A/N Hello again people of the fanfic fold! It's good to know there are people out there reading this!
I hope you like the new chapter, hopefully they'll be about this length from now on.
Enjoy!
The worst thing about Hell is; you never know that you're there.
Sure, you know it's bad, but you truly believe that you are in the right place. Because the other place, the one with all the happy people, who do little things and earn their rewards tenfold, that's the place you believe to be Hell. You yourself have to struggle and fight and thrash; or fall down and die. But you're told that you are in the better place, because it is through your struggle that you prove yourself.
And every day you try to prove yourself, but you always seem to fail.
And even though you fail and are punished and hated; your guilt ridden soul still clings to the idea that Hell is better than Heaven. Somehow, because you never win anything easily, you are on the moral high ground. Far better to be you, than those who feast on fruits they seem to be gifted so easily.
As a member of this illustrious Hell Club, there is one thing that strikes me as I look back at my time here with all my fellow members.
Not one of us wants to remember what it was that got us here.
Do you know how there are moments when the world moves so slowly you can feel your bones shifting, your mind tumbling? When you think that no matter what happens to you for the rest of your life, you will remember every last detail of that one minute forever?
Sometimes it's the same moments that take your breath away that breathe purpose and love back into your life.
The biggest moment of my life; was the moment I met you.
The cargo ship I had hopped on stopped at Omega. I spent two days avoiding Aria's goons, it would have done me no good if she had seen me, trying to get some supplies. Aria and I go further back than I care to admit even now. Regardless to say, it did not end well.
Fortunately, with Aria's recent return, the black-market trade was flourishing. I managed to access one of my emergency credit accounts and was able to pay for a new omni-tool, clothes and a single pistol. Most of my money went towards finding a reasonable surgeon.
I needed ID and a new face.
I still had no idea how the Council's fuckers had managed to track me down. When I left my father, I made it impossible for him to find me.
And because he didn't find me, I had no idea what could have been in the Cerberus records to indicate where I was.
It must have been a pretty bloody obvious clue for them to discover it in just two weeks following the war.
Of course it was bloody obvious, but at the time I didn't know that.
Regardless, my number one priority at the time was making sure I wasn't caught by the bleeding council, so a face change and a good strong back story was a must.
After punching a few idiot vorcha out, I finally found my way to a street rep worthy doctor, with half decent facilities. I walked out that place with burning hands and a numb face. I had payed for the whole deal. My hair was cropped short, the cells altered to grow blond like my mother, instead of my father's common brown. My jaw line was altered, my eye shape as well. I certainly looked decidedly more Slavic than when I had first arrived on Omega. He burned my palms clean, and imprinted them with a random set of lines.
Since the doc, if I could even call him that, was also a tattoo artist, he gave me some for free. They were a good idea. Nothing says, I had a life ask me what happened in it, like a couple of semi-obvious tat's.
I must apologise though. That story I told you about the tattoo of the three birds arching across my collarbone? I totally ripped off from a twenty-first century teenage fiction book.
But the red snake that curls around my wrist, as if its cutting off my pulse?
I really did get that one to represent my father.
In the end, I was glad to be rid of my father's features.
Keeping my eyes though... I guess Mum stayed with me longer then you after all father.
But even though I looked different, I needed way in.
I was hell bent on meeting you. Maybe because I knew you knew what I knew about life.
Whatever the hell that is.
But what I really wanted more than anything, was just to see your eyes.
The only way, I figured I was going to get near to you at all, is if I was placed pretty high up in the Alliance. The problem with that was, that nobody would have a clue where I had come from.
The solution was so simple. I had to enter the SAIS mainframe and establish myself as an operative.
The Systems Alliance Intelligence Service, was by far the most obvious choice for myself. The second best security agency in the known galaxy, at the time only beaten by the STG. The Alliance would have to respect my authority, and my classified status. So much so, that if I demanded unappalled access to you, it would be granted with hesitation.
Luck was also with me. Under the guise of a Terra Firma advocate, I had already had extensive dealings with the director-general of the SAIS; Michael Griffiths. In return for his support Terra Firma, by extension Cerberus, had donated... extensively to helping the director retain his position of power.
