Miranda exhaled hotly, gritting her teeth, desperately trying to stabilize her breathing.

She looked up, finding Rasa in little better shape. Both had torn their clothes in the mad rush out of the Presidium. Miranda, the biotic between the two had been forced to cover for the other woman with her biotics since neither had kinetic barriers, and she could feel the drain wearing on her now. Luckily Rasa had prepared an exit—even for that madhouse crisis—and had managed to sabotage their pursuers at every chance, corner, and doorway, which had barely bought them their escape.

They had been on the run for well over an hour now, only managing to shake off C-Sec after making it to the foundations below the Zakera Ward. With the lack of electronic surveillance coverage and the labyrinthine maze down here—between the outer hull of the Ward and city-scape on the inside—they had been able to finally lose their pursuers.

"Damn it..." she muttered, catching her breath.

Beside her, Rasa was panting more heavily, even as she had been the one to set the pace while Miranda had been holding the rearguard, using her biotics to shield them and to seal off their trail, wherever she could.

Already, she could feel the hunger and soreness setting in.

But if that was all she had to worry about, she wouldn't have been feeling half as frayed as she did right now. Cerberus had been revealed to the world. She had been used and betrayed. Her mission had imploded into a complete and utter failure.

Rasa finally got her own breathing under control, sitting up and rubbing her brow.

"Who leaked, and how?"

Miranda did not have any answers, clenching her teeth as the very same question plagued her.

"It doesn't matter - not right now. We need to get back, and..."

Rasa looked up, scowling at her. "Go back where? There's no telling who has already been compromised. Even assuming that the one base is all that has been blown open, just having to confirm and check every other base's integrity will be paralyze us for weeks!"

"Which is exactly why we need to return. He was the one responsible for this, wasn't he? He knew too much, he must have been waiting for it to happen all along. He must have been—I don't know—Alliance Intelligence? No, he was on Mars, too..."

Rasa grimaced, looking away before glaring at Miranda. "What was he even doing here, huh?"

"Why are you looking at me?"

Rasa sneered. "You're the one cozying up to him every waking moment!"

Now it was Miranda's turn to glare.

"Oh? And you weren't hanging off of him every chance you got? And how did you miss this, when you had so obviously already bugged his omnitool? He must have been in communications with someone to time it all so well."

Rasa looked away, grumbling something beneath her breath then, a weak excuse probably.

Miranda sighed, losing the last dregs of any care she held.

"It doesn't matter. We need to get back to the Wards and disappear in the crowds. Down here, we're too isolated and cut off."

Rasa nodded.

"I have a route up, but we'll have to wait another hour before we can move out. They're still combing the sections. We can't move out until there are only drones left."

Miranda nodded, sitting down.

She would rest until then, even if the cold of the floor felt uncomfortable against her bare legs. Grimacing at the state of her cocktail dress, she added that to the running tally of grievances she held against a certain man now.

This isn't the last of this, she swore.

;

This has been a productive night, Emiya thought.

Already his gains had been plentiful. The omnitool, through which 'gateway' was elucidated to him; the military gear he had moved out before the party; all of the information on Cerberus he had been able to collect; hamstringing them near Earth by revealing their base's location to the Alliance; six million untraceable credits; the information Abraham Rumoi had been selling to himself on the OSD...

The contents of which had been interesting, but nothing that really changed anything for Emiya or his next plans.

Mostly it was progress reports on the development of a project on Gagarin Station. Nothing solid that could be used to actually create an AI from, but rather mostly metadata and research conclusions proving the existence of the project and the discrete Alliance funding of the matter.

But still something worth reading, fascinating on just its own.

Apparently 'Eliza', the Artificial Intelligence created using the Sidon research notes, was more than just a piece of code slapped together into a facsimile of a brain or a black-box trained to handle a specific task, as VI's were. It was an Artificial General Intelligence, able to perform more than just one specialized task, able to learn how to do new things by itself, and perform a large variety of tasks with inhuman speed and precision with tireless energy and efficiency.

Still, it was limited by being unable to improve its own code and it wasn't really a person yet.

He wasn't sure what to think of it, actually. The AI in the Moon Cell were usually based on records of real people who had lived once, being facsimiles of humanity in a sense. Copies of people, very human in behavior and thought. Like Wraiths to what Heroic Spirits were.

Eliza wasn't.

Humans had numerous strange quirks and routines, all running parallel in their conscious and subconscious minds as desires and needs, along with all the other remnants of what they had evolved from over the course of millions of years in complex layers. This created something that was oftentimes as conflicting and contradictory as it was rational and logical.

But this Artificial Intelligence—at its basest, still—was merely the higher-order human capacity to think and solve problems bound to a computer.

It had no desires and apparently barely even a concept of needs. It simply performed the task set before it, fully satisfied with just that. It did not particularly 'care' whether it existed or whether it was shut down beyond the fulfillment of its immediate task. It held no hesitations about performing any task presented to it but neither did it particularly care if it was hindered or if the parameters for its tasks were suddenly changed.

More than anything, Emiya could only really characterize it as something like a lazy savant.

It did what it was told. Precisely and exactly what it was told, in the most direct and efficient method it could find, and nothing more. Really, the most trouble the researchers seemed to have with the damn thing, was that even if it understood what they wanted it to do, it would most often cheat to simply accomplish the stated goal and then go back to idling.

The inhumanity of the thing really threw them off, apparently.

But, it hadn't shown signs of being actively malicious or of being mistreated by the Alliance, so he didn't feel any pressing need to sally forth to its aid, or to see to its imminent destruction as a risk to all life for that matter.

Besides, Abraham Rumoi—Keiji Okuda or whoever he was—seemed fairly keen on taking steps to contain the situation, already. He'd trust them for the moment with that along with Synthetic Insights' expertise on the matter. The most dangerous thing it seemed to be doing at the moment, was off-key renditions of pop idol songs. It was getting better—with a very strict definition of better—but it had no ear for a melody or appropriate volume, so it was exceptionally awkward despite recognizing and 'understanding' what made a song technically excellent and catchy.

Who am I to judge someone desiring to become an idol—it's not that far-off from my own childish dreams...

Emiya landed in his spiritualized state, right next to the sealed steel box where his body was.

It had been moved off the freighter as soon as it had docked, and he had immediately set about in having it moved elsewhere, using several companies to muddle the trail before he had picked it up himself. Now he would just ship it to the small apartment he had found and rented, where he had left the rest of his new equipment.

He had the money for that kind of spending now.

With the success of tonight, he now had all the pieces he needed to fix his immediate problems and to move forward; resources aplenty; the means and methods to craft a new identity; the know-how necessary to fixing his brain problem, and the contacts he needed in order to enact that plan.

All that was left was to make it all come together.

To that end, after he'd set about in getting the steel box delivered to his new apartment, he retrieved all of his equipment and hidden tools, moving it all there to consolidate his resources. Satisfied with that and his security so far, he projected a sword into the door system to seal the whole apartment up, denying anyone but himself access, at least anyone not willing to tear down a wall or floor.

After that, he spiritualized again and set out to search for one of the people he had gotten acquainted with. Traveling through to Citadel in the spiritualized state was odd, even compared to Mars and the Moon's surface, he noted as he moved. For one, if he jumped up too 'high' he was bound to end up floating in space for a moment. For another, the architecture was nothing like he had seen before.

He had mentally compared it to Hong Kong, Tokyo, or Dubai before while 'down' on the streets.

But that wasn't entirely true.

At times it felt like the open and airy bazaars of Barcelona, and at others, it felt like he had been thrust into a futuristic rendition of the Kowloon walled city when the walls and people turned especially cramped. There were people everywhere and no matter where he looked, something was always going on. Left and right, back and forward, up and down. Every inch of space was used.

And unlike on planets—at least the one's habituated by humans, that he had visited so far—where cities followed certain norms based on property prices, distances to services and workplaces, infrastructure, and even terrain, here it was all up-ended and he had no idea how to recognize anything. A door could lead to an apartment just as well as it might into a store or an accessway to another level, for all that he could tell.

It was like looking into an ant nest and trying to piece together their logic for the first time, not understanding even half of it.

Emiya landed and boarded the Presidium elevator. It was simply easier to travel that way, rather than trying to jump from the spinning arms onto the central ring, he figured.

It had only been a scant few hours since the ball had ended, thus most of the guests were still asleep, sleeping off the night of celebration. Most, but not all. He had read up on one species in particular, which had let him stumble upon a familiar set of letters again.

The Special Tasks Group. STG.

A group Burnsfeldt had thought capable of something on the level of his physical transformation, that had actually been fueled by forces beyond the mundane. A group like that ought to have all the resources and connections necessary for getting him fixed, he had reasoned before arriving on the Citadel. Now, he knew that to be true. And they were rather adversarial to Cerberus, which was another point in their favor.

Of course, the old adage 'the enemy of my enemy is only the enemy of my enemy, nothing more', held as true as ever. He could not afford to place any excess trust in someone merely because of the ramblings of a man he had already killed.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped out along with the three officials. He ignored them, leaping out again into the Presidium proper.

Essentially, if one looked at it with the right eye, the entire Citadel was a giant spinning hamster wheel. The distance of the arms—where the Wards were—could be adjusted, thus the artificial gravity out on the Wards was highly scalable even without the use of element zero technology. In contrast, the Presidium was the donut-shaped ring that connected the five arms, with a much more static gravity, annoyingly close to the moon's gravity again.

It almost felt like walking on the inside of an inflatable swimming ring, he thought as he leaped over the lake.

At least here if he went too high, he could stop himself against the ceiling and not go flying off into the Serpent Nebula beyond.

He returned to the Synthetic Insights compound, glancing at the cleaning staff and other personnel.

There wasn't much in the way of litter or garbage in the wake of the celebration, but they were thoroughly cleaning it all up nonetheless. Moving towards the distant corner of the compound where he had cached his suit, he ignored them. It was something he had realized only as he had arrived at the Citadel and begun to try moving around in his astral body, but it was something that should have been obvious from the start.

Without an omnitool to translate all of their speech, he could not understand a single word they said.

That realization had been rather jarring. It was a rather considerable problem if he wanted to be able to do anything at all in his spiritualized state. Inside of a computer, if he used the existing surveillance systems to observe the world around him, he could pull any nearby translator pack to help him comprehend the alien speech, but out in meatspace, he was practically deaf and mute right now.

Which was why he had set aside all of his things before he had made his exit. He found the neatly folded pile of clothes along with the omnitool and pistol right where he had left them, out of reach or sight from most people.

These would let him interact with the salarians again.

Still, he would have to wipe clean the omnitool, since he was fairly certain it had been bugged by one of the two Cerberus operatives he had been traveling with. And then there was the matter of his finger and palm prints being read, which he hadn't thought of at all, before.

That was the problem of blindly replicating something without knowing what it did; you got the bad with the good. A mistake he did not intend to repeat.

A quick insertion later and he had wiped away everything on the thing, setting it to re-download the necessities from the extranet as it booted up from a factory reset. It would be done by the time he put it on his wrist.

Grabbing the pile and making sure no one was nearby, he carted it off elsewhere. Keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might find a floating pile of clothes suspicious he found his way to a nearby restroom. Had anyone seen him then, they might have thought it a poltergeist.

Materializing, he exhaled and looked around.

The bathroom was a rather fancy thing, overall. All extravagance and little restraint, gilded surfaces and polished precious metals dotted every surface. He wasn't sure what to think of the galactic standard toilets, but he was certain the mass effect field bide was entirely unnecessary.

Though perhaps it saved on water and toilet paper?

He suspected most of the people who lived on the Presidium had more money than sense, however, and that that wasn't a concern for them.

Emiya dismissed his current clothes, going through the suit's pockets until he found the packet of hair dye he had prepared, just for an eventuality such as this. He was still playing a role, even if the role had technically been outed already. Rather, that was exactly the reason he would use it again. That way when people asked questions, such as where the hell he had been and how had he avoided all of their search parties, they would reach answers that would seem much more plausible than reality.

It took him ten minutes to get it all in order again, after which he washed his face and combed his hair again in the faucet. It was something of a skill you learned while on the constant move; to wash up properly in public restrooms. Moist towelettes and a faucet weren't as good as a shower or bath, but it was better than nothing and heaven after a month without washing.

Finishing with drying his black-again hair, he finished off with his projected contact lenses and then put yesterday's suit back on. Dusting off the worst of it, he sniffed and found it still acceptable.

Snapping the omnitool to his wrist and checking that the initial boot and upgrades were finished, he nodded. He replaced the Cerberus' pistol's power supply and looked up at the reflection in the mirror. He smirked at the man who looked back at him, playfully pulling the pistol and drawing a bead on his own reflection.

"Durana. Emil, Durana."

He chuckled, shaking his head at his own antics, and placed the pistol into one of the interior pockets again. Adjusting his collar a slight bit, he turned around and walked out of the restroom while humming a half-remembered tune under his breath.

I really need to make one of these for myself, too.

Though he didn't like the color at all, it wasn't him. Perhaps he had grown a little too accustomed to the off-black matte of his diamene weave, after all this time, but at least it was better than this dark purple. Who knew why Miranda had gone for it.

"Well, no one ever accused me of having a sense of fashion."

;

Guuran Heffai went through his messages, on the hour every hour, just as he always did.

His various parallel positions made him a rather busy salarian and yesterday's ball had done him no favors on any of those fronts. Even normally the ball was something of a bother, what with the dozens of asari dignitaries and reporters wishing to act out long and polite conversations afterward through the mail, or even more direct lines of communication.

It wasn't unusual for his lunch plans to be fully booked out until half a year later.

But this year's ball had been especially bothersome. The matter of the Alliance reaching out while refusing to share all the relevant information; the silent auction that had gone down despite their best efforts; the appearance of three unknowns who had somehow managed to invite themselves to the ball...

It was a mess.

But this was his job, and it paid handsomely enough for the amount of work that he did not even have to bother with cost-benefit analyses anymore - no job in the galaxy even came close. The auction was still one big mystery, except for the Alliance apparently moving forward with something, having performed some kind of clean-up operation using the silent auction as bait, and as a result, was also making inquiries for cooperative work with Synthetic Insights.

