On the third morning after she'd first regained consciousness on Thessia, Miranda rose early as the first rays of sunlight streamed through her bedroom window. Brushing aside her grogginess, she moved quickly to the bathroom where she stripped off her nightclothes and threw on a pair of capri-cut workout tights, sports bra, a light tank top, and athletic shoes.

Pausing at the sink, she splashed a handful of cool water on her face, ran her fingers through her long black hair, and then briefly studied her image in the mirror.

Thanks to her superior healing traits and Mordin's dermal regeneration treatments, her damaged eye and forehead had completely healed and the numerous scars had faded away. Still, as she reached back and felt the spot at the back of her neck, just at the base of her skull, she imagined the presence of the device that had tormented her for nearly a week.

That sensation is going to stay with me for a long time.

A minute later she was out the front door and setting a brisk pace as she jogged down the path leading away from the house and toward the rolling hills in the distance.

Focusing on each precise and measured stride of her long legs, Miranda cut a graceful form as she steadily increased her pace and rapidly put the house several kilometers behind her. So smooth was her gait, she practically glided along the seldom-used roadway boarding a sprawling field of long purple grasses blowing gently in the early morning breeze.

Soon, she reached the base of one of the taller hills and began to climb toward the sky.

Dashing along the narrow pathway that led up the small mountain, Miranda grew steadily more confident in her body's responses and bounded over the mixed terrain with swift, nimble steps. Steadily climbing, she could feel her heart rate increasing and a growing sheen of perspiration began to coat her exposed skin as the rising sun pierced the morning chill and warmed the air.

Step by step, kilometer after kilometer, Miranda carried herself along the mountain pathway. Disregarding the stich she felt in her side, she pressed forward and upward as the path's gradient increased more dramatically and the clearly defined footpath vanished.

Catching sight of her goal, Miranda pushed past yet another limit as she scrambled up the last dozen meters and leapt over one final obstacle before reaching the small mountain's peak.

Coming to an abrupt stop, she leaned over and placed her hands on her hips, panting as she surveyed the valley below.

It was a near idyllic landscape laid out before her. The sun had risen higher in the sky and was beginning to burn off the wispy mist that still clung to the lower lying areas and a shimmering river lazily flowed along the valley floor, eventually disappearing over the horizon to the south.

Before waking up in the quiet country home a few days ago, Miranda had never been anywhere on Thessia other than the busting spaceports and commerce centers of the planet's largest cities. But now she was seeing the true, natural beauty of the asari homeworld. It was a breathtaking land that looked so well-manicured and preserved that she felt almost as if she were standing within a great work of art.

But as lovely as the morning was shaping out to be, Miranda had little interest in pausing long to take in the sweeping countryside landscape. As she worked to regain her strength and fight through the nightmares that haunted her nights, she was consumed with a singular goal: Finding John Shepard.

Feron's lead on the Persephone had turned out to be their strongest thus far and Miranda and Liara now felt certain that Shepard was being held prisoner onboard. But the ship had proven elusive. For the better part of the last three days, the drell had been tracking the ship throughout the Minos Wasteland and Serpent Nebula, but always seemed one step behind. They needed to catch a break or find a way to get ahead of the vessel—and soon.

And so, late last night, Miranda had resolved to take Liara's advice and travel to the Citadel to meet with Councilor Anderson. They needed to branch out their efforts in order to track the mysterious ship more effectively and she couldn't do that from a rural estate on Thessia.

She still hadn't fully recovered from the abuse she'd been subjected to in the Alliance black site, but her patience had run thin and she refused to wait a single day longer before getting back into the field.

As she caught her breath and her heart rate leveled off, she prepared to make her decent back down the mountain. But then the soft chime of her newly implanted Omni-tool sounded, alerting her to an incoming communication.

She tapped the subdermal switch in her left forearm and Liara's face appeared within the small holo interface.

"Miranda, we have something. You better come back down to the house."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

Twenty-seven and a half minutes later, Miranda burst through the front door of the house, panting once again and sweating profusely. Striding into the large, open kitchen, she found Liara, Mordin and Kasumi huddled around a small countertop terminal, studying something on the computer's display. The three looked up in unison as Miranda stepped into the room.

Kasumi gave Miranda an approving smile and promptly tossed her a towel and bottle of water.

"Ah, excellent," Mordin said as he assessed Miranda. "Physical stamina improving."

"What do we have?" Miranda asked breathlessly as she wiped the perspiration from her brow and took a long drink from the water bottle.

