A/N Hello again readers! Sorry I'm a little late again, I had a very busy week. So, no more waiting.

READ ON!

My father was a fan of the shock therapy for a while.

It left me excruciating pain, and my mind felt it was going to snap in half. Everyday three, times a day for three years.

In-between these courses, I had litres of chemicals injected into my brain feeding images into my brain. Then I was let loose in my old training room.

Simulated combat situations mostly.

When the N7 program was first set up, the drug the injected me with was considered too dangerous to use on recruits.

Too dangerous, for the N7 program.

It leads to psychotic episodes, murderous tendencies, paranoia and schizophrenia.

Fred has been in my head ever since.

Just kidding Shepard.

That being said, I fought in every environment imaginable. To this day, I still don't know if my brief murderous stint on a batarian pirate ship was real of simulated. All the prisoners that were on the ship had already been injected with control chips and I was ordered to terminate.

I hesitated, and one of the slaves cut my arm off with a sharp metal shard.

My right arm is cybernetic, but whether it was cut off by an actual slave, or one of my father's minions in a simulation I have no idea.

Either way, I learnt my lesson surely. It was cemented in my brain over and over again.

Hesitation kills.

It killed my mother and it killed Emily.

It kills all my victims who always hesitate in fear in the moment they might escape me.

Hesitation equals death.

I would go so far as to say that death is final, but given that I'm talking to you I can hardly spout that statement off.

I loved it and hated it though.

The death was beautiful, the blood glorious.

But they weren't my kills; they were my father's and therefore, they were unsatisfying.

My father must have sensed this, and I think in an effort to get me more aboard his crusade, he offered me one kill of my own.

I was set down in the cargo bay of Teratha. The capital of a turian colony called Naravet.

No weapons, no ID and no money.

But I was finally able to stalk again.

I picked my target at the local park. She was feeding the birds with her children and partner. Laughing and playing with them.

One of the kids looked old enough to be in high school. She ran her talon over his mandibles fondly.

And he jerked away with a look of disgust on his face.

'I'm to old for that Mum. Stop it!'

The ignorant little shit.

With a look of devastation, her talon dropped back to her side.

That boy didn't realise what he had in a mother.

A live, caring, feeling mother.

My first thought was to kill him, the boy didn't deserve to live for his act of shame. But that would be a terrible option. She obviously loved him, so she would miss him if he died.

And I wouldn't want to put her in pain.

But him…. He deserved to feel the loss.

I killed her quickly.

The next day I pretended my skycar had broken down along her usual route to work. Being the woman she was, she stopped to help. I drew her into the alley, and biotically snapped her neck.

Quick and easy.

She didn't even know she had died.

Riffling through her pockets I found an actual hard copy photo of her family. She must have really loved them to get a hard copy to carry with her.

Right next to her heart.

I left it open on her chest, a circle of her blood traced around her older son's face and a line of script.

YOUR FAULT

I watched from afar as the family was informed.

The eldest boy cried his eyes out.

I took a snapshot of the scene and sent it to all the family's omnitools before I scarpered with a final line.

AREN'T YOU A BIT OLD FOR THAT?

I returned from my kill calmer than I had ever been .

My father requested a meeting with me, and I was to be spared the torture of the shocks for a day.

He kept me waiting for four hours, I have no idea why. Maybe he thought it would annoy me. But for me, blessed silence was a gift.

He finally allowed me into his office; the star behind him burning and churning.

Blue vs Red

Good vs Evil

Becoming some so much more than either trait could be by themselves. Becoming a force to be fear and loved with equal pain and admiration.

There was a chair waiting for me next to him, and he gestured silently for me to sit pointing with his cigarette smoke.

I sat in silence and stared at the star.

'Do you want a drink?'

I turned at his question and looked at him with a querying look in my eyes. His hair was matted with sweat and his eyes glazed over with alcohol.

One hand shakily holding out a full glass of bourbon.

I accepted it slowly, holding it gingerly. He stared at me, burning me, until I took a sip.

The taste rolling off my tongue, I let out a groan of appreciation.

My father laughed, but no smile touched his face.

'It's the good stuff, I assure you.'

He lit up a second cigarette and handed it to me.

We smoked and drank in silence for a long while, before the first question rolled off his lips.

'Claire…Your mother…. She hated that I smoked.'

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His face looked sad.

And there it was….A tear.

His eyes snapped to mine, burning into them.

'She would kill me for what I've done to you.'

I couldn't reply. My mouth was dry and my lips seemed glued together.

'She loved you so much. She loved you….. She loved you more than me.'

'And I've hated you for it… Since the day you were born. When you killed her…. It was your fault, because you could have saved her. She loved you so much and you didn't save her.'

