"Explain to me, Mr. Koenig, why is it that you believe that corporations like yours—we're referring to Chimera in this case—feel that it is necessary to act as an unburdened police force so far into this lengthy period of sustained nonaggression? Surely you're not expecting a new opposing force to suddenly rear its head anytime soon?"
Sen. Songau – Micronesia
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you do realize that a race of alien machines nearly made all of us to be extinct? I'm sure a person like you can recognize the value of being prepared for the possibility of that happening all over again."
Erich Koenig – CEO, Chimera
Rannoch
At least the weather was nice.
A burst of chilling sea air suddenly spat itself across the foaming aqua blue waters of the Rannochian ocean, sending up curtains of sand to fall frustratingly at the feet of the lone figure who walked along the beach. The gentle waves created a constant roaring crash, soft enough to be pleasant to the ears, yet loud enough to drown everything else out.
The man stood far away from the sea, far enough that the waters could not lap at his boots. He folded his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath, taking in the sun upon his face as well as the salty inhalation of sea-encrusted air.
It could almost be Earth, he mused to himself. The land here looked a lot like it, as did the ocean, and the sky. But the memory of that planet was a fleeting shadow to him. He had hardly spent any time on Earth at all. He had been born in space, raised on a cruiser and had lived an entire childhood surrounded by metal, only artificial gravity holding him down. What did he know of Earth?
For that matter, what did he know of this place?
Opening his eyes again, he kept walking, his lips tightly pursed together.
The man kept trekking along the beach for another half-hour, not taking any more pauses to admire the scenery. His pace was brisk and purposeful. A controlled gait driven by a need to remain active. He was walking fast enough that his body was producing enough heat to keep him safe from the chill of the sea air. That, and the simple black sweatshirt he wore did an excellent job in keeping his core temperature regulated.
The morning fog was now becoming less constant as it rolled off the ocean. The rising sun was slashing gashes into the gently churning mist, allowing the man the first glimpse of his house from atop the nearby cliff face since he had set out for his daily hike, the stone foundation glowing a sandy color in the light.
The man tilted his wrist on habit, just to confirm that his pedometer on his omni-tool would show that he had hiked his six mile allotment for the day. The app showed exactly that and the man was satisfied.
There was a sloping path cut into the hills at the man's left, leading up towards where his house was. The man abruptly turned and strode perpendicular to the sea, stepping up the path with ease. When he neared the top, his stride had barely slowed from the exertion, but he frowned all the same as a twinge in his left leg began to flicker upon his consciousness. Some wounds never heal, the man thought bitterly as he gently kneaded the ligaments in his knee.
It was now a two minute walk to reach the man's house, but he took a detour before that, choosing to head over to his right, where a gigantic onosho tree towered near the cliff's edge. Besides the nearby house, the tree was the only thing within the man's vicinity that could provide shade from the piercing rays of the sun.
The onosho was a sturdy tree with a thick trunk, knotted branches, and razor-thin leaves that looked almost like spears. It was a hardy tree, but then again, most plants had to be hardy in order to survive on a planet like Rannoch. Onoshos were incredibly adept at taking in whatever water they could from the parched soil and storing it in their trunk. Given that if no outside influences were to disturb the lifecycle of an onosho, there was little doubt that they could reach ages upwards of ten thousand years old. This particular onosho was, according to biologists, only a shade over two thousand years old. The man standing next to the towering tree might as well have been a barely discernable blip in its natural life span.
There were two objects at the base of the onosho. One of these was a simply cut stone bench, made out of a smoothened granite, polished to a dull sheen. The man headed over to sit upon this bench, emitting a groan as his ligaments strained in protest. Now seated, the man turned his attention to the other object next to the tree, an onyx-black obelisk upon which micro-holograms projected a brief series of words in flowing and golden Khelish script an inch away from the featureless surface.
A monument.
A headstone.
Tali'Shepard vas Rannoch, it read.
Born: Liveship Rayya, 2162. Died: Rannoch, 2196.
Husband: John. Daughter: Roahn.
At the bottom was another inscription.
After time adrift on open stars, along tides of light and through shoals of dust, I will return to where I began.
"Yes," the man spoke for the first time today. "You certainly have returned, my dear."
Visiting the grave of his wife was a routine that John Shepard had never failed to deviate from in two years. He always spent a little while here after his morning hike, taking in a tiny bubble of time within the day to remain close to his bondmate, taking solace in the fact that he could not be any nearer to her if he tried.
A week ago, it had been exactly two years since his fiercest love had died. Shepard had laid wildflowers next to the obelisk back then – a tender sentiment steeped in human tradition. Those flowers still remained albeit they had wilted where they lay on the ground, their colors dulled, the petals wrinkled. Shepard flexed his fingers laboriously, now mindful of the fact that it was starting to become harder to breathe now that he was so close to his wife.
So close… yet so far away. What he would give to simply hold Tali in his arms again…
Ten years. Ten years of marriage. It had been the perfect coda to what Shepard had considered would have been his final hurrah for the galaxy. Would he not be entitled to such a finality? The marriage to his best friend, his comrade-in-arms, had been his greatest choice, his most important decision that he ever felt that he made in his life. An impressive connotation, considering the man's achievements.
Shepard looked upon the moments he had spent with Tali in the past quite fondly. They had always made a strong pair, both on the battlefield and off it. Mutual admiration was bound to occur between them, considering their deep attractions. Love had soon bloomed between the two as they had remained close to the other, any notions of race incompatibilities being thoroughly quashed in mere moments. Truthfully, for either Shepard or Tali, the fact that they were of differing races was a topic that had barely caused them to entertain any second thoughts as to what their connection meant for the both of them. Even though there had been moments where their relationship had been tested quite severely in the past, they still had managed to overcome all obstacles, drowning out their misgivings to become closer and closer as a couple.
Marriage had been little more than a formality for the two of them in the end after what they had already gone through together, but they both liked the idea that their relationship had legal credence. It was perhaps the one choice Shepard had decided on that had gone off without a hitch, as perfect as he could imagine.
The entire topic of Shepard marrying Tali had been brought up between them mere days after the war had ended. Shepard, still recovering in a hospital and suffering from temporary memory loss, had asked Tali to marry him while he was still in bed, with most of his body bandaged and half of his limbs encased in stiff casts. Humorously, Tali had accepted before Shepard had even managed to finish the sentence. With the two of them having been frustrated in the past about having to be separated from each other for months on end all due to their duties to their species, Shepard and Tali wasted no time in tying the knot. They had married a week later after he had proposed, using the hospital's church as the place to carry out all the formalities. Shepard was still confined to a wheelchair at that point, still a very long way from healing, but he had made an effort to stand (while using crutches) when it came time to verbally announce his adoration for his bride.
