Shepard, in hard-suit and with weapons-pack on, strode off of the lift and into the CIC, still pulling her hair back. Despite her notion to Kelly the night before, it remained uncut.

Miranda turned as she entered, her blue eyes momentarily searching Shepard's shoulder pads. The commander eyed her.

"I'm not about to take Rat anywhere if I feel the need to dress in combat gear first," Shepard told her, then smirked as the XO relaxed almost imperceptibly. "Besides, I told you I'd keep her out of your way."

"We've just reached Osun," Miranda replied, focusing on business. "We have communications contact with Purgatory and should be docking within the next five minutes."

Moving up to the galaxy map, Shepard selected their current location, drawing her hand back to expand it until she could see a virtual representation of both the Normandy and the prison ship she approached.

"Ugly vessel," she murmured.

"It used to be an ark," Miranda told her. "Used for animals. Still is, just animals of a different sort."

"We're all animals, Lawson," Shepard said thoughtfully, still regarding the Purgatory. The lift opened again, and Miranda looked over as Zaeed and Kasumi exited, both armed to accompany Shepard. Speaking softly and leaning over a little, Miranda spoke to the commander.

"Do you think Massani the best choice?" she asked. "The Purgatory is run by the Blue Suns. Given his personal history…"

"Most Blue Suns have no clue who he is," Shepard replied. "Zaeed's stone, he'll be fine…so long as Vido isn't actually aboard, a prospect I find extremely unlikely."

Closing the galaxy map back to its default she straightened. "This should be simple," she stated. "Twenty minutes, in and out with Jack."

Miranda nodded. "The funds from Cerberus have been delivered. I don't forsee any difficulties."

"Tell Joker to keep the helm warm, just in case."

The Purgatory smelled like steam and old pipes, the air slightly more humid than was usual aboard stations and starships. Air-recyc and oxy-gen units generally produced an atmosphere that was especially dry, unless environmental controls were added to increase humidity. Even so, ships and stations leaned toward the arid side, the right balance of atmospheric moisture requiring far too much in H2O reserves to be economically feasible.

At the edge of the docking ramp, turian guards watched them closely as they approached, weapons in hand though not directly threatening. Their armor was painted blue, plastered with the Suns insignia. "Nice welcoming party," Zaeed noted.

"It is a prison ship," Shepard shrugged.

One of the guards held up a hand as they reached them. "Commander Shepard," he greeted. "Your package is ready for pick-up. If you will just surrender your weapons-"

"Hand me yours first, and I'll give you mine," Shepard smirked, folding her arms. The guard blinked at her.

"Uh…It's…standard procedure, Commander. This is a prison ship, filled with highly dangerous criminals. All guests must surrender their weapons before they can be cleared to go in."

Shepard's smirk faded. "Perhaps I wasn't clear, so let me explain this to you in depth, using simple terms you'll be sure to understand."

Her eyes went to stone, and she leaned forward ever so slightly, her gaze burning into his.

"No."

The turian blinked again, before his mandibles fluttered in irritation. Touching his radio, he spoke into it. "Warden? Commander Shepard has arrived, but-"

"I heard, private."

The reply came from another turian who was striding into view. Shepard lifted a brow faintly to see the man was barefaced, with no trace of the race's usual clan markings. It was strange to see a turian that way, it being a bit of stigma in their culture. She wondered at the cause.

"Commander Shepard," he said. His words were polite enough, but his tone was that of one used to being obeyed. "I am Warden Kuril of the Purgatory. I'm afraid my guardsman is right. Visitors are not allowed to carry weapons aboard ship. Don't worry, they will be returned to you."

Shepard nodded slowly. "All right then," she said, then looked at Kasumi. "We're heading back on board. Tell Lawson to contact Cerberus and have the payment to Kuril revoked. We won't be picking up Jack after all."

As the trio turned back toward the ramp, Kuril lifted a hand. "Wait! Wait, Commander…there's no need for that."

