A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates. Exams and a cold made writing hard to accomplish for a bit. As always I hope you enjoy this chapter! Leave a review if you like the direction it's taking, or if you don't!

SSV Normandy, Ilos

September 11th, 2186

Ashley Williams couldn't remember the first time she'd gone into space as a kid. She'd been born on Sirona, but with her dad in the Alliance they'd frequently left to visit him on one of his postings. Ashley hadn't cared, or even noticed, that her dad was getting the shit assignments, and she didn't care about how long it might take to FTL from one system to another. There were two things about each of those trips that enthralled Ashley: to travel through space, and to see her dad again.

She couldn't do one of those anymore, but damn if she didn't compensate with how much she traveled through space. Even now the Marine Lieutenant Commander could see the sea of darkness that was deep space in the distance through the cockpit's forward viewport. The CIC had been built without any viewports, oddly enough, but that didn't matter as far as its operation went. Seeing space in real-time, it turned out, wasn't necessary to commanding a warship. Piloting one, somewhat, but not commanding one. She or Garrus, depending on which was in command of the ship at the time, could see all of the tactical and navigational information pertinent to the Normandy from the captain's podium. Furthermore the CIC had a small army of technicians, specialists, and officers manning duty stations that provided her with further readouts, and they certainly understood the raw data available to them far better than she ever would.

Right now Ashley didn't need the technicians, specialists, or officers at her disposal to tell her what the readouts were showing, but she desperately wished that they'd tell her that she was misinterpreting them. More than anything else though, she didn't envy Garrus Vakarian at all.

"Lieutenant Dunsford, am I looking at what I think I'm looking at?" The man had spent years in the turian military, had been considered for Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, had served in C-Sec and had helped Shepard fight the Reapers—he knew what he was looking at as well as she did, he just didn't want to be.

"Aye sir, sensors are picking up a picket of ships above the planet in upper atmosphere, directly above the STG facility, and down on the planet we're seeing signs of over a dozen stationary ships. We're unable to get anyone on the comm, but that seems to be due to a wide-range signal jammer coming from one of the picket ships. Additionally, our long range imaging isn't perfect clarity but there seems to be signs of battle at the mouth of the facility."

"IFF on any of the vessels?"

"They all seem to be various privately owned freighters belonging to individuals or corporations from the Terminus, except for a few. There are nine vessels in total that are broadcasting Hegemony IFF sir."

"Goddamn batarians." This came not from Dunsford or Garrus, but from behind the captain's terminal where Ashley stood. Garrus turned back to glance at her for a second, pursing whatever the turian equivalent of lips were, and nodding.

"Joker, take us off stealth—we'll need all the heat we can take. Continue our current trajectory towards the facility. Lieutenant Lotts, power all weapon systems and begin calculating your target locks. Lieutenant Fothergill, begin e-warfare countermeasures on that jamming." There was a slight pause after his last set of orders, Garrus waiting for the young Lieutenant Fothergill to turn and nod to him that the jamming had been disrupted. The turian smiled and turned to Samantha Traynor, "Specialist Traynor, if you would do me the honors and hail the picket vessel responsible for jamming our communications."

"Yes Commander," the younger woman paused for a moment and then gave him a crisp nod to indicate that he was live.

"Attention HSV Bhak'khar this is Lieutenant Commander Garrus Vakarian of the Alliance Warship Normandy, your attempt to jam communications in this system violated Citadel Council law. I can't help but assume that you were either ignorant of this law, or ignorant of the fact that you were jamming our communications, and I've chosen to make the proper decision for you and end your jamming."

"The Council doesn't rule here! You're in the Terminus Systems, turian—blast them out of the sky!" The last few words from the batarian were aimed off-screen, likely towards one of his weapons officers.

"Sir I'm getting readings that they're powering up weapons." this from Specialist Billow at the sensors station.

"I see. Traynor, disconnect us now. Lieutenant Lotts, you have permission to fire at will. Joker—" the Normandy shook hard as one of the batarian cannons scored a hit against the ship's shields, "evasive maneuvers!"

