Chapter 1

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the SSV Normandy, designation FFS-001."

"Shepard!"

"We have been acquired and engaged by an unknown and overwhelming force."

"To anyone on this channel, Normandy-Actual's gone external!"

"Stealth Protocol lifted by order of the vessel's commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander John Shepard."

"Say again your last, Joker. Did you say external?"

"Location as follows…"

"He couldn't get to the pods. I…I think I saw him leaking air."

"…Omega Nebula, Armada System, 9.5 Kilos off of Alchera."

"Shit. I don't have a visual. Roland, Garcia, you see him from your pods?"

"Hull integrity compromised. Engines offline. Fires on board. Succumbing to gravitational pull."

"Negative, negative! I can't see him, sir!"

"Multiple casualties on board. Multiple survivors in escape pods."

"Come on, come on! Where the fuck is he? Keep a log of our radial velocity! We might be able to find him if–"

"Requesting immediate assistance. Caution: unknown contact possesses substantial armaments."

"Commander, if you can hear us, just hang in there!"

"Mayday, mayday, mayday…"

"Shepard…"

"…this is the SSV Normandy…"

"Commander?"

"…designation FFS-001."

"Shepard…please…"

When Shepard woke up, the first thing he was aware of was his heartbeat. With strong, rhythmic pattern, its beat was steady, lacking the rapid, panicked thumps he'd expected when he'd first started experiencing the nightmares. He found himself in the middle of taking long, but uneven breaths through his nose. His brow was furrowed and his jaw clenched tight.

He tried to relax before opening his eyes, taking four seconds to inhale, hold for another four seconds, exhale for four more, holding for a final four, then repeating the process. It took him a few tries before he could wrestle himself into a stable pattern. Slowly, he cracked open his eyelids, letting his gaze wander across a grey wall that was tinted a slight blue from the lights illuminating from the aquarium on the other side.

He was lying on his left side, one arm tucked tightly into his chest while the other was bent in at a rigid right angle. Both of his hands were balled up into fists. Experimentally, he squeezed them a little tighter before his fingers unfurled with a slight tremble. His legs were hanging off the bed, the inside of his knees clinging to the edge of the mattress.

He shifted his gaze to the bedside counter, on which his alarm clock sat. It displayed the TCUT (Terran Coordinated Universal Time) of 0427. He had just over half an hour before he should be up, and three minutes before the clock would tell him just that with its shrill serenade.

Not the mood to have his eardrums assaulted, he brought himself into a sitting position and disabled the alarm setting. He would have to turn it back on before he went back to sleep in the evening – that is, assuming he would want to go back to sleep.

The cold tiling on his feet flushed out whatever drowsiness that remained. He walked to his closet, then paused as he stared at the Cerberus icon on his crewman uniform. With a small sigh, he grabbed the uniform and headed for the bathroom.

The shower left Shepard feeling a lot more energised. After a quick check of his appearance in the mirror, he stepped out of the cabin and called the elevator. When the door opened with the familiar hiss of hydraulics, he stepped in and pressed the button to take him to the CIC.

When he reached the second deck, he was greeted by Kelly, who was manning her usual console next to the Galaxy Map. She gave him a wide smile which he returned a smaller one. The lack of a salute or call to attention served to remind him of his unique position. He might be in command of the SR-2, but it wasn't an Alliance vessel. There were still regulations, procedures and formalities, but overall, everything was more lax. He didn't mind it, but it had taken a while to get used to.

"Good morning, Commander."

"Morning, Chambers. Anything I need to know?"

"Nothing for now." Kelly paused. Shepard could see her analysing his face and body language. It was clinical, but not dispassionate. She was merely using what skills she had to better learn how to assist her clients (of which everyone on the ship was). "How have you been, sir?"

Shepard didn't bother lying to her. When the nightmares had come a few weeks after he'd been revived, he'd tried suppressing them through willpower and not much else. The strain of doing so had accumulated, and he'd eventually confided with her. While he wasn't exactly elated with her employer of the Illusive Man, Shepard could put aside his preferences for the sake of their ultimate mission. It was a compromise, just like this whole mess of accepting the Illusive Man's offer. Until the Alliance would start taking proper action, he had to work with Cerberus. It was necessary. It was the right thing to do.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd told himself this.