"Apparently there is," Shepard told him, turning her head to look at him. "I am not giving up my weapons, Kuril, so we are at an impasse."

Shaking his head, Kuril nodded in concession, then looked at his men. "I suppose an exception can be made this one time. We are secure enough to handle three armed guests. Let them through."

Shepard knew it. The man was all about creds. Honestly, what she'd read up on about Purgatory made her sick. It was little more than a controlled slave and blackmail organization. Coerce funds out of governments that didn't want their dangerous criminals to be dropped back on their world at an undisclosed time and location, and selling such criminals to anyone with the creds to pay for them…no questions asked. Some were bought for cheap labor. Others by family members of their victims so they could exact their own special brand of revenge.

It was little secret to anyone that Shepard fucking hated slavers.

Even so, they had a purpose she couldn't lose sight of. Right now, getting her team together was priority. The sooner that was done, the sooner they could find Nancy. Every day, every hour that separated them from that goal was banishing whatever slim odds there were to finding her alive.

Enjoy your puppet empire, Kuril, she thought as she stepped past the guards. When the Collectors and the Reapers are handled, you will be seeing me again.

Following the Warden they moved deep into the ship, along enclosed corridors that threaded over enclosed courtyards lined with modular cells. Kuril seemed to be in love with the sound of his own voice, almost immediately launching into a two-bit tour as they went. He explained the history of the ship, the enclosed cell system, and how he occasionally launched a few out into space to set examples to the prisoners. He kept reiterating how dangerous the prisoners were, most insane, nearly all psychotic mass-murderers, and the elaborate measures they had to keep them in their place.

As Kasumi asked about escapes, Shepard watched a dark energy pedestal separating two brawling prisoners on the grounds below, trapping them in individual fields of biotic energy.

"We have no escapes," Kuril said proudly. "Our security measures are top-notch. Different sections of the ship and even the entire vessel can be completely locked down within seconds. Besides, we're in space…they're crazy, but not dumb. Where would they go?"

He shook his head with a smirk. "Strange you want Jack. She's the craziest of them all."

"Is she?" Shepard asked dryly as they continued on.

"You have no idea," he told her. "But…she's your problem now. If you'll excuse me, Shepard…I'm going to go make sure my payment cleared." He pointed along the corridor. "Just keep going this way, through the super-max wing. Out-processing is just beyond, at the end of the junction."

Shepard watched him go silently. Almost the instant he was out of ear-shot, Zaeed snorted.

"Asshole," he grumped. Kasumi nodded.

"That man is a weasel," she agreed. "Making money on other people's suffering like this."

"Let's just get Jack and get out of here," Shepard said, and they continued on their way.

It wasn't long before they saw the door marked 'Out-Processing'. Stepping through, however, revealed a wide lobby occupied only by a single technician…one that was all but completely ignoring them.

"Excuse me," Shepard tried, only to have the tech grunt at her, not looking up from his console.

"Through the door on the back wall," he said in irritation. Scowling, any trace of good mood now gone, Shepard strode toward the far wall. Halfway there, Kasumi stepped in beside her and murmured, "Shep…the tech just bugged out."

"Be ready for anything," Shepard murmured back. Her ever reliable gut was warning her.

Can nothing ever be fucking easy?

As the door slid open, baring the interior of a cell-module, Shepard couldn't even be surprised. No wonder the man had gone on and on about how secure they were, how there was no chance of escape, how they dealt with incredibly dangerous individuals every day.

Fucker never met me, she thought, a breath before Kuril's voice filled the air, transmitting over a comm.

"My apologies Commander Shepard, but you are probably the most valuable sentient being in the galaxy. You will earn me five times more than Cerberus paid for Jack. Let's not make this a problem, shall we? Please, remove your weapons-pack and step into this cell. You and your companions won't be harmed."

The look on Shepard's face when she turned around, glaring at the comm system, was one of pure ice. "You know you're a dead man, right?"

