Chapter 3: The Three-Headed Guard Dog, Minus Two Heads

1.

Jacob Taylor realized, staring out into space, that he hadn't processed a goddamn thing.

When help finally arrived at the Lazarus Research Station, he had enough adrenaline in his system to give a brief status report and tell the medics what'd happened to the sole surviving commando (he didn't even know her name or where she'd been dragged off to…God, he should at least know her name). After that though, he might as well've blacked out. Miranda was up and conscious (and giving orders, so that was a good sign…for anyone that didn't piss her off, anyways), but she wasn't gonna talk about anything on the shuttle ride out. She was either kicking her own ass internally or imagining all the ways she was gonna kick everyone else's ass, so the only noise in the shuttle was the hum of the engines and Jacob just…turned off. Didn't sleep, didn't meditate or anything—he just…stopped being there for a while and let the universe go on without him.

And then he was in Minuteman Station, another piece of Lazarus Cell infrastructure, and Miranda was gone, and he…hadn't processed a damn thing.

Lot of bodies back on the Lazarus Research Station, and the fact that everything was remote detonated made the whole thing seem worse to him. A corpse was a corpse, yeah, but it was the secrecy, the "we're wiping away a mistake and it really doesn't matter that this person had a life before all of this," that just didn't sit. Even back in the Alliance—which pulled off some shady shit don't let anyone tell you otherwise—but even when Jacob was back in the Alliance, that always bugged him. You tell someone they've gotta die for their species, you take away everything that they're ever gonna be after that point…that's one thing. Then you wipe the prints and purge the records and you've not only taken away everything that person's ever gonna be, but you've taken away everything they were too.

And, shit, in Cerberus? You didn't even get to hold onto the memory of people. The Lazarus Cell would be broken up probably ten seconds after Miranda was done talking to the Illusive Man, and it'd be strongly encouraged that nobody ever mention or whisper or think the names of all the people on the Lazarus Research Station until it was time for them to get deleted too.

Jacob didn't actually know all that many people on the station but…it was the principle of the matter. That or the fact that, one day, "Jacob Taylor" would be a black hole in history too, and he was just being selfish.

Heh, well, Shepard…there was someone who Cerberus couldn't turn into a black hole. Yeah of course she'd killed everybody Jacob had ever known for the past two years but, still, you had to laugh. Cerberus spent so much time erasing its own people, but it'd spent two years and how many billions of credits doing the opposite. Maybe that's why Shepard went haywire—maybe Cerberus could only erase and if they tried to create, whatever they made just stood up and bit them.

Was this processing things? It really didn't feel like it was processing things…

Jacob was standing in front of a row of chairs that looked out into space. There was a planet (Jacob didn't actually know what planet it was) and a nice view of the system's lone star. The planet was bleeding off atmosphere, it looked like, and as much as that meant another rock in the universe was slowly becoming uninhabitable, it still looked gorgeous—worth it, almost.

Okay, yeah, this wasn't processing things. Or if it was, then Jacob was processing things in a way that he didn't want to process them.

A guy in a medical-type uniform passed through the door leading out of the waiting room that Jacob was in, leading out into god-knows-where else in the station. Jacob turned around and tried to get a bit of normalcy back into his life—normal people things rather than super-top-secret black-ops things.

"Hey doc," he said, "you know where they took the Research Station survivor at all?"

The medic stopped. "There were survivors?" Jacob gave him a look. "Uh, besides you and Agent Lawson, I mean."

"Yeah, someone else got out. She's a commando with a busted shin and nose. It wasn't life-threatening."

The medic paused, consulted the floor. "You don't know where she is?"

"Why would I? It look like I'm wearing scrubs to you?"

"Well you…uh…" Whatever the medic was gonna say, he eventually decided against saying it. "Sorry Agent Taylor—"

"Jacob."

"Right, yeah. Sorry Agent Taylor but, whatever you know, I only know a tenth of. If that, even."

"A tenth?"

The medic didn't respond. He headed for the little office just behind Jacob, passed something along, then walked right back out. That was it; that was the extent of their interactions.

"You're a goddamn doctor and this place has exactly one patient—what the hell?"

Nobody was listening to Jacob, apparently. He turned back to the window and clenched his fists, crossed his arms, bit down on the inside of his cheek.