"Had another dream," he responded to Kelly. She nodded in understanding. There was pity in her eyes, but Shepard knew she was trying to hide it. He appreciated that.

"I see. Did the breathing exercises help?"

"They did," he said. "I…think they're getting better. I'm not seeing anything. Everything's just black…but I can still hear and feel the final moments."

"I'm sorry you're still experiencing them, sir," said Kelly, and Shepard believed her. "But it's good to hear there's some progress. Would you feel better talking about it further?"

It was a tempting prospect, but Shepard couldn't hide from his duties for much longer.

"It's alright, Chambers. I need to catch up with my team leaders anyway. How are the crew handling themselves?"

A flash of emotions appeared on Kelly's face. Shepard knew the look all too well. It had been appearing all over the ship. They had retrieved the Reaper IFF off of the derelict husk orbiting Mnemosyne. The engineers and EDI had been working around the clock to integrate the tag into the ship's systems, but it was a slow process. That didn't change the fact that everyone knew the end was coming. Soon, they would be ready to jump through the Omega 4 Relay. They would be charging headfirst into the galaxy's core, with almost no idea of what they would come across on the other side, aside from an uninhabitable environment, innumerable and dangerous hostiles, and likely a 100% fatality rate.

They'd all signed up for this, but premeditating one's own demise in a suicidal assault did wonders to erode away even the most stalwart person's resolve. It wasn't quick and without time to think, like jumping on a live grenade. There was the opportunity to contemplate and regret, and let the temptation to bail on the mission to grow and fester. It affected everyone, human or alien, including Kelly.

"They're doing as well as they can. I've had to triple the number of counselling sessions, but everyone's committed. They won't abandon the mission, and they won't abandon you either, sir."

Shepard nodded, but not without trepidation. How long could the crew's morale hold? Not for the first time, he willed for the IFF integration to speed along and just have the whole thing be over with.

"Okay. Let me know if anything important comes up."

"Of course, sir. And please know that you're always welcome to tell me if you need to talk."

"Appreciate it, Chambers."

Just as they finished talking, the elevator opened up behind him to let out Joker and Jacob.

"I'm just saying that the Centurions have an unfair advantage!" said Joker, lifting one of his arms to point at nothing in particular. It may have been a simple movement, but for someone with his brittle bone disease, Joker may as well have been windmilling his limbs in exasperation.

Shepard recognised that he was talking about the Citadel Centurions, a biotiball team that had been dominating up the field for as long as he could remember. Many had attributed their near unrivalled success to their multi-species recruitment policy, while most other teams had restricted themselves to a much narrower player pool. There wasn't any official ruling on from which species could be in a line-up, but Shepard supposed even for races that had been integrated into a galactic community far longer than humanity had, there was still an unspoken comfort in building a team's identity around something familiar.

Apparently, Jacob was thinking along a similar thought process.

"No one's forcing the Sorcerers or Aurora to stick with just humans or turians. You want access to more talent? You gotta expand your horizons."

"Okay, I hope you realise the irony of a Cerberus Operative telling me to expand their horizons."

"We're all Cerberus right now, genius," Jacob snarked.

"Hey, I'm a temporary consultant, excuse you. And that doesn't change the fact that the Centurions have the best training facilities and budget out of all the teams. They're practically bankrolled by the council to represent them. It's a perpetual cycle, man. Rich getting richer and pyramid schemes and all that shit."

"Nice to see you've got some interests outside of joysticks and wisecracks, Joker," Shepard called out as the two passed by.

Jacob halted and came to attention with a salute, while Joker just tilted his head in his direction without stopping.

"Rude, Commander. By the way, our tanks are at 13%. If you still want to dock at Omega, we'll have to swing by the Kepler Verge and refuel there."

"Make it happen," John acknowledged. Joker gave his own mock salute with two fingers. Suppressing the urge to snort, he turned to Jacob, who was still holding his pose.

"As you were, Taylor."

"Sir," Jacob replied smartly, before the two of them exchanged a quick smile.

It was a little tradition they had developed between each other. The first time Jacob saw him every day, he would acknowledge Shepard with a salute and Shepard would tell him to knock it off. At risk of giving himself an inflated ego, Shepard found the gesture comforting – a small glimpse back into the life he'd been ripped away from – especially in the SR-2's early days, before he'd come across Garrus and Tali.

