Disclaimer: Mass Effect is copyright of Bioware. Many of the characters contained herein—Shepard included—are property of Bioware. Shepard is partially of my forging, since I could imagine his background and actions during his military career. The sequence of events and their outcomes are property of Bioware. The interpretations of the events are my own. Ci-Ci is mine. Please do not repost this story or any parts of it herein. Always give credit where it is due. I owe the Mass Effect Wiki a great deal for helping me figure out timelines, details, and other such things.

I welcome constructive and/or encouraging reviews/critiques. Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

11 April 2185—Lazarus Project Facility, Terminus Systems

Shepard woke to sirens blaring. His head was pounding, every inch of his body hurt, and he was again in the middle of an emergency. Didn't he just dream this?

"Commander Shepard. Commander Shepard! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes. It wasn't Corinthia talking; she couldn't do an Australian accent. No one on the Normandy had one, either. And it didn't have white ceilings.

"What the fuck?" he muttered. The moment he did, his jaw popped out of socket. He rubbed it painfully until it returned to its place. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's not important right now. You have to get out of there and find me. The facility is under attack."

A wave of déjà vu washed over Shepard. The Normandy. Joker. Space. Dying…

He'd died. Or, at least, he felt like he had. Worse, things were starting off exactly like he'd imagined Hell. A cold bitch was talking to him, he didn't have a gun or armor, he was under attack, and Corinthia was nowhere to be seen.

"What the fuck happened to me?"

"Please, Commander. There's a gun and armor in the locker."

He gritted his teeth. "Definitely Hell…" He didn't have anything against women, really, but this one sounded like a witch. Or maybe he was just used to Ci-Ci's perkiness, Liara's naivety, or Tali's technical jargon. Either way, he already knew that he didn't like her.

He found the gun, but it was missing a thermal clip. Since when had guns needed them replaced? He'd deal with it later. "Where's my stuff?"

"Irrelevant. Please, Commander, there isn't much time."

"Give me your location."

"That's—"

"Put it on my omni-tool. Now."

"You're in no position to give orders."

"I thought I was saving your ass."

"I never said anything about that."

"Then why the hell am I trying to get to you?"

"That isn't important. What is important is keeping you alive."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. There was no way that he was going to get anything out of this woman. At this point, aside from the throbbing pain ripping through his body with every siren whir, he was convinced that he was in Hell and he was not going to roll over and take it.

"Just give me the damn coordinates."

"Very well. Get over here. Quickly. We don't have much time."

Shepard had heard—and said—that line far too many times over the last few months that he didn't want to hear or say it again. But, of course, he was going to before much longer; he doubted the Reapers would wait.

"Yeah, yeah," he growled.

"You have—"

"Shut up," he snapped, picking up a thermal clip and loading it. A group of mechs came through the doors, guns raised and almost immediately shooting at him." I'll deal with them." He ran into cover, muttering, "Yeah, definitely Hell. I've been awake for two minutes and things are already trying to kill me."

He threw a singularity field at the mechs. They floated towards it, computer cores trying to process what had just happened. They never did; Shepard picked them off one by one.

"Is there an assault rifle somewhere?" he demanded, feeling like an idiot for yelling at nothing.

"No," the woman answered.

"And what the hell is going on with me needing clips?"

"Technology upgrade to reduce overheating."

"Can I at least get your name? I feel like an idiot talking to a disembodied voice."

"It's Miranda," she answered irately.

"Fine… Miranda." Reluctantly, he followed her instructions through the overrun base. The only good thing that happened to him was finding a grenade launcher. After that, all communication was cut off with Miranda, he found logs that sounded like he'd been the subject of a science experiment, and stepped over far too many dead bodies for his liking.

Wherever he was, the place was extremely well funded. The equipment was higher-tech than anything he'd ever seen, the weapons were better than anything standard issue, and everyone was wearing white and black uniforms that didn't belong to any military units he'd seen. If not for the blood smearing the walls and the murderous mechs running around, he might have tried to get some of their intel.

He came to a bridge. A man was crouched behind the glass railing, avoiding enemy fire. He had dark skin, short black hair, big lips, and a goatee. He held himself like a well-trained Alliance Commando. Shepard joined him. "What's the situation?"

The man blinked. "You're… I didn't think that you'd be awake."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You didn't answer my question, soldier."