"The break we've been waiting for," Liara announced and motioned to the screen. "Here, come over and take a look."

Miranda leaned in and peered over Liara's shoulder to see the terminal's display. It appeared to be the schematics for a spaceport that she didn't immediately recognize.

Liara then quickly tapped a key on the terminal and brought up the image and bio of a turian. "This is Lorik Qui'in, head administrator of the Synthetic Insights branch on Noveria."

"Lorik Qui'in?" Miranda asked. "You and Shepard had dealings with this turian before."

Liara nodded. "Correct. And, as it happens, over the years, Qui'in has been a prominent information resource for the Shadow Broker—not to mention a very expensive resource. As Feron's been tracking the Persephone's trail, I've been reaching out to all of my assets in the surrounding regions. Qui'in has just confirmed that the ship is travelling to Port Hanshan."

"How does he know this?" Miranda demanded.

"Qui'in has been instructed by the Synthetic Insights' board of directors to prepare personnel and lab facilities for a test subject the Persephone will be delivering to the offices on Noveria. They are to initiate human trials on several recently developed technologies."

"What kind of technologies?" Miranda asked in a wary voice.

Liara frowned and looked unsettled. "Bleeding edge synthetic intelligence development tools, primarily used to write and map artificial quantum neural pathways."

Miranda blanched. "They're going to try and use this tech to pull the Cipher from Shepard's mind and get around the block you put in place."

Liara nodded silently, confirming that she'd made the same leap in logic as Miranda.

Mordin was shaking his head. "Brute force science in response to an apparent failure to extract information conventionally. Use of this technology on human brain poses extraordinary risks. Likely will result in irreversible brain damage, regardless of success or failure of process."

Miranda stared at Mordin for a moment and then looked back to Liara. "How much time do we have?"

"They're due to arrive in Port Hanshan eighteen hours from now. We need to leave within the hour if we're going to catch them in time. I've booked passage to the Citadel where Feron will meet us. He's secured a ship that we'll use to travel to Noveria from there."

"Here's the bit I like," Kasumi said, looking over at Miranda with a malicious smile.

Liara returned a tentative smile. "We've procured a vessel from the estate of the late Donovan Hock. It's a small starliner he had converted to his personal yacht and that's been sitting dormant in a Bekenstein spaceport for several months. I've fabricated records that indicate a former business associate of Hock's took possession of the vessel. It should allow us to approach and dock in Port Hanshan without arousing suspicion."

Miranda nodded. "What kind of resistance are we looking at on Noveria?"

"There's no way to be sure," Liara admitted. "We know that at least eight soldiers from the Farragut were observed transitioning to the Persephone with Shepard, but there's no way to know what kind of security was already present on the ship or if they've picked up any additional support as they've made their way from system to system." She said and sighed. "But given the lengths they went to in order to capture Shepard, I think we can count on significant resistance."

"Fine. I'll be ready to leave in ten minutes." Miranda said and then drained the rest of her water before starting toward the stairs that led up to her room. "I'll change and gather my things now."

Liara shared a nervous glance with Kasumi and Mordin and then looked back toward Miranda hesitantly. "Miranda, I think it might be best if you remain here and let us handle it. I'm not certain you're ready for combat yet."

Miranda stopped on the first step of the wide, circular staircase and turned back to look at Liara. "I'll be ready in ten minutes," she said firmly. "Please see that transport is arranged for the four of us."

She then turned and trotted upstairs to her room without another look back.

Major Erich Richter of the Systems Alliance Intelligence Service stalked through the narrow corridors of the Persephone, deep in thought as he considered his latest orders.

His superiors were growing impatient with his lack of progress, prompting a seemingly drastic new step to be taken as they attempted to extract the vital intel Commander Shepard possessed. He'd now been instructed to proceed to Noveria in order to utilize newly developed, experimental artificial intelligence technologies in order to retrieve the information his subject was withholding.

But Richter still hoped to avoid diverting to that frozen world. Subjecting the man to the neural mapping technology housed within Synthetic Insights was a dramatic risk, to say the least. And if the procedure failed, it was all but certain to leave Shepard brain dead and render him essentially useless as an intelligence asset.

He needed to prove to his superiors that he was making strides toward retrieving the information and simply required a little more time to fulfill his task. If he could pry something from the man, perhaps he could persuade them to hold off on the desperate measure.

