You do your bit, and then you pretend to be scenery. You sit and sweat and hope the people who get paid to go out and do the work don't foul everything up. The waiting will give you a stomach-ache, but that's what agents do.
The Reclamation Effect
Chapter Two
al·li·ance (noun)
A connection based on kinship, marriage, or common interest; a bond or tie.
'Shinga'. Only one person has ever called me that. It's not something I want to revisit.
I mutter a chain of expletives under my breath. Everything was going so well, it just had to happen. Damnit, shit, this was supposed to be a simple job. Find the body. Steal the body. Leave. Now it's freaking complicated and that's BAD - all caps intended.
It's bad for all kinds of reasons but chiefly this: How do you steal from someone who knows you're coming?
I curse again as the message repeats itself. How did he even know my address?
"I need to take this," I growl, taking a step away from the group. If we're about to get ambushed, I'd prefer to be spread out.
"What do you want?" I snap once I'm away, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice. "I thought we were done."
The distorted voice hisses quietly through my helmet, the words for me alone. "Surely you understand why I sanctioned your death, Operative Shinga. Notifying Commander Shepard was a clear breach of our agreement. I must discourage such wilfulness. But you have survived and may yet be of some use. I will make you an offer, Mr. Parker. In exchange for my favour and a prestigious place in my organization, all you must do is shoot Mr. Feron and Miss T'Soni."
I stop. That certainly wasn't what I was expecting. Then again, I don't think I knew what to expect. I was fairly certain I could do it, too; neither Feron nor Liara would suspect me and drawing a weapon on Omega is never as threatening as it normally is…
Then I realise I'm actually considering it and thrust the thought from my mind. Like hell. Odds are he's not even good for his word and he'll kill me along with everyone else. No loose ends.
So I turn back to my omnitool, whisper harshly into it. "Not a fucking chance."
A faintly reptilian growl is my only response. I shut down the channel and turn back to the other two, forgoing walking pace for a dead sprint. "We need to go. This place isn't safe-"
Feron moves suddenly, hooking one of Liara's legs and twisting, violently throwing her to the ground, throwing himself on top of her. The harsh crack of a sniper round echoes through the derelict alley a split-second later and the Drell grunts in discomfort, one arm going to his side.
Some unknown instinct screams at me; I leap forward into a diving roll in response. A second bullet tears chunks from the steel plating of the ground a yard away, passing through the space my head occupied only a second ago. Definitely snipers. A regular rifle wouldn't have that much power behind one shot. Not good. There isn't much cover in the open street and I'm not confident that my barrier can handle a full-strength shot. I'm not in any hurry to test it, either.
"Feron!" I call, watching Liara drag the Drell into the shadow of an old apartment complex. I follow them in through a shattered window, the frame worn smooth by time. The place we find ourselves in looks like an old, broken down atrium, as nice as you could find on Omega. It's not exactly shelter but it gets us out of sight for a few seconds. The three of us hunker down behind the receptionist's desk, a solid old construction plated in tempered steel. It's not out of sight but it's the only place close enough to be useful. Sure enough, another shot tears chunks from the floor beside the desk, sending tiny shrapnel ricocheting off my barrier.
"Did you see where they're shooting from?" I ask. Liara shakes her head but Feron nods and cradles his arm, dark blood seeping from a long piece of jagged metal in his side.
"Yes. They're on top of one of the old factories, about two blocks south. Two snipers. I couldn't see their race or insignia."
Liara seems to have recovered her wind; her eyes now sharp as razors. It feels like forever ago that we picked her up in the Normandy, wide eyed and idealistic. Not anymore.
"How sure are you on numbers?" She asks, rolling her head up above the dilapidated counter to check the empty street.
"Eighty percent?" Feron grunts, bracing himself for a second before ripping the shrapnel out of his torso. The wound starts bleeding again almost immediately but an application of medi-gel seals the wound just as fast.