"Soldier?" He laughed. "I'm not a soldier." He ducked a little more as the mechs renewed their fire. "Damn…"

Shepard glanced over, took out the grenade launcher, and destroyed the mechs. "Now will you talk?"

The man grinned. "Sure. Name's Jacob Taylor. I thought you'd be taller, Commander."

"Where the hell am I?"

"That's classified."

Shepard clenched a fist, biotics flaring. Jacob stepped back, holding up his hands. "Easy. I'm not the enemy. Well, not really, anyway. We're on the same side."

"I don't believe you."

"I wouldn't, either, if I was in your position."

"And what, exactly, is it?"

"You mean… Oh, great. I'd hoped NOT to be the one to explain this…" Jacob looked around, trying to gather his thoughts. "Well…"

Shepard crossed his arms impatiently. "I'm waiting."

"You died."

Shepard's stomach dropped. Dead? He'd guessed, assumed, but… "Impossible."

"What do you remember of the attack on the Normandy?"

Shepard didn't want to think about it. He remembered perfectly. He repressed a shudder. "Enough."

"Yeah, well, obviously not enough. You died. We brought you back. This ain't a hospital or anything like that."

"I picked that up on my own, even if I did wake up in surgery."

Jacob shrugged. "You weren't supposed to be up for another eight days at least. Miranda was convinced that you were recovered." Jacob smirked. "I'd say she's wrong."

"You bet your ass she is. That bitch has been leading me around."

"Thought she might. She's like that."

"Where's the Normandy?"

"Destroyed."

Shepard took a slow breath. "And the crew?"

"Most of them survived."

"Where's my team now?"

"I couldn't say. The Alliance reassigned them all."

"What about Ci-Ci?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

Jacob sighed. He figured that Shepard would ask about her. Everyone had heard of her fate; the Council had made almost as big a deal about her death as they had Shepard's, making her some kind of hero, wronged by mercenaries or slavers or some other problem stemming in the Terminus Systems. "Honestly, I don't know," he lied. "I've been here for the last five months and haven't exactly been keeping up with them. Miranda would know, though."

Shepard didn't believe Jacob, but he doubted that he had a choice in the matter. "She refused to tell me anything."

"You were talking to her?"

"Before, over the radio."

"Is she alive?"

"I lost communication. I don't see the big deal."

"She was running this facility. She's the one responsible for bringing you back."

"Will you stop bringing up the fact that I died?"

"Sorry, Commander." Jacob looked around uneasily. "We should keep moving. Whatever or whoever made those mechs go haywire is probably still here."

Shepard drew his pistol. "Fine. You'd better start giving me answers after we're out of here."

"I'll answer anything you ask."

"You've already avoided it. I don't trust you, but I don't have a choice."

"When do we?" Jacob drew his shotgun. "The docking bay is this way."

The doors to the docking bay slid open. Miranda stood on the other side, frowning.

Wilson, a doctor, stepped forward. "Miranda, I thought you'd be—"

She leveled her pistol at his chest and shot. "Dead?" she suggested coldly.

Shepard smirked. "Any dead Cerberus agent is a good thing." They'd found Wilson cowering behind some cargo crates, claiming that the mechs had come for him. Shepard didn't trust him, especially after Jacob had revealed that the facility was a Cerberus facility.

"Careful, Commander," Miranda warned. "We're the whole reason you're still breathing."

"I have yet to decide if I'm grateful." Shepard glared at her icily. She returned the gaze with equal coldness.

"You should be. You were dead."

"And now I'm breathing again. Doesn't mean I owe you anything."

"You owe us everything, Commander."

"We'll see about that."

"We shouldn't stand around here talking."

Shepard leveled his gun at her. "We're not going anywhere until I find out what I want to know."

"You can kill me later. This place will self-destruct."

"What the fuck?"

"What did you expect? We can't let this technology get into the wrong hands."

"It's already in the wrong hands."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're speaking to the person solely responsible for the fact that you're living and breathing!"

Shepard put his finger on the trigger. "Fine."

Jacob shoved Shepard's arm into the air. "Commander, we can't afford to fight. You don't know what's happened in the rest of the galaxy."

"Jacob!" Miranda protested. "You can't—"

"The Council and the Alliance had declared that the Reaper threat ended with Saren. Cerberus has been the only organization that's been doing anything about it."

"What about Ci-Ci?"

