Life was exceptional if not exactly perfect.
How long had she imagined a perfect life? Not long. Not ever, actually. She could never have fathomed the opportunity to be a normal person given the way she entered the world, her legacy—her father's legacy. What he'd done was nothing short of reprehensible and there were times she looked in the mirror and thought she saw the glimmer of a man she hated so completely that she took his life. He was a man obsessed with his own image, a narcissist that cared more about his legacy than anything else. There was no right or wrong in his mind. Not as long as his mark on history was assured. There was something profoundly disturbing about how easily he was able to sacrifice thousands of innocent people for the sake of research data. Would Miranda Lawson be judged for patricide in the afterlife, or had she done the galaxy a favor by offing Henry Lawson?
Her life since then had been characterized by such questions, as well as others. There was lingering doubt that surfaced from time to time and Miranda always found herself struggling internally to justify her actions, as righteous as they may have been. At other times there was guilt. She killed her father, but he wasn't truly her father. And he was a monster. Nevertheless the feelings unexpectedly came and went.
But that was another life. It may as well have been a decade ago. Such was the life she lived today, so vastly different from the gallivanting lifestyle she'd known—a life riddled with danger, sex, and adventure. She was not the same woman she had been. There were no battles left to fight, no hidden enemies around the corner, no hazards to protect her sister from. She should have been relieved. She could be normal. But did she want that?
Crystalline blue eyes glanced over at the face of her sister. Oriana Lawson, noticing the attention she returned the glance with a broad, cherubic smile. She was normal. At least as far as she could be, all things considered. The two had found a quiet village nestled at the base of a mountain range and made it their home. Its population had been small and its location remote enough that it went virtually untouched by the Reaper war.
They walked along a meandering pathway lined with freshly bloomed Lilies, bright Scarlet Pimpernels and aromatic clusters of Lantanas. Boughs from mighty oaks stretched out above them overhead and provided shade along their route. To the west a shimmering lake sprawled out like a carpet and local fisherman plied to and fro upon the glassy surface casting lines in and hoping for a nibble. Picturesque homes from a bygone era dotted the shore. Life here was slow. Ahead she could see an elegantly crafted gazebo, a place lovers went to steal away a moment and watch the sunrise over the lake each morning or to see it set beyond the mountains.
Oriana loved it. She reveled in the tranquility and she diligently began studying to prepare for the day when academic institutions opened once more. Each day she plowed through texts absorbing knowledge in great heaps. At night she quoted Seneca, contemplated Plato and mused about writing a novel with a protagonist based upon her protective sister. At the moment she picked a flower and held the delicate peddles up to her pert nose. With a sniff she inhaled the lovely fragrance and another smile quickly etched its way upon her face.
"I love it here, Miri," she exclaimed.
Miranda replied with an unconvincing smile of her own. Oriana, not particularly keen on human subtly, didn't notice. The truth for Miranda Lawson, intoxicating beauty and adept former Cerberus operative, was not as simple. She struggled to find a place in the quaint little village Oriana so loved. She could not find purpose and battled with the knowledge that she had seen and done more than the residents around her could ever imagine. Was she supposed to forget it all? Was she supposed to forget about Commander Shepard and the arduous scientific effort it took to bring him back from the brink? Was she supposed to set aside the inspiration he instilled in her and forget the horrors his leadership and example had guided her through? Could she possibly fathom removing the bloody images of battle from her mind, the grotesque processing of thousands of human beings by the Collectors, or the innocent civilians lured to their doom by the promise of sanctuary by her own father? Could she?
No. She could not. And she felt restless. She often awoke at night, wandered out to the balcony of their home and sat down upon a whicker chaise to gaze at the sky above. She would stare at the moon or stars for hours and remember the days when she traversed the cosmos. But life was different now. Everyday started the same, progressed the same and ended the same. Only minor details differed and that was just semantics to Miranda.
The pair continued down the oft-traversed path laid out in ancient red brick. Miranda may have been restless but at the very least she could derive pleasure out of seeing her sister so happy. Oriana was safe. There was no more fear of her father, Cerberus had been eliminated, the Reapers were gone and they had found a new life in a place as idyllic as either could possibly imagine.