"Please, Shepard," Kuril sounded almost bored. "Bravado is all well and good, but you've seen our security systems. Even armed you are grossly outnumbered by my guard personnel. Containing people like you is our every day bread and butter. The room you're in is completely locked down, and both guards and mechs are converging on your location. I'll tell you what…if you put down your weapons-pack and step into the cell without fuss, I'll let your two companions go. I doubt they'd be worth detaining anyway."

"Huh," Shepard sniffed with bitter amusement. "All right then. Kasumi, unlock the door, would you?"

"Anything for you," Kasumi winked with a smirk, and headed for the door. As she did Shepard unshipped her machine pistols, Zaeed drawing his shotgun.

"Bastard really doesn't know you, does he?" the merc said to her, before shaking his head. "Fucking idiot."

"Just promise me you won't set things on fire," Shepard ribbed as she strode toward the door. "Again."

"I promise nothing," he replied with a half-grin, ratcheting his shotgun.

"Open sesame," Kasumi chirped, a breath before the door slid open, baring a small group of surprised Suns mercs. It hadn't even taken her a full ten seconds. So much for Kuril's bravado.

Half of them were down before they even realized what was going on, two nearly cut in half with Zaeed's shotgun, the others getting Shepard's pistol-fire in their faces. While the gunfire filled the room, Kasumi calmly accessed the nearby console the tech had been doodling on, her omni-tool lit.

"Reinforcements to out-processing!" Kuril sounded less bored now. "Shepard is loose! Repeat, Shepard is loose!"

As the last guard fell, a pair of FENRIS came charging around the corner.

Actual mechs, the FENRIS were four legged synths that often took the place of guard-dogs in places like these. They dropped as easily as any other mech, bullets shattering their eye-lights and tearing limbs off in a scream of disjointed metal. As the gunfire died, Shepard replaced her clips.

"I have their actual ship schematics, population locations," Kasumi informed her, stepping away from the console as she regarded her omni-tool. "Jack is in cryo lock-down not far from here. Out the door, to the left."

"You remember last night?" Shepard asked as she moved out of the room and into the corridor, putting her back to the wall as she surveyed the junction, seeing distant guard pelting their way. "You were afraid this was going to be boring."

"I stand corrected," Kasumi replied with a gleam in her eye. "You do know how to show a girl a good time."

Shepard smirked, measuring the speed the guards were moving at. "Yeah, remember what else I said? There's the running…"

She stepped out from cover, her guns lighting in a fury of death, the flashes from the muzzles casting an almost strobing light over her face. When she stopped, three of the guards were dead, one holding his wounded leg and moaning loudly in agony. Shepard strode up to him, her site fixing on his forehead. The turian's eyes went wide and he began to shriek as he tried to fumble for his weapon.

"And there's the screaming," Shepard finished, before pulling her trigger.

It was the alarms that did it, though why it happened at the moment that it did, Shepard could not fathom.

The alarms had been going off ever since they'd managed to release Jack from cryo. Opening the woman's frozen prison had been accomplished only by overriding the lockdown commands for the prisoner modules ship-wide: they could not release Jack without releasing everyone.

Shepard had only gotten half a glimpse of the biotic before she was out of sight, tearing apart both a heavy mech and a metal wall in her bid to escape. The mech was still spitting when they reached it, staring at the gaping rent in the interior bulkhead.

The klaxons were wailing, Kuril frantically issuing orders from whatever safe office he had sequestered her in, the halls starting to fill with the roars of released and rioting prisoners.

For ten minutes, Shepard barely heard the alarms. She was too busy fighting for her life, dropping guards and wild-eyed convicts with grit-toothed determination. Kasumi was proving more than valuable, easily able to open doors or scout ahead. She had apparently acquired a top of the line, black-market shield-cloak, and could literally vanish at will, dropping guards and madmen alike before they knew she was there.

Shepard and Zaeed were all muscle, claiming every bit of corridor inch by inch, firing shoulder to shoulder and mowing down anything that got in their way.

