blue Suns engaged in a firefight. Red of the vorcha's bloodlust rage as they rushed their enemies; blue and white from the humans' armor as they shot back with their guns, shouting insults at the vorcha and calling them 'vermin'—I approached them, quickly deciding on a course of action. Taking advantage of their warring would give us a clear advantage. I planned on exploiting this as much as possible.

Staying out of sight, I fired my weapon at the vorcha, clustered together in tight packs.

Flailing and burning alive, I gave them the same that they'd no doubt wrought on the plague victims.

Still hidden behind cover, I aimed my warp at the ones attempting to regenerate their health, violet biotics cutting off their attempts. All of them hissed and yelled, trying to find me. With the Blue Suns still shooting at them, they didn't yet notice me.

Just until I slammed my warp target to the ground. As an explosion of fire: the burst sparked and spread out across the clustered group. Igniting each of the vorcha one by one. Forcing them to panic, to scream. Screaming more, they suffered from my next slam, pure force setting off a biotic explosion this time. Echoes of noise and that force, ricocheting off the walls, everywhere. The vorcha went flying, their unit collapsing in no time.

The Blue Suns stopped in confusion. Not knowing what to do.

As they chanced peeking behind cover, a sniper's shot went off from behind me. Right between a merc's eyes, exploding their head. Shepard and Legion repeated this over and over. Powerful shots from their Widows sounding one after another, sometimes in sync, before the clacking sounds from their reloading. Cleaning up the Blue Suns with ease. So ridiculously precise—I couldn't tell exactly whose shots they were. Precision from a highly-trained organic, or a synthetic programmed to be that accurate.

We kept up this same routine as we progressed through to Mordin's clinic. My snipers would wait until I'd taken care of any crowds with my explosions, before picking off any strays in the distance. All as a wonderful illusion of me progressing alone, having my hidden help somewhere behind me. Whenever I wasn't particularly busy with explosions or shooting, I would boost the ballistics in Shepard's rifle as needed. Having this sense of cohesion and unity with her and Legion kept me focused well enough.

But for all of my focus, I couldn't help my mind wandering on occasion.

As much as I trusted Shepard to cover me—and she did so admirably, as did Legion—I kept wondering about her. She seemed subdued. Far more than she had been earlier, before we'd left the Normandy.

I doubted this was a matter of her simply focusing on the mission.

And aside what we had discussed earlier in our chat room—as much as it fascinated me, fulfilled me—I knew that there was more going on with her.

Analyzing the smallest details about Shepard's silence behind me, I had to consider:

Her reaction to our first kiss the other week continued to stay on my mind.

She had said that there was nothing wrong. That she'd reacted the way she had because there was nothing wrong. No conflict. Nothing to fret about. Nothing lacking or missing; nothing that left her disappointed or otherwise unsatisfied with me.

After everything she had gone through with her exes, I imagined that Shepard had forgotten what this was like. To genuinely not have anything to worry over. No drama. No reasons to believe that I wasn't good enough for her. No poor first impressions to otherwise cause her to think badly of me. Then again, I supposed she had never had this in the first place. Chaos had always been the default in her past. She had discarded maximum chaos not that long ago. Shepard had recently escaped an incredible amount of worrying and drama and mistrust and instability. She was much better off now and she knew it.

I had more than enough stability to offer her.

Not that unknown and that uncertainty she had grown far too accustomed to.

And I supposed Shepard had her reasons to fear this. Finally having the one thing she'd always said she needed. Not having to concern herself over any red flags with me…aside from my Cerberus affiliations.

Perhaps she didn't know how to handle any of this.

Perhaps all the troubles from the past had diseased her, making Shepard mistrust our clean slate.

I should have been the same as her. I should have had a similar sort of whiplash. But I truly enjoyed being this pillar for her. As long as I knew she relied on me like this, I could rely on her in the same ways.

After clearing another group of mercs, I found a sign pointing to the clinic. I pulled up my radio:

"Shepard, Legion—looks like we're close. There's a sign here for Mordin's clinic."

"Good to know," replied Shepard. "We'll catch up with you now."

While I waited for them, I spotted something—or someone—out of the corner of my eye. Someone hanging from an overhead perch, keeping a close watch on me. Some hooded person. Ominously wearing all-black. Staring at me.

Without giving myself away, I tried to pick out more details about them.

From my periphery, all I could spot was the pale, pale tone of their skin. A turian's distinctive mandibles protruding from beneath their dark hood. Perhaps this was a woman. Female turian?

