The room still held a stagnant atmosphere, and for the room little had changed. The pounding music was audible, the furniture was obnoxious and it smelt of urine. But the two men were subtly different, a small change had occurred. Both were enthralled in a story not often heard, and for a time had lost even the reason it was being spoken. But as the tale began to close, the realities around them began to creep back in, and they both lost that obsession.
The world reached out to meet them once more, and they felt it keenly, smelling, seeing and hearing the room once more.
"I've been drifting since then, not sure what to do," said John, "I made contact with an old associate from my Spec-Ops days before the Reapers, who helped me to hack into the Alliance's Network. After a bit of digging, we found it:
"In light of his recovery, Commander John Shepard is not to be notified of the deaths of Admiral Anderson or within his crew until doing so will not compromise his role to the Alliance. Recommendation; Post Recovery, in controlled environment. Details should be kept to minimum. He is not to be seen by anyone who is not pre-approved, unless the Commander is sedated under the guise of 'sleep', until further notice."
"That's fucked up" said Steven.
"Yep. There was a delay in the order being sent to me as well, that's why there was an influx of civilians seeing me without approval. Within hours of the announcement that I was awake, the crew of the Normandy were all assigned to 'debriefing' out of the city for a few days. I can only imagine they delayed the order to try and increase my feelings of obligation toward the billions I'd fought for during the war, as if that wasn't enough drive." Bitterness was apparent in John's voice.
"What do you think now?" asked Steven.
"Fuck 'em. The Alliance can play their games."
"So, you went AWOL and walked away from everything you fought for because of how your fiancé died, and how the Alliance tried to manipulate you afterward?" said Steven inquisitively.
John sighed. "Yes. After the War, all the political bullshit, how much I'd had to give up, compromise," he trailed off, before switching subjects, "Well, that's my story. Do you believe I'm John Shepard?"
Steven looked deeply into John, reading him as carefully as he could, and could find no trace of lying. He still had some questions though, and decided to use these as a final test.
"How did you get that armour back? I would've assumed it wouldn't have survived the Battle of London. Do you still suffer from dead nerves?"
"I just ignore it now. And the armour piece was a bit of exuberance on my part. I have a lot of money in accounts the Alliance don't know I have, so I repurchased it from the Shadow Broker who… came into possession of it. I guess I wanted at least one anchor to my past."
Steven nodded once again, satisfied. Not one involuntary twitch nervous glance to indicate a lie. In his mind, this man was John Shepard. Not quite what he was expecting to happen tonight, and this was the last place he thought he'd meet the saviour of the Galaxy.
"So times not been kind to you, has it" Steven stated, looking over John's dishevelled state.
"It hasn't. After hacking the Alliance, I don't remember much for around a year. I just came to in Munich somewhere in a drunken stupor. I've done my bit to the Galaxy, and this seems the only way to get out of the bed I unwittingly made for myself. I haven't much reason, and nor do I want, to do anything more. I just want to forget."
"For what it's worth... I'm sorry." Steven said, as respectably as he could. "I know it's rough losing people."
John just stared forward, and for a moment he was lost again to the world, as he had been telling his story. "He just took her out with the other badly wounded and shot her? You know, I wonder if she was conscious..." A change overcame him as he returned to the room, far more violently than he had previously.
"No, I don't think about it... Change the subject!" John sounded pained, his voice a vessel of despair. "Just, change it please."
Steven's poker face broke slightly, a small amount of concern - barely enough to be seen - slipped into his expression."Ok, err, so why'd you get into trouble with this 'Yanoko' then? What was it, 'hits and whores'?"
John grimaced, but he became calmer, his eyes less wild, his mind focused on something other than Tali. "I was drunk a few weeks ago, paid for an assassination upfront. Rule was half before, half after, on Garrus. It failed miserably, from what I saw."
Steven looked back a few days. There had been a sensational news story that Palaven's second most powerful individual, Garrus Vakarian, Advisor to the Primarch, had been shot by a sniper, but the shot had missed causing major damage since Garrus had dived upon seeing the scope's flash in the distance. The sniper was killed trying to escape by the authorities.
"You learn something new every day" Steven said to John. He nodded.
"I felt terrible just after I was sober enough to realise what I'd ordered. Not enough to retract the order, but terrible nonetheless. I wasn't really surprised when the attempt failed, Garrus was a sly dog even in C-Sec, and during the war he never lost the instincts he developed on Omega. Guess he never lost them. Got a notice the next day demanding I pay the full amount anyway, and Yanoko seems to have eyes everywhere nowadays."