"How bad is it?" I ask. The piece of metal is of considerable size, most of it is dyed by his blood. If he were on the Citadel, he'd be in hospital and probably confined to bed. But he's on Omega. So he's fighting.
What a messed-up place.
"I've been better," he admits cheerfully. Seriously, what the fuck does it take to get this guy down? The Drell reaches into his pocket, producing a pair of binoculars. "I've also been worse. It's an interesting handicap."
A handicap. He considers being impaled by a shard of rusty metal nearly half a foot long to be a handicap? I know marines that would be screaming in agony, even with med-gel.
Another shot slams into the wall of the atrium, a metre or two above our heads.
"What do we do?" Liara asks.
"Assuming I can have a second to sight on him, I am confident we can kill him," the Drell theorises. I miss Shepard. I know it's unfair to compare her to ordinary people but if it were her then our attacker would already be dead. "Which may be slightly difficult, because no professional group on Omega would attempt an assassination with only snipers."
Liara frowns. "I don't think its uncommon elsewhere. Why is it different here?"
Another sniper shot slams into the wall less than a foot above our heads. "Can we please focus on the more pressing matter?" I snap angrily. "Theorycrafting can wait."
Good god, they're going on like a bunch of housewives. You're in combat, idiots. Act like it.
"Expect incoming infantry," Feron summarises.
Fuck. Pinned down by sniper fire, unable to retaliate, apparently with clean-up forces moving in. Then again, when have I ever been in an advantageous position? Virtually never. From the moment I ever first fought, in Chloe Michel's clinic, it seems I've been the underdog. From Therum to Feros to Noveria, Ilos and the Presidium itself I've always scrambled and struggled to win.
A round from the hidden snipers chooses that moment to punch through the steel-plated counter, drilling right through our cover and ricocheting off my barrier. The warm, protective feeling of my barrier vanishes instantly and the bullet deflects into the ground.
Without the desk's steel plating, I'd be dead, barrier or no. Well. That answers that question.
Feron snaps up immediately, eye glued to binoculars. If it's a bolt-action rifle, he'll have a second to find the targets. If not, well, I hope that shield of his is high quality.
"I recognise the gun," Feron announces happily, dropping back down as another round punches into the wall above his head. "Mantis rifles with tripods for extra stability. That suggests our assailants are of the Blue Suns."
Wonderful. No wonder the shot had so much power. That sniper bastard must be using one of those new heat-sink weapons. "With that much power, it has to be a thermal clip weapon," I grunt. How the hell did some Blue Sun on Omega get his hands on a gun like that?
"A what?" Liara asks, confused. I growl. Mother-fucking-shit-ass-bitch amateurs.
"New technology derived from Saren's Geth. Remove the cooling systems from a gun, devote the extra room to additional accelerators and increase the round's power. Disposable heat sinks contain the discharge heat, then you just eject and replace to keep firing. Means you have to carry the sinks around but it's much more dangerous. On the other hand, you never have to wait for your weapon to vent so long as you have a clip."
Really, with the state of weapon and shielding technology at the end of the battle against Sovereign, it was almost stupidly hard to kill something. You needed at least three or four shots even with a good gun to get through someone's shields, even Shepard had trouble getting consistent one-shot kills with the biggest gun she could carry.
Not that we ever had the same advantages, because the Geth invented the damn sinks.
"You're well informed," Feron acknowledges. "But fear not. This is also a heat-sink weapon." He gestures to his pistol, my eyes immediately narrow in envy. Damn it, not even I got one of those guns. Was it too much to ask? None of the regular gun merchants on the Citadel had any, they were military-exclusives for now. I'd thought my celebrity status counted for something but they still wanted to know what I would use it for. Apparently 'shooting spree in the Council Chambers' wasn't a good enough reason. Bastards.
"How did you get your hands on one of those?" I hiss, simultaneously jealous, irritated and a little sulky.
