Rewritten as of February 4th, 2017
As Tyler's deep baritone voice cut through the otherwise silent room, both heads immediately snapped over to look at him.
The marine tried to keep his composure, he really did, but as he gazed upon the facial expressions of the two Cerberus operatives', he couldn't help but bark out a laugh. The scene was as priceless as it was surreal. One did not often meet up with characters out of a beloved video game series, after all.
Jacob, a former Corsair turned elite Cerberus Operative, looked flustered to say the least. His chocolate brown eyes were wide in what could only be described as incredulousness, and his lips were parted slightly as if his jaw muscles had given out. Dark skin flushed, he looked as if he was trying to formulate a response to, but it was quite clear he wasn't in the state to properly do so at the moment.
Miranda Lawson, on the other hand, was as close to anger incarnate as was humanly possible. Rage and wrath could have been more on point, perhaps, because if looks could kill, there was no doubt in the marine's mind that he would have been little more than a pile of ash under the woman's heated gaze. There was a fire in her cerulean eyes, which he suspected were normally cool as ice. Her breathing had grown shallow, something Tyler tried to not pay too much attention to, given the fact that it caused her chest to rise and fall more quickly.
Oh yeah, and she was glowing. A blue...what Tyler could only describe as a swirling mist of lightning wrapping itself around her fists, before traveling up further to encompass her forearms.
Shit. He had forgotten for a brief moment that she wasn't a mere human, but perhaps one of humanity's strong biotics.
Double shit. Jacob had actually broken out of his confused state of mind to give Miranda an abashed look. If he was caught off guard by her actions, than it probably meant Tyler was already in more dire straits than he would have liked to admit. Not that stumbling through a Cerberus facility of some kind, which undoubtedly had to be considered secure if the pair of operatives was present, helped his case much to begin with.
"Freya," the former Corsair practically hissed at his counterpart. "We need him alive right now," he made a point of emphasizing that as he nodded in restrained marine's direction. "Not a bloody smear on the wall. If you're that deadset on it, do it later. Just not now."
Well if that ain't reassuring, I dunno what is. The voice of Tyler's mind mused dryly. There was a half-second before something clicked. Wait...did he call her Freya? As in the viking goddess? What the hell is that supposed to be, some kind of cover name?
It was a little silly in his opinion. It wasn't as if hearing their real names would have compromised their own operational security. Especially when all they had to do was space him and be done with it. No one would have known any better, Tyler understood with a certain grimness.
Of all the ways to die, freezing his ass of in space while he asphyxiated was not on his 'to-do' list.
In response to Jacob's request, the Ice Queen of Cerberus let out a low, feline kind of sound as she bared her perfectly white teeth for a moment. It ranked somewhere between a snarl and a growl. Regardless of what one wanted to call it, the noise sent a shiver down the marine's spine, and he could only look on helplessly as there was another, angry flash of biotics from the woman. Miranda said something in a low, deadly tone to her partner, but Tyler couldn't make it out quite make it out over the crackle of energy in the air, and the sheer terror running through his veins.
"Relax for the sake of Yahweh. Your death this early into our endeavors would make me hauling you into the future nothing short of vain. She is more than capable of hurting you, do not get me wrong, but actually ending your life would be more trouble than even she would want to go through. Believe me, I've made sure of that." A very familiar voice echoed in Tyler's head, sounding about as amused as possible.
"How the hell can you...you know what, never mind." The marine replied mentally, his own tone as confused as it was disbelieving. "Sod off," he added a moment later, punctuating the request with a mental grunt.
A good part of Tyler's conscience was under the impression that he was just going downright crazy now. The other half of his mind was wondering if this was just his brain messing with him while he bled out somewhere back in Afghanistan.
He wasn't quite sure which was the preferable option. But it was better than the possible reality of being flayed alive by Miranda Lawson herself.
"You humans are always some of the most ungrateful bastards. The Protheans practically fell over one another trying to win my favor." Was this supposed god-like being grumbling? Because it really sounded like he was to Tyler.
"Anyways," there was a pause as the echo sounded as if he was taking a breath. "I can do a lot more than just haunt your mind. Things like this." The American blinked, and then again and again in a repeated action. Next to the Miranda and Jacob, the mysterious demigod had materialized next to them, now dressed in a Cerberus work uniform.
"So this is the part where I'm supposed to start pissing myself, right? Ghosts materializing in front of me? Fictional characters wanting to kill me? All that jazz? They sure as hell didn't teach me how to handle this in the Corp…"
"Maybe not, maybe yes, but it is entertaining regardless." The demigod grinned as he winked out of the physical universe again, returning to his place in Tyler's head.
"Seriously man, you can go fuck off whenever it suits you, I won't mind…"
The marine fully intended to grumble more at the demigod who thought he was important to haunt, but as he returned his attention to his surroundings again, the quick spoken words of the two Cerberus operatives caught his attention. "-well you obviously didn't doing a good enough job, Taylor. Even a damn krogan should still be out for the count with how much you gave him!" The raven haired woman hissed as she glared over at her partner.
"I swear, I gave him the dose just like you told me to…" Trailing off, Jacob looked down at the man sitting at the other end of the interrogation-styled table. His lips pressed together for a moment, before he flicked his wrist, a dull orange glow of his omni-tool surrounding his wrist. "Fuck. Val, we need you in here, right now. There is a situation. Our friend somehow decided to wake his ass up."
Me? A situation? Really? Tyler thought, left a speechless as he glanced between the two operatives. Perhaps it was survival instincts, or just general stupidity, but the marine began to struggle against the omni-gel handcuffs that encompassed his wrists. Whoever this 'Val' person was, he had the sinking suspicion that they were not someone he wanted to meet. Especially if they were needed to handle the situation that he apparently was.
