AN: Brief descriptions of nudity exist in this chapter. Move on if nakedness makes you uncomfortable.

Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware.

I was alive again.

I died and Cerberus brought me back.

Can't say I was particularly happy about being dead for two years and finding that I had been resurrected by human supremacist terrorists. Not that I wasn't glad to have a second chance, but Cerberus? On the other hand, it appeared as though The Illusive Man had good information on the Collectors. Freedom's Progress was clear evidence to me that the Collector's had an unhealthy interest in human colonies and needed to be stopped.

'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' I thought, for not the first time.

Freedom's Progress had also been clear evidence that two years had passed.

Tali'Zorah vas Neema was not the same awkward teenager I had met on her Pilgrimage. She's grown up and filled out in a way that only time could have allowed for. And the confidence she led her men with was proof to me that she had matured in the time that passed. To be honest, it hurt a little that I had missed her blossom during the time I was out of action.

And then, after Freedom's Progress, Joker was there with his twisted humor and I was reminded that some things would never change.

Right now I was interested in seeing what else had changed. What about myself was different. I'd forced myself to stillness during the tour of Normandy SR-2, but now I was on my way to my quarters, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet, willing the lift to go faster. In the 48 hours since my apparent resurrection I'd been in my armor and on the move. I also hadn't seen a mirror. Not one. There had been no mirrors in Lazarus Research Station, and the same disturbing lack of mirrors repeated itself on Minuteman Station. Hell, even the glass seemed to have been coated with some anti-glare coating on Minuteman Station. Then on Freedom's Progress, it seemed that Miranda or Jacob always managed to be between myself and my reflection.

The lift finally opened, and I strode through the small vestibule that served as a waiting space for crew-members coming to see their CO. The door in front of me opened as I approached it, and I was greeted by the largest officer's quarter's I had ever seen on a military vessel.

"EDI," I spoke into the room, noting the small office space to my right, and the king-sized bed on the far side of the cabin. And an offensively large Cerberus logo painted above the couch.

"Yes, Commander," the Normandy's AI answered, her blue orb appearing next to the aquarium along the port bulkhead.

'A freaking fish tank?' I thought to myself. 'Cerberus really needs to focus on priorities.' I tried to keep my voice level, "Who do I talk to about painting over these damn Cerberus logos? Belay that," I stopped myself, deciding that repainting some twenty percent of the ship wouldn't be a good use of manpower, and should be a much lower priority itself. "Do I at least have clothing that doesn't have Cerberus logos plastered all over it?"

"Commander," EDI replied, "none of your armor, with the exception of the Cerberus Assault Armor, has Cerberus logos. Also, none of your underclothes have Cerberus logos. Additionally, we have provided a few colonist's outfits that do not have Cerberus logos on them in the event that you need to travel undercover."

I felt a headache coming on in reaction to Cerberus' pervasive branding campaign. Massaging my temples I said, "That's... Just great, EDI. Is there a head on this deck? I want to get cleaned up." I thought to myself, 'And look in a freaking mirror.'

"Yes, Commander," EDI said, "you will find a head just off your office space. Is there anything else you require?"

Wryly I told EDI, "I just need to know where the cameras are in there so I can put on a good show for Miranda and The Illusive Man."

"Commander, aside from my terminal, there are no surveillance cameras in your quarters or head. The Illusive Man thought it best if surveillance was limited in your quarters to listening only. There is also a privacy mode that that will disable my terminal and all auditory listening devices, should you chose to entertain guests."

"Thanks, EDI. That will be all for now," I informed her, shaking my head at the implications of "entertaining guests".

"Logging you out, Commander," she replied.

I made my way into the head and was pleased to see that in addition to the standard fixtures, both a shower and a mirror were present. And a wave of anxiety washed over me. "Tali recognized me," I told myself, "so I can't look that different."

Cautiously, I approached the mirror, as though it were a venomous snake set to strike. First the reflection of my new N7 armor appeared to me, then my face. I sighed, because I could tell that it was me, but I quickly approached the mirror pressing my gloved fingertips to the orange-red scars that wove across my face. They didn't hurt, but the scars stood in clear contrast to my skin. Then I saw that the scar that had marked the left corner of my mouth since I was sixteen was gone, as was the long scar on my right cheek that had served as my reminder of the Skyllian Blitz.

My hair, the same dark brown I'd always had, framed my face in the short shag I'd favored in the months after the Battle of the Citadel. My dark blue eyes stared back at me, the color undiluted. Opening my mouth, I checked my teeth and saw that the one filling I had was gone, white enamel in its place. Then, like I had when I'd just turned sixteen and was having a sleepover with friends, I stuck out my tongue and tried to touch my nose with it. For the first time in my life, my tongue and nose met.

"Okay... That's just freaky," I muttered.

Urgently, I peeled off my gloves, dropping them on the floor, and took the first long look at my hands since I'd hastily put my armor on back at Lazarus Station. "No scars," I whispered, rubbing my thumbs across the palms, "and no callouses."

Quickly I removed my vambraces and rerebraces and pauldrons, letting the pieces fall to the floor at my armored feet. My arms were still covered by my rash guard, and I quickly moved to free the latches on my chestguard. Ceramic and metal and kevlar fell to the floor in a clatter and I pulled the form-fitting shirt out of its matching pants, the hook and loop seam between the two parting with a soft, "schhhht". I discarded the shirt, dropping it from my left hand as I looked at my newly exposed abdomen and arms.

Below the sports bra I still wore, my stomach was the same set of washboard abs I'd had since I'd entered the N programs, but the skin was marred with a patchwork of slowly healing scars like my face. The skin of my abdomen seemed to be growing smoother and less scarred as it disappeared below my sports bra and under my greaves. Above the bra, my neck and the skin over my collarbones and shoulders was smooth, clear perfection. Both arms were scar free.

I grabbed the hem of my sports bra, and peeled off that last remaining barrier over my breasts. My skin was seemed to be perfect over my breasts. I turned, slightly in profile and looked at my naked chest. "No..." I whispered, my hands cupping my breasts, confirming what my eyes had seen. Not only did my breasts seem perkier, less affected by years of gravity, but they felt larger. And as I looked more carefully, I saw that my nipples were both precisely the same size; no longer was my left nipple noticeably larger than the right.

All these little differences were adding up, and I was starting to feel a panic borne of change. My hands ripped the armored boots off my feet. Buckles and clasps on my greaves were popped open. Armor was hastily removed and the rash guard leggings stripped from my body. I stood in front of the mirror wearing only a pair of cotton boy-shorts. Slowly I turned in front of the mirror, surrounded by the cast-off armor.

My legs and arms and abdomen rippled in muscle, my shape softened only by my seemingly larger breasts. As I turned, I blinked and stared at my butt. Over the rippling muscle of an N7 operative, I saw a new layer of padding that I was unfamiliar with. My ass was softer and more shapely than before. My hands felt my bottom as they had my breasts and I wondered aloud, "what did they do to me?"

Sighing, I pushed the boy-shorts down off my hips, letting them slide along my toned thighs. Stepping out of them I moved to the shower, hoping that with hot water and time I could get used to the changes I saw.