The next ten years came at Shepard in a blur. Even now, he still had trouble trying to control the whirlwind of events that had occurred at that time. Building the house on Rannoch. Tali getting pregnant (courtesy of a sperm donor). His daughter's birth. Raising Roahn on Rannoch. Looking over Tali when she had suddenly fallen sick.
And in the blink of an eye, Tali had gone.
It had left him completely dumbstruck when she had passed. One day Shepard could have held her warm hand in his and in the next, there had been nothing left to hold. Just emptiness where there had been someone full of life and love.
And now he was alone.
On the bench, Shepard's hands clenched together. "I can't stop thinking of you!" he whispered to himself in frustration, wanting so desperately to see the day in a new light, no longer haunted by his memories.
Yet at the same time Shepard did not want the memories to leave him. Truthfully, he yearned for them, no matter how much they hurt him to revisit. Each time he thought of Tali, it felt like someone was taking a knife to his insides, slicing him up into several million pieces, churning his gut and raking the interior of his lungs, causing his drawing breaths to become painful.
Right on cue, that wonderful voice burst into his brain.
"Oh, Shepard! I didn't see you there."
"Damn it," Shepard grimaced as he held his head in his hands, his fingers tearing into the flesh of his scalp. "Don't remember. Don't remember. Don't remember."
But he remembered.
Shepard's grin was genuine as he walked closer to the engineering deck while the searing blue light wafted from the drive core of the Normandy SR-1. There was an audible thrum that burst into his eardrums every few seconds as a result of the ring locks temporarily displacing the energy fields, but Shepard found that he could dissociate himself from the discomfort quite easily. Making the rounds on his ship and talking to his crew was the best way to relieve stress, he felt.
"Sorry, Tali," he said sheepishly as he walked over to the quarian's station. "Didn't mean to startle you."
The quarian waved a three-fingered hand. "It's no trouble. Did you need something?"
"Just wanted to check up on you. There was some heavy fighting down there on Feros. It wasn't a walk in the park by any means. I wanted to know how you were doing."
The days following Shepard's induction into the Spectre ranks had not been separated by a whole lot of downtime. Seizing the opportunity, Shepard had assembled a motley crew formed from Alliance members and additional individuals, Tali included, that had provided invaluable help to get him even this far. Assigned to track down Saren, a rogue Spectre, Shepard had embarked upon his mission to follow up every lead possible, which had already led him to some of the strangest places in the galaxy. Feros, their latest destination, had been nail bitingly tense from the moment they had touched down on the planet – there had also been some horrors that the world had been hiding that none of the crew could have possibly been prepared for. Shepard would sympathize if some of comrades were starting to feel burnt out already.
But Tali just shrugged. "It definitely wasn't pretty down there, I'll give you that. I don't think I'll ever look at plants the same way again, though. But I'm still fit for duty, Commander. Doing well as ever."
"That's good to hear. It seems like everyone else has been doing fine since Feros, though Garrus is griping about this ship's lack of alcohol to help take the edge off. Not that I can blame him – those Thorian creepers were enough to give anyone nightmares."
"Somehow, when I signed up to join you, fighting acid-spewing plant zombies was not exactly how I envisioned this playing out."
Shepard chuckled at that. "I wouldn't have believed me either if I knew we had that in store for us, either. Anyway, it's over, and we're one step closer to finding Saren. That being said, you've earned a break if you want it, Tali."
Tali did not respond to that right away. "Saren's not going to wait for us, so I won't."
A ghost of a smile crept up to Shepard's lips. "Tali, you do realize that we left Feros eighteen hours ago?"
"Has it been that long?" Tali looked distracted as she briefly looked up at the ceiling. "I guess it has. Why?"
"Tali. The ship's logs indicate that right after the mission you've been here at the engine core ever since. Eighteen consecutive hours at your post."
"That sounds about correct," Tali said as she fiddled with an engine temperature control at her station.
Shepard tried not to sigh out loud. Tali did not seem to be getting his drift. "Tali, when I said earlier that you've earned a break, I meant to say that you need a break," he firmly emphasized. "It would reflect rather badly upon me if I let a member of the engineering crew collapse from exhaustion. Especially after a mission. That doesn't look good on any report no matter how you try to spin it. I mean, when was the last time you slept?"
Strangely, Tali did not seem to be so concerned with this tidbit. "I'm completely fine," she protested, still concentrating on various holographic metrics, her fingers a blur upon a nearby keypad. "I don't feel exhausted at all. Trust me. You don't have to worry."
"Forgive me, but I have to worry," Shepard said as he reached out and gently stilled Tali's hands. He felt her limber wrist through her enviro-suit and found that there was a barely discernable jolt that ran through her the second he touched her. "Look, Tali, I know that I'm not the archetypical military superior that people might immediately think of when they see me and the rank that I hold, but there are some tenets that I feel that I have to keep in place. First of all, anyone who goes out on the missions gets an immediate off-shift, no exceptions. Secondly, our shifts are only supposed to be twelve hours in length. That's kind of been an Alliance mandate since its inception – and for good reason. People do crash if you push them too hard."
"I've worked for far longer than just eighteen hours before, you know," Tali hinted, somewhat in amusement.
"I'm not questioning your work ethic, Tali. Lord knows you've proven yourself to me that you are incredibly more than capable of handling your responsibilities. No, I'd just say that you'd do an awful lot to my peace of mind if you would relax. Grab a few hours of sleep, that sort of thing. I don't know how things were done on the flotilla, but I would feel a hell of a lot better if I weren't thinking that you were trying to work yourself to death."
Now Tali's fingers froze upon her console and Shepard lifted his hand away. "Is that… an official order, Shepard?"
Shepard almost raised an eyebrow, finding himself caught off guard a bit by the quarian's sultry tone.
"Technically, I can't give you an official order," Shepard shrugged blithely. "You're not Alliance personnel and being a Spectre doesn't really give me the authority to order everyone around. Just… I'm asking you, as your commander and… as someone who would consider you to be a friend, to take it easy every now and then. For your sake… and mine as well. The ship's not going to blow up without you, you know."
The quarian seemed puzzled by what Shepard just said and Shepard flushed. Had he said something that he shouldn't have? The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle, which stayed that way until Tali spoke next.