At the sounds of omni-gel scraping against the pla-steel chair -which didn't so much as move, giving Tyler the impression that it was welded to the damn floor- the pair of Cerberus operatives in the room narrowed their eyes in unison. They didn't budge, however. "I would suggest you stop that. Much bigger and better people have tried to escape. None have succeeded," Jacob said with an irritating air of confidence.
"Big talk for a man who couldn't use a damn needle right," Tyler shot back at the man, slowly easing in his struggle. It was clear, unfortunately, that simply breaking these cuffs wasn't going to work like in the movies.
Not that he had a plan after his increasingly theoretical escape. Dying on his feet just sounded better than being tortured in a chair.
Jacob let out a low growl as he stepped forward, bracing his hands against the table with a loud thud. Miranda, despite her fury, seemed to almost smile for a moment, the corners of her lips quirking before she quickly reigned the expression into cold-as-ice-with-space-magic-to-boot.
Before Jacob could speak, however, there was a mechanical hum behind Tyler. Titling his head as far as he could, he could see one of the sliding, Mass Effect styled doors open up to reveal an armored figure. If not for the slightly curved chestplate, he wouldn't have been able to tell that the operative was a woman at all. The simple appearance of this new arrival made the marine more unsettled than he already was, her gaze effectively emotionless due to the polarized visor that she wore.
"Ég biðst afsökunar á seinlætinu mína. Skurðaðgerð gráðu róandi og vöðvaslakandi relaxers eru ekki hluti af venjulegu bardaga pakki." Her words were heavily modulated and emotionless to the restrained marine. There was nothing about her movements that seemed to waste energy as she stepped forward and unceremoniously deposited a box on the table before Tyler. It was made of metal, and had an all around rugged appearance. The only markings on it were the seemingly universal red cross of medical technicians, surrounded by a white circle to emphasize the symbol.
"Don't worry about it, Val." Miranda replied as she glanced at the new arrival, her tone cold enough to make Tyler flinch when she turned her attention towards him. "Our guest here was just trying to test his bindings. They are more than sufficient."
"You can understand her?" Tyler blurted as he glanced between the two women, his eyes wide as they ever had been. To him, nothing this apparent medic (or maybe she was a doctor) had said made even the smallest bit of sense to him. It was, without a doubt, the furthest thing from English that he had heard in a long time. At most, he managed to pick up a few sounds that were vaguely similar to Norwegian. He had served with a few of them back in Afghanistan.
"And you can't?" Jacob scoffed, then seemed to pause for a moment. Shifting his stance, he studied the marine a little more closely, his brows furrowing in realization. "Ah, right. You didn't have a translator on you when you were apprehended," he said a little more quietly. "We'll make sure that you get one then." Though the man was a prisoner, and really didn't deserve anything, a translator was pretty much a must anymore. A prime example was the space station they were on now. Well over half the personnel onboard either spoke English as a second language, or didn't at all.
"Another time, Jacob." His raven haired partner shot back at him. Glancing at the presumably Scandinavian medic, she went on. "Are you ready there?"
"Já. Ég blanda skammtana lítið sterkari en ég myndi venjulega. Rétt eins og precaution." The armored woman replied sharply, screwing a vial, with black and yellow biohazard markings, closed tightly. Double checking it, she was apparently satisfied as she set the vial aside. Reaching down, her fingers wrapped around around a device that looked like a futuristic caulk gun.
A very efficient way of administering shots, if Tyler had to guess.
"Aw, come on now. Can't we talk about this?" Throughout the whole meeting, there had been a certain drawl to his words, courtesy of growing up in the south. But now, as his tone grew a little more distressed, it became more pronounced. The reason for this? Tyler really hated needles. More so than the warrior in him wanted to admit.
"Talking will occur later during your interrogation. For now, why don't you just rest?" The biting sarcasm in her tone made the marine swallow. Before he could respond, however, he felt a gloved hand wrap around the base of his neck in a controlling manner, more or less locking him in place. The last thing he remembered was the gleam of the medic's visor reflected on the table as a needle sunk into the side of his neck.
All things considered, the situation could have been worse. That was what Tyler tried to convince himself as he returned to reality with a groan, his vision hazy and unfocused until he managed to blink the rheum away, his hands still secured tightly to the plasteel chair that he was confined to. Sure, his current lodgings were nothing short of cramped, perhaps ten feet by eight feet, with the table in front of him taking up a good deal of said space.
Some part of him was oddly grateful that the demigod who had effectively kidnapped him, hadn't been cruel enough to dump him somewhere like Omega, or any other Terminus hellhole for that matter. Anyone in Council space would have likely locked him up in jail or a mental ward indefinitely, until they figured out what to do with him, but someone like Aria would have either sold him off into slavery, or simply killed him and fed him to the varren.
"Quite the mess you've gotten yourself into here," a voice mused. This time, however, it was not in Tyler's head.
With a grandiose flash that made the marine blink, lest he go blind in the face of such a powerful burst of light, the demigod who had dragged him into the future (or was it another plane of the multiverse?) materialized out of thin air. He was dressed much differently than before, trading out his Cerberus work uniform for a set of gleaming armor that appeared to be Romanesque in style, or perhaps even Greek.
"You've been on this station for no less than a solar day, and already you've gotten yourself into a good deal of trouble. Miss Lawson seems to have nothing but disdain for you, and Mister Taylor can't figure out what to make of you." The scraping of the chair across from Tyler made the marine blink in realization, the god-guy was going to take an actual damn seat. "Everyone else on station is either unaware of your presence, or has been instructed to keep quiet about it. Probably for the best. I doubt a nutty bunch like Cerberus would take kindly to finding out that they were infiltrated without so little as an indication until after the fact."
"You talk too fucking much," Tyler grumbled irritably. His first instinct was to reach up and rub his eyes, and as he pulled against his chair this time, the handcuffs fell away with a clatter. Eyes widening, he looked at the demigod, he gave him a cocky little smirk. "Are you ever going to pick a final form, by the way, or do I need to expect the rest of my haunting to include you in a different out from your wardrobe every time?"