The CIC suffered a harsh shudder, sending one young officer tumbling to the ground, as Joker banked the Normandy harder than the ship's compensators were prepared for. The tactical readout blinking in front of Ashley displayed the erratic weapons fire of the batarian ships as well as the Normandy's return fire. One by one the red-highlighted batarian ships began to dwindle, their signature flickering from the angry crimson of hostile to dull gray specks of debris.

The Normandy bore her own scars from the battle, several of the batarian shots managing to hit home, one even hitting the frigate's hull—piercing the cargo-bay. Aside from a few superficial burns, and bruises from the sudden maneuvers, her crew was fine. Garrus had done his job as the Normandy's captain, but she could see that it had taken its own personal toll on him. The turian was tense, his claw-like fingers wrapped around the rails of the captain's podium. His breathing was short and measured, but he showed no obvious signs of fear or stress. Turians were groomed for war from birth, but this was the first time Garrus had been the commanding officer of a ship such as the Normandy.

"Joker, bring us closer to the STG facility and have Lieutenant Cortez prepare a shuttle."

SSV Dunkirk, Elysium

September 11th, 2186

"I understand your frustrations, Admiral. Humanity made tremendous sacrifices during the recent war, and they will not be overlooked. We respect your standing as a council race, in fact the three of us unanimously agreed that humanity should be offered another chance on the Council after Councilor Udina's betrayal. The simple matter is that the salarian society suffered the least in the war, and the asari still have much of our government structure intact. We should host the council on Sur'kesh until a new facility can be built, and our reconstruction efforts should be focused on the asari—our infrastructure will be the easiest to rebuild and refugees can be hosted there."

Standing before Councilor Tevos was the unwavering image of Admiral Steven Hackett, his lips a pressed line of displeasure and his eyes hard as steel. His visage was flickering and distorted due to his attendance over vidcom but that did little to diminish the intimidation he imposed. Standing behind his holographic presence, in person, was Rear Admiral Mikhailovich—the man responsible for representing humanity should something cut out with Hackett's hologram.

"I'm going to pretend that I misheard you, Councilor Tevos." Hackett let those words hang in the air for longer than any present were comfortable with. The Councilors were clearly uncertain as to how they should respond. It was only when when the salarian councilor, Valern, began to speak up to clarify that Hackett continued speaking. He disregarded any signs of the Councilor's attempt to reply, left vague enough that he could coyly claim the connection hadn't picked it up. "Refilling Humanity's seat on the Council is no favor, we earned that seat three years ago when our ships burned in the sky for you. I brought the Fifth Fleet, against the full force of the Geth and Sovereign, to save the Destiny Ascension."

"Admiral, you must understand what I meant. I was only referring to Udina's attempted coup of the Council—"

"If you'd like to discuss sins committed by each of our species, I'll remind you that Commander Shepard found a goddamn prothean V.I. on Thessia. How many centuries have the asari hid that from the rest of the galaxy for their own gain? How many lives could have been spared if that had been accessed at the start of the war? Councilor you're lucky that humanity doesn't demand the asari relinquish their seat on the Council."

The blue hued alien was very obviously offended by Hackett's harsh rhetoric, but silently held her indignance inside. Hackett relented his verbal assault on Tevos and instead turned his attention back to the entire Council, "If you would like to know where you should actually begin your rescue efforts, I'm sure the survivors on the Citadel from each of your species would appreciate help. From the extent of the damage scouted by my ship when we arrived, it appears that there are a significant number of survivors. The Alliance is already working on relief and rescue, but our numbers are low."

Shock was evident on the faces of all three assembled, and Hackett thought he saw Mikhailovich grin in his peripheral vision. He hadn't included the fact that Shepard was a live, for that he was waiting to make sure that she actually made it through her surgery, but he had dropped a bombshell about the Citadel. Each of the gathered species had been so concerned about returning to their scarred homeworlds that they hadn't considered the Citadel might've had survivors.

