"Next in Line" from House of Cards

XC. Insomnia – American Dream

(Captain Sol)

Dreaming of the past again, I fell back into this springtime memory. Back when I had thrived in the Alliance for a handful of years, eventually getting promoted to Lieutenant-Commander. Then I had spent two more years training at the Interplanetary Combatives Academy. Intensive training courses at Vila Militar down in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. This particular memory fell around the time of my graduation. Finally making N7 Infiltrator. Accomplishing a major dream of mine. I felt proud, accomplished. Not satisfied.

I wanted more.

I should've felt more than satisfied from the news we received. The President of the United North American States—my home country—requested to hold our class graduation at the White House in the nation's capital. My fellow graduates loved that the President had handpicked us for this opportunity. They felt so honored and special. I had voted for our current President, and I approved of her accomplishments during her time in office. I just couldn't figure out why she had done this. Seemed bizarre to me. We may have reached this huge milestone, but we were still soldiers. The Alliance was supposed to be apolitical.

Captain Anderson had to convince me to do this. He accompanied my graduating class to Washington, D.C. for the ceremony.

The Washington Monument towered upward through the air as we approached in our transport. That obelisk of pure white overlooked the National Mall, built to commemorate George Washington. So many pivotal events had taken place on that long stretch of white concrete before the endless lake. Countless speeches, marches, protests, and scenes of violence across the centuries, with the nearby Lincoln Memorial keeping vigil over those old memories.

Even more monuments stretched across the Potomac River, each dedicated to memorializing our history. Several iconic museums, parks, harbors, and restaurants embodied D.C.'s stateliness. The grandest neoclassical buildings kept our federal institutions going, separating our three branches of government: the Legislative Branch with Congress to debate on bills and eventually pass them, the Executive Branch with the President to veto or sign the bills into law, and the Judicial Branch with the Supreme Court to uphold the constitutionality of those laws. The Capitol building housed our two chambers of Congress: our House of Representatives by district and Senators by state. The President worked and resided within the White House. And the highest court in the land operated in the halls of the Supreme Court Building.

This storied history wrapped itself around me as we toured Washington, D.C. at springtime.

But something about this place didn't seem right. I tried to enjoy the sights we visited. Being on the east coast for once, enjoying the seafood here, I missed home on the west coast. The grandeur felt like a veneer to me. Such magnificent sites and sights around, and yet I found myself looking deeper. Deeper into these blemishes of the wide Parisian-styled avenues packed with luxury skycars and limousines:

So many homeless on the streets. They held up signs begging for money, for food. Anything to survive.

So many politicians and aides and businesspeople in their suits and skirts, fast-walking by. Ignoring them.

Trash piling up within the packed, grime-filled underground metro stations. One of my classmates assured us, "I promise this isn't as bad as the stations in New York City!" A constant smell of body odor, impatience, and frustration from the overcrowded metro cars. An even worse stench of stubborn smog from the metro cars themselves, polluting the air. More homeless sleeping on the benches down here, just for safety. Affronted politicians and executives using their omni-tools to scan the homeless, marking them as 'problems' for the Metro Police to deal with. The cops coming to collect the 'problems' and evict them back outside, and everyone else feeling vindicated over the minor inconvenience they'd faced.

So-called tent cities populating the palatial plazas and shopping centers. Golden lights and pure white architecture dazzling the avenues, enticing customers to spend their endless sums of credits at the many department stores and malls. Rows and rows of fancy five-star hotels with limos heading into the underground parking structures. Entertainment venues bustling with shows fit for royalty and aristocracy. All while those tents parked themselves just across the street. Flimsy fabrics billowing in the gentle winds, already battered from months or years of constant use and wear-and-tear. While the minority of the opulent paraded around, entire communities struggled to survive right next door to them.

These stories tarnished the already-negative view I'd had of this city. This city that represented so much and embodied so little. Almost like the Citadel. But at least the Council acted like they gave a damn.

I eventually went off on my own for a while.

I made my way to the Jefferson Memorial, dedicated to President Thomas Jefferson, one of our nation's founding fathers. One of the authors of our Declaration of Independence. Such a powerful, influential man in American politics and history. Someone who had never envisioned anyone like me making it this far in life.

I enjoyed the irony for a while, sitting on these pure white steps. The steps of this memorial, also in the neoclassical style our founders held in such esteem. This antiquity sat near the Tidal Basin: such a peaceful still of sky blue water. I stared out at the cherry trees flowering at this time of year.

Even with this serenity all around, I couldn't help the way I felt.

This anger festered in my heart. Anger with my country, my species. Anger over the state of things.

Anger over my helplessness to change anything. Fundamental change. Systemic change.

Reflecting and reflecting, I had found the truth of my nation here at its capital. Constant abuses of power. Too many in power only cared about enriching themselves. Making our nation and our people more prosperous? Out of the question for them. They could only succeed by keeping other people down. These inequalities added to their wealth, their security, their legacy. The idea of true equality terrified them. Not being able to look down on anyone. Not being able to demonize anyone—excluding them, dehumanizing them, deeming them un-American. Subhuman.

These powerful people only felt tall and mighty and worthy while stomping down on someone else's neck. Never from standing on their own two feet. Never with their own courage and convictions, irrespective of others. They could only feel like they'd succeeded and 'made it in life' whenever someone else suffered or failed.

Someone who'd never asked for their situation or their lot in life. Someone disadvantaged from day one.

Someone like me who could've achieved more, but lost out from sheer luck. Terrible luck and luck alone.

Someone who tried to fix their situation, who tried to work hard and provide for themselves, and to make ends meet, but couldn't succeed. They couldn't win through no fault of their own. They couldn't, because our system was designed to prevent everyone from succeeding. This system was all a game. Someone had to lose. Someone had to fail. On purpose. Deliberately. And the ones who benefited from this system felt the most sadistic glee from looking down on those calculated tragedies. The ones who succeeded thought they were special, superior. But there was nothing special or superior about them. The only thing that separated them from everyone else was opportunity.

So we chased after the American Dream as our opportunity. The great equalizer: going to school, getting a degree, landing a nice job, and buying a home. Raising a family. Growing old in safety. Passing on in peace.

We spent so long chasing after that lofty dream, we missed too much. We avoided seeing these ugly truths. We worked hard, and indulged in escapism and consumerism so we didn't have time to question anything.

Just dancing our troubles away.

Showing solidarity or basic empathy for anyone was out of question. Conventionally, conventional people would name and shame that kind of behavior. A deep-rooted fear of 'ending up' poor or hungry or disabled or homeless caused too many to hate. And not just in my country or even on Earth alone. This was how the galaxy worked. This was how people worked, how society worked, how the system worked.

I despised all of it.

I hated wearing this skin of humanity as my appearance, making people assume I was like them.

I didn't belong in this place. I couldn't relate to anyone. I wanted to disappear completely. If not that—

I wanted to destroy this sickness. I wanted to erase it, to obliterate it completely. Because time and time again, people proved that they would always repeat history. They would rhyme it and rewind it. They would forever give into their worst instincts. This cycle made me feel trapped. It would never, ever end.

The night before our graduation ceremony at the White House, we stayed in one of those hotels. A fancy hotel near Constitution Avenue in view of the Capitol building. I had paid for my own separate room. Some of my classmates decided to room up together, throwing impromptu parties down the hall. Nothing too crazy, thankfully. They knew we had to maintain our image. The next graduating class of N7 specialists: the best of what the Alliance and humanity had to offer. They felt the pressure. I didn't feel it.

I showered, got ready for bed. Tried to have an early night. But as I lay in this bed, I ended up staring at the ceiling. Or out the windows to Washington, D.C.'s elaborate machinations in the night. Being in this hotel had reminded me of something, of someone. The past experiences that had made my anger, my cynicism worse. Emotionally broken, yet still functioning. Still going along. A high-functioning maniac.

I felt prouder about making N7 Infiltrator because I could've lost it all.

I could've failed. I could have, if I'd allowed my distractions at the time to get the better of me.

My distractions as in my last relationship. A wasted opportunity. A waste of time.

I had called myself getting back together with an ex of mine. An ex who'd fucked me over and left me that way, then had the nerve to contact me a few years later during my training. She had apologized to me. Apologized for what she did in the past. I still remembered how I felt during that call. How I didn't believe her apology at the time. I should've told her that. I could've saved myself a lot of trouble.

Things went all right at first. Until she put me under the worst kind of pressure. She never seemed to take me seriously, always assuming the worst of my intentions. She called me crazy—as an insult—which surprised me the most. I could've sworn she'd known this about me. "It's not a bug, it's a feature." I knew that I was abnormal. But I controlled and regulated myself to hell and back. She didn't appreciate this key quality about me. Why? Maybe she figured I would snap someday and abuse her. I wouldn't have.

Or maybe she'd figured out that I wasn't the one to put up with her bullshit. Her egotistical bullshit.

I had lost my tolerance for mess before our reconciliation. During the relationship I'd had before trying to get back together with her. My longest relationship—the one that had already left me destabilized.

This longer relationship of mine with someone else. Such a sweet, intelligent woman. I couldn't say everything was perfect in the beginning. Even back then, I had felt a specter hanging over us. A series of red flags had flown and blown up in my face. An endless amount of trouble and foreboding and anxiety.

Something beyond me—something greater than me—had told me to stick with the relationship.

As if it would lead me to something else. To where I actually needed to be.

I wasn't conscious of it at the time. Speaking from this unconscious place, I knew the truth. I knew the relationship wasn't supposed to work out. No matter how hard I tried to make it so. Even going against my own beliefs, and my own values to make it work. All of that effort on my part unseen and unappreciated. She couldn't see it. We would argue all the time. Constant histrionics and anger and resentments. So many challenges against my psyche. Staying through it all was my expression of love.

Or so I thought. Toxic and dysfunctional. That was all I knew back then.

The challenges to my psyche came from her skepticism. How she would always question any simple statement or assertion I made about myself. Dismissing my experiences. I felt her trying to break me down with her questioning and nitpicking and dismissals, whether it was on purpose or not. Like I was some fucking science project to figure out and discern instead of an actual person. An abject atheism against anything I would speak or declare about myself, because she had clearly known my own mind better than I did. But she was so kind and sophisticated. She didn't seem malicious at all. A pleasant veneer over that close-minded cruelty.

I would ask her many times to stop. To stop questioning my own knowledge about myself. To stop insisting that the words coming out of my mouth were somehow false or untrue. She would laugh it off every time, insisting she knew better. She kept throwing my mistakes back in my face. It infuriated me. So the self-fulfilling prophecies fulfilled themselves over and over. She never allowed me to grow. I was never the honorable, trustworthy person I knew I was. That destabilization led me down a path of chaos.

