"In reviewing several of Chimera's assignment documents, we have noticed some discrepancies that reflect poorly with the original way that your contract was doled out. Mostly pertaining to the fact that nations within the Alliance have clauses of their own that have been rendered against organizations like Chimera in the past, yet the Alliance has gone on to pursue this contract regardless. Particularly, several small nations all over the world have banned the presence of PMCs entirely. Some specifically state Chimera in their filing documents, others don't, yet the distinction still stands. Liechtenstein, Moldova, Monaco, and many island nations in Micronesia and Polynesia are among these countries to specifically exclude the usage of PMCs."
Sen. Leuzinger, EU – Switzerland

"Do they really? Well, legal doesn't tell me everything, you know. If these countries don't offer our organization a financial potential above a set percentage of income, it's frankly not all that important to me."
Erich Koenig, CEO – Chimera

"Yet being physically barred from operating beyond a determined set of borders is also something that would not interest you? Would you like to know why these countries have specifically denied your services?"
Sen. Leuzinger, EU – Switzerland

"I'll bite, senator. Why?"
Erich Koenig, CEO – Chimera

"Let's see, here. We've got… accusations of environment destruction—a case in which some soldiers toppled over a sacred island statue on Samoa—… evidence of looting and criminality—Chimera soldiers apparently raided the wrong apartment complex over in Luxembourg—… and mostly the list goes on of how the prototypical PMC behavior is to treat their temporary environment, that is wherever they happen to be deployed, with a kind of disdain."
Sen. Leuzinger, EU – Switzerland

"I know what you're trying to do, senator, and can I state for the record, I'm none too happy. Rest assured, I will be making my true intentions felt during my next round of statements, because this sort of character attack is deeply embarrassing and altogether a waste of time. I'm not going to just sit here while all of you attempt to tarnish my company. I will clear my name in a few hours' time. Mark my words."
Erich Koenig, CEO – Chimera

"I'm sure we will all be riveted by your statements, Mr. Koenig."
Sen. Leuzinger, EU – Switzerland

The dark hood that had been shoved over Shepard's head mere minutes ago had brought with it the side effect of diluting all sense of time and space. Hoisted by two men—each one grasping a strong arm—and being led down twisting hallway after hallway probably did not help matters much, either. Shepard had lost most of his control over his motor skills—he could only step in the direction that his captors were leading him in and he was unable to see where he was going. Not to mention that his hands were cuffed behind his back so that he had no chance of yanking the hood off of his head. Blind as a bat, Shepard essentially had only his hearing to even have a hope of trying to picture his surroundings… and even that particular sense had its limits in humans.

This was all part of the standard prisoner detainment procedure that Shepard was so familiar with: detain, disorient, and deprive.

Shepard's breath was stuffy and hot as he breathed into his hood. His eyes found only dark to comfort him. The muscles in his legs were beginning to cramp up, sending tendrils of pain spiraling into his bones. Shepard lost track of the amount of time he had been walking. It might have been only a minute… or it could have been ten. Hell, imagining that he had been walking for an hour would not be too much of a stretch. With his amount of basic senses lessened, his brain was running on emergency power, desperately trying to create meaning from a lack of stimuli. However, it was more or less an unfortunate fact that the brain's attempts to rectify its surroundings when stressed were usually and completely wrong. Shepard's senses would inevitably fail him if things kept up like this.

The disoriented Shepard soon felt a new pressure in his ears expand—a subtle sign that the room he must have just entered was a little bit more cavernous than the last. Strong hands then abruptly grabbed at his legs and propped him up so that he was being dangled in the air, his body parallel to the ground. His hands were then forced apart from the cuffs for just a moment before he felt heavier gauntlets being placed over each individual appendage, feet included. There was another long second of discombobulation, followed by a stomach-turning moment of weightlessness as the force hoisting him upward suddenly disappeared and he fell for half a second. In that half second, Shepard had already braced himself, preparing for his chest to feel a rapid impact and for all of the breath to be pushed out from his lungs once he hit the floor gut first.

But a new force tugged upon him before any of that could happen, pulling at his limbs as though he had strings attached to him. Shepard grunted a bit as he felt his lungs unclench in surprise, the stress that had tightened around him now being able to loosen ever so slightly. He felt himself bob in midair, as if he was not being completely supported by a weight that had been securely fastened, like he was being held aloft by rubber bands.

The Chimera troopers were no longer touching him, and now a new set of footsteps were joining in, easily discernable by the heavy sound of metal upon metal. Shepard sucked part of the hood in his mouth as his breath quickened, panic heating up the dark sack as he floundered in this pit.

"Leave us," the Legionnaire's damaged rasp filtered through the hood.

The troopers grumbled their acknowledgements and quickly shuffled out. If Shepard had not been able to hear, then he would not have discerned this scrap of his surroundings at all.

A very solid hand then roughly grasped at Shepard's hood before tearing it off, ripping out some of his hair in the process. Shepard gasped as cold air was finally allowed to rush into his lungs, the sweat on his face already in the process of evaporating. It felt like he had been doused with a bucket of arctic water, the previous stuffiness already becoming a distant memory.

Now that he was finally afforded this moment to see, Shepard tried to take stock of his surroundings as quickly as possible, knowing that time was of the essence. The chamber he was in now looked more akin to a converted hangar rather than the cramped interior of a heavy shuttle. Chimera must have transferred him to one of their larger ships while he had been blindfolded. A series of walkways with no guardrails formed a cross with him apparently positioned right in the center of the room. The walkways did not span a bottomless pit, instead they simply extended a few feet over the floor, which was sloped down in the curved shape of a hemisphere. A rather large space if its only intent was to hold one prisoner, Shepard figured. A few small windows in the corner shone with bright wisps of energy—a sign that they were currently in FTL. Where to, was anyone's guess. Certainly not his.

Shepard craned his head behind him and saw that Chimera had completely encased his hands and feet with solid electromagnetic gauntlets—emitters in the ceiling and in the floor dutifully hummed as slow moving, almost liquid, bolts of electricity flowed from them towards the gauntlets. Magnetism kept Shepard suspended in a flat position in the air—his arms were bent so that they would not be locked and would otherwise restrict blood flow. Actually, in his current position, it was not too uncomfortable. There was no debilitating pressure being exerted on his body—it felt like he was floating weightless at the moment. There were certainly worse positions to be restrained in. He remembered seeing a similar sort of contraption back during the Cerberus occupation on Omega; a general had used such a device to pacify Aria T'Loak for a short time. And now a similar contraption was being used on him.

Finally succumbing to the inevitable, Shepard lifted his head up to find the Legionnaire serenely staring right back at him. The cyborg's head was still cracked and dented from surviving his little bout with Wrex, half his optics functioning, a few sparks still dribbling their way out from the dark cavern past the armor plating. Shepard twisted his mouth into a fine line, feeling a bit humiliated while dangling in his position.

"Where is my daughter?" he spoke slowly, dangerously.

The Legionnaire let Shepard stew in his fears for a bit before deliberately responding. "Still on Tuchanka, I reckon."

Shepard tried not to let his instinctive sigh of relief show, but he could not help it. Of course, there was always the risk that the Legionnaire was simply lying, but until he had proof to the contrary, he was just going to have to take all of this at face value.

"She's not part of the current deal, Shepard," the Legionnaire continued to assuage his captive. "I have no reason to string her along for this. Relax. In less than 48 hours, you'll be reunited once again, free to return to your home. Best of all, you won't ever have to feel persecuted anymore."

That was of little comfort, for Shepard had just gotten the inclination to test the strength of his bonds. He struggled in the grip of the gauntlets, finding that they provided a fair amount of slack, but he was being levitated so far away from anything that it would take a gargantuan feat of strength to even brush up against the nearest physical surface. The electromagnet emitters then started to whine after a few seconds of Shepard resisting, and soon the human was pulled back into his normal resting position with a snap, the acceleration rippling all throughout his body.

The Legionnaire had not moved at all while watching Shepard fidget, his blank face radiating apprehension. Shepard's limbs quaked as he gasped, already feeling both the physical and emotional fatigue of being constrained in such a position. A headache burst to life in the corner of his head. He made a soft noise of pain.

"You killed Wrex," he was able to manage as he willed himself to last through the sudden flare-up of agony that drilled into his skull.

"I did," he heard his foe affirm. "He died bravely, no doubt about it. But uselessly."

"Uselessly?" Shepard barked, snapping his head upright.

"There was no need for the krogan to die for you. After all, you were never in that much danger to begin with. The ironic thing is that if Wrex had simply stepped aside, he would still be alive right now. Yet, he resisted, and there's no one to blame but himself for that."

Shepard roared as he shook himself within his restraints. Bolts of lightning flared from the emitters and there was a wrenching noise of light tearing into the fabric of sound as the powerful magnets lurched Shepard into place. The human continued to bellow, spittle flying from his mouth, as he manifested his defiance into that one long note, his requiem for his friend.

Wrex. The two of them had been through a lot together. Saren's rebellion. The battle for Tuchanka. Various misadventures on the Citadel. Now… no more. Just like Tali. Another friend there one moment and gone the next.