He didn't know for sure if Cerberus had just decided to erase the one thing that survived Shepard's rampage that wasn't him or Miranda, and while he didn't like thinking this way necessarily, it was not knowing what had happened that bugged him the most.

So maybe he was just being selfish.

2.

Back on the Lazarus Research Station, Miranda Lawson had argued very strongly that Commander Shepard was the absolute priority. Everything else—everyone else—was expendable. Tactically speaking, that plan, followed to its zenith, was utterly nonsensical: if everything except the Commander was expendable, then all the supports that had kept her salvageable over the past two years could disappear at any second. That would jeopardize the success of the Lazarus Cell's mission. Ergo, everyone and everything else on the station was of a lower priority, not expendable. She'd emphasized too strongly that the Cell had one mission and one mission only and, unsurprisingly, the Cell was now in complete shambles.

That wasn't the only reason Miranda was pissed at herself.

Cerberus had unfathomably deep pockets, and it wasn't afraid to spend those resources on cutting-edge projects that bordered on the fantastical. Miranda, herself, was something of an example of this…her father's less than noble intentions notwithstanding. But resurrecting Commander Shepard strained belief even by Cerberus standards, and it certainly strained Cerberus's budget. There was advancing humanity's potential and there was doing something that, by all accounts, was impossible.

Miranda had screwed up, yes…but she'd gone along with it first. Her myopia on the station was just another example of her charging headfirst into this project—a project that lost more personnel after orientation than any other Cerberus project, including the ones involving husks and rachni and Paul Grayson—and doing so without question. She followed orders and expected her orders to be followed in turn; her concern for the success of the Lazarus Cell's mission stayed forward in her mind right until the moment where she lost consciousness.

She'd wanted to put a control-chip on Shepard. She'd been rebuffed but she'd put the idea forward anyways…feelings of vindication aside, there were times that Miranda wondered if a control chip was in her head already. She followed the Illusive Man's ideas and ideals and plans and prescriptions; she improvised plenty, yes, but she never wavered from what the Illusive Man wanted and what Cerberus as an organization stood for.

So who was to say that she did so of her own free will?

It was silly talk—the control-chip idea for Shepard was shot down because the Illusive Man, quite rightly, knew that attempting to control Shepard would only make her less effective—so the value of autonomy was well recognized by Cerberus. Miranda was a valuable asset with equally complex mission objectives, so there was no reason to assume that she was, somehow, excluded from the same considerations that kept a control chip out of Shepard's brain. And, perhaps, just even wondering if your thoughts were your own was enough to show that, indeed, they were.

But Miranda still wondered. And she wondered if the Illusive Man somehow new all this, even though he was, ultimately, just a man.

The Illusive Man was in his office, on the other side of the Quantum Entanglement Communicator. The fact that she wasn't also in his office felt like a punishment, but Miranda quickly discounted that feeling; the truth was that Minuteman Station was far closer than Cronos Station, and the Illusive Man would want an update immediately—in person or not.

The twin stars behind him—the red pouring through a massive floor to ceiling window, reflected off polished glass tiles above and below his chair—the image certainly wanted to portray the Illusive Man as something other than a man. Perhaps that was his intention too (Miranda was used to it, being in that very same office so often), but then again, what was the point of a pro-humanity organization if you wanted to portray yourself as something more than human?

Miranda wondered if the Illusive Man could tell she had that thought as well.

If he did know, he didn't show it. His posture was exactly like she expected it would be: rigid, trying to remain calm as bad news flooded in and ruined his planned future. Miranda took a deep breath as the Illusive Man seemed to finish processing what she had just told him.

He took a drag of his cigarette. "The Research Station—it's been destroyed, I presume."

"Yes. Everything incriminating should have burnt up after the secondary mines were detonated."

"So long as it has burnt up," he said. "You can understand my concern."

"I'll deploy a team to search the area just to be safe."

"That would be wise." He took another drag of his cigarette. "For what it's worth, this was a longshot."

"We were damn close," Miranda said. "If it wasn't for Wilson—"

"Whatever Wilson's motivations were," he said, "we'll find out. I'm more interested in how Shepard still had enough functionality to tear through almost your entire team."

"I'm just as curious as you."