"Are we… friends, Shepard?"
Aw, the hell with it.
"Sure," Shepard shrugged again, trying to seem as innocent as possible. "If you're technically not my subordinate, I can't imagine what else you'd be to me. Unless… you would feel otherwise?"
He tensed himself, ready to take the brunt if he had overstepped his bounds.
But a hidden sigh passed through his body at Tali's next words.
"I think I'd like you as a friend, too."
"More than that," Shepard said aloud to himself as he returned his thoughts to the here and now on Rannoch, the ocean winds rippling at his back. "You were that… and so much more, my dear."
Finally standing up from the bench, the sun now creeping into his eyes, Shepard gave a final, solemn nod towards his wife's grave before he slowly trudged back towards the house in order to start his day.
On Earth, a common word to describe a house like Shepard's would be cozy.
On Rannoch, that same house would be called gargantuan.
In any case, it was certainly the largest house that Shepard had ever owned in his life but he did not necessarily feel that it was a flagrant display of wealth in an ostentatious manner, at least by human standards. The home itself was built from stone, glass, and steel, using modern sensibilities to guide the overall style, and stood two stories tall. Rock cut from a nearby quarry had gone into the foundation of the dwelling, the blueprints of which had been lent by a renowned architectural firm from the Citadel. Tali had helped influence the design of the house before it was going to be built – Shepard lacked an eye for that sort of detail so he let his wife do what she wanted. In any case, the end result was more than satisfactory to him. It let him know that he had married someone with impeccable taste.
As Shepard stepped into the foyer from outside, a tiny alarm began to ping at him. That would be the decontamination sensors embedded into the doorway alerting him that he was carrying in potential contaminants from outside. Shepard disregarded the alarms. The ventilation system in the house was state of the art and in a couple of hours he would be decontaminated enough by the filtration chemicals that subtly pumped through the building. As a human, germs were the last thing on his mind that he had to worry about.
Shepard was feeling a little hungry, but he had seen on his omni-tool that someone had tried to call him while he had been out and about. Shepard wanted to get back to this person as quickly as possible. Breakfast could wait.
He quickly maneuvered into the kitchen, though, to grab at a tiny tin package in a brushed steel cupboard before he ascended the stairs to his office. The office was a tight room comprised of an aluminum chair and a desk made out of magnesium and a synthetic wood. A gigantic window that spanned from the floor to the ceiling took up an entire wall, providing Shepard with an immaculate view of the ocean.
The sight alone would have been awe-inspiring, had Shepard not been a witness to it every day.
Shepard then placed the tin upon the desk and opened it, withdrawing a plastic injector filled with a sickly-yellow fluid. The label read "CBLB502" upon it and various medical warning labels were pasted below the description. Shepard shook the injector almost absentmindedly, watching the tiny vial of liquid slosh around in the cramped space.
Lifting up his shirt, Shepard then pressed the injector against the skin of his abdomen, pinching an area of the subcutaneous layer there. After the locking mechanism was deployed, Shepard depressed the button and felt a tiny sting against his skin. The pain was almost negligible. Sharp finger thwacks hurt more than this. Shepard counted to ten, waiting for the liquid to be injected fully into his body before he relaxed his pinch upon his skin, simultaneously lifting the injector up and away.
There was a nearby bag made out of thick plastic in a drawer. Shepard opened it up and dropped the used injector into it. He then pressed a soft cloth against the injection site to mop up any beads of blood that might have occurred, tossing the fabric aside less than a minute later.
Sighing in relief, Shepard caressed his face, feeling the roughness of his beard against his fingers. He had been letting his facial hair grow for a few years now, and as a result, he looked pretty straggly. He trimmed his beard on occasion just to keep it under control, but it had come in thickly and with a vengeance, like the hair was angry at being unable to have grown for years on end.
The same fate extended to Shepard's head, where he was now boasting a full head of hair. When he was in the Alliance, Shepard had made sure to keep his hair closely cropped to his head, barely exceeding even a few millimeters in length. Now, with no more restrictions upon him, Shepard had relaxed his grooming policy and had let his hair grow out to a few inches. The hairs were thin and unkempt, and Shepard was constantly fussing with it. Compared to how he looked a decade ago, the man was now almost completely unrecognizable.
But Shepard's hair was only half of the most shocking changes that had cropped up over the years. The most distinguishing aspect was that his hair, instead of it taking on a dark and healthy color, had paled to an almost unearthly white.
Forty-four years old and already he was looking more than twice his age. The grayness had set upon his hair at an alarming rate, turning completely white within a three-year span. The doctors were all baffled at this development. None of them could provide a firm diagnosis. The only hypothesis any of them had was that his hair color change could be attributed to the massive amounts of stress he had undergone ever since he started fighting the Reapers. It made sense, as stress was one of the leading factors for premature graying of the hair. But to have the entire head of hair grow gray consistently? That was certainly rare.
Shepard did not bother trying to argue that point, in any case. Stress was very much a plausible reason for why this had occurred, considering his previous occupation. How many times had he been at death's door only to bounce right back? Hell, at one point he actually had died, only for him to be miraculously brought back to life. If prematurely graying was the price he had to pay for his involvement in saving the galaxy, then so be it.
He still was rather grumpy at the knowledge that he looked to be a hundred years old, though.
Annoyed that he had become distracted again from his inner thoughts, Shepard reached out and tapped on a few keys that had become displayed upon a glowing keyboard just above the desk. The address for his previous caller was input into the system (he had gone to the trouble to install a QEC system within the house beforehand for better reception) and the vidcom signal went through immediately. The recipient picked up almost at once and a sharply-uniformed man stepped into existence from where the holographic crystals were positioned within the room, his entire body lit up with an electric blue color – the color of a drive core.
"Admiral Hackett," Shepard said in greeting as the holographic figure folded his arms behind his back. "Or… should I say, Defense Minister Hackett? It's good to hear from you again."
The man on the other end smiled back at Shepard warmly, his finely groomed goatee containing a bit more color than Shepard's beard, despite being several years older in age. Admiral Steven Hackett was a legend in both the Alliance and in many other circles, his reputation very closely intertwined with Shepard's. He had enlisted in the Alliance at a young age and was one of the rare examples of a conscript managing to make it to the rank of admiral – a testament to his performance and respect to the Alliance. He had made a name for himself during the First Contact War, the events of which had fast-tracked his ascendancy to admiral, and his tactics at delaying the Reaper invasion just twelve years ago had cemented his name into the annals of the Alliance navy.