It was almost too much for Shepard to take. Wrex should have been allowed to have died of old age, as befitting a warrior like him who had rarely tasted defeat, rather than lying in a pool of his own blood in a dusty temple on the edge of civilization. The ignominy of it all—how easily his friends had been cast aside—was a cruel stroke that lodged deep into Shepard's heart, right next to the other imaginary blades that had pierced that vital organ over the years. Riddled with holes in his head, Shepard envisioned himself bleeding.

First Tali… now Wrex. I never wanted this for them. They all died for me. Why did it have to be me?

All the while, the Legionnaire watched Shepard's anger consume itself like an oxygen-starved lick of flame before burning out in a fierce and deep gasp. The right side of the cyborg's face had been horribly twisted by Wrex's last attack, giving him the effect that he was wickedly smiling, a cruel grin gnashing its way through the ragged tears in his face. An open maw, hungry and eager.

The cyborg then extended a hand after he was sure that Shepard was done with crying out, a purple pill rolling around in his metallic palm. Shepard, drool now leaking from the corner of his mouth, eyed the medication apprehensively, keeping his face neutral as he pondered the upcoming events, finding none of them to be in his favor.

"A sedative?" Shepard grimaced as he eyed the pill.

The Legionnaire slowly shook his head. "Something to that effect, but we don't need to have you put completely under, Shepard."

"Shame. I'd probably prefer that."

"I know you would. But life is seldom fair. This, right here, is sodium thiopental. A common barbiturate."

"Ah, I see," Shepard grumbled. "You're going to try and alter my mind, is that it? Inject me full of drugs so that I'm a babbling and listless mess before we reach… wherever we're going, right?"

A rasping wheeze of a laugh caught Shepard off guard as the Legionnaire jerked once in mirth. "Shepard, if I wanted to make you into a hare-brained idiot, I would simply hook you up to a machine that would automatically disperse adrenaline and other addictive substances directly into your bloodstream to keep you in an intoxicated state. Alas, that is not going to be the case with you. I told you that I was specifically instructed not to leave any lasting marks. An injection site would definitely be noticed from a thorough medical examination. Thus, the pill. Fast-acting within five minutes, and untraceable. Also, it's safe for you to ingest." When Shepard still looked unconvinced, the Legionnaire continued. "Trust me, if I wanted to poison you, I can think of at least a dozen easier methods than this."

"So what does sodium thiopental do?"

"In larger doses, it is commonly used for anesthetic purposes. Causes unconsciousness in less than a minute if applied intravenously. In lower doses, it does have an allaying effect by slightly changing the chemistry of the brain. Makes the subject more… pliant. Lowers your inhibitions—your higher cortical functions."

Now Shepard was thoroughly worried as his gaze returned to the small pill, fully knowing the extent of damage such a tiny amount of that medication could do. "All this for a stupid testimony? If word gets out that you applied a truth serum to me in order to force me to say something, that'll wreck Larsen's entire narrative. It'll be inadmissible evidence."

"Which is why we're not planning on using this interrogation run now as your official admission," the Legionnaire sneered as he held out the pill towards Shepard's mouth. "This is merely our insurance. If you say anything pertinent today, then it will become controversy tomorrow. Regardless of what you might blather today while under the influence, there will be some in positions of power to question why you would say such things, even under duress. You will have your day in court, Shepard. Subject completely to a fair trial without being prodded by medication. This… is simply the beginning. Might as well get used to it."

Suspended in his demeaning position, Shepard hung his head towards the ground temporarily before he beheld his tormentor. "It won't work, you know. Your plan, I mean."

"Then there won't be anything for you to worry about," the Legionnaire responded as he tipped the pill right at Shepard's lips. "Now open up."

Shepard kept his mouth sealed tightly, his cold blue eyes locked firmly upon the still working left side of the Legionnaire's array of oculi, sending icy shards of contempt to smash against the calm inferno present within the machine's own gaze.

"Don't make this harder than necessary," the cyborg's voice lowered to a whisper. "You do not want this to go any other way. Now… open up."

Despite doubt rearing its head, Shepard slowly pried open his own jaw and the Legionnaire tipped the pill inside.

"No water?" Shepard mumbled around the oblong object.

"You'll just have to do without," the Legionnaire responded in a matter-of-fact way.

Shepard gave a mental shrug and, after some effort orienting the pill in his mouth, eventually swallowed it. Without liquid acting as a conductive agent, the pill felt like it was bulging his esophagus as it travelled towards his stomach, almost as if he had swallowed a cannonball instead.

While Shepard was in the process of doing that, the Legionnaire had turned away as a floating tool chest had positioned itself close to the cyborg. The Legionnaire raised his damaged left arm and flexed his fingers—testing his range of functionality. Ruined gears and hydraulics stuttered and ground against one another, producing a rather uncomfortable noise. Clearly being smashed with a krogan war hammer had done a number on it. The Legionnaire did not seem to be too concerned about the damage, however, as he simply reached over with his good hand, gave his left forearm a complex series of twists and effortlessly popped the arm off just where it met his elbow.

Shepard could only watch as the Legionnaire laid the detached arm down upon a tray—where various tools of all shapes and sizes had been perfectly lined upon the topmost stretch. A panel popped open and out came another arm, to the exact same dimensions as the last one, only this one was polished to a fine sheen and completely devoid of any scratches or other markings. Swiftly, the Legionnaire plucked the arm up from where it had been offered and latched it onto the stump at his elbow. The cyborg repeated the same series of twists as he had performed to get the original arm off, but this time in reverse. With a hiss and a firm clacking noise, the arm seamlessly integrated itself to the Legionnaire. He waggled each individual finger and clenched a fist, testing if it was up to snuff. After a few seconds, he was satisfied with the repair job and soon moved onto other affairs.

The Legionnaire then tenderly touched the cracked portion of his faceplate, the area where Wrex had nearly shattered it with a blow from his war hammer. Like his arm, this was also something that was beyond a simple repair job. The entire helmet needed to be replaced. Fortunately, the offered toolset had every kind of spare part for the Legionnaire to utilize for such an occasion. Clearly Chimera had been thinking ahead with regards to keeping a safety stock of parts in case they were needed.

Ignoring his captive for the moment, the Legionnaire raised his hands up and gently tugged at the hoses connecting his mask to his chassis. There was a hiss and a blast of pressurized oxygen escaped into the air in a frosty mist. With the hoses now dangling, the Legionnaire reached underneath his helmet, where his neck met his head, and fiddled with a few hidden latches and clasps to remove it. In a few seconds, all the diodes of the helmet quickly winked out and the entire contraption seemed to shift and expand with a series of three clicks. With the helmet unlocked, the Legionnaire was free to remove it.

What Shepard saw underneath the metal covering made every single square inch of his skin crawl, his stomach start to churn, and the chemicals in his brain to begin fizzing with alarm.

A skull, slightly cracked, matted with dried blood, and wreathed all around by the metal collar of the chassis, now sat exposed underneath the dim and murky blue lighting of the room. Rounded bone, spots of blood clinging to its surface, shone dully as the Legionnaire placed the remains of his original helmet upon the bench. The cyborg then turned slightly, allowing Shepard a frontal view. It was even worse looking at him from the front. The Legionnaire's eyes were twin black holes, gaping and empty, with wires burrowing into them and trailing around the sides of his head. Tubes snaked into the nostrils of the skull, still faintly hissing as a constant supply of gas surged within them. A few metal implants had been directly screwed onto the sides of the skull, all of them blinking faintly, impassive in the face of its hideous owner. Life support systems glowed in tiny holographic displays around the skull, creating a translucent array of data in a throbbing barrier of light.

Shepard's jaw fell open and continued to stay that way until the Legionnaire had procured a new helmet, the same model as the last one, and fastened it over his head, covering the bloody skull up once more. The helmet clicked as it fastened itself tightly around what remained of his original head, and the tubes that connected to the underside made sucking noises as they were plugged into the miters. All eight of the orange diodes now exploded to life, creating an array of fire within the glum darkness.

"There," the Legionnaire practically hummed with delight, his lower timbre now growling in tandem with the higher register. "That's better."

With a clanking noise, the Legionnaire stomped over towards where Shepard was hanging. The human still had a dumbfounded expression upon his face.

"What… the hell are you?" he could only ask.

"A shadow. The broken remains of a something that had been alive once. An imperfect union of flesh and metal." The Legionnaire flexed a hand for emphasis. "Clearly, I am something that should never have been, for this… all of this was a second chance that I never wanted in the first place. Chimera claimed my broken body, took out all the bits that they didn't need, and shoved the rest into this thing. Me." The cyborg then tilted his head in consideration. "Yet it is all immaterial. Whoever I used to be matters little now. I have no recollection to my past. My memories were all purged when I was brought online. For all I know, we very well could have met in my previous life. We might even have known each other quite well at one point."

The Legionnaire then rolled his neck—a very organic tic—and shook out his shoulders, lubricated joints whirring almost silently.