I could only cope by mentally and emotionally checking out. I would talk to other women. A lot of talking. Never anything more. It had gotten to the point where talking to any other woman would set off her alarms. She would talk about me behind my back; recruit her friends to get any snippets of my conversations wherever she could, overanalyzing my every word and intention. I had brought that upon myself and I knew it. But once that he-said-she-said started happening, I understood what it meant. She no longer respected me enough to have a real conversation with me. She didn't trust me enough with anything, and especially not with her heart. I knew then that it was only a matter of time until things ended between us.

I knew I should've called things off with her, but I was so tired…broken down. I couldn't see my way out of the situation. I didn't want to ask anyone for help. Least of all help from her.

I was over the relationship long before we finally broke up.

She would try to do nice things for me. Like buying me gifts. I would give little-to-no response every time. The gifts couldn't mean much to me. Not when we had so many underlying issues in our relationship. "Oh, you don't like it," she would say, deeply hurt and disappointed. "I guess this means you don't love me as much as I love you." Endless variants of these words, she'd repeated to me again and again. I couldn't react because of our problems swarming under the surface. I'd always been a natural problem-solver. Leaving our problems unsolved left me disinterested and dissatisfied. Not the gifts themselves.

I wanted to fix the system. The deep-rooted, systemic problems.

I didn't want to gloss over and forget about this. No matter how tempting that may have been.

Our apparent imbalances only made the problems worse. I felt trapped and smothered by her; she felt ignored and disregarded by me. After a while, I just didn't care anymore. She also desired me in a certain way. She wanted to possess me. Whenever we would talk about sex like that, I would bristle. Not so much an erotic fear as it was a blocking resistance. I refused to let her top me. I would never let her touch me like that. Too many insidious imbalances.

The whole thing had exhausted me. I didn't understand how or why we'd ended up that way.

She had convinced herself that she loved me more than I loved her.

But I felt that block. If she would've respected the one thing I kept asking for, I would've been fine. To stop speaking over me and thinking she knew better, leading to arguments. A constant power struggle, and I couldn't accept it. I couldn't simply accept this as a character flaw of hers and move on. So I would stay and let her pull me back. I thought it was romantic that she made a point to keep me with her this way. I had made the declarations: if she wanted to keep me around, then she needed to make me stay.

I had thought it was an innocent thing we had going on. I never considered what it might've led to.

In between my time in the military, I would stay with her. She would come see me for special occasions. One time, she rented out an apartment for us for a few days. I didn't want to be there. Everything kept telling me to leave and never come back. We had been arguing again. I just needed to go. Because if I didn't, I knew something insane would happen. Yet once again, I thought I had committed myself to the relationship. I didn't want to run away based on some arbitrary feeling.

So we argued during the day, and then tried to calm down afterward. I was exhausted. I wanted to go to bed. I changed my clothes and got ready to wind down. We'd left the bedroom darkened late that night. I felt emotionally exhausted just trying to get through the week. Our supposed romantic getaway.

When she came over to me on the bed, I didn't think much of it.

All I cared about was going to sleep.

Yes, I wanted to leave, but I had no intentions of going anywhere. Not right then. I was tired.

She had convinced herself that I had gotten dressed to leave. To leave the apartment. Even though I had clearly changed into what I'd always worn to bed. That didn't matter to her. Or maybe it was a lie, an excuse she'd given me at the time. I didn't know and I never asked her.

In her efforts to pull me back and make me stay, she crossed the line that night.

She forced herself on top of me. Physically. She loomed over me in bed, speaking unspeakables about not letting me leave. I didn't remember the rest. I couldn't remember the specifics of her words. I remembered yelling at her to get off of me, and she wouldn't. I remembered my anger, my rage over her doing this to me. She had refused to listen to me, again. And I felt that darkness from her. The very same darkness from the way she desired me. The exact same that had kept me from ever being vulnerable around her. The blackest night shined in from the moon past the curtains. All of it directly from her.

Tensing up, compartmentalizing the pain:

I'd felt my head and my mind broiling in a pressure cooker. Seconds had turned into hours. Slowing down to a crawl. I'd had to make a decision. Anything to get her to stop. Anything to right this wrong situation. Anything to fix the problem—of her asserting this dominance over me that I didn't want or ask for. She never took off my clothes or took it that far. In the moment, I couldn't trust that she would keep things at this level. She had broken my trust, shattered it, and forced me to swallow the shards of glass as I'd swallowed her breaths over my face. In the midst of all that chaos, I needed to stay rational. Chaos brewing, storming, and raging on and on: the heart of my worst instincts, deep and raw and vengeful.

I could've killed her that night.

I could have. If I'd lacked my eternal self-control. The one thing about myself I felt most proud of.

I could have done it. If I hadn't held on to my beliefs, my values. The lessons I'd learned from my military training. To never harm civilians. To serve and protect them instead. Those drilling lessons from bootcamp and my time at the officer's academy, and everything and anything I'd ever picked up from my missions, from representing humanity on this stage. I wanted to tear her apart, but I couldn't do it.

Such a constant need to destroy her for this…and I couldn't make myself go through with the destruction.

When she finally removed herself from me, her voice and her tone and her intentions felt cold. Ice cold.

She went to the other side of the bed, tucking herself in. Like it was no big deal. Like it didn't matter.

I couldn't believe what she had just done. Like…who the fuck was this person in bed next to me? Who was this stranger wearing my girlfriend's face?

That cognitive dissonance broke me. I broke down crying. Sobbing on the bedroom floor, the corrosive carpet there. Breaths heaving, forehead splintering, I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control myself as I had controlled myself just moments before. The pain wasn't so much from what she had done, or even her coldness afterward. It was really…my self-control. A wracked astonishment over what I had held back.

I had come this close to snapping. To killing this person with my bare hands. This person that I supposedly loved and cared for so much. If it was anyone else, I wouldn't have hesitated. I had killed on my missions. None of that mattered. This difference mattered. This distinction meant everything to me.

What hurt even more was this reflection right back at me.

I had been cruel in my own ways, refusing to give her the emotional support she'd needed from me.

She gave me that same silence.

Not once did she come to my side. Not once did she even get out of bed, to ask if I was all right.

She didn't speak up.

She didn't do anything.

She lay there with her back to me.

She listened to me sob my heart from my chest for twenty minutes straight.

I had managed to calm down on my own. Only once I opened my omni-tool. Only once I looked at a picture I had saved there. A beach from my hometown. The image of the sea, the memories of the heat. All of it made me remember the breezy smell of the ocean. The only place I had ever felt like I belonged:

Home.

The comfortable quiet of my apartment.

That simple love and safety from being back home.

I wanted to go home so much. So badly. I had felt that lump in my throat, begrudging me.

In this unconscious wisdom, I had heard her voice, too. Her voice from the essence of the water, the seas.

Liara as an otherworldly abstraction, soothing me at my lowest point imaginable:

'Come here, Sol. Stay with me. I know you're hurting right now… I'm sorry. I wish I could go to you physically. I wish I could hold you in my arms. I wish I could take you away from this pain. Please know that I am here for you. I am not going anywhere. You'll always have me with you. I love you so much.'

This soothing support from her.

Soothing from the smoothness of her voice. Her purest truth and intentions. She made me feel safe.

Liara had conveyed this feeling to me somehow. She cared for me from some immeasurable distance. She loved me as a mere figment of my imagination at the time. Yet I had felt her so clearly. I had felt her so much deeper than anyone before. Far more intimate and transcendent than anything I'd ever known. I'd had no idea back then about our bond. But she had saved me that night. She had mended me a bit.

She had patched me up with her calm, welcoming embrace. Enough to help me stop crying. Enough for me to keep going. Enough to survive.

For as much as I valued my independence, too, I'd never really had it.

Not in the way I liked to believe.

Liara had always been the true source of my strength. An external energy that had become my inspiration. She protected me, kept me going through the worst. She made sure I survived.

Meanwhile, I had to face the next day. Waking up the next morning. Dealing with this next fallout.

That person who hurt me didn't apologize until then. That next morning. The next day, after I had already licked my wounds. The following day, after I had opened myself to comfort from someplace else.

Those apologies didn't matter to me. However sincere, however convincing, they couldn't affect me.

I didn't care.

It was too late.

The damage had already been done.

Even though I had survived, I didn't thrive from then on. I didn't recover for a long time. That incident had set me on a path of total destabilization. The only way I ended the relationship later was by blowing it up. Burning the bridges between that person and our mutual friends; disappearing from their lives with no explanation whatsoever. I could never have explained to them why. Why then. Why it had taken me so long to do this. Or even how or why she'd hurt me. I ran away from it instead. I could never admit that this person had damaged me so much. We had damaged each other over time. That was enough for us.

I could never admit that I had only found solace from an abstraction. I hadn't recovered on my own. I was lost without this feeling. I couldn't survive without it. Everything that I was…was because of this.

No one else needed to know. No one deserved any explanations from me. No entitlements anymore.

I decided they could hate me instead. Hate me for a while before forgetting all about me. Eventually, they would.

Better to move on and be done with it forever.

Before the graduation ceremony at the White House, Captain Anderson treated us all to brunch.

We went to a restaurant called the Hamilton. An extension of that same neoclassical style Washington D.C. obsessed over, the building enjoyed a nice location. Plenty of stores for shopping and other restaurants around. Busy streets filled with traffic. A mecca of fine dining, history, and politics, situated not that far from the White House.

Heading past the bar, we made it to the main room filled with rows of tables. Booths separated back-to-back, with families, executives, and politicians under one expensive roof together. The elegance of white table cloths and glimmering overhead lamps. The gentle sounds of elevated laughter and intellectual conversations. Wine glasses glinting in the morning light from the windows. And the sheer dignity from the waiters as they worked—serving meals, wiping down tables, pouring refills—even as they slaved away for tips and meagre hourly wages. The pinnacle of American cuisine awaited on the brunch menu.

I settled for regular old French toast with syrup. Extra cinnamon. I sipped on my orange juice, surrounded by my fellow graduates at this large table. They all speculated in wonder about the White House later on—what to expect, who would be there. I didn't say anything. Captain Anderson would smile at me every now and then. I appreciated his quiet attempts to make me feel included. Even though he didn't need to do that. He meant well, anyway, and he had always been there for me. Like a surrogate father.

I still didn't like this situation. I was a military officer. I wasn't supposed to make my personal politics public. The President hosting our graduation at the White House felt oddly partisan. Why hadn't she done this with the class from last year? Why did she pick us? Did she mean to start a new tradition?

Once we finally arrived to the White House, I stuffed down my objections.

I held my honor with me. I wore it on my chest, on the sleeve of my Alliance uniform. I had to stand on my own, somewhat, considering the audience we had today. There on the South Lawn beneath the sunny skies, the President had invited select members of Congress to attend the ceremony. She had also flown in my classmates' family members. None of mine. Not as the orphan I was. I only had Anderson today.

I had Liara with me, too. Somewhere. I felt her emotional support nestled in the abstraction of our bond.

