Day 1 ASR

Completion.

It always seemed that death would bring completion. At least, that's what they promised her.

She grew up, a child filled with the sunshine of Jesus in a manger, promising to take her to heaven to live with Him there. Her faith-filled mom and dad said that all she needed to do was believe in Jesus and His Father to live on after death in a place more peaceful and beautiful than she could imagine. They promised a reunion with everyone she'd ever loved, her existence distilled down to pure joy.

It was a beautiful dream.

Their preacher always said that you couldn't believe in God without believing in His opposite. Shepard never bought that. Satan proved far too easy an excuse for succumbing to weakness in all its forms. Give in to greed, hatred, or fear? It was the devil, naturally. No, she took responsibility for her actions, so Satan had no place in her life.

And then the batarians came.

Those twenty-seven hours taught her how wrong she'd been about evil. Satan existed and he'd sunk his claws into her that day, embedding a hell deep down inside her that burned like the flames of myth.

People assumed that she became a drug addict after Mindoir in an attempt to cover over the memories of what the slavers did to her. They couldn't have been more wrong. She wore her scars—all of them—like medals, each one dedicated to another soul killed or taken during that very long night. She loved her scars, as perverse as that might seem, as an integral part of who she was.

No, the Hallex broke down her prison. Under the influence of the drug, her world blossomed, everything becoming so intense, so powerful, and so beautiful that it smashed the hatred inside of her. It set her free. At least for a little while. It allowed her to rest.

The hatred sank its roots in so deep that nothing could dig them out. It spread, infecting every aspect of her life, darkening the sky and poisoning the earth. Even after Anderson rescued her from that mental ward, and then again off the street, his love and support had only been able to ease back the hatred from a four alarm blaze to a smolder inside the walls.

The Alliance gave her the perfect focus for the hatred, each shot a strike for the good guys—the innocent that God, in all His great power and glory left to suffer and die. He stood by and watched evil despoil and destroy, she would not. Yet through it all, somehow the faith instilled in her on her knees beside her bed all those years before, never died.

God bless Mommy and Daddy, and help me to be a better girl every day. Amen.

After all, you couldn't hate a God you didn't believe in.

After everything she lived through, after all she suffered, all she'd ever truly needed from Him was the fulfillment of that one promise. And He'd failed her. No peace. No torrent of joyous tears as her father swept her up into his arms to tell her how much he'd missed her and loved her. No beauty or rest.

Only darkness.

Then she woke to discover that once again, she'd been abducted by slavers who had brutally raped her, and maybe in an even more horrific way. During that long night, the batarians had abused her body, but she'd been able to lock her mind and her soul away. She didn't know if the new monsters had left her a soul.

The sharp chatter of gunfire punctured the darkness, low and distant, the sound like glass marbles dropped on tile. Of course, she recognized it instantly. One didn't confuse the sound of bullets being fired with other noises after being shot at. This particular chorus consisted of assault rifles and the odd metallic ping of an SMG. No, she pinned down their identity without more than a second's consideration. Their origin, however, presented more of a problem. Mindoir? Some memory she couldn't pull forward?

A man screamed, shattering the stillness as it echoed along a corridor, or maybe through a barren room. Who? Who screamed? Daddy? Panic froze her in place as half of her insisted on racing out to discover who screamed … to find her mother and father and make sure they were all right. The other half demanded that she run as fast and as far as she could.

Or the present?

"Shepard, you need to get up."

The floor thundered under running feet. For a breathless moment, she listened, awaiting the crash of the door flying open. Daddy? Please, is that you? Every inch of her body trembled as she prayed for her father to appear, to take her away and protect her. The door opened and then slammed shut. She heard the locks engage.

"Get up, Janey. You've got to get up. They're coming. Use the window." His voice slapped her hard, shattering the ice that held her in place.

Heart racing, entire body poised to flee, Shepard jumped up—

"No, Shepard—"

—and swung her legs off the mattress before Mindoir shattered, allowing her to register the stark, white walls; antiseptic reek; and electrical buzz of equipment between the shards. Not Mindoir. Hospital.

She'd died. Miranda—her doctor?—dragged her back from the dead.

Oops, Janey. You didn't stop at the edge of the bed. This is going to hurt.

She hit the floor face down, the tile surface reaching into her lungs and yanking out all the air before it bludgeoned her from head to foot. Blood seeped from tooth-holes in her tongue, but she felt remarkably little pain. After biting it hard enough to bleed, her face should feel like it was going to explode. Maybe the batarians had killed her after all.