However Jack was, apparently, doing more damage to the ship than they at first thought. The Purgatory's VI was almost calm as it informed them of another hull breach in a sector not too far away, indicating it was locked down but there were no survivors.

Finding themselves in a momentary reprieve, Shepard leaned against the wall, clearing a hot clip and slapping a fresh one into place. They had just dropped Kuril in one of the large yards…Kuril, and half a dozen of his men who were already ragged from mowing down their share of prisoners. The Warden had actually proven to be a lot tougher than Shepard had thought, but was utterly raving mad, ranting the entire firefight about how he could have lived like a king if only Shepard had the good sense to cooperate.

Shepard was still intensely curious as to who it was that had offered to buy her from Kuril in the first place. Unfortunately, with the warden down and the ship falling apart, the chances of her finding out were growing very slim.

"She's going to bring this whole goddamn ship down," Zaeed panted at the VI's announcement, checking his own weapon.

"Kasumi, how far until we're back at the docking bay?" Shepard asked.

"Not too far, Shep," Kasumi replied. Around them the ship rumbled again, before the VI informed of another breach, another sector vented and locked down.

"Fuck," Shepard gasped, and suddenly the barely heard alarms seemed to become horribly loud and keen…and it happened.

Shepard was no stranger to what the marines called SSDD. PTSD had been a frustratingly tolerated friend of hers since she was a kid. Her anger issues were a symptom, as well as her tendency to stay hyper-vigilant, her brain swiftly accessing and processing anything that might pose a threat. This was her what she called her 'gut', a form of paranoia that whispered to her subconscious when subtle pieces in her environment didn't fall quite right.

Flashbacks, another symptom, she had been fortunate enough to avoid, more or less. On rare occasion, while on the cusp of waking, stuck in that limbo land between sleep and consciousness, she would suddenly think she was back in the Room, or on her bunk in boot…or that there was some kind of incoming attack, some imminent danger about to descend. She would jolt to full consciousness, adrenaline spiking…but it would only last long enough for her eyes to actually focus, for reality to reassert itself.

But then, until fairly recently, Shepard had never actually died.

She should have expected this. The threat of a full flashback had reared its ugly head back at the refinery, momentary lapses where she could hear Joker's voice shouting his maydays, but it had been so brief and things so frantic she had completely forgotten about it. She was about to regret having forgotten.

Leaning on the wall in the corridor of the prison ship, the klaxon wailing and the implacable VI announcing the hull breach, Shepard suddenly lost herself.

{Mayday mayday mayday! This is SSV Normandy!} Joker's voice echoed through the ship as Shepard ran toward the CIC, the air clogged with smoke and the light of flames. Wading through the vacuum, the golden ball of Alchera up above, Shepard passed through the containment field.

"The ship is lost, Joker! The two of us dying with her isn't going to stop it from happening!"

"No, I can still save her!"

Air was vanishing. She was breathing and yet nothing but burning filled her lungs. Fumbling back for her oxy-lines she realized they were cut, that-

"Shepard, stand down, that's a goddamn order!" A voice barked, loud and with so much authority that the soldier in her couldn't help but obey. Something clattered to the ground as Shepard snapped straight on her feet, staring at Zaeed.

Kasumi didn't know what was happening, her first reaction merely one of confusion. Shepard suddenly straightened, her rifle in her hands, and ran down the corridor. Following after her, weapons ready, her team-mates merely thought she was making a push into the next sector and back toward the docking bay, when Shepard abruptly stopped again, breathing heavily.

"Shep? What's wrong?" Kasumi asked, touching her arm.

"The ship is lost," Shepard panted, looking around with wide eyes. Alarmed, Kasumi checked her omni-tool, then shook her head.

"The Normandy is fine, we're nearly there. Jack's still heading in the same direction-"

"The ship is lost, Joker!" Shepard insisted, grabbing hold of Kasumi's arm. "The two of us dying with her isn't going to stop it from happening!"