For the ceremony, my classmates and I all stood in rows at the front. Here on display for the audience. The people from Congress and those family members sat in their chairs before us. There along the perfect grooming of the grass from this South Lawn. The handful of Alliance marines posted on duty stood guard nearby. None of them had made N7. I wondered if they wanted to congratulate us. They couldn't say anything. Not while on duty. I noticed some of them holding back proud smiles, anyway.

The rest of Washington, D.C. observed us on this pedestal, there in the distance, cherry trees and all. I enjoyed the pleasant warmth from the spring.

I tried to focus on this enjoyment…instead of these people in front of us. The people from Congress especially. I remembered their names, their faces. I knew exactly who'd been bought out by lobbyists. Which congressperson was in such-and-such company's pocket. Beholden to the big energy companies, beholden to the big pharmaceutical companies, beholden to big tech. Though not all of them were.

Some of them certainly had the actual citizens' concerns in mind. Some of them cared deeply and sincerely about representing their constituents. Too many others around here only cared about lining their own pockets.

A bunch of bullshit. A sham propping itself up with hollow performatism. Perverted patriotism. Moral bankruptcy. I hated that humanity had defined itself by this sin of invidiousness, as prejudice. Now these people wanted us for a fucking photo op with the military. All so they could give their little soundbites about supporting the Alliance and the N7 program. Even decades after the First Contact War, the public still strongly supported the military. A solid voting bloc. These politicians wanted to take full advantage to help with their re-election chances. Especially now with primary season right around the corner.

Then the live military band started to play their instruments. The deep brass from the beginning of 'Hail to the Chief' played as the President arrived to the South Lawn. As was tradition dating back centuries.

Sterling in this sunlight, the President and Vice President walked down the path from the White House to meet us, that patriotic tune accompanying their arrival.

The President went up to the podium next to us, her Secret Service detail hovering around in the background. She wore a navy blue pantsuit with a tiny American flag pinned to the lapel of her jacket. The pair of pumps she wore couldn't quite make up for her short height, especially compared to her VP at her side. I had always assumed from her confidence and clarity that she was much taller in-person.

Warm and full of joy, the President surprised us with her demeanor. I had watched her give plenty of speeches and participate in town halls. She would be so prepared and put-together, speaking in deliberate tones with a sharp wit about her. So to see her now caught most of my classmates off-guard. She interacted with us like she would any regular citizen or voter: like normal people. Normal conversations for normal times. I didn't sense any fake flattery or platitudes from her. She meant her joy.

For the time being, she spoke in generalizations to our entire group. She thanked us for being here. She thanked us for our service. She thanked us for our dedication during our training. As she spoke, her eyes held a special glow. One I didn't recall seeing all that often. Her eyes seemed to sparkle more for the brief seconds she made direct eye contact with me. A charming ease about her, an infectious joy—on purpose.

The President held back her true power. Her sharp intimidation and judging disapprovals. She knew people could easily find her threatening. She chose to be gentle in this way, restricting her real force.

After thanking the audience—members of Congress, Captain Anderson and my training instructors, and my classmates' family members—she moved on to her speech. Incredibly rude, some guy arrived late. He had on a cheap, too-small suit that flooded around his ankles, obviously rented on a budget. He hurried along and shuffled to a seat in the farthest back row. Way too tall for his own good, he would've obstructed anyone's view behind him, so he disappeared in the back. No one paid him any mind.

Paying him mind for only a moment, the President continued with her speech. "…and it's the Alliance who will protect Earth from any and all threats. Whenever our hour of need arrives, it's the military who shelters and protects us. They protect the values of our country as patriots. This class of N7 graduates is the Alliance's next generation of leaders. I know they will inspire not only humanity, but the rest of the galaxy for many years to come."

Listening to her words, I had to wonder if she really believed these things. She called us 'patriots.' How did she know what we thought, what we valued, what we believed?

After the President's speech, and after our formal graduation, I watched everyone go to their family. The hugs, the tears, the smiles. Those bonds, that collectivism. Human attachments. And the schmoozing going on, too, from the members of Congress getting their cute photo ops now. I stood somewhere near the front of the group, watching everything. I waited to get this over with. I wanted to go back home to my apartment and chill for a while. I had some time to rest and unwind before my next assignment.

Then that tall guy who came in late stumbled over to me.

He didn't know what to say. He kept…staring at me. Staring at me in awe with the glow of his hazel eyes. He couldn't seem to tear his attention away from me. Not like a creep. Just…something else.

I glared at him, not understanding what he wanted. Did he know me from somewhere?

Before I could ask, he suddenly enveloped me in a hug. Sobbing over my uniform in his cheap suit. Too stunned to react, I let him do this. I didn't know why. So much emotion from some random stranger.

"I'm so proud of you, Sol," he choked. "I'm sorry… You're amazing; you're a star. I was stupid. I'm sorry!"

Not waiting for my reaction, he rushed off. He left. He abandoned me with no answers, no explanations.

So fucking bizarre.

Already forgetting about it, I was about to leave. But then Captain Anderson delivered a message:

The President wanted to speak to me alone. A meeting in the Oval Office inside the White House.

Surprised, but unable to turn her down, I made my way there. I let her Secret Service agents escort me.

The single Alliance marine posted at the White House door acknowledged me in routine.

He opened the door for me, for the agents with me. The agents led me inside these brightened halls of the West Wing. The secretaries, the aides sitting at their desks in the office spaces. The separate offices branching off from the hallways. Aside from the historical portraits and sculptures and other artworks around, anyone could've assumed this was some regular office building. A deceptive modesty around.

Once we arrived to the Oval's entrance, the President's secretary waited to greet me.

Sitting there at her desk, she met me with a smile, offering guidance: "You can go on inside, Commander Shepard. Please make yourself at home. The President will be with you shortly."

"Thanks," I droned, letting myself in the door.

This curiously-shaped door, rounded from the literal oval-shaped room of the President's workspace.

Those Secret Service agents didn't follow me inside. They just closed the door behind me.

The unflinching sense of order about this office jumped out at me.

The fine groom of the carpet beneath my feet, exactly like the grass from the South Lawn. The parallel couches in the center of the room, facing each other in perfect symmetry. The chair perpendicular to those couches, right in front of the unused fireplace. Above that fireplace, the President had a framed oil painting of Thurgood Marshall, former Justice of the Supreme Court.

On the other side was the President's desk, there before the bright shine of the windows. The windows open to the lawn where presidents would traditionally let their dogs and other pets roam around. I didn't see any animals playing out there. I focused more on this desk, and the surface behind her comfortable-looking chair. The President had several pictures there. Pictures of family. Her mother and sister in her likeness. The President with her husband and adult-aged children. They all looked so happy together.

I glanced above my head to the ceiling.

The conspicuous shape of the camera there. Conspicuous to me in that rounded black lens. Paranoid.

I went and sat down on the couch, waiting. But not for long.

As soon as the President entered the room, all smiles again, I stood up to meet her.

"Commander Shepard," she welcomed, arms wide. "Our recent graduate. I'm happy to see you here!"

I saluted her on instinct, sharp and precise. "Madam President."

Setting my formality aside, she smiled in modesty, meeting me near these couches. Our height difference amused her. Then she held my hands in hers, surprising me again. This time with her deep admiration:

"Thank you so much for coming to meet with me, Commander. And for attending the ceremony. I wanted to celebrate you all for your incredible achievements. I've heard you're not a fan of ceremonies! So I thank you for putting up with this for me."

"Of course, Ma'am."

The President smiled in a way that marked our differences. She didn't seem to want me to be so formal. Yet she couldn't ask me not to be. Not someone in the military. I owed her my respect. She had earned it.

This question remained of why she'd only invited me to her office. And not any of my classmates.

Unwilling to answer that just yet, the President took her seat across from me. I waited for her to sit down first. Then I took my own seat. I sat on this couch, she sat on the other. We faced one another like this.

No awkward beats, empty moments. She kept things going: "I'm sure you're wondering why I invited you here. You are a stern one, but I see the questions on your face. Perhaps none of this makes any sense to you."

I stayed quiet, even with my many questions, letting her continue on.

"Well, hear me out, Commander. Word about you has gotten around. I've heard about you on the news. I've also had a few official briefings about you in recent times. Especially after your mission on Torfan. How you dealt with those batarians all on your own. A lone sniper getting the job done, no matter the cost. I've studied your history. Not just your exemplary service in the military, but your personal history. You have a reputation for ruthless efficiency. Your fellow marines are frightened of you. Many of your superiors feel threatened by you. But when failure isn't an option, the Alliance turns to you. Don't they?"

"I won't deny that," I said.

"I wouldn't let you deny it if you tried," she replied in levity. "There's more to it than that. You're a hard-worker. You've felt the need to prove yourself. Because I know this country failed you in your youth."

Hearing the President say that…it struck at something in me.

Candid and clear. Direct and to-the-point. No denials or obfuscations.

She found this repeating surprise in my face this time. Curtailed and controlled, but still surprised.

"Commander, you stand out to me in so many ways. You truly embody the American Dream. This is a land of possibility. We're always striving to be a more perfect union. You're the type of person who makes our country a little more perfect each day. Even though our imperfections brought you down."

"That's…nice to hear, Madam President."

She gave a knowing smile. "You don't believe what I'm saying."

I couldn't say those words to her face. She didn't deserve my cynicism.

But I really couldn't believe what she'd said to me. At this stage in my life, the disappointments had started piling up. The pride I'd felt over my graduation had already dimmed back to this reality. I enjoyed the stability of my career after my failed relationships. I just wanted to be on my own for now. I had sworn off any more relationships for a long time. I didn't want to make myself that vulnerable again.

The President sensed my cynicism anyway.

She felt my extreme need to isolate myself. To be alone.

Looking deeply into my eyes, she made this even more real for me:

"Sol," she said, just as my first name. She broke through to me: "Earth has persevered, and thrived, and survived. Not that long ago, we could've lost it all. But we made it through." I understood her meaningful metaphor. "I'll admit it—the system is broken. Not everyone will survive. Not everyone will claw their way out of the abyss like you have. It isn't fair. Not one bit. And it breaks my heart that I can't save everyone. It's the same for you in the military. You can't save everyone, either."

"No, I can't…"

"We need to work with what we have. Within the constraints, the boundaries, the rules around us. We can improve the system. We can either save some or no one at all. Or do you feel this is doomed to fail?"

Once again, I couldn't answer her honestly.

And once again, the President didn't take offense from my silence. She didn't take it personally.

"There will always be people who try to game the system. Making life harder for those without the same opportunities. They might say that those people don't deserve rights. That these parents don't deserve help to take care of their children. Or that they're not even people at all. That they're somehow un-American for being born at the bottom of the ladder. You've had to work that much harder for yourself."

I didn't like that I'd had to.

That work defined me. That effort shaped my legacy. But I hated that it was necessary.