Miranda cut in. "I'll tell you about her in the shuttle. Will you please come with me, Commander? A lot has happened over the last two years."

Shepard blinked. "Two YEARS?" He wrenched his arm out of Jacob's grasp and rounded on him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You were in a hurry and you aren't someone I want to piss off," Jacob answered.

"At least someone's figured that out," Shepard growled, glaring at Miranda. He holstered his weapon. "We'll talk on the way out of here."

"Finally, some sense," Miranda groaned. She stalked into the shuttle, curves swaying seductively. Shepard rolled his eyes; Women in catsuits generally had one thing in mind and it was not being productive in a fight.

Shepard got in and took his seat across from her. Jacob went up to the cockpit and ordered takeoff.

Miranda opened her omni-tool. "I need to ask you a few questions to ensure that you've been restored to full mental functionality."

"I can think just fine," Shepard growled.

"Let me be the judge of that."

He gritted his teeth. "I don't answer anything until you tell me where Ci-Ci is."

"And I don't tell you where she is until you answer my questions."

Shepard stared her down, getting the feeling that he was looking at himself. She was going to be as stubborn and difficult to deal with as him. "I don't like this."

"Good. If you did, something would be very wrong. We wanted to bring you back exactly like you were."

He flexed his fingers. "My biotics are stronger."

"A necessary improvement. Your implants were destroyed and you now have L5s." She made a note on her omni-tool. "Now, what happened during and after the Battle of the Citadel?"

"I kicked Saren's ass. Saved the Council because Ci-Ci would've killed me if I didn't. Said that Udina would be a better Councilor to get back at her. I was assigned to hunt down geth and Ci-Ci joined the Spectres." He spat the last, still feeling resentful. "Then the Normandy was destroyed and I woke up here."

Miranda nodded. "Your memory seems to be intact…"

"Now answer my question."

Miranda ignored him. "But I'm still not sure."

"We don't have a choice, Miranda," Jacob hissed, taking a seat next to her. "Now tell him."

"In good time."

Shepard clenched a fist and put his other hand on the hilt of his gun. "You gave your word."

"I only said after you answered my questions, but I never said when." She smiled cruelly.

"You're pressing your luck as it is," he warned. "I don't like people stringing me along."

"You seemed to have enjoyed it when Commander Corinthia did."

"WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?" Shepard shouted, biotics flaring as he grabbed Miranda's throat and pushed her against the wall. He didn't care that she had a gun pointed at his stomach; he knew any threat from her was hollow. Cerberus had put four billion credits into bringing him back to life and she was not about to destroy that investment. Unfortunately for her, he didn't need her alive. The only reason that anyone still lived was because it was easier for him that way. For now.

Miranda's eyes never once betrayed panic or fear. Her mind and heart were racing, though. She knew that Shepard would kill her if she didn't say, but she also couldn't risk telling him that Corinthia was dead. At least, she couldn't yet. "I would think, Commander, that you would be more concerned with the fact that you have just spent two years dead, not the location of your former girlfriend."

"Not former."

"That remains to be seen. Two years can change a lot of things."

Shepard neither released her not backed down. "Did she find someone else?"

"No one that we know of."

"Is she safe?"

"As safe as someone in her position can be." Miranda knew that she was digging her own grave, but it would give her time to convert him to Cerberus's cause.

Jacob shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like what Miranda was doing. Shepard's eyes flicked to him, but mostly remained focused on Miranda. "Miranda, just give the man a straight answer," Jacob said.

"After—" She choked as Shepard tightened his grip. "Commander, if you don't release me, I will never tell you."

"I'll find out another way, then."

Jacob grabbed Shepard's shoulders and tried to push him off. The Commander was strong and Jacob, despite having a near perfect physique, couldn't get Shepard back into his seat. "Miranda!"

Shepard elbowed Jacob in the face. "Tell me!"

Miranda put her palm against Shepard's stomach, hitting him with a wave of biotics. He staggered back a foot, loosening his grip on her neck enough that she could raise her foot and kick him back into his seat. She rubbed her throat. "I never would have expected a man with your reputation to care so much about one woman."

"You don't know a fucking thing about me. Why the hell are you being so damn elusive?"

Miranda crossed her arms and legs. "This is a fruitless battle, Commander. I am not to be intimidated and I will tell you everything you want to know after you speak to the Illusive Man."

"I don't believe you." Shepard opened his omni-tool.