"Why didn't you just move on?"
"I was going to," explained John, "Got a shuttle to Moscow for tomorrow, although I suppose it's today now. I just stupidly spent my last night in a regular haunt of mine. Stupid move, really."
John got up from lying on the bed, sitting on its edge instead. "What time is it?" he asked.
"You haven't got an Omni-tool?" said Steven with some disbelief, but thinking of John's situation he shrugged it off as he loaded his up. It displayed 06:21.
"I ought to get moving" said John. "Thanks for the room."
"Hold on, you haven't answered my question. You've explained the hit, what about the whores? Because from what I've heard you aren't the type."
"A lot of who I am is different to who I was. Back during my operational days, I could probably storm Yanoko's den and clear it out for Law Enforcement – now I can't do shit but drink at it."
"Yeah, but you have spent the last half hour telling me the story of how the death of your fiancé turned you into, well, this. What gives?"
John laughed slightly. "Not very subtle, are you. One of the few things I remember from that night I ordered the hit is Nina'Vaelin. The bar I was in was a hub of illegal services, and of 'Extreme Tastes', as they termed some of their girls. They had Batarians, Vorcha, probably even Elcor, I didn't really ask. I just remember stumbling in because I hadn't drunk in it yet."
John's brow furrowed as he thought back. "I was into my third, or was it fourth, drink after calling the hit. I think. She came over and did the usual prostitute routine. Initially, I wasn't interested, but when I turned to shoo her off, her suit looked almost exactly like Tali's. The design was slightly different, but similar nonetheless. And I couldn't help myself."
"I paid that time, and I was drawn to her. It wasn't love or anything like that, I don't care enough about anyone for that to happen now, but she reminded me of Tali. She wanted to leave the business, but since she was an exile from the fleet – well, Rannoch now I suppose – she couldn't get the fleets support."
"So you helped her? That's good!" Steven said in a rare encouraging tone.
John's tone didn't share the positivity. "I agreed to help her if I could, and we saw more of each other. She stopped charging me and I gave her a lump sum to pay off Yanoko and get started somewhere, but presumably Yanoko found out. Don't imagine anyone will see her again, anyone Yanoko knows I'm connected to have met with 'accidents' recently. That hit must've cost her some credibility. Just goes to show, should never care."
Steven observed how unfazed John was at that, and considered how well he knew the man sitting in front of him, clearly itching to leave. He'd had a honest conversation with him, albeit under force, but still Steven felt he didn't understand him.
He found himself reflecting on the images from the War, that the Council and the Alliance used, the legend that had been borne from his name, and yet it simply could not match the man in front of him.
John had clearly had enough of sitting, and made a lunge for the door. He was surprised when Steven made no effort to stop his escape into the outside world.
"You're free to go," said Steven, gesturing towards the door. "I believe you."
John nodded, and opened the door, seemingly focused. Steven had observed a look of sadness when John had first started telling his story, but that had been completely put away. He had returned to his pre-attack self, albeit without the disinterested look in his eyes. But instead of escaping quickly into the bar, he turned and spoke to Steven once more.
"Listen, watch yourself around the Alliance. In my experience, N7s tend to end up damned or dead. Don't do that." He looked for a moment as if he had more to say, but he simply shook his head and turned away from the fellow N7 he had shared a room with.
The man called John Shepard walked back into the world of the damned, back into his deterioration. He felt no happiness, but neither did he feel pain. His nerves, neglected from the care they demanded, had stagnated in their recovery, and his psyche had come to terms with death. As long as he didn't care, it would stop the pain returning.
He didn't believe in an afterlife or a Heaven, and he hoped there wasn't one, so Tali wouldn't have to see him like this.
For John, there was only the living and the damned, those that hoped and dreamed, and those that knew it was over. Even despite his rationale, occasionally his old self would flicker through, telling himself that he was disgusting and pathetic, and an insult to Tali's memory. Usually when he was alone, and heavily drunk.
Perhaps if he were old John, he may not have been able to cope with the overwhelming change overcoming him. The unbreakable soldier might have just cried and blown his brains out. But he wasn't old John.
He wouldn't break down and cry, on any count.
After all, the damned don't cry.
A/N: Ok, lots of dialogue, description and format adjustments, and here we are. I am quite proud of this, although I do think it's far from perfect. Started as listening to it's namesake Visage song, before I spent a few days writing it. I am surprised at just how dark it is to be honest, but it just developed as it went on. As always, reviews and PMs are welcome, I'd love to hear your thoughts.