"Mr. Parker. Tobias. This is Omega," he explains proudly. "If it exists, it is traded here. There is not a military logistics specialist who is immune to the lure of easy credits."
Well. When you put it like that. Funny thing though; if a single gun in a shipment of twenty thousand goes missing, it's theft. Theft and a lucky Tobias Parkerwho has a fan among the marines pulling guard duty. But no, if the entire shipment of twenty thousand vanishes, it's a clerical error.
Fucking bureaucracy.
"How do you propose we distract the snipers?" I ask guardedly, uncomfortably aware of the practice of 'bait and shoot' in these kind of scenarios.
"I don't suppose we have any smoke grenades," Feron enquires hopefully.
"Do I look like a vanguard to you?" I shoot back sarcastically. "She's an archaeologist, I'm a medic. No, we don't have any grenades."
Feron's face falls ever so slightly. If I fortify my barrier to the utmost, then use Barrier Gift, maybe someone can survive taking a shot. If Feron's own weapon has thermal clips then it should be able to punch through the enemy sniper's shields even at this range. Assuming he can hit.
"Alright," I say, gritting my teeth. I hate leaving myself unprotected in the midst of battle but it has to be done. "I'll give you my barrier, it should let you survive at least one shot. In that time, you'll have to kill at least one of them."
The Drell smiles. "Excellent. Let's beg-"
More gunfire hammers into the front of the old apartment building, sending lethal shards of synthetic glass flying into the ruined atrium. Most of them shatter against the walls, covering the bullets that hammer against our cover. I force my barrier to full strength and peek out, catching a glimpse of a team of Blue Suns troopers picking their way across the uneven ground.
"Five more incoming, thirty metres and closing. Doesn't look like they're heat-sink equipped or we'd already be dead." One thing's for sure, cover's going to have to be a lot stronger in the future with the added power behind gunfire.
"How bunched up are they?" Liara asks, biting her lip. Now that I've tagged them, I can see them on my radar without looking. With a flick of my fingers I transfer the data to Liara and Feron.
"Three in the centre, one on each flank. Even the ones in the centre are too spread out to catch, though." They've obviously been trained to fight biotics. Any closer and they'd risk getting caught in a lift field all together. Two of them, maybe, but then you're exposed to the rest.
Liara flexes her fingers, a small smile on her face. "Don't underestimate me," she warns, a blue glow lighting up her hands. A blue comet erupts from her fingertips, winging towards the mercenaries. They scatter further at the sight of it, though they only manage a few steps before the homing projectile catches them. Liara's biotics blossom into a dark Singularity, a vortex of gravity with a wider area than anything I'd seen before. All three mercenaries stagger and stumble in the gravatic grip of the miniature black hole, in seconds brought from a full sprint to useless panicked flailing in the air.
Liara drops back behind cover with a satisfied smirk on her face, while Feron takes her place and drills a round through one of the helpless Sun's faceplates.
"Damn, Liara," I whistle appreciatively. I know I couldn't do that, even if I'm finally starting to get my new biotics figured out. Still, no way I'm going to let her show me up. My own green power flares to life, grabbing one of the two mercenaries on the edge of the Singularity. Liara's ultra-wide construct couldn't quite snare them but even so it made them stumble. Easy prey. Instead of pulling him towards us, I jerk him hard to the right, further from his friends.
A good thing I'd kept my head and gone against habit, too. The Blue Suns mercenary takes a sniper round to the back of the chest, neatly blocking the round aimed at me. The heat-sink enhanced round punches cleanly through shields and armour, spattering the ground with arterial spray. The blood spatters across the ground, one droplet even striking my faceplate. The coppery smell blood invades my nose and suddenly all I want is to fight-erase-kill. I sing in triumph, what would have been a simple surge of pride in my skill elevated to a bestial joy at causing the death of another living being.