Known to be a man who'd stop at nothing to achieve complete success in is assignments, Richter possessed a quiet, introspective intensity that others generally found unsettling. Approaching fifty years of age, he'd made a career of operating in the shadowy fringes of galactic society and excelled in the orchestration of all manner of covert enterprises.

Recognized to few outside of the most inner circles of the Intelligence Service, Richter was generally kept at a safe distance from mainstream Alliance leadership. Called a soulless persecutor and the architect of unspeakable acts, his duty was to extract information valuable to his superiors through any means necessary.

Intelligence gathering through coercion was his craft and he took tremendous pride in the results he reliably delivered.

When his superiors originally ordered him to move against Shepard and his Cerberus accomplices, he had mixed emotions about the mission. His specialty was not assassinations, but rather the uncovering of truths that his adversaries wished to conceal. Nevertheless, the order had been given and the Major had never failed to follow a direct command.

And to Richter, there was no doubt that Commander John Shepard and his traitorous supporters within the Systems Alliance embodied a tremendous threat to the purity of humanity. They had to be dealt with, swiftly and forcefully. He had watched from a distance as Shepard had risen to prominence, fostering an agenda of cooperation and arguing that humanity needed to build stronger ties with the mongrel races of the galaxy. The entire concept made Richter physically ill.

So, if he couldn't experience the pleasure of having Shepard strapped into his interrogation chair, he'd at least silence the filth and propaganda the man spewed.

His first step was to carefully track Shepard, following him from the Citadel, where he had gone to meet with the criminal, David Anderson. He observed from the shadows, concealed by the crowds, as the Commander moved through the hub of galactic politics surrounded by all manner of repulsive alien creatures.

If this is the company that the Commander kept, then there can be no doubt he is the enemy of humanity, he had thought to himself as Shepard arrogantly strode by his position, unaware of his surveillance.

From the Citadel, he had pursued his quarry to Illium where he'd watched with rapt attention as his team tracked the man and his so-called Executive Officer—who had very clearly turned out to be far more than simply his second in command—as they casually moved about the abhorrent streets of the asari world.

And when he finally allowed the hit to proceed, he quietly observed through the remotely accessed cameras that surrounded the transit plaza.

When his four-man fire team failed in spectacular fashion, Richter wondered if part of him had purposely sent an understrength force to deal with the Commander and his companion in the hopes of prolonging the pursuit. Perhaps he had only intended to probe and test his subject, to study his prey further. There was no doubt he felt conflicted about the mission, wishing he could instead capture the man, along with his allies, and subject them to the finely honed art of interrogation he had perfected over a long and brilliant career.

Then, less than two hours after the failed attempt on Illium, he received revised orders that caused him to quietly rejoice. They were now to take the Commander alive.

New information had come to light, provided by an influential outside contact, which indicated Shepard possessed a powerful secret. Along with the new intel, the source had promised an opportunity to take the Commander and his ship with minimal risk. Richter's lifetime of steadfast loyalty to the cause of human purity had been rewarded, he felt certain of it.

And so he had taken his hastily gathered force comprised of deadly and nimble Intruder class frigates to the designated coordinates and waited patiently for his target to appear.

When the Normandy emerged from the Charon relay, he observed on the Farragut's long-range sensors and felt a surge of excitement stir within him before he enthusiastically gave the order to intercept and board the ship.

As promised, they had seized the vessel with almost no trouble at all. And while he was forced to resist the urge to immediately jettison into space both the turian and krogan found onboard, Richter understood that their executions would cause undue attention and potentially distract from their primary directive of securing Commander Shepard and extracting the information he possessed.

So important was the objective that the Major authorized the Normandy and its former Alliance crewmembers to be transferred to the regular naval authorities. However, he had other plans for the Cerberus personnel found onboard the frigate. They wouldn't be missed by anyone of consequence.

And he had his prize. He had Shepard.

But now, nearly two full weeks since they'd raided the Normandy, frustration was growing within the Major's callous soul.

It had been days since he'd transferred to the Persephone with hiscontingent of Special Operators and Shepard safely encased in the cryo sleep pod. Since then, they had continuously moved throughout Citadel space, taking great care to avoid being tracked by the Commander's allies.

Multiple times each day he would order Shepard to be roused from cryo stasis and subjected to a new round of questioning. They were administering every conceivable combination of psychoactive chemicals paired with traditional interrogation tactics in an effort to extract the information the man possessed. But as of yet, every attempt had resulted in total failure.