Her stare along the top of my head didn't feel malicious. Nothing like that.

Just observing me. But I still didn't like it. Not from some stranger, no matter her intentions.

Not long afterward, I heard the mechanical movements of Legion's limbs, approaching. Soundless, Shepard walked by its side, finding me here. She gestured for me to follow her this time: Shepard led the rest of the way to the clinic. She had likely spotted that turian woman by now. I wanted to be sure:

"Shepard," I said.

"I know, Miranda. It's okay. Don't worry."

I smiled over her perceptiveness. "Of course."

Shepard was gentle enough to place her hand along my lower back, before continuing forward.

Legion stayed with me as we followed after her, into the clinic.

That turian woman chose not to follow us in here.

We reached the darkened hallway of the reception area, with mechs standing guard behind the clinic's human employees. Even more mechs patrolled around the clinic proper, with the entire place aglow in a dimmed emergency-red. Such a heavy amount of security had likely forestalled the mercs' efforts to storm the place for any given reason. Whether it was to steal the cure—which Aria had said was unlikely—or to simply terrorize the patients here, the Blue Suns and the Blood Pack could have done a lot of damage in a place like this. Especially with so many of the sick sitting and lying about, in chairs or on medical beds out in the open. Such limited space, with more patients than clinic employees, and with the persistent background noises of someone coughing once, twice, or more in a fit of spasms.

Judging by this red lighting all around, the actual lights and power must have gone out.

Legion and I trailed after Shepard as she went down another hallway. Both sides along the wall, lined with beds, with more patients tossing and turning in pained agony. Or sitting in fetal positions, rocking themselves as they waited and waited. More mechs stood guard at the end of the hall, near one of the other rooms. From there, I heard the sounds of conversation:

Someone addressed Mordin directly—"Professor, we're running out of room. The entire clinic is filled to capacity. We won't be able to keep accepting new patients at this rate."

The rhythmic quickness of a salarian's reply—"Aware of problem. Scope of issue exceeding simulated outcomes. Can't distribute cure safely. New patients each day. Cases multiplying at exponential rate. Must do what we can. Must continue seeing new patients. Must treat plague as much as possible."

"But, Dr. Solus—"

"No, can't turn patients away. Direct dispersal of cure possible for thousands more with available resources. Unethical to deny assistance to new arrivals! Risk too much, fleeing homes through street wars to find clinic. Possible death to outside mercs terrible enough. Restricting access to plague cure unconscionable! Not an option. Not an option!"

As we reached the larger room filled with medical equipment, we found Mordin Solus himself treating one of his patients lying on the center bed. Backup generators chugged away to power all the equipment around, and with so few resources as it was.

Apparently undeterred, Mordin continued working, even as he kept talking to himself about keeping the clinic open. Dressed in a lightly-armored lab coat of white and red, his omni-tool remained aglow as he worked and talked, talked and worked, worked and talked and talked and talked. Scars over the orange tones of his face, and a broken horn atop his tall head, Mordin struck me as quite the unusual doctor. He seemed to work and talk faster than even most other salarians, the brilliance of his mind churning faster than his speech or hands could keep up with.

So much so that by the time Shepard approached him, Mordin did more than merely stop speaking.

"Professor Mordin Solus?" she said.

Shocked and aghast, Mordin's large, amphibian-like eyes widened and widened. Blinking rapidly, he looked to her, then to me, then to Legion, and then back to Shepard, all in quick succession. Rather disbelieving, he couldn't accept what was in front of his eyes. Thus he resorted to scanning Shepard with his omni-tool, needing confirmation…beyond simply asking her if she really was who he thought.

"Impossible," claimed Mordin. "Recognizable identity from vids, reports. Same appearance. Same voice. Same directness of tone and aversion to social interactions. Human excellence, Savior of Citadel? Death to unknown attack two years ago. Standing here before me now. Alive. Brought back. How?" Before Shepard could even get a word in, Mordin looked to me. He found the Cerberus logo on my uniform, and then came over to scan me next. "Heard news about Cerberus. Illusive Man, infinite resources. Methods to restore most revered Alliance soldier in galaxy? Or created clone for nefarious purposes. Mean to fool me? Fool others? But what for? Motives unknown. Convincing recreation of legendary human commander, down to verifiable scan. Aim to be convincing! Doubt reality, doubt motives, doubt true existence of clone! Too many doubts—too many doubts!" Again, before I could defend myself, Mordin scanned Legion next. "Could this be…geth? Actual geth unit, in-tact, beyond geth space. Non-hostile. Heavily armed. Perhaps friendly. In league with humans, human organization. Synthetic ideas, used to assist with creation of clone—?"