There's no time to consider what that means, what it says about me. There's only enough time to raise my pistol and fire at the last unimpeded mercenary until my gun overheats and when the Turian is still standing at the end of the barrage, seemingly untouched by my fusillade, I vault the counter and sprint towards him, colouring the air with my song as green life-power-biotics swirls around my fists. The Blue Sun raises his rifle and lets off one accurate burst, the heavy bullets striking my barrier inches away from my forehead. My biotics deflect the screaming metal, the force of the lead forcing my head hard to one side. Still, a touch of whiplash can't stop my fists.
My first strike hits the metallic alien in the chest, caving his armour in from neck to navel. That alone probably kills him but I don't want to stop. To stop is to be unsure, to leave possibility of revenge. To ensure complete victory-safety-future you have to erase-cleanse-devour everything that they ever were. My second strike caves in the unmoving Turian's helmet, crushing it completely. My third rips his shoulder apart, my fourth his knee before Liara's shouting finally gets my attention, cutting through the blood song for my Queen that plays endlessly, sonorously inside my head.
"-er! -rker! Parker!" Not now I silently beg don't stop me now I'm finally doing what I'm supposed to do and if you stop me I'll have to go back and face myself and then I'll never be able to trust myself again and it feels so good…
Feron's hand takes my shoulder and jerks me back, spilling me unceremoniously onto my back. The dead wing-bird-Turian has more bones broken than whole, bleeding from every tear in his armour.
The song is silent.
Good god. I really am a monster.
And an idiot, too. Right out in the open, in plain view of the snipers that hounded us into this mess. One sniper round nearly killed me through my barrier. Two would certainly finish the job. And just to make matters infinitely worse, another three Blue Suns mercenaries fight their way clear of a collapsed building, bringing their guns up and pointing them straight at me.
That's when the booming retort of a sniper rifle echoes through the street, I sigh in resignation. An idiot indeed.
A moment later, one of the three new mercenaries drops to the ground, just crumples like a marionette with severed strings. In the instant before he hits the ground, I see a massive hole through his torso.
That's interesting.
Another ear-splitting crack echoes through the street, another mercenary drops with half a head.
Very interesting.
Liara and Feron take care of the third mercenary but even before he's dead I don't care about him, he's irrelevant. I stare openly at the rooftop Feron flagged as the sniper's nest, immobile. If anyone on that rooftop had wanted to shoot me, they've had ample time to do so. Nobody's such a bad sniper that they hit their allies twice, not with shots that fatal. So, that means one of two things: either someone's on our side or someone wants Blue Suns dead. There's a slight but subtle difference.
"It seems the Blue Suns snipers are no longer an issue," Feron summarises but I hear the interest in his tone, interest that sours noticeably. "And that we owe the newcomers our thanks."
A human head rises above the line of the roof, shortly followed by the rest of the man, who makes his way down to ground level easily. He raises a hand in greeting, a gesture which I mirror. I'm still not sure if we're going to be allies but it's not wise to antagonise someone with that kind of firepower and positioning. As he closes three figures step out to join him. Black visor obscures their faces but the heavy white armour leaves no doubt about that the newcomers are military.
"Looks like you needed the help," the leader says cockily, resting his Mantis against his shoulder in a casual display of strength. It's hard to hold a gun like that for long. The rest of his group falls in behind him, one woman and two men.
"Possibly," I respond warily, fixing with a flat look. This is Omega. People don't just help others out of the good of their hearts, especially in a place as remote as this. "Why did you intervene?"
Again the man's hands go up, this time in a placating manner. At the thought that he might be submitting, that he might be unprepared to fight and kill me, my Rachni instincts urge me to go for his throat. After all, his weapon is almost useless in close quarters and it would be easy and then I could dominate the rest of them, bind them to my will, employ them against the Broker in whatever manner I saw fit…
"I don't mean no harm to or yours," the white juggernaut says, snapping me out of my daze. Control, I have to control it. Or I'll be the one lying lifeless in the street. "Just seemed like the right thing to do, you know?"