"Shepard!" Miranda's heels clicked toward her, her tread as brisk and efficient as the rest of her. "Are you all right?"

Awkward and boneless, like someone trying to function with broken limbs, Shepard managed to drag one hand underneath her to push her face up off the chill tile. Blood and saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth, splashing crimson against the white.

All right? What about her patient lying splattered on the floor looked all right to Miranda, and why did she keep using her last name?

Miranda crouched by Shepard's head, letting out a sigh of such annoyed disappointment that Jane almost felt the need to apologize for being so careless and clumsy. Almost.

Boots appeared in front of Shepard's face, next to Dr. Frankenstein. "She can't even sit up, Miranda. Why don't we just move her on the bed?" The voice was male but not Wilson. Deeper, resonant rather than nasal.

"No, she's too vulnerable." A hand pressed against Jane's shoulder. "Shepard, listen to me. The council paid Wilson to kill you. This base is compromised. We need to move you somewhere secure."

Council? Was that some sort of batarian slaver oversight committee? Turning her head, she looked up into the tight, blue glare, rage countering the terror as it tried to jumpstart her heart. "You shud hayv just led the bahtareeahns—" The low, raspy growl of her voice stopped her mid sentence. Miranda's nanites must have worked overtime. Although still slurred, the words made sense.

"We can discuss the ethical implications of bringing you back once we're in a shuttle on our way to another base," Miranda said, her anger crackling like static sparks on wool. She slid an arm under Shepard's shoulder to hook through her armpit. "Try to help us get you up."

Thrown by the fact she'd uttered an almost coherent sentence, it took Shepard a second to process Miranda's words. She slid her other hand along her side, wincing at the angle of her hand.

"Broke wrist," she said as she placed it in front of her. That time, although the words dragged out in slow motion, she enunciated perfectly.

"I gave you enough painkillers for five people, Shepard. We'll fix you up when we get to the other end." She looked up. "Jacob, Kelly, help me get her into the chair."

Gunfire. Shepard froze, holding her breath. Pistol that time, four shots, so more than likely a single target, but close. A lot closer than before. No. No no no. Why would they come back for her? She was just one, beaten up girl.

"Whar is Ahndarson?" she whispered, searching the room for the comfort of her saviour's familiar face. She looked up, staring at the man standing over her for a second before Anderson's face disappeared, replaced by another. Anderson? Why had he left her? Did he believe her dead? Tears wet her lashes, but she blinked them back.

"We need to move," the man, Jacob, said. He rolled Shepard over, lifting her easily in strong arms, his armour hard against her side. "Kelly, roll that chair over here."

More shots punctured the steady, mechanical background hum. Shepard twisted in Jacob's arms, fixing her stare on the door.

Please don't find us. Please don't find us.

She wouldn't let the batarians take her. Not again. She'd grab the pistol from Miranda's hip and send herself back to oblivion first.

Jacob settled her in the chair, then stepped past her, pulling a shotgun off his back as he jogged to the door. Pressing his back to the wall beside it, he palmed the control. When it opened, he leaned out, sweeping his weapon one way, then the other.

He knows what he's doing, Janey. Look at him. Tough and professional. A soldier to the core. The big gun doesn't hurt either. Just relax. It'll be fine.

Watching him, rapt and hopeful, Jane scarcely paid any attention to the people fastening her into the chair. Miranda had ripped her from the natural order of God's creation, turning her into some sort of barely functional golem. The other one was just a name, but Jacob would get them out of there. She knew it. Her pulse slowed, jumping a little as Miranda jogged past her, the pistol coming off her hip in a very practiced, confident grip.

Okay, looks like Dr. Frankenstein's got some skills too, Janey. Things are looking up. You know, if you forget the whole died for a year before being brought back from the dead thing.

Why?

The question drifted, disappearing between the thoughts fixated on trying to hear where the batarians were and those working out how best to make sure the bastards didn't take her alive. Maybe they'd come to kill her, cleaning up one last loose end, and she didn't have to worry.

Two soldiers in black and yellow armour strode out of a cross corridor, looking both ways before they spotted Jacob and Miranda. Their guns swung around, but Jacob's shotgun let out three harsh roars and the men hit the ground before they could take aim. A tiny smile lifted one side of Shepard's mouth. At least her grave robbers could shoot.