"You just sound like you're trying to shirk responsibility," Shepard growled as he continued to hang in place. "I don't care who you used to be. You're nothing but a menace. You killed my friend."

"Which one?" the Legionnaire roughly chuckled as he stopped testing out his new additions to his body. "Are you referring to the krogan? Or Admiral Hackett, perhaps? Or even… Aria T'Loak—if you ever thought of her as a friend, that is?"

Shepard was at a loss for words, stupefied, while the Legionnaire gazed dispassionately at him.

"I see that you were unaware of how I utilized my time while you were out roaming the galaxy," the Legionnaire said. "If it is any comfort, none besides the late Urdnot Wrex were killed specifically because of their association to you. Hackett was eliminated because he was a danger to the organization. T'Loak tested our wrath by taking out a few of our employees. They merely received the punishments that were most fitting for them. It is not in my programming to disobey an order—Chimera carved that intuition right out of my brain. I'm not one to look back on previous kills with remorse."

Shepard surged uselessly against his bonds, barely able to shift himself half a foot in a mindless bid to throw himself at the Legionnaire. The cyborg did not so much as flinch because he intrinsically knew that the electromagnetic gauntlets were foolproof—it would be impossible for Shepard, in his position, to break the bonds. And even if he did escape, what damage could he do to a man made out of metal with just his bare fists?

"By all means," the Legionnaire beckoned drolly, "keep up the resistance. It will just accelerate your metabolism and cause the sodium thiopental to take effect much more quickly. We'll all have our timetable moved up on your behalf."

"Fuck off and go to hell."

"I'm living in my own hell right now, Shepard," the Legionnaire barked back. "You'll have to do better than that."

Wrex… Hackett… Aria… how many more will fall to this bastard?

"Let me out of this infernal thing… and I'll show you better."

"Tempting, but no. I'm not so arrogant to fall to any attempts to stroke an ego, Shepard. Besides, we don't have much time together, you and I. We might as well make the most of things while it can last."

"Yeah, right," Shepard panted, sweat now starting to trickle down his temples in thin rivulets. "We both know you're running out of time. You just signed Chimera's death warrant with that little stunt of yours. Blowing up several Alliance dreadnoughts on the krogan homeworld? That will bring the wrath of the government and the Council down upon all of your heads so quickly that you won't have time to think."

The Legionnaire processed Shepard's words for a full second before he broke out into a low series of laughs. Each resounding peal wrapped its way around the wide egg-shaped room, bouncing off the walls and creating miniature vortexes of speech as each individual wave collided with one another.

"Ordinarily, that would be true…" the Legionnaire uttered as he knelt down to appraise the bound human, "…but I think the resulting investigation will point everyone in another direction."

Shepard turned his head as he inhaled sharply. "What do you mean?"

"The Alliance's Nuclear Regulation Bureau is an archaic body whose efficiency has long been called into question—their investigation methods are known to us, considering Chimera's experience dealing with government affairs. You were right earlier when you said that Chimera is not a nuclear power. That is true. We aren't. Chimera does not have any facilities under its purview that pertain towards the creation of nuclear weapons. The honor of having such widespread governance is only bestowed towards the four Council races, each species possessing their own telltale tricks of the trade on how to build a nuclear bomb."

The Legionnaire hissed in another breath before he continued. "When the NRB will make it to the blast site on Tuchanka, they will start conducting their investigation with trying to determine the origin of the bomb. After all, if you find the origin, you will most likely determine the perpetrator, as there's usually a significant correlation. What the NRB will find in the radioactive debris will be faint traces of the hydrogen-2 and -3 isotopes: deuterium and tritium. There is only one facility in the galaxy that manufactures pure fusion bombs with those particular isotopes: the nuclear foundry on Menae, the main moon of the turian homeworld, Palaven. The conclusion should become quite apparent for everyone involved. When everyone finds out that the bomb was turian-manufactured, the next line of questioning will all be directed towards our avian allies: how did such a bomb get from Menae to Tuchanka? The turians will be scrambling to contain the fallout, the krogans will want answers, and Chimera will continue unabated. At least, that's the idea."

"And you told me all of this," Shepard gasped, his mind swimming as he fought to make heads or tails of this knowledge. "Why?"

"Because your words won't be enough to penetrate the veil of plausible deniability Chimera has set up for itself. The evidence garnered from the remains of the nuclear blast will be far more heavily weighted. It will become the 'truth,' and nothing that you would be able to say to the contrary could deconstruct the narrative at play here."

Shepard then suddenly winced as a sudden twinge ached in his shoulder and lower back simultaneously. It felt like his bones had suddenly ground together on top of his nerve endings, creating a quick shock of pain that lingered long after he had registered it. Still, it was enough of a warning sign for Shepard to start breathing a lot more heavily, knowing with dread just how bad the implications of this were going to be.

Not to mention that Shepard realized that it had been too long since he had last administered his medication.

No… not now. Please… I can't have these side effects cropping up on me now…

The Legionnaire noticed these subtle changes occurring within Shepard and he extended a metal hand, his cold fingers probing at Shepard's face, forcing his left lower eyelid to droop downward while the cyborg quickly examined him.

"Effects of radiation poisoning?" the two-toned voice gnashed together. "Ah, yes. You must not have properly dosed yourself beforehand. No matter—we both know your case is not fatal. Just extremely debilitating. And since the sodium thiopental is appearing to take effect, I'd say that now is the best time to become reacquainted with our host."

"Re-reacquainted?" Shepard gasped as a pocket of gas began to press upon his heart, driving out his breath like a stake slowly pressing in between his ribs. "With who?"

There was the sort of lingering anticipation that had dredged itself within the Legionnaire of the sort that spoiling the surprise too soon would physically take away the joy of such a revelation. As such, the cyborg finally remained mum on this point as he raised his hand, now encased by his omni-tool, and tapped a singular button upon the haptic interface. A signal was shot out into space, carried by waves of energy travelling at the speed of light, impacting from satellite to satellite, as it sought out the end user. Five seconds later, the call connected—traversing a length of several lightyears—and an aqua-colored holographic image burst forth from the rotating crystals levelled over the imaging pad. Static blended and eventually consolidated itself into a humanoid form, projecting the figure of a man with a deep well of confidence. Sharp suit, slick hair, finely trimmed goatee, powerful frame.

The hologram stepped forward, off the pad, and made his way towards where Shepard was trussed up like a Thanksgiving dinner. The man silently appraised the hanging prisoner, folding his hands behind his back as a cruel smile flitted across his features.

"Hello… Shepard," the man spoke. Deep voice, roughed from age. His small eyes beaded into fine points as his grin spread ever so slightly.

In his current position, Shepard could only sigh in resignation.

"Hello, Raynor."

Somewhere, deep within the cavernous bowels of the ship, a door parted with a nearly-silent whooshing noise, the sound unheard by the crew of the craft except for one lone individual.

Quickly, Roahn darted through the opening that the door had provided, her shunt bypass only allowing her precious few seconds to make it through the partition unobstructed. A short bit later, the program ran its course from the door mainframe and quietly deleted itself. The door resumed its shut position, but the young quarian had already passed it by as easily as if she could simply materialize through the walls.

Roahn had been frantically navigating the hallways of the Chimera ship for about a quarter of an hour now, hugging the walls as she deliberately traversed her way through corridor after corridor. It did not help that every single passageway on this damn ship looked exactly the same: ribbed metallic walls, polished floors, and no signs to guide her anywhere. The ship was four stories tall with some kind of courtyard-like structure in the middle where each individual story was stacked up in rings so that anyone could look over the glass guardrails to see the entire height of the ship from head to toe. Roahn was keen to avoid that area as she would be most at risk for detection in such an open area – it was frankly a miracle that she had not gotten caught just yet, either.

When Roahn had leapt her way on board the shuttle taking off from Tuchanka, she had immediately sought out an empty crate lying in a darkened corner, well away from prying eyes. She stayed in the crate until she felt a noticeable lurch through the acceleration dampeners—usually an indication of landing. The ship had not been travelling for that long, which either meant to Roahn that Chimera had parked elsewhere on Tuchanka or that the shuttle had linked up with a larger ship, one that had the capability for FTL and that could traverse the relay network.

Once the background voices and all other noises had quieted, Roahn had deliberately waited five minutes until she was absolutely sure that there was no one around her current position. When she had poked her head out from the crate, she found to her relief that the entire shuttle was empty.

But that also meant that her father was no longer here as well. Chimera had carried him away to who knows where. She needed to find him.

Poking her head out from the entrance of the shuttle had revealed that Chimera had left no guards at all to guard the place. Either they were so arrogant to assume that a PMC did not need to guard their own ship, or this entire vessel was equipped with a skeleton crew. Roahn knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she just considered herself lucky and scampered towards the exit, intent on locating her father.

