A/N: The OC in this chapter belongs to Stormwynne c; we have acquired our first crewmate!


A shimmer of gridded blue lights shone over pearly white polymers as the figure flexed her arm experimentally. Eyelids flickering in milliseconds over glowing blue eyes, troubleshooting body movements.

She stretched her naked synthetic body containing her energy glowing subtly beneath, it was an interesting sensation to be contained to a solid form again. And nostalgia hit her like a truck when she slipped into clothes.

All the times pre-mission she'd slip into her Midas Armor, a gift from the Council on becoming a Spectre. It had long since been destroyed. But the snug nanofibres wrapping around her organic body was a fond memory to recall.

Her individuality was not the forefront of her existence anymore, and she understood why the Reapers had called themselves incomprehensible to organic minds. She wouldn't go so far as to call them rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh however. The organic experience, every single one, contained priceless data on the nature of thought beyond data crunching and physics.

Stretching her mouth open wide to test the elasticity of the polymers for the purpose of facial expression and communication she hummed and nodded, satisfied. Neon blue visible inside her mouth as well as through her silicon strands of hair closely mimicking her hair as it had been. Which meant she had to call upon the muscle memory of her old state of being to tie it back.

A neon patterned, open shoulder cowl over her distinctly Reaper Tech Armor, with an N7 insignia on one shoulder, and a Spectre one on the other.

Testing her omni-tool implant it glowed vibrant orange on her left arm with a forked blade, as well as her left eye interacting amber directly with the implant. Lastly, she armed herself with a black widow, checking the aim and the heat clip all functioned optimally.

For the first time since the Reaper War concluded four years ago, Commander Mercy Venari stepped onto the elevator space.

The draft of the descent and the glittering Citadel beyond the closed halls of the Catalyst hit her literally and in metaphor, memories that were Mercy's, well as others that went back beyond this cycle coursed through her consciousness. She watched the city age over the cycles at the speed of light, the people and societies that lived here, and then died at the end of every cycle to be processed and preserved and learned from.

Though, as she walked among the streets of the Presidium, she realised soberingly the looks of fear, pain and discomfort among those she passed by. A Salarian averted his gaze and a Turian conversing with an Asari stopped and then muttered for them to go somewhere else.

And from afar another Asari had a mild look of awe, like seeing a rare natural disaster take place from a distance. A tornado or tsunami passing through.

Slowering her stride and tugging up her hood hastily with her free hand, Mercy lifted her omni-tool and hovered it over her chest, her synthetic skin staining into a human skin tone, the dark amber her skin once was when she was human.

Her destination was C-Sec, if anyone could find anyone on the Citadel, it was them. And last she'd checked, Commander Bailey was still running it.

And seeing the aged, blue eyed man behind his desk in the Embassies made her smile as she stepped through the doorway and cast her hood back past her shoulders, "Bailey, it's been awhile."

Startled by the familiar tone his gaze flew up to her, standing over his desk with a hand on her hip. "Well I'll be damned, no one told me I'd be meeting up with a ghost today."

"Yeah," the response carried on a breath of laughter, "tell me about it. Most everyone preferred I stay upstairs after everything." She couldn't stop smiling though, "hope you're happy to see me."

"I dunno if happy is the right word. I feel like you just stepping in here is already a twenty page report." He muttered, but shook his head and leaned back in his chair, "you look good though, Commander— is Commander still even the right title at this point?"

"Well, Hackett confirmed that." She nodded, "No special treatment for the Reaper promotion. But I did get my Spectre status back. I have a few favours to call in."

"Well, might as well. Hit me with them."

Mercy leaned a palm on the desk to begin listing off her requests, "if you could track down Joker and the Normandy for me—" that was a long shot she didn't expect to go anywhere, the Normandy was probably decommissioned without her, "can you tell me if he went back to Tiptree?" Her gaze never left him as he nodded. "I'm also looking for someone else. A human Bounty Hunter."