Sparatus was the one to speak now, his mouth agape and his mandibles flaring in shock, "I—I was under the impression that the Crucible would destroy all reaper technology, and that the Citadel had already been under reaper control for days.."

"Indeed."

"I... I'll hail the Primarch immediately. Thank you Admiral, expect our forces in Sol as soon as we can arrive."

"Good." He turned to Mikhailovich, "Admiral, you can handle any further discussion. Hackett out."

The older man stepped back away from the vidcom platform with a sigh of relief. He hated having to do political work, but it was becoming an increasingly large part of his job. To his side stood Specialist Yarrinov, a young sailor that had barely seen a single tour of duty before the war hit. His current post was as one of Hackett's aides, and in his hand was a datapad with text and images crawling across the screen, "Erm, sir!" he saluted nervously, "Ms. Lawson told me to inform you that Commander Shepard has been taken into surgery."

"Thank you son." Hackett's face was stony and unreadable, his steel blue eyes sweeping across the screen to absorb the entirety of the report. God help us if she doesn't make it.

The scene laid out before Miranda was a familiar setting, but one that still instilled terror in her. Commander Shepard was stretched out on an operating table, the woman's body shrouded in a thin medical gown, and her eyes serenely closed. Miranda hadn't seen Shepard this still, this at peace, since she'd brought the Commander back to life a year prior.

The very thing that had forced MIranda to awaken Shepard prematurely had been an attack on the Lazarus Project, and true to her nature Shepard had pulled through in the fight—even though she didn't know where she was, who they were, or what had happened. Ever since then it had been the Collectors, the various gangs of the galaxy's underground, the Reapers, even Cerberus itself—and Shepard had taken on each fight with her same determination, and won. Now to see the woman still on her table, sound asleep under the anesthesia, was a striking difference.

This was an operation that Miranda wasn't entirely comfortable performing, because she didn't know if what she was about to do would work, because she was frightened by what might happen to her if she failed Hackett, and largely because she was scared of killing Shepard. Miranda had become near-obsessive about her research into Shepard during the Lazarus Project, and that obsession had transformed into infatuation when she was finally able to speak with her. Shepard had sensed that, Miranda wasn't adept at social interaction, but the Commander had never let on that she knew.

She'd thought after the night they made for the Omega 4 Relay that something might grow from her feelings. Shepard hadn't seemed to allow herself the distractions of feelings, but for one night Miranda almost battered down the woman's walls—but despite the electric flirting they'd engaged in Shepard still pulled away. Commander Shepard was a force of nature once she was set on a target, and at the time it was the Collectors.

A sharp inhale brought Miranda back to the here and now, and her eyes looked over the patient lying on her table one last time. Glancing to her team of surgeons, and then the holographic display of Shepard's various implants, Miranda gave a stiff nod. "Let us begin on implant one—Doctor Hyco make an incision at the patient's right radius."

STG Research Facility, Ilos

September 11th, 2186

The dimly lit underground cavern shook tremendously, as if the roof might cave in and condemn all those below it to death; though the gathered salarians hardly seemed alarmed, Major Kirrahe least of all. The earth-shaking thunder had become so frequent that the salarians only braced themselves a little better so they might ride it out.

A dozen meters in front of their barricades came falling one of the long since deactivated stasis pods, the thundering sound from before now joined by the screech of metal on stone. They had surmised hours before that the thundering was from above ground bombardment by the batarian fighters and frigates, attempting to collapse the tunnel on them—so far they had been unsuccessful in anything except stirring a lot of dirt and unseating prothean stasis pods.

The salarians gathered were the last line of defense before their attackers reached the kinetic barrier that sealed off their research of the Conduit, and this stretch of cavern floor would likely become their grave. Kirrahe silently hoped that the Salarian Union would realize the importance of their work given the state of the relays. Still, he realized it could be weeks before any amount of reinforcements might arrive, due to the very condition of the relays that made their work important.

