In the eyes of the few people who had ever seen or conversed with the Illusive man, they would have described him in the same way - calm and collected to the point of cold indifference, accompanied with a fine suit and cigarette, whose mannerisms reflected the casual swagger of a billionaire. Classy and ruthless. However, if one were to see him right now, they would have described him slightly differently: The Illusive man was on edge. He stirred restlessly in his seat, staring out of the massive panoramic windows toward the dying star that flooded his office with light. He squashed the butt of his cigarette into the packed ashtray, having chain-smoked almost continually since the last contact with Shepard. He simmered on the edge of fury.

They had it all for the taking, he internally hissed. The collector base, the prototype Reaper, the beacon, everything. Cerberus would have been the ones leading the Alliance, leaving humans with enough tech to overtake every other citadel race. But no. Shepard's idealism had cost them the most significant advancement for humanity since the discovery of the relays. Even if they were barely an incoherent mummer, two words managed to break free from his thoughts: "Goddammit, Shepard."

He lit another cigarette, shut his eyes, and savoured an especially long drag, allowing himself to burn with irritation for a few more moments, then exhaled slowly. All-in-all, he thought to himself, the situation was not terrible. Shepard had managed to destroy the Collectors; the galaxy was inherently safer for the time being. As for her costly decision, it did not wholly take him by surprise. He had known precisely the kind of person she defined herself as when he decided to bring her back to life, even overruling Miranda's request to outfit her with a control chip as it risked changing a fundamental part of who she was. He wanted the full, authentic Eden Shepard back; her personality, character, drive, and potential. He had taken an incredible risk especially given her heavily strained and often hostile relationship with Cerberus, but his investment had returned with interest. He needed someone to stop the human harvest, and she had, even going so far as to return alive. Even if she cut ties with Cerberus, she would continue fighting for humankind until the marrow ran from her bones. His magnanimity had its limits, however. If she decided to cut ties with Cerberus, he would cut his assistance.

A chime set on his holo alerted him to a low-priority notification from one of his operatives. He had time, he supposed, to busy himself with small matters for a little while to take his mind off the agonizing recognition of things beyond his control.

"Yes?"

"Sir, we've had an unauthorized docking on Minuteman station with what appears to be a Cerberus shuttle that was registered to us as being destroyed. We've been unable to identify the pilot, but they've asked to speak with you specifically. They said they had information on the Reapers. I've forwarded what we have on him."

As far as essential keywords went, the word 'Reaper' was pretty high on that list. His curiosity nagged at him, and he opened the package sent to him by the Cerberus operative. The captured still of the suit strongly suggested that the person within was humanoid, and the Illusive man would go so far as to admit that it was unique but nothing he would have regarded as extraordinary. He had guessed that the person was a mercenary by the circumstances, and he presumed that the mercenary could have been wealthy enough to commission a custom suit from Kassa Fabrications. All well-to-do mercenaries had custom armour, a flashy display of status. Yet, for all his deliberations, something nagged in his head. What was that thing on his back? A sword? The Alliance issued blades for special operatives, not unheard of, but this one was unlike any he had ever seen. Was he an assassin, perhaps? As the Illusive man spun conjectures around the images, he recalled that he vaguely recognized its shape.

He booted his computer interface and began searching through the general extranet. He first ran a broad meta-search, but nothing of relevance came up. As far as he was concerned, the suit had never been recognized by anyone through the public channels. He tried his list of known Spectres and notable persons, then freelance mercs Cerberus tracked. Nothing matched. As a last check, he ran the stills against Cerberus' illegal AI to visually pattern the match against his own database, hoping the search would turn up a detail he missed. After a few moments, the interface confirmed multiple hits.

Surprised, he followed the links. The matches were from research material stolen from Dr. Garret Bryson, an Alliance researcher working on the Citadel. From what they had on him, Dr. Bryson was part of an Alliance task force created to investigate ancient legends about the Reapers. An assistant had turned over copies of some of the work to Cerberus. If the Illusive man had attended to this task with mild amusement before, it now had his full and undivided attention.

The matched images within the research were of assumed-to-be Prothean monuments, and inscriptions found on human and asari researched worlds. It was visible even to him that the pictures taken today and the archeological documentation bore similar shapes and markings. The most identifiable matchings were the shape of the 'relic' - the blade which now rested upon the beings back in the still. If that was true, it would make it an ancient Prothean weapon. Interestingly, the researcher highlighted in his notes the lack of traditional Prothean design and surnames on the inscriptions, with the only identifiable reoccurring word being a rough translation of "Wanderer". This suggested that the being was considered an outsider to the Prothean collective. Perhaps, the notes read, he had been a figure of some political or religious importance? The research pointed out one more thing of note: all the monuments varied with age and spanned thousands of years between their respective creations. Epitaphs dedicated to the dead typically were not replicated over such long periods once common memory of the entity passed - unless the subject was religious in nature or their influence was persistent over very long periods.

The Illusive Man had not been intrigued by something of this nature since he first began researching the Reapers. This seemed far less significant yet just as exceptional. At the very least, it seemed like someone had found the Prothean relic, which was fanciful in itself. This mercenary might have used it in some capacity practically. The suit then, he thought to himself, could have been copied by studying old monuments and replicating its design, which seemed like a pointless amount of work. It seemed preposterous but had someone told him of the Reapers a short while ago, he would have written them off as a loony conspiracy theorist.