It was becoming both annoying and confusing. First he had chosen to pose as Kai Leng, then as a Cerberus officer, and now he looked as if he had just come from a Macedonian battlefield. If he kept it up, Tyler was halfway convinced that he'd lose track of two-bit god.
"You could call this my final form, if you wish. I based it rather heavily off of Alexander the Great. He was a damn fine soldier, and a good friend." The so-called god almost sounded wistful as he settled in his seat. Leaning back, he displayed a rather poor posture, but seemed to care very little. "I fought alongside him several times, even. Mostly for my own pleasure, but sometimes when he was in a tight spot. Even without my help, he was worth of immortal incarnation. Through me," he grinned as he motioned towards his armor.
"Explains why he was so damn effective on the battlefield. Hard to lose when you've a damn demigod on your side." Despite everything, Tyler sound amused. Thinking for a moment, his chocolate eyes lit up and he gazed across the table at the heavenly being. "Would you mind if I called you Alex, then? It's easy to remember."
"If that is your desire, than I would find that to be acceptable. There is no harm in you doing so," Alex replied with another, small shrug. He'd been called far worse, by far lesser beings. The Protheans, in particular, had been rather damn prideful when he had tried to bestow powers unto one of their more qualified warriors.
After a moment of pause, Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows against the plasteel table before him. Whatever joking attitude had been about him, if one wanted to call it that, was suddenly dashed away; replaced by a deadly serious tone and facial expression. "In the next five to ten minutes, you're going to have company again. Miss Lawson and Taylor are aware of your reawakening. They are just finalizing their plans of action in regards to interrogating you." The aspect explained, words sharp and deliberate. "If you wish to survive these coming days, than I suggest you listen to me now. You may not have another chance."
"Hey now, what was with that whole 'me dying too soon would make things pointless' speech, then?" Tyler retorted, lifting up his hands and flexing his fingers to punctuate the point.
Alex did not look amused, an edge of actual annoyance in his tone. "I can control any number of things in this universe, but the actions of others is not one of them. Even if I 'haunt' you as you seem to believe, I cannot stop you from doing anything stupid, at least not without having to get my own hands dirty. The Master values free will. Rather greatly, in fact." There was a pause. "So, needless to say, if Miss Lawson decides to be done with you, than I cannot prevent her from doing so. Not without the assistance of another of the Master's agents."
Tyler swallowed thickly, and pondered on it for a moment. "There are...other agents. People like me?" He ventured, studying Alex closely.
"Yes. There are. However, their own situations are complicated, to say the least." The blank look that Alex received in reply was more than enough indication for him to continue. "The Master has other agents, other 'beings' if you really wish to strive for accuracy. Unfortunately, I cannot see their actions, or even who or what species they are. Therefore, I cannot warn you, should you ever come in contact with them. I'll be left blind, efficacy, which could be a problem."
It was part of why the last cycle had gone so badly. While the Protheans were destined to fail from the beginning, their size of their expansive Empire being their biggest weakness, they had never been good agents anyways. They had failed to truly heed Alex's or Athame's warnings, and when said wielders of great power had come to blows, drawn to each other like moths to the flame, both had ended up mortally wounded and left to die as the Reapers descended upon the Prothean homeworld.
"Is there nothing you can tell me about these 'agents'...or the gods like you who oversee them?" Tyler questioned slowly. If he was stuck in this damn Galaxy, he wanted to know his enemy, or allies, in this case.
Alex's lips pulled at the corners, a rather mortal sign of body language, as he rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What I can say is that there are many others like me. What sides they fight for are another matter, however," he sounded about as weary as he could for a god. "There is the crafter of us all, the universe, and the like. We simply refer to him as the 'Master.' Aside from me, there are two other brothers of mine in this galaxy. One is Roku, he is the God of fire. The other is Keto, he is Death."
"Damn," Tyler blinked slowly. This sure as hell hadn't been covered during his upbringing in the Catholic church. "So, what sort of God does that make you then?"
"War," Alex responded with a more regal attitude to him than before.
"Like Kratos?" Tyler blurted out, a little grin playing on his lips. He could have sworn he heard the God snort at that one.
"He is something of a wannabe in my book, as well as a rather fictional character, but yes...you could compare me to him if you really wish to." There was a pause, and an almost chuckle. "In a one-on-one fight, however, I have little doubt about the fact that I would remain victorious."
Tyler grinned a little wider. Perhaps Alex wouldn't be as insufferable as first imagined...not that he had any plans of befriending the heavenly being. The feeling of amusement in him did not last much longer, as he did a little mental math. They were running out of time. "Why did you send me here, Alex? How does Miranda and Jacob play into all of this? Hell, even Cerberus too?" He questioned, tilting his head to the side slightly, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"They're one of the more powerful organizations in the Milky Way, despite their relatively small size compared to some. Furthermore, they're not like the Alliance or Council; burying their heads in the sand and pretending that the Reapers are just a Geth Hoax. If you want any chance of fulfilling your true purpose, or even meeting Shepard for that matter, I recommend that you remain within their realm of favor. Miranda's, more specifically, given how influential she is."
"Okay...if you say so," Tyler muttered quietly in reply.
Alex glanced over at the door for a moment and then rose up suddenly. "I bid thee farewell. I shall return to you, in this for, in the near future."
Just as quickly as he had appeared, the demigod winked out of existence.
"For the last bloody time, who are you, and how did you get on this bloody station?"
"I told you, I don't know!" Tyler grunted back in frustration, his chocolate eyes narrowing at his interrogators. Because really, what could he say? Oh yeah, I'm here because the God of War is convinced I'm going to help stop the Reapers. And he probably wants amusement from my misfortune along the way, too. Because that totally would help his case, and convince Cerberus that he didn't belong in a looney bin.