The Cipher, as his superiors referred to it, was proving exceedingly difficult to pull from the Commander's mind. In fact, they still weren't entirely sure Shepard could convey the information willingly or if there was something imbedded in his mind that prevented him from relinquishing the data. Still, Richter was a methodical man and ensured that his team pursued every possible angle.

Eventually, they decided that the assistance of an asari might prove useful.

Being fully versed in Shepard's past missions, both before and after his Alliance service, Richter knew that Dr. Liara T'Soni had been marginally successful in providing a level of clarity with the Prothean imprinted data he'd received on the planet Feros. Perhaps the unique ability of the asari race to meld with other species minds' was the key. Regardless, all their previous attempts and technologies had thus far failed. A new approach might at least prove useful in understanding the obstacles they were facing.

So, reluctantly, Richter had agreed to authorize the pickup of an asari specialist while in a remote sector of the Serpent Nebula. He watched from his quarters as the disgusting creature was escorted onboard and directed to the compartment setup as the mobile interrogation room.

But he still wasn't convinced that the Commander could not simply be coerced into giving up the information once his wilful resistance was adequately shattered. Richter thought the asari approach was foolish mysticism and he remained committed to carry on with the methods that rarely failed him whenever dealing with uncooperative subjects. Just like he had with countless others, he would break Shepard's will to resist by manipulating his emotions and forcing him to feel loss and hopelessness.

I'll allow the filthy asari to make her attempt. But once it fails, I will push Shepard to the brink of despair.

Approaching the compartment where the asari's work was underway, he noticed the female Marine who'd previously caught his eye was one of the two guards posted at the hatchway. Among the hand-picked force that had transferred over from the Farragut with the rest of the security detail, she was known as being committed to the cause of human dominance in the galaxy as well as being a capable and skilled fighter.

She was also an attractive woman and one of the few females currently onboard the Persephone.

As the woman peered through the armored one-way glass into the interrogation compartment, her back to him, Richter took a moment to admire her toned and sculpted body. His eyes settled on the curves of her backside and he imagined the softness of her bare skin hidden beneath the battle armor she wore. He was a man that rarely indulged in pleasures of the flesh, but when he did, he found the experience was rejuvenating and cleansing.

I will ensure this Marine is retained on my personal staff, he decided. It wouldn't take long to apply sufficient incentive for her to join him one night soon in his quarters.

The female soldier then turned her head and met Richter's gaze. He gave her a nod, his expression revealing nothing of the lustful thoughts that had been running through his mind a moment before.

The Major then proceeded into the compartment as the soldier on the opposite side of the hatchway opened the heavy door. As he stepped over the knee-knocker, Richter observed the asari was in the midst of her procedure.

The alien's skin tone was toward the violet hue, which Richter found all the more repulsive, and was clad in black, leathery light armor. She approached where Shepard was strapped securely to a metal chair bolted to the floor and grasped either side of the man's head. Her eyes seemed to glaze over and then suddenly became an inky black. "Embrace eternity," she screeched in a harsh, wheezing voice.

The Commander's body convulsed violently as he fought against the alien's assault into his mind, sweat beading on his forehead and his hands gripping the edges of the chair's armrests. After a few seconds, he let out a cry of pain just before the asari released him, ripping her hands from his head as if she'd been burned by a red-hot stove.

Richter sighed and turned to an aide standing nearby. "How many attempts has the asari made?"

"That was the fifth try, sir," the man reported. "No apparent progress has been observed."

Richter nodded slowly and then turned to the asari, who was panting heavily from the repeated efforts to access Shepard's mind. "Thank you," he said softly. "Your services are appreciated, but that will be all."

The asari scowled at the Major. "I can do this," she spat. "Just one or two more meldings and I'll have what you need."

The Major ignored her and turned to one of the soldiers standing nearby and nodded. "Sergeant Ellison will see to your arrangements," he said without looking at the asari.

The alien mercenary remained planted in front of Richter for a long moment, glaring with contempt at the small human male before finally storming past him and out of the compartment.

After the alien left, Richter grasped the Sergeant's arm as he passed. "Throw it out the airlock," he whispered.

Ellison nodded and then quickly followed in the asari's wake.

After they departed, Richter stood with his hands clasped behind his back and stared down at Shepard, who was still gasping from the effort to resist the asari. The Major then motioned to the aide and had another chair brought over.

Sitting down directly across from Shepard, Richter leaned in and studied his subject for several seconds before speaking in a hushed voice. "You know, I'm actually pleased that the alien failed." He then rested back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "You see, Commander, I put my faith in more traditional methods. You need to understand that I will extract this information, no matter how much you resist. And if you force me, I will take from you everything and everyone you hold dear until I break you."