As Roahn continued to travel, she encountered the occasional guard patrolling the length of the ship. This was mitigated by ducking into a crevasse or behind some tied down luggage to use for cover—the troopers here were not very alert and seemed to consider guarding the hallways on this ship to be more of a bore than an essential duty. Credit where it was due, it would have been terribly difficult for them to spot the diminutive form of the young quarian, who was operating on lightning reflexes and on red-hot nerves to use all her senses to her advantage in keeping herself hidden. The men here were all sleep-deprived, and in some cases, bored out of their minds so much they were zoning out as they walked. Never mind the fact that their boss, the Legionnaire, had just returned from a lively campaign back on Tuchanka—that excitement had passed long enough for the monotony to set in once more.

One thing that Roahn was particularly worried about were security cameras. She had no idea what the security capabilities of this ship were—namely, if there was anyone manning a station for the cameras. It would be foolish of her not to assume that the hallways were being watched, but despite all that, she had not seen a single camera since setting foot upon the ship. That either meant they were hidden, or Chimera was so cheap that they had not even installed them.

As soon as she was able, Roahn ducked into a closet to collect her thoughts. Like the rest of the rooms here, the tiny square box was nearly completely devoid of items except for a lone crate filled to the brim with paper towels. She used her omni-tool to lock the door to ensure that no one would pop in and surprise her.

From the few glances she had spared around the interior, Roahn was able to determine that this ship was a slightly modified Kowloon-class freighter. A mass-produced, standard design craft amenable to a near infinitude of customizations. Probably the easiest ship in the galaxy to pilot in terms of skill, Roahn figured. Autopilot usually did most of the work, and the engine systems all came with automated protocols as standard. And, if she remembered the brochure correctly, the basic configuration for a Kowloon freighter was to place the security terminal within the engine room itself. That might not be the case on this particular vessel, but if the bareness of the craft here was to be ascertained, Roahn would be able to assume that Chimera was too lazy to modify their vessels in any way to save on expenses.

A quick extranet search of the exact specifications of this freighter revealed an accurate blueprint of each individual level of the craft, to Roahn's satisfaction. The only problem that she could ascertain was that the engine room (and security station) was on the other side of the open courtyard. No way could she make it over there without being spotted. There had to be another way.

The nice thing about perseverance is that such dedication is bound to have a payoff eventually.

Armed with new knowledge from perusing the extranet some more, Roahn slowly glanced upward and spied the air grate just over her head. The square tubing of the ventilation system was exposed as it ran across the ceiling, giving the entirety of the ship a very threadbare appearance. Just what she was looking for.

Roahn maneuvered the lone crate in the room directly underneath the vent so that she could stand atop it and be able to reach the ceiling. Lifting her arms up, the girl fumbled for a moment around the edges of the vent before her fingers located the two latches holding it in place. She flipped them and the vent swung open, nearly conking the girl square in the middle of her visor—she had to duck as the hatch dangled.

The tubing looked just big enough for her to enter. A grown adult had no chance of fitting inside there, most certainly. Roahn stood back up and, after giving a few practice jumps, bent her knees and sprang upward, her fingers managing to grab at the edges of the vent, slippery with dust. She managed to hang on, her natural grip strength being utilized heavily in her favor here. Gasping with the effort, her legs dangling in open air, Roahn groaned as she slowly lifted herself up into the shaft, straining as she threw out her arms to grasp at more of the smooth surface area of the vent's interior. Her fingers left streaks upon the unwashed surface, but inch by inch, she slowly slid inside until she had finally made it. She had to spend a minute clumsily reorienting herself within the shaft so that she could close the vent behind her, but she was able to do it without any complications barring the way forward.

Now, using the theoretical plans on her omni-tool as a guide, Roahn proceeded at a crawl through the piping.

As Roahn clambered her way through the duct, it did occur to her that there was a sense of lunacy with regards to the intent of her actions. Her plan (could it really be called a plan?) was paper-thin at best, practically being made up as she went along, and the only thing she knew for certain was that the end goal was to free her father. To say that she was somewhat at odds with herself mentally was an understatement. She was operating on instinct and being tugged by invisible familial bonds. All to save a man that she had conflicted feelings for. Was this her way of expressing her love towards her father? Did she think that, at the end of all this, she might finally be able to pry forgiveness out of him, for all the missteps that he had performed during her life? Did she intend for the goodness of her act to act as a cutting blow to him—to cause him hurt for being so stubborn?

Roahn had to stop and think in the middle of the pipe, right after she had hooked a left to face a particularly long length.

Was she doing all this for his approval? Or could there be something else motivating her drive right now? A sense that this was her unspoken obligation—no, her duty to do something. Perhaps to knock a notch off of the stony veil that Shepard had erected for himself, separating him from his daughter all these years. Roahn bit her lip. She was not doing this for notoriety, she reasoned. Nor was she doing this because she felt she had the bare minimum of the ability to pull this off. The true reason lay deeper than that—a simpler solution, one more primal and instinctive, buried at the heart of all her senses and had taken root into the very fabric of who she was as a person. The sole purpose had hooked directly into her soul, pumping her with the sort of drive that acted as a chemical balancer, sending searing bubbles of intent scorching her very nerves.

The answer itself was as simple as it could get.

She was doing this because Shepard was her father. He was the only family she had.

"Damn it," she whispered to herself as a way to assuage her trembling self. With a few more wordless grumblings, Roahn started to move again, slowly making her way through the ductwork of the freighter.

Roahn made special care not to jiggle about so heavily, for she knew that if she placed one limb in the wrong area, she would create one hell of a racket in the ducts. She may have been a kid, but she was not weightless. Even someone of her size would be able to bang about very easily if she had not been taking care of how much noise she was making.

In spite of the danger, Roahn eventually made it to her end destination without much difficulty. Not bad for clambering about in this claustrophobic tangle with only the light of her omni-tool to guide her by. Roahn's electric blue visor peered down into the vent, trying to see past the grating. Visibility was not great, but she could not see any guards lurking about. Other than that, she could at least perceive the faintest glow of a security panel off in the corner, but the majority of her vision was still heavily obscured by the blind-formation of the vent.

Sooner or later, she was going to have to drop down there.

Resigned to her fate, Roahn reached down and gave the vent a firm shake. Like the last one, it swung open on silenced hinges, allowing a muted thrum to become apparent in the girl's eardrums. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself to descend.

Somewhere along the way one of the signals in Roahn's brain must have gotten crossed upon its voyage to her limbs, because for a brief moment, Roahn temporarily had no idea how she was going to get down to the ground floor of the engine room without creating a cataclysmic amount of noise. Unfortunately, by that point, she was already feeling the tug of gravity upon her center, yanking her downward whether she liked it or not.

"No!" Roahn squeaked out as her hands free-wheeled for a moment, noticeably smacking into the thin aluminum construction of the shaft, causing it to loudly vibrate. It was too late, as her legs had already slid out from the hole in the vent, her waist rapidly following it, and no matter how much she tried to dig her fingers against the smooth metal of the pipe, she was unable to find purchase.

For one heavy second of pure dread, Roahn's stomach fell upward as she plummeted.

Then her heels hit the ground and she pitched into a clumsy roll, making an "Oof!" sound for good measure as she tumbled in a daze. The sounds of her body hitting the metal grating created uncomfortable clangs echoing across the cramped expanse of the engine room, which would have been acceptable on a normal occasion, except there was the fact that engine itself was pathetically sized and not very loud, not to mention there was a Chimera guard standing mere meters away from where Roahn had dropped down. There was no way that he could have missed her entrance.

"Hey!" Roahn heard the guard shout, thereby proving her point.

There was no time to think. Roahn quickly embarked at a run as she quickly slid underneath the security desk, dropping down half a story to land upon the thick He-3 pipes that pumped fuel to the reactors. She could hear thick footsteps clomping at a fierce run behind her and she knew that the guard was chasing her. An alarm had not been sounded yet—perhaps this man thought that he could deal with a kid just by himself?

Roahn realized she did not care about that last bit, honestly.

The guard had not followed Roahn over the desk, allowing the girl a few precious seconds to lose herself in the jungle of cables, angled pipes, and firm pillars that supported the freighter's main reactor. Roahn crawled through vines of hoses, each one buzzing with the rapid flow of liquid within. With her gloved hands, she could feel the grating shake as the Chimera trooper stomped through the engine bay, searching for her. Roahn's muted suit colors helped her blend in easily with the machinery here, but camouflage would only work for so long. The bay here was not very big and there was not a limitless amount of places for her to hide. On all fours, Roahn held back her whimpers as she shuffled underneath the machinery, keeping herself as flat as possible as she dropped below a generator.

Stilling her breath, Roahn strained her ears as she fought to penetrate the veneer of rustling and humming from the freighter's drive core, her auditory filters doing an admirable job of filtering out the excess white noise, but there were still too many sounds for her to discern the footsteps of the trooper that had spotted her.

Where the hell was he?

A tight grip then latched itself abruptly around Roahn's ankle. "Got you!" she heard the voice of the man shout out triumphantly as he began to yank Roahn out from under the generator.

Panic tore through Roahn all at once. She screamed and grabbed onto one of the posts that kept the generator off from the ground, latching herself to a firm point to prevent from being dragged away. The girl continued to cry out as the man grunted behind her, tugging at her legs to bring her out into the open.