Come to think of it, Teltin was probably a nice place to visit this time of year.
"I've already told you guys a million times. One minute I was on earth, and the next minute, I was waking up in the middle of one of you guys' damned storage bays. I'm not supposed to be here, and hell, I don't want to be here." If his hands were free, Tyler would have likely been pointing rather sharply at his captors. But alas, Alex had restrained his hands again on the way out, and as it turned out, Cerberus knew their ropes...literally.
"No shit," The second investigator in the room muttered, crossing his burly arms over his chest as he looked down his nose at Tyler.
Sighing, the marine leaned back into his seat. This was perhaps the most annoying part of his captivity thus far. In the hours -or maybe it was days- that he had been on this station that had yet to stray from the general theme of how he had ended up on whatever station they were currently on. The most he could really hope for was that they would change the wording of the queries every other time that they decided to drop by his cell.
Of course, it didn't help that Cerberus had decided to have these two buffoons interrogate him, rather than Miranda or Jacob. While it had seemed tolerable at first, long term exposure to the pair of them was seriously starting to wear on his patience. They weren't utilizing the whole 'good cop, bad cop' routine.
No, they were much more preferential to the 'bad cop, cynical asshole with occasional sarcasm' schtick.
"Alright, let's start this over." That statement made Tyler groan, literally, this time as he leaned back in his seat heavily. His interrogator simply narrowed his eyes and continued to press on; glancing down at his datapad for only a moment. "There are no records of you, anywhere. No Alliance databases, no colonial databases, not even from any independent colonies out on the Terminus. You claim to be from Earth, but even street urchins there have some kind of record about them. You though? Not a single damn thing."
Cynical asshole -correction, the interrogator's partner in crime- snorted as he uncrossed his arms to lean against the table. "I'm sticking with my theory that you're a druggie. Wouldn't be the first time someone got high on dust and fell asleep on one of our transports," he snorted. "You'd just be the first to make it past our screening procedures."
"Hey now, I'm no fucking druggie!" Tyler hissed back at them, more than a little insulted. He didn't so much as drink outside of social occasions, and here these bastards were accusing him of getting high on a drugs he had no interest in even seeing in person.
"Pssh, he obviously isn't. Too...alive looking to be indulging in that shit," the first man grunted as he glanced up at his partner. "Plus, his blood work came back clean of any intoxicants, alcohol, or other mind-altering substances. "I wouldn't write off some Terminus militiaman though. It explain the archaic slugthrowers were found on him."
Apparently, the age of proper bullets and gunpowder hadn't completely died out yet, unlike what Tyler had been led to believe. No modern military force utilized them; however, given how ineffective they were when compared in performance to any mass accelerator based weapon. 'Slugthrowers' were their colloquial name, apparently, and were only used by some police forces for their suppressibility, and groups that were so strapped for cash that they couldn't afford proper weapons.
"Yes, yes, but we'd have to rule that one out, assuming our friend here is telling the truth." Asshole number two replied, looking down at Tyler as they continued to speak as if he wasn't in the room. "He said that he hails from earth, and was dressed like a paramilitary trooper. Those genetic tests of his said that he was what...half-Asian?" He paused to peer over his partner's shoulder for confirmation. "Filipino, huh? What were you kid, paramilitary? Local security forces?" While Cerberus didn't get many direct shipments from Earth, the investigator wasn't going to rule out anything, regardless of how inclined he was to believe that this kid was nothing more than a nuisance that needed to be dealt with.
The fact that they had taken his blood, as well as analyzed his genome, irritated Tyler to no end, though he really shouldn't have been all that surprised. It was Cerberus, after all. They didn't understand boundaries, nor did they really care when or if they crossed them, so long as they profited at the end of the day. "My mother was from the Philippines," the marine responded slowly. "But I'm from the United States." Really, it was something that they could have found out just by studying the uniform he had appeared in. His nationality was not something he had any vested interest in covering up.
Neither of the investigators looked all that convinced, and for good reason. The United States hadn't not been a country for quite some time, replaced by the larger and more powerful Union of North America. It was not something either of them had time to comment on, though, as the door to the room slid open to reveal a pair of heavily armed soldiers. "You're dismissed, gentlemen. Mister Taylor and I will take over from here."
Ah, the sickly sweet sound of Miranda's voice. Somehow, Tyler had actually come to miss it. There was no doubt in his mind that it was far nicer than those of the two assholes who had tried to work him over for who knew how long.
"Have a wonderful day, gentleman." Tyler couldn't help but grin wryly as he watched the investigators pack up. They were slow about it, giving him looks of distaste all the while. Christo, when I am going to meet someone from Cerberus who isn't a cockskull?
As soon as they two lower ranking officers disappeared, Miranda and Jacob stepped into the room, a pair of heavily armed soldiers taking up positions on either side of the door slid closed. In the half second that Tyler actually got to peek beyond the four walls of his cell, he swore he saw the wording: Science Department Storage, Section D-5 along the wall. It led him to believe that they hadn't had much time to prepare his lodgings.
As they drifted into the room which much more defined grace than their predecessors, Tyler couldn't help but take a moment to truly study the pair who stood before him. Miranda was everything that the games made her out to be, and then some, due to the fact that she was no longer confined to pixels on a television or computer screen. Her skin was an angelic shade of alabaster, her eyes so blue that he swore that they could look into his very soul, and she filled out her catsuit in ways that he really wished they didn't. Not that he was complaining, but it made it rather hard to focus, at the moment.
In a similar way, Jacob carried himself with the same swagger that he had appeared to. It was clear that he wasn't the one in charge, but it didn't seem to bother him, as he filled the role of the Ice Queen's loyal shadow. He was bigger than Tyler had expected, standing the better part of six feet in height, with a muscular build that would have made Hercules weep. When his hands weren't resting behind his back, they were hooked on the material of his uniform belt, as if he was ready to draw his weapons at any moment.