The other three stay silent and even now the leader hasn't raised or cleared his visor. "You're obviously official," I say, changing tactics. "Where do you come from? Are you mercenaries?"
The leader folds his rifle and stows it, tapping his visor. The now-clear window reveals a red-faced human, freckled and tanned. Not from around here, not with that complexion. They're on Omega for something special.
I don't like it when other people know something I don't.
"Yeah, you could say we're mercenaries," he replies cheerfully. "Though we mostly go out without being paid. Fighting for the greater good and all that. I guess that makes us vigilantes instead, huh?"
Perhaps my guess about their origin was wrong? Their leader's demeanour doesn't seem military, even if his equipment does. "So what do you want with us, then?
"Eh, we'll take you back to our base. Debrief you and all that. You guys look pretty well-off yourself, maybe you want to join up with us?"
"Do we have a choice?" Liara asks scathingly, glancing pointedly at the three anonymous troopers still holding their weapons.
The leader smiles. "Hey now, it ain't so bad as all that. We just want to talk, figure out exactly what's going on around here. Come on. I insist."
"We don't have much time as it is," Liara hisses through our personal comm channel, something our new hosts allowed us. At least there's that. "We have to get away from these people if we want to snatch the objective."
Well, she's growing up quickly. Never referring to anything by name where it's not strictly necessary. If we weren't basically under house arrest I might even be glad.
"Who are these people anyway?" Our Asari companion fumes, reaching for the water.
"I believe they're Cerberus," Feron announces casually. Liara nearly spits out her mouthful.
"I highly doubt that," I retort. "We had some run-ins with Cerberus while we were tracking Saren. They'd only have saved us to put a bullet in our heads themselves."
"Oh?" The Drell enquires. "Then what is your opinion of our hosts?"
"Black-ops Alliance, maybe, or a PMC. I can see Anderson pulling some strings to get us some extra manpower."
"A little rough for the Councillor's hires, I would think," Liara argues. "I believe them. There are countless small groups in the galaxy that do what they claim to do. Omega needs people like them. Protectors."
The words hit my head like a bolt of lightning. Like a nonsensical puzzle that suddenly makes sense.
Vigilante-Omega-Protector. Archangel. Garrus Vakarian. Two year timespan of insurgency on Omega with nominal goal of improving civilian quality of life. Eventual recruitment by Shepard near beginning of events of Mass Effect 2. Traitorous member of squad necessitating Shepard's intervention. Secondary squad that really should have been more expanded on by Bioware, a period in which Vakarian gains versatile leadership experience that makes him an ideal choice for… something.
I remember. Some of it, at least. Too little, too late.
Shepard should be alive.
Fuck.
The door creaks, old metal shrieking as it opens. The woman standing in the open portal studies us carefully and another spasm of recollection shoots through my skull.
Codename Prodigal, genetically-adjusted human clone. Alternate gender reproduction of human mogul Henry Lawson with goal of perfecting human ability. Nearly all attributes specifically chosen. Capable biotic, notable tech skills. Second in command of pro-human terrorist organization 'Cerberus'.
"I suspect you're wondering what you're all doing here," she says. The accent drives even more memories home. Younger sister, genetically identical twin, follow-up on first prototype's results. Potentially used as replacement for Prodigal should she prove difficult. Name; Oriana Lawson. Which makes this person… "My name is-" She continues.
"Miranda Lawson." I finish, barely even aware that my mouth is moving. The woman stills, her broader focus narrowing instantly to a laser-sharp piercing stare.
Well, I guess Feron was right. Which means we are in a substantial degree of trouble. Lawson opens her mouth to speak but I beat her to it. "What does Cerberus want with us, then?"
Liara starts and I see her hand move under the table where the glow of biotics is more easily hidden.