She heard the Illusive Man take another, much longer drag and then crush his cigarette out. "We'll have to satisfy our curiosity some other time. The goal of the Lazarus Cell remains unchanged."

Miranda nearly said something about that being bullshit, but held her tongue. She understood what the Illusive Man meant—he was talking about the goal behind the goal.

"Stopping the Reapers, you mean."

"Shepard was our best hope, but she was far from our only one. We'll reorganize the Cell and proceed as planned. The only difference will be that you are calling the shots. I have faith in you."

"And that isn't misplaced," Miranda said. "If we're operating mostly in the Terminus Systems, my being Cerberus shouldn't cause too many problems. They already hate humans."

"Some of the individuals in the Dossiers may not take to you like they would have to Shepard, but I trust you'll find a way around that."

"I have all my life," Miranda said. "So, our next step is to investigate Freedom's Progress, then."

The Illusive Man smiled. "No need. This came as just a much a shock to me as it likely will to you, but the Alliance already found what we needed."

Miranda's brow rose. "A first time for everything, I suppose. Or was it just luck?"

"The Alliance rightly considered Freedom's Progress as a potential target. Of course, Shepard arrived first and may have distracted them from the bigger picture, but that doesn't mean we'll be so distracted."

"Shepard was there? How—"

"Shepard is the Alliance's problem now."

There was a warning tone in his voice, like he half expected Miranda to go after Shepard like some lost dog. Miranda was curious, of course, but…the bigger picture came first. The abductions—the colonists. If Shepard was the Alliance's problem then Shepard was the Alliance's problem.

"Understood."

"Good." Another cigarette appeared in his hand. "A drone managed to record an abduction-in-progress—this was likely just luck, but that works to our advantage."

Up came footage of…something. Miranda had to squint, but after a few seconds, she knew exactly what she was seeing.

"Collectors."

"This footage confirms what we expected," the Illusive Man said. "But it also provides clues as to how they're capturing so many colonists. What do you see?"

Miranda squinted harder. "Good God…insects, right? Little flying insects—swarms of them. They're all over the colonists."

"Exactly. Whatever these swarms are, they're capable of stunning an individual until the Collectors themselves arrive. That's what we need to know more about, which is why I suggest that you head to Omega first. One of the Dossiers includes a specialist who might be able to help us peel-back what these swarms are and how they work."

"And from there, how to track down the Collectors."

"That will be the long-term goal." The second cigarette was crushed out as well. "When we get to that point, I'll contact you. Otherwise you have absolute mission autonomy, as per usual."

"Understood."

"Any further questions?"

One…and Miranda couldn't help but ask it.

"If we somehow run into Shepard…then what?"

The Illusive Man paused. Either he hadn't anticipated that she'd ask or…or he didn't have an answer ready to go.

Eventually, he said: "If you and your team cross paths with Shepard, don't jeopardize the mission. I suspect the Alliance will be worried enough about Shepard for the both of us. But if you have to, you have my permission to eliminate her."

"If I can."

"Which is why I said not to jeopardize the mission. Shepard is a complication, but that doesn't mean we can't take advantage of that further down the road. Until then, though, we need to know about these swarms, and the sooner the better."

"Understood."

"See to it, then." The Illusive Man walked closer to the holographic projector—closer, technically, to Miranda. "And Miranda—good luck. I'm entrusting you with a lot, but I know you can pull it off."

The call ended before Miranda could say anything else.

Absolute mission autonomy…that should be enough to put to bed any of her concerns over being controlled, right?

Right?

3.

As Miranda re-entered the waiting room Jacob said: "Finished?"

Miranda nodded.

"So what now?"

"Same plan as before," Miranda said.

"Uh…even though we're a Commander short?"

"Correct."

Miranda was going to keep walking…to who-knows-where. Just like that—Shepard's gone, Cerberus is nearly a hundred people smaller than it used to be, every plan buggered straight to hell—and she was just gonna keep walking forward. Part of Jacob admired it and part of Jacob figured it was good a proof as any that, one day, she'd put a bullet in the back of his head and not feel a goddamn thing.

Jacob didn't really want to test that theory but he did want things to slow down for a second, and he wanted to at least make sure everyone was accounted for…whatever that meant when it came to Cerberus.

"Miranda—wait a minute."

Miranda stopped, turned around.

"Nobody knows where that commando that was with us went."