Which he probably was. They were making Tyler out as some kind of big criminal, though he likely posed more danger to himself than anyone else. They may have been towards the top of Cerberus' command echelon, but he doubted they knew just how the galaxy as they knew it was supposed to end in a couple of mere years.
Then again, they could have very well known everything, and were already preparing for Ragnarök. Anything was possible, he supposed, with the butterfly effect in play.
Gaze returning to Miranda, the young marine watched as she moved to take her seat across from him with a certain feline grace to her. Her expression had changed rather greatly from their first meeting. Gone was the angry scowl, and the look in her eyes that alluded to the fact that she wanted to make him a smear on the wall; replaced by a much more calm and professional expression, devoid of any real emotion.
Now sitting, Miranda took a moment to reach up and run her nimble fingers through her long, thick raven locks, never quite removing her eyes from Tyler as she did so. The marine couldn't help but swallow nervously under the scrutiny of her gaze. Now that she wasn't blinded with anger towards him -for reasons he did not know, he had always assumed her to be a rather composed individual- she appeared to be taking the time to size him up like any other opponent. He completely missed the fact that she had pulled something from her catsuit's pocket, a small rectangular device that broke him out of his mini-stupor when it was turned on with a small, electronic chirp.
A recording device, really? Tyler couldn't help but mentally scoff as he looked down at it. Aren't there enough bugs in this room to sink a small frigate? He silently mused as he looked back up at his captors.
I need to fire the first shots here, right? Put them off their game and all of that, Tyler thought as the seconds of silences stretched into minutes. Clearing his throat, he felt the corners of his mouth curl slightly as the Cerberus operatives subtly leaned in a bit. "Good afternoon...Miss Lawson, Mister Taylor."
The marine found it amusing to watch the pair of them as some realization began to sink in. He knew their real names, not just whatever cover names and callsigns that they often went by in their line of work. They were off-kilter, and he could see it, as Miranda twitched slightly, her eyes going wide for a moment. It lasted only a second at most, before she regained composure of herself, returning to the operative who was always in perfect control of herself.
Tyler was no longer just a trespasser on their precious station. No, now he was a man with a bargaining chip. Information. The kind that would severely complicate Cerberus' operations across the galaxy if it was released to the public, and in turn the governments of the Citadel Council. Of course, the young marine was but a single (known) person with that kind of information. Killing him would make it a non-issue. But they didn't need to know that. As far as they needed to be concerned, he was only a member of a much larger organization; trying to save his own hide.
Relaxing in his chair slightly, Tyler could have sworn that he heard Alex mentally sigh. Something he chose to ignore. Because, quite frankly, what did the god-guy expect him to do: not use his knowledge of the future to his advantage? It was the only advantage he had over his captors.
"I think you're confusing me with someone else," Miranda replied finally. She tried to sound confident -proud, even- but even he could sense some of the unease in her tone.
"I think I'm very much correct, Miranda." Tyler replied, drawing out her name as he kept his eyes locked firmly with her own.
Another twitch from the woman, but she didn't break any beyond that. Unsurprising.
"Is that so?" She replied; furrowing her eyebrows at the man sitting across from her. "Mind telling me why that is?"
"You're the investigator, not me." Tyler couldn't help but retort, biting his tongue a moment later as she narrowed her eyes for a moment. Damn his smartass sense of humor…
"You're quite right. One who holds control of your fate, to be more exact." Miranda replied with a tone far too calm for his liking. "I hear Khar'shan is lovely this time of year. Especially for human slaves, more than enough sun for someone like you to work up a good tan. Or perhaps Ilium? I hear they're really moving up, development wise, and they never have enough indentured servants to fill all the roles needed." Her eyes flickered to Tyler's arms and chest for a moment, a little smirk finally making its way to her lips. "Especially when it comes to hard labor."
Okay, so this was what Alex meant when he said that Tyler needed to remain in Miranda's realm of favor. Because there was nothing that told the young marine that she was even close to joking at the moment.
Swallowing thickly, Tyler had enough sense to shrink under her stare, his shoulders hunching and his chin dipping a little closer to his chest. Still, his eyes remained on her. "You raise a very valid point, ma'am." He replied, sounding like some freshly scorned recruit out of bootcamp. "I, ah, um," he stumbled over his words a bit nervously. "Suppose have questions for me? Beyond what those last two asked?" He added, finally, almost sounding hopeful. Anything to break the monotony -and get him out of these damn handcuffs- would be quite alright in his book at this point.
There was a nod, but it wasn't from Miranda. This time, it was from her partner (in more ways than one, heh) who slowly leaned back; removing his hands from the table. With a flick of the wrist, he brought his omni-tool to life. The most surprising part of it was not how amazing the gadget looked in real life, but the fact that there was a damn Apple logo as the loading screen. Apparently, they had managed to survive humanity's ascension to space quite well.
"Something like that, yes. We're going to ask you questions, and you're going to answer them. Simple stuff, really. If you choose not to answer, or worse yet, lie to us...well, there will be some harsh consequences." As if to add effect, Jacob paused for a long moment. "Our employer has begun to tire of your non-cooperative attitude."
Tyler rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring the looks of disdain that the pair sent him in reply. "I'd appreciate it if you took this damn cuffs off of me," he couldn't help but tell them. "Other than that though, lay it on me."
"You cooperation would go quite some ways towards us releasing you from your current...situation." There was a little glimmer in Miranda's eyes, an understanding that she could make a trade. Freedom from his chair -perhaps even a proper room- in exchange for what she and the Illusive Man wanted to know. It was a start, at least.
There was another moment of pause, which were quickly becoming countless, as Miranda and Jacob peered down at datapads that they had brought in with them so that they could review what little information that they did know about their subject.