Three corridors and two more dead attackers, they arrived in the shuttle bay. Miranda ran ahead, flinging open the hatch of the closest craft. A gurney stood inside, strapped in against the wall, an entire bank of machines at its head. As the so far faceless Kelly pushed her toward the open portal, Jane realized that Miranda intended to put her back to sleep, to send her back into a state of blissful helplessness.

No.

Sliding her feet off the footplates, she braced the best she could. One foot held, the other rolling over at the ankle, sending the wheelchair into a hard turn.

"Did your feet fall off?" a gentle, feminine voice asked. Kelly stepped around in front of Jane, a friendly smile on her pretty, freckled face. A redhead, just like her. The woman bent down to lift Jane's feet back onto the supports, but Shepard shoved with her one foot, managing to back up out of reach.

"No."

"What's going on?" Miranda strode toward them, the same 'enough of this nonsense' look on her face that Jane's mother wore most of the time. "Shepard, there are people trying to kill you. Do I need to say that this isn't the time for you to get difficult?"

"Not gohing bahk to sleep." She shook her head and pushed back, timing it to avoid Miranda's hand every time she made a grab for the chair. "No mohr exparument."

"Again, not the time, Shepard." Miranda lunged, managing to snag the armrest and turned the chair toward the shuttle. When she tried to push, Shepard set her feet against the deck plating. "Oh for pity's … ." She waved to Kelly. "Get her feet up before we're all killed."

Jacob backed toward them, his gun covering the door. "What's going on? Why isn't she loaded?"

"Not baggahdg," Shepard shouted, proud of her volume even though she sacrificed clarity. She kicked at Kelly's hand, just a violent, spastic twitch to warn her off.

"She doesn't want to be put back to sleep," Kelly said, shrugging. "Not that I blame her. Put yourself in her place, Ms. Lawson. Yesterday, you told her that you stole her corpse, filled it full of tech, and brought her back to life a year after she died. I wouldn't trust you with my unconscious body either."

Shepard stared at the woman, surprise warring with gratitude. Maybe some of her body snatchers weren't all that bad. The unexpected kindness knocked a chink out of the wall, letting a couple of tears loose to roll down her cheeks.

Kelly smiled and whisked them away with a quick, gentle thumb despite Jane shying away from the contact.

"Impossible." Miranda pushed against the chair, only managing to move it a hand's width before giving up. "Shepard, you have a lot of healing to do. Your implants need constant readjustment." A harsh sigh punctuated her annoyance. "You'd be in constant pain, unable to move yourself around. It's in your best interest."

"No. Know payhn. Can take payhn. Not gohing bahk to sleep. Heel behtar awayk." It didn't matter how much pain she had to face, it couldn't be as bad as being the helpless victim of Dr. Frankenstein.

"Look," Jacob said, walking over to look down at Jane, "Captain, you need to get on the shuttle. You can be as stubborn as you want once we're in there and away from the people trying to kill you."

"Captin?" Jane laughed, a sharp scowl creasing her brow. "Uf whut? The piraht ship, Ravehng?"

Gunfire. Jacob ran back toward the door, Miranda dashing after him.

"Get her on the shuttle, Kelly," the woman shouted back.

If she resisted just a few minutes more, the gunmen would make it past Jacob and Miranda and finish what the batarians had started. Of course, that meant Jacob and Kelly dying along with her. Well, Dr. Frankenstein too.

Imagine how happy Anderson is going to be when he finds out you're still alive.

The image of her guardian's face filled her with warmth. Anderson must have been gutshot when she died after everything he'd done to save her.

Why did you die? How? You were recovering from the batarians.

Kelly crouched next to Jane's knee, startling her out of her thoughts. "Look, I know this sucks. You didn't ask for any of it, but it has a pretty big upside to it as well. You're alive. You've got a chance to do everything that you didn't get a chance to do." The redhead sucked in a strong breath, and nodded, a stubborn, decisive shake of the head that Jane knew very well. "I promise I won't let them put you back to sleep. We'll figure out a way for you to stay awake for the rest of your rehab. We just really need to leave."

Staring into the young woman's eyes, Shepard saw only sincerity. Anderson's face appeared once more, his face stoic, but his eyes bright. After a second, she nodded. "Okay." For Anderson and for hope she could try to see the gift rather than the curse.

(A-N: I did it! It's still N7 Day on the west coast of North America and Sassy is back. :) I do not envy Miranda in the least. So happy N7 Day! Love to all.)