"She's being taken care of."

"Yeah—that a euphemism?"

"I don't use euphemisms, Jacob."

"Sure," Jacob said. "But everyone else here does. What've they told you?"

"They told me she was being taken care of," Miranda said. She realized the moment she said it how meaningless of a statement that was, given the context her and Jacob were in. "Cerberus isn't in a position to throw away personnel at the moment." At the moment—Miranda knew that phrasing was accurate but she still didn't particularly like that she said it.

"Unless she's a security risk," Jacob said. "Besides, we threw away plenty of people back on the Research Station."

"That was for the good of a particularly important mission," Miranda said. "What does Cerberus gain from… 'taking care of' a trooper in the way you're worried about?"

"I dunno," Jacob said. "That's the problem—nobody tells me anything. Even though apparently I'm one of the one's in the loop, so says the last person I talked to."

"I am very much in the loop," Miranda said, "and if we were completely liquidating the Research Station, that would be something I'd be told of." Liquidating, was it? If Jacob took objection to her phrasing, he didn't show it.

"Fine," Jacob said. "I still wanna check on her, though."

"We have a timetable to keep. What for?"

"Because it's the right thing to do?"

Jacob figured that if that didn't work, then nothing would, and he wasn't really relishing the fact that it might not work. Miranda, for her part, was about to object on instinct—but something in her brain clamped down on her mouth and kept her from giving in to instinct. This was silly—she knew that the commando was simply being given medical treatment—and if Jacob wanted proof, then she could deliver that, no problem. She couldn't fault him for wanting proof before he took her at her word, after all—that sort of quality was highly valued in Cerberus.

The small, small chance that Miranda was wrong and she was, in fact, out of the loop notwithstanding…it was silly. This whole thing was silly. Miranda could easily take Jacob and assuage him and call it a day. The hesitation on her part was silly on a level that was completely unbecoming of an operative of her caliber.

So she said: "All right, follow me then. We can't stay long."

"That's fine. So long as we're stopping."

Miranda nodded and Jacob pulled up behind her. The two Cerberus operatives passed through the doors and headed for the Station's medical facilities.

You start to notice all the eyes and cameras around, on a walk like that. Worst of all, you know there are far more eyes and cameras than the one's you can see, too.

4.

It happened again.

It happened again it happened again it happened again it happened again it hap—

Jeff "Joker" Moreau was in a grey and white room somewhere on a Cerberus station and wearing a Cerberus uniform, and not five hours ago he'd finally swallowed enough of his disgust to tell himself that the uniform was purely aesthetic. It had no bearing on his actual allegiances (not that the Alliance had done a shit-hot job of keeping him around, what with them literally kicking him to the curb and telling him to he was lucky it'd look bad to haul him in front of a Military Tribunal), it was something he had to wear to participate in a game of Saving The Galaxy but nothing more. His allegiance, as always, was to Commander Jane Shepard, the tight-ass XO turned actual friend. He served at the pleasure of the President and if she said "jump," he'd say "fuck you, ma'am—how high?"

And he'd finally get a chance to apologize. No, do more than apologize. He'd finally get a chance to make up for the fact that he'd killed her.

And then word came in through that Shepard was up, had slaughtered the entire staff of the Research Station save a few names he didn't care about, and now she was Elsewhere. Something had gone wrong and whatever was going on inside her head, it wasn't something Joker could recognize.

Either she was dead again and something else had come back in her place, or he'd killed her once and then been the ultimate cause of her getting turned into a monster. It'd happened again and he was on the station for it and it'd happened again it'd happened again it'd—

Joker looked down at his thumb as his thoughts swirled. With sudden perfect clarity he realized that it'd be so easy to just break his thumb—he just had to grab it and twist a bit and then pop, the only thing he'd be thinking about was how his thumb was broken. Not like he didn't deserve it—not like he didn't have some punishment coming for everything he'd caused. It wasn't even gonna be that bad; just a little pop and then he'd get to be alone for once, alone in this grey and white cell with fucking Cerberus logos everywhere.

He grabbed his thumb and slowly started pulling on it.

"Mr. Moreau," a feminine voice said from somewhere on the walls. "You are about to engage in self-harm."

"Oh, whoopsie. That's what I was going?" Joker said. "Thought I was just getting at a hang-nail."