Now Kasumi knew something was really wrong. She wasn't a soldier or a marine, or a psychologist. Kasumi had heard of PTSD but had no direct experience with it, either in herself or others around her. When Shepard suddenly started gasping, hyperventilating, her alarm turned to outright fear.

Zaeed, however…Zaeed was an old friend to such things, cut from the same cloth as Shepard, though in a different shade. He, too, had experienced death and lived to tell about it.

The moment Shepard called Kasumi 'Joker', Zaeed knew what was happening…and he knew how to break her out of it.

Half-hunched, still gasping for air, her body remembering suffocation, her mind lost in the vacuum of space, Shepard was hyperventilating to the point she might have very well passed out, had Zaeed not grabbed her.

"Shepard, stand down, that's a goddamn order!"

Shepard snapped straight, her rifle falling out of her hands as she reflexively moved to attention. She blinked, focusing on Zaeed in confusion.

"Good, you're back," he said patiently.

"What happened?" she asked, disoriented.

"You flashed, Shepard. Happens. I take it you're not on meds."

"I…no, I've…never flashed before," she said. Still panting, trying to get her breathing under control again, she snatched up her rifle.

"Well now you have," he replied evenly. "Done it a time or two myself, before I started on the little greens. No harm done, but we need to move."

Shepard nodded her head, wiping her wrist over her forehead before visibly steeling herself. Zaeed could see in the woman's brown eyes that she was troubled, alarmed…but she'd compartmentalized it.

A good soldier could always put things in their place long enough to get the job done.

"What was that?" Kasumi asked as they started away again, Shepard taking the lead.

"She bloody flashed," Zaeed told her. "Something triggered her. Smoke maybe, or the hull breaches. Shepard was reliving her own death."

"My God," Kasumi murmured, eyes wide. Zaeed gave a mirthless chuckle.

"Yeah, it'll put a real goddamn damper on your day. Don't worry, she'll be fine. Not common for flashes to happen real close together. Nothing to worry about."

Five minutes and ten more dead prisoners and they were finally closing in on Jack's location. It looked like they'd end up cornering her right in the docking bay, the woman no doubt looking for a shuttle or some other way off the swiftly dying prison.

Scattered corpses of guards lead Shepard and her companions to Jack like scattered breadcrumbs leading the way home. As they emerged into the bay they spotted her.

She was pacing frantically, her eyes fixed on the Normandy. When a guard appeared on the other side of her, she didn't seem to notice him. Taking aim, Shepard took him out with a single shot.

That drew her attention. Snapping around to face the approaching three, Jack's muscles were visibly tense.

Jack wasn't much how Shepard had pictured. The biotic was slightly shorter than she was, lean but corded with muscle. She was wearing a prison uniform but it had been torn…either in a fight or on purpose. Most of the torso was ripped away, baring an impressive continuation of the tattoos that lined her arms and neck. Her head was shaved, her face almost pixie-ish…if it didn't bear such an expression of fury and murder.

"The fuck are you?" she demanded, balanced on her toes like a jungle cat ready to spring. Shepard lowered her gun and put it away.

"Shepard," she introduced. "We're not your enemies. We're here to get you off this ship."

"You're fucking Cerberus," Jack said, spitting the name like it was coated in acid. Shepard narrowed her eyes.

"Say that again and I'll put your fucking teeth out," she growled, completely not intimidated even though this woman, biotically, could probably fold her into a tin can.

Jack snorted. "Try."

"Please don't tempt her," Kasumi murmured with amusement, but far too softly for the biotic to hear.

"That's a Cerberus ship," Jack spat. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid?"

"You're not convincing me otherwise," Shepard retorted. "Let's check the facts. This ship is coming apart. I have the only way off of it. I'm willing to take you with me, and you're arguing. That sound all that bright to you, honey?"