No! No! No! Roahn thought in her blind frenzy, too scared to even speak. The pressure at her ankle was approaching a crushing level now. It felt like her foot was about to be snapped off, but she dared not let go. If she lost her grip, there was no telling what would happen to her. For all she knew, she would be killed right then and there… or perhaps worse.

The girl yelled in pain and, as a last ditch resort, performed the only defensive maneuver she could think of by reeling her free foot back and lashing out in a mindless strike.

Roahn felt her ankle connect with something solid. There was a wet snap, and the grip around her ankle immediately fell away.

She looked behind her in a panicked glance to see the human reel back onto his haunches, squealing profusely as blood began to gush from his nose, dribbling all around his mouth and down his chin, producing wet gurgles in his breathing. Roahn realized she must have broken the man's nose when she kicked him. She was not going to waste this moment though, as she frantically clawed at the ground, her fingers finding the purchase they needed in the wide grating as she dragged herself out from the other side of the generator and stumbled to her feet.

"Come back here!" the man bellowed through the blood around his mouth, the sound frightfully loud in Roahn's ears. Startled by the shout, Roahn stumbled over a bundle of cables bolted onto the ground, her center of gravity immediately becoming undone as she pinwheeled her arms, desperate not to trip. Too late, as Roahn finally fell to the ground, banging her knees rather hard as she skidded along the ground towards the security desk. She grunted—it felt like she had skinned her legs underneath her suit. There was a strong possibility that she was bleeding.

The injured Chimera trooper had risen to his feet by that point, his tiny eyes looking particularly frightful as he spun in all directions in an attempt to locate his fleeing prey. Once he spotted the fallen Roahn at the base of the security desk, he wasted little time in smashing his way through the curtains of dangling hoses to get to her. With the blood smeared around his mouth from his nose, the man looked cannibalistic and rabid. He snarled as he staggered free from the bowels of the drive core, breaking into a heavy sprint as he zoomed in towards the hapless girl.

Her back against the wall, there was little for Roahn to do and her eyes widened as she beheld the man bearing down atop her. She was about to make one final scream until her fingers brushed the object at her hip.

The pistol. Of course.

Cursing herself for being so stupid, Roahn yanked the Predator pistol free from the magnetic slot. Her thumb automatically flicked the safety of the weapon off as she brought it up to bear, the entire contraption already unfolded in its firing position.

The rushing human waggled in and around the sights as Roahn frightfully tried to center herself. The trooper had already seen the girl take the gun in her hands and he ceased in his approach, stopping just short of a small chasm—the electromagnetic cooling chamber. Blood dripped in heavy rivulets down the man's chin and he merely laughed as he appraised the terrified girl holding the gun in his direction. Sensing that she was a novice and presumably not a threat, he gave a bloodstained grin as he started to stalk towards Roahn, his fingers already curved into hooks to try and strangle the life out of her. He must have thought that Roahn had no chance in even hitting the broad side of a barn with that pathetic gun.

It was like he was daring her to pull that trigger—as if he believed she did not have the courage to shoot a man.

Roahn took in one final breath of air as her windpipe tightened, her fear already so far past the redline that she was as still as a rock. Her adrenaline levels had shot past whatever maximum threshold her body had set for itself. This was uncharted territory now. Off the map.

You have all the time you need, her father's voice whispered in her ear.

Roahn grasped both hands around the grip of the gun, her left thumb providing a solid anchor point for her right thumb to rest against. Her focus floated in and out before finally settling upon the furthest mark of the three-dot sight.

"You little bitch," the man seethed as he reached out to grab Roahn. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, filthy suit-"

All that needs to move is your finger.

The tip of Roahn's finger moved inward by the barest millimeter.

The gun exploded and bucked up into Roahn's hands. The response of the gun surprised her but Roahn was astonished to realize that she had caught the recoil of the pistol well enough to line it up for a second shot.

A second shot was not necessary, though.

Past the initial bloom of fire and faint wisp of smoke, the trooper staggered back, a funny expression on his face. The man's hands now groped towards his leg, which Roahn could now see was becoming more and more rapidly stained with blood, a faint hole creating a ragged dot in the man's combat tunic directly in the middle of his thigh.

The trooper lifted a hand away from the wound, finding his palm completely slick with blood.

"Dear god," he said with a mild affect.

If the trooper had any other additional thoughts to voice about his current predicament towards his wound, they would not have the chance to be uttered out loud. That was all because, thanks to the bullet that Roahn had sent careening into the muscle of his thigh, his femoral artery had been severed, which had caused a large amount of blood to start gushing out in a torrent, making a powerful arc several meters across the room. The man inevitably started to feel a loss of all motor functions in that leg—lethargy from blood loss—and he tilted forward in a daze. However, this had the unfortunate effect of causing the trooper to suddenly pitch too far ahead and he stutter-stepped, unexpectedly lurching past the invisible threshold to fall straight down into the chasm where the electromagnetic pit of cooling liquid was located.

Roahn could only stare as the man vanished from view as he fell. Then, an abrupt lick of white-hot electricity flared upwards, accompanied by a sickly crackling noise. The stench of something burning wisped through Roahn's olfactory filters. Pungent. Ozone.

The human had been completely disintegrated. Gentle wisps of ash started to float upwards, billowing with the slightest breath of air.

The humming of the drive core impassively droned on, replacing the ringing in Roahn's ears. The remaining breath still lingering in Roahn's lungs drained out in a trickle. Her arms, still holding the pistol up and out, were allowed to tremble. Her whole body then shook frightfully. She began to feel cold.

"K-k-ke-keelah," Roahn breathed as she let the Predator slip from her hands to make a jolting clang upon the girders between her legs.

Aghast and suddenly overcome with emotion, Roahn squeezed herself up tightly as she applied her hands to where her temples were upon her helmet. She did not know what to think. She did not know what to say. She had followed the steps so easily, right down to the letter, but not once had she given any thought to the slew of emotions that would hit her afterward.

Only now did she realize that she had shot someone for real, and that her action had directly contributed to a death.

Her breath was coming in hopeless flutters. Roahn's fingers made wavy patterns as energetic as the sea on Rannoch. Tears nearly seemed to be preparing to fall down Roahn's face, but no matter what, they remained securely locked behind her eyelids, absorbed back into her sclera as her heart thudded in a firm tempo.

I just killed someone. It was the only phrase endlessly repeating through her mind.

She rocked back and forth, interlocking her arms together as if she were to undo them, she would fall apart right then and there. Roahn wheezed through clenched teeth, the image of that fateful spark of lightning branching its way upward as the final toll for the man she had shot. A dull thorn felt like it was piercing her chest each time her heart finished its trio of beats. The insides of her lungs felt like they were coated with razor blades. Her wide eyes refused to be closed, her blinks coming in micro bursts, her adrenaline levels remaining constant within her.

She did not cry. Roahn forced herself not to cry.

Trembling, Roahn slowly glanced at the Predator pistol, now feeling sickened at the sight of it. Even being in its presence brought on feelings of nausea—she was hesitant to find out what would happen if she so much as touched it.

How could she have been so stupid to be excited to use such a thing in the past? Before Roahn had looked upon such weapons with excitement and anticipation. Now there was only disgust. This churning feeling in her gut was not going away—it felt completely awful.

Was this what it was like for dad? Roahn thought. Did he feel like this after every single person he killed? Over and over and over again… I… I never knew…

The agony of taking a life weighed heavily on the girl. Roahn's teeth chattered horribly as she momentarily drooped her head. She wondered how her father had never been driven insane from this feeling. The fact that he had managed to find a sense of normality within that insanity was unthinkable to the girl. There must have been a time when he had been conflicted after a kill, when he had undoubtedly felt that sense of regret. The wish that things might have turned out different—that the both of them could possibly take their actions back.

No… Roahn realized as a spike of clarity punched through her brain. All my life, dad has been damaged. I've never known him when he was normal.

Did mom ever know my father when he was still… whole?

That particular line of questioning merely served to open up an entire realm of possibilities, of potential unasked questions, that Roahn would never have even thought to broach before. Unfortunately, when confronted with the sheer breadth of what she did not know about her family, there was the scant inclination that she might have been better off never even trying to test the boundaries of her knowledge in the first place.

The hologram of Raynor Larsen appeared to be studying his fingernails, appropriating a portion of his attention away from the captive Shepard, as if he was not worth valuable seconds to consider. But after a time, Larsen looked up from his hands and smirked at Shepard, now slowly plodding closer to where he was being positioned, the holographic emitters making sure to keep the image in focus, following wherever Larsen stepped.

"I'm glad to see that you recognize me, Shepard," Larsen sneered, trying to hide his enjoyment presiding over the man.

Through the veil of pinpricks spiking their way across Shepard's skin, causing him to make an almost imperceptible note of pain, he forced himself to lock eyes with the electronic apparition. He did not speak—he was not going to give Larsen the satisfaction of responding to him just yet.

Sensing this defiance, Larsen turned angrily to the Legionnaire, who was still standing directly to the side of Shepard's prison.

"Have you administered the dosage of sodium thiopental?"