Hackett had also been one of the three individuals that had put forward Shepard's name for consideration as humanity's first Spectre, tactical agents for the Citadel Council. Some would say that decision singlehandedly saved the galaxy, considering how Shepard utilized his new positioning. However things might have turned out over the years, Shepard considered Hackett to be a close friend, not to mention there was hardly anyone else that Shepard would respect so highly. Hackett was a man that was not afraid to speak his mind, something that Shepard found refreshing in comparison to politicians consistently trying to skirt around offending anyone at all. Hackett did not care who he offended because he felt that speaking the truth was more important than trying to be tactful.
"You can still call me Admiral, Shepard," the other man intoned politely, a slight delay affecting his voice due to the extreme long distance separating the two individuals, "They didn't take my rank away when I accepted the post. At the very least, I'm glad to see that you seem to be doing well."
Immediately succeeding the war, Hackett had been offered the role of Defense Minister to the Systems Alliance, a position that many had thought was akin to a long-deserved promotion. With humanity's fleets in disrepair, and with a galaxy in peacetime, Hackett took the job knowing that his career in the navy would have come crashing to a halt very soon. This way, Hackett could immerse himself into the reunification of the galaxy as well as play an integral role into building Earth back up again.
Shepard gave a dry chuckle. "About as well as can be. Things have been quiet around the house lately."
"How's Roahn been doing?"
"Doing fine, last I heard," Shepard said. Truthfully, he had no idea how Roahn was at the academy. Her last few messages to him had been somewhat brief and, dare he say, terse.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, I assume?"
"Not for a while, no."
Hackett gave a sympathetic smile. "I am sorry that I was unable to check up on you last week, Shepard. I would have wanted nothing more than to look in on my friend, but things at the homefront have been getting rather unpleasant as of late."
Shepard waved it off. "Being in the Alliance has taught me that one's schedule is subject to change at the drop of a hat. It's no big deal. The politicians giving you much trouble back on Earth?"
The bulk of Hackett's duties required him to remain in constant communication with senators, representatives, and various officials all the way up to the Prime Minister. And so far, every single politician had irked Hackett greatly. He felt that everyone in the government was too transparent with their resolve and their incessant nagging for political favors put his mood at a constant strain. Perhaps if he knew how troublesome his colleagues would be to him, he probably would have refused the Defense Minister offer when the opportunity had been bestowed upon him.
"The quid pro quo continues," Hackett said stiffly. "I have an entire legion's worth of assistants working to field requests for additional manpower across the planet and our colonies, yet I'm still beleaguered by overblown pleas for aid. Too much broken glass to clean up, in essence. Twelve years and we're still cleaning up the mess the Reapers left behind. We just don't have the bodies to take a hammer to these problems."
"I sympathize. I'd come over to Berlin to help you out, but you'd know the sort of trouble I'd get into if I took a single step on Earth soil."
Hackett, along with the rest of the government bodies, were all based in Berlin ever since Arcturus Station had been destroyed by the Reapers. Utilizing a well-known city to place a government was simply a cheaper alternative than building a new space station from scratch. The economics certainly made sense on paper.
"You'd know I'd protect you, Shepard."
"For how long? I wouldn't be much use to you if you had to store me into a broom closet to keep me out of the public eye. Things are different. I have a daughter now. It's just too much of a blind risk for me to come back."
Hackett frowned. "I understand, Shepard. I realize how frustrating this whole ordeal has been to you. Or rather, what you've been through. If it makes you feel any better, all these years I've been desperately trying to rescind the charges levelled against you but the judicial branch consistently refuses to throw out your case. And thanks to the current statute of limitations, those charges won't go away for quite a while. So we're still stuck and no one's happy about it. Believe me, no one wants to see you return from your exile more than me."
Exile. Shepard almost barked in laughter. It was an apt description for his current state. Why else would he have languished here on Rannoch with nary another human for billions of miles? Loyalty to his wife, perhaps, but with her gone, what was left tying him here?
Maybe it was the fact that he had an entire world pushing him back.
Shepard sighed. "One would think that the Defense Minister would have more say in something like this."
"That was what I believed as well. But my influence is vastly limited outside of my scope of operations. In all honesty, I called you today specifically to give you an update on your current… predicament."
Shepard raised an eyebrow, also colored snow-white. "Judging from the fact that you did not lead with this tidbit, I daresay I'm not going to like what this entails."
Now Hackett had on a look very much like a mouse would if he had been bidden to bell a cat. "No, I suppose not."
"Great. All right, then. Hit me with it."
"You have extranet access?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You might want to turn to a news site."
Somewhat apprehensive, Shepard turned back to his desk and keyed in a command for the holoscreen to project above the wooden desk. Flipping to one of the more popular news sites, Shepard was immediately greeted by a bevy of images showcasing red and black armored troopers marching upon a compound within a lush green forest. Red and black – those weren't Alliance colors, Shepard noted with a frown. Several camera angles had caught the foreign-looking troopers hunched down in attack formations, opening fire amongst several blurry inhabitants, the jungle peppered with debris as the trees and bushes were felled from the crossfire.
Chimera Dispatched to India, one article read. Alien National Plot Foiled, Eleven Dead, another blared. Chimera PMC Responsible for Jungle Operation, was one final headline near the bottom of the page.
Shepard clicked on one of the articles. Chimera again, he mused. He had seen so many similar articles of this nature to know that something was quite off about this group. In the years after the war, the private military corporation Chimera had been responsible for more than two dozen incursions on Earth and her colonies. Wherever Chimera was deployed, breaking news followed. It was like Chimera was destined to sow havoc and chaos in its wake, to leave scores of dead bodies behind as a result of its barely legal authority.
"The Chimera problem again?" Shepard asked out loud.
"Their fourth controversial posting in less than a year," Hackett affirmed.
Shepard hid a grimace with his hand. "So what the hell happened this time?"
"Apparently someone in the Delhi refugee zone saw a group of batarians all head into a single building at once. They got twitchy and called the hotline. Thought that maybe these aliens were up to no good, for whatever reason. Chimera took the call. And… well, they botched the whole thing, as you just saw. You're just seeing the initial reports. In a few hours you're going to learn that the place Chimera hit was not a safehouse for the batarians to discuss some terroristic plot or anything of that ilk, but was simply nothing but a brothel. Illegal within city limits, yes, but hardly warranting the excessive force that Chimera utilized."
"Shoot first, ask questions later?"