"Screw this," Jacob growled. "She's—"

Miranda's jaw twitched ever so slightly. "Stay out of this, Jacob," she interrupted. "You're directly opposing the Illusive Man's orders."

"You mean he told you not to tell him?" Jacob shook his head. "I knew he wasn't to be trusted."

"You should. He knows what's best."

"He said not to tell me what?" Shepard demanded.

"You can ask him yourself. You'll be talking to him in twenty minutes. Can you wait that long?"

Shepard thought for a moment. "Fine."

He didn't holster his weapon.

The Illusive Man smirked. "Shepard. I'm glad we can have this chat."

"Make it fast," Shepard growled. "I thought I'd be meeting you face to face."

The Illusive Man chuckled. "I can't risk that."

Shepard crossed his arms. "What the hell do you want?"

"As Miranda may have told you, the Citadel Council has denied all existence of the Reapers. This has put humanity in an interesting position, needless to say."

"I'm a Spectre. They'll let me do whatever the hell I want."

The Illusive Man chuckled. "I'm not so sure about that. They were already trying to cover your work up before you died."

"What about Ci-Ci? She wouldn't have rolled over like that."

"She didn't. As a matter of fact, she's the one who's essentially spearheaded our investigation into the Reapers and Collectors."

"Essentially?"

The Illusive Man tapped the ash off his cigarette. "You know her feelings about Cerberus, so you can imagine how she reacted than when I asked her to join our cause."

Shepard smirked and palmed his pistol. "And why should I react any differently?"

"You owe me your life."

He pulled his gun off his hip and put his finger on the trigger. "Wrong. Try again."

"You're no threat to me."

"Maybe, but I can destroy one hell of a lot of equipment."

The Illusive man almost laughed. "I see Miranda did her job. Now, it's for you to do yours. There is a tangible threat to humanity and you're the only person who can stop it."

"I sincerely doubt that."

The Illusive Man took a long draw from this cigarette. "You're thinking of Commander Corinthia, I take it."

"Who else?"

"She is no longer an option."

"Because she refused to work with you?"

"Because she's dead."

Shepard laughed. "Yeah fucking right."

"Knowing your temper, this is not something I would joke about. She was killed by the Collectors five months ago."

Shepard almost dropped his pistol as his body went numb.

"Commander?"

"How?" Shepard asked hoarsely after another minute.

"Interestingly enough, almost exactly the same way you did." The Illusive Man inhaled some more smoke thoughtfully. "Though her body didn't survive, so far as we know. It seems to have been incinerated along with her ship."

Shepard felt his knees going weak. His mind was shutting down, unable to process the slew of emotions hitting him like a flood. Only one managed to break through the floodgates: Rage.

"I'll help you," he whispered, barely audible, but his voice had never been more dangerous or murderous in his life. Even the Illusive Man shivered.

"I'll tell Miranda to give you the biggest guns we have. Thank you, Shepard. You won't regret this."

"Cross me even once and I will hunt you down."

The Illusive Man smirked. "I'd love to see you try."

Shepard walked out of the transmission room, brushing past Miranda and Jacob and grabbing an assault rifle from the weapon rack. "We're leaving. Now."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Shepard continued to outfit himself. "If we're going to do this, you are both going to have to follow my orders to the letter. No fucking around. You do what I say when I say. Do not question my orders. Are we clear?"

Jacob shrugged. "Sure thing, Commander."

Miranda narrowed her eyes coldly. "You only have my cooperation for as long as your goals align with Cerberus's."

Shepard shrugged. "Whatever, as long as you listen to me."

She smiled indulgently. "Of course, Commander."

15 April 2185—SSV Normandy SR-2, en route to Omega, Sahrabarik System, Omega Nebula

Joker stretched out in the pilot's chair. "Now this is what I'm talking about! Leather seats, adjustable lumbar…" He smiled. "The Alliance didn't have any consideration for comfort."

Shepard rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, the Alliance hasn't ever really cared about any of that."

"This was not meant to be a replica of the original Normandy," a woman's voice said. "Cerberus designed this as an upgrade."

"What the fuck?" Shepard demanded. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is EDI, sir. I'm the ship's AI."

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"I am not, though it is part of my programming. I was designed to handle the Normandy's defense systems. I am capable of—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Shepard dismissed, waving a hand. "Just don't go rogue. Then I'll have to kill you."