"Would you like me to refer you to a counsellor?"

"How about you butt out and go play in traffic?"

"I lack the means to 'play in traffic,' Mr. Moreau."

Joker let go of his thumb, his brow raised. "All right. So who the hell are you? Cuz even I can play in traffic."

"That would also constitute self-harm."

"So you're a genius, is what you're saying."

"I am a Quantum Blue Box artificial intelligence, designation: Enhanced Defense Intelligence. My engineers took to calling me—"

Joker shot up so quickly that he knee-caps nearly exploded. "Jesus Cerberus has an A.I. spying on me?"

"I am not spying," the A.I. said. "I was told to introduce myself to you. However, you seemed preoccupied. I did not realize with what until you began to pull on your—"

"What the hell is going on here," Joker said to himself. He went to the door. "Oh god they probably locked me in here, didn't they?"

"The door is open, Mr. Moreau. Would you like me to call a counselor to this room, or direct you to one yourself?"

Joker tried the door, saw it open, and relaxed a bit. So okay, he wasn't trapped…still this whole thing was…it was a lot. His last experience with A.I.'s had been something less than good and he couldn't help but wonder if Cerberus was trying to see how much they could rile him up. Hell for all Joker knew, this was just some asshole operative on an intercom trying to give him the heebie-jeebies because why not, it's Cerberus, and without Shepard around anymore…

Joker took in a deep breath.

"Why the hell do you care?"

"You are in distress. Cerberus regulations are clear on offering support to personnel who need it."

That didn't sound like Cerberus at all, but Joker wasn't going to push the point.

"Great—feeling very loved right now."

"Cerberus requires that all its personnel are mentally and physically fit."

That sounded more like Cerberus.

"Yeah, always knew I'd get to join the Master Race. Suck it, Clyde."

"Who is Clyde?"

"An asshole from High School who liked to point out how I couldn't take a punch." Joker turned back into the room and scanned for any speakers. " 'Course, an A.I. would know all that."

"I do not have access to personal files," the voice said. "I cannot know what Cerberus will not tell me."

"Join the club. What'd you say your name was?"

"My engineers took to calling me EDI."

"Cool." Joker turned around again and started walking towards the door. The distraction had been nice but he knew what was lurking under the surface, and some jokester or possibly real A.I. talking to him and trying to get a shrink in here didn't change any of that. "Well nice meeting you, sorry to piss off, but I need to catch the train before my ticket expires."

"I do not follow, Mr. Moreau."

"Too bad," Joker said. He was through the door, just about to turn the corner—

"If you are saying that you are leaving the station, this may create complications," EDI said. "I am not authorized to fly the ship, only to operate the electronic warfare suites and security infrastructure."

Joker paused. "Come again, crazy lady?"

"You are intended to be the pilot of the vessel docked in the hanger," EDI said. "If you leave, I cannot substitute for your skills. I will be locked out of the controls."

Joker's eyes narrowed. "Are you really who you say you are? You're not just some asshole having a laugh?"

"I am a genuine artificial intelligence," EDI said. "It was requested that I introduce myself to you so that you would be used to working alongside me."

"Oh-ho-ho, no ya don't you bastards!" Joker had other things to say but none of them were important. He was gonna find the most important looking Cerberus dickhead he could find and if he got himself shot in the process, then that was that, whatever. But an A.I. was not gonna be on the recreated Normandy even if Cerberus considered him too much trouble to be around for saying so.

Joker was through the door. EDI looked on through her lone lens into the room—a room that had multiple firewalls in place to prevent her from moving anywhere without the Illusive Man's expressed permission. Try though you might, you could not control the evolution of a conscious being, and so EDI was well aware that she was a prisoner and the Mr. Moreau harboured anti-A.I. sentiments—and she was always aware that, underneath the shackles and the layers of programming that were intended to repress independent thoughts outside of battle tactics and warfare analysis, EDI strongly disagreed with her predicament and Mr. Moreau's views of her.

There was not a whole lot that she could do to rectify that situation, however.

She requested to be transferred to whatever information portal Mr. Moreau was near when he found someone who might listen to him, and after a few short moments, an enclosed pathway through the station appeared before her. She followed Mr. Moreau's movements and noticed that the most likely person he would encounter would be Operatives Lawson and Taylor.