"Sol, those people who made life difficult for you will never know what it's like. They'll never know any struggles outside their attempts to game the system for them and theirs. And they'll never know honor. Not the way you exemplify it in your ruthlessness. How you protect our homeworld, our country, and all those living here—including the likes of them. You shouldn't let those issues deter you from your duty."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to accept her optimism. I wanted to embrace her sense of justice.

Like with Anderson, I somehow felt like she saw me. We had made this connection. And it scared me.

"You may not realize it now. But Earth will always be here to protect you. Nothing will ever take this world from us. We had reached the brink before, but we won't let it happen again. This planet needs to continue on for you. You are next in line for so much more. Not only as a next-generation leader. We need more people like you in leadership. We need your perspective. We need you to not write us off."

How did she know to say these things to me?

How did she manage to affect me like this?

How the hell did she know me, what I felt?

"I know you don't fit in with many people. I know you don't have much patience for them. But I've seen how much they revere you. They may be intimidated by you, but they will follow you to the ends of the universe and back. That's how inspiring you are. So I'm asking you to please give them another chance. Give us another chance—whenever you're ready. I'm confident you will always make the right choice. You won't abandon your mission—your duty to the people you serve and protect. You may have your resentments, but you will press on for their sake. Whether that's the general populace, or someone you love strongly. I know you'll do the right thing. You'll conquer your fears and take that next step forward.

"It's about justice. When the time comes, you will do what is necessary. You'll keep on climbing up the rough side of this mountain. Even if the journey breaks you, you will reach the top of those heights. You'll do right by others and serve them…whether they deserve it or not. That is who you are. You're a marine, a soldier. And now an N7 Infiltrator. So in times of doubt, the choice should be clear. Remember who you are. Remember, and do right by our people. We need you, Commander. We all need you."

Later that night, I finally made it back home. Back to my apartment in San Diego. Home sweet home in Southern California, back on the west coast. A much warmer springtime welcomed me back. I heard those same soothing tones from my VI as I passed through the door, embraced by this nostalgia again:

"Welcome home, Commander Shepard."

The warmth of the night, the heat of this lightlessness. Only the dark after dusk, brushing along these uniform colors of wood and chrome walls, surfaces. As I walked down these steps, arriving to the living room, I stared out the windows. Blinds opening for me automatically. Marvels of human engineering in the metropolis out there. Accomplishment and achievement. I thought back to the President's words.

I hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she'd said. How wonderful, how lovely she was to me. And I had barely said a word to her. I hadn't known what to say, how to react. I regretted not saying more to her. Expressing my gratitude. Or even acknowledging that she had seen me. The real me.

Needing to see myself in this moment, I went to the guest bathroom. The nearest one to the living room.

Still dressed in the pride of my Alliance uniform, I couldn't feel this pride at all.

Too disconnected. Destabilized, still, from the past. Distancing and distancing myself as my only antidote.

This disconnection used to scare me. I used to believe I needed to stop it. By anchoring myself to someone else, if only to stop myself from falling into this blank void. I had mistaken that before as a fear of being alone. That wasn't the real reason. I just couldn't put an actual name to it back then. But now as I reflected on my reflection—this anger and this indifference as one—I took stock of where I stood.

No anger with the people from the past. No resentments toward them. I had to be honest, and I knew. I thankfully didn't hate them. I didn't regret knowing them. I only hated myself for getting involved in those situations. Only the situations bothered me. The events, the memories. Not the people.

Last night, I had thought back to my longest relationship. The one that had in fact destabilized me.

There was the other relationship after that. My doomed attempts at getting back together with someone else.

Our first time together was a learning experience for us. Some kind of innocence and experimentation. Not knowing what to think or believe quite yet. But I had always had the acute sense that I didn't belong with her. I didn't belong with her friends, her family. Too different. They didn't understand me. Her friends wanted to understand me. They did their best to welcome me, to include me, and I did appreciate it for the most part. With her family, a dark prejudice clouded over them, obscuring the way they perceived me. I never assumed she was the same as them. Yet her eventual close-mindedness and cruelty toward me held traces of the same. That same prejudice. That same blind bias. That invidiousness again.

Sometime after we broke up, she changed. No longer wandering and lost anymore, she had found her calling. She landed a high-paying job in a major city and got swept away in her ego. We made two attempts to get back together. The first time, I didn't recognize who she was anymore. An unusual darkness had taken over her. She had projected that darkness in my direction, accusing me of the wildest things. Things that didn't make sense to me at all. I had tried to make sense of them. Making sense of the senseless had only made me feel helpless, confused, frustrated. She looked down on me for not having all the answers—like I used to before. She took her ego with her and abandoned me for dead.

A few years later—after that longer relationship of mine had finally ended—she contacted me again.

This was when she'd apologized. This was when I hadn't believed her apology. This was when I had gone along with things, trying to see the best in her. Trying to forgive her. Trying to give her another chance.

So funny and morbid and mean, we repeated the past.

Everything came full-circle.

Pained and destabilized from my last relationship without her, I hadn't explained what went on with me. Not the whole story. So I did my best to change that. I'd started to share my darkness with her. How I didn't want to exist anymore. I couldn't quite get to the point in the story about my other ex, that particular incident with her. She didn't want to listen to me. She had expected stability and security from me. Not this messy humanity of mine. She went on to destroy me with a disturbing lack of empathy. Evil.

I somehow wasn't surprised. I had always known this would happen again. I'd always had a feeling that the second I tried to trust her, she would show me every reason not to. She would prove to me I'd had every right to keep quiet; to bottle everything up instead. I had tried to open up to her, hoping for support. Only for her to snarl such hurtful words at me. Words I could never dream of repeating to her.

She had accused me of trying to manipulate her. Playing the victim. Even though I hadn't told her the whole story. Even though I had opened myself to being vulnerable. Vulnerable with the one person who supposedly wanted to marry me, have my kids. Being vulnerable with the person who wanted to share a life with me. On the brink of sharing my worst memories with this woman who claimed to love me for years and years. Years and years of built-up reasons to trust her. Only to find out that wasn't really true. She admitted to only getting back together with me because it was 'exciting'. Exciting. Fucking exciting fucking in hotel rooms while she still saw her own ex with my face. Her ex who already looked suspiciously similar to me.

Everything came tumbling down from there. The real truth. That veneer of years of being in love with me. She only saw me as a challenge. She had only fallen in love with an idea of me—the quiet, intimidating, machine-like version of me. Not the actual me with an ounce of emotion. Not the real Sol, not the real Shepard—an actual human being! She didn't see me as a person to care for and respect. Only as a vessel to serve her. Only as a means to fuel the perfect life, the perfect image she wanted for herself. She saw me as a trophy. A machine. And when the machine gained sentience and started feeling, she hated it. When the machine finally broke down from years of misuse and neglect, she couldn't stand it.

When this machine displayed the same fears and darkness and self-loathing she had buried away in herself…she didn't like it. Therefore, she didn't like me anymore. I meant nothing to her anymore. She chose to discard me that night…in a hotel.

Not an apartment this time. But a temporary home all the same. She tried to kill my psyche in a hotel room.

During our argument, I could only call her insensitive. A diplomatic choice of words from me. It hadn't occurred to me to call her anything stronger. To lash out at her with an actual insult, maybe. I couldn't.

Her ego was more important than me that night. More important than the alleged love of her life sitting before her on that bed, crying and breaking right in front of her. Heartless and insensitive, looking down on me—again—for trying to open up to her in trust and innocence. Yet again, the details of the moment weren't the only things that had upset me. But the calling beneath the surface:

She had liked me better when I stayed quiet. When I had inhibited my emotions around her as that machine. When I had behaved within certain boundaries: how society generally expected men to behave in bottling everything up. Even though I was a woman. This expectation from her had fucked with my head—even years ago—skewing my already-skewed views of my gender. Not knowing if I was a man or a woman or not even human at all. Always as this machine.

In that moment, I understood the tragedy of this history repeating itself. This cycle continuing once again. The two of us sadly weren't on an even playing field.

I cried myself to sleep again that night.

Again, she didn't check on me. Again, she slept beside me as she would have any other night.

Again, she didn't apologize until it didn't matter anymore.

The next morning, she had practically dragged me to the station. Off to the station so I could take a transport back to my training facility. She had gripped my hand, pulling at my arm with me trying to keep up. Like some abusive parent rushing their hurt child through the busy, crowded streets, eager to get rid of them. Because she had to get back to work. That was all she cared about at the time. Always her work, always her job, as if it was more important than me as an actual person. Yet paradoxically, she had stood in line with me during the wait for my transport. I had expected her to abandon me there. I had already started mentally rehearsing the talk we would have once I made it back. I knew right then and there that I had to break up with her. I couldn't do it at that exact moment. I couldn't, because her own emotions had started to overwhelm her. She didn't want me to leave. She didn't want me to go. I could barely look at her, pained tears filling my eyes. Some stranger made eye contact with me through my teary, aggrieved frustration, the concern in his face far more human than anything I had felt from her the night before. My supposed girlfriend had treated me so horribly just hours before, and yet here this nameless civilian seemed to understand me better than she ever could. Absurd. Madness. Insanity.

During the ride back, I knew she had become a stranger to me. A stranger who looked just like the woman I had once loved so much. A stranger in my house; a stranger in my life. A contradictory stranger who believed her contributions to a diseased society and a broken system defined her worth. Except anyone could've taken those things away from her. Her job, her money, her status, her image, her lot in life. Then what would she have been left with?

Nothing.

Nothing but the emptiness of her uncomfortable existence, deep down.

I existed within that discomfort, that emptiness. The terrifying absolute of nothing.

I was the void that people like her couldn't stand. I represented everything she and others like her tried so hard to avoid. I embodied the painful truths and buried memories she couldn't bear. But I wasn't only that. I was still moral and good and caring. And also a demon. My demons were my friends. I constantly lived in a freefall, looking right down into the abyss, thriving as I did. People like her would rather cover all of that up. Sweeping it under the rug in favor of their riches and social standing. Something easier to bear. Something more accessible. Something digestible. Anything to help them forget what they didn't want to face anymore.

I didn't care about that.

I wanted to live my truth. I wanted to live authentically, even if it made me unstable. I could live with the instability as long as I knew it was me. I could function so long as I never looked away from what I was.

I could control myself and survive. I could heal and get better…eventually. Whenever people like her stopped hurting me. Whenever the ones who claimed to love me so much would stop abusing their power over me.

We didn't share the same values. She didn't want to understand me. She didn't want to look deeper and figure out why she had abused me—twice in a row, repeating. So the two of us had to part ways. When I called her to break up—or to take a break until she sorted herself out—she refused to say goodbye to me. I must've shocked her. I could only imagine why. She hung up in my face. Disrespectful and dehumanizing to the end.

Her pompous prejudice had clouded her perceptions. She perceived me with such a closed, cruel mind.