Jack's look was murderous, and Shepard held up her hands. "Look, here's the short version. I'm not Cerberus, but they are funding me. I'm going after the Collectors and I need your help. You don't want to help, that's just fucking fine with me. We'll drop you off on the nearest planet and let you go on your own way. Or, you can stay here and go down with this prison. Either way, I'm getting back aboard that ship and leaving, right now. I don't fucking fancy dying…again."

Jack snorted, then lifted her chin. "What's in it for me? If I help you? What the fuck do I get?"

"What do you want?"

"Records, files," Jack said instantly. "Bet your fancy ship has all sorts of Cerberus databases. I want access to everything they have on me."

"Done," Shepard said without hesitation.

"You better be straight with me," Jack threatened. Shepard nodded, then strode past her, heading toward the docking ramp.

"You coming?" she asked as Kasumi and Zaeed followed her, unsurprised when she heard the convict's bare feet padding along behind them.

As soon as her boot hit the deck, Shepard was barking orders. "Joker, get us unclamped and out of here! Miranda, we got any hostiles to worry about?"

"Their fighters were unable to launch, Shepard," Miranda reported, her professional demeanor unflagging. "There are several escape pods that have jettisoned but no hostiles."

"Good, as soon as we're clear notify anyone within range that the Purgatory is going down. Then get us out of this system. Kelly, find some better clothes for our new guest and get her a place to bunk down."

She continued on, heading toward the lift. Chambers nodded, watching her. "Where are you going?"

"Doc's," Shepard said as she stepped within and turned around. "And Kelly…if I were you I'd make sure the clothes were Cerberus free."

"Yes, ma'am," Kelly replied as the lift door snapped shut.

"Was she injured?" Miranda asked, glancing over at Zaeed as she headed for a console, barely looking at the bald, tattooed woman who was looking around the CIC with intense scrutiny.

"No, she flashed," Zaeed replied. Miranda paused, blinking at him.

"Flashed? Her symptoms have always followed other paths. She has no history of flashbacks."

"Yeah, well…dying tends to change history," he replied sarcastically.

"Shepard, it's all right," Chakwas said patiently, regarding the woman sitting on the bio-bed as she gathered a packet from a nearby drawer.

"No, it's not," Shepard said tersely. "I flashed, Helen. Right in the middle of a goddamn firefight. I could have gotten my people killed."

"But you didn't. You also didn't turn into a pink unicorn and run around farting rainbows."

It was said with such seriousness that Shepard half-choked a laugh, staring at Chakwas as if she'd grown a second head. The woman turned around, packet in her hand, and walked over.

"Did you just say-"

"Pink unicorn," Helen replied evenly. "Farting rainbows. Yes, I did."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Exactly. Fretting over the fact that something might have happened, which didn't, is just as silly as worrying that something will happen, that obviously won't."

Shepard groaned and rubbed her head. "Fuck," she declared. "Why flashes? Why now?"

"You died in a vacuum, Shepard," Chakwas told her. "Right after an attack on a ship. Explosions, alarms, notifications of hull breaches, adrenaline…it happens. Our job is to make sure it doesn't happen again. Fortunately for you, flashes are the easiest symptom of PTSD to treat." She lifted the packet she had retrieved. "You know what this is?"

"Little greens," Shepard sighed in resignation.

"One per day, anywhere on your upper body, and voila…no more flashes."

She opened the packet, taking out a tiny green patch the size of an old-fashioned pencil eraser. Removing its backing, she pressed it to Shepard's neck, high up and close to the hair-line. As she lowered her hands again, passing the packet to Shepard, she shook her head.

"Be thankful it's not like it was in the twentieth. You'd have to live with this, probably be forced to retire. They had no idea how to treat it back then, barely understood it's mechanics. Sadly, your anger is not so easily cured but…well, you can't have everything."

Shepard rubbed a hand on her face, her look brooding. Chakwas tilted her head. "Shepard, be proud."

Dark brows knit as the commander looked at her. "Proud?"