'That's why you have to become the weapon. To attone, to redeem…. To be an ideal. But I've made you into something that I'm not sure I can control. That makes you a liability. And you know what I do to liabilities.'

I tensed in my seat, biotics buzzing.

'Calm down' He gestured 'I can't kill you.'

I hesitated, before I asked.

'Why can't you. Why didn't you…..just kill me?'

He stared into my eyes, deeply and sincerely.

'Because I see her every time I look at you. Her fight…Her spirit….Her will to survive…Her eyes.'

I paused in caution, before I reached out with my hand to touch his arm.

He didn't flinch. He relaxed at my touch.

'You even touch me the same way… '

I jerked my hand away. A feeling of anger overtaking me.

Standing, I threw the dregs of my drink into his face.

'You always told me that it was my fault she died. Was it my fault we were left alone to walk the Citadel? My fault I was a child? My fault she loved me? My fault? You took me from a cell, covered in her blood, her death burning in my eyes. You told a six year old boy he was a weapon for twenty five years, and now you expect me to what, forgive you?'

'I will never forgive you.'

Standing himself, he released a brutal wave of agony through my skull.

On my knees again, tears coming to my eyes, his face was a storm of rage and he slapped me across the face three times.

'I DON'T WANT YOUR PITY!'

'Good' I ground out through gritted teeth.

'And when you die, you won't get my mother's either.'

At the end of my three years of re-training, I was deployed back into the field. I became security detail on loan for my father's 'friends'. I was a terrorist, blowing up and destroying cities and spaceports. I infiltrated the Citadel political circles, and was even loaned out to some more…. Promiscuous….politicians in exchange for favours.

Let me tell you; Donnel Udina had some fucked up fantasies.

For years I built and learned and destroyed and fucked.

Drinking and killing and thinking and fighting.

I was even the top mercenary in the Terminus for a while.

I got very close to Aria for six or so months. So close, I could tell you where all her tattoos are. When she figured out I was spying on her, she even came to kill me in person.

I must have left an impression I guess.

All the while though, my personal kill count kept stacking up.

Double killings, bombings, beheadings….I tried them all. All the while to scratch my itchy Call.

Death was my life, was my soul.

I'm not a tragic hero. There is blood in my ledger that was totally innocent and I knew it. I killed them because I liked it and I could. And sometimes, I even sought the innocents out.

They died so much better than the guilty, because they were so clueless. They didn't make the assumptions that their actions led them to their fate. They just panicked and cried. Scared and afraid and weak with fear.

And their death served no purpose or logic. They didn't die because they fit a rule or a code. They just died, because I wanted them to die.

And the hold a life in your hands is an amazing thing. The feeling of control and fragility is….. beautiful.

Sometimes, when I missed the thrill of it to much to bear, I just listened to the beating of my own heart.

Its soothing, because it proves that I am not a God.

I am mortal too.

My heart is just as easy to break.

Evil isn't born…. It's made

Sometimes, when the hours of the day draw to a close, I do think about my father. By anyone's definition, including mine, he was evil.

But he couldn't have always been that way.

What was it that made him so twisted? Was is really my mother's death?

Was it really me?

Am I the reason for all the pain that Cerberus wrought?

Evil….

A weapon of evil.

To quote Aristotle:

"Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy"

He definitely knew what he was talking about. I wonder if he was a serial killer too?

Anger is funny I admit. Some feel it hot and raging, others slowly like a volcanic build up. But for me, it has always been large and never-ending. I am always angry, but it simmers deeply, so deep I only feel it when I reach my peak of rage. When I kill, or when I talked to my father.

I hated him, and yet I feel nothing at all.

He destroyed me, but what he made me is all I know. And how can I hate what I am? I am destructive and violent. I can tear apart ships and colonies without blinking. Or at least, I could.

Then I met you.

You don't believe it, I understand its hard. How can a person with much rage and turmoil and absolutely no regard for life except my own suddenly feel….. regret?

But you have a power over people Shepard. You light fires that cleanse the galaxy. Your chaos and destruction is so positive it is scary to watch. You sweep across the stars, you and your ideas. Your thoughts cure and heal things and people that were incurable. And when your heart beats, it provides life to the galaxy. The universe only stands today because of you.

Everyone is alive because of you.

My life….. My soul and my heart.

They exist only for you.

I would die for you.

I would kill for you.

I breathe for you.

You think you don't know me anymore, but the truth is Shepard, you know me better than anyone.

Please…. I love you.

And you said you loved me to.

I am Alexander Harper.

I am the son of the Illusive Man.

And I miss you.

A/N What do we think? Type a review, send a PM, favourite, follow... Whatever you feel like. I like feedback, so if you have any I'd love to hear it. I'm actually really interested to hear how people view Alex. So...Type your opinion!