"Something like that. Some senators are going to raise holy hell about the issue, but you know as well as I do that nothing's going to be done about Chimera running amok on Earth. In twelve years, nothing's changed."
"God damn," Shepard blew air from his mouth.
Chimera had been nothing but a thorn in the side of the Systems Alliance ever since the PMC had won the bid to act as Earth's police force in the interim after the war. The CEO of Chimera, Erich Koenig, was an academy washout that had come into a large inheritance by way of good fortune and had founded the PMC with that money. Koenig had been previously mocked as a trust-fund baby that had been born on third and thought he had hit a triple, and for being a loudmouthed idiot that tried to capitalize on his service record, despite it being pitifully brief. However, any japes at Koenig's expense quickly (and suspiciously) dried up as soon as Koenig had submitted a bid to the Alliance lower than what any other corporation had been offered at the time for his PMC to become the Alliance's newest mobile military force. Naturally, Chimera got the contract from the government in what had to be record time.
Since then, they had been nothing but trouble.
The Chimera troopers were easily identifiable from their bulky red and black armor and heavy weaponry in addition to the destruction that was usually left behind after they were finished with a certain area. That was only one aspect of the sorts of controversies that constantly surrounded the company. Another curious item was the fact that, despite all this time after the war, Chimera still maintained an active contract with the Alliance. Their original license was to operate for five years maximum, but the Senate voted to extend that term for five more years… and then for five more… until finally Chimera received an indefinite contract from the government, to be rescinded only when there was proof beyond a reasonable doubt that Chimera's services would no longer be needed.
Some of the general public had their suspicions, but extranet blogs were not going to convince any of the senators on the committee to just rescind the Chimera contract.
Critics of Chimera would staunchly claim that the corporation was a source of redundant costs to the Alliance right now. After all, Chimera had only been employed out of a desperation to maintain a militarily-capable fighting force. Now that twelve years had gone by, a sizable chunk of the Alliance military's infrastructure had been restored both in terms of equipment and warm bodies. For some, it was finally time to cut the cord with Chimera and sever all ties to the controversial organization, but that opinion was a minority amongst the Senate, unfortunately. General opinion was more aligned to the tune of what the majority party had to say right now – and they supported keeping Chimera in their employ.
So, despite the shadiness of utilizing Chimera as a police force, not to mention the hundreds of corpses that they had been responsible for delivering from their piss-poor handlings of tense situations, Chimera had been reaping the benefits and the revenues from acting as the Alliance's attack dog, to the consternation of those in the government that were considerably less hawkish. Hackett himself had tried to remove Chimera several times over the years but his efforts were constantly thwarted by one particular man in the government.
The man who's digitized face Shepard was staring at right now.
"Raynor Larsen," Hackett said with a grim look as both he and Shepard looked upon the face of the man in the broadcast. "Political party leader, senior senator from Norway, and former Attorney General. Any moves I've made towards Chimera, Larsen's been pushing me back every time. I believe you've been acquainted with Larsen before."
"Sadly, yes," Shepard nodded. "He's the very reason why I can't go back to Earth, thanks to his attempt to string me up during his farce of an investigation after the war, the prick."
Raynor Larsen was one of the old guard within the Senate. Even though Larsen was in his early nineties, he still maintained the physicality and spryness of a fifty-year old in terrific shape. He was a broad and impressive specimen of a man. His hair was black and slicked back, and he had an immaculately trim and proper goatee the color of night. His eyes were steel-blue and they radiated coldness across his craggy face. He was a charming and charismatic individual when he needed to be, but Shepard could easily see that face turn cruel, to be lined with anger.
He had been a firsthand witness to that side of Larsen years ago.
Mere weeks after the war had ended, Shepard had unexpectedly received a subpoena that urged him to arrive at the temporary Senate location over in Florence. Shepard was still bedridden at the time, but with the assistance of a wheelchair, he had made do with complying with the terms of the subpoena only to find out that he was to be the star witness of an intrusive and altogether sudden inquisition. Larsen had been the executor and the mastermind behind this particular investigation and he had immediately embarked to ply the wheelchair-ridden Shepard with a series of uncomfortable questions relating to his specific actions during the Reaper War in addition to probing Shepard for his opinion regarding the level of cooperation and transparency he had received from the other races when he had been courting for their military support. The more Larsen questioned Shepard, the worse Shepard felt – he could clearly recall that it felt like a maw had been opening up in the pit of his stomach around that time. There had been an agenda behind this line of questioning, Shepard mused, but he could not pinpoint where all of this was leading to.
It was just that some of these questions were borderline outlandish, not to mention worrying. Larsen had specifically asked Shepard if at all he had received any offers from the salarian dalatrass that placed their military support on the table in exchange for betraying the krogan. Another question was for Shepard to confirm if the asari had deliberately withheld any military secrets that could have benefited the Alliance during the war.
The questions were vague to everyone else, but they had cut Shepard to the bone because he knew exactly to what Larsen was referring to. It shocked him that Larsen knew of some of these arrangements in the first place. Who had Larsen been talking to? Where did he get his information from?
As the public interrogation had continued, Shepard, becoming more and more uneasy, started to be less forthcoming with his answers, to the visible frustration of Larsen. All of this was merely serving to anger Shepard. He had practically saved the galaxy damn near single-handedly, he was no longer an officer in the Alliance (having resigned just a week prior), and on top of that, he would have rather been anywhere than in this cold room filled with people levelling accusations at him for the purpose of fueling a speculative witch-hunt. He just wanted to go home with his wife and lie in bed for the rest of the day. Who said he had to sit here and take this crap?
So, before Shepard had lost his sanity, in what was considered a controversial moment, multiple cameras had captured Shepard as he abruptly wheeled himself out of the room right as Larsen was in the middle of demanding that Shepard answer his questions. Shepard had finally snapped and disassociated his mind from this sham, no longer caring what consequences would arise from this move.
The next day Shepard left with Tali for Rannoch.
The day after that, a warrant was issued for Shepard. The official explanation was for contempt. The terms of the subpoena had been broken – Shepard had left in the middle of an official investigation. It had Larsen's fingerprints all over it. Naturally this had caused quite a bit of a stir amongst the galactic community. After all, the Alliance issuing a warrant against what had to be its biggest hero? It seemed hard to believe. But Larsen would not rescind his demand that Shepard comply with the warrant. He wanted his testimony, but by god, Shepard could not figure out why his specific word was so important to Larsen.