Michael had been bread to be a spy, both physically and psychologically. He is determined and loyal to his cause. He can be charming, manipulative and persuasive. He is adaptable and very intelligent and has the uncanny ability of reading people very well.
He is a firm believer that the end justifies the means as long as SAIS assets are not endangered. The years as a spy have made him extremely paranoid and generally distrust people, for whom he believes that they always have a secret agenda and as such trust computers over people.
His pragmatism is also the reason why he leaves his operatives a lot of freedom, as long as their actions further SAIS agenda in one way or another.
In other words he knew that he owed me a favour.
The one hundred year old asshole, had survived the war. All it took was a quick call through an encrypted channel and I had my field agent qualifications.
Attached-
NAME: LEX JAMES STYX
DOB: CLASSIFIED
POB: CLASSIFIED
RANK: SPECIAL AGENT
CLASS: SAIS
Maybe it was partly due to my father's impressive list of IOU's, but getting access was far to easy.
You should look into that.
Not wanting to leave to much of a trail, I decided to hop another cargo ship back to earth. Wedged in between crates once more, I decided that I should spend my time trying to get a feel of what to expect when I met you.
It turns out, according to that day's bulletin, you had woken up and had already released a statement.
You grieved for the fallen. You wished to find your ship, which had gone missing in the aftermath of the battle. You mourned the loss of the geth. You mourned the loss of Admiral David Anderson.
You acknowledged the death of the terrorist known as the Illusive Man.
So the fucker was dead. It was confirmed by two people.
Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't have a bigger reaction.
Sure, back when I had been outside my favourite cesspool bar, the fact that he had probably allowed the failsafe letting those operatives find me pissed me off. But all in all, I really didn't have much of a reaction the second time round it was said out loud to me.
I was far more excited by the fact that you were awake.
That you were alive.
And that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to see you.
My SAIS clearance gave me access to the name of the hospital you were recovering in.
Prince George Hospital, Perth, Australia.
Oh the irony.
It was the same place I was born.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The foundation of Cerberus was built on the bones of the undeceive.
My father was a charismatic man, able to charm and manipulate with equal ease. I'm sure you are well aware of the Teltin Facility on Pragia? My father needed to have irrefutable evidence of success before he was willing to allow the things they discovered to promote biotic potential on me.
After all, it wouldn't do for Cerberus' biggest weapon to die.
I didn't see my father for ten years after he stole me away from the cold white cell I had been kept in. He handed me over to a crew of nameless scientists who spent the majority of their time poking me for biotic reactions. At the age of eight, they had filled me with enough chemicals and operated on so many times I had the body of a twelve year old.
And the soul of a bitter man.
For a long time all I wanted was my mother. But she was dead. Then I wanted my father, but the only interaction I had from him was a voice recording played over the speakers into my cell three times a day.
All your power, and you let her die.
You are not my son. You are not her son. You are nothing. You become a tool. You will become a weapon. You will be our Cerberus.
You will save us all. Because you couldn't save her.
Even though I didn't see my father for ten years, his was the only voice I heard.
The scientists didn't speak to me.
I was barraged with silent images. Of death and destruction. Of aliens, ripping apart humans.
And finally, of my mother.
Head cut in two, and lying in a pool of gore.
For months, they showed me this image every day. For two months I vomited at the sight.
And so, what I can only presume to be in punishment, they tortured me.
The actual torture is surprisingly vague to my mind. I remember the pain, and the sounds of my screams bouncing off the walls.
And the scars they left, which were removed and then left again.
The day it stopped was when I could stare at the body of the only woman who cared for me, and didn't puke my guts out.
That was the first day they gave me filtered red sand.
I don't know if you've ever done sand, but let me tell you Shepard, nothing beats the first rush of it in your blood. I think that all users are really only trying to regain that first rush.
Of your head feeling so light.
When I was twelve, I killed my first batarian.
I had been trained. The images made sure of that. My senses had been attuned to the smells of war and death. And my body and biotics demanded to be used.
They put me in a room with the batarian.
He had a gun.
And a single voice sounded out over the speakers.
You are alone, and come across an armed batarian. What do you do?