"I'm glad you like it here, Oriana," Miranda finally remarked. She could feel the cool draft upon her face as it glided in from the lake. The hem of her summer dress fluttered slightly. It was a garment she was unaccustomed to wearing. But Oriana had insisted she dress like the citizens of their new home. So she was clad in a sleeveless summer dress with a twist-front detail at the bust and a v-shaped neckline that exposed her delicately articulated collar bone. The hem hit somewhat conservatively just above the knees but the dress—the color of which was innocently titled pink breeze—had elicited quite a bit of attention from the opposite sex.
Oriana had also equipped her with an array of bracelets, which she found silly, as well as a pair of wedges she felt were rather uncomfortable and lacked any real utility. When she complained Oriana had said "The point isn't utility, it's to look cute". To which Miranda responded "I don't do cute." But Oriana insisted and here she was.
Miranda did enjoy watching Oriana flirt with all the men that seemed to flock to them both like a pack of hungry wolves. Oriana was so skilled at wrapping them around her finger and playfully entered into a battle of wits with them, which she always won. Some of the men had turned their attention to Miranda, but she couldn't be bothered with them. They were men that worked local jobs as laborers, miners, hunters, farmers, fishermen and other occupations that she found boring. She had resurrected a real man. Perhaps the only man she could ever truly love. These men could not hold a candle to him. They were men that had never left this secluded village and the nearby mountains and dales. They had certainly never ventured into the stars. They were men that had not faced the Reapers. They were men that hid in cellars alongside their women and kids during the war against the most significant threat humanity had ever faced. They were men that left the fighting to their betters. They were no men at all.
Back at their home Oriana exuberantly listed all the things she could cook for dinner that evening. She remarked upon the small film the pair had watched at a local park that evening and asked whether Miranda enjoyed it as much as she had. "I did," Miranda lied. And then they stepped inside the breezy two-story home and headed upstairs to the kitchen. The room illuminated as they reached the summit of the staircase.
Miranda was alarmed to see a figure standing outside upon the balcony gazing out in the direction of the mountains. "Get downstairs," Miranda instinctively ordered her sister. She gave her a shove and stepped into the kitchen where she drew an old M-25 Hornet submachine gun from a drawer.
The figure stood quietly outside, unaware or unconcerned by Miranda's arrival. Surely whoever it was must have noticed the lights come on in the room. The figure remained motionless, limned in the ambient light coming from the kitchen.
Miranda carefully drew closer, her weapon held at the ready. She could make out some detail. The figure was well-built, but not particularly tall. She guessed it was a man based on the short hair and muscular physique. He was wearing a tight-fitting combat suit Miranda often associated with Cerberus operatives. Was he a surviving agent that sought her out? Was he a last ditch effort by the Illusive Man to assassinate her even after his own death?
The glass door automatically slid open once it detected Miranda's approach. She cautiously stepped out onto the balcony with her sights leveled on the back of the man who had intruded on her home. Inwardly she felt ridiculous wearing a wispy summer dress and a pair of wedges, but she let none of that show when she addressed the stranger. "Turn around, slowly."
The man's head tilted to the right ever-so-slightly as he heard her speak. He raised his hands up as if to indicate he was no threat at all. He slowly turned around to face her. "Are you really pointing a gun at me? Even after everything we've been through?"
Miranda was surprised. She loosened the grip on her SMG. "Jacob?"
Jacob's brow piqued as he studied the outfit Miranda was wearing. "Wow, looking good," he chirped with a sly grin.
"Shut up," she shot back.
"Can I put my hands down yet?"
"Of course," Miranda responded. She lowered her gun. "What are you doing here?"
"To be honest," Jacob began with gravitas. "I need your help, Miranda."
Minutes later Oriana had been invited back upstairs and the three of them gathered in the dining room near the kitchen. Jacob sipped at a glass of water Oriana had provided and explained at length that a group of heavily armed troops had attacked his home and kidnapped Dr. Archer.
"Dr. Gavin Archer? From Project Overlord?" Miranda questioned incredulously.
"The one and the same," Jacob nodded. His fingertips tapped at the rim of his glass of water.
"What would anybody want with him?" Miranda queried.
"No idea. His expertise is in synthetic intelligence—mainly the geth. But since the war the geth stopped working… they're dead," Jacob stated, feeling awkward for his choice of words.
"So you have no idea who the attackers were? No leads?"
"Just one," Jacob exclaimed. He produced a crude drawing of a stylized skull that had the battered wings of an angel spreading out from behind it. "This is the insignia half of them had on their armor. Any ideas?"
Miranda studied the image and shook her head. "No clue." She rose to her feet. "But I know someone who probably does."