Contrary to what the vid making industry had been led to beleive, interviews and interrogations such as this were far from violent. If anything, ones properly conducted by law enforcement officers and intelligence operatives were among some of the calmest places to be in the galaxy. There was no harsh language, accusations, swearing, or physical contact. The only thing those kind of actions made a subject do was become defensive, or simply stop talking; regardless of how detrimental to them that it may have been at the end. The only time force was applied was when you wanted to make someone suffer, or to send a message. This was not one of those times, something that Miranda was sure would have relieved her subject if he was aware.
"It appears that prior interrogations did not even get to this basic question," Miranda sighed. It was a bit pitiful really, and a reminder that she would need to speak to the men about how one conducted 'proper' questioning. "What is your name?"
"Stevens," the marine replied slowly; testing the name on his tongue. He had decided to give himself a 'new' name for all intents and purposes. Cerberus had no right to know his old one, and if he was going to live out the rest of his days in the Mass Effect-verse, than a fresh start probably wasn't the worse thing in the world. "Tyler Stevens. I was a Lance Corporal in the Marine Corp."
That seemed to get their attention, if only minutely. It was something about him that they hadn't known before. Not that he had been intentionally hiding the fact, his last interrogators had just been too caught on how he had gotten to where he was now, rather than who he actually was.
"Good to know then, corporal." Jacob replied, studying the man across from him closely. "What was your Alliance military occupational specialty?" Other than for the Shadow Broker, there were no known groups that had humans are part of their marine elements, Terminus system fleets excluded. "Ground pounder, merchant protection, combat engineering." The list really did go on for some time, so he skipped quite a few. "Corsairs, perhaps?" He couldn't help but add, a little smirk on his lips.
"Sorry mate, I don't think that a Corsair would have been detected as easily as I was, much less taken alive." Tyler couldn't help but reply jokingly, despite his circumstances. From what little he knew about the group that Jacob had served in, they were nothing short of badass warriors, on par with N-program warriors, while more akin to Rōnin in terms of legal status.
Miranda's lips curled slightly, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jacob's shoulder rise and fall in what she suspected was an repressed chuckle. This supposed marine did have a point. Corsairs were essentially the Alliance's version of the boogeyman, after all. "You raise a rather fair point, Mister Stevens."
Jacob picked up from there; leaning against the metal table casually, not seeming to mind the fact that. "If you didn't belong to the Corsairs, which unit did you serve in?"
Instantaneously, Tyler's mind began to race. Mass Effect had never been kind enough to really name any of the Alliance's military units, though there had to be hundreds of them. There were only four that came to mind really, two of which were special operations groups. "The 12th Frontier," he finally replied, glancing between Miranda and Jacob.
"The unit that engaged the Geth on Eden Prime?" She replied, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
"Yes. I was in the 2nd Frontier Division, 212th Brigade, 18th Marine Support Company. We were always on colonial policing duties though. Never anything close to those digsites I heard all about." He was really banking on luck to pull through for him now. All of the information he had was on marine structures from two-hundred years ago, and Bioware had never cared to touch very deep on the detailed ongoings of the Alliance's colonies, or any other species' for that matter.
Cracking a fake smile, he couldn't help but add, trying to cover his ass further. "I wasn't around for when it hit the fan though. I'd left the military by that time. We didn't even know that it was possible for a Prothean beacon to be in one of the colonial zones," he chuckled.
If Miranda was unconvinced, she didn't show it visibly. Instead, she tapped away at her datapad, glancing up at Tyler now and then as he had spoke. "That is good to know, Mister Stevens."
The 'we'll be sure to look into what you told us' went left unsaid.
Reaching up, Miranda ran her fingers through her thick, onyx colored hair again; drawing Tyler's attention to her. The exposed skin of her neck, the lovely frame of her face, her plump lips as they curled slightly. Even though he -knew- what she was trying to do, the marine found it nearly impossible to resist the urge to admire her. It was a subjective topic, but she really was a perfect woman in his eyes.
"Now," she began again, swiping her finger across the screen of her datapad; creating a blank page for her to take more notes on. "Could you please enlighten, in detail, about your life and the events leading up to your presence on the station?"
"I wish that was a broader topic to cover," Tyler replied after a moment; trying to draw things out as much as he could. The blank look Miranda gave him in reply bought him a few extra seconds to think. Thank God he had done rather decently during the improv section of the acting classes he had taken in high school. "Long story short...I kinda drifted around after I was discharged-"
"You were discharged?" Jacob asked quickly.
"Yes. Medically," Tyler replied before the Corsair could question the specifics of it too deeply. "Training mission. Busted my legs up a bit, nothing the doctors couldn't handle, but it was enough for them to send me home." He shrugged, trying to play things off. "Anyways...I took what credits I had and went home for a while. Visited family and all of that." It was only hitting him now that he wasn't going to see his mother, father, or friends again. Just thinking about them made his stomach roil…
Snap out of it. You'll have time to mourn them later, when you're life isn't on the line. Alex snapped at him, breaking the silence that he had maintained throughout the meeting thus far.
Perhaps it was the reality hitting him again, or the order from an annoyed sounding God, but either way, Tyler felt himself settle a bit. Almost serenely, really, as if he'd been drugged with something that made him feel rather pleasant. "After that, well, I got back to looking for work. I'm too young to retire, you know," he shrugged. "I thought about going back to college, but I had come to rather enjoy my line of work, so...I got into freelance stuff. All of it legitimate, of course. Port security and other private jobs, that kind of thing. The last job...I guess that's how I ended up here. I was doing a standard cargo inspection, and then...I woke up in y'all's storage bay." He shrugged, dearly hoping that they were buying into at least some of this.
"I see," Miranda drew the words out; glancing from the marine, back down to the datapad before her where she continued to type out notes. "As I am sure you know, Mister Stevens, this is just a preliminary interview. We will speak to you at some point later today, or perhaps tomorrow. Regardless, I have but one final question for you." She paused, not for dramatic effect, but because she always seemed to need a moment when it came to dealing with this particular topic. "Are you aware of a man by the name of Thomas Fisher?"