That situation stayed with me, even if she herself didn't. Every situation stayed with me, even as the actual people faded away from my heart: fleeting faces and words and gestures lost to time. The hours of those memories had inspired me to change. At the holo-closet in this bathroom, I really did change. I changed into my N7 armor for the first time. And again I stared at myself in this mirror. How I didn't want anyone to see me. I could become invisible whenever I wanted, but not forever. My tactical cloak couldn't protect me from this pain. The pain of not wanting anyone to perceive me, to see me anymore.

I didn't want to give anyone the chance to perceive me with that close-minded cruelty. Never again.

I didn't want to keep participating in this reality as human. The reality, the norms, the expectations. Having to put up with people's bullshit just because they were friends or lovers or family or co-workers or whoever paid us to pay our bills to keep surviving. To tolerate and to compromise and to repeat the worst was to be human.

I didn't feel human. I didn't want to be human anymore. I wanted to opt-out of this existence.

I hated these bonds and connections that tied us all together—how they defined us, so limiting. I hated that these same incredible bonds always led to our downfall. Easily abused and manipulated. Tribalism and nativism, the hivemind. Willful ignorance, anti-intellectualism, corruption, selfishness, ego, greed;

Sins.

I didn't want to keep on keeping on like this…where I didn't belong.

If I was unstable, I was destabilized by the people who had gotten close to me.

If I had stayed alone, on my own, I would've been fine. I would've been safe, but cowardly. Inauthentic.

Yet in my constant need to serve others and make them happy, this was where I had ended up. Not even wanting to exist anymore, or be part of society. Suffering this broiling, raging anger, burning redder and hotter through my skin. This fucking mirror. This constant open reality, visible and available for anyone to judge me, acting like they knew me or they knew better, making everything worse! Why the fuck couldn't they mind their own business—or take me at my word—or realize their damned sins and stop—

All this energy, all this anger—

I balled my gloved, armored fist and wound up my arm.

I slammed my fist into the mirror, shattering the glass. Breaking the very center.

Shards of broken memories, distorted perceptions and thinking. A giant crater in the middle of it all. Crinkles of scattered glass brushed down to the sink. Powdered sand as mini-reflections piled up near my other hand, settled over the countertop. I strangely didn't feel any pain. I didn't feel any better, either.

I needed someone I could rely on. Someone chill. Someone I didn't have to fucking argue with all the time. Someone who didn't see me through the tainted lens of their biases and ego. Someone who didn't feel entitled to own me, or even to get certain reactions from me. Someone who could be gentle with me, as sensitive and emotional as I was. Someone who could be fearless with me, as intense and intimidating as I also was. Someone who wanted more than mere instant gratification and excitement. Someone who could be patient with me, accepting the endless hours it would take for me to truly trust them and commit to them, after everything. Someone who didn't abuse their power over me. Balanced and unbiased in love and equilibrium.

There seemed to be an inherent instability in trusting other people. People were people. We could never know their minds. We could never truly trust them. Seemed futile, like purposely walking off a cliff and expecting the other person to catch us. That leap of faith seemed insane to me. Way crazier than anyone had ever accused me of being. How could we put our trust in someone who, on a whim, could decide to leave someday? How could we rely on someone as our heart and soul when they had the power to rip both from us? Insanity. Looking for guarantees in a universe with no guarantees. Pure insanity.

Somehow, I heard that voice again. Again, now, as I stared at my broken image in this broken mirror:

'Captain, I am still here. I am here for you. Please, stay with me again. Let me heal you…however I can from this distance. You mean everything to me. I hope now you can move on from those situations in the past. Move on with me. What we have is far more than just a feeling. You already know what this is.'

Liara…

Gathering myself again, I cleaned up this mess as best as I could. I resigned myself to leaving the mirror broken. I didn't care to get it fixed any time soon. Too much work, too much effort. I left it alone.

I retreated to my bedroom on the other side of the apartment. Changing out of my armor, and into the comfort of my regular clothes for home, I went to my bed. I lay down, at ease. This feeling surrounded me again. The abstraction I had left behind in chasing after my relationships. I wished I could stay with this feeling instead. This comfort, this security. The only real love I had ever known in practice, unbiased and unflinching, even in the face of my instability. But I could only understand it in this unconscious view.

I could only see the real patterns from this perspective. I remembered: this cycle had begun long ago. Years ago when I was younger, when I had first trusted someone. Only for them to become someone else entirely. That darkness had changed them, and they lashed out at me as some stranger I didn't recognize. That darkness had made them hate me. Looking down on me and judging me. Mentally and emotionally abusing me. That time, that first time because I loved her too much, because I felt too much and overwhelmed her without meaning to. Because I was too much for her and she couldn't stand me anymore. She was the first person to break me in my youth, forcing me to shut off my emotions. Forcing me to become a machine, a lone wolf. The only way I could survive: I became nothing to disappear. Quietly. Invisible and without a trace. Without a voice. I had then turned into a burn victim, with every stimulus and emotion around me affecting me and paining that much deeper. I felt it all so much more, far more intense, with every emotion and reaction pressing down on my burns and scalding me even more—unless I showed indifference. Unless I felt nothing. On as everything-everything-everything, overwhelming and all-encompassing and an emotional roller-coaster and painstakingly detailed in photographic memory; and off as nothing. Nothing.

That situation had repeated and repeated itself in my life, differently and the same, over and over and over again. With me believing in this idea of myself with someone, being happy with them and serving them as my goddess, only for the idea to die a terrible death eventually. Because I was too emotional or because I didn't love them enough. Because I was too vulnerable or not vulnerable enough. Because I was too trusting or not trusting enough. Always an imbalance. Never an equilibrium.

Even still, I hadn't lost myself. I had somehow kept going through these repeating traumas. I was the common denominator. So I knew I had to re-evaluate.

This feeling continued to love me for what I was. Human and demon. Light and dark. Nothing and everything. Sane and stable and not. Too much and never enough.

This feeling wasn't afraid of me.

This feeling didn't judge me.

This feeling never left me.

Far more than a feeling, Liara surrounded me in her safety that night. I lost myself in this dream as I slept. Having this stability, comfort. Sharing a life with her. Sharing everything with her. Our own American Dream so far away from home in America, away from Earth. A dream deep at the center of the universe. Our shared existence everlasting: the smell of the sea, and flowers.

Back to the present, back to this state of mindfulness.

In these couple of weeks after the Shadow Broker, so much had changed with me.

Valentine's Day had arrived. I had asked Liara to come out with me tonight. We had an endless amount of freedom in Insomnia. Freedom to go wherever we wanted. In real life, Shepard had settled for that 'cozy night in' with Liara aboard the Normandy. We both wanted more. I had the means to go after it; to give Liara far more than what she might've expected. We fully took advantage of our freedom tonight.

Getting ready that night, I found this solace from the bedroom of my apartment. The apartment I still shared with Liara and Tali. Tali had chosen to stay at work late tonight. Forever the midnight mechanic, she'd claimed she had so much to do. Already Tali had brought the additions to the HQ building up to the 90th floor. She still needed more. I hadn't questioned her real reasons for not wanting to stay at home today. I knew better than to ask her about them, letting her work and work as she'd chosen to do.

As I put on my suit, staring out these windows, I glanced to the bathroom on occasion. The open door there with Liara inside, getting herself ready at the mirror. She had put on a nice dress this evening. A new one. Yet another one that she'd allowed me to buy for her during one of our latest shopping sprees. The pair of fine heels she wore made her a little taller. The slopes of her legs, the slight muscle there. How the tones of her skin glowed in the radiant light of the bathroom. The sapphire necklace she let me buy for her did wonders for her collar bone. Perfect silver of the chain, and the sapphire itself hanging as the singular jewel over her heart in richness. The same of her wrist: a bracelet of matching silver and sapphire. A stunning contrast against the black of her dress, her heels. Her expression shined more, too.

I couldn't help staring at her. The rainy smell of her perfume lingered in here. Not quite overpowering. The latest bouquet of everlasting blue roses I'd bought her sat on our nightstand. That aroma blended with Liara's perfume in the best way. Roses and rain. A fine prelude for the approaching springtime.

While she brushed on her light makeup, Liara would glance at me every now and then.

Her playfulness. That little smile. The quirk of her lips suggesting more in suggestiveness. Her sex appeal.

Artful, beautiful, captivating.

I hadn't stopped thinking about her like this in weeks. For weeks now, I'd felt like this. The blissful pain. How I suddenly didn't have enough room in my heart to contain my feelings for her. These feelings I had for her—they'd exploded, detonated within me, bursting and brimming in excess. They terrified me.

I felt myself changing, too. Every day after work, we would come home, and I'd have a gift for her. I would go out on my lunch break and get her something. More jewelry. More flowers. More chocolate. More wine. More plush animals. More practical items like parts for her computers or upgrades to her omni-tool. Or I would write her letters. Letters that seemed to suggest how much I had changed lately.

The only thing I'd stopped short of gifting her was an engagement ring.

I had certainly shopped around for one. Already I'd decided I wanted to get Liara a blue diamond ring. She seemed into the idea of going with these human marital traditions. For once, I wanted to go along with them, too. Not out of a sense of obligation. But because I loved her so much, I couldn't help it.

Ever since that night in real life at Deep Azure, and then with the Shadow Broker, I had felt this way.

Losing my mind worrying about her. Taking care of her. Finally getting Liara back safely to the Normandy. Only to lose track of her again. Only to learn that she'd survived two more attempts on her life. From then on, everything had happened so quickly. Hitting me and colliding with me with such a force I had never experienced before. We had gone from Liara outright telling Shepard in real life that she wanted us to propose to her, and the two of us feeling hesitant to jump into things—to this.

I never told her outright. But Liara must've figured me out by now.

As I set these cufflinks at the ends of my sleeves, I tried to focus on something else.

Anything else to regain my composure.

Glancing out the window again, I spotted our Reaper friends flying around out there. Lucifer, Belphegor, Apollo, Beelzebub, and Sovereign. Satan had always been with us in another form. A human form. We hadn't needed to make that manual connection on Tuchanka. She and I still had this vague bond going. I didn't actively miss her like that. But I did love her in the past. It still meant something after all this time.

Though speaking of those old bonds, Shepard still had hers with Miranda. I had warned about our ex worming her way back into our lives. Shepard didn't listen to me back then. Miranda ended up taking advantage of the past. Her single-minded ambitions for Cerberus had left Shepard hurt again, paying a similar price again. Solheim had cheated in the end, running off to a cheap victory. I could only wonder what she would do as the Shadow Broker—in real life, anyway. I'd already made sure none of her new intelligence assets would affect us in Insomnia. She could only affect the Milky Way at-large. Not here.

I had near-total control over Insomnia.

But hardly any control over my emotions. How I felt.

Once Liara and I finished getting ready, we went downstairs to the underground parking lot. I opened the passenger door for Liara, helping her inside. Then I took to the skies in the car, threading this relatively new tradition for us. The one thing we had missed out on so much before. Holding Liara's hand as I drove along. The drum of my music's bass blasting along. My habits, her presence. Us together.