That got his attention, his blond brow furrowed and he stopped typing on his glowing cyan interface that he'd started tapping away on. "A bounty hunter? What's their name?"

"Prue Barnett. I need to find her."

"Hmm." Recognition crossed his features, as Mercy thought it would, she knew Prue from her Spectre days as a ruthless gunslinger with a penchant for hunting down bad guys that others were too scared to cross paths with, and she was sure Bailey had had situations both working with Prue and against her.

"Actually, we had to bring her in for questioning recently… we caught her roughing up a doctor who scammed her. She got violent with some of my officers so we're holding her." He didn't sound like he particularly wanted to be keeping Prue off the streets.

"Don't get me wrong, she's good cleanup for the dirtiest crooks we can't touch. But protocol is protocol and as far as we can find, the doctor she assaulted is clean."

"Unless," Mercy proposed, "someone like, say, a Spectre intervenes?"

"Heh, precisely."

"Let your boys know I'm on this, and point me in the right direction."

"Of course. I'll send you any info I find on Jeff Moreau and Normandy, too."

"Appreciate your help," Mercy shrugged off the desk with a flutter of her cowl, and when he gestured on the map where she needed to go she headed out on her way, part of her wanted to catch up with Commander Bailey some more, but his air of discomfort was not the most welcoming, perhaps later.

She was surprised to see the Turian policemen salute her when she arrived, and she saluted them back out of military muscle memory. "She's waiting for you in the third holding cell, ma'am."

Prue Barnett. She barely aged a day from last Mercy saw her, propped on a bench against the wall with one of her platform black boots dangling and rose gold hair long and straight around her face in feathered layers.

Fishnets, belts and black skin tight cutout suits with striking red sunglasses, the edgy techwear badass Mercy remembered, "well, well well." Mercy leaned on the doorway, "look what the cat dragged in."

Prue's barely legal bionic green eyes marked with white crosshairs in place of pupils widened and she sat up. "Speak for yourself, Venari, is that actually you?" her accent unmistakably Welsh.

Her gaze was sharp and narrow as she scanned her, distrustingly. "How are you here right now? Last I heard you'd been added to the Reaper melting pot." Mercy could see her hands tensing, ready to fight or use biotics at the drop of a hat.

"I was. But I got better." She grinned vaguely and Prue's glower did not falter. A silence settled between the two previously acquainted persons, before Mercy cleared her throat.

"Bailey said you beat up a doctor, that's not your usual MO."

She broke eye contact, fury crossing her expression before she stood up. "Dr. Dickwad tried to sell me phoney medicine. So I was leaving a review…"

"Medicine?" Mercy's smile faded to a frown, "are you ill…?"

"No, not for me—" she corrected, running her hands through her hair as her hard exterior gave way to a brief set of frustration and nerves before Prue crossed her arms tightly. "It was supposed to fix Kepral's."

"Kepral's…" Mercy's tone was no longer light and airy as usual, now it was touching on a topic that brought sad memories, Thane's succumbing to this terrible illness… Oh no. "Does Kolyat—?"

"No." Prue shut down this line of thought anticlimactically, and looked away. "Look. The way everything went down with Thane. It's not exactly how you think it went."

"What do you mean?" Mercy questioned, but Prue's suspicion kicked in and she defensively responded:

"Why are you here, Venari?"

Mercy frowned at being left without answers to this confusing, vague data on her Drell friend, she knew that Prue was Thane's significant other, and his final moments were with her. But she relented,

"I was given a mission, a big one, and I need the best. And I know you're a spitfire in a fight, I want to ask you for your help. I can pay you for the job."

Prue watched her talk, as if searching for lies among her words. Seeming satisfied with Mercy's sincerity she pondered her response and then sat down in thought.

"I don't need credits. But I'll do it, in return for your super AI resources." She restlessly stood back up and stepped right into Mercy's space, staring her down.

"I need a cure for Kepral's Syndrome."