Miranda hesitates, probably deciding whether or not to follow up on my knowledge of her. Evidently, it can wait. "Well. That takes care of introductions. You're here because we have a common interest."
I wait for her to continue and she waits for me to speak. She raises an eyebrow, I grit my teeth silently. I'm in no position to wait her out. "And what might that interest be? I'd say that considering Cerberus' track record with us and non-humans in general I'd say we have very few things in common."
The perfect human being smiles. It's a smile I know well, the smile where you have your enemies by the short hairs. "We both have an interest in recovering the corpse of Commander Shepard, do we not?"
"I don't think we do," Liara declares with cold ferocity. "We want to give her a proper burial. Not turn her over to your psychopathic scientists to cut up and experiment on."
The prodigal sighs. "I expected nothing different. I haven't been given clearance to discuss the project with you, so I'll let you hear it firsthand." From a pocket she produces a small sphere, a free-floating device around which the hologram of a human forms.
A human in an impeccable suit, with features reminiscent of an elder statesman. The sight brings back yet more memoires. Are they triggered by visual stimulus? Then why haven't more returned on the Citadel? It's also possible that they're triggered by trauma. Either way, I know who he is: The Illusive Man, head and founder of Cerberus. Excessively dangerous, if my partially-returned memories are any indication. A master of information control, manipulation and a tested combat veteran.
The hologram is full colour too, so I received the full weight of his piercing green eyes boring into my face. "Tobias Parker. I've been hoping our paths would cross."
Blatantly ignoring Liara and Feron, I see. I suppose I shouldn't have expected any different from the leader of a xenophobic human-supremacist group. "Is that so? I can't imagine why," I reply coldly. No, Cerberus hasn't done me any favours, that's for sure.
The Illusive Man frowns slightly, as if he has no idea what I'm talking about. His hands don't move into a defensive position, either. "You are the only human survivor of the mission to track and eliminate Saren Arterius. Not even Commander Shepard herself could survive in the end." Damn, he's cold. I thought I was good at brutal ruthlessness but something in his clear eyes sends shivers down my spine.
No, it would certainly not be a good idea to mention that I know his name. I don't want to be a pawn in Jack Harper's schemes and in no way am I threatening enough to give him pause. Hell, if he knew about my Rachni physiology he'd probably already want to dissect me. I can't deny there's a sweet appeal to dropping a bomb I have no way of knowing but such a momentary pleasure would be just that- momentary.
I'm sure it would be a great solace while my brain was being extracted with a spatula.
So instead of trying to score verbal points, I fold my arms. "Shepard survived the mission. Given your infiltration of AONI, I feel it's a safe assumption you know she didn't have a chance to fight for her own survival. And I still haven't heard a reason why you'd want our paths to cross."
The Illusive Man's eyebrow rises fractionally at the mention of AONI. Hey, I might not want to declare myself a threat but I sure as hell don't want to come across as defenceless.
"You certainly don't disappoint," he says with a smile. "As you seem rather impatient, I'll cut to the heart of the matter. Operative Lawson is, under my direct supervision, leading a task group codenamed 'Lazarus'. Are you familiar with the tale?"
"Lazarus," I intone impatiently. "A friend and follower of Jesus of Nazareth who died during the years of Jesus' ministry. He was later raised from the dead by the Messiah as recorded in the Bible. Some scholars attribute to him the Gospel of John."
It's only then that the importance of those words filter into my brain.
"You can't be serious," I state flatly.
"On the contrary," Cerberus' founder answers with a satisfied smile. "I'm quite serious."
Project Lazarus. Succinctly, a project with one goal: the restoration of life to one who has ceased to live. Resurrection of the dead. The words themselves are simple to grasp but the enormity of their combined meaning nearly knocks me from my feet. I mean, that's what death is. Death is, it's the absence of life. I once heard one of my teachers say that cold wasn't the opposite of heat, just its absence. That darkness wasn't the opposite of light, just its absence.