"Good, because I'm totally out of my depth here," Jacob admitted. He was a soldier. You could point him in the direction of the enemy and he'd locate, close with and destroy that enemy. But investigating someone's disappearance? Trying to gather and evaluate clues? He couldn't even be called an amateur in that regard.
"Why do you care anyway?"
"I promised to protect those scientists when they fled Cerberus… they snatched him right out of my home, Miranda. They threatened my fiancée, they threatened my child. I can't let them get away with that and I have a responsibility to Dr. Archer," Jacob stated with firm intent. He was calm, as usual, but the anger the attack caused was evident enough to Miranda.
"So what can I do?" Miranda asked as she crossed her arms.
"Besides help me identify this insignia?" Jacob leaned back in his chair, one arm rested along the top. "You can come with me," he suggested smoothly.
Oriana's eyes widened. "Absolutely not," she objected. "You're done with that life, Miri. You told me so yourself. You said we could live in peace here—that we would be safe."
"Oriana… it's not that simple," Miranda replied.
"Yes it is," Oriana insisted. She aggressively stepped toward her sister. "We have a perfect life here. A wonderful home in a lovely town, plenty of friends, beautiful weather and potential for something better."
"Oriana, those are your friends. I don't fit in here. I belong… I belong out there doing something—anything." She motioned errantly toward the heavens that existed beyond the roof of their home. "The important thing is that you're safe now and you can build a life here. I just-" But Miranda didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. Oriana stormed out of the room out onto the balcony. Miranda's gleaming eyes shot a quiet look of concern at Jacob who remained silent. After a moment he shrugged and Miranda decided to follow her sister.
The night air was cool and the faint smell of distant pines wafted in with every gentle gust of wind. Oriana was leaning against the balcony's handrail staring into the celestial heavens above. In such a secluded place the stars shined brightly and occasionally a shooting star could be seen arcing into the atmosphere in a gleaming streak before disintegrating into an array of bright color. Only most of the time they were not shooting stars at all, but wreckage of the ships that had fought the Reapers—an oddly beautiful reminder of the sacrifice of so many.
Miranda felt a chill, perhaps more from knowing she'd part ways with her sister than from the light winds.
"What's out there, Miri?" Oriana questioned, sensing her sister's presence. "What is so important about a life out there that you don't want to be here with me?"
"It's not like that," Miranda murmured.
"All you've ever wanted for me was a normal life," Oriana reminded her. "But all I've ever wanted was my big sister. You're determined to keep that from me."
"You're right," Miranda admitted. She arrived at the bannister and leaned against it beside her sister. "I want you safe, I want you happy, and I want a normal life for you… but the same life is not in the cards for me."
Oriana looked over at her with a near-scowl. Miranda's words were not convincing. "You think it's easy to be normal knowing what we are? Who we came from? Our father was a monster and the same blood flows through our veins… no, it's worse than that, we are identical copies. How is that normal? How can I be normal knowing what I am?"
"You can forget all of that now, Oriana. We're not our father. We are not his legacy. What we do in life… our successes, our failures, who we love and where we go—we do it of our own volition. We decide," Miranda said tenderly. She wrapped an arm around her sister. It was peculiar to her, a couple of years ago she'd never be able to voice those words. A man, the perfect man, had shown her she could be so much more than her father's legacy. She could define herself by her accomplishments and her mistakes. He made her believe.
But he was gone now.
"And yet here you are trying to leave," Oriana argued, but Miranda could feel her pull closer to her older sister. She was savoring a last embrace because as bullheaded and stubborn as Oriana was, Miranda was worse. Oriana knew she could not stop her from leaving.
"I wish I could say something to make this right, but everyday we're here I feel less like myself and more like something plain… like paint on a wall; no purpose but decoration. People here—they talk but I can never listen. What they say, what they do… I can't relate to it… I don't want to. This just isn't a place I can be happy, Oriana," Miranda explained as delicately as she could.
"I know," Oriana admitted after a few moments. "It's a struggle for you, I understand. I just want you safe. I want you with me so you will be proud of me."
"I am proud of you. And I will always love you, sister," Miranda expressed affectionately.
Miranda felt the tightness of their hug as Oriana used what strength she possessed to constrict her arms around a sibling so filled with wanderlust she refused to anchor herself in safe harbors. "Just don't forget about me," Oriana instructed with a smile that came amid an effort to choke back tears.
"I could never."