Shepard growled out, "For the love of God, take a breath! I'm not a damned clone! I'm the real Commander Shepard, and I'm here to recruit you for a critical mission. If you'd let me talk ten minutes ago, you would've had your answers by now!"

Mordin backed away from her. "Mission? What mission? No. Clinic understaffed, crowded! Plague spreading too fast. Unable to disperse cure across station. Unexpected that Cerberus sent you."

"It's not that unexpected. The Collectors are kidnapping entire human populations. We're going to find out why and stop them."

"Collectors?" pondered Mordin. "Interesting. Plague hitting Omega is engineered. Collectors one of few groups with technology to design it. Our goals may be similar. But must stop plague first. Already have cure. Need to disperse it at environmental control center. Mercs guarding it. Unable to kill all of them."

"We've heard," noted Shepard. "Aria sent us here to deal with the problem."

"Complicated complications. Vorcha shut down environmental systems. Trying to kill everyone. Or make angry enough to start revolts against Aria; upset balance of power on Omega. Need to get power back on before district suffocates. Before citizens destroy Afterlife. Too many vorcha fighting Blue Suns near environmental systems. Impossible to get through. Mercs already killed my assistant Daniel. Daniel tried to negotiate, get cure to systems. Blood Pack killed him. Blue Suns and Blood Pack numbers too vast to take on as team of three. Would be suicide mission!"

Shepard didn't want to believe that. "How are you so sure we couldn't handle it?"

Mordin explained: "Wasn't always doctor. Some work with Salarian Special Tasks Group. Can handle myself, protect clinic from attacks. Able to gauge tactical probabilities. Scale of mercenary defense surrounding environmental plant unprecedented! All vorcha units from Blood Pack in Terminus Systems guarding area! Cannot advise frontal attack. Or even stealth attack."

"I'm an infiltrator. I can sneak my way past everyone and handle this on my own."

"Ah, yes! Would need to seal off areas with fan controls for ventilation. Prevent vorcha from sabotaging systems. Cure dispersal must be airborne. Quickest possible solution."

"Makes sense," agreed Shepard, pulling up her schematics for the area. "I can go through the vents and find my way around. They won't see me."

Excited for this new resolution, Mordin quickly used his omni-tool to transfer to Shepard's: "Here, take plague cure. Restore power. Release cure. Saved Citadel with impossible odds. Should be able to save Omega with similar probabilities. Will be here when you return."

Seeing Shepard off at the clinic's other exit, Legion and I remained here with her by the door.

I wanted to ask if I could accompany her. She could have cloaked with me. Obviously. Yet Shepard seemed determined to do this on her own. I only would've slowed her down.

Legion was the one to ask, "You are certain?"

"Yes," said Shepard. "I'll handle it. It'll be faster this way."

"If you need any backup," I tried, "Then call us. We'll do our best to reach you."

"Miranda, don't worry. I'll be fine. Wait here with Mordin and Legion. I'll be back soon enough."

Watching her cloak to invisibility, leaving through the door, I ached for her return already.

Of course I trusted in her abilities. I just couldn't get used to being away from her. Not for anything.

Legion noticed. "Concern?"

"We have to let her do this," I justified, masking the rest. "My concern doesn't matter."

"Shepard-Commander's skill as an infiltrator is legendary. The probability of her success is almost guaranteed. Yet you continue to worry. Why?"

Completely hypocritical, I accused, "You're overanalyzing me, Legion. What is the point?"

"Our analysis falls within standard parameters. Is discussion not preferable to assumptions?"

"I can't imagine which assumptions you could possibly make about me."

Legion made it all sound too simple: "Shifting power dynamics between Shepard-Commander and Operator Lawson are more than prevalent. Shepard-Commander is our leader. Shepard-Commander is aware of your ownership. She defers to you. Your style of attachment falls outside of her lived experiences. This would explain her subdued behavior. She appears uncertain. You enjoy her uncertainty."

This felt…uncanny. "What makes you think I enjoy this?"

"We are aware of Operator Lawson's history with controlling other organics."

"Of course you are," I droned. "Do you not believe in respecting peoples' privacy?"