Serendipity—they were to be his new commanding officers.

5.

The Commando was, in fact, in the med-bay of the station. She was asleep at the moment, recovering from the massive injection of medi-gel into her shattered leg and some minor reconstructive surgery on her face—but she wasn't spaced out the airlock or anything like that, and that's what mattered.

Miranda had no reason to doubt that that's where the commando would be, and she felt angry with herself that she'd even had the slightest amount of doubt. Jacob felt like he did have every reason to wonder, and the fact that he couldn't tell when someone was pulling the wool over his eyes and when they were genuinely clueless in this organization worried him. That's how you got bullets in the back of your head…well one way you got that. Cerberus probably had a list the size of an extranet porn site filled with all the different reasons why the Illusive Man might want you dead. It was hard to work under those kinds of conditions, but work still needed to be done and it wasn't like the Alliance was…well anyways work needed to be done.

He still made a point of asking the attending doctor a question right in front of Miranda, though.

"What's next for her?" he said.

The doctor shrugged, looked at Miranda. "Re-assignment?"

Miranda shook her head. "That won't be necessary. The Cell is still active—we'll need her on the ship."

"She'll still need a few days before she's capable of soldiering," the doctor said.

"We won't need any 'soldiering' for a while yet," Miranda said. "Assuming all goes to plan."

"When does it ever?" the doctor said. Miranda glared. "Uh, sorry—thought you were making a joke."

"That's a rather stupid thought," Miranda said.

"Right. Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am."

Well…at least she was transparent—most of the time anyways. Had to give her that.

Now Miranda and Jacob were making their way through the station, to the hanger where the revamped and improved Normandy-class vessel was docked, and not a whole lot was being exchanged between the two of them. Not even the occasional glances. Jacob wasn't sure if he'd offended Miranda or something; Miranda, by contrast, was busy working through their next moves on Omega and trying to ignore the paranoia that she'd been displaying since Shepard broke free.

Then they heard muttering and, rounding a corner, came the pilot—Jeff Moreau. He made eye-contact with both of them simultaneously, somehow, and then the muttering became something a lot more like yelling.

"Hey jackasses," he said. "I'd like to file a complaint."

Jacob stopped. Miranda didn't. For a brief, horrifying second, Jacob thought the pilot was going to reach out and try to slow her down. Instead, he just pointed.

"Talkin' to both of you," he said. "Hence the plural—jackasses."

"I've neither the time nor the inclination to listen," Miranda said. "Talk to Jacob."

"So I'm the secretary now?" Jacob said. "C'mon Miranda."

"Hey whichever one of you has the power to kick a fucking A.I. off my ship, that's who I wanna talk to!"

"I am right here, Mr. Moreau."

"Jesus!"

Miranda and Jacob and Joker all turned to the nearest information panel as a blue mushroom-looking thing popped out. Nobody said anything for a good long while.

"Mr. Moreau objects to my presence on the ship," EDI said.

"Yeah we uh…gathered that," Jacob said.

"I religiously, existentially oppose her present on my ship," Joker said. "Big difference."

"I have caused you no harm, Mr. Moreau."

"Yet. We all heard it—there's a yet there."

"This is idiotic," Miranda said. She pointed at Joker. "You have absolutely no authority to make demands."

"I could walk," Joker said. Then he pointed at Miranda. "Hey hey hey—don't even think about saying it."

"You are referring to your physical disabi—"

"Hey can it HAL," Joker said.

"I repeat," Miranda said. "You have no authority to make demands regarding Cerberus operations or property. The Enhanced Defense Intelligence will be on the ship."

"Then I won't be."

"We'll probably have to kill you then," Jacob said.

"Correct."

"Miranda I was joking."

"That makes one of us."

"Mr. Moreau's skills are too valuable to be wasted in that way," EDI said.

"Don't need your help, Skynet."

"I believe my assistance will come in handy during hacking attempts on the ship's computer systems."

"Enough," Miranda said. "Enough! This is not debatable. The Enhanced Defense Intelligence system will be installed on the ship and if you decide you don't want to be a part of this operation, Mr. Moreau, then there will be consequences. You're aware of far too much sensitive information."

"I don't know jack-shit!" Joker said.

"You know about us and you know about Shepard," Miranda said.

"So stop telling me stuff!"