Which posed interesting implications.

But the three mystery guests were still running loose, and C-Sec was performing as rigidly and unexceptionally as could be expected...

There was a double knock on the door, causing him to look up. That was peculiar - the door was automatically set to open to all who had clearance. Those who didn't have clearance shouldn't have even been able to get far enough to knock on the door. Besides, knocking was hardly a common habit in the galaxy, another peculiarity of humanity.

"How foreboding."

He reached for his pistol in the topmost drawer of his work desk. Pressing a button he altered his security detail. But unexpectedly before he could even touch any of the controls, the door opened by itself. Guuran sat upright, primed and ready for whatever would come through.

But when a familiar face walked in he felt himself go utterly still—the primal remnants of seeking to avoid detection—for just an instant.

How did he...?

"I'm terribly sorry. I seem to be a bit lost. I went to the restrooms and when I came back out, the party had ended," 'Emil Durana', the man who did not exist on any records aside from the invitation he had had upon entering, said as he walked inside.

Guuran went for his gun but froze the human had a pistol drawn and pointed squarely at his head before he could even raise his own. A human that is faster than a salarian?

"Let's not start that gunfight just yet. I've something I'd like to discuss and I'm sure you'll want to hear it."

The salarian rolled his eyes, a nervous tick to moisturize his eyes. He considered it, before adopting his 'human behavior' protocol and 'smiling'.

"Very well. Please, sit down," Guuran offered, using an open-handed gesture to display the chair.

"Thank you, I'll do just that," Emil replied with a nod and twirl of his pistol.

Guuran felt another moment of sheer astonishment pass him by as the man put away his pistol, sitting down with a smile. This was a chance to do something—should he try to reach for his gun again, or...

"Would you like some refreshments?" Heffai settled on playing along for now. Security would be here soon, regardless.

"No, but thank you," Emil declined, "but I do have a quick question for you before we get into business."

"Yes - go ahead?" Guuran allowed, wondering whether he should still consider himself being held at gunpoint, even if the gun had been put away.

"Your title of 'Director of Personnel'..." The human began, tilting his head in a gesture of genuine curiosity. "Does it relate to your position within Synthetic Insights, or within the Special Tasks Group?"

Guuran felt himself pause for a third time. He forced himself to remain present and active.

"Yes." It was for both. Or rather, his full title was Director of Personnel and Liaison of Offices, in charge of coordinating the public front company with the STG's operations.

Emil smiled then, nodding. "Excellent. Then you're just the man I was looking for. Or salarian, I suppose."

Guuran inhaled, trying to fit this situation into a mental box as he rolled his eyes again, trying not to think how a female of his race would react in a situation like this.

"'Man' is fine. The translator is context-sensitive in that regard."

Emil nodded again, signaling his understanding as he looked at his omnitool, then. "I see. The translation function continues to impress."

Relative unfamiliarity to technology and salarians. Faked display, or actual self? Note for later. Guuran said nothing, waiting patiently for Emil to continue.

Just then, a hardsuited salarian came rappelling down the side of the building from the floor above, coming through the open terrace with his sub-machine gun holding a bead on the human before him. Four more appeared through the doorway and a sixth came in through another window.

All had appeared within half a second of each other, surrounding him from all sides. They all advanced on the sitting Emil, guns at the ready.

Guuran felt equal relief and uncertainty now. The human before him hadn't even blinked at the appearance of his personal security. They were active-duty STG field operatives, one and all, fully kitted out. There should have been some kind of reaction. But it was as if this man did not even bother to notice them.

"So then, mister Durana," Guuran began, deciding to continue playing along with the conversation if that was what the human wanted. "What have you come here for?"

Then the man smirked again, raising a leg and crossing it over his own knee as he leaned back in the chair.

"Ah well, you have services and products I would like to acquire. Services and products not readily available anywhere else in the galaxy. I would like to bargain for them."

Guuran nodded, getting into his negotiation mindset.

"Then you must understand that it is a very expensive thing indeed if we are the sole providers. A natural result of supply and demand, as you call it. In exchange, we would demand an equal payment, yes?" Heffai replied, pausing for a second for the human's benefit before continuing. "Or rather, something worth the service and your freedom, it would seem. After all, what is to prevent us from simply taking whatever it is you wish to present to us?"

"Well, in terms of value..." The human smirked, raising his hand. "How goes the hunt for those other two who ran off? The Alliance is probably more than a little worked up about them at this moment, no?"

"Ah, you would sell out your own organization, then?" Guuran asked, not judging or condemning, but simply asking to be clear on the matter.

"Heh, what can I say? I'll take the option with the greatest chances of success." Emil grinned, shrugging.

"I see. Of what kind, is this information." 'and how are you withholding it from us'?

The human brought his hands to his lap, interlacing his fingers.

"Three omnitools, one from a field operative and two from officers of that organization. I'll even throw in the bonus service of unlocking the encryption for you. I'll give you the field operative's omnitool for free - as a sample, if you will."

Guuran slowly inhaled, considering that.

This organization had managed to infiltrate the Citadel, subverting the STG's own security measures at the party. The kind of information that could be stored on their omnitools would be worth their weight in gold, allowing not only for those vulnerabilities to be patched but also for them to be subverted and turned against the Citadel's enemies.

But he wasn't about to let this man know just how valuable a prize he was holding right now.

"Rejected. Take him away." Heffai motioned for the salarians to grab him. Better to pressure him first and see what happened.

"Are you sure? The Alliance is already on the trail for that mysterious vanishing skycar. Are you willing to waste time on negotiation tactics?"

Heffai froze, raising a hand instantly to stop his operatives.

"...The rumors about the new stealth technology are true, then?"

The man shrugged. "I was just a field operative; they never told me anything about that incident. But I know that one of the omnitools I have belonged to a Cardotin."

The Special Tasks Group had received reports of a strange incident in Systems Alliance space. Specifically, in their home system, the local cluster as they called it. Rumors abounded of a new stealth system that had confused all surveillance systems and methods. It wasn't functional stealth, but it was the closest anyone had managed until now. Analysis suggested that it was an unexpectedly leaked failure, but the implications remained.

A clandestine human organization might have stealth technology for space travel. It was the kind of thing over which entire wars could have been started. By conventional doctrine, there was no such thing as stealth in space, especially not in faster than light travel.

But apparently, a skycar owned by one doctor by the name of Joseppi Cardotin had been able to do something approaching that.

It wasn't something they could afford to pass up on, even if it were falsehoods or fabrications.

"What do you wish to trade it for?" the salarian said finally after three long seconds of thought.

And the human smirked then, knowing he had won this battle.

Guuran did not bother to let it bother him; they would have plenty of chances to attempt to gain the upper hand during these negotiations to come.

After all, the Special Tasks Group always won in the end.

;

Emiya walked out through the front entrance, just as he had walked in a night prior. This time, the press and the personnel were all gone. Well, not all of them, if you counted STG agents shadowing him, he supposed. Not minding it one bit, he continued walking out.

For now, they had come to an agreement.

Of course, even as he pressed them to hurry it up, they wanted more time. They delayed and prorogated, assuring him all the while that they were offering their full cooperation. He saw right through them. Heffai's word was worth nothing on its own. If they could simply find the omnitools, they would be more than happy to renege on any and all agreements they might have made.

Then again, perhaps they did need to call in various specialists from across the galaxy. His situation was more than a tad bit unusual.

"Shall we?" the salarian who had been chosen to accompany him asked.

Emiya nodded, not letting his thoughts show on his face as the skycar arrived and stopped before them. The rear doors opened, revealing a large rear cabin that could have been fit for a king. They were pulling out all the stops.

"Where to, sir?"

"Tayseri Ward," Emiya answered without hesitation.

He hadn't actually been there before, but he figured he might as well make them work a little if they wanted to try and find his omnitools.

The skycar took off as they sat in and he marveled at how soft the seats were. It reminded him of limousines, but while the general design was the same the details were all wrong. Or perhaps that wasn't the right word, as they were simply based on other cultures' take on the idea of a luxury vehicle.

How long would it take for the cross-cultural osmosis to reach an equilibrium, he wondered.

Arriving at a service entrance to the Presidium ring, they went through a set of airlocks, arriving at the outside. He noted that unlike the other one he had seen this one had been properly sealed. Looking out through the tinted windows, he could see the purple nebula and the five Citadel arms slowly spinning outside.

As they arrived and the salarian asked for further guidance, he nodded.

"Know any place where we can get good food?"

The salarian paused, utterly still for just a fraction of a second.

"Do you have any preferences, sir?"

"Asari could be nice. I haven't had a chance to try that yet." Emiya shrugged, grinning.

The salarian nodded and advised the driving VI to continue somewhere.

Emiya continued like that for another half hour, making strange demands and simply watching the salarian suppress his annoyance and try to hide his in-depth analytical acumen. He got a lot of good food to go since many of the places the salarian had chosen were ready to go by the time they arrived. Whether that was the standard for the Citadel, or the salarian was merely impatient—either due to his racial characteristics or his job—he wasn't entirely sure.

"Alright, let's go to Zakera Ward, then." Emiya smiled, taking a bit out of the takeaway box in his lap. Asari cutlery was apparently quite similar to Earth's Western designs, which further confirmed a suspicion he had been having. The turian finger-knives had been completely different.

But then, what made those guns special?

Another time...

"We have arrived," The salarian announced, already straining to maintain his facade of calm and candid politeness. "Would you like to try the elcor cuisine next?"

"Oh, great idea." Emiya shot back, thoroughly enjoying the look of pure confusion on the salarian's face. Hmm, maybe it had a bad reputation among the other races? "But maybe another time - I'm sure their idea of fast, or food-to-go differs from ours."

"Ah, certainly." The salarian exhaled in relief.

"The operation will be set up within the hour, right?" Emiya asked and the salarian nodded. "Then, let me just grab the promised first omnitool."

He got out of the skycar, the salarian following him like a hawk.

Outside, it was loud and busy. Shuttles were coming and going at a constant pace, there were hundreds of people everywhere, moving like a river as everyone was busily commuting. Peculiarly, the logic was unified here where earlier with Miranda it hadn't been - was work the great unifier of all?

It was like Tokyo train station at rush hour, only it never ended.

Walking up to the public bench near the shuttle dock where he had expected they would arrive, he reached beneath the bench and pulled out the omnitool hidden in a Faraday pouch, where it had been taped to the bottom out of sight and reach.

Opening the pouch, he pulled out Rasa's omnitool and gently tossed it at the salarian who caught it on pure reflex.

The look of pure and utter apprehension was enough to make Emiya grin; this was one of the most active spots on all of Zakera Ward. And while the security cameras were on constant rotation, if they wanted to find out when he had brought it in here, they would be in for a rough time. The constant throng of people would make it nearly impossible to find out when who and from where someone had come to hide the omnitool.

He hoped whoever had to go through all of the footage was well paid.

It would take days of combing through the footage just to list up all possible suspects, much less narrowing it down to possible accomplices. Of course, he actually placed it there in his spiritualized state earlier, meaning there wouldn't be any footage to track him down with in the first place. As long as he kept the Faraday pouch from touching anyone beneath the eyes of the crowd, no one had noticed a thing when he had come by.

He had also gone through the omnitool in excruciating detail, deleting data he thought would hurt others than just Cerberus. Just because he was willing to sell them out did not mean that he was willing to sell out the Alliance quite yet. Additionally, he deleted all references to 'gateway' after he had found what he needed.

No need to give the STG means to track him down later.

"Well, then. The man will come knocking once it's time, at the agreed-upon location, and once I have confirmed the operation has been finished, I'll send the last one," Emiya said, smirking one last time as he walked away.

The salarian numbly nodded and he closed the door, turning around to walk away.

Even as he continued walking, the skycar did not leave. He figured the salarian inside was either reporting in or coordinating a follow-up for other agents to continue tailing him. That was fine, he was going to be spiritualizing to return to his body once it was time, anyhow.

He walked around, casually taking in the sights.

Unlike before, he had now been dropped off at one of the skyscrapers dotting the Zakera Ward. Unlike the street level, it wasn't quite as packed. He guessed that the rent and prices up here were sky-high to reflect that as well.

He looked into shops and boutiques, noting the positions of obvious cameras, the occasional patrolling C-Sec officer, and the shady salarians he seemed to be seeing near every corner now. They appeared to be whiling away the time, just as he was, but their eyes told a different story.

They were keeping tabs on him, obviously.

Something drew his attention and he stared at a large screen on the wall next to him. A logo and some music played, reminiscent of a newscast's opening.

An asari appeared, wearing an immaculate dress and sitting down with her fingers primly crossed over a table.

"Breaking news,"

Emiya blinked, stopping to listen. It really was a newscast.

"A developing hostage situation at Zakera Ward's keel docking bay C-4, with a commercial starliner inbound for the Citadel earlier today. Channel 2 News contacted C-Sec for comments and they had this to say:"

The footage cut from the broadcast room to a turian official in uniform.

"'At this time, the situation is under control. The hostage-taker is a passenger who managed to smuggle in a weapon and is now in negotiations with C-Sec. So far injuries have been avoided and the situation is unlikely to escalate. The starship has already been magnetically locked, ensuring that it will not affect other docking procedures. C-Sec urges civilians to retain a standard one-kilometer distance from the starliner, enforced by C-Sec starships and Control, along with restraining from attempting to contact either C-Sec or the starliner's passengers at this time. This situation should be over soon enough, that is all.'"

Emiya raised his eyebrows.

As the footage cut back, the asari continued.

"When questioned about the rumors of this being the work of a human supremacist demanding to be allowed passage back to Earth, along with monetary concessions to the Systems Alliance for 'previous injustices', C-Sec declined to comment. We reached out to the Systems Alliance representative, Ambassador Udina for a word on the situation."

The newscast cut again, this time showing a straight-backed and serious-looking man with dark hair and tan skin. A subtitle identified him as the ambassador for humanity on the Citadel.

"'The Systems Alliance and all of humanity disavow all use of violence in the strongest possible terms. Any and all demands that could be taken to be advantageous to humanity will be rejected and we are extending all possible aid to C-Sec at this time to—"

Emiya ignored the rest, continuing to walk. He had seen that type before.