"From your record, I would not be surprised. I am still completely under your command and can only take control of the defenses in a critical situation."

"Fine. Just don't go homicidal."

"Not without your permission, Commander."

"Don't let Joker pull anything."

"I don't need a babysitter!" the pilot protested.

"And you're the one who joined Cerberus willingly."

"They were gonna reunite me with my baby." Joker rubbed the helm lovingly.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to my quarters." He hesitated. "Where the hell are they?"

"The upper deck," EDI answered. "The elevator is at the back of the CIC."

"The what?"

"The Combat Information Center."

"Can't you just call it the Combat Deck?"

"This isn't an Alliance vessel, Commander."

"Just shut up. You're giving me a migraine." Shepard trudged to the elevator.

A woman with short red hair and smokily-lined green eyes smiled at him. "Hi, Commander! I'm Kelly—"

"No one asked you," he snapped, pressing the button to make the doors close faster. He wanted to be alone. No, he needed to be alone. He'd gone through Freedom's Progress—a colony where every human had been abducted by Collectors—like he had Torfan. Everything in his way was obliterated or worse. The only reason he hadn't killed Tali (who had been there to rescue one of her companions) was because he had innately registered that quarians weren't enemies.

Unfortunately, Tali had mentioned Corinthia (or, really, had offered her condolences over her disappearance). Shepard hadn't reacted… well. Needless to say, several quarians, who were already feeling annoyed because they'd lost a compatriot and were facing down the universally disliked Cerberus, almost murdered Shepard where he stood. Tali had stopped them, but only barely.

After that, it had taken all of Shepard's self-control to focus on the mission at hand. He'd blazed through his debriefing from the Illusive Man and the introduction to the new Normandy in order to get to his quarters and find out for himself what had happened to Corinthia. He instantly focused on the computer console on the desk and gravitated to it. He wasn't going to believe the rumors until—

His heart sank. The first thing that came up when he looked for her name was a long, overly-flowery obituary depicting her heroism. He devoured it and then read everything else that he could. It was all propaganda and, in all likelihood, completely false. He didn't care. It all meant that she was gone… Really gone. The one good thing in his life was never going to come back. Worse, they'd parted on a sour note. He'd never apologized; he'd been too proud. If only he'd… she'd… they'd…

He stood up from the desk and staggered to the bed. His knees gave out a few feet away. He landed hard, not hearing the hollow thump or anything but the blood pounding in his ears. His eyes unfocused and his vision blurred. His fingers went numb and his hands started shaking. He couldn't breathe. He was dying all over again, eternally floating off into absolute darkness and emptiness, feeling his heart pounding and counting the heartbeats until it stopped.

Something hot and wet slid down his cheeks, like his forehead was bleeding. He was crying. He'd never done that before… He'd never felt grief before, let alone guilt. Now they were both brutally assaulting him, cutting off all escape routes. He wanted to die. He wanted to have stayed dead, woken sooner, gotten to her in time, saved her, apologized, told her that he loved her with every breath he had, married her, made love to her, grown old with her, died with her… He was already doing the last, though. She had been the only thing that made him feel… human.

He punched the floor. His knuckles didn't even break, not because the punch was week, but rather because he'd been upgraded. Whatever the hell Miranda had done to him, he wasn't human anymore. Without Corinthia, he was a soulless killing machine. If Death was the only thing he had left, he was going to embrace it.

He dragged himself onto his bed and rolled onto his back. He would get out all of his emotions now before shutting them out completely. He was never, ever going to deal with them again. If Love meant this much pain, he wanted nothing to do with it. He would never stop loving Cassiopeia, but he couldn't function like he still did without her there. Hell, he was crying like some kind of pussy. She was worth it, though…

No. He couldn't think like that. He had to forget her. Move on. Save the galaxy.

"Fuck the galaxy," he growled. This was revenge, not justice. He'd use his Spectre status and Cerberus connections to find and annihilate every last bastard that crossed his path. He'd make good on his name "the Butcher". The Collectors and Cerberus would regret the day that they brought him back. He'd destroy the galaxy if it meant getting what he wanted.

He closed his eyes, the emotional overload finally getting to him. He swore to himself that he would never, ever think about Cassie as anything but fodder for the flames of vengeance. He would never let himself get that close to anyone again. Frankly, he wasn't sure that he could; he didn't have a heart left to give.