Even in the face of certain death, Kirrahe found a moment of spiteful comfort in how many of the attackers would die in this final push. His men had been holding back most of their tech, traps, and deployable weapons for the final stand—and that final stand was here. They had specialized mines inlaid into the floor, incendiary charges in the roof of the cavern further on, overload nets, and lines and lines of automated turrets. If they had enough men to sacrifice the batarians would be able to win this push, but they would pay a hefty price in blood.

"Major," the aged voice of Colonel Vaewan caught his attention, "early detection has just been triggered, they'll be here momentarily."

"Understood Colonel. We will be ready." He knew that his men would be ready to hold this line as long as they needed to, even without the promise of reinforcements, because they were STG.

Suddenly all attention was on the far off bend in the snaking cavern where a brilliant explosion was blooming to life. The explosions continued, one after another, as unlucky varren, vorcha, or batarians stumbled into the salarian mines. Still the attackers didn't stop, their vanguard pushing forward amidst blooming explosions and paralyzing tendrils of electricity. "They're not stopping..." This wasn't from Kirrahe or Vaewan, instead it belonged to the young Private Mhirrane.

"They've given up hopes of disarming our traps, they're just trying to storm us"

Fire nearly consumed the cavern as an untold amount of mines erupted, each sending a spew of blood and flesh in every direction. Half a dozen times Kirrahe saw a varren or foot soldier that he thought would make it to his position, only to see the attacker consumed by one of the salarian traps. Had the attackers been smarter they may have sent ahead single units to one-by-one trigger the traps, but they weren't.

The preparations the salarians had taken worked to thin the attackers' numbers, but as the last mine blew apart they still had the numbers to easily overwhelm Kirrahe's men. Behind him Vaewan gave the order to bring the turrets online, and in unison the mechanized guns began an orchestra of death.

We can only hold this so long before our turrets are destroyed or expend their ammunition, and then what?

"Contact, twelve-thirty." The steady voice belonged to Sergeant Francena Havens, seated at the M35 Mako's controls as they rolled through the underground prothean cavern. In response came one of the Mako IFV's 155mm rounds, pulverizing the batarians in a splash of blood and smoke.

"Copy that Sarge." Above Havens was PFC Shane Engledow in the IFV's turret with hands steadily working over the vehicle's holographic controls. In the vehicle's troop bay were stuffed the nine marines of the Normandy's three fire teams, alongside Staff Sergeant Lindsey Haight, Staff Lieutenant James Vega and Ashley Williams, making for a very tight fit. It was a silent ride between the twelve marines, partly due to the strew of bodies they'd found along the way, and partly due to combat nerves.

The Normandy had been in transit for weeks after fighting a brutal war, by the time they'd arrived at Ilos the marines had been beyond antsy; Ashley Williams included. She wanted to get out of the IFV and kill some of the batarian bastards with her hands, to let out some of the anger pent up inside her at the death of Shepard on the aliens—or at least to try.

"Cowboy this is Normandy, do you copy? Over." Joker's voice came over the Mako's comm with a slight static.

"Normandy this is Cowboy, what do you have for us?"

"Normandy here, Looks like some of the ships that were landed picked up and started bombing runs. We engaged best we could and knocked out most of the frigates, but some of the fighters managed to slip away—Garrus was hesitant to pursue and abandon our overwatch position on your location. If you felt any rumbling it was the bombing, but it should be over now. Over."

"Copy Normandy. We got the tremors but no damage. Keep up the good work. Cowboy out."

"Commander," the voice was Havens again, this time a bit of tension in the cool voice, "path ahead is blocked. Looks like the salarians laid a trap for the batarians and collapsed the roof here. Brutes had to dig their way through single file—the mako isn't gonna be able to get through that."

"Understood. Engledow, any chance you could blow that rubble away with the turret?"