The look of confusion that appeared on his expression was all that she needed to know, but Miranda didn't stop him from speaking, a frown of confusion on his lips as he did so. "I'm afraid that I've never heard the name before, ma'am."
As if to reinforce the point, the sensors that had been keeping track of his heartbeat this whole time remained steady. So unless he was a psychopath -which he didn't strike her as- he seemed telling her the truth.
"Alright then," she replied. Rising up from her chair, she nodded towards Jacob. In short order, she turned off her digital recorder, before slipping it into one of the pockets of her catsuit, while the datapad ended up tucked under her right arm. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mister Stevens. We will be in touch in the near future," she paused and looked over at her partner. "Until that time, we will make sure that you are relocated to more...comfortable accommodations." With that, she and Jacob took their leave.
Over the next couple of hours, Miranda, Jacob, the members of their team, and even the Illusive Man via Quantum Entanglement; discussed what they should do with this wildcard that had been dumped into their lap. Unsurprisingly, the actual footsoldiers of their little commando unit, Mjölnir-Six, didn't have much of an opinion. These kinds of big decisions were beyond their pay grade, and really, none of them were quite certain why they had been invited to sit in on this meeting in the first place. Regardless, they deferred to Miranda and Jacob, their commanding officers; leaving for a three-way conversation between some of Cerberus' more important members, as well as the big man himself. As it should have been, more likely than not.
A review of their notes, as well as what information that they had on hand about the subject, brought up far more questions than what had been answered. There was no doubt about the fact that Mister Stevens was withholding things from them, but between the sensors and AI monitoring his every movement and body function during the interrogation, there had been no outright lies as far as they could tell. How he had gotten on station still remained a mystery, but the leading theory was that he had simply fallen asleep on a shuttle, or accidentally blundered his way on somehow and was left without a way of getting off. Regardless, they couldn't release him. It was clear he knew far too much about their operations, right down to the names of project leaders.
There was one final issue: the man was packing far more firepower than any of them had initially expected; given his archaic slugthrower and steel single-plate body armor.
To be more exact, non-invasive scans had come back with some surprising-no, downright staggering results that had made the boys down in the station's lab all but drool. For someone who came across as nothing more than another former marine turned private contractor, Mister Stevens was the last person you would have expected to be equipped with millions of credits worth of cybernetic technologies and biological reinforcements that all but gave Darwin the middle finger.
Cerulean eyes raking up and down the datapad in front of her, which was filled with medical scan results, Miranda had a hard time trying to figure out where to even start with them all. Years of education at the best colleges in Council Space couldn't have prepared her for this.
Tyler Stevens had, for lack of a better term, experience body wide upgrades, from the molecular structure and beyond. His bones, for example, showed signs of being wrapped around by carbon nanotubes. The same stuff that the made body armor, and even modular plates of Alliance vessels out of. Even the strongest of krogan or elcor wouldn't have been able to so much as minutely compromise his skeletal structure. An asari matriarch, such as Jona Sederis, may have been able to do more damage, but even then, they would have likely worn themselves out before they shattered him in a desirable fashion. The only area that showed any weakness was his skull. He was just bone there, like any other human.
Furthermore, his entire: nervous, cardiovascular, and muscular systems had seen extreme amount of augmentations. Strong micro-fibers had been weaved through perforations of his muscles, making him not only stronger, but should have theoretically reduced his chance of combat fatigue or tissue damage to a point of near zero. Whatever material he had been implanted with; however, was much more advanced than anything ODST or even N7 operators had in their arsenal.
Similarly, synthetic fibers had been woven through pretty much the entirety of his epidermal layers. How impervious to damage that he was could only be speculated until she learned more about their subject...but she was rather tempted to steal Jacob's combat knife to conduct some field tests. Assuming she could cut into Stevens, she doubted the wound would fester long. Military skin-weaves were known to patch themselves together to some degree, and she could only imagine how advanced his were compared to her own.
Another scan result only delivered more concerning news. Normally, these were meant to measure things such as the content of eezo in one's bloodstream. And while he lacked that entirely, what he did have
"I bet the boys at Minuteman would love the chance to dissect this guy." Val muttered quietly; reaching up to run a hand through her hair as she glanced from her datapad to Miranda. As the team's combat medic, she had gone through extensive training on said Cerberus space station, where most combat troops went through basic training, or re-training if they were former military.
"Pssh, Cronos' medical team would never allow it. If they were lucky, Minuteman might get an arm and a leg," chuckled another soldier as he leaned back.
There was a ping on Miranda's omni-tool, one that broke her out of her investigative trance for the first time in hours. She had more or less ignored all of the conversation around her during said time, enraptured by the scientific specimen that their guest was. But now, she had been brought back to reality. "I've just received instructions from the Illusive Man regarding our guest," she said with a long sigh; reaching up to rub her temples. "Jacob, come with me. It appears that we have orders regarding how we should handle Mister Stevens from here."
Comfortable accommodations.
To Miranda, sure, that was what they may have been; but to Tyler, the place was practically heaven, between where he had lived in during his time in Afghanistan, and the interrogation room that he had spent the last few hours (or perhaps days) in.
The room wasn't the largest by any means, only about one-hundred square feet or so. It wasn't all that attractive, either, with emotionless plasteel walls that gleamed grey under the artificial lights overhead. It was quaint in its own way though, outfitted with more than the marine would have expected out of his captors. A cot, barely large enough for his tall frame, but unreasonably comfortable. There were a couple of chairs as well, though they looked as if they had managed to gather dust, even in space. He figured they had likely pulled them out of some backroom storage, and pawned them off on him with lack of a better place to put him. There was even a small holo-screen, which was restricted to only displaying vids, but no one had explained how to even turn the damn thing on.
And then there was the attached bathroom.
It was glorious.