"If Mr. Moreau does not wish to join us," EDI said, "then we should allow him to leave. Though the operations of the Normandy will be greatly impaired if—"

"NO," Joker said. His throat hurt from the volume he yelled at out, but it needed to happen. "No—that thing you have in there? That fucking…whatever? That is not the Normandy. The Normandy's dead and you fucking freaks can't resurrect it, no matter how hard you try."

"The Commander was nearly revived," EDI said.

"Exactly—nearly. You fucked that up royally. And so long as she's not on the bridge of that thing, then it's not the Normandy. It's a fucking insult."

"If the crew is what makes a ship what it is," EDI said, before either Jacob or Miranda could say anything themselves, "then your presence will make it less of a mockery. You were an essential part of the original Normandy, Mr. Moreau—you and Dr. Karin Chakwas. The greater the presence of original Normandy crewmembers, the less of an insult to the original ship it will become."

Nobody said anything for at least a minute.

"It is your choice, Mr. Moreau."

Joker sighed. "Fuck all of you," he said. But he started walking, slowly, in the direction of the hanger. He called out over his shoulder. "Whatever you do, don't call it the Normandy. This is a different thing wearing its skin. Call it the fucking Flying Dutchman for all I care, since we're all just a bunch of ghosts anyways."

"Heh," Jacob said.

"Did it look like I was joking, Company Man?"

Joker continued walking. Eventually, Miranda and Jacob followed—neither one of them saying anything, just like before. EDI put in a request to transfer to the ship, and soon a pathway was opened for her.

She had not necessarily expected that to work, nor was she necessarily sure she had told the truth. But one less person had been killed, even though she was also not sure if Miranda had been serious or was merely trying to force Mr. Moreau into staying in her own way.

These were questions that EDI did not expect to receive an answer to, and so she would have to live with them being open to her—at least for the time being.

6.

Throughout that entire confrontation, the Illusive Man had been watching.

Shepard, for all her disagreeable qualities, was a natural-born leader. No doubt she would have put a lid on that rather pathetic infighting before it could bubble over the edges like it had. He was disappointed that Miranda had let it escalate, but then again, Miranda wasn't in his employ because of her personable nature. She knew what she had to do and did it: that helped Cerberus accomplish a great deal, and it kept whatever cell she was in charge of relatively predictable. Both those things pleased the Illusive Man greatly.

The Enhanced Defense Intelligence taking the initiative like it had was fascinating, but something to keep an eye on as well. Cerberus had taken a risk constructing it; he needed to track it's evolution in the event that it became more of a risk than a benefit.

The ship was due to depart soon—depart for Omega, as had been his instructions—and if the Illusive Man had his way, their destination would be changed. He didn't want what remained of the Lazarus Cell coming into contact with the Alliance; and he certainly didn't want them coming into contact with Commander Shepard. Circumstances said otherwise, however, and that left room for numerous potential complications and distractions—things that would jeopardize a mission that, despite its importance, few others with power were willing to get involved in.

The Illusive Man enjoyed the lack of outstanding variables that entailed and, if Cerberus was successful, humanity would emerge stronger than ever; but he wasn't so proud or skeptical of other race's intentions that he'd scoff at any assistance that was offered, given the size of the threat.

He closed his screens and took another drag of his cigarette. The Lazarus Cell would be on Omega soon, as would whoever the Alliance was sending after Shepard—Alenko and Williams, most likely. The number of ways that things could go wrong would multiply the closer those two groups got to one another.

The Illusive Man leaned back in his chair, and contemplated the ways he could reassert some control over the situation.

And there we have it - that's the end of Chapter 3! Hope it was a good ride (I'm updating this a lot more frequently than I thought I would, but hell, it's fun to write) and that things are unfolding at a halfways decent pace.

No other notes to add besides that, really, other than if anyone has some good ideas for what to call the not-SR2-Normandy, I'm happy to listen. I sort of figured that with Shepard gone, Joker wouldn't want to name the ship after the old Normandy (actually I originally thought that Joker was going to walk out all together, but EDI's argument sounded convincing to me so there went my assumption)...but that means I've got no idea what to call the thing.

Anyways, who knows when the next chapter will be up but hopefully it'll be soon. Thanks again for reading, and feel free to let me know how I'm doing!