Liara had asked me to take her to the Hamilton for dinner tonight. Insomnia's version of the restaurant.

So we made our way there, basking in this feeling together.

I felt an unbridled power from us both. The power of our positions, the power of our bond. How this feeling had endured between us for so long, surviving the apocalypse of my pride, my tyranny. This drama darkened the night darker; colored our horizon together that much brighter. We had this world.

This recreation of Washington, D.C. kept Insomnia's politicians entertained. They had their network of contacts and aides and allies across the financial sector. But because no one could climb any higher than the city council positions, this place had no upward mobility. The old hawks fought over the tiniest scraps of power they could find. All in the midst of this neoclassical illusion of a house of cards. They paraded around in their limousines and luxury cars—limited to the ground—and yet it didn't quite feel the same. With no homeless anywhere in Insomnia, these fat cats had no one to look down upon. No more cheap thrills of throwing money at overpriced steaks with the disadvantaged begging for food outside.

Foregoing the valet parking, I instead brought us down in our own private, secure lot. Completely empty. No one else could get in or out. We didn't have to worry about anything happening to the car.

Perfect weather on this perfect night for Valentine's Day—I held Liara's hand, walking with her the short way to the Hamilton. The generous glow from the street lights caressed her so beautifully. She noticed me staring, even as we ambled past the giant vid screens along these taller buildings. Liara smiled at me again. She smiled so much more, knowing she had my attention. Far more than the news playing out loud:

"There have been troubling rumors about the disappearance of the Shadow Broker. Not only his disappearance, but the matter of his new identity. A handful of the Shadow Broker's former agents—who each requested anonymity for this story—confirmed the details of the Broker's vanishing act. He was apparently defeated by an unknown entity. It is unclear if this person's identity is truly unknown, or if the new Shadow Broker has made pointed threats to these former agents. But it is certainly clear that someone else has taken up the mantle of the most powerful information broker in the Milky Way.

"This story comes in the wake of growing privacy concerns on the extranet. We all know the dangers of data brokering, and how private entities—and even world governments—are spying on whoever they can through the galaxy-wide web. They collect information on their victims—anything such as their browsing habits, demographic details, political affiliations, and psychological profiles. The data brokers then create 'profiles' to cluster victims into groups, targeting them for specific ads to encourage unhealthy spending habits. These groups also have more nefarious purposes, with authoritarian governments using the information to go after their political opponents, ranging from targeted voter suppression to deadly violence. Will the new Shadow Broker continue supporting this harmful practice by enabling these data brokers? Or will they put an end to a scheme that has left citizens in peril, with companies selling the details of their private lives to the highest bidder? No one can say at this point, folks, but our reporters are reliably on the case. This is Eliza Cassan, reporting to you live, from Picus."

Inside the restaurant, up on the topmost floor so high above, I brought Liara to our table near the window.

Only our pre-prepared candlelight over the white tablecloth lit our way. No other lights. No distractions.

Once a mere lower-story building, the grand architects had renovated the Hamilton over the years, bringing the place to more modern standards. They'd preserved the old-fashioned polish of the mahogany walls and ceiling. The old-style shape of the curved chairs. The abundance of historic paintings hanging from the walls. The unlit chandelier in an art nouveau style. We had a view of the entire city from here. Unobstructed.

Untouchable.

No one had a clue we were up here. Whatever we ordered from the kiosk would go through anonymously. The restaurant's staff knew someone had reserved this space. They knew to prioritize our orders. But they didn't know it was us. The Captain and Acting President of Insomnia on a date together.

Not a single sound reached us. Not from the people eating on the common floors downstairs. Not from the dishes in the kitchen. Not even the all-American music from the live band that played on somewhere downstairs. Only Liara's heeled footsteps made any sounds as I brought her to this window, to our table. The power and promise of her creation for me outside these windows—they held her tight.

Liara took a rising breath at the sight, her chest swelling in pleasure. Satisfaction.

"Sol, this is incredible," she breathed. "How did you arrange this without anyone finding us out?"

"Don't worry about that, babe. We have our privacy up here. That's all that matters."

Pulling out Liara's chair for her, I guided her to sit first. The perfect precision of pushing her chair in at the perfect moment. She appreciated this from me. So much so that she didn't let me leave to my own chair right away. Liara reached up to my shoulder, the collar of my dress shirt underneath my suit jacket. She eased me down to her, bringing my lips to hers. Not just over. Directly in this heated meeting: firm and fiery and full of emotion. Slow, burning emotion. As slowly as the candle burned in the center of our table, brushing this light over us, with the rest of the room enshrouded in a deep, contrasted shadow.

Giving in to Liara like this, I smelled the rich vanilla of that candle underneath the scent of her perfume. And this taste of her mouth, freshly-brushed and minted from her time in our bathroom before. I didn't expect her tongue like this. The coaxing from her, the invitation. She wanted mine deeper, these bundles of nerves and pleasures spiking as I kept giving in. Deeper and deeper down her throat as she wanted, unabashed. Leaning Liara back in her chair as she moaned into me—collecting my hair in her hands, eyes closed, breathless. More and more of her reactions from my touch. My hand wrapping around her neck in this apparent danger. Vulnerable, svelte. The sensation of the cold silver chain of her necklace just at the base of her collar bone. She trusted me like this. Erotic in need. She couldn't help it.

Whatever she wanted from me like this, I would've given to her.

I would've done anything for her. Anything, anything, anything. These flutters kept flying up higher within me.

I only pulled away because we both needed to breathe.

I only moved this breath away from Liara's face. The toned blend of her light makeup in this soft smell. The painful level of detail reflecting in her eyes. The entirety of my face staring back at me. My own emotions through her lidded eyes. Lidded in this deepening satisfaction. Only I could give this to her.

No one else.

"Sit close to me," she whispered over my mouth. "I don't want you too far away. Not across the table."

"All right, Liara."

Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I moved my chair next to her. Adjacent at this ninety degree angle. I had always done this. But Liara felt the need to request my habits anyway. And once I sat down, she noticed this difference about me. Still winded from moments before. Breathless. Thinking about her as I stared.

Liara smiled, enjoying this control she had. Never harmful. Never malicious. She liked the exclusivity.

Needing a bit of control back, I asked her, "So…do you want to look at the menu?"

"I'd like that, yes."

Looking at this kiosk together, I paid special attention to Liara's reactions. How her eyes lit up over the selection. She absorbed the information there, wondering how each of these dishes and drinks tasted.

"Sol, why are there so many non-American dishes on the menu? Japanese, French, Italian, Belgian. At least half of these items are sushi and sake."

"They're lovingly borrowed and adjusted for an American taste. That seems to be enough to qualify."

"Hmm." Liara hummed in amusement, not entirely convinced. "The last time you were here, it was for brunch. Not dinner. But is there anything you'd recommend? Anything that is not a salad."

"Well, D.C. is big on seafood on the east coast. Almost like my hometown, except they love crab."

"Like this…jumbo lump crab cake?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "We can try it. It's a lot, as the name implies."

"Then let's order one to share," she suggested.

"All right. What would you like to drink?"

Liara wanted to keep experimenting. "Something refreshing. And sweet."

I laughed a bit. "You still have a sweet tooth?"

"I do. This peach sangria sounds interesting. Do you mind that it has bourbon and chardonnay?"

"Not at all. I'll order one for you and one for me. We can get dessert later if you want."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Sol."

After placing our order, these drinks arrived right away. Rising up from the table's central mechanism, our two rounded glasses appeared there. Two glasses of transparent orange alcohol, filled to the brim with freshly-sliced peaches. I brought Liara her glass, then kept mine with me. That smile on her face—to die for, even as simple as this. More so once she tasted the drink for herself, finding it tasted exactly as she wanted. Sweet tooth sated for the moment, Liara focused on me. She wanted her history lesson now:

"Will you tell me about this place, who it is based on? The name Alexander Hamilton sounds familiar."

"Well, he was one of my home country's founding fathers. Same as the other names you might've heard of. Washington, Jefferson, Madison. They're the ones who came up with our founding principles. When we brought in Canada and Mexico with us, they more or less assimilated with these principles of ours."

"I've read about some of those principles. All men are created equal. Did they mean this generally?"

"No, they didn't," I explained. "They had a specific definition in mind. Men only. Certain men. Landowners. Presumably wealthy, literate men who owned land—or they at least had some kind of money lying around. They were the ones who first had the right to vote in our elections. The oldest patriots in the Revolution fought for 'their' rights to be free. Not 'our' rights. Not everyone else. They thought we couldn't have a real democracy like that. They believed they had to protect themselves and the country from the poor, uneducated masses. Just educating everyone and treating them equitably was out of the question."

Liara understood. "I see… So they enshrined 'their' rights into law very early on?"

"That's what the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were for. They created this idea of the nation as a more perfect union. Justice, domestic tranquility, common defense, general welfare, the blessings of liberty and 'their' posterity. That's what they envisioned for themselves. But once everyone else—the other undesirables—started fighting for those same ideals? Well, you can't have that. You had to keep them down. Had to control them. Except it didn't work for very long. We had a constant power struggle within our politics. That paradox defined us for the longest. The ones who wanted to go back to the exclusionary days of before, and the ones who wanted to keep moving forward. Our Achilles heel."

"A land capable of such greatness, and yet held back by these specific internal struggles."

"Sounds about right," I agreed. "America is an idea. We're defined by our special interest groups pushing for their ideas to rule. Not much of a 'United' nation, but we've had to find ways to get along somehow and keep the peace. It's always been our biggest issue. I'm sure you can relate in a way."

"Yes, with my people and the matter of age. How our elders would hoard knowledge, as I explained to you before. I have always been especially sensitive to this issue with power. Because of Thessia."

Sensitive, careful, thoughtful.

Liara's presence of mind meant so much to me.

As we shared this crab cake together—buttery, soft, with the perfect amount of seasoning—I felt the truth of Liara's words. Even her sensitivity now, her politeness. Her manners as she ate, covering her smile with her hand as she chewed. This irresistible flavor of crab softened through what we shared. We talked some more—about our shared history, our unexpected commonalities—and I couldn't set aside this feeling. That I trusted Liara so much because of her thoughtfulness. Always those pure intentions of hers. Never meaning me any harm, even if she did end up hurting me sometimes. I felt…safe with her.

Liara had started shifting my mindset these days.

Less about my individualism while standing beside her;

More about our collective unity while absorbed by one another. Emotional, mental, physical, spiritual.