"Aye ma'am, but it'd risk bringing down more of the cavern. We don't know how bad the salarians fucked up the supports with their trap. Could bring a whole lotta rubble down on us in the process."

"Fuckin' great." Ashley pitched forwards against her restraints, cupping her face with her hand in exasperation. "Alright, fireteams alpha and bravo, grab your gear and dismount. Vega, you'll take alpha, I'll take bravo. Haight, you and charlie team will stay behind with Engledow, Havens, and the Mako. We'll radio if we need your support."

A sigh from Sergeant Haight and Corporal Chadwell indicated the women weren't thrilled at being left behind, but neither uttered a word that strayed from a-hundred-percent obedience. The marines that Ashley had ordered into action were already securing their weapons in place and donning their helmets, ready to get out of the cramped vehicle and into action. Ashley herself was already moving down the open ramp and out into the damp cavern. The thin glass visor of her helmet glowed a soft green as it worked to illuminate the dark portions of the room, casting Ashley's face an eerie hue.

One by one the marines pressed themselves against the ancient stone walls and slipped through the gap dug by the batarians. Ashley had taken point, and as she stepped through the debris she realized why the salarians had been willing to bring down the roof—sticking out from beneath one of the blackened stones was the severed arm of a heavy combat mech. "Shit, batarians were serious about taking this place or ruining it. They brought fuckin' mechs."

"Batarians are a bunch'a bastards, ma'am. Fuckin' blinks wouldn't know what to do with this place even if they could pry it from STG." This from Corporal Worbaar, her mouth twisted into a snarl of disgust. Ashley couldn't help but chuckle to herself at the slur directed towards the batarians, in a strange way it made her feel like a grunt again.

"Not a fan of the four eyes, ma'am?" This, from PFC Coleman Corbridge, could hardly be said without being interrupted by amused chuckles.

The filipino marine rolled her eyes, and glanced at the younger man that was sliding through the hole after her, "Fuckers haven't given me much of a reason to like 'em. My mom almost got vaped on Elysium during the blitz. Barely made it back to Earth alive."

Ashley considered telling them to cut the chatter but thought better of it, they weren't in combat yet and it was letting the marines blow off some steam. "Form up, Worbaar and bravo on me, Faunce and alpha on Vega. Stay tight, we don't know what traps the salarians might've planted that didn't get triggered."

There was a chorus of 'aye's and 'affirmative, ma'am's from the marines as they split into their teams and returned to a still silence between them. Moving through the cavern on foot was far more arduous than it'd been with the Mako, and the scattered corpses were far more chilling now.

The attackers were relentless, even in the face of overwhelming fire and to-be-detonated mines. The forward wave of their assault had overwhelmed the forward turrets, and like beasts upon prey their soldiers had savagely torn the turrets apart. Kirrahe still had one turret behind him, though it was having to stop more and more often to cool down or risk having its barrels warp from the heat.

The batarians had just overwhelmed the first barricade, and he could see Mhiranne trying to retreat backwards. They'd started the defense with twelve STG and were now down to eight, one of whom was wounded. With mute horror Kirrahe watched as Mhiranne caught a round to his side, the mass accelerated slug punching through his body with a misty spray of green.

Kirrahe ducked down and darted forward, his right hand grabbing at the webbing of the younger man to drag him behind one of their barricades and out of the line of fire. Even as Kirrahe strained to pull the salarian to safety he could see thick green blood smearing across the stone floor. The older salarian slumped to the ground, his back against the prefab barricade while he scanned his HUD for a pulse reading on Mhiranne, but what his vitals were able to detect was the weak erratic beating of a near-death heart.

"No!" Kirrahe murmured as he tried to pry off the ceramic plating of his fallen comrade. He was able to procure a tube of medi-gel and already was applying one of the white combat patches to the wound. Just as the patch's adhesive was beginning to stick, Kirrahe was berated by the alarm tone of a flat-lining squadmate. "NO!" Though despite the salarian's shouts, he knew it was too late to do anything. He placed a round device on the fallen man's chest, the device illuminating with harsh blue light as it tried to resuscitate Mhiranne with electrical impulses—still nothing.