"How's the Mk II coming along?"

"Almost ready, sir. Dr Solus kept working on it after Miss Zorah and I turned in last night. He'll be able to give you a more thorough update if you want the specifics."

After almost losing Garrus to a gunship while extracting him from Omega, Shepard had gone straight to Jacob to demand that he and Mordin come up with an infantry-based system that would protect them from incoming missiles. After four days of putting their heads together, they had come up with the SUBDECS (Subsonic Deflagration Countermeasure System) – a miniature shoulder-mounted device that, when linked to their Armour VIs, would detect and intercept incoming projectiles. Against something like the Collectors' beam weapons, it wasn't much use, but with the number of rockets and grenades he and his teams encountered, it had nevertheless been an invaluable asset that had saved them many a trip to the infirmary or, god forbid, the morgue. Now, just before Omega 4, they were close to implementing an updated version of the SUBDECS, which would be more compact, hold more countermeasure rounds, and be able to detect incoming threats from further away.

"Good work. I'll check with him in a bit," Shepard said. Jacob gave him a nod, before following after Joker, who was now about halfway to the cockpit.

Thankfully, the elevator had remained at the CIC during their short conversation. Slipping in before the door could close, Shepard pressed the button to take him to the crew quarters.

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"Morning, sir."

"Morning, Matthews," Shepard greeted.

"Good morning, sir."

"Morning, Patel. How are Rolston's folks?"

"Last I checked, they landed on Earth on Tuesday."

"Good to hear," said Shepard.

"Here ya go, sir," Rupert said, as he handed Shepard his breakfast tray.

Shepard raised an eyebrow at the contents; bacon, scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast and a hash brown. "Not that I'm complaining, Sergeant, but is this a special occasion?"

"Bah," said Gardner, waving a hand in front of himself. "Just figured I should start pulling out all the stops. We're in the home stretch now, and it won't do the food reserves any good if…well…"

If there's no one left to eat it.

Shepard nodded and clapped Rupert on the shoulder with one hand while holding his tray with the other.

"Gotcha. Thanks, Gardner. I'll be sure to stock up when we make port. Whatever we get from there, you'd better make sure to make it count."

Rupert grinned, his face so full of bravado that Shepard almost felt at ease with the looming mission. "You got it, sir."

He made his way to the mess table, throwing out a few more greetings to passing and present crewmates. At the table were Garrus and Miranda. The latter had a tray similar to Shepard's while the former was portioning a chunk of grilled meat into more manageable, smaller pieces. They looked up as he pulled out a chair for himself.

"Hey, Shepard."

"Hello, Commander."

"Garrus, Lawson," Shepard returned. It was common military practice to address one's colleagues, be they equals, subordinates or superiors, by their last names (prefixed by their rank, in the case of superiors). Cerberus had apparently carried on with the tradition, but there were a few exceptions on the SR-2, with Garrus being one of them.

Even on the original Normandy, despite having a permanent position on the ship, Garrus hadn't technically been part of the Alliance's (or now on Cerberus') chain of command, making him forfeit (intentionally or otherwise) of many of the more nuanced aspects of human military life. Fortunately for everyone, he had slid into the swing of things. But, for whatever reason, calling him Vakarian just hadn't quite stuck.

"How are your teams holding up?" Shepard asked.

As they had acquired more and more members, Shepard had had to constantly shuffle around his GCE (Ground Combat Element) to try to find the most optimal team layouts. With the most recent addition of Legion, and the destruction of Haratar (or as Legion had referred to it, the Heretic Station), he thought he'd finally gotten the organisation pat down.

The SR-2's GCE was divided into three sections: Headquarters & Support Element (callsign Delta), Team 1 (callsign Alpha), and Team 2 (callsign Bravo).

Delta contained five members with their own roles. Shepard was the commanding officer. Jacob acted as the communications specialist, making sure to maintain a clear link with the CIC while they were groundside or in a boarding action. Mordin and Tali were the combat medic and combat engineer, respectively. Lastly, Kasumi was the irregular element, which effectively meant she conducted a wide array of tasks ranging from reconnaissance to sabotage that took advantage of her unique skills while also (on paper, but not really in practice) minimising the need for her to be engaged in firefights.