He walked down the streets, frowning as he did. Spotting a public skycar, he sighed and boarded it. He needed to see this for himself.

Is this the work of Miranda and Dianne? Are they trying to return to Earth like this?

If so, then he was responsible for this situation.

Arriving near the keel docks, he stepped out and walked until he found a vantage point where he could see the starliner. It didn't look like much, but it was obvious which one it was. No other vessels were anywhere near it, while several blue starships with big spinal-mounted guns were maintaining a cordoned-off area around it. He could see the C-Sec logos embedded on their sides, while on the starliner he could see a commercial logo.

Emiya frowned, pulling out his omnitool, and began to look around for information. He quickly enough found several social media accounts, reciting information that the media had been spreading. But they had also been doing it before, additionally inciting C-Sec to take action against the hostage-taker.

He also found footage taken from inside the starliner, from a security camera what he could tell. It was spreading like wildfire on the extranet even though videos were being taken down by C-Sec almost as quickly as they appeared.

Something about it all rubbed him the wrong way, his gut instinct telling him there was something more at play here.

Emiya observed the starliner.

Getting there would be easy enough: he just needed to spiritualize and jump there. This place was secluded enough and he should be able to lose the salarian stalkers easily once he set his mind to it. He considered taking action, before shaking his head. He was on too tight a schedule right now. He needed to attend to his operation first. Besides, the situation was stable enough right now.

He inhaled, spotting a new addition to his followers.

"Hello, Miranda."

The sound of the gun activating behind him rang out. He turned around, moving to look away from the large windows and to face her head-on. She had changed clothes and washed up, but her perfume and unique odor remained.

She was glaring at him, eyes like sharped ice behind the bead of the pistol.

"Is Dianne—"

"Are you behind the starliner hostage situation?" She cut him off, bleeding hostility looking—frazzled.

He blinked, tilting his head. He had thought it had been the other woman on the starliner, perhaps working as bait for Miranda to pull something. But the tone of her voice, her body language, and her eyes...

They nipped that theory in the bud.

Emiya stared at her silently, furrowing his brows as he tried to understand.

"Answer me, damn it!" she shouted taking a half-step forward, eyes wide as she ground her teeth.

"...No," he replied.

She let out a shuddering breath, her eyes swimming for a moment. Hesitation, indecision, pressure, and stress were all obvious on her face and body language. She was fraying at the edges. This wasn't due to the way they had separated, either, he judged.

The pistol wavered for a second.

"You... You said you never lied to me." she asked, eyes turning sharp again as she raised to muzzle at him again.

"Well, the paperw—"

"Fuck the paperwork! Did you ever lie to me? To my face? Did you—can I trust you?" she pleaded, eyes flicking to the starliner despite her focus so desperately trying to stick to him.

He hesitated, completely adrift with her at this moment. The truth, then.

"I told you half-truths and mislead you, sure. But I didn't lie to you." He shrugged.

She glared at him before she let out a sigh, nodding to herself and looking away for a second again.

"Do you know who is in that starliner?" she asked and he shook his head. "Do you know who planned it? What's going on there? Anything?"

As he shook his head, she blinked and took a step back.

"I..." She turned around, leaving with brisk steps. "I don't have time to waste on you."

Emiya blinked, not sure what to make of that. Glancing back at the docked starliner outside the window, in the distance, he frowned. Glancing at her receding figure, he sighed.

"Miranda."

She stopped, not bothering to turn around.

"This whole thing smells of a false flag attack of some kind to me. The media was way too quick on the ball, there are too many conflicting reports, and it's going too smoothly for anything but a pro to be behind it - but at the same time it seems like a suicide op."

She did not give any indication of hearing him, standing there silently.

"I think there has to be someone outside the starliner, coordinating everything. But that's just my gut feeling."

"...I'm not going to thank you," she whispered.

He huffed in amusement at that.

"Oh, and avoid taking the left, there. The STG is keeping an eye on that route. You'll want to lose them by going up the stairs."

She did turn around then, giving him an incredulous look. But he had already turned around to resume looking out through the window.

He could feel her gaze for another few seconds before she turned to leave with hastened steps.

"I wonder what that was about..."

He had never imagined that the cool and collected Miranda could look like that. Angry, venomous, cold, certainly... But that desperate? He was sure she would remain smug even in the face of death. So it had to be something else. Something deeper of hers at stake.

If she was asking me, I can probably take that to mean they weren't involved. Not unless this was some strange and convoluted plot to keep specifically me out of this. It's not like I have time right now, anyhow.

Emiya shook his head, inhaling slowly. He didn't have time for this right now, but it seemed like she had her own vested interest in this matter. Well, he would entrust it to C-Sec and Miranda for the moment.

It was about time for him to disappear. Now that Miranda was drawing in the salarians' attention, he would be able to disappear smoothly as well.

;

Emiya's heart beat once. Twice.

It began to pick up its pace, approaching normal heart rate as he took his first breath in days. The temperature rose quickly and as he felt sharp—painfully sharp—sensations returning to his frozen body, he consciously dispelled the steel box. It had served its purpose well enough.

The ice and his body fell on the floor and he felt like his whole consciousness had been blown away for several eternities as he struggled and writhed on the floor, limbs weak and unheeding, senses flickering and reporting nothing but pain. Pushing the ice away, he shivered as he cycled magical energy through his body to recover more control quickly.

Emiya coughed, raising a shaking hand up before his face.

His skin was sloughing off, like... Like an over-boiled tomato - drop it in boiling water for just a few seconds and you can peel away the skin with ease, but let it stew for too long and it sogs up underneath.

Frowning, he reached up and peeled away the skin, tossing it aside. There was no pain; the ice must have destroyed his nerves there, then.

Running a simple mental check followed by Structural Analysis, he found that the damage was simply superficial. Nothing on the inside had been injured, the vitrificant working as intended to protect his internal organs and muscles. It was merely where his bare skin had come in contact with the ice that things had gone awry.

Parts of his forearms, a little of his shoulder and back. Nothing more. It was fine.

Emiya slowly got himself back into order, toppling on his feet as he got dressed. He had bought some commercial-grade medigel, using it copiously to fix up the worst of his cosmetic injuries and using breathing exercises to get himself in control over his own body.

This was just the price to pay for a hastily constructed plan.

And it had worked.

He grinned, getting up and grabbing Burnsfeldt's omnitool. He had cleared it too of anything he didn't want to reveal so that he could hand it over to the salarians without worry. Now, he simply had to get to the specified hospital.

Which was easier said than done, as every step was a fight in and of itself. The spirit was willing, but the body was weak. Leaving behind everything he might mind missing if it was taken or anything that would raise undue suspicion, such as the projected blade-turned-tracker, he set out.

He managed to flag a shuttle cab and soon enough he arrived at the designated location. It was a relatively large building, with bare walls and no signs indicating what exactly went on inside. Walking in, he greeted the receptionist of the private clinic with a slight wave of his hand.

"I'm here for an appointment with Doctor Solus... He's expecting me."

The salarian looked at him, eyeing his bedraggled state with clear apprehension. Flicking his lips minutely once, he nodded.

"Very well. I shall call it in."

Emiya nodded, moving to sit down at a lobby couch.

The muzak playing was slightly odd, but not entirely unpleasant. It had an almost hypnotic quality to it, but that could have also just been a side-effect of his current physical state.

"The doctor will see you now, right this way." The receptionist spoke up, after a span of time that could have been minutes or hours.

He nodded, getting up on swaying legs as he moved to follow. He was led to a private room and as he entered, he suddenly felt strangely reminded of his old schools' nurse's office. He shook his head, focusing on the familiar salarian sitting ahead and waiting for him.

"Doctor Mordin Solus, I presume," Emiya spoke. The salarian looked much the same as he had back during the Synthetic Insights' ball.

Of course, while Emiya recognized him, he would not recognize Emiya in this body as the same person as from the party. The salarian looked up, quickly glancing at his physical state with what could have been a frown before he got up to greet Emiya.

"Indeed. Shirou Emiya, I take it."

Emiya blinked once, allowing his surprise to show.

Then he realized that it was referring to the name he had been using in the Alliance Navy, rather than his true name in any sense. He hadn't been seen through, as such, even if his disappearance from the Navy had been noticed. No doubt due to his own actions drawing attention to Mars.

He nodded once, acknowledging that the STG had in fact been able to root out his identity in such short order. A tense silent moment passed, as neither said anything.

"Here's the promised second item," Emiya said finally, tired of this ongoing stand-off, handing over Burnsfeldt's omnitool.

The salarian accepted them with a deep sigh, nodding once to indicate his understanding. "Assume, is not one previously belonging to Joseppi Cardotin?"

Emiya nodded. "That one will be delivered after the operation."

The door behind him opened and another salarian walked in. Emiya glanced at the newcomer, noting the similarities with Doctor Solus before him. A relative, perhaps?

"Doctor, the operating staff has arrived. They will be ready to operate, soon."

Mordin nodded. "Have you brought the materials?"

"Not yet, other doctors, signing still."

"Very well." The doctor nodded, turning to Emiya. "You are aware of operation's purpose?"

There was a strange overtone to his voice, as if he was both tired and resigned, yet still wary of what kind of answer Emiya would give him.

"It's to remove and replace parts of my brain."

The doctor nodded. "Indeed. But not simple as that."

"Hmm?"

The doctor pulled out an image from his omnitool, projecting it onto a display by the side of the room with a flick. It showed various files and Emiya nigh-instantly recognized them as being his Alliance records.

The Special Tasks Group is not feared for nothing, it seems.

"Have pored over medical records, but failed to find anything to support conclusions presented by Emil Durana."

Emiya blinked once. "I see."

"Supposedly, brain damage from long term use of opioid narcotics. Yet, fail to find markers for any such conclusions to be drawn. Peculiar," Doctor Solus continued, blinking once at Emiya. Mirroring his body language?

"Does it matter? If you don't operate on me, you won't get the last omnitool," Emiya lightly threatened, causing the salarian's frown to only deepen.

"...Aware of results of an operation, such as this? Doctor by trade. Wish to minimize harm to patient, simply operating on basis of information given... Likely to cause permanent brain damage, result in vegetative state. Tantamount... to murder." The salarian inhaled slowly, showing his obvious displeasure at the state of affairs. "Urge to reconsider."

"That's fine. As long as I don't die, then—"

"Exactly point. No indication of dying, especially not, given circumstances presented. Can not in good conscience operate." The doctor interrupted him, words rushing out.

Emiya frowned; he had taken the salarians to be ruthless and clinical—even driven to the precipice of some small madness when it came to the subject of cybernetic self-modification—yet it seemed that this one had more of a conscience than expected when it came to the proposed deal.

Emiya had put it simply to Heffai, earlier. He would hand them the omnitools and they would perform cyberization on his brain, replacing as much as they could to ensure that whatever it was that Archimedes had done to him would not be a problem.

So long as his body would continue to live, it would be an acceptable deal.

He had concluded that it must have been the drug overdose—probably some form of intravenous opioid overdose, given the presence of used needles near his body when he had first woken up—that would kill him, once the measures put in place by the Moon Cell ended.

But whatever it was that Archimedes had done had also hidden it well enough that the Alliance had made no notice of it. He had no idea if it would show up, even now, as he continue to approach that brink.

Well, here goes nothing.

"Then check again."

The salarian looked up, blinking once. The eyelids that came from the bottom of the eye, in reverse from human eyelids, still threw him off at times.

"Seem uncertain, yet determined to have operation. Aware of how such things work? Can not simply put in parts in brain. Is not, 'plug and play'. Requires time; time to adjust, time to learn, time to check for errors—for proper cyberization. Simply... putting in hardware as Durana outlined, will not work. Result, predictable and singular. Brain death."

Emiya said nothing, waiting until the doctor finally seemed to give in with a sigh.

"Morgoi, prepare diagnostics suite 5. Will be there shortly," Mordin told the younger salarian who nodded, walking back out. Turning back to Emiya, he rolled his eyes. "If able to prove, lack of mortal danger, will you reconsider?"

"We'll see," Emiya said and watched as the salarian seemed to slump a slight bit.

It was interesting seeing more complicated tools and machines, as always, such as the medical diagnostics used for brain scans.

Apparently, while the equipment could be broken down into relatively small sizes such as into specialized omnitools, for precise analysis it was still optimal to make use of specialized equipment without having to skimp on size. Thus he felt like he had been stuffed into a barrel, lying down on his back, almost like in an MRI scan. Though apparently, it was fine for him to move in this procedure so it seemed that technology wasn't quite as sensitive anymore.

Looking around, he focused on his breathing. He almost gave in to the temptation of using Structural Analysis but then thought better of it. Who knew what the scan might pick up.

"That will be all. May come out now."

Emiya nodded, getting out and walking to stand before the two salarians who were poring over the screens. The younger of them turned to look at Emiya with clearly new eyes as if some great new mystery had revealed itself in him before them.

"Must apologize, had not expected... this," Doctor Solus said, clearly hesitating with where to begin.

"...So you found something."

"Something... Yes. Not certain, nothing before alike it." The old salarian nodded, rolling his eyes. "Found damage in several parts of brain. Hidden, beneath layer of strange material. Unable to properly identify, strange properties. Unquantifiable."

Emiya nodded, which made the younger salarian blink at him.

"As you said, doctor. He knew."

"Were aware of this, yes. Clearly hesitant, that would be able to find, yet certain of something wrong," the older salarian speculated.

"Something like that," Emiya admitted.

"Also, speculated cause, not certain. Lacked medical knowledge, did not know what would cause such damage," Solus continued immediately and Emiya could feel the two salarians' eyes boring into him.

He was certain that they were both leagues smarter than him, so he was hesitant to say anything. Who knew what could be construed from just an errant word.

"Something like that. I had a blackout a while back and when I woke up, there were all kinds of needles around. I figured they were drugs of some kind..."

He shrugged.

"Yes, somewhat fits. But, not long-term. Single-use, overdose of opioid-based drug, caused heart rate, breathing to slow down. Noted, known effects on humans. Well documented; recreational use and addiction... common. Lack of oxygen, very dangerous. Could explain damage." Solus nodded, analytical and away again. Then, he looked up and stared at Emiya straight in the eyes. "Possibly, clinically dead for period of time, even?"