"No," stated Legion. "We discover and process information as necessary. Ignoring data for the organic convention of privacy would be ineffective. Remaining blind to significant data would leave us at a critical disadvantage. We wish to know you."

"If you truly want to know me, then it's going to take time. This isn't something you can do by just looking up information about me. There's only so much you can find out that way. It's not the same."

Not quite understanding, Legion didn't respond.

Not wanting to continue this awkward conversation, I returned to Mordin's area.

Legion followed me anyway, past the new crowd of refugees that had recently arrived.

Mordin continued to help the patient in front of him, while his staff attended to the recent influx of arrivals. He offered Legion and me a smile as we made it back to his side. Seeing as there was no place to sit, much less stand, we naturally gravitated over to him. He appeared glad to have the company, choosing to speak to us instead of talking to himself as he worked.

"Good to know Shepard is helping," chatted Mordin. "Also good to know she is with us again. Was devastated when heard news of her death. Contacts in STG not so subtle in hints about ongoing research into Reaper technology. Couldn't imagine war without her around to replicate victory."

I wondered, "You were devastated, really? For practical reasons only, I assume? About the war."

"Hmm, mix of practical and personal reasons," he admitted. "Unusual for STG to view other species as renowned figures. Her work as Spectre and infiltrator inspires new recruits on Sur'Kesh and salarian colonies each day. Efficiency with sniper rifle and ghost-like stealth stand as model for us. Shepard ends battles with single strike before enemy can react. Same as central philosophy with salarian intelligence tactics. Her methods and bravery displayed on Citadel taught in schools as standard academia for students of all ages. Positive view of humans among salarians. Long-lasting impact on salarian culture."

Legion summarized, "Shepard-Commander is respected among your society."

"Greatly! STG colleagues will be happy to learn of her return. Wish my old leader Captain Kirrahe could see this day. Heard he and his team died on Virmire. Circumstances unknown. Tragic."

I thought it best to not tell Mordin the truth of Kirrahe's death.

"I shouldn't be surprised," I mentioned instead. "Shepard is already a legend among humans. To know that she's made such an impression on other species is a testament to her capabilities. I suppose I hadn't considered the idea. But it only makes sense."

Mordin smiled more as he worked. "Indeed," he agreed. "Also interesting to note for salarians that Shepard is female. Female salarians treated with great care and respect. Few numbers. Rare births. Elevated to esteemed political positions such as Dalatrass. Matriarchal influences across entire spectrum of salarian ethos. Shepard's influence substantially increased because of female identity. Fascinating."

"So if she were male, would your people not respect her as much?"

"Possible, yes. Would still revere Shepard, certainly. Not to this extent, however. Maybe odd detail, but further identity with her sexual orientation contributes to legend. Salarians not able to replicate human methods of same-sex female procreation. Salarian sex drive different from humans—not hormone-based or for pleasure. Strictly for necessity of reproduction. Still able to form meaningful emotional bonds with partners, however. Rarity of salarian females used to discourage same-sex relations, due to needs to procreate. Same in males was hardly an issue due to overabundance of our kind. Shepard lessened stigma; revealed hypocrisy of double-standards. Not entirely. More time, less bigotry. Optimistic outlook on progress going forward."

Rather shocked, I said, "Well, that's quite the ripple effect… One I hadn't anticipated at all. Going so far as to directly influence your culture's views on sexuality? That's remarkable."

"Undeniably true," emphasized Mordin. "Noticed same between you and Shepard. At least, spotted what appeared to be hormone-based sexual chemistry. Unusual lightning surge. Very striking."

"I'm sorry—a lightning surge? Between Shepard and me?"

"Yes! Unable to pinpoint source of sensation. Only present when both here, both together."

Legion chimed in, "We did not detect excess electrical discharge between Shepard-Commander and Operator Lawson."

Mordin speculated: "Organic phenomenon, perhaps? Bond between romantic partners manifesting itself as illusion of lightning energy. Intriguing!" Was this a repeat of that fire between Shepard and her ex? It could have been… But why was it lightning this time? "Seems to be linked to Shepard's greater influence across galaxy. Harmony and interconnection centered on her status as icon. Shepard is unifying force. Possible that there are more powers at work here. Beyond visible to trained eye. Wouldn't mind tackling subject for in-depth study—"

Far sooner than we'd expected, the proper lighting returned to the clinic, brightening everywhere. The ventilation and fans overhead powered back on, bringing enough oxygen back to the area. And with it the cure had likely dispensed through the air—as well as the rest of Omega, helping so many in need.