Death isn't life's opposite, not really. Just its absence. So I can understand the conceptual idea, the theoretical possibility that sometime in the future medical science might advance to a point where even death is curable.
But this isn't some abstract point in the future. This is here. This is now.
I could have my Queen back.
Well damn. Doesn't that just change things. "How certain are you of success?" I shoot at the hologram. "It's all well and good to say you can do the impossible but talk is cheap."
"I can only offer you my personal assurance at this point in time. Doubtless if you were at a Cerberus installation or even a civilised world I could deliver the research to you but that's not the case."
Yeah, I walked into that one. Tch. Fine. "So you've proven we have a common interest. You still haven't solved the problem we have with working with Cerberus."
"I assure you, your other associates will come to no harm from my people. Distasteful though it might be, they are necessary to bring this part of Project Lazarus to completion."
"That doesn't solve any problems I might have with Cerberus," I answer caustically, irritated at how blatantly he's dismissing Liara and Feron. "I'm sure your surveillance has everything about my life from the moment I was born. I don't like humanity all that much, you know. Why would I want to work with a pro-human terrorist and his sycophants? Especially after that clusterfuck with your Project Scourge."
Harper nods. "Ah, that explains your reluctance. I apologise for the actions of my former subordinates, though I can't take responsibility for the actions of deserters."
That lying, cunning, manipulative bastard. Deserters, my ass.
"Deserters, were they?" I ask, phrasing it as a question. It's not.
"I'm afraid so," he answers in the same tone, looking me dead in the eye. He doesn't even flinch.
It's almost enough to convince me he's telling the truth. I won't bring up Pressley, since that was all technically my fault.
I force myself to smile. "Well," I say, injecting far more cheer into the word than previously. "It would be unfair to judge you and your people based on the actions of a few traitors."
"Excellent," the image responds graciously. "Operative Lawson will brief you on our leads and resources. Good luck."
So much for simplicity.
A/N: Cerberus, the Broker and Mercenaries oh my. I hope this fits the bill for fast-paced, cause there'll be no breaks for exposition until the end I hope. Like I said earlier, I don't want this story to drag on.
First things first, what I've been reading lately. On the SI front, I have to recommend DelVar0's story Massed Up and it's sequel, Massed Up 2. Both are fun, well-written engaging stories with strong characters and a few OCs that fit in beautifully. Other awesome stories include The Naked Pen's Mass Effect: Interregnum, which is the best portrayal of Omega and Garrus' Archangel days that I've ever seen. I've been rereading it to get into the Omega feel, and been since battling with an inferiority complex. But seriously, all three are great pieces of writing and I recommend them wholeheartedly.
Secondly, shoutouts. To The Extroverted Recluse, my stupendously awesome editor, I couldn't do it without her. Also to everyone who's reviewed and critiqued thus far, thank you for your interest and feedback! It's all been super helpful and it definitely encourages me to write faster. To my guest reviewers, I'd love to respond to you personally but I can't unless you have an account on the site!
Thirdly and most importantly, BIG NEWS! READ THIS! I'd like everyone to weigh in for this! Initially I'd planned for The Reclamation Effect to be the story of how Parker, Liara and co go about getting Shepard's body to Project Lazarus so she can come back. However, that was never going to be more than a month or so of the two-year timeskip. I have Parker's activities planned out for the entire period, so my question to you readers is this: Would you like me to write more original stories in the two-year gap (I have one planned), or do you want the events of the two years to be gradually revealed as Mass Effect 2 unfolds? I will be hosting a poll on my profile that I'll be using to gauge response, but if you'd like me to respond personally you can always review or PM me.
Last, well, you people are all awesome for taking time out of your days to read my stuff. I'm super grateful to all of you! Let me know what you thought of the chapter in a review or a PM, have a crack at predicting the future of the story if you're feeling bold! Have an awesome fortnight. Until next time!