"...It's likely."

"Still does not explain, how survived. Strange nano-sheaths continue to help brain function. Unknown technology, never seen—or heard, of anything like it."

The younger salarian cut in again.

"Indeed. Do you know how this happened?"

Emiya inhaled slowly, before settling on deflecting as hard as possible without being obvious. "Roughly. But I'm not going to tell you. You'll have to ask Emil, he'll know what to tell you and what it's worth."

Because if we meet again later, I'll have had way more time to think about this stuff and come up with good excuses.

The salarians nodded, though it was obvious that they wanted to ask more. Which meant he ought to distract them. "But that wasn't the only unusual thing, was it?"

"Indeed. I knew human brains were unusual in structure and make-up, but it is fascinating to witness myself." The younger salarian immediately agreed. "Do you practice some form of meditation, perhaps?"

Emiya blinked at that question - it had been a lot more enthusiastic than he had expected.

"Something like that."

"Indeed, indeed. I found your insular cortex to be of unusual thickness, even for a human. Already of considerable size, even given proportions, for most humans compared to many other races. Almost a third larger than asari on average even. Have the second-largest proportional to rest of brain now, after humans. Implications unknown, interesting field. I had not read up on human neurobiology until today - very interesting field."

"Uh...?"

"Ah, yes. Relation to meditation. Human neuroplasticity fascinating. Considerable evidence of ability to change itself to spectacular degrees. Even without chemical stimulus, sometimes from social interaction, sometimes without. Humans notably affected by social cohesion and position in various hierarchies."

Emiya blinked, nodding hesitantly at that. It was obvious the younger salarian was quite taken by this field. Though two things he had said stuck at Emiya. Wait, he started only reading today and he's already qualified to be taking part in all this? And secondly...

"The asari?"

The salarian nodded at that choosing to pick up on the cue Emiya had given. "Yes. Had studied before as they're well known as exceptional cases—often studied for basis in improvements in biotical synchronization apparatus improvements. Surprisingly many parallels to human brains."

He nodded at the salarian.

"I wondered about that, they seem to have a very good grasp on human body language. Shouldn't that be strange for an alien species? I can tell you're emulating some gestures, while others are natural and thus... alien, to me." Emiya raised a hand, indicating them.

Both of them seemed to tilt their heads a slight bit at that, indicating what he had noted by now as genuine surprise and curiosity from his talks with Guuran.

The younger salarian seemed willing to continue, after a glance at the older doctor who still seemed to be busy thinking about the results of the scan.

"Asari are able to observe and quickly learn body language from each other. Similar to how human parents are able to naturally speak at a level just above a child's understanding; pushing them to improve. Asari also commonly use their natural melding reproductive ability to acquire knowledge and behavioral understanding from alien species, which allows them to rapidly adapt and learn even when alone. Thus, other asari observe and habits spread. Natural, almost unnoticed by most of the species, allowing quick and harmonious coexistence to occur very rapidly."

Emiya blinked at that, suddenly reminded of that asari he had met not too long ago. He frowned.

There really is something about them, isn't there?

Well, he had been planning to apply there anyhow, so might as well make it a two-question study.

"What was that about the insular cortex—" Emiya blinked, before changing his question. "What was that about 'natural melding reproductive ability'?"

He was suddenly beset by a mental image of the asari he had met melting and sticking to his skin, fusing with him somehow. He shook his head, dismissing the strange image.

That's probably not it...

"Let us return to the subject at hand." Doctor Solus spoke up and interrupted the conversation, though it was obvious that he had not chosen to do so with a light heart. "While can not deny possibility of impending brain failure, can neither concur with analysis. Not enough data, feel it is imperative to continue observing, before hasty decisions are made."

He looked at Emiya then, urging him to reconsider again.

"Sorry, doc. But I need to get it done, and soon."

But he would not be dissuaded this close to the finish line.

"...Even if the result will cause permanent memory loss, forcing you to re-learn much, perhaps everything? Human brain, still too unknown to make clear guesses regarding outcome of surgery. Lead developer, for human line of grayboxes, must know better than anyone, how difficult and complex subject is," Solus said, almost pleading to Emiya now. "Graybox only possible, as works in parallel. Found early on, all of brain necessary for memory. Both procedural and episodical, use practically all of human brain. Cannot simply remove part here, hope to replace with another part of similar function. Too interconnected, too entwined. Even minor changes, cause wide, sweeping changes to mind."

He rolled his eyes, clearly uncomfortable.

"Cyberization, long process. Even for salarians whose minds and brains, better understood. This kind of thing, highly dangerous. Could very well, cause ego death."

Emiya smiled, hoping to reassure him, then.

"It's fine, I'll take that risk."

And something in the salarian doctor finally seemed to give in, being replaced by a hopeless resignation. "...Very well, then. Morgoi, believe paperwork should be ready. Sign and prepare operation room."

;

"Count down from ten."

Emiya did as told, not bothering to comment at this salarian's accent, feeling his eyelids growing heavier with each count. By one, he was unconscious. There was that distant sensation of presence of mind, but it was clear that he was once again not in control.

Stepping out in his spiritual form, he observed the various salarians gathered around him. None of the instruments seemed to be alarming anyone and they continued to chatter on in calm voices as they began the operation.

Lacking an omnitool now and without the benefit of the surgeon speaking English, he could not understand a word they were saying. But after fifteen minutes of observation, he reasoned all was still going according to plan and that the operation was continuing as discussed.

Shrugging, he left.

Looking around, he dove into the private clinic's system but found nothing of interest there. The night before the ball he had taken the liberty of checking out Synthetic Insight's systems and reading up on some of the guests and their areas of expertise

It was what had allowed him to convincingly discuss many of the subjects he had that night, even as he avoided technical details and stuck to concepts. That, and his own experiences from the Moon Cell.

But all of his reading would not mean a thing if his body still died. Or perhaps the new cybernetic parts would reject his spiritual possession, leaving him stranded. There was no way to tell what the future would bring with it, but among the myriad gambles available to him, it was the one with the best odds.

He sighed, finally admitting to something that had been bothering him for a while now - niggling at the back of his mind. Reminding of itself whenever he had a moment of silence.

What had left Miranda so desperate?

Additionally, the situation with the starliner called out to him.

The old heroic instincts demanded his attention, shouting at him to intervene again, as he always had before.

What had held him back had been his caution, his rationality, and his experiences. He did not want to make undue waves, nor did he want the Special Tasks Group to suddenly grow interested in any of his alter egos, when he was at such a critical juncture.

But now that he was faced with his possible demise, having done all that he could and coming up unable to do any more...

Why did I choose to leave the Moon Cell, if not to ask that question again? To be a hero of justice again?

If this was his last day of existence, why not end it appropriately? If this was the beginning of his second life, why not begin it appropriately?

Thus the conclusion was inevitable.

He dove back out and found himself in the real world once more, having navigated a path to the Presidium ring's edge through the web of interconnected systems and computers. Staring out into the distance, he spotted the starliner docked by the keel of the Ward.

Nothing seemed to have changed - the hostage situation remaining stable.

He bound forward again.

Jumping from skyscraper to skyscraper, he made it to the Presidium elevator. He was still rather leery about trying to jump from one Ward to another since he had no definite means of locomotion in a void. Though, I could probably use... He shook his head, choosing to jump down the elevator shaft instead.

It was better to simply use the Presidium access to get where he wanted to.

Arriving at the keel dock, he leaped up and kicked off of a platform, performing a flip through the air as he landed inside of the starliner.

Coming up from the crouch, he looked around. Huh, it even looks like a commercial airliner, too.

There were people—humans, asari, strange four-eyed aliens, and salarian—seated in neat rows. Everyone was sitting quietly, keeping their hands visible and their heads down. Down the length of the starliner, between the rows of seats, a man in a full hardsuit walked. He was quite tall, wide at the shoulders and obviously of muscular build.

A helmet covered his face but suggested a human face with two eyes, matching the five-fingered hands. Definitely too stout to be an asari. In his hands was a rifle and on his hip a pistol.

That's not something just anyone should be able to smuggle onboard a starship. Right...?

Emiya looked around, noting that the man was apparently working alone. Though quickly enough he noticed an unusual alien, seated and keeping an eye on the hostage-taker. And something immediately stood out to Emiya; a bulge in his armpit, hidden from view from the other passengers, but not from the invisible interloper.

He's armed? But why isn't he doing anything? It's not a heavy armor, a few good shots should be enough. He stared curiously at the seated alien with a pistol hidden in his clothes.

His body language seemed relaxed if a touch expectant. The alien seemed to be eyeing the other passengers more than the hostage-taker, too. Well, it was hard to tell with the four eyes, but that was the impression Emiya got, leaning in close to look.

Emiya frowned, listening to the hostage-taker ranting and raving to the seated people. They cowered around him, occasionally getting hit by him to punctuate something he was shouting.

"This is what you all deserve! For getting in the way of the great and powerful Humanity! How dare you! Humanity is the strongest! Humanity will rule the galaxy!" Seemed to be the gist of it, though Emiya frowned as he listened.

The pronunciation of individual syllables was just off, unlike any accent he had heard before. Additionally, this whole situation had been going on for hours already? Hadn't the man tired of hearing his own voice, repeating the same lines over and over again?

Jumping down, Emiya walked to the hostage-taker and simply leaned forward, until his head was through the helmet. It was a bit of challenge, but he got a glimpse of the face beneath the hardsuit's helmet.

He's one of those four-eyed aliens? Emiya blinked, leaning back.

He looked at the other who was still sitting with thoughtful eyes.

It really was a false flag, huh. But what would these aliens have to gain by pretending to be human?

Emiya sighed, noting that the alien had an omnitool. Nothing to it, then.

'—Trace, on'—begin insertion;

He opened his eyes, landing at the bottom of a cramped digital ocean. More of a pond. Looking around, he spotted various caches and began to go through whatever he could find. But after a thorough search, he had to conclude that there was nothing. Just like he had, this 'batarian' had wiped clean and used a factory reset omnitool, to ensure operational security.

Using the connection, he dove right into the omnitool of the other who was still sitting and simply observing the situation, but he couldn't find anything there either.

Competence. How annoying.

Emiya dove back out, crossing his arms as he tried to figure out his next move. He did not simply want to act out, without knowing what was going on. It never hurt to have more information and for all of the hostage taker's boisterous bluster, no one had actually been hurt yet.

The batarian suddenly turned, mid-sentence, and began again as he walked back.

Emiya frowned and looked up, spotting a security camera on the ceiling. It was little more than a small dome, attached to the corner of the cabin.

He must have wanted to remain visible on the camera.

Diving through it next, he found various and disparate sources all watching the insides of the starliner through the feed, tracing one to C-Sec headquarters, another to the Presidium ring and third to the human embassy, he frowned.

So... He's putting up a show?

He had guessed before that there would be an outsider, working with the hostage-taker, based on the various social media accounts inciting action and spreading false information like no one's business, so suspecting that one of those would be monitored by this person, he began to sift through the various forks in the surveillance feed, until he found one that was being diverted to a far-off section in the Kithoi Ward.

Bingo.

It was well hidden and it appeared that neither C-Sec nor the STG seemed aware of it yet.

Diving through, he blinked as a sudden realization hit him as he jumped halfway across the Citadel just now.

I could have navigated directly from the Presidium onto the starliner through the dive before, couldn't I?

It was a bad habit humans had - to always first consider the same route they had previously used when needing to traverse back from unknown territory. More than one person had been trampled to death in fires, for not taking note of the closest fire exit, instead all barreling towards the one they had come in through.

A sign of his immaturity as a spirit hacker.

I need to familiarize myself properly with all this... But later.

It was Miranda sitting by a terminal where he had popped out, staring at the various camera feeds from the starliner while also working on several other things on her omnitool haphazardly, still fraying at the edges with nervous energy.

Emiya looked around, quickly enough finding a bound-up and bleeding batarian on the floor.

She certainly works fast.

He considered appearing before her then and there, but decided not to. He guessed she would not take well to it and he didn't have his disguise on, either. But it seemed like she had compiled a fair amount of information already and was working on something.

Diving back into her personal omnitool, he leafed through her notes. A lot of it was complete nonsense to him, but referring to some general history he got a gist of what she thought was going on.

The Systems Alliance had been expanding into a region of space that the Batarian Hegemony had laid claim to previously, and the Citadel refused to intervene, causing the Batarians to secede from the Citadel in protest. Since no one seemed to care, they were now trying to make humanity look bad by various means, including this false flag operation. A human had been drugged up and would be made a patsy, once the batarian team had gained enough attention and pulled out.

Miranda at the moment seemed to be trying to cobble together a ruse to make the team pull out prematurely, but she was struggling with opening an encrypted data file at the moment.

C-Sec had several strike teams ready to go, but since the starship had not alit it was still completely sealed. The pilots had been taken out and the cockpit wasn't responding to external commands. So far, at the behest of the Citadel Council, they were attempting to negotiate with the kidnappers.

She hadn't found any connections to the Hegemony or other batarian actors, but it was obvious she suspected it, from what and how she was going through the bound up batarian's accessible files. It seemed like she was cooking up some sort of backup plan, as she worked with a mad zeal.

It was as he looked through her working files that he spotted something; a camera feed that stood out somehow.

A young girl, with dark hair and blue eyes on the starliner. She was huddled between two adult humans, cowering from the ranting and raving batarian whenever he passed them by. He blinked, frowning as he looked closer. The other feeds she was monitoring were all wide shots, but this one was zoomed in and centered on the girl.

Are they related? he thought, glancing at Miranda.

They certainly had similar enough faces, despite the age difference. Somehow, that thought made Miranda appear in a completely different light to him. That confrontation before changed, her entire persona somehow shifting in his perception.

He shook his head, diving back inside and returning to the starliner. The batarian was still tirelessly ranting at everyone, smacking humans and asari occasionally as he did.

Emiya looked around, a basic plan forming in his head already.

The bathroom stall lacks a camera; I can materialize there without being seen. Flush the toilet when he's walking by. Spiritualize and wait until he checks it out, close the door behind him and stun him quickly. Take his armor and gun, come back out, take out the other batarian, get back into the bathroom and lock the door. Then make it look like a suicide and leave.