I charged forward before he could blink four eyes, and biotically punched my hand through his abdomen, wrapping my hand around his spine.
He looked at me with such fear and I couldn't help get a rush, before I pulled my hand back out and his spine with it. He remained collapsed , silently screaming in his own blood before I leaned in and punched his head do hard, his skull splattered.
I then calmly answered the voice.
'I destroy. With extreme prejudice.'
The cargo ship docked in Paris. I managed to evade most of the security scans, but was finally caught out by a Alliance Private who regarded me with a suspicious expression.
'ID please sir' she gruffly demanded.
I allowed an easy smile to cross my face before allowing her access to my fake identification.
'Of course officer .'
After a few seconds running a verification scan, the private's head turned back to me with a now nervous expression.
'Everything looks to be good here sir!'
I should have thought so. After all Shepard, I was officially inputted into the system.
I suppressed an irritated eye roll, before I allowed another smile to cross my face.
'Thank you Private.'
I began to turn away as the Private began to nervouly natter.
'Ummm... Excuse me sir, but could I offer to organise a transport for you?'
'I don't know.. Can you?'
I couldn't help myself Shepard.
She looked obviously perplexed by this, leaving me wondering just how this bright bulb had managed to survive the war.
I let out a short sigh, before answering again.
'I would appreciate that very much Private.'
On my way to Perth, with a thankfully much less annoying Private piloting the shuttle, I began to prepare myself mentally for what I hoped to be our first meeting.
I was extremely unprepared for it.
The shuttle had just touched down on the landing pad of the Prince George Hospital when I began to hear raised voices.
The shuttle opened allowing me full view of you wearing a set of stolen doctor's scrubs arguing with Admiral Hackett.
Good start to a bad joke looking back now.
'...there is absolutely no way in hell I'm staying in this fucking hospital one second longer!'
You were red faced and dotted with fading bruises. Your red hair looked like it had seen better days, and the scrubs you were wearing were covered in a liquid of questionable origins.
You were perfect.
I began to slowly walk towards you as you continued your arguement.
'My ship is out there somewhere Hackett. My crew! My people!'
'Stop behaving like a child for two minutes and face reality Shepard. The Reapers are gone, no-one knows how except for you because you refuse to talk to anyone! The geth have blacked out on us completely. Anderson and the Illusive Man are dead and nobody knows how. And until you tell us, I cannot, in good conscience, send you out back to galaxy when you haven't received any help for your clear mental trauma!'
If anything, your face managed to become more red.
'I AM NOT TALKING TO ANYMORE QUACKS YOU SEND TO ME!'
'TOUGH LUCK!'
You looked shocked at Hackett's apparent lack of composure. His face softened at your shocked expression.
He rested a hand on your shoulder and spoke again.
'I'm sorry Shepard. I know how much you want to get back out there. But even with everything else I said... This son... The Illusive Man's son. Well you've read the file and we have the firsthand account of from Miss Lawson. He's dangerous Shepard.'
That perked my ears up a bit. They thought I was some sort of threat?
You merely grumbled though, but visibly calmed.
That's when both of you first noticed me.
Your eyes are a stunning shade of green Shepard. Even though I have my mother's colour, your eyes hold her spirit.
Her fire.
'May we help you?' Hackett gruffly asked, clearly not pleased at the interruption.
I responded quickly, my eyes riveted to yours.
'My name is Special Agent Styx ma'am. I'm here to write a report on you ma'am.'
You regarded me for a second before scoffing heartily and turning your back to march back into the hospital.
'Get in line!' You called over your shoulder before stomping back inside the hospital.
Hackett sighed next to me.
'I'll see to it that you get your report Special Agent. I just hope she doesn't try to escape again, the last thing I need is a call from a very angry Rear Admiral Shepard.' He stated before he too, walked back inside.
I just stood there, struck dumb at the time.
It may sound corny Shepard, but the stain on your shirt?
It was shaped like a heart.
I am the son of the Illusive Man.
My name is Alexander Harper.
And I like your choice in clothes.
A/N Oh just in case you are wondering, I didn't make up SAIS. Check out this link: Mass_Effect_
I got all I wrote about it from there!
I hope you liked the chapter!
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