Shepard remained slumped forward slightly in the chair, breathing hard before looking up and shooting Richter a menacing glare. "Richter, the first chance I get, I'm going to rip your fuckin' head off and use it as a hood ornament for Normandy."

Richter stared blankly back at Shepard. But inside, he was feeling a perverse sense of glee at the prospect of reducing the arrogant man to a docile and broken creature.

He then motioned to the video screen hanging on the wall to his right.

Following the Major's gesture, Shepard watched as the display flashed to life and the grainy image of a dimly lit room containing a lone, empty metal chair appeared. He narrowed his gaze as a shadow passed in front of the camera and then a woman clad in white in black was thrust violently down onto the chair. Shepard's eyes widened and his teeth clenched as Miranda's beaten and terrified face came into focus just before a hand thrust a dingy, canvas hood over her head.

Shepard swallowed hard and turned back to the Major. "Richter, listen," he said. "Hurting her won't get you what you want."

Richter cocked his head to the side slightly and smirked. "You're lying, Commander. And this is the price for your dishonesty."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No… Please…" His eyes then flicked back to the display as a gloved hand pressed the muzzle of heavy pistol against the side of Miranda's head. When the trigger was pulled, Shepard flinched violently and watched in horrified shock as Miranda's body crumpled to the ground.

Richter, knowing exactly what the Commander was witnessing, kept his gaze fixed upon the man's desperate and anguished face, watching carefully as the arrogance was ripped from him in a flash.

Doctoring the images of the unfortunate Normandy crewmember and overlaying the Cerberus operative's face was a simple—but highly effective—means of achieving the effect Richter had hoped for. The Lawson woman was too valuable to discard just yet, but he'd now confirmed she was someone very important to his subject.

A cruel, satisfied grin curled the Major's lip as he watched a solitary tear fall from Shepard's eye and he began to feel a growing sensation of satisfaction well up within him as the man absorbed the magnitude of his obstinate behavior. Richter now felt confident that he could continue to manipulate him with the threat of further executions and that the truth he sought to extract would follow in short order.

But then Shepard's eyes seemed to glaze over and his face contorted in rage as he let out a primal howl of pain and wrath that shook Richter from the euphoric moment.

Startled by the man's sudden fury, the Major nearly fell backward. He hurriedly stood up and took a quick back, knocking his chair over in the process, as he instinctively recoiled from the enraged man who was suddenly struggling desperately to free himself.

Before the four guards flanking the walls descended on him, Shepard's frenzied struggle caused a bolt securing the front left leg of the metal chair to the floor to snap off and fire across the room. Richter ducked and moved his hands up to protect himself as the projectile ricocheted against the wall, nearly striking him in the head.

Regaining his composure, Richter gave a curt nod to a frightened looking technician standing nearby. "Get him back into stasis—now!"

The Med Tech, who'd been staring at Shepard with a look of horrified fascination, snapped out of his trance at the sound of Richter's harsh voice and seized a long syringe from the tray of nearby medical supplies. He then approached cautiously, taking care not to be hit or bumped by the guards that were struggling to hold the raging man in place, and then plunged the needle deep into Shepard's neck.

Shepard fell silent almost immediately and his head fell limply forward while his chest continued to heave up and down.

Sighing in frustration, Richter gritted his teeth and turned to the aide next to him. "Tell the Captain to plot a course for Noveria."

The female Marine starred apprehensively through the one-way glass into the makeshift interrogation room, fixing her gaze on Commander Shepard who was strapped down securely to a chair. Five of her fellow Marines stood around the man with combat helmets secured over their heads, as the Major had ordered them to do whenever the prisoner was transitioned to and from the cryo-pod and when they were present during interrogations.

She was one of the newest members of the elite Spec Ops force attached to the Systems Alliance vessel, SSV Farragut. Major Richter had hand-picked their force of eight to accompany him to the mysterious freighter, Persephone, when they abruptly moved the prisoner several days ago on Gellix.

They had pulled Shepard from cryo sleep a little over three hours ago for the latest round of questioning. As the days had passed, frustration with their lack of progress was growing so much that they had taken onboard a malicious looking asari mercenary. The alien was in the compartment now with the Commander, preparing to make another attempt at extracting the intel Richter was after.

This isn't what I signed up for, she thought to herself.