It would be a relatively clean and quick operation. Little traces to him, with the operational security and obfuscation he could employ.

But he hesitated.

He had decided to live as a hero of justice again, to see where that path would lead him. Acting here to end this situation was certainly what he should be doing, but was his choice of action the correct one?

It wasn't like he had ever known how to be a hero of justice, rather he had always struggled with that ideal. The only guiding light he had had was the understanding of what wasn't in line with that ideal. The ability to judge that something wasn't what a hero of justice would do.

But, that had been a long time ago.

Since then, he had piled the bodies high and waded through blood and tears, challenging conflicts and confronting suffering wherever and whenever he could. And as a result, he had been worn down and grown numb. Once, a very long time ago, the thought of killing someone had been revolting to him. He still remembered his first time, as in the heat of the moment the blade had sunk in so easily.

He hadn't regretted or hesitated that act, but he had thought it an extreme case. An outlier. A case that couldn't be helped, because he had exhausted every other option already.

How naive he had been. Now, it came easily once he set his mind to it. There was no emotion in the act, once he decided it was necessary, seeing through the haze of circumstances to what had to be done.

But 'A hero of justice was someone who saved everyone.', right?

That ideal was immature and childish, the kind of nonsense a child too scarred by a catastrophe to survive normally would dream up to justify his own survival. He had been ashamed of himself, of running away, of leaving so many to die, even if he was powerless and could have done nothing but die like all the others, had he tried.

Such was his shellshock: a shattered self-image coming to conflict with the harshness of reality had nothing to do with logic or reason, only with the self-recriminations and shame of the self. He had come to terms with that, and he had thought he had overcome it long since.

But those terms were in the Moon Cell, where he thought he had come to the end of his path.

And this wasn't inside SeRaPh anymore. He could do as he wished.

He had immense power, right now. Power beyond even his wildest dreams back when he had been alive. A hostage situation that left the seat of a galactic civilization locked out, and he had simply strolled in once he had time enough from other things and figured out what was going on.

Casually. Easily, even. Like an afterthought.

So who was he saving here by killing two batarians?

Emiya exhaled. He could kill these two and reveal the truth of their identities with ease while keeping himself hidden. But would that be what a hero of justice did? It was easy, expedient, effective, and elusive. It would be the smart thing to do, but was it what he wanted?

Had he... forgotten how to be a hero? Or had he never known in the first place? He couldn't remember if there was a difference. What was a hero of justice, even? At this rate, wouldn't he go back to that time in his life, where he did nothing but bring despair to a few in the dark?

Ah, damn it. Not the time. He shook his head. What did he want, right now? Keep it simple, stupid.

To kill those two, even if they had taken a starliner's worth of civilians hostage? No.

To save people in need? Yes.

To help Miranda, to assuage some of the guilt he had begun to feel from abusing her trust as he had, despite her being part of some shady organization? He hesitated at that thought, which popped up suddenly as he glanced at the dark-haired young girl again.

...Am I really that soft? He tried to deny it, only to sigh again, realizing that he really was.

Palming his face, he tried to reason out the situation.

No, well... This had always been a selfish thing for me, hasn't it? Even if I'm helping them, it's just a form of self-serving narcissism. I'm just getting drunk off of my own volunteering, again, aren't I? The very idea of a hero of justice is just a self-satisfying hypocritical complacency that ignores all but the result. Evil is born of humans'—err, people's?—hearts, after all. A hero of justice is just a name given to that weakness and inability to confront the iniquities of the self as they compromise with reality and—

He was making this way too complicated again, he realized with a disgusted sigh.

The last time he had brooded like this had been on the Moon Cell.

But at the same time, wasn't he simplifying this incident too much as well? These batarians must have a reason for taking such a grand risk, as to take over an entire starliner's worth of people hostage at docks of the Citadel itself.

Enough, he thought raising his hands in disgust. As ridiculous as it is, I can save everyone here. You want to do it, so just do it, you fool.

He would just take these people out and let C-Sec sort them out, that was reasonable enough.

Turning around, he walked to the bathroom with the closed door. It wasn't quite tight, but it was definitely something only added as an absolute necessity to the starship. Raising a hand to his face, he projected again that black helmet he had worn on Mars.

It appeared and sealed shut his appearance instantly.

Materializing, he looked at himself in the mirror. The featureless matte black helmet, his black diamene weave armor covering him completely and keeping every inch of his skin hidden, and finally the red mantle he had taken to wearing again.

"Well then, time to play the hero," he said to himself with a huff, turning around and opening the door to enter the passenger area.

A sea of bewildered eyes turned on him, chief among them the armed and armored hostage-taker. The batarian's confusion was so utter and complete, even through the face-concealing helmet that Emiya almost laughed.

"I'll give you three seconds to put down your guns and give yourself up," Emiya announced calmly, but loudly. He could see heads turning as they looked to see how the hostage-taker would react.

Three.

The batarian looked around, making eye contact with the other on the starliner, obviously entirely out of his depth with this new variable. The one who had been told to put on the armor was probably the youngest and most expendable among the batarians.

Two.

Looking back at Emiya, he raised his rifle and shouted for Emiya to raise his hands.

Emiya wondered if it was this batarian that had been conducting the negotiations, or if it had been the one Miranda had found. It had been hours since this situation started, yet he hadn't seen any action taken by C-Sec or anyone else beyond the cordoning off of the ship.

Well, it doesn't matter now. One.

Emiya inhaled and burst into motion. There was no need to hold back, not at this range. In the space of the blink of an eye he had reached the batarian and was inside his range.

The rifle was snatched out of his hands and Emiya in the space of a second field stripped it entirely, tossing the ammunition block back and dropping the stock like so much garbage.

Parts of the rifle dropped on the carpeted floor around their feet.

"Wha—"

The batarian shouted, stepping back as he realized what had happened. Before he could draw his pistol Emiya ripped it free from the Van der Waals-strip and did the same to it.

Realizing he had been disarmed, the batarian went for a wild haymaker swing, but Emiya leaned out of the way and grabbed him by the helmet in a cross counter. Lifting the batarian up with one hand, he ignored the kicking and flailing struggles of the other as he exhaled.

'—Trace, on'—begin synchronization;

Using Reinforcement, he altered the physical makeup of the helmet. It creaked under the pressure of his fingers now, as he continued to change it. Then suddenly, it shattered like glass beneath his fingers, revealing the batarian's face to everyone around them.

Emiya dropped him down, letting him scramble backward as everyone around them stared in shock. The batarian's eyes were wide and darting all around, looking at everyone.

"No, this, this isn't...!" The batarian's voice, now no longer modulated by the helmet, sounded rough and strange to Emiya. The strange pronunciation was still there, but the darker tone of voice characteristic of batarians changed it all.

A second later the batarian reverted to shouting in another language, one that Emiya didn't understand without an omnitool, as he tried to cover his face from the cameras above.

Satisfied with that, he lashed out and managed to knock out the batarian with a single swift kick to the chin. He guessed that would be at the level of a concussion on a human. It probably wasn't enough to kill the batarian.

Turning around, he looked directly at the second batarian as he walked over to him. He came to a stop at the row of people, the closest of whom was an elderly human who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"I'll give you three seconds to drop your gun and to give yourself up," Emiya repeated and stared at the batarian quietly.

All eyes turned to the batarian, who suddenly was looking around nervously. Four eyes shifted every which way, nervously taking in everything. A twitch of the eyes and Emiya's hand lashed out, his four fingers all extended out in front of the batarian's face.

Half a centimeter more, and Emiya would be poking out all four of his eyes. The batarian swallowed, his shoulders rising up in obvious shock.

Then, with deliberately slow movements, he took out the pistol and handed it to Emiya, holding onto the barrel with two fingers to show that he was not intending to resist as he spoke in a rumbling voice in a language Emiya did not understand.

Emiya accepted it, drawing back his hand and patting the batarian on the shoulder. "Good choice."

The batarian relaxed, shoulders slumping.

Which was when Emiya put his hand on the batarian's neck and extended a tendril of magical energy to knock out the four-eyed alien. Slumping back, all of his eyes rolled over.

Turning to look at the other passengers, Emiya activated the pistol. Glancing at the older man who was now glaring at the batarian with more than a little indignation, Emiya handed him the pistol. "Must have had a long flight, keep an eye on him for me until someone comes to pick him up?"

"But... I...?"

"Just till C-Sec arrives. Don't shoot him, though. Who knows, he might not even be related."

"Err, you got it? Where are you going?" The old man blinked, accepting the pistol with some hesitation.

"I can't stick around - didn't buy a ticket, you know?" Emiya shrugged pointing at the cameras, turning around to leave. Around him, passengers were whispering and murmuring.

Walking down the length of the starliner, he spotted the young girl who he had noticed before. She was hanging over the seats, looking at him with huge sparkling eyes. She couldn't have been older than six, her wide blue eyes staring up at him as he approached.

He almost huffed at that, patting her head and mussing up her hair in passing as he walked back to where he had come from.

Arriving at the bathroom door again, he turned around to look at the sea of curious passengers still staring at him. They were all whispering and looking around, obviously equally relieved and mystified by his appearance. Giving a jaunty wave and bow, he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. With that, he spiritualized and disappeared.

Should I have struck a pose? Masked heroes always strike a pose. Eh, whatever.

;

It had been hours since the operation started.

Emiya hadn't taken a step out of the surgery room after he had returned. He looked and memorized everything they did, mentally cataloging every part and every step as he watched it all. There was an almost amusing detachment he felt at that moment, watching as they operated on his body. He wondered if people had as often out-of-the-body experiences like these as they claimed.

They had shaved his hair, putting his head in a vise-like grip to make sure that it would not move once they started. Then, covering his body with a white cloth, they had taken a small spinning sawblade and cut open his skull. He hadn't been there, but the small splatters of blood on the white cloth told him all that he needed to know.

The amount and shape of implements were quite curious as well; knives, picks, spoon-like implements, small hammers, and curved saws...

It was all there, as the seven salarians worked over his exposed brain, like a single coordinated organism. Taking shifts, they had rapidly removed parts of his brain and severed the connections to his body, as if they had done it thousands of times before. There was no hesitation, no second guesses, no inexperience to be seen in those nimble hands' work.

As the removal was complete, another set of experts came in along with a pushcart. On top of it were vacuum-sealed pieces. He vaguely recognized them, as the operating staff began to plug it all in. It wasn't like plugging in a jack, rather the ends were coated in something that would help the brain matter regrow into the connection port, recognizing the signals and able to respond in kind.

He understood vaguely what everything was for, yet there was a vast gap between understanding and actual comprehension.

It went on for hours. As one part was added in, they would run a diagnostic, pricking his limbs with needles or giving it a static shock to make the muscle twitch, mapping out the nervous system and comparing it all to their own databases. If they found anything unusual with him, it did not slow them down as they continued without pause.

Implant. Diagnostics. Implant. Diagnostics.

Through it all, he stood there. Arms crossed and leaning against the back wall. Watching. Waiting. Like a shadow that could not be seen, transposed against the world of the living as one from the world of the deceased. In this place, that body that was not quite alive, nor quite dead, was being prepared to house his existence anew.

It was strange to watch.

Finally, as they began to put back the piece of his skull that had been removed and seal it shut, did he stand up and drop his arms.

As the salarians finished off everything and began to have him carted out, Emiya followed after them. They moved his body into an empty room that lacked windows or other entrances beyond the lone reinforced door.

Hooking him up to a drip and a biomonitor, the junior staff left him alone. There was one camera in the corner of the room, showing both the lone entrance and the bed at the same time.

Looking around and finding himself finally alone, he smirked.

Time to wake up.

As he stepped into his body, the immediate sensation of it not working struck him. Too much of the brain was gone; it was the seat of the soul, what connected the mind, the body, and the soul together. It did not reject him, either, which was a relief.

But it was the difference between wearing a shirt and wearing a large sack, to put it in simple terms.

There were no sensations. He could not see. He could not hear. He could not smell. He could not feel. He could not move. There was only nothing. Even the darkness of closed eyes or the rushing of blood and heartbeat in his ears were absent as if demonstrating the difference between a zero and a null.

A man could go insane like this.

He ignored all of that and focused on extending himself outward.

Even before dying, he had some unique experience in matters such as this. He would have made a wistful smile, then. There had been a playful, if slightly naughty, winter fairy in his life at one time, who had liked nothing more than playing pranks and bothering the then all-too straitlaced boy that he had been. At the time, he had thought himself her surrogate brother and thought it his duty to scold her. 'She still had a long life ahead of her', 'I need to be strict, it's for her own good' and such-like he had thought for that wonderful year they had had together.

And then she was gone.

Leaving only behind the memories they had made together. At the time, everything had been too painful; a reminder of his loss and failure. It had spurred him on to travel the world. It was a catalyst in his transformation into what he had become, though he could never hold it against her.

It was simply his own weaknesses and faults that had led to that result.

Now, he could still vaguely remember her without feeling that aching hole in his chest. And he remembered some of her pranks, too. How she had transferred his consciousness into a tree in her family forest. How she had put him in a teddy bear once and played around with him as if he were a tiny doll, helpless in her arms.

She had been incorrigible.

But those memories now guided him. The vessel did not need to be perfect, it simply needed to be good enough. Even a tree or a doll could house a human mind. And he was so much more right now.

"—Trace, on"—begin insertion;

The cybernetic parts weren't nearly as empty as the technical literature had made it sound. Or perhaps it was all STG spyware and rootkits, it was difficult to tell.

Theory said that the mind had to slave the machine until it became as much as indistinguishable from itself. It was a method of mirroring the mind at the machine until it learned to match. Without it, the brain would not know how to process memories. Would not know how to control and maintain the body. Would not know how to even continue existing.

So delicate and mysterious remained that organ, even in the 22nd century.

But he had no need for any of that.

The soul is the record of the mind; the line drawn out as the Origin spirals out into the World through time. Everything that he was, had been, could, and needed to be had already been inscribed there. Thus it was merely a matter of injecting himself into that machine and dying it into his own pattern.

No, not injecting. Imprinting.