In retrospect, that was perhaps a bit much to call the small room, but nonetheless, Tyler couldn't help but grin as he stepped into it, the door sliding shut behind him. It was about as cramped as you would have expected for a starship, or in this case, a space station. With the shower stall door closed, he couldn't even stretch out his arms to their full length. Sliding said door open, he smiled softly for a moment. It wasn't much…
But he couldn't remember the last time that he had taken a real shower.
Looking around for a moment, Tyler let out a little hum of pleasure as he dug out a towel from the cabinets under his plasteel sink. With the efficiency of a marine, he stripped out of his Cerberus BDUs; wishing that he had anything else to wear at the moment. The garments stank of not being washed in some time, and didn't quite fit to begin with. But it wasn't something he cared much about now, as he stripped down and then stepped into the shower, closing the sliding door behind him. It actually locked, turning a shade of opaque.
The marine wasn't sure how long he stood there, fiddling with the holographic touchpad that controlled the water and shower options, before he got things as desired. Several times along the way, he found himself nearly scalded, the controls far more sensitive than he cared for. It was all worth it in the end though, as he basked under the warm jetstreams. Unlike back in Afghanistan, or even at his old home for that matter, there was no true showerhead. Instead, it was more like rain falling from the ceiling.
Tyler would have likely stayed in the the stall for a lot longer if he could have, trying to clear and relax his mind. Within ten minutes or so, however, an alarm began to chirp at him, a text-like message informing him that he was nearing his allotment of hot water for the day. Groaning at the realization that he should have expected something like that, he reached up to tap the 'off' button of the touchscreen. Exiting quickly, before he had the chance to grow cold, he fetched his towel and dried off, and then pulled on his only outfit once more.
"Mister Stevens?" He heard a familiar voice call from the 'main' room of his accommodations as as he hung up his towel.
"I'll be right there. Thought'd I take a shower." Tyler hollered in reply. Pausing for a moment, he glanced at himself in the mirror. He was as presentable as he could be, given the circumstances, hair just shy of military regulation length.
Pressing a palm against the door of his little bathroom, Tyler pressed slowly stepped out, blinking as his eyes landed on his guests. Jacob stood at the back of the room, tall and strong like any good bodyguard, while Miranda waited patiently in the center of the room, hands clasped in front of her pelvis.
The Aussie's appearance made the marine blink in surprise. She had, at some point, pulled a labcoat over her catsuit. While a simple addition to her standard attire, there was something about it that made her look more...regal. Professional. Like the head of a laboratory, rather than someone than someone who looked as if they belonged on a Cerberus recruiting poster; jutting out their chest and giving a seductive expression as they called for brave men and women to join their ranks.
"Miss Lawson." Tyler said slowly, nervously motioning to one of the free seats. "I-I, ah, hadn't been expecting you so soon." He stumbled over his words, only taking a seat when she had. It did not go unnoticed to him, the way her lips curled in distaste as she nestled herself atop the dusty cushion.
"I wasn't planning to visit you this soon," she admitted as she crossed one leg over the other. "But my...employer has made an executive decision. An offer for you, really." She explained, parting her hands slightly.
"An offer?" Tyler questioned. In response, she nodded in confirmation, and he swallowed thickly. "Well then...lay it on me, I guess."
"We would like you to join Cerberus. To bring you on as a member of our organization. Of my personal team, really."
Tyler's eyes had to have been as wide as dinner plates. "M-m-me?" He questioned with an incredulous tone. "Why would you want me on your team, Miss Lawson?" He asked after a good thirty seconds of silence.
"He sees...potential in you," she replied slowly. And a lot of technology that he wants me to reverse engineer, she thought wryly as her eyes flickered over his muscular form. He looked amusingly out of place, large and wide while sitting in a small chair that had to be ten years out of date. "The kind that he believes would be best developed under my personal oversight."
"What if I were to decline this generous offer?" Tyler couldn't help but ask, shifting in his seat.
"My employer doesn't take no for an answer, Mister Stevens. You declination would not leave you with any other options that could be considered desirable."
Tyler swallowed again. They had him here. Acceptance, or death. "Then I suppose we'll be seeing much more of each other, Miss Lawson."
"Indeed," she hummed quietly; staring at him as he shrunk under her gaze. "You know that I don't trust you at all, right?"
At least we're past the I'm-going-to-kill-you phase, Tyler thought in dry amusement. Not that this was much better. "I wouldn't expect you too. You have no reason to. If anything, it would be more logical for you to just off me," Tyler replied softly. "This is one of those 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer' kind of things, isn't it?" He added after a beat.
"Now you're catching on," she chuckled softly. Standing up, she looked off to nowhere in particular. "EDI, log the time for me, please. And add Mister Stevens to ours rosters."
"Acknowledged, Officer Lawson." A synthetic voice echoed through the room. "Officer Stevens has been logged, and granted Tier One Access to our servers, per the orders of the Illusive Man." She continued, even as Miranda blinked in surprise for some reason that Tyler did not know. "I relayed orders to support staff. Accommodations are being prepared for the team's newest member on the appropriate living deck."
"I'm not going to be staying here?" Tyler couldn't help but question, glancing around.
Miranda looked amused, if only minutely, as she shook her head. "Not quite. This is a spare room we just rigged up for you. It's where the night-shift manager of the docking bays lived until last night. I'm sure he will be happy to have his quarters back." She explained as she rose up with a cat-like grace. "Mister Taylor here will see you to your quarters once they are ready. Any personal effects that we...recovered, will be delivered to your room as well. You will have forty-eight hours to acclimate to the station, as well as be introduced to the rest of the team." She finished speaking, and began to walk towards the room's only exit.
"After that, Mister Stevens, we will begin working on your refreshment training. I have the feeling you're out of practice with mass effect weapons and hardsuits." Her lips curled, and she turned her head to look over her left shoulder.
"Welcome to the team."