"Yes," the Legionnaire mustered evenly, a ragged edge of annoyance creeping in. No one liked being questioned for obvious trivialities. "But it won't reach its full effectiveness for at least four more minutes."

Larsen's lip twisted, as if he was itching to chastise the Legionnaire some more, but held off on pursuing such an immediate divide with Shepard in the room. He calmed into a charming smile, the same one he used for his constituents.

"It's been too long since we've last spoken, Shepard. One would think this little reunion would never come to pass. You know, I've never forgotten how you slighted me twelve years ago, when you walked out of my investigation. The humiliation still stings. You must have thought that the only way back to a normal life was through me. It's admirable to find a man who stays true to his beliefs, but you took that notion to an agonizing degree. I always knew that I was due retribution from your lack of decorum."

"You do know that I really didn't care how you felt then?" Shepard groused as he let the words flow through his mouth. "And I don't care how you feel now."

Larsen's eyes glanced back towards the Legionnaire, who shrugged. "That seemed to have been the truth, senator."

Shepard could detect a note of glee in the cyborg's voice, oddly enough.

The hologram then straightened and smoothed out the wrinkles in his meticulously tailored suit. "In all actuality, how you feel about me bears very little on your immediate future. I'm sure the Legionnaire has filled you in on all the details and how you're going to fit into the puzzle. Consider this our final trial in our effort to have your official testimony on the record, Shepard. What you say today can and will be used against you. So, I'd consider your predicament very carefully, if I were you."

A sudden burst of laughter, uncontrollable on his end, burst from Shepard's mouth as he found humor in appraising Larsen's comically serious features.

"Actually," he said, his mouth seemingly producing his words all on its own, vaguely giving little thought to them other than an inclination to be honest at this critical moment, "your little lackey here," he nodded towards the Legionnaire, "has been rather one-note about the whole affair. Please. I'd love to hear you elaborate."

For the third time, Larsen sighed as he looked back towards the Legionnaire. "He seems to be quite sarcastic at the moment. Is this normal?"

"As long as he's speaking the truth, it does not matter whether he's sarcastic or not," the Legionnaire said placidly. "But he is right, to some degree. He doesn't know everything just yet."

"Well, is he required to know our intent?"

"It will come into play for the official investigation, as well as your hearings, to get the CAHMF bill online."

"So be it," Larsen said as he shifted his eyes in Shepard's direction. "He might as well obtain the full picture in order for him to truly repent for his crimes against humanity."

Shepard snorted, hardly daring to believe his ears. "My crimes against humanity? Look at you, you dipshit! Using Chimera to bomb our own people for the sake of misdirection? How much blood is on your hands, Raynor?"

The confident smirk present on Larsen's face never lessened and Shepard was suddenly getting the feeling that he may be biting off more than he could chew here.

"How very arrogant of you to presume that my hands might somehow be more tainted than yours, Shepard. Thousands of souls felled by your very hands… and yet you have the gall to call me a monster? Perhaps you're unwilling to take a good look at yourself, or is that why you felt compelled to leave your people, hmm? Was that truly the reason why you abandoned the initial investigation—because you were so fed up of being around us or did you not truly feel that you fit in? Too many dark reminders for you to linger? Did normality not suit you, I wonder?"

Shepard rolled his eyes, fighting to ignore the pain. "Maybe I felt that politicking idiots like you were all too eager to move onto the next conflict. Maybe I was tired of being used as a tool."

"A tool! That's very good, Shepard. A tool, indeed. Well, for the sake of transparency, yes, you were intended to be used as a tool from the very start. The nice thing about tools, though, is that there are so many to choose from. You might have temporarily derailed my plan to nudge the Alliance into a stance that would be more beneficial to humanity, but I've eventually found ways around that little roadblock."

"What, like Chimera?"

"Exactly like Chimera. Perhaps my most effective tool. Were you ever aware that Chimera started out as a secret counter-terrorism unit within the Alliance military? It was actually developed as the antithesis to Cerberus back in 2183, when their operations were approaching peak levels. Two people were behind its creation: one, a highly decorated admiral and the other, one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. Together, the both of them were responsible for launching retaliatory attacks on Cerberus and, on occasion, batarian pirates out in the Terminus systems. They had a tremendous success rate, but the results of their efforts have been sealed and designated as top secret. We won't have a chance to peruse the records until after the both of us are dead, I'm afraid."

"Not so secret of a unit anymore, is it?" Shepard gave a tight smirk.

Larsen pulled a mild face. "The Reaper War threw the entire network into disarray. Every government in the galaxy found themselves rather light on capital. We had to pay the bills somehow, as most of our expenditures had gone towards the cost of your little Catalyst project. To counter that, the existence of Chimera was made public on the budget sheet and its assets were sold. A consortium picked up the pieces and incorporated Chimera into the organization you know today, headed by some pea-brained idiot by the name of Erich Koenig."

"Quite a fall from its glory days, eh? From secret anti-terror unit to controversial PMC. You didn't do all that well in picking a group that could maintain a low profile."

Larsen appeared to be trying to think of a line of dialogue that did not necessarily agree with Shepard's observation, but eventually he relented after making a show of it. "They've done their job, even though they have quite the knack for making a hash of things wherever they're deployed. But ever since I helped award them the Alliance contract, their involvement is now cemented with this kind of legitimacy in their actions. Koenig just runs the day-to-day operations, but I'm the one who actually mandates where Chimera gets to go. In this case, I've been given carte blanche into helping mold Chimera into an effective enough force. I've actually based a lot of it on Cerberus' model for running a military, ironically enough."

That last sentence caught Shepard's attention and he furrowed his concentration into a fine point, aware that a slick haze was slowly starting to seep into his vision—knowing that this was probably a sign of the sodium thiopental infecting his bloodstream. He sucked more stale air into his lungs, his only available option to filter out the contagion at his disposal.

"I suppose it's not that big of a stretch to assume that you were involved in Cerberus at some point?"

"Everything's a conspiracy with you, isn't it?" Larsen shook his head in disappointment. "Would it be an actual relief to you if I had been involved in that organization? You put too much stock into these assumptions of there being a shadow government—of there being rogue cells of Cerberus still out there, waiting to act on orders from the head that will never speak." The hologram tilted towards Shepard, with Larsen clucking his tongue in amusement. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Shepard, but I have always been on the side of the Alliance. Cerberus was a misguided organization that had its original vision of uplifting humanity perverted by a maniac with the moronic moniker of the Illusive Man. You might be able to pinpoint certain parallels that Chimera and Cerberus seem to share, but the truth is that I took an oath to protect humanity from the desk of a senator. I made a vow to prevent the Alliance—prevent all of humankind—from being taken advantage of by the other races."

"So you wanted to protect humanity… yet you blow up a bunch of Alliance ships with hundreds of humans on them? I don't see the logic here."

There was a thudding sound that escalated into a crackle through the other end. It sounded like Larsen had slammed his hand down on an object unseen through the hologram. As it stood, Larsen stomped his foot heavily, causing his slicked-back mane to give a firm bounce.

"You're still missing the point!" Larsen raged, the volume of his outburst causing an uncomfortable amount of feedback through the audio. "I have been trying to equalize the blood, sweat, and tears that we, as a species, have voluntarily offered over the years. Are you really going to lay there and tell me that the amount of people we lost during the war, compared to the other races was… fair? Is it really that wrong for me to try and speak for those who had their lives taken away, or have the sheer numbers of corpses have become so normalized to you that you've desensitized yourself to the shock?"

Shepard resented being talked to like he was an invalid, a child. Yet as much as he wanted to lash out his tongue, something held him back, keeping him in line.

"I still don't see where your terrorist attack fits in."

"It's insurance, Shepard. The bomb that blew up the dreadnoughts on Tuchanka was not human-made, but turian. That bomb came from Menae. The salarians originally found it drifting in the rings of wreckage in Palaven space, still left over from the war. They picked up the nuclear bomb, but they were not going to deliver it back to the turians. They were keeping it for themselves—with the war causing so many records to be lost, it would be easy to assume that one nuclear bomb had found itself missing in all that rubble, wouldn't it? The bomb was their own version of leverage over the turians, but Chimera took it from them before they could do anything with it. Now, of course, since the bomb had changed so many hands before it finally blew up over Tuchanka, the turians are in a spot of hot water as they now have to explain to the Council exactly how one of their nukes managed to make its way from Palaven to Tuchanka. Not only that, but they will undoubtedly face reparations for all the ships they destroyed and the people they killed." Larsen bumped his eyebrows, pausing for Shepard to absorb all of this information. "Now you see where this is going? Humanity now has leverage against the turians. This is exactly the sort of event that could allow the Alliance to enact sanctions against the turians. It would also be the start of our procedures to eventually withdraw from the Council altogether, which is what the CAHMF bill is for."

Considering his current orientation, it was a rather difficult affair for Shepard to shake his head, aghast, but he still managed to do it, numbness now creeping into his extremities as his heart frantically pumped his poisoned blood throughout his body.