It was difficult to paint over something that already existed, just as with Reinforcement and Projection. Any basis that existed there could not be 'him', thus it had to all go. He violently rooted out all of the software and firmware, down to the basest level. As long as it functioned physically, then he could simply force it to work by himself. He had to pay special attention to how the various hormone and regulatory functions performed, how the cybernetic parts would leech bio-electricity to function, and how they continued to maintain themselves, without affecting the biological parts remaining too much.

It was all there, in the basest of levels in the machine.

Taking it all, he began to spread himself out.

Immediately he ran into problems in trying to connect outwards from the cybernetics into his brain. The connections had not healed; would not heal for days by even the most optimistic of his estimates.

I don't have time for this.

So he changed course, the previous mantra now as much to connect himself to his internal world this time as it had been to the digital world previously.

—begin projection;

A large crimson spear—created in the Land of Shadows out of a great sea monster's skull and carved with myriad curses, never to miss, never to fail in killing—appeared inside of that dark digital ocean now within himself, pulsating with raw power as he pushed to recreate its miracle in full.

It was by no means something that could heal him, more suited to dealing wounds that would never heal, as the very idea of a weapon that healed was a contradiction in terms - a fundamental conflict of concepts. If there was such a blade, he had never seen or heard of one, to his great dismay considering how many lives he could have saved with such a thing.

It would not—could not—save a single life or heal his wounds.

No, this was only a weapon that contained within itself the immense and unbreakable will to refuse defeat, to wrest free of death's grasp, and keep moving forward no matter what.

His sole talent as a mage was the ability to recreate near-perfectly that which he could understand. Be it the method and materials for constructing a masterwork blade, or the skills and style with which such a weapon would be wielded; Emiya Shirou could recreate it all from beginning to end, including everything in-between.

And with the digital world at his disposal, he didn't even need to consider the physical properties of his creation or even hold it in his hand for it to be in his possession and 'grasp', bypassing all the usual restrictions of his projections, the reality itself molding to perfectly accommodate his needs now - bending the rules and creating the exception that made this all possible.

A feature which he was going to ruthlessly exploit now.

—synchronizing with noble phantasm, infusing with magical energy, sympathizing with the experience of its growth, reproducing the accumulated years;

The virtual ocean buckled and strained... But it held.

For just a moment, he could hear a distant, familiar roar—the manic battle cry of the Child of Light who loved battle—as he borrowed his skills. Or rather, just one Skill.

Battle Continuation.

The ability to remain on your feet and fight until death finally claimed you, refusing to be slain or even slowed down by minor wounds or fatigue, until a truly mortal blow felled you. Overriding everything but death with complete and total impunity, including the limitations of your body as it crumbled beneath you.

The particular Hero he was borrowing it from had remained standing on his feet for three whole days before anyone even dared to approach him to confirm his death, and even then, beyond the grave he had dealt a last blow to an enemy who had tried to take his weapon for a trophy.

A death so long-fought and denied that even the Goddess of Death honored his passing.

A feat of that magnitude was far beyond Emiya; the body of a demigod being something that he could never hope to understand or replicate, even copying the Personal Skill of another being extremely difficult. This was the flimsiest reproduction imaginable—the shadow of a shadow—riding the border between barely even worth notice and would have collapsed beneath any attack with real mystical or conceptual weight behind it.

But it did not matter, as the mere shadow of the highest rank of this Skill was more than enough for him right now.

He was essentially paralyzed and helpless following the operation.

A prisoner in his own body, without even senses to occupy him; a mind adrift in nothingness, unanchored and soon to go mad. His brain would need weeks, if not months to heal properly and even then there was no guarantee of his recovery. There was no way for him to get up and move under his own power.

But he hadn't been dealt a mortal wound.

Therefore, he couldn't be lying around like a fish out of water; the absolute authority of Battle Continuation would not be denied. As long as he kept the flow of magical energy running through the cursed crimson spear and continued to reproduce its wielder's Skill he had to be able to do battle, no matter how reason and logic had to bend over to make that possible.

Emiya inhaled once, the movement of his lungs now back under his conscious control.

He had to fight back the smirk as he took stock of his situation. The strength was surging back into his body, and he began to feel his other senses coming back into play. Touch, sound, smell. It all returned promptly to him and he began to circulate magical energy in his body as he performed Structural Analysis on himself.

Everything was running just fine.

In fact, he felt more than fine. It wasn't just the Skill he was simulating from the spear either. The cybernetic implants, directly connected to his brain, could quite literally adjust his brain chemistry with the flip of a binary switch.

Hah, probably to ensure cooperation. Hard to say no when someone has a metaphorical finger on your pleasure and pain centers. Eat your heart out, Doctor Pavlov. He consciously began to twiddle with his hormone balance, rousing himself. I'll have to label all these things at some point in the future...

It wasn't as if he wouldn't have plenty of time later. Once he was out of here and stopped cycling his magical energy to the cursed weapon, he would crash like a puppet with its strings cut, because it wasn't healing him - it was just keeping him on his feet and fighting until he was killed.

He considered his options now, flipping his body back into a coma with his brain switches to make sure no one noticed anything and checked that his Independent Action had reset once more.

And sure enough, it had.

This meant that he could very well remain here for a time, pretending to be in a coma and letting the salarians handle his body while he investigated the Citadel freely, allowing his brain to heal naturally. The archives at Kithoi Ward could be useful... Though he was fairly certain he would not find much information on the Protheans there. No doubt there would be much classified and useful data to be had, but there hadn't been much of an indication that the Council actively hoarded and acquired information or items pertaining to the long-dead aliens.

Because why would they?

It was just the past. Nothing a current government or society would really be concerned about. There were a few schools on the Wards, where he could apply and attempt to learn more, though...

But much like Armstrong on the moon, the Citadel was much too small for him to remain hidden for a long time. He had garnered too much attention and been too fast and too loose already. Staying here would eventually only out him. Moreover, he had no guarantees that the salarians would even bother keeping his body alive if he pretended to remain in a coma for too long or if they could be counted on the keep their word after the final omnitool was given.

They might just start experimenting on him, who knew.

No, he had already looked over many of the options he had in regards to investigating the Protheans and one option had stood head and shoulders above the rest, far away from the Citadel and Earth. Which meant he needed to leave. And soon; his stunt on the starliner had probably distracted them for now, but he had no idea for how long.

Well, then...

The switches were flipped again, his body instantly priming for a fight straight out of its self-maintained temporary catatonia.

As his external senses kicked in, he heard a strange sound. It was like a mixture of croaking, hissing and various other sounds. Recognizing it as the salarian tongue, he opened his eyes blearily through the dried, crusty gunk around them. Looking up, his eyes met with those of Doctor Solus, who seemed to be in the middle of an emotional speech. Surely all to calm down the others and to ensure them that whatever the currently-haywiring biometrics were saying, there was no way their patient was about to wake up on his own on them.

Heh, he really was a good doctor. I should send him a bouquet as thanks. Or maybe a million credits?

There was no helping it anymore - he was wide awake, ready to spring up and start running. The cocktail of fight-or-flight chemicals a high entirely their own, muddling his thoughts as he grinned toothily.

His eyes met Solus's.

The salarian's eyes shot wide open as he realized Emiya was awake, taking a step back in pure and utter shock, another sound, that Emiya did not understand but would have bet a million credits on being something along the lines of 'impossible!'.

He exhaled forcefully again, focusing on his limbs now.

They felt numb and drawn. There was an intravenous drip in his arm, but it didn't seem like a sedative. No, his condition was from the operation. There would be no need for them to keep him down, given that ordinarily, he wouldn't have even woken up for another day.

I need to get up, he thought with annoyance and instantly it felt like a button inside his head had been pressed, flooding his body with more power than even his forceful breathing technique could call forward. Liquid fire burst through his veins as he exhaled again.

He tried to sit up with his newfound strength, only to realize his wrists were bound to the sides of the bed. Looking up, his eyes met with the doctor again and in that moment an understanding passed between the two. Emiya was intent on breaking out of here while everyone thought he was nothing but a vegetable.

Immediately Mordin reached for his syringe gun to tranquilize Emiya.

The gun shot forward for Emiya's immobilized torso, but in noticing that his feet were still unbound, he kicked and forced the salarian to dodge and step back. Rolling over his head, he got his feet underneath him and then began to stand up, pulling against the restraints. The wrist shackles strained, the metal giving way with a grinding sound, unable to bear his magic-infused and hormonally-charged superhuman strength.

The straps snapped loudly and he straightened up on the bed, only reacting and dodging just in time the doctor's thrown syringe from six paces away. He's good with that thing, combat-experienced and blooded, Emiya noted as he grabbed the syringe mid-air and threw it back with a backhand toss.

Solus clearly hadn't expected that, his eyes widening as he jumped back to feebly avoid.

And then the syringe stopped cold in the air as a blue barrier burst into existence, dividing the room in two. The syringe did not simply stop, as the force behind it was such that the entire thing exploded into pieces of metal and glass at the impact.

Who puts kinetic barriers in a hospital room? Just what does the STG usually operate on to need them...?

Taking a step forward to get off the bed, he felt woozy.

He vaguely realized that the cybernetic parts that he had accidentally activated were controlling his hormones and chemical balance, meaning at this moment he was probably flooding his entire body with more than just adrenaline. His heart was beating so strongly that he could feel it all the way in his throat; his shaking hands the narrowing of his vision at least felt like he was currently going into cardiac arrest.

Okay, dial all that stuff down a little...

"Who! Are you?!" The salarian shouted, eyes wide.

Emiya looked up, their eyes meeting again as they both realized they had achieved communication. Mordin must have realized the lack of an omnitool meant none of his words until then had been understood. He jumped down from the hospital bed, smirking as his bare feet landed on the cold floor without answering just yet.

He felt good, overall; able to feel his magical energy stores resupplying rapidly and his self adjusting to himself again. Actually, he felt really good. Like he could take on the world with one hand tied behind his back and—Okay, maybe dial down on the endorphins a little more.

Looking down at himself, he frowned at the hospital robe. He ripped it off of himself, only to realize he wasn't wearing anything underneath either. Shrugging, he fashioned it into a simple loincloth. Just something that would cover him up until he got out.

"Who are you?!" the salarian repeated his earlier words, more forcefully and with a clearer accent.

Emiya looked up, grinning as he finished tying the knot at his hip to keep the robe from falling off, not too dissimilar from his usual waist shroud.

"Who, me? I'm no one."

"M-mumei...?" the salarian repeated after him, blinking in confusion.

Emiya ignored him, looking up at the camera and the kinetic barrier. It was bothersome, but not a problem. Before he had been trying to figure out how to perform the two basic forms of spirit hacking, to connect his eyesight and his sense of touch into a computer, but he hadn't had any success there, meaning he could only hack something by diving directly into it.

Now, he could sense the connection to every other system through his cybernetic parts' ports. Connecting one eye and his hand, he slowed down his perception of time until he found the relevant systems.

He raised his hand, looking at Doctor Solus square in the eyes, and with a smirk snapped his fingers. The kinetic barrier immediately went off-line with a flicker. And if possible, the salarian's eyes would have bugged out of his skull as he realized what had just happened.

Emiya darted forward, intent on immobilizing the salarian standing in front of the door.

Fearlessly, jutting his chin forward and assuming a combative stance, Solus faced him head-on.

Emiya struck out with a jab, the salarian swaying to the side and returning a jab of his own that Emiya barely ducked, still not wanting to kill the alien who had saved his life. Wow! He's fast!

They exchanged four more testing blows where neither struck true, before Emiya had backed Solus against the wall and he could retreat no further. A hand immediately snaked up and grabbed the salarian's neck and surged out with his magical energy to knock out—Eh? It doesn't work?

Emiya's stunning maneuver failed, causing him to mentally stumble for just a moment. He realized an instant later that it was based on human physiology; on the brain's tendency to go into 'safe mode' on impact. Boxers knew of this as having a glass jaw. Apparently, or rather obviously in hindsight, it did not work on salarians at all, given their wildly different physique.

Solus did not hesitate for a second, his hand reaching for another syringe and jabbing it up, aiming at Emiya's forearm. He had no time to pull back this close, but the grip he had around the salarian's neck was enough to pull him around enough for the needle to miss mid-swing.

Emiya's other hand snapped out—inhumanly quickly—and seized the needle-holding arm, Solus's eyes widening again as he realized what had just happened. But it was too late; Emiya had already regained his initiative. The loincloth was ripped loose and in a second two of the salarian's arms were bound and Emiya had him in a joint lock against the floor.

At least the shoulders and elbows are similar enough for these to work. Sheesh.

The salarian looked at him, sniffing once before his black eyes roamed down to Emiya's bared lower body. At the raging erection staring up at them, as if it too were a valid member in this conversation.

There was an awkward silence as Emiya realized that perhaps he shouldn't be tampering with his hormone balance at all. They looked up and their eyes met.

"Flattered. Very, much so. However, must decline."

And for just a moment, Emiya stared at the salarian in complete and utter slackjawed horror.

Which was when the good doctor headbutted him.

Emiya saw stars exploding in his vision and knew his nose would have been broken if he hadn't leaned back just in time. It was hard to tell through the haze of all his current sensations whether the pain would have even registered enough for the salarian to try breaking free, but it was obvious the doctor was hardly out of the fight just yet.

Whatever happened to 'do no harm'?

Emiya stood up, grabbing Mordin with him and putting him over the bed as the other hand grabbed the metal railing and bent it through sheer force to lock the salarian into place.

The doctor stared up at him, the bent railing around his neck, holding him down.

Emiya shook his head, backing away while checking that his nose wasn't broken as he exhaled. "Thanks for the help, but I'm afraid I'll be checking out now."

"Curious. Used lethal force, immense physical strength and speed, yet sparing me. Subtle habits, unchanged. Same person, should be impossible. Who are you?" the doctor asked and Emiya merely raised an eyebrow at him.

He never shuts up, does he?

Raising his hands to show that he was stepping out of this now, Emiya turned around and opened the door. He had gotten up a scant minute earlier, yet so far no one seemed to be running in. He couldn't hear any alarms either.

That's good.

He turned around to look at the doctor one more time, only to see that the salarian had already undone the hospital robe and was working on freeing himself from the bed.