His curiosity, now running in full gear, he scanned through more info. He surmised that he was using the wrong meta-data tags and changed his search parameters. He placed all the data he had back through the AI to match and identify the stills to images and videos on the extranet, bolstering the search with words from the researcher's notes. The AI was specially trained for information gathering and archived vast stores of extranet data for quick pattern matching. It consumed an enormous amount of energy and was a political and technological liability, but it was one of the most valuable Cerberus assets. He looked at the most relevant matches that returned.

He sat quietly and burned another cigarette while it crunched. There were more hits, and they were recent, the first occurring only after humans had joined the wider galactic community. Twenty years ago, a video was taken by a reputable news agency. The spectator had been filming a human ambassador at a public demonstration. The event had intended to stress the importance of maintaining good relations with the aliens, at odds with the message sent by the Cerberus-backed Terra Firma party candidate. It was not public knowledge, but Cerberus had moved to assassinate. Unbeknown to the spectator shooting the video, their assassin was stationed on a window overlooking the event to target the ambassador. However, before the shot was taken, the body fell from the twentieth story. One could recognize the dark helmet right behind the assassin for a split second. None had come forward as the ambassador's saviour, and he had never found who had foiled their plan. Even the security detail assigned to protect the ambassador had no idea who had done it.

Another. This time he had personally been there. First contact war. Someone described as "one of them" in a dark suit had boarded a turian craft and single-handedly brought it down on a passing patrol saving one of the primary human military bases that would later be remembered as a significant turning point in the war. No one had come forward so they assumed the hero had perished. Still, there were stories. The stills they recovered from the security system of the craft were blurry. They had assumed it had been a turian defector since no human military outfit at the time matched the description.

There were small glimpses in others, and he flipped through them quickly. The Illusive Man sat back in his chair with disbelief, noticing that his cigarette had burned low on its own accord, having lain forgotten during his frenzied research. Without another second wasted, he replied to the operative and requested that they be escorted to the holo communication interface. The order was affirmed.

The Illusive man stared out of his office window, watching the star behind him. Was this a lucky break? It seemed absurd that a being from the Prothean time would be alive today. Then again, Shepard also kept defying the impossible.

He lit up another cigarette, waited patiently, and moments later a holographic projection warmed to life in his office.

The Illusive Man turned, staring intently at the thing in the hologram for a good while, musing about how to start. He got up from his chair and walked closer to the holo, reading the sensory readouts as it analyzed the person standing in their range. Every dark energy sensor in the array malfunctioned simultaneously. Baffled, his cybernetic eyes scrutinized every detail of the guest.

"Many don't get the opportunity to directly speak with me," he began. "but I've taken an interest in you and the… artifact that you're carrying. I'd like to know who you are and where you managed to find it."

The thing in the hologram paused for a moment, in what the Illusive man interpreted as a surprise at his intel, though it was impossible to see what expression they wore under their entirely obscuring helmet.

"Thank you for the audience, but with respect," the being answered him, "I'd prefer not to. That's not why I'm here."

"It looks very much like a Prothean relic," the Illusive man pressed. "If it's credits you want, name your price."

"Credits mean little to me. I value my privacy just as much as you do."

The Illusive Man was getting annoyed. The answers he was receiving were less than satisfactory.

"I'm going to be frank with you. Recent findings of mine suggest that the suit you wear and the relic you hold are depicted on Prothean sites across the galaxy." He threw some of the images up on the holo. "I've also found what appears to be your likeness in several videos on the extranet. I don't understand how these all take place far from each other in time and space. Can you tell me anything about these things or who you are?"

"I'm afraid that I cannot."

The Illusive Man rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Be reasonable. I can't allow you to leave without having answered a single thing. If you don't answer, I may be forced to use other less pleasant means of persuasion. You are situated alone at my station. It would not be wise to ignore me."

The thing looked up at the notes open to him and read for a while.

"I can tell you one thing. I am your 'Wanderer.'"

Inwardly startled, the Illusive Man looked back at the images he had displayed and confirmed to himself that nowhere on display did he share those notes. The only way the being could have known that was if he understood Prothrean, which was highly unlikely, or he was indeed the thing described in the images, which was impossible. He sat back down and grew contemplative, unsure whether or not he should trust his words. If this was real, there was a treasure trove of knowledge awaiting. A physical examination and interrogation would do wonders.

"Well then, I was told you had information for me," the Cerberus leader voiced with impatience. "What do you have?"

"I do have Information, but not for you." the being answered. "I disagree with the ethos of Cerberus, but we both want the same thing: we want to see humanity succeed. Consider me… an invested party. I'm here because I was hoping you could help me find someone under your employ."

"And who would that be?"

"Commander Eden Shepard."

There were other, less abrasive ways to get what he wanted, thought the Illusive man. Shepard could get information quickly from anyone without resorting to violence. That's why she was so good at her job. And this one was walking straight into her arms. A slight grin spread across the Illusive Man's face.

"Despite giving me nearly nothing, I will allow you this one grace. I can introduce you, but I cannot promise anything more."