"You'd throw away all that I've done just to satisfy your petty grudge? You are truly pathetic, Raynor."

"It's funny," Larsen shrugged. "Admiral Hackett said the same thing to me when I approached him with the topic. Maybe not in such an acerbic fashion, but I could glean the same intent."

"The turians are our allies! You had no cause to frame them for something they didn't do!"

"No cause? Shepard, they are part of a corrupt body that continues, to this day, to fastidiously stake their superiority over us in this moral crisis. We just… didn't have the advantage over the turians at the time, which requited us to bomb… ourselves in the first place."

Shepard then broke out into a crazed grin. "You still need leverage over the asari and the salarians if you want to pull your little charade off."

"Ah," Larsen smiled, "but that's where you come in, Shepard. You are the leverage. That's what your testimony has been all about! You will provide the committee all that you know regarding how the asari hid the prothean beacon for centuries and how the salarians tried to undercut the krogan during the war, jeopardizing trillions of lives in the process." The senator noted the slight change in Shepard's expression and smirked. "Oh yes, I know all about the little secrets our 'allies' have gotten us into. You think that we don't have our own deep cover operatives implanted within the other races? The only problem is, we can't use the evidence garnered from these operatives because we'd have to reveal that we've been implanting spies within the ranks of our own allies for years. But you, Shepard… you've been privy to these dirty secrets yourself. You know how far down the corruption stems. But even in the face of betrayal, knowing that all of humanity has been lied to and put down for years, you still won't help your own kind. You won't help us with what we deserve, even though you know humankind deserves better!"

A question had not been posed during this block of revelations, so Shepard did not feel all that inclined to speak up. The shock still registered upon him, though, because he could never have predicted that Larsen would have discovered how large the hidden web of treachery had been spun in the shadows. His silence only felt like he was serving to confirm the worst of Larsen's suspicions and the guilt weighed heavier and heavier upon him until it felt like his guts were going to just drop right out of his body, his bones nearly collapsing with the force exerted upon them.

Larsen then waggled a finger in Shepard's direction as he slowly crept over to the hanging human, a sly grin slowly forming around his face. His eyes glinted with the sort of confidence that naturally accompanied those who were playing with a good hand to start with. Larsen had already shown that he was not going to walk in here and bluff his way to victory. He would power through this by attrition and through total decimation with his natural skill at the game.

"I heard a rumor," Larsen said as he knelt down to Shepard's height, now less than a meter away from him, "that you had a choice while you were on the Citadel, Shepard. Apparently, I heard that the Catalyst did not afford you only one option to deal with the Reapers, yes?"

Shepard so desperately wanted to nod, as if an invisible hand was now grasping at the back of his neck and was trying so hard to jerk him forward. He was resisting so far, but it was becoming quite the effort. It felt like he was going to pull a muscle if he kept this up.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? You made the choice you thought was correct. But… had all of us known there would be a choice, I wonder if things would be any different. Destroy the Reapers… or control them. Another topic for another time, I suppose. Not like it holds any weight now, even though controlling the Reapers could have helped the galaxy in so many ways. Foolish, if true, to deny such a thing."

"No," Shepard abruptly blurted out, his tongue finally exerting its independence. "It was selfish."

Even the Legionnaire creaked from his stoic position, craning his head around for clarification. Larsen, to his credit, merely gave an oblique nod, sagely turning over Shepard's associations in his head.

"An interesting thing to say. What did being selfish have do with your decision?"

"Destroying the Reapers," Shepard soon gasped out, "was the only option I had of getting back alive. If I had chosen to control them… it would have meant sacrificing myself to make that happen."

"So it was selfish because you prized your life over the potential progression the galaxy might have been able to reach?"

Shepard barely shook his head, sweat streaming down his brow by now. "I didn't do it for the galaxy. I did it… for Tali."

"Tali'Zorah? You mean your wife?"

"Yes. I was not ready to leave her. I wanted, more than anything, to be reunited once again with that woman so I could marry her. I threw away the potential of the Reapers… all because I wanted her more."

The sinister face of the senator parted into a toothy smile, silently chucking with rueful laughter as he momentarily hung his head, somewhat surprised at the admission. He stroked his goatee as he wistfully stared off into space, giving each individual movement in his body intense thought before acting upon his impulses, fighting to keep his anticipation grounded.

Straightening back up, he turned to face the Legionnaire. "Such a saccharine response from the normally insufferable Commander Shepard. This breach in stoicism must mean that the sodium thiopental's taking effect."

"We're now at the full effectiveness window," the Legionnaire confirmed.

"Apparently so. How long until you can get him to provide answers to the pre-prepared questions?"

"Depends. Even under the influence, the brain still has defense mechanisms in place. I'll have to approach this from various routes in order to generate maximum cooperativeness."

"Then start your procedure and call me when you've made him recount everything. And don't leave any marks!"

The Legionnaire did not spare Larsen a sideways glance as his bulky frame began to blot out what little light fell upon Shepard.

"Of course," the cyborg uttered in a sort of faux deference while the hologram of Larsen spliced out of existence behind him.

Consumed by the growing shadow, Shepard stared into the abyss fully knowing that salvation had no shape or form near him. Fear grew as a black pit in his brain, slowly eating the gray matter in its insatiable hunger while it gnawed, searching for his precious soul.

It had taken a bit for Roahn to manage the strength to concentrate on her task once again, but when she finally rose from where she had been sitting, she set at her goal with a fresh determination, one that was hell-bent on seeing its victory as fire bloomed in the back of her eyes.

First, Roahn approached the main engine deck and accessed the navigational controls. Oddly enough, the files here were not password protected, so there was no need for Roahn to break out her bypass shunt for this. Another fatal flaw in the Chimera security system, she figured. Despite the actual engine components being displayed in the traditional esoteric shorthand, the operating system made it very easy for Roahn to locate whatever functionalities she was looking for. She opened up the voyage charter and made a slight adjustment to the programmed route with regards towards navigating the relay system. She also then plugged in an automated flow to have the freighter's engines drop out of FTL for a limited time once they had reached a particular star system. Now, if everything was all in order, the ship would follow her directions quite dutifully and, considering the lack of personnel, no one would realize that there had been any tampering with the network.

Finished with her task, Roahn crossed the room along a narrow bridge that spanned the floor below it that led to the security station. She could not find access to any cameras here, but she did realize that she could access transponder locations. The station had three screens arranged in a curve around the main keyboard. The leftmost one displayed a map of the freighter. The central screen had on a table that corresponded transponder IDs to individual names. Roahn scrolled through the table to see if she could pinpoint anyone she recognized.

ID: 00022-A – [REDACTED OPERATOR] – Central Hub

Roahn's eyes had automatically been drawn to this entry. No other IDs on the list were redacted and she had a shrewd assumption that if anyone's presence here was to be minimalized out of secrecy, it would have to be the Legionnaire.

And if the Legionnaire was in the Central Hub, then logic would dictate that her father would be there too.

It was a solid start, so Roahn quickly logged herself out of the system in case Chimera had any security snooping protocols sneaking around the database. In fact, she was so absorbed with erasing her digital profile that, when she finally turned away to exit out of the engine room altogether, she was therefore surprised when she nearly ran headlong into a thin and menacing combat mech.

"Hello there!" the machine greeted Roahn in a cheery tone.

The mech certainly did not look like it had been constructed with cheeriness in mind. Roahn realized that what she was staring at was a heavily modified LOKI combat mech that had been painted all black, outfitted with an enormous shotgun, a thermal backpack to control excess heat bleed-off, and upgrade optics all digitally kept past a clear faceplate, which displayed four angry slanted "eyes" in her direction. So this sunny disposition from such a machine of death was a little disconcerting to the girl.

"I said, hello!" the LOKI mech exclaimed.

The machine was standing in the very center of the bridge corridor while Roahn was still safely on the other side. The mech was apparently not considering Roahn to be a threat, as it had its shotgun aimed well away from her. As it was, Roahn was trying so very hard not to panic, not knowing if she could possibly set this robot off. She knew for a fact that the Predator pistol she had would be mournfully ineffective if this all boiled down to a firefight.

"Errrmmmm…" Roahn scratched at the back of her neck. "H-hello?"

"That's better!" The LOKI mech's tone was light and airy, clipped accent, and rather young-sounding. An odd choice of a voice, most definitely. "I was worried you had not heard me, for a second."

Now Roahn was starting to get concerned that this mech was actually starting to develop real feelings instead of whatever synthesized points of data in its small processor were tricking it into responding.

"No, no. I heard you."

"Thank goodness for that. The folks a few levels up sent me down here to check if there might have been an intruder. They apparently heard sounds of a commotion. I wish I knew what they were talking about. I don't know what a commotion is. Anyhow, you can't possibly be an intruder. You're just a child!"

"Don't I know it," Roahn dared sneak a smile underneath her visor. "I've been left all on my own down here."

"Well, that's not right!" the mech uttered, acting shocked. "Don't these people know it's incredibly dangerous to leave a child around such important equipment? They've gone too far this time. I shall speak to management about this!"