Using his omni-tool, Mordin verified—"Excellent! Airborne viral levels dropping. Cure will reach all plague victims across station in due time. Mercs should start retreating soon. Good to see Shepard's potential as miracle worker still in-tact. Glad that Cerberus brought her back." He then looked to me. "Curious to know process behind restoration. Must have taken exorbitant amount of resources."

"It did, actually," I supplied. "I was in charge of the project. Our geth companion Legion was one of my most brilliant colleagues who assisted me."

"Exciting! Fascinating! Would love to know more. Methods. Theory. Concept to implementation."

As Mordin was a geneticist, we had no problem understanding one another. I framed my explanation on the Lazarus Project around his subset of biology at first, expanding it more as the need arose. He kept up with our conversation perfectly in between using his omni-tool to establish someone else to take over the clinic in his stead. Not only did he keep up, but Mordin challenged my thinking at some points, if only because he brought up certain possibilities that I'd never thought about. He expressed sympathy for my limited time constraints and persistent pressure from the Illusive Man to produce results.

But he of course wished to know how it was that I had known so much about Shepard in the first place. Enough to put her back together in only two years. He wouldn't say it, though he was well-aware that I wasn't on Shepard's team when she had stopped Saren and Sovereign; and that Shepard had been involved with another woman during that time. He assumed correctly that she and I hadn't known each other at all back then. And now we apparently had this lightning surging between us, vast and unseen.

Just as Mordin's speculations were about to hit too close to home, I had a way out of the situation:

Kicking combat boot against metal, and one of the vents suddenly flew off from the wall.

Mordin stumbled backward in shock. Shepard emerged from the tight space of the vent. She jumped down, landing safely in the room without a scratch on her.

"The mission was a success," said Legion.

Shepard responded, "Looks like it. Didn't take as long as I thought. The mercs are in full retreat." Her eyes softened upon finding me. She then regarded Mordin, who continued to gape at her. "You ready to go now, Professor? I did what you asked. Aria can clean up the rest."

Composing himself, Mordin replied, "Yes, can leave clinic. Well done, Shepard. Thank you. Unexpected to be working with Cerberus against Collectors. Looking forward to it."

Returning to the Normandy with Shepard, Legion, and Mordin, the four of us reached the clinical brightness of the debriefing room, at last escaping Omega's gloom. Zaeed was elsewhere on the ship; I planned on forwarding him my operation report and a summary of the debriefing later. As Shepard took her same place at the head of the table, she gave us a summary of what she pulled off with sneaking through the vents. I imagined she'd had no need to fire a single shot the whole time. I was already eager to get to work on our operation report about this.

Shepard then caught Mordin up on the Collectors. Now that he was here, we could use his help to develop that countermeasure for the seeker swarms.

"Understood," accepted Mordin. "Will analyze samples you collected from colony. Need to identify, neutralize technology used by Collectors to immobilize victims. Passed by lab on way here. Looked fully-equipped. Impressive. Pleased to see Illusive Man branching out, bringing non-humans for operation."

Shepard offered her hand to him. "Welcome to the team, Mordin."

Mordin shook her hand, placing his other one over hers as well, out of pure respect. "Thank you, Shepard. Glad to be here."

"Since you'll be in the lab, I'm assigning you as our science officer. Think that'll work for you?"

"Yes, wonderful! Honored to take on title; lend expertise to cause. Will get started with new duties immediately."

"All right, then," replied Shepard, offering a vague smile. "Next up on the agenda is locating our third potential squad member. He goes by the name Archangel, and he's somewhere on Omega. Ever since the plague broke out, he's been underground to avoid getting sick. Now that the plague's on its way out, I want to give Aria some time to restore order on the station—whatever the hell that means for her. We'll meet back here tomorrow to assess the situation, and determine the best plan of action for finding Archangel. For now, let's cool off overnight. Spend the time however you want. You're dismissed."

Presumably, Shepard remained behind to debrief with the Illusive Man. The two of them hadn't spoken since after Freedom's Progress. So I imagined they had quite a lot to catch up on. If Shepard was going to be with me, then I could only hope that her working relationship with the Illusive Man would improve. From then on, we could all get along together. Amicably so. The thought improved my mood as I returned to my room, glad for this novelty. Glad for this feeling of safety and security on this new horizon with the three of us, onward.