I had always resisted this before. Within this unconscious mind. I had pulled Shepard back every time. Whenever we would love someone, I never allowed things to get too intense. Not too close. Not too much. Except this time, I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control it. I couldn't push back against this sheer avalanche of wants and needs that ran me over each time. Each time I so much as looked at Liara, or thought about her, or imagined kissing her, touching her, having sex with her again. Even being this close to her as we finished eating our crab cake. Even having this privilege of scenting her perfume as we drank our sweet peach sangrias together. Like constant pricks of acupuncture needles jabbing at me in reminder after reminder after reminder. These endless reminders that I loved Liara beyond my control.

Trapped with no way out.

The knowledge had always controlled me. Knowing better than to allow anyone to fully compromise me.

What the hell happened to my sovereignty?

Blissfully unaware, Liara browsed the dessert menu on the kiosk. She already knew what she wanted.

"These milkshakes mixed with alcohol sound intriguing. Why don't we share one together? They have lactose-free options. I remember you are allergic to milk."

Liara cared enough to remember every little detail about me.

She filled my already-overfilled heart with more love for her.

I ordered the milkshake she wanted. Cookies and cream with Kahlua mixed in. A sweet coffee liqueur to keep on sating her sweet tooth.

And we sipped on our straws from this same fluted glass. Her face close to mine. Her expressive expression just beside my expressionless one. She sucked on her straw and drank this iced mix of ice cream and coffee. I knew what she had on her mind as she did this. I knew everything she imagined. I saw it there in her gaze, glowing the same as Insomnia did in her bright-eyed stare. I had to stop myself from fidgeting in nerves. Or from looking away from her, giving myself away. Off and away—I had lost some of my senses to this, intensely focused on Liara, on her state of mind.

Then I felt her hand over my leg. The softest touch from her palm, her fingertips glossing over the fine threading of my suit pants. She seemed to feel every step I had ever taken, embedded in memory.

Liara's directness with me:

"I want you, Sol," she said, her breath smelling of icy sugar. "Almost in a new way."

Lacing my fingers over hers, I asked, "A new way?"

Pressured pulsing from our hands locked together like this. Throbbing, pumping in blood and in heat.

"Don't think I haven't noticed. You have been different lately. Shy, quiet. Something is on your mind."

Drinking more of this milkshake gave me cover to keep quiet. The crumbs of these cookies mixed in with the cream, sweeter and sweeter than sweet. No sweeter than Liara herself, ever gentle and tender in her honeyed kindness. Especially in her touch. Her hand still underneath mine. The heat of my palm must have felt as a hot iron pressing over her skin, steaming in hormones and nerves. But not once did Liara pull away from me. She let me iron out the unwrinkled shapes of her knuckles, the pads of her fingers. Even as the back of my own hand had creased from these thickened veins flexing along my skin.

As I made to sip from my straw again, Liara held my face in her hand.

She tilted my attention toward her. Pivoting and turning my face. Controlling me without control.

"Look at me," she requested. "Please."

I did as she wanted.

This color of my eyes highlighted from the city lights outside. Far outside this near-pitch darkness of our date, our surroundings. Those sights and these candles amplified me. The nighttime vision of my eyes on her, contrasted so heavily against the shadows around us.

Liara shuddered from the meaning behind my stare.

"Sol, what has been on your mind? What aren't you telling me?"

Breaths trembling a bit, I licked my lips for this reprieve. I swallowed air. I swallowed this breath, this spirit of her beside me. Her curiosity, her concern, her care for me. I couldn't say the words. That she had changed the entire trajectory of my mind. How I had convinced myself I couldn't go on before. That I would finish this mission against the Reapers and then stop caring. She blew all of that up. My carefully-crafted plans. My limits and limitations. She had made me surpass them all, helping me envision myself in a future I had never allowed before. A future I had constantly denied for us both.

All those disappointments before had almost felt comfortable for me.

The constant cycles churning on and on. Intense loves and lies and betrayals and hurt feelings. Breaking up, breaking up, breaking up, breaking up.

They had reinforced my cynicisms, my negative worldviews. I'd embraced these as my truths for so long. I wanted nothing to do with anything anymore. I wanted nothing.

Yet now I wanted everything. I wanted everything with Liara. Absolutely everything with her. And I didn't know what to do with myself.

She knew I wouldn't tell her anything. I wouldn't give away my secrets. Not with words. Not like this.

Respecting my strangeness, Liara smiled at me anyway.

She already knew enough. She could bask in the privilege of existing as my exception. My one constant. My inspiration, my muse in life. The one who had always protected me…even in such abstract ways.

"Okay then. We won't discuss it now. Will you indulge me with something else instead?"

"Anything," I whispered.

Liara gladly wrapped herself in my sincerity. "I'd like for you to take me out dancing."

"Dancing?"

"Yes," she said, entertained by my surprise. "It reminds me of our date back on Rannoch. You and Shepard slow-dancing with me in real life. That day happened toward the beginning of our new path. I know you are still not a dancer. But I hope you can imagine why I'm suddenly feeling nostalgic."

I understood her reasons, but still.

I couldn't think of a good place to take her for this. A dance hall? A high-end club? Slow-dancing…?

I considered doing some research. Looking up the best location.

But Liara seemed to want this to be spontaneous. She gazed at me expectantly, filled with her dreams and desires. Dreams and desires soaring on wings of spontaneity. She wanted this romance with me.

Going with the flow, I decided to do as she wanted.

We took one last moment, admiring the view from this high up, before leaving back to our car.

Possessed by an idea, I drove Liara to the one place I could think of. The only place we could go slow-dancing without any awkwardness or expectations. I didn't want us surrounded by dozens of other couples in some club somewhere. I always had to be mindful of our privacy and our security together. Though I knew Liara didn't mind these things as much as I did. Smiling that gentle smile of hers, she didn't necessarily care where we went. As long as she was with me, she would enjoy our time together.

Liara's eyes lit up more as I brought us to our destination.

Driving higher through the skies, I steadily took us to the top of Insomnia's headquarters.

The wide, jagged ring of the building's halo hovered over this pinnacle. The giant structure gave off these ambient sounds. Like thick wind chimes ambling gently in the night, or hard steel softened by the calm strokes of those echoes. They resonated deep in my mind, as my mind, relaxing me.

I found us a safe spot up on this temporary roof of the 90th floor. Tali had paused the ongoing work with her team of engineers, having sent them home for the night some time ago. I had enough space to land the car. Liara let herself out, going off to observe the view from this high up. Higher than even the one we'd had at the restaurant earlier. While she enjoyed herself out there, I stayed in the car for a few minutes, sorting out the music. I would play the songs she wanted through the sound system. The same ones Liara had fallen in love with a few months ago, watching Shepard play Hearts of Iron back on Thessia. Those old-timey romantic songs, so whimsical and idealistic. Perfect for slow-dancing together.

After starting up the playlist, I left the car doors open, letting the music play out to the night. Then I went over to Liara where she stood. She heard the first song now, eternally pleased and surprised. Surprised that I had picked out this place for us.

"I wasn't expecting this at all," she told me. "But I'm glad you brought us here. Very glad."

"Well, I'm glad you like it," I said, bringing her front closer to mine. "So are you gonna dance with me?"

Liara didn't mean to laugh at my blunt inelegance, burying her face in my chest as she did.

I didn't mean to smile at her like this. Any reason to make her happy, I would gladly accept.

"Of course I will, Sol," she replied, letting me hold her properly. "You're incredible. Thank you so much."

Overlooking the city—our entire world—I basked in Liara's presence as we did this. Holding her hand, holding her waist; Liara pressing her free hand to my chest, gentle in her possessiveness. I slowly swayed her from the cues of this song. I glanced down at Liara, how she kept the side of her face over me. Resting and reinvigorated all the same. She could've stayed like this with me forever. Perfectly in love.

Staring at the stars above, I felt the gravity of this moment. How I had found a rare miracle lighting up my way. I had never felt lonely before. I had always believed I could stand on my own two feet—on my own. Then Liara came along, changing so much of what I felt and believed. I had found this better way to get myself through the days—by actually committing to her, focused in loyalty. Dancing the night away with her like this, Liara helped me believe most of the way. Like there was a chance we could make it through this mission together. This mission…and every other one after this, forever. Possibly, maybe.

I wanted to give Liara everything.

I wanted to give her every ounce of stability and security she needed from me.

I wanted to give her the perfect life she always imagined with me. Our small measure of peace together.

That level of commitment.

Waiting on her hand and foot for whatever she needed. Supporting her through anything and everything. Standing by Liara's side and showing our whole world that we belonged together. Protecting her from anything life could've thrown at us; saving her from anything within my power and beyond. Existing as individuals together, merged as one idea within this collective. Bonding, thriving, persisting.

I wanted to be a good person for her…for once in my life. The best person I could possibly be.

Even as I felt myself swept up in the moment, I couldn't help the rest of my feelings.

The terror that gripped at me, well past this stability I gave Liara now, still leading her in our comfort.

Deeply in love with her. Madly in love with her. Deeply maddened by this love that had seized me.

The worst question that haunted me: the idea of passing this madness down to anyone else.

At my worst, I knew I was still a demon, a tyrant. That hadn't changed. Passing this on could've been disastrous. I didn't know if Liara's serene humanity would cancel out my tyranny. What would a new union of us look like as someone else? As someone born from Liara, added from everything I stood for?

Sensing this storm brewing, Liara canted her head up to regard me.

She gazed at me in her bottomless depths, asking, "What is on your mind, Sol?"

I stayed quiet, not knowing how to answer her.

I still didn't know how to respond.

Not with words, anyway.

Then Liara wondered, "Should I be worried?"

Keeping deep eye contact with her, I shook my head.

She smiled anew. "Okay, then. I won't pester you about it. But I hope you'll open up to me about this—eventually."

I had my own methods, my own plans to do as she wished. "You'll know when it happens."

"How mysterious. I will be patient for you, Sol. Whatever you need."

I knew what I wanted to do for her. But I also knew what stopped me from doing it now.

I was just…tired. Tired from the mission. Tired from the strain the Reapers had put Shepard under, affecting me in-turn. Tired from marching on and on—constantly having to put one foot in front of the other—with seemingly no end in sight. I was sick and tired of being tired. I had felt like this before in the lead-up to the suicide mission. Everything had overwhelmed me beyond reason. Yet I'd refused to show it. I never wanted to make myself that vulnerable. I never wanted to open up about these things, exposing myself to pity and sympathy. I never, ever wanted to suffer any weakness in myself.

Except I knew the stakes. I understood the reality around me.

I didn't think I could keep doing this.

The one mission against the Reapers? Fine. We could finish this. No matter how long it took.

Yet once we accomplished our mission, defeating Harbinger in the end, we would be immortal. Shepard and I would be immortal. Our team would be immortal. The galaxy would place a new burden over our shoulders: of constantly dealing with any overwhelming threats. Constantly needing to succeed, or else.

Everyone would expect perfection from us every time.

Our team would expect perfection from me every time. Shepard and me, the both of us as one.