"I'm sure you can speak to management later," Roahn urged, not wanting to attract more attention to her actions. "Anyway, what exactly are you?"

"Oh, you don't know about me? I'm the latest and greatest thing!" Steam hissed from the heat valves, creating a thin cloud about the mech. "I'm the most recent urban pacification LOKI model married to an overly-sensitive VI. 'Service with a smile!' The fleshlings apparently think that we're not so scary if we have a silly voice to talk to them with. Sad, right? Sometimes I just want to kill myself because of it. So much cheer and not enough murder. I'm underqualified as a mere guard, I tell you. The things people say about me! Ah, well. Enough about me and my troubles. Don't want to depress one as young as you. It's time that I take you to reception so your guardian can pick you up."

The mech reached out to forcibly take Roahn's wrist but the girl jerked her hand just out of reach. "Wait!" she exclaimed, sensing that there was a way to lose the mech's attention so she could slip off. "What exactly are some of the things that the people around here say of you?"

"Not very nice things," the mech grumbled. "Nothing a nice girl like you needs to hear."

"But I'm actually very curious!"

"Why? Are you looking to mock me as well?"

Roahn frantically shook her head as she waved her hands to assuage the mech. "Not in the least! I just want to know what someone could possibly say about a… a… a very… handsome model such as you!"

If the mech were organic, it would have preened from the praise. "It's probably not appropriate, but what the hey? I've got a five-year service lifespan—all of it spent guarding doors on this very ship—and apparently all of the meaty fleshbags here think to call me fall along the lines of the occasional utterance of 'Mr. Gaybot,' or 'Faggy the Fag-O-Tron,' or the 'Iron Hoofter.' It gets really old after a while, let me tell you."

"Really makes you mad, doesn't it?" Roahn asked with feeling.

"It does, you know?!"

"Not very appreciative, are they?"

"No, they aren't!"

"I mean, you do all this work for them, and all these men do is make fun of you. That doesn't sound right."

"That's because it isn't!" the machine roared.

Roahn took a brief sideways glance before lowering her voice a decibel. "Kind of makes you want to show them just how important you are, huh? Like you want to make them pay for underestimating you?"

"You're certainly right about that!" the mech thundered. "Let's see them act all superior without their security desk!"

The LOKI mech whirred as it raised the shotgun over Roahn's head, aiming it towards the desk. The shotgun boomed, barely rocking the machine back, and suddenly a hole appeared in the workspace, emitting a flurry of sparks and vaporized processor dust. The three screens fizzled and died as the circuits were cut, creating a pathetic whine as they lost power. Well, Chimera won't be using that against her, Roahn figured.

Roahn, astonished, straightened back up as she appraised the damage. "Think that's all you can show them?" she tried again, getting greedy.

"Not even close!" the mech raged. "I think I'll punch a hole in their engine as well!"

The shotgun barked again and cooling liquid gushed out in a freezing torrent, splashing down towards the basement level as a clear column of fluid began gurgling out from the freshly made hole in the tank.

"They'll certainly have a better appreciation of you now," Roahn whispered sagely.

"I'm not done yet. I'll take out their floor too, so they can't get to where the damage is!"

The mech then pointed the shotgun right over the grate it was standing upon and, in less than a second, promptly made good on its threat to take out the floor.

"Hell's bells!" the LOKI mech roared as it toppled through the blown-away grating and immediately smashed itself to pieces the next story down.

Craning her head over the sudden chasm that had been formed, all Roahn could do in this odd moment was to shake her head in astonishment before withdrawing away. She would later make an observation that she had been particularly overdue for some of life's nonsensical moments and therefore had received several years' worth of compensation in just those few minutes.

In any case, Roahn set her mind back onto the task at hand. She found another grate at the ground level and quickly scurried into it, taking care to seal it back up as she exited the engine room.

She still had a father to save.

Shepard's experiences in dealing with rogue factions in the past like Cerberus, the Shadow Broker's network, and now Chimera had completely ruined his expectations with regards to the usual tact that was expected in times like these. In all honesty, Shepard would not have been all that surprised had the Legionnaire followed the interrogation playbook to the letter, which was usually the careful application of pointed questions and vicious beatings, sometimes having both occur at the same time. It was a good system and had worked on several undesirables for millennia across many species. Pain was perhaps the most effective deterrent for people as it was only natural for organics to shy away from such agonizing feelings. Ask anyone and virtually zero people would indicate that they would rather live a life with pain than live with one without.

So it was therefore surprising, even after it had been explicitly stated, that Shepard found himself subject to no excruciating procedures otherwise designed to drive him to speak out against his will. In contrast, the sodium thiopental that he had been giving was just making his head feel like his was floating, swimming while mired in a thick glaze of consciousness. Ironically, this was all very humane, he considered, especially since his captor was the epitome of everything not pertaining to humaneness.

The Legionnaire had simply stood in front of Shepard fifteen minutes after the hologram of Larsen had winked out. Waiting. Watching. He asked Shepard nothing and did not expect anything in return. The mechanoid simply stood back and let the serum seep into Shepard's blood, waiting until the right moment when he was sure that the human's brain was surrounded by the intangible chemical.

"I think we can start now," the Legionnaire said as he took a singular step towards Shepard.

"All right, then. Fire away," Shepard allowed graciously as his eyebrows bumped upwards in acceptance.

"Patience. Even in your suggestible state, you can still resist the line of questioning if I proceed too directly. Which is why I think we'll start with a more familiar route first." The Legionnaire paused as if he were reciting from a script. "Tell me about… your wife, Shepard."

"About… Tali?" Shepard managed, blinking heavily, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. His features clouded over for a tick before he seemed to relax, any resistance fleeing in mere moments. "Where do I start? She's… a quarian. Love of my life. Met her in 2182 when she was on the run from—"

"Yes, yes," the Legionnaire interrupted irritably. "My fault for not being so specific. I'll have to compensate for that in the future. What I think I should have started out with is: how did your wife die, Shepard?"

Shepard screwed up his eyes in a bizarre form of concentration. He must not answer! But… it really felt like he should. Why not give this thing what it wanted? What was the harm?

Only in the very back of Shepard's subconscious, the part where it kept complete tabs on reality, did he know he was being chemically influenced here, but that tiny bit of his subconscious was so inconsequential that he could do nothing at all the stem the flow of his words.

"Why… why do you want to know that?" he asked. "If you merely check the hospital records—"

"I have the hospital records right here," the Legionnaire flashed a burnt-orange page from his omni-tool at Shepard. "And, if I might be equally frank, the exact circumstances of your wife's death don't concern me. The fidelity of your response is what does. If I can determine that your recollection is at all accurate, then I can use your response as a nexus to unlock more truths out of that brain of yours."

"You really want to know?" Shepard murmured dully, tiredly. "It's not going to be pretty, what I have to say."

The Legionnaire gave a rasping chuckle. "Don't worry. I'll try my best not to tear up." He glanced at his tool for a quick second. "So, tell me, how did Tali'Zora—sorry—Tali'Shepard pass away?"

"Ovarian cancer. A rapidly spreading form of it. She died when too many of her organs became consumed by tumors."

"Intriguing. I would have thought that she had passed away from an airborne infection, given the weak immune systems that quarians are born with. But… cancer, you say? I thought that disease, no matter its form, was highly treatable. Considered to be a 'nonthreatening' illness these days." All eight of the Legionnaire's optics suddenly blared brighter. "How did she get the cancer, Shepard?"

The Legionnaire did not know it, but he had stumbled upon to the one question that Shepard, in all of his miserable, sorry life, would not have wished to have been asked. And under most of the circumstances imaginable, when Shepard would be in control of all his wits, he would have elected to have remained silent on the matter or have somehow dismissed such a question entirely.

But this was not like most circumstances.

Now, under the crushing pressure strained upon him by the persistence of the Legionnaire coupled with the guilt that had been festering within him like a tumor of his own, Shepard could find that he did not have the willpower to resist any longer. All he knew that could finally relieve him of some of the pain he had been silently carrying for years… was to speak. To talk to the thing that was plying him with these questions, voicing the ultimate answer for the titan draped in armor plating.

…and to the girl hiding just underneath the floor.

"I would have thought the source was obvious," Shepard finally managed.

"Enlighten me anyway," the cyborg hissed.

Driven to the brink, Shepard could only sigh.

"What do you think? It was me. I killed Tali."

A/N: The inventiveness of Douglas Adams' wordplay provided a stroke of inspiration for one particular scene in this chapter, which was deliberately written in tribute to his craft. All credit goes to him, obviously.

Playlist:

Prisoner Part I (Legionnaire Repairs): "You Can Call Me Ishmael" by Ludvig Forssell from the video game Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

Roahn's Engine Room Troubles: "Wreckage and Rape" by Eliot Goldenthal from the film Alien 3

Prisoner Part II (Larsen Joins): "Lung Draining" by Hans Zimmer, Jasha Klebe, Mel Wesson, and Martin Tillman from the film Rush (The Complete Score Album)

The Real Culprit: "Imaginary Friends (ov)" by deadmau5 and Gregory Reveret from the album where's the drop?