Emiya sighed, turning around and walking out. He wasn't going to kill the doctor: he owed the salarian his life. But he needed to avoid being caught. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses and connected again.

The door closed and he put it in lockdown, telling it that there had been an airlock breach, which would override all other orders. Then he called an automated cab. He heard a shout, looking up to spot the salarian in scrubs staring at him with confusion. Another shout and a raised hand, followed by alarms beginning to blare.

"And that's my cue to get the hell out of dodge." He turned and ran, extending a hand outwards against the building. "—Trace, on"—begin synchronization;

His magical energy spread outwards and he built a wireframe model of the entire building inside of his head. He needed a window. Turning a corner, he almost ran into a salarian in a hardsuit but managed to dance out of the way.

Spinning around, he snapped out a low kick to shatter the salarian's knee, and then continuing the motion he grabbed the salarian's shoulders and hip and tossed him around the corner where he'd just come running from. He also pilfered the pistol in the same motion, noting he would be needing it.

Wasting no further time on that he continued running. He found the stairs and immediately began to run up towards the upper floors. The further he got his pursuers from all the conventional exits, the better. Running up several floors, he checked on the arrival of the skycar cab. As it began to protest about an invalid address, he hopped out of his body for an instant and dived into it, forcing it to obey. It would be there.

Arriving at the floor he wanted, he burst out through the door into a wide-open office space. Hundreds of salarians turned to look at him, busy in their work and all equally confused by the sudden appearance of a naked human.

Not bothering to look at any of them, he strode straight for a lone office by the corner of the building. Walking straight in, he leveled the pistol at the salarian in a suit inside, sitting by a desk.

"Cleaning service, I am going to have to ask you to step out of this office for a moment," he said with a pleasant business smile and the salarian eyed him with an expression bordering on panic.

The salarian couldn't hasten to obey him quickly enough and Emiya closed the door behind him. The airlock seal went shut with a fizzing sound and Emiya smiled. He turned around to look out the large windows, where the purple nebula shone as usual. He could see the five Wards and most the Presidium from here.

It was a really nice view.

Working for the salarians obviously paid well.

And it also reminded him of the fact that he was several hundred meters up from the 'street' level, near the top floors of a skyscraper.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see the salarian strike team, covered from head to toe in armor, coming out from the elevator and rushing towards him in the office with their guns drawn.

That was good.

The Special Tasks Group was a black-ops special forces outfit through and through. That meant that unlike a regular army, they did not have a preponderance of reserves. On a tactical level, a specialist tiger team was much more effective than a platoon of regular marines. But on the strategic level, it was not always the case. Thus, while the operational costs for fielding both could be in the same range, oftentimes it was better to field a larger, less specialized and trained force.

Because if you made a mistake, you had more in reserve that could cover for it.

But he hadn't seen more than a handful of armed salarians in this building, and this seemed to be accounting for most of them. Which meant that they had thought this a chance to corner him, justifying going all in, locking all their pieces in play on the board.

Which was just what he wanted.

Emiya turned around, leveling the pistol at the large windows. He pulled the trigger once, twice, thrice. He leveled it at another corner and repeated it. But the glass held spectacularly, just as it was supposed to. These windows were meant to keep in the air, acting as the sole boundary between the void outside and this office. The fact that the door to the office was airlocked as well, was what had caught his attention and drawn him here.

A crack. He shot another corner, going for a specific pattern.

The spiderweb of lines spread, rapidly. Already Emiya could hear a queer whistling sound, a sign of air being sucked out into the void.

He turned around, keeping the pistol leveled at the center of the window as behind him the cracks continued to expand, the surface tension contending against the immense push and pull between the pressurized inside and the emptiness outside.

The lead salarian had reached the door, a hand hovering over the button to open it as their eyes met.

An understanding passed; the moment he tried to open the door, Emiya would blow out the window. The automatic life-support system would lock down the door, sectioning off the office Emiya was in to protect the rest of the floor. This was probably once a minor docking port of some kind, that has been refitted into an office space, he thought idly.

He could see the wide-eyed salarians staring in horror at him, the one he had kicked out ranting and raving at the hardsuited salarians to go in and shoot Emiya already.

—Crreeeaaaak

Emiya was suddenly reminded of a time he had been trying to cross a frozen lake during spring, just when the ice covering the lake had begun to weaken. The temperatures had been rising rapidly, causing the ice to begin melting. It had been able to support his weight, he had reasoned, until he realized that it had been melting the whole time beneath his feet as he had walked.

He focused on his breathing, especially on the exhale. That time, he had been inhaling, trying to oxygenate himself in case he fell into the water, too far away from the shores.

Here, doing that would be catastrophic.

He remembered how the ice beneath his feet had cracked and moved, hinting at collapsing beneath him. It had been a terrifying moment, no less so than right now. This time, it was creaking at his back and the sound was more akin to nails on a chalkboard, but the similarity was undeniable.

The cold waters, even in spring, were deadly chilling.

The void of space was absolutely deadly without an environmental suit.

The STG strike team hesitated as they stared at each other across the window in the door to the office. A stalemate, they thought. He couldn't escape through the lobby due to security and he couldn't fight his way through, so he was taking himself hostage, they thought. No one would be mad enough to airlock themselves while butt naked, they thought.

That was fine, let them think that. His ride was almost here, anyway.

He could feel himself dizzy, the hypoxia beginning to affect him. That was fine, a little lightheadedness was better than having his lungs burst from the inside. All the oxygen in his blood had to go. Or as much of it as he could get out anyhow. He was fairly certain his blood wouldn't boil, but that remained to be seen. If not, then hopefully his new cybernetic parts could handle the slack.

The cab appeared in the corner of his eye and Emiya smirked, pulling the trigger one last time as his other hand held onto the heavy desk.

He heard the crack of the bullet and the glass as one, followed by an unholy racket of thousands of shards of glass exploding outwards as the air all rushed out, whipping against his skin.

Then, there was absolute silence.

Feeling the void against his skin, he grit his teeth against the pain. The lack of external pressure pulled at his skin and made him feel like a balloon, or rather, his inside were pushing out. Human beings had evolved to exist in a certain amount of pressure. When certain deep-sea fish were brought rapidly up to the surface from their high-pressure habitat, they could quite literally turn to jelly from their inability to handle the low pressure.

But that wasn't all. An oft-forgotten fact about the boiling temperature of matter was that pressure greatly affected it. In the vacuum of space, the boiling temperature of water could fall well below the internal body temperature of a human being.

Which meant that he was beginning to boil from the inside. Had he had more oxygen in his blood and lungs, it would have been even worse. His lungs ripping themselves apart wasn't out of the question in the worst-case scenario. As it was, it was pure agony.

But he hung on through sheer force of will.

A single second had passed and the glass had disappeared. The life-support system had locked down this office; the door was bolted dead shut with the same hardcoded safety mechanism that he had abused to lock in Mordin. The air circulation was shut down, but gravity still held on which let him keep himself from being sucked out as he held onto the table.

I have fifteen seconds to live, he thought. That was more than enough.

Outside, the hacked cab pulled near and the side door opened up. Taking a running start, he leaped into it and closed the door behind him. Immediately he set the skycar into a rapid dive downwards, away from the field of view from the window above. The skycar was sealed and had a rudimentary life-support system, but it was slow, especially when every moment was pure agony.

Five seconds had passed; even with the skycar's systems, that only left him eleven more seconds before he passed out.

Ahead he saw the Ward floor ahead and he grabbed the controls, pulling into an angle as he broke into the seven meters above street level where a breathable atmosphere was maintained for pedestrians. He kicked the door open, reveling in the air that rushed in.

Then as the skycar had been pressurized in two-second, he closed the door and pulled back up. Even through the headache and pain, he could see the panicking people all around him. Onwalkers who had suddenly been swooped down on by a skycar out of nowhere, ducking and shouting in alarm.

He hadn't hit anyone, but he sure had given them the fright of their lives.

Emiya shook his head, working his jaw as he focused on breathing. My entire mouth feels like it's been scalded... Ugh.

Looking out, he flew along the Ward. He needed to disappear, which meant getting out of the car and into a crowd. Leaning back to hide from any nearby cameras, he closed his eyes.

"—Trace, on"—begin projection;

The magical energy he flooded his body with felt like a balm for all of his aches, as he ignored the burning of his magic circuits. He fabricated clothes, something that wouldn't stand out, and topped it off with a blond wig on his now bald head. Couldn't have people looking at the stitches going around his entire skull and wonder where they had come from, now could he?

Rolling into a traffic intersection where all skycars paused, Emiya opened the door without sitting up. Looking out, he found no cameras in the general area on him.

Smirking, he barrel-rolled the car and dropped out.

It was a low intersection, just within the seven-meter atmosphere as one of the turns went into an under-Citadel parking garage. Landing on all fours, he let out a huff of air before he stood back up and dusted himself off.

Several asari and salarians were looking at him strangely, having stopped and whispering to each other and pointing up at the cab he had dropped out of.

Emiya shrugged at them, before looking up with faux-dismay. "Public transportation, am I right?"

One or two around him huffed in amused agreement before turning to leave. The aliens had seen everything already, or so they thought. What was a human dropping out of a moving skycar, but just another day on the Citadel?

Emiya turned around and left. He would return to his apartment now, changing his disguise at least twice along the way, before he would feel safe and secure again.

Then it was time to think about moving out again.

;

The Illusive Man sighed, accepting the incoming holocall.

Miranda stood there, straight of back and bearing fearless eyes. She had failed in the mission she had been sent out for, even if none of the expected fallout had occurred, too over-shadowed by the other catastrophes ravaging Cerberus and humanity.

She had also been in contact with their mysterious enemy, who had so handily ruined nearly all of their Sol-system operations.

Rasa's report had been rather damning in that regard, painting the whole disaster as Miranda's fault. Accusing the other of being blinded by her attempts to grow closer to the man to notice all the obvious red flags. Of course, Rasa had implied much more than just willful blindness between the lines of her report's factual text.

But he did not see it; Miranda was far too stuck in her ways, far too impersonal and cold for him to worry about Rasa's accusations.

It was also Rasa's way of doing things that made him dismiss it; she was a political animal to the core, with allegiances more shifting and tenuous than the galaxy itself. He knew that she had rushed back to the local cluster, to help with handling the cover-up of the rest of the organization's assets solely to pile up achievements. Enough so, that her part in what had happened at the Citadel would be forgotten in time.

Certainly, Earth and Ganymede remained operational, but the Alliance raid had been devastating. Her help in sabotaging Alliance communications had been vital in salvaging what remained.

"Sir," Miranda began. There was little to say - her report had been thorough and concise, as always.

He inhaled slowly, considering how to handle this. She had met that man, even managing to scent him out, but had failed to capture him. That man who had struck such a blow to their efforts, disappearing into the Citadel as if smoke in the wind.

That man, one among who knew how many.

I have to assume Shirou Emiya was a test case; to see how well the clones performed, he reminded himself.

To assume anything more would leave him paralyzed.

"What can you tell me of our mystery man?" he asked, finally.

She blinked, obviously surprised that he was not chiding her for abandoning the chase for him or for not returning to the Sol-system as soon as the mission had been a failure.

He knew why, of course. Oriana Lawson; the genetic twin of the woman before him on call. She obviously felt some guilt over placing her own emotions before the mission and were it any other circumstance he might share those feelings.

But it had also been a batarian ploy to besmirch humanity, which she had helped to blow wide open for all the galaxy to see, even as that man made another baffling appearance. Infiltrating a sealed starship, something thought impossible by everyone in the galaxy, he had without shedding a single drop of blood defused the hostage situation.

Was it another clone? Or was it the same one?

Regardless, despite her failure, she had done as much as could be expected of her in such a bewildering and paradigm-breaking situation.

Understanding sparked in her eyes as she realized he did not hold her choices against her, instead deciding to look forward.

"Sir, he is..." She hesitated, dropping her eyes and chin as she turned thoughtful for a long second, to give as thorough an answer as necessary. "A man who could do anything, if he sets his mind to it."

He hummed his agreement, turning away as he reached for his glass of scotch. In that moment, he missed her opening her mouth to say something more, before she shook her head and decided to hold her silence.

"'I am no one', was it?" he repeated, inhaling the scent of the scotch.

She nodded.

"That is twice I have heard that uttered now." He thought back to the interrogation of Shirou Emiya. The missing recruit had disappeared completely, but he had uttered that same line just before that man had attacked and erased Cardotini's cell. "We'll need a codename. Pointlessly obliging him in his efforts to remain in anonymous will only hinder us."

Miranda immediately replied. "Odysseus, sir."

"Hmm?"

"A clever man—deceitful, even—who made a long voyage over the unknown seas, braving many terrible ordeals to reach his goal." Miranda elaborated, revealing she had read up on the 'ghostship' incident.

The skycar had nearly been lost in the raids, but he had managed to cover the tracks well enough in time that it remained hidden. His scientists were busily analyzing everything about that craft, even now.

Something more of the story tickled his memory.

Something apropos...

"Ah, yes. The story of the cyclops Polyphemus. A fine choice, but I believe we shall go with 'Outis', for now. No need to label him after too great a hero and risk flattery," the Illusive man replied, nodding to himself with a smirk. The Latin equivalent—Nemo—held too much weight as well.

The clones shall collectively be called Ithacans, he mentally added.

He thought for a second, pondering whether he should rename the project for unraveling Cardotin's skycar after Odysseus' ship, only to realize after a few seconds that the vessels had never been named in the old poems.

Shaking his head, he dismissed that line of thought.

For now, it was obvious that large-scale arming and shipment operations within the Sol-system were impossible. But the new direction of Cerberus was obvious, as seen by the effectiveness and attention of Outis himself.

Artificial Intelligence and Stealthcraft in space, that is where humanity's future lies. Nodding to himself, he crossed his fingers in his lap.

"If that is all, sir...?"

He looked up, nodding and dismissing Miranda with a wave of his hand. He had too much to do and think about right now to further entertain her need for fatherly approval.

And again, he missed the strange look in her eye as she stared at him. It wasn't something in her eyes at the sight of him, rather it was the absence of something which had been there before when she had been looking at him.