At least the Alliance had no jurisdiction on foreign worlds, which was why Shepard continued to linger upon Rannoch. Here, he had practically gone off the grid in an effort to escape the eternal politicking of those who constantly desired to attain more power that they could hold. Remaining isolated like this was manageable if not occasionally frustrating. Shepard missed his friends but at least they could call anytime. He still made a genuine effort to keep in contact with his comrades over the years, so at least he was never completely alone.
That, and he still had Roahn.
"You did walk out of an official Senate hearing," Hackett sighed. "What did you think was going to happen afterward?"
"Don't know. Nothing, I suppose. After all, in my experience, the usual procedure for politicians was to simply furrow their brow and say nothing. This time, I guess it finally caught up with me."
"Well, Raynor Larsen has been head of the Judicial Intelligence Committee over in Berlin for a while now, and he's recently been making some moves that I would call troubling. The committee has been requesting certain documents that only seem to pertain to operations that you were a major part of. This has happened only because some documentation has recently had its classified status lifted. The committee has asked for transcripts, write-ups, classified materials, anything that they can get their hands on."
Shepard frowned as he turned his chair. "I'm not much of an expert at this, but isn't there a very high chance that a mass request for documentation is a precursor to charges being made against someone? That just sounds like Larsen is building a case, in this situation."
"My thoughts exactly, but despite being Defense Minister, I still can't get an official statement from Larsen as to what his intentions are. All I know for sure are the materials that they've asked for. They all have one common theme: you. So, even though it sounds completely ludicrous, my gut says that the Judicial Intelligence Committee—"
"—Is most likely going to slap fresh charges on me very soon," Shepard finished with a withering look. "All because Larsen wants my testimony on record. That son of a bitch. What the hell could he possibly think to charge me of?"
"The timing is certainly suspect," Hackett agreed, "considering that you've already have a warrant in your name for contempt. I'm guessing that this charge is simply a pretext for something that I can't yet determine. But I can't imagine that Larsen is going to expect you to come out of hiding to confront the charges yourself. He knows just as well as you do that the Alliance has no jurisdiction on Rannoch."
"And yet, he's going forward with this."
Hackett gave a worried nod. "And yet, he's going forward. I'll be sure to keep digging. Find out what I happen to unearth. In the meantime, I wouldn't worry all that much. You're here and Larsen's several trillion lightyears away."
Shepard lifted his hands briefly before laying them back onto his thighs. "One thing that I've learned in all my years is that nothing ever goes the way you'd expect, so I'm not going to relax just y—"
A beep from Shepard's omni-tool cut him off mid-sentence and he involuntarily glanced at his wrist for a split second. It looked like he had received a message. And it was from…
Now alert, Shepard tapped upon his haptic interface and a three word message harshly blared into his face. All in capital letters.
WHERE ARE YOU?
"Aw… shit," Shepard breathed as he now checked his calendar for confirmation. "Damn it, damn it, damn it! Don't tell me that was today. It better not be today…"
Yet the event was portrayed right there in front of his face, much to his dismay. Shepard used every curse word that he knew of as a way to describe just how idiotic and careless he had been to forget that today was the day that Roahn was returning home from the academy.
If he had the time noted correctly, she had arrived in the capitol city about an hour ago.
Fuck.
"I'm sorry, Steven," Shepard blurted out as he abruptly stood, ignoring the crackles being emitted from his knees, "I totally forgot to do… something. I'll call you back later!"
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" Worry lined Hackett's face.
"No… not just yet," Shepard muttered in despair.
Hackett just made a sage look, sensing that this was a matter that did not concern him. "I'll leave you to it, then. And if I come up with a firmer idea as to what Larsen's up to, I'll make sure you know right away."
"Appreciate it," Shepard said seconds before he grabbed his jacket and raced out the door.
Once outside, he bounded over to the wheeled transport he had imported over from Earth, a mud-stained Honda truck, and immediately gunned it once he had switched it on. Taking the vehicle as fast as he dared along the bumpy road, he hoped Roahn would forgive him for being so late.
Shepard found her about two miles out from the outskirts of the city. She was walking determinedly, raising dust clouds as she went. Shepard slowed the craft down and wheeled it to a stop to let her in, but she passed him by without so much as a second glass, her eyes angry behind her blue visor.
"Roahn," he called to her after the driver's window dropped, but she did not answer.
Sighing, Shepard yanked the truck about, now pointing it in the direction that he had just come from. He gave the accelerator a bit of juice and edged the large vehicle closer to where his daughter was walking.
"Roahn, honey, get in the vehicle."
Shepard saw Roahn's fists bunch themselves together and she sped up, trying her damnedest to not speak to him.
He leaned over further in her direction. "It's sixteen more miles until home, Roahn. Do you really want to walk the rest of the way?"
Finally she stopped dead in her tracks, dirt and dust staining her boots in a sandy cloud. But she still did not look at him.
"Today," she only said.
"What's that, honey?"
"Today," she firmly repeated. "I thought you knew that I was coming home today. I thought you would be at the port waiting for me. How? How could you forget?"
"I just forgot, Roahn," Shepard said lamely, clearly anguished at his daughter's stubbornness. Also, he was pained because Roahn was totally in the right. "I'm sorry. I thought I had it marked down for the right day but… I was wrong. I messed up. I can't say any more to that because it was completely my fault."
Shepard had apparently said the right words because now Roahn turned to look at him, still wearing an accusatory glance, her arms crossed over her chest. She gave an almost inaudible huff and Shepard nearly wilted.
"I think I'll walk, thanks."
Now Shepard started to find himself getting annoyed. "Don't be ridiculous, young lady," he cautioned as he pointed a finger. "It's going to take you hours to get back home."
"I've traveled longer distances before."
"For Christ's sake, Roahn, get in this stupid truck."
Shepard was no longer being contrite and was somewhat exasperated by Roahn refusing to budge on her stance. Definitely got that from her mother. Roahn gave Shepard a sideways glance, a little caught off guard by the sudden edge in his voice, as if steel had unexpectedly crept into it. Taking one final forlorn glance at the road along the cliff, Roahn sighed and eventually jumped into the seat next to Shepard, and he finally pulled away towards their home together.
It would be at least ten or so minutes until they reached the house, but neither of them spoke for a bit as the six-wheeled truck rumbled across the road. Shepard nervously chewed his lip as he took sideways glances at Roahn, trying to figure out what he could say to her to get her to open up a bit.
"So…" he tried, using a lighter tone, "…did you enjoy your year at the academy, Roahn?"