Vaguely aware of the soft, muffled footfalls behind her, she eventually wrenched her gaze from the disturbing scene in the next compartment and turned to see that Major Richter had arrived through the dimly lit corridor. The sight of the man always made her skin crawl and today was no different.

Before the foul little man could move his eyes up to meet hers, she could tell that he'd been leering at her, his gaze having settled on her backside and the curves of her body evident through the form-fitting light armor she was wearing. The Marine struggled to keep her expression neutral, thankful for the helmet concealing her face, and felt her stomach lurch.

He then gave her a curt nod and proceeded into the compartment as her counterpart on the other side of the door held open the hatchway.

Peering through the open hatch, she watched as the asari attempted to meld with the Commander for the fifth time in an hour. Shepard looked exhausted and was sweating profusely from the effort to resist the violation into his mind, but after a few seconds the merc ripped her hands off him in frustration, failing yet again.

Obviously disgusted—either by the failed effort or the mere presence of the mercenary—Richter dismissed the asari a moment later and she swept out of the compartment, followed closely behind by Sergeant Ellison.

She briefly watched the asari and the Sergeant disappear into the gloom of the corridor and then turned to look back into the compartment. Richter had taken a chair facing the prisoner and was leaning in close to say something to the man. Shepard's expression was defiant, as always.

When the Major motioned to the vid screen in the corner, the Marine had a clear view of a dark-haired woman dressed in a skintight white and black outfit being shoved forcefully into a chair. A profound sense of foreboding welled up in her as she registered the terrified eyes of the woman just before a dingy looking hood was thrown over her head.

The Marine flicked her eyes back over to Shepard and saw that his defiance had vanished and he now looked desperate, a pleading expression on his face. She then followed the Commander's gaze back over to the vid screen and saw the muzzle of a large caliber handgun was being pressed hard against the woman's head. She jumped when the trigger was pulled and the woman's brains were blown out the other side of her head.

Swallowing hard at the sight, the Marine was again thankful for the helmet that concealed the stunned expression that must have been etched on her face. She reflexively tightened her grasp on the Avenger assault rifle, threatening to crush the hand grip of the weapon. Tearing her eyes away from the image of the murdered woman lying crumpled on the floor, she snapped her gaze back to Shepard.

The man looked to be in shock, unable to register what he'd just seen on the vid. But then his expression morphed into something closer to profound, gut-wrenching grief. The Commander looked utterly shattered and it nearly caused the Marine's heart to skip a beat.

But then Shepard exploded with fury and she jumped again.

He was struggling mightily against the restraints holding him in place and caused Richter to stumble backward, nearly falling on his ass as he tripped over the chair he'd been sitting in a moment before.

But she didn't blame the little man for his lack of grace. Shepard looked completely possessed with rage and as if he'd murder every last soul in that room if given the chance. It was a frightening scene.

The four guards who'd been standing along the walls of the compartment then descended on him in, holding him in place as one of the medical technicians nervously approached and stabbed the Commander in the neck with the potent sedative they used when preparing him for the cryo-pod. A moment later, Shepard's thrashing ceased and his head fell forward on his chest.

Letting out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding the Marine turned to the guard next to her. "Kessler, cover me for a minute. I need to use the head."

"Christ, again? They're about to move him for fuck's sake." He said, shaking his head with obvious disgust. "Fine. Just make it quick."

Ignoring him, she turned and strode away down the long corridor and quickly entered the ship's sub-deck lavatory.

Securing the hatch behind her, the Marine suddenly realized her hands were trembling and her heart was thumping in her chest. Shutting her eyes, she took a moment to focus on calming her emotions and leveled off her breathing as the image of the dark-haired woman's execution flashed again in her mind.

Drawing in a long breath, she opened her eyes again and walked over to the sink before unfastening her helmet and placing it on the metal countertop. Tapping the faucet, she leaned over and splashed a handful of cool, recycled water onto her face.

Standing back upright, she reached up with one hand and pulled loose the hairclip at the back of her head and shook free her long, dark brown hair.

Her face wet with a mixture of tap water, sweat, and stress-induced tears, Lieutenant Ashley Williams stared back at her pale image in the dented and scratched mirror and sighed heavily.

No, I definitely did not sign up for this shit.

Author's note:

I've absolutely been itching to get Ashley into the story and feel like this is a great opportunity to introduce her (beyond the brief appearance in an earlier flashback) and give her something meaningful to do. We'll find out more about what she's up to on the Persephone soon.

6/24/14 – Back to do a bit of cleanup and general editing.