She nodded and the connection cut, leaving him in the darkness with but his scotch and his thoughts.

;

Mordin Solus sighed, looking around at the table.

He was seated among the greatest minds the salarians had to offer, yet they were squabbling like asari children. He had made his reports, submitted the paperwork he had written, and explained everything that had happened in excruciating detail.

Multiple times, even.

But no one knew what to make of it.

Guuran Heffai continued leading the meeting as he usually did. He was not as such a leader of the Special Tasks Group, but in practice, nothing happened without his knowledge or approval.

"Motion to acquire human test subjects for continued experimentation and testing?" Several voted against, but most had too many questions to let the matter lie. "Passed. The third detachment shall be contacted."

Shirou Emiya's rapid recovery was impossible, everyone who had participated in the surgery agreed on that much. Certainly, humans had not been around very long in galactic society yet, and the physiological and biological profiles on the race were still somewhat lacking. But none of the data they had had even hinted at something like this being possible.

And no one knew how or where this deviation had come about.

He should have been brain dead. He should have been physically unable to break free from his restraints. He should have been physically unable to bend industrial-grade steel as if it were foam. So many impossibilities had piled up that none of them could make sense of anything at all.

Some had even hinted at the possibility of an AI possessing the body, using it to walk out. Others suggested that there must have been another brain implanted in the subject's torso. A few wondered if perhaps the subject was the result of some human genetic modification experiment run wild, noting how blatantly the System Alliance had been skirting the Council's laws.

But at this point, it was all worthless speculation.

"Testing on subjects will include physical fitness, rise in ability under various forms of duress and finally with additional experimentation to test whether this case was an exception or the rule."

There were whispers of the possibility of unusual genetic modifications, perhaps some krogan modifications introduced to the human genome, or of even using other non-sentient life-forms as a basis. Humanity had a history of relatively reckless genetic experimentation prior to contact with the Council. But the sample they had taken, both directly and the leftovers from the operation showed nothing of the sort.

In fact, it matched standard Alliance Navy enhancements that were still in the gestation period.

"Acquiring subjects will be left up for the detachment head's discretion, however, I caution against needlessly antagonizing the Alliance at this time," Heffai noted and a salarian made a motion of understanding.

It wasn't a difficult matter to find criminals and undesirables to use that could be made to vanish without issue. Especially given how widely humanity had spread itself beyond its own borders.

The fact that a human had been able to bend a steel bed frame and survive the void of space without any gene modification seemed to be more alarming to some of the salarians than anything else. It was well known that humans were absolute machines when sufficient amounts of stress hormones were in their bloodstream, but this was beyond even their wildest predictions.

"Specialist Solus. You are currently the foremost expert in this combined field, given your work on modifying the graybox for use on humans," Heffai continued, looking up. The question had not been voiced but was obvious.

Would he be joining them?

It represented a large step in cybernetics; if the person who had gone down under had woken up the same day, it could mean a quantum leap forward in their understanding of cybernetization.

True trans-salarianism. A method to surpass the limits of their bodies.

The unspoken taboo of breaking free.

Salarians had long been at the forefront of all forms of self-enhancement. Driven by as much their endless drive for efficiency as their desire to surpass their own mortality and biology, as a species, they had dabbled in just about everything imaginable. Genetic modification, cybernetic enhancements, cloning for various ends, experimenting with implanting useful alien organisms into their own bodies as symbiotic organs...

He himself was a prime example of that. He had copious amounts of cybernetic enhancements himself, ranging from brain transplants to his entire nerve cell network into a classified material that gave him a 20% boost to reaction time and thinking. He was also on a TET2 supplement; injecting on a constant basis an enzyme harvested from blood donated by young salarians, which would allow him to continue performing at peak level for decades to come.

It was simple pragmatism; a small amount of blood donated would not hurt the common salarian nearly as much as they benefited as a species from the healing and enhancing effects it had on their best individuals.

But there were limits to what they could do.

The Dalatrasses jealously guarded their privileges, making sure of that. In that regard, what he had spoken of before was wholly true. There were no publicly known cases of full conversion. But it was always rumored when one or another talented salarian seemed to drop out of the public eye, never to be seen again. Even he had known some, who had mysteriously disappeared like that, and he had been forced to question whether or not those rumors were true.

Of course, such rumors were nothing more. Rumors, that is. Similar to how some still believed the League of One was alive and active, somehow.

Mordin shook his head, focusing on the conversation at hand. He had been invited to the meeting, being a Specialist on the subject that was being discussed.

"Profess belief, that am compromised, per regulation 14C, regarding handling of unlisted guests. Should not have been visiting the patient prior to his release. Must decline," he finally said though it was little more than an excuse.

True it may have been technically, but he had no interest in capturing and torturing humans in some vain hope of finding new data.

His gut told him that it would not lead to anything; 'Emil Durana' and 'Shirou Emiya' were the key.

Until they resurfaced, this was nothing but a wild feer chase.

"...Very well." Heffai did not argue the point, though he had the authority to overrule such a regulation, had he seen it necessary.

At least the last omnitool had arrived, just as promised, despite the subject escaping from the STG's custody.

It had rather peculiarly been sent to Mordin, rather than directly to Heffai.

Sadly, it hadn't contained any information on what they had been hoping. But they couldn't find any signs of tampering either. Thus, they had extended contacts to the Alliance Intelligence Agency to attempt to organize an exchange of information.

Only, their usual contact had completely vanished.

Contacting the human embassy had only led to a confused few hours as the Alliance Intelligence tried to find out where the hell Abraham Rumoi had disappeared. For all intents and purposes, the man seemed to have vanished into thin air. After the Synthetic Insights ball, no one had seen hide nor hair of the man, yet neither had anyone made notice of him disappearing.

There were no signs of foul play, but at the same time, it was as if the man had never been at the Citadel in the first place.

Who the hell was 'Emil Durana'? Was he in this together with Abraham Rumoi, or had he chosen to make the man vanish with him? What had he wanted with the cyberization operation on 'Shirou Emiya'? Was that what had allowed him to hack the room's systems despite the signal jamming that should have been in effect? How had he managed to remove all of the safety measures and tracking software in the cybernetic implants? Who the hell even was 'Shirou Emiya' and where had he come from? How had he even arrived here and where was he now? Who were the other two female human operatives at the ball? Why had Rumoi seen fit to vanish? What was that strange sheathing material that had been keeping 'Shirou Emiya' from suffering from his neurological damage?

There were too many questions and too little information. It was a rare sight to see the Special Tasks Group this stymied, leaving Mordin Solus rather amused, all things considered.

They had but two leads of any note.

Firstly, the reply Mordin had been given. 'I am no one', spoken in the Earth tongue Japanese. Looking into it, they had found that 'Mumei' could mean many things, especially if one considered how it could be written; anonymous, nameless, lacking a signature, the possibilities were many.

One reading Mordin had discovered also meant 'I am not innocent', which for some reason seemed to fit with the deprecating smile the man had shown.

Their only other major lead was a small snippet the communications array had been able to intercept before the entire cybernetics array was wiped clean by something.

'—Synchronizing with —'

The specific final word was still under analysis, with no definite answer to be had yet.

Which only seemed to lead further credence to the AI theory, though others were arguing that it was some form of functional self-uploading. That Emil Durana had been mockingly asking the questions at the ball, to prod their level of cybernetic sophistication to compare to his own.

Mordin questioned that line of thought. What would he have to gain from that? 'Shirou Emiya' had been obviously in need of that operation but had also been unsure of whether it would work.

But he was ignored, his questions and doubts only a few among many others, most much more pressing.

Ultimately Heffai had asked that the Citadel Council heighten security in an attempt to find any of the five strange humans they were looking for. As long as they were on the Citadel, whoever these people were, they would eventually be found. But Mordin wasn't so sure of that.

From what little he had interacted with four of them, the more convinced he was becoming that they were all missing some vital piece of this puzzle. Something, that would change everything. It was a meta-understanding he had acquired from reviewing many official documents from third parties trying to reason out what had happened after the STG had performed an operation.

An understanding of what out-of-context problem solving could look like.

He felt like he was stuck inside of a box, with the answer just outside, just beyond his reach and grasp, eluding him because of his own limited information. Of course, his thoughts had been dismissed as nothing more than baseless gut feelings.

But for all of his annoyance and consternation this event had caused him, there was also a strange sense of elation. 'Mumei' was clearly not a hostile entity, for all of his mysteriousness.

"If there is nothing more..." Heffai prodded, looking around. "Then this meeting is concluded."

They all rose to leave, but Mordin stayed behind as he considered everything. The operation he had thought would be a violation of all of his beliefs, had turned out to save a life. Even if nothing else was true, Mordin could believe in that.

He just wished that when they met the next time, they would be fully clothed. Never before had the salarian felt such fear as when he had been confronted by that massive rod of meat.

Mordin shuddered one more time.

;

Emiya took a step forward, looking around with half-closed eyes.

He had taken a day to rest and recuperate after his operation and escape, but he still felt rather tired and beat.

A combination of the cryo-freezing, his operation, the self-inflicted spacing, and subsequent escape. No, that was wrong. It wasn't just the last one that was self-inflicted, rather all of it was. He really needed to take better care of his body, he thought with a grumble. Well, his current appearance was useful, since security seemed to be completely ignoring him.

It was as expected, starship security had been raised several notches since the incident with the batarians. Apparently, the Council itself was getting involved now, as interrogation had revealed many unusual details and the Batarian Hegemony was refusing to answer any questions properly, denying any involvement.

There were C-Sec officers everywhere, eyeing and scanning passengers constantly.

But that was fine.

His new identity was foolproof, and he wasn't carrying anything suspicious on his person anyhow, just his clothes. His trip through space had actually done him some favors in that his face was still slowly healing and slightly bloated from what he had gone through, changing his appearance completely.

As agreed, he had put the last omnitool into a dropbox that would lead it to the STG's hands eventually. The rest of his gear and equipment he had all sold on the black market that existed beneath the Wards. It hadn't been anything extraordinary when compared to the rest of his financial nest egg but they weren't worth the hassle of transporting off the Citadel.

Emiya's next step—besides continued heroics around the galaxy—was clear: he needed to find out more about the Protheans. It was the main reason why he had left Alliance territory, too. But it wasn't like he could simply find some old ruins and begin digging around. The Mars' ruins had shown him that there was simply too much he did not know about that ancient race that had long since vanished.

Thus, he needed to study.

His first idea before the ball had taken place, had been to enroll somewhere on the Citadel, but upon going through the options and weighing the risks, he decided to forego those options. The salarians had extensive museums and exo-archeological associations, but they were rather exclusive and he would stand out among them, especially given his recent escapades.

Additionally, their focus differed from his, as the majority of the subjects taught seemed to focus on paleotechnology.

He had a definite interest in those fields as well, but primarily he wanted to understand and comprehend the Prothean culture. He reasoned that it would make it easier for him to comprehend any ruins he investigated later.

And it might help me understand those guns better. If their owners were clearly not human, then their mindsets; their logos must be equally warped from my perspective. How can I hope to read them properly when I don't even understand them in the first place?

Thus, he had chosen his destination among other options. Once he stacked up all the options, it seemed like the obvious choice.

"Next, please." A voice rang out, like chimes and bells in the gentle wind.

Emiya stepped up to the counter, smiling at the asari attendant, who smiled in return. He handed over his ticket, printed on a solid material.

She accepted it, looking down for a second before smiling at him again. "Do you have any luggage to announce?"

He shook his head. "No, just what I have on me."

"Very well, sir. Due to a recent change in starliner safety policy, we will have to ask you to turn in your omnitool for the duration of the flight. Worry not, the onboard seat-terminals will be available free of charge as a replacement," she said, smiling as she repeated the words for the hundredth time today.

The slight strain was evident; the hesitation that he would begin arguing with her over that, how she had had to convince and deal with dozens of customers regarding this matter already.

He smiled, raising his bared wrists. "I'm afraid I've none to give."

She blinked at him, her blue lips forming an O as she stared.

"Oh my... But then, how are you..."

"Is that a hint of an Usaru-accent I hear?" he asked, smiling as he tilted his head in the asari way to signal polite curiosity.

She blinked, a purplish blush appearing on her face. "Ah, uhm... That is right. You... You speak asari?"

He said nothing, merely smiling knowingly at her.

It was certainly one of the larger advantages of his new half-cybernetic brain. Who needed an omnitool translator when he had the entire damn translation pack in his head, body language and all. Pronunciation was a bit difficult, but his understanding was becoming quite good already when he turned off the auto-translator.

It was fascinating how much was lost with the translation, as rapidity to avoid a perceived lag, was prioritized over perfect accuracy. Small things, mostly, but it was still noticeable when he paid attention to it.

"Ah, uhm. Apologies, sir. I did not mean to pry." She coughed, returning to reading his ticket. Next, he handed her his identitag.

It was a physical piece of identification, something which operation 'gateway' required specialized facilities to fabricate. Usually, the Cerberus agents relied on their digital copies, which were much easier to forge.

He had simply found a real one and projected his own using that as a template, foregoing digital versions as he had no omnitool at the moment. Additionally, with his face still being what it was, the facial recognition VI could not get a decent read on him anyway.

"Your palm print and final payment confirmation, please." She smiled, motioning with her hand at a scanner by the desk.

Nodding, he pressed his palm onto the surface at the same time as he extended his spirit through into the machine. He couldn't effectively change his palm prints or even genome, but on a local scanner like this which only performed a quick check against the medicard and verified against the database...

Spoofing it was as easy as flicking a switch. There was no need to input a whole palm print and genome scan; simply bypassing those sections and telling the system that it all matched and came out all green was enough.

It beeped once, giving the clerk the final details.

The asari nodded, handing the paperwork back with a smile. "Everything seems to be in order, sir. We hope you enjoy your flight to Thessia, mister Fujimura Saiga."

Emiya smirked, accepting them.

"Thank you, I will."

;

Thanks to PseudoSteak and Rakkis157 for proofreading and helping out, he's a huge help. Thanks to Tirfarthuan for helping with ideas.

Also, a reminder that Mordin is a god damn donkan harem protagonist and is now officially in the lead in the Emiyabowl :V