Roahn let the question sit in the air for a bit as she tried to determine if her father was genuinely interested in what she had been studying or if he was in more of a blasé mindset, trying to kickstart a conversation purely for conversation's sake.
"It was… fine," was all she said. Roahn intentionally did not elaborate, wanting to see if Shepard would press her for more information – a test of sorts to see if her father was indeed eager to know aspects of her life.
"Oh," Shepard just said, looking slightly crestfallen. "Okay."
Guess he failed that test, Roahn inwardly sighed.
A haze of awkwardness settled upon the two and did not let up until they arrived at their house. Once Shepard had let the vehicle roll to a stop, Roahn jumped out right at the next second, eager to be free from riding with her father.
Shepard unlocked the door after they had ascended the shale steps and Roahn jogged right in, scanning around the foyer for any changes made since the last time she had set eyes upon the place.
"Everything in your room is the same way you left it," she heard her father say behind her. "I… did a little bit of dusting before you came."
"Thanks," Roahn mumbled, but paid Shepard very little mind. As her father was hanging up his coat, Roahn headed straight for her room, leaving him by himself.
As soon as Roahn stepped into her room, the door automatically shut behind her. The very air seemed to still around her in the confined space and she took a much-needed breath of relief. Despite Roahn having enjoyed her time at the academy (only begrudgingly, seeing as enrolling was never her choice to begin with) she did miss the sort of privacy that naturally came with having an entire room to herself. She walked over to her bed, which was neatly made, and lied down on her back upon it with a grateful groan. She tested the mattress with her fingers – much comfier than her cot. Warm light from the afternoon sun pushed in past the translucent windows, casting blurry shadows upon the ground.
Roahn then sat up and looked around her room for a bit. She let her eyes across the shelves bolted onto the wall at the opposite end of the room, taking the time to look at each of her action figures that were still lovingly displayed in their poses, each one a representation of a famous war hero. She was only one figure away from completing the set… but she had set a staunch rule for herself to never buy the figurine of her father. She just saw no point in having to look at that every day.
"A hero," Roahn grumbled to herself as she flopped back down. "Yeah, right."
She wondered if she was missing anything whenever her friends spoke about her father in awe. If he really was a hero, how come he didn't act like one? Her father was a quiet man, solemn and reserved, and very non-confrontational. Sure, she had a few good memories of him when she was younger, but after her mother died, her father had become severely withdrawn. He barely spoke to anyone, not even his own daughter. Perhaps that was why he had sent Roahn away to the academy – to get out of potentially talking to his family anymore.
Roahn just could not see the point of her father being so… distant. Did he not think that Roahn knew that he had been an important figure in the war? She had access to the extranet! It was not like she was living completely off the grid and out of touch with reality. Rannoch's information access was limited by its infrastructure, yes, but Roahn could still look up synopses of all the battles her father had taken place in. There was a list practically a mile long of his achievements. So many campaigns he had taken place in… one would think that he could at least talk about them.
Eden Prime. Ilos. The Citadel. Illium. Tuchanka. Rannoch. Thessia. Earth. Just looking up any one of those topics in relation to the word "Shepard" could have produced an entire laundry list of reading material. Roahn could not understand it. How was it that she knew so much about her father… and yet so very little all at the same time?
What was she not seeing?
All this yearning was filling her mind up with a dense cold, as if someone had poured chilled mercury into her skull. There were just too many gaps for Roahn to comprehend. Her father was Commander Shepard, the man who saved the galaxy.
All he was to her was simply just a man.
Was her father always like this? Well… no. The only times Roahn remembered him actually smiling was spent in the company of her mother, Tali. She had been the only person that could make him truly happy. When she died, a part of both Roahn and Shepard had died alongside her. Roahn had waited for Shepard to reach out to her, to fill the emptiness her mother left in her wake… but Shepard had retreated inward instead, never branching out to comfort his own daughter, content to merely wallow in his own sorrow instead of paying mind to the feelings of those around him.
Roahn figured that it was around that time that she had begun to somewhat resent her father.
She wanted to love him. In a way, she still did, but it was a loose love, bound only by the vague ties of family. Roahn just wanted him to reach out to her, to try and make her understand his reasoning for being so stubborn, so withdrawn.
If only they could just be honest, together. To simply talk. Roahn had never met her heroes in real life. She desperately wanted her father to be one of those heroes.
"I just don't understand you," Roahn whispered as she continued to stare up at her bare ceiling,
A knock at the door caused Roahn to suddenly jump. She sat up on her bed, eyeing the doorway. It did not open, as ostensibly the person on the other side was waiting for Roahn to give her permission to enter. However, she simply kept silent.
After ten seconds of waiting, the door finally opened and Shepard poked his head inside, immediately locking eyes with his daughter. He caught her expectant gaze and briefly looked at the ground, as if he was afraid of what he might find in Roahn's stare.
"I… made you something to eat," he uttered quietly. He looked like he had more to say, but Shepard soon gave up and ducked out, leaving Roahn alone once again.
Roahn was smart enough to determine that she should not pass up this chance for food, especially since she was hungry right about now. Which was why, two minutes later, she found herself seated at the table in the kitchen, across from her father, eyeing her heated food tube in astonishment.
"Cipritine Heron-Egg," Roahn read the label aloud, eyes wide.
Shepard had a plate of reheated food in front of him that looked rather unappetizing to Roahn. Aside from his meal being of levo chirality, which was poisonous to her, his portion had too many vegetables.
Looking up from his plate, Shepard nodded to the tube that he had given his daughter. "I trust that was the flavor you liked the most, yes?"
Roahn was impressed that he knew that much. More than that, this particular version was a gourmet edition, with a better consistency and additional spices added for flavor. More expensive as well, but she knew that her father could afford it.
Wordlessly, Roahn nodded. Satisfied, Shepard resumed tucking into his dinner as he took meticulous bites. Roahn extended the induction port from the food tube and inserted the end into a slot just below her vocabulator so that she could actually eat. The entire system was designed so that, even while eating, quarians would not have to worry about exposing themselves to the open air, allowing them to sustain themselves with a certain peace of mind.
As they ate, Roahn found herself stealing quick glances at her father, painfully noting that he was able to eat his food without a helmet in the way. Inwardly, she felt a pang, but she swallowed it back down with an agonized gulp. After all, Shepard was not intentionally being spiteful by demonstrating that he had more intrinsic freedoms as a human – he was simply adhering to the natural customs that he had been following all his life. Nothing cruel about it at all.