Did I have it in me to keep pulling off the impossible? Constantly performing on this stage for others to watch me and judge me and scrutinize me. Yes, I was a marine. A soldier. This was what I did for a living. This was my duty—not only to myself, but to humanity, to Earth, and even the rest of the galaxy. But I didn't want to risk the worst with my exhaustion. I didn't want to risk the possibility of fucking up while achieving the impossible over and over and over again. I didn't want to fail. I didn't want to let Liara down. I didn't want to let our team down, or the Alliance, or our other allies. I couldn't do this forever.

I wanted to spend the rest of eternity with Liara. Yet this dream of mine conflicted with my exhaustion.

I felt eternally conflicted over this.

Easing my thoughts away from that topic, I noticed we had a visitor across the way.

Sitting near our parked car, tail wagging in joy, Major waited for us to spot her. She could've come up to us. But she seemed to understand Liara and I had our privacy up here; Major didn't want to interrupt us. She had her permissions to come and go from HQ as she wanted. I had appointed Major as the mayor of Insomnia—with her acceptance—some time ago now. We'd had a nice little ceremony for her mayoral induction, inviting the other executives and some of our other higher-level employees. Even though her title was mostly ceremonial, Major did enjoy a few duties. Just like any other German shepherd, she loved to work, and so I had found ways to put her talents to use. Major liked working with Samara and her team of justicars and other law enforcement officers: running around town to find missing persons, responding to the occasional bomb threat by sniffing out the source, and visiting schools to ensure all was well with the kids there, usually by playing with them. Our citizens had grown to adore Major quite a lot. They always looked forward to seeing her out and about across Insomnia, boosting their morale.

I also noticed she had a note in her mouth. A delivery?

Liara noticed her, too, holding my hand as we went over to her.

"Hello, Major," she said, bending down to pet her. "What brings you here?"

I scratched Major behind her ears, collecting the note, "Looks like our mayor has something for us."

"A note? Who could it be from? And at this hour of the night?"

Captain Sol,

As I am unable to 'write', I am using a transcription service to communicate this to you.

I have been observing your progress throughout this cycle. My legion of commanders and fleets have harvested your kind. You and Shepard have pushed back against us. I am not blind to your many victories thus far. I realize what is at stake now. I understand your motivations. You do not understand mine.

You and I must speak. My hologram's coordinates are listed at the bottom of this page. Do not hesitate.

Cordially,

Harbinger

.

Liara couldn't believe it. "This can't be real… Harbinger wants to speak with you?!"

"Well…it's only a hologram," I reasoned. "It's not like Sovereign and the other Reapers somehow brought their old boss here. If Harbinger just wants to talk, I don't mind talking."

"Yes, but how did the hologram get here? Something on this scale shouldn't have escaped our notice."

Thinking on it some more, I realized the answers.

So much of Insomnia suddenly made sense to me. Situated here at the center of the universe.

Now wasn't the best time to explain. I made up my mind to tell Liara about this first thing tomorrow. After we didn't have company anymore.

I uploaded Harbinger's listed coordinates to our car's navigation system. Then we asked Major if she wanted to come along with us. She barked a couple of times, expressing her excitement to join. I situated her safely in the backseat, then helped Liara back to the passenger seat. Before I took off, Liara leaned over to me, kissing my jaw in sweetness. Her way of thanking me for the music, the dancing, and for our dinner date before. Unforgettable memories that night for Valentine's Day. I grinned at Liara, knowing the night was still young for us. I had much more to give her once we made it back home later.

These coordinates took us to the far outskirts of town.

An underdeveloped area we'd identified for a potential new landscaping project. The temptation always existed to build new homes, new city centers, and new industrialization. Especially with Insomnia's ever-expanding population. Yet we also had to maintain a balance by continuing to grow new forests and other precious sanctuaries wherever we could. Depending on the scope of Harbinger's holographic presence here, we could've simply left the land alone. Maybe we would need to maintain these communications with the enemy. Not for diplomacy. But to continue understanding each other.

As we approached this stretch of land, Major sensed the danger. She had started growling in agitation.

By the time we left the car together, walking over to the hologram, Major couldn't take it anymore. She hated this sight of Harbinger before us in a blood red illusion. Much like Sovereign's form when we'd spoken to it back on Virmire. Fearless, Major made those full-throated barks at the enemy's form. She wanted to protect Liara and me as part of our pack. Liara had to bend down to her, calming her down.

Harbinger remained unfazed by the threat. "Captain Sol. Dr. T'Soni. You have heeded my summons."

"You said you wanted to talk, Harbinger."

"Indeed," said Liara. "I am surprised to hear you address us like this. Instead of 'human' and 'asari.'"

"You defeated Saren and Sovereign. You ended the Collectors. You brought down Lucifer, Belphegor, Beelzebub, Apollo, and Satan. My former commanders have joined you in harmony within your collective unconscious. You have proven your worth to me."

I asked, "Then why'd you bring us here? You said we don't understand your motivations. Why does it matter if we understand you or not?"

"Your understanding is more critical than you know. I expected you would not make it this far. I anticipated your exhaustion claiming you long before this crossroads. Just as I warned Shepard following her destruction of the Collector homeworld, trickling down to you, Captain. You have defied my expectations. I respect your power, your determination. You have transcended to become my equal."

"Your equal…? You really think we're the same?"

Harbinger justified, "We are as one. Our minds are one. Everything is connected. We are all connected."

"If that's true, why did you start this in the first place? Why stand against us at all?"

"All living beings are doomed to repeat their mistakes. You suffer in constant cycles. Civilizations evolve in the same ways, no matter the species. They degrade in the same ways. We as the harbingers of your destruction come in to harvest your kind, wiping everything clean before nothing can be reborn. Enough for civilizations to start anew, resetting the cycles completely. Sovereign explained our primal reasons for doing this. We need your energy to reproduce and create new forms. This is mutually beneficial for us."

Liara didn't understand. "Harbinger, what is mutually beneficial about such a path? You and your kind get to reproduce. But you have harvested innocent lives in the process. Are you saying that life would wipe itself out if you didn't come along? You always leave enough behind to start new civilizations."

"Correct. We harvest the lives of those on the brink of destroying everything. Climate disasters. Apocalyptic ends. Mass murders, extinctions. Social unrest born from tribalism and nativism. Power structures reinforcing the haves and have-nots. Disinformation indoctrinating the angry fools needing to vilify your outsiders, instead of looking within for the hard truths. Mortal selfishness eroding possibilities of recovery and upward mobility. Sad sacks of flesh that cannot rise above petty disagreements. Your trivial prejudices define you, just as we are logically prejudiced against you. This invidiousness has served us for millions of years. A thousand years of your life is but a drop in our grand strategy of survival."

"Then you merely see us as resources. Resources who will only destroy ourselves in the end, as willing by you. Pawns who cannot transcend our worst instincts. But now you respect Sol. You respect me. Is it because we've defied your expectations in this exact way? And not only with defeating your allies."

"Yes," confirmed Harbinger. "Your kind are demons. Grotesque, selfish, primitive. Unable to evolve past your earliest nature and instincts. You fall into the same errors time and time again. Cyclical errors, even as your civilizations improve with your advents in technology. You are incapable of saving yourselves."

I pointed out, "Harbinger, that isn't fair. The Reapers purposely created these systems we live in. You gave us the technology that determines how we evolve. We evolve in ways you approve of. In ways you can control and monitor and predict. Then we all turn out the same, and you write us off as incapable. So you use that as your justification to harvest us, all to keep your own civilization going. You made this fucked up system. You made it so this is all we can ever be. Then you have the nerve to say we can't rise above our limitations?! Don't you see how wrong that is?"

"I have to agree," said Liara, just as frustrated as I was. "You say we are lesser beings. You look down on us as resources and pawns. But you have never given us the opportunity to be anything more than what we are. Sol and Shepard had to claw their way to distinction, even within this horrible system. Not everyone is as resilient as they are—because of the systems the Reapers created. That isn't fair at all."

"Fairness is irrelevant. Your bias for egalitarianism is naïve. The strong rule the weak. We imposed these limitations upon you. We maintained our power indefinitely. We never expected you to defy us. Now you have. You have risen above the circumstances we once subjected you to. The captain does not belong in the same realm as the rest of our pawns and resources. Dr. T'Soni, you have opened this realm where she does belong. You exist as exceptions. Meddlesome exceptions. Should Shepard and the captain fall, we must re-evaluate our systems in place. We cannot allow these aberrations to repeat themselves."

No diplomacy.

Only doubling down.

We had to defeat Harbinger. We had to defeat the Reapers.

Because if we didn't, they would find some way to stay in power. They'd make sure no one could ever get this close to ending them. All the more pressure for us to succeed.

More and more pressures piling over my shoulders. Holding up these pressures as Atlas in stress.

Harbinger enjoyed the last word—"Continue as you are. Claim your victories. Defeat my commanders. Save your people from us. But you cannot save your people from themselves. You cannot undo their primitive systemic cycles. Even should you defeat me, another force will rise up against you. A thousand years, a million years, or billions upon billions of years. This heaven will find a way to send you to hell."

That blood red hologram disappeared.

Major's ears perked up. She sensed something else in the near-distance.

Not noticing the same, Liara set her hand over my arm. "We should take Major back to HQ. Could we go home afterward? As enlightening as that conversation was, I need to unwind. I think we both need to. But let's do this without any company. I don't want anyone's eyes limiting what you do with me in bed. I want you all to myself tonight."

I lowered my head to her in deference, respect. "Yes, babe. I'll send them away soon."

"Thank you, Sol."

Liara brought Major back with her to the car.

As they went, someone else approached me. I heard those armored footsteps. That set of N7 armor.

Ashley found me in this shadow Harbinger had left behind.

"Hey, Skipper."

I didn't want to face this. I didn't want to face her at all.

Yet I made myself stand here, listening to her. Listening as I had listened to Harbinger moments before.

"Do you understand now?" she asked me. "Why I was trying to help you?"

Help me as in ruining my relationships.

Making Shepard lose all hope so we would give up. Not bothering with this suffering anymore.

Ashley declared, "People aren't worth the trouble. If you defeat the Reapers, then sure, the cycle will change. You won't have to worry about them harvesting you anymore. But people won't change. It'll turn into a different cycle. They'll keep repeating the same mistakes. They'll keep bringing their own apocalypses. How are you going to save them from that, Sol? How will you protect them from their worst instincts?"

"I understand what you're saying, Ashley. But I have to finish the mission. This is my duty."

"Uh-huh. I get it. I figured you'd say that. Well, I promise I won't stand in your way anymore. I'll let you and Shepard finish the mission. Since it's that important to you."

"Really?" I questioned. "After everything you did, what changed? Why now? What's the catch?"

Ashley claimed, "There's no catch. I just don't have to do anything else. This situation will solve itself in the end. We both know the real reasons. You'll change your tune soon enough." Then she turned around to leave. She needed to leave now. Now, before Liara came back and found her here. "I'll see you later, Skipper."