Alpha and Bravo consisted of four members each: a fireteam leader, a line man (i.e. a gunner and heavy weapon bearer), a biotic specialist, and a marksman. Alpha was led by Miranda, with Zaeed as the line man, Samara as the biotic specialist, and Legion as the marksman. Garrus was in charge of Bravo, having Grunt as the line man, Jack as the biotic specialist, and Thane as the marksman.

It all sounded neater than it actually was. Considering the incredible proficiency of his various teammates, it was no surprise that someone like Thane could be a marksman, but also fill in as a biotic specialist or irregular element. There was a lot of overlap and very few clear, defined lines. Shepard had just done his best to balance the distribution of firepower and finesse across his teams. In the end, what truly mattered was leadership – how he, and his nominated leaders of Garrus and Miranda could refine and direct the deadly tools they had at their disposal. It was firmly in Shepard's belief that this was where the outcome of their mission through Omega 4 would truly be decided – that is, if they made it past whatever barrier that had stopped every other ship from returning.

Miranda was the first to respond to his query on their teams' status, taking small bites between sentences.

"Legion has been a…welcome addition to our team. But he's yet to be fully integrated. I can tell he's putting Zaeed and Samara on edge, even if they're trying to not show it. We still need more time to develop a rapport – time that I'm worried we won't have."

Shepard nodded. "Samara will be fine. Legion's an ally, and she'll stand by it like she'd stand by any of us this mission, no matter how she feels about it. And I'm sure Zaeed's fought with stranger things before this. Have a chat with him. Make sure he keeps his barrel pointed at the enemy."

"Yes, Commander," Miranda acknowledged.

He then gestured to Garrus, who had stopped eating altogether.

"Grunt and Jack are still too absorbed in kill counts during fights. Granted, their combined muscle is making up for their recklessness. But it's only a matter of time before they slip up and cause our whole formation to collapse. I just hope…"

Garrus sighed, a low whistle leaving his mandibles.

"I just hope if it gets to that, I'll be able to reign them in."

It was like with Kelly. That brief look of fear, desperation, confusion, and second-thoughts. But for Garrus, it ran deeper than the prospect of Omega 4. Killing Sidonis might have helped him come a bit closer to achieving closure, maybe even peace, with losing his team of vigilantes, but there was always an underlying doubt – Shepard could see it.

What if I'm just not cut out to be a leader? What if I fuck up again? How many people are we going to lose because of me? What was Shepard thinking when he put me in charge of these guys?

Shepard had considered giving leadership of Bravo to someone else; maybe Jacob, who had been a Platoon Sergeant in the Alliance Marines and a team leader during his time in the Corsairs, or perhaps Mordin, considering his role in the Salarian STG (Special Tasks Group). But in the end, he chose Garrus. Was it favouritism? He wouldn't blame people for thinking that. And he wasn't quite sure why, except that after their time hunting Saren and building up their team for Omega 4, he had developed a bond with the turian, the strength and depth of which was comparable to no one, aside from perhaps Tali. He trusted Garrus with his life, and more importantly the lives of the people under their commands. Would Garrus be able to keep Grunt and Jack in line?

"You will," he said. He wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. It wouldn't matter though. Garrus understood his faith in him, even if he might not agree with it.

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The rest of their breakfast passed by with much lighter topics of discussion. Miranda gave Shepard a quick update on Oriana – nothing specific, just that she was doing well. Garrus told them of how he'd received an email from Executor Pallin. It had been curt and barbed, but ended with him telling Garrus to "–do yourself proud, because spirits know I won't be putting your name in for a medal."

After they finished, as Shepard was returning his tray to Rupert, EDI's voice came through a nearby terminal.

"Commander, Ms Chambers has informed me that you have received a message marked as urgent in your email."

Without prompt or request, Garrus took Shepard's tray from him and nodded to his left arm, where his omni-tool was implanted. Shepard nodded back at him, throwing out a quick "Thanks, EDI," then fixed his gaze to his forearm, activating the microcomputer and causing an orange holographic interface to flare up. Going right to his emails and messages, he clicked on the exclamation icon. If whoever had sent this had made it through the spam detection filter, as well as EDI's encrypted roadblocks, it was either going to be the galaxy's most persistent used car salesman, or something that genuinely required his immediate attention. He was inclined to bet on the latter.

Shepard,

Alliance space facing imminent invasion.

Need to speak with you ASAP.

Hackett