Yet… Roahn still felt perturbed at this lack of observance. It was odd enough that her father did not apply himself to quarian doctrine with his cavalier approach to taking in life without a suit, or that he did not deliberately adhere to any dietary restrictions so that he could be more sympathetic to what his own daughter had to go through so that she could eat. The disparity between the two of them was massive… but she knew that her father could drastically lessen that gap of his own accord.
"So…" Shepard said unexpectedly without looking up from his dinner. "The academy. It must've been fun for you. Did you enjoy any of the subjects there?"
Roahn could have leapt up and cheered for Shepard actually bothering to delve out a personal question with some request for detail. Instead, she kept her reactions muted and cleared her throat before answering.
"I… actually, yes. Yes, I did. My mentors taught all sorts of good subjects. Oh! My favorite was engineering applications. You see, I had to do this project—"
Roahn cut herself off before she could ramble any further, certain that her father would not find any of this to be interesting. But, to her surprise, Shepard looked up from his meal and set his utensils down on his plate, using his free hands to support his head as he now looked at her expectantly.
"What sort of project, honey?" he asked.
How about that. Maybe he could change.
Roahn licked her lips, suddenly nervous to be subjugated to her father's gaze. Now this was a new feeling. "Well… I did an assignment where I made a theoretical blueprint of a device that could potentially analyze geologic areas to either improve or construct new dams for us to use here. You know, just something that might be a benefit to us in the future."
A smile flitted across Shepard's face. "The engineering of waterways. Sounds like that topic required a lot of research."
"It did, but it was actually pretty easy. I just had to know what I was looking for beforehand. Plus, I found a site on the extranet that is like a literal encyclopedia of any topic you can think of. I got a lot of information that way – I just had to cite my sources that were provided at the bottom of the page."
Her father now chuckled. "You are definitely your mother's child. Love of engineering, a ravenous hunger for knowledge. You're hers, no doubt about it."
Shepard then looked somewhat lost and Roahn's own expression started slipping away as well. She had rarely heard her father talk openly about her mother to her. This was the furthest he had got in front of Roahn in two years. Bringing up the subject seemed to cause an unbearable pain to be upon him, as he would always grow quiet and mentally withdraw himself from any conversation, without fail.
She might have been able to tolerate this sort of behavior from her father if she had no prior memories of more pleasant discussions when her mother was still alive.
"Did my little Ro have a good day today?" Tali would always ask her at dinner. Of course Roahn would always say "yes" to the delight of her mother.
Roahn had absolutely no negative connotations regarding her mother. Tali was always there to coddle her with love and affection, always on hand to talk about whatever topic was on Roahn's mind. Although, she too was less forthcoming regarding her own participation during the war. Whenever Roahn asked Tali how she was a part of the entire thing, she would always say, "I was an engineer, Ro. I worked with your father on his ship from the very beginning until the very end."
Even for Tali, Roahn knew that explanation had been deliberately vague.
Regardless, when Tali had been around, conversation around the dinner table had been a livelier event. Even if Roahn did not completely understand the topics that her parents had been discussing, she could still remember her father smiling as he talked to Tali, his delighted expression clear as day.
He didn't smile so much anymore.
Shepard then ruffled himself a bit, striking Roahn from her reverie. "I heard they took you guys on trips around the planet to work on special projects. That must have been exciting for you. Were there any other special classes that they had you do?"
"Aside from our usual term," Roahn said, "not very much."
Now Shepard's eyes narrowed slightly. "They didn't teach you how to handle firearms, did they?"
Her father hated guns. Roahn had never seen him carry one in the house. All of her friends' parents had at least one rifle in their homes, but she found it strange that Shepard never seemed interested in having one around.
Yet another reason why Roahn was nonplussed at how Shepard was considered to be a hero. What kind of a war hero despises guns?
"No," Roahn admitted, although she thought she didn't sound too convincing. "Nothing like that, dad."
Shepard tilted his head slightly before giving a grunt and returning to his meal. "Good. Children like you should not have to be exposed to things like that at your age."
Roahn's face grew hot. She knew he was being a hypocrite. Why, Shepard had probably held a pistol when he was younger than she was! What did he know about her not being ready for that responsibility?!
"I'm going to need your help around the house later this week," Shepard continued after a few minutes had passed of solemn silence, oblivious to his daughter's incredulity. "And I think it'll do you some good to have work to keep you occupied. We're going to have to clean the outside windows – they're getting caked with dirt – and we need to give the air scrubbers a good dousing. Also, you'll be taking care of your mother's herb garden from now on. The plants will need their daily dose of water and vitamins from you. And after you're done with those—"
Roahn couldn't believe her ears. As if things weren't uncomfortable enough, now she had chores to contend with. Chores! And her father had been doling them out as mildly as if he was discussing the weather. It was like he did not realize that Roahn had a life of her own and that she did not want to spend every waking hour of the day working on the stupid house!
Coldly, Roahn set her empty food tube down on the table, creating a hollow ring. Shepard looked up and stopped talking, somewhat surprised.
"I'm tired," Roahn said distantly. "I'm going to go to my room to sleep now."
Shepard balked for a brief moment. "Oh. Okay. We can finish this in the morning. Well, have a good night, Roa—"
But Roahn had bolted out of the kitchen before Shepard could complete his sentence.
Now alone at the table, letting the sudden emptiness crush him, Shepard slouched against his chair and scratched at his beard tiredly. He now had the rest of the night to wonder to himself how differently this day could have gone if he had not screwed things up this morning.
Or had he been screwing things up for far longer?
"You were always better at this than I was, Tali," Shepard grumbled himself as he collected the dishes to rinse them off in the sink.
A/N: So far I've been able to maintain a steady pace with writing Cenotaph. Chapter releases are not going to be weekly, mind you, but unless I get run over by a wayward Prius, there should not be anything remotely close to month-long gaps in terms of Cenotaph's schedule (the key word is "should"). Hopefully everyone's been enjoying the story so far (or at least are intrigued by it).
In previous stories I've provided a playlist at the bottom of each chapter comprising of a mix of soundtrack cues that have either inspired me while writing or are simply pieces that I think would accompany reading the specified chapters quite well. Since no one's told me to shove these playlists up my ass so far, they're going to be in every chapter from now on.
Playlist:
Tali's Obelisk: "A Cabin on the Lake" by Jed Kurzel from the film Alien: Covenant
Roahn/The Road: "Better Days" by Lorne Balfe from the film Terminator: Genisys