"Private Mhiranne is down." He hissed into the salarian battlenet for the six others that could still hear him, though he feared that the number of survivors was still to dwindle. Mhiranne shouldn't have even seen combat at this posting, let alone death. Hatred swelled in Kirrahe for the brutes.

Charging towards him were three batarians dressed in diverse armor, one of Blood Pack and the other two various unaligned armors of the Terminus. Kirrahe's shotgun barked twice, micro-explosives sailing into the Blood Pack soldier and one of the other two mercs, though as he turned to gun the last down he was met with the alarm of 'heatsink full'.

A momentary flash of terror told the salarian major that this was to be the end of him, but the batarian's head burst into a mangled mess of blood and shattered bone, his body slumping to the ground lifelessly. Already the other charging mercenaries were turning to face the loud crack that had taken down one of their soldiers, only to find a flurry of bullets pouring towards them. Standing on the other side of the attackers were a dozen Systems Alliance marines, striking in their blue ceramic armor, thank the stars.

It didn't take long for the marines to chew through the batarians that were trapped between them and Kirrahe, and soon the lead marine was walking towards him. She wore brilliant blue armor, and through the faceplate he thought he recognized the features of the woman from years prior.

"Lieutenant Commander Williams?" Kirrahe's voice was both startled and thankful to see the familiar old face.

"What the hell happened, Major?"

"We were assaulted by unidentified batarian forces, bolstered by vorcha and varren."

"When aren't they." This from Sergeant Faunce, the marine warned against future outbursts via a stern gaze from Vega.

"Were you able to preserve your work?" Ashley was already securing her sniper rifle back on her back, her body taking a more relaxed stance while she questioned the salarian.

"We were... though this was to be our final stand. Just behind our defensive position is a kinetic barrier that protects the bulk of our work on the Conduit. I am glad to see you and your marines, Commander Williams."

"We're glad to see you all in one piece—do you know how many of them are on the ground?"

"Sadly no. We had to retreat into the cavern to stay alive, and I'm not sure how many ships they landed. Luckily they'll be rather unable to get speedy reinforcements due to the relay predicament, though as are we."

"Get us to the Conduit work as quickly as you can. We need to get to work, Major."

SSV Dunkirk, Elysium

September 12th, 2186

"Read me the vitals again."

"Heart rate eighty-five BPM. BP one-twenty over eighty. O-two sats at ninety-nine percent."

"Brain activity?"

"It seems to be normal on all the monitors ma'am."

"Then tell me why she isn't waking up?!"

Shepard could hear all this happening around her, but the voices seemed to blur together—as much as voices could blur together. She tried to pry her eyes open and, with great effort, succeeded. Her vision was bleak, most of the images before her were washed out and running together—but she could see.

The soft beeping of machines and whirring of medical devices reminded her that she was in the ship's medbay, and with all the energy she had left she tried to speak. At first her voice was just a hoarse rasp and a cough, it was then that she realized there was a tube down her throat. She tried again though, this time managing to cough out an attempt at words, "Mir-" a bout of coughing interrupted her attempt at words, though she caught someone's attention. She saw the light above her shift as a figure moved towards her.

"Shepard, can you hear me?"

She tried to nod but felt a stiff pain in her neck, and the scrabing of the tube in her throat. The figure, from the voice she was certain it was Miranda, laid a hand on her shoulder gently. "Stay still... We'll begin detaching you."

The first thing Miranda did was remove the tube from her throat, to a fit of coughing from the prone Shepard. With her airway clear now she was better able to speak, and she tried again. "Did you do it?"

Her vision was now improving and she was able to make out the figure of Miranda rather clearly, though fine details still eluded her. She was, however, able to see the woman nod—complete with the bobbing of hair around her shoulders. "Yes.. we managed to repair your implants with some that should continue working and fully integrate into your body. You pulled through."