"I know how closely you wore your scars," she murmured, then lifted her brows slightly. "Not all scars are worn on the skin. Be proud of each one, inside or out. Both show what you've endured and survived, and you are stronger for each of them."

Shepard's look turned thoughtful, before she muttered, "Thanks, Doc."

"That's what I'm here for," Chakwas responded. "Well, that, and to bring some dashing good looks to the crew, wouldn't you agree?"

Shepard smirked, then winked. "Flirt."

"Tease."

"How do you know I'm teasing if you never give me a chance to give it up?" Shepard joked, hopping off the bio-bed, sliding the pack of greens into her pocket.

Chakwas laughed, faking a sigh of lament. "If only I were twenty years younger and you were actually sane…and a man."

"Ouch," Shepard grinned, shaking her head.

The infirmary door opened, revealing Miranda. As she strode in, Chakwas smiled at her. "She's all yours, Ms. Lawson. Five by and ready for any bad news you might have."

As the doctor returned to her desk, Shepard looked warily at her XO. "It's not actually bad news, is it? Because I know a good place to hide bodies."

"No, no bad news," Miranda replied. "We're heading out of system, Jack is being settled in. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Nothing wrong with me a lot of fucking drugs or a bullet won't cure," Shepard replied. "Oh, I did have a request. Connect to the ship database, would you? Jack wants any and all files regarding her that we might have."

She started to step past toward the door as Miranda dropped her folded arms, staring. "Wh-what?"

Shepard looked back at her, lifting her brows. "Files? Jack? Not clear? Do I need to say it in semaphore?"

"You told her we'd give her access to Cerberus records on her?" Miranda asked, horrified.

"I did," Shepard answered, turning to fully face her, folding her own arms. "That's what she wants in return for her lovely services on our mission. Why? That a problem?"

"You can't just do that, Commander," Miranda retorted. "Those are classified Cerberus materials-"

What joviality Shepard had remaining turned instantly to stone, eyes going hard. "I am the commanding officer aboard this ship, Miranda," she said firmly. "Jack seems to have a very bad history with Cerberus…not that that's a fucking surprise. She-"

She paused, scrutinizing Miranda's face a moment, before she straightened. "Wait. You know what she's looking for, don't you? What do you know about Jack's connection with Cerberus?"

"I-" Miranda started to protest, before Shepard's face went hard again. She stiffened a little, deciding honesty was probably the best policy. "To be absolutely frank, Commander…not much," she admitted. "Mostly that she was connected to some project involving Dr. Gellian Osco and that Osco has been looking for her. The files themselves didn't interest me enough to dig any deeper."

"Osco…" Shepard frowned a little. "I know that name from somewhere…"

"I'm not surprised. She had close recent connections with Saren and Matriarch Benezia. She was involved in the krogan project on Virmire and, as I understand it, took a pot-shot at you on Noveria."

It clicked. Liara had mentioned the name before, describing the human woman as some kind of sociopath that Benezia had taken under her wing…a genius but suffering a type of genetic affliction of the brain.

Then the last of what Miranda said registered and she blinked. "Wait, Osco was the one who shot me on Noveria? The civvie we couldn't find?"

"According to some surveillance Cerberus liberated from the research facility after your encounters there, yes," Miranda told her. "I'm not surprised she eluded you. Osco is not a soldier but she is a killer, she thinks like a killer, and her IQ surpasses even mine."

"That shot at me was reckless, hasty," Shepard protested. "I was oblivious to her, had no helmet on. Shooting me in the chest instead of the head when she had time to line up the perfect shot seems sloppy at best. Stupid, not…crazy smart."

"Well, you'd just killed Benezia, the only person that Osco trusted. There were even rumors that they were involved intimately. I think it's a safe conclusion to make that her shot at you was based purely upon emotion and not rational thought."

Shepard shook her head, trying to process all this. "And Osco is connected to Jack?"

"In some way, yes," Miranda shrugged. "What I just told you is all I know on that particular matter. As for Osco, the woman is a plague. I was nothing but happy the day she left Cerberus and if I never see her again, it will be too soon."

Shepard's jaw tightened, and she nodded, straightening. "Get those files," she ordered. "Download them onto a data pad and give them to Jack. I also want a copy sent to my terminal upstairs. I've never met this woman but if she really did try to kill me I want to know everything about her."

"I cannot get you everything about her, Shepard," Miranda sounded exasperated. "Look, all right. I'll do what I can, but clearance to access most of Osco's files are above even my pay grade."

"And Jack's files?" Shepard pressed.

"Fine, Shepard. If that's what you promised her…then all right. I'll see what I can do."

"Good."

Eír was somewhat surprised when reality returned, bringing with it no lingering pain. Her muscles ached only slightly, nothing compared to the fire that had burned through them before.

She was on her bedroll in the cave, a fire burning nearby and the rich smell of meat filling the air. From the light outside, it was late afternoon. She couldn't have been out for more than a couple of hours.

Opening her eyes, she turned to face the fire. Shrive was seated beside it. She had changed from her protective wraps and now wore her functional leather pants and a short vest. The garment did nothing to hide the shape of her neck and shoulders, her well-defined arms and torso, as she poked at the fire. The golden light outlined her features, flaring her white face-paint orange.

Shrive was not ostentatious about her face markings. The small amount she applied accented her features, following the natural planes of her cheek and forehead. Eír had seen some asari, both in pictures and since coming to Tuchanka (though they were few here) who indulged in marking themselves until they looked clownish, gaudy. Not so with Shrive.

I wonder why it upset mother so much when I wanted to paint my face, too, she thought, recalling Gellian's inexplicable ire…and her demand that the next time Eír had her knife in hand, to be sure to cut Shrive's throat.

She touched her own cheeks lightly, brows knitting. She had washed the paint off, after Gellian's display, and had not dared to reapply it. Just another thing that separated her from the experienced hunter.

Her gaze shifted from the asari at the fire, to her pack beside her bedroll. Her skinning dagger was there, within easy reach. Thoughts began to move behind her eyes.

I could extract it easily, silently, before she knows I'm awake. Her back is mostly to me. If I'm careful, I could be upon her before she was aware.

Her fingers stole out toward the handle, then paused a moment before they drifted away again, and she sat up. The motion caught Shrive's attention, and the older girl glanced over.

"The meat is almost done," she said softly. "You should eat."

Eír nodded faintly, her mouth watering at the rich smells. "You went hunting?" she asked.

"No," Shrive replied. "I brought a few small supplies, in case our hunt was unsuccessful. The varren steaks were frozen but should still be somewhat flavorful."

Eír nodded again, ever so faintly, her brooding eyes watching the flames. "I did not beat it," she said at last. "The pain…"

"You will," Shrive told her simply. "I did not succeed on my first attempt, either."

"I want to try again."

"Tomorrow," Shrive agreed. "Or you will be too weak for the hunt in the morning, even if you triumph."

Finally rising from her bed, feeling more shaky than anything else, she moved over to the fire and sat. Shrive plucked up a plate, maneuvering one of the thick steaks onto it along with a portion of mashed kivkiv root. The root was bitter, but then nearly all food on Tuchanka was strong of flavor, heavily leaning toward bitter, sour, and spicy.

Shrive did not seem overly inclined toward conversation, and Eír as well said nothing as they ate. Her mind was on that cinch, on her dagger, and on what her mother had instructed.

Shrive has mastered the pain of the cinch, she thought. But it will still hobble her abilities. She will be unable to use her biotics, and I can weaken her with the pain. I just need to get hold of the cinch and the cube…that will be the tricky part. Unless she's particularly careless, I don't know that I can. Shrive has ears like a varren and eyes like a redal hawk. I absolutely must take her by surprise, wait for the opportune moment. I must be ready the instant it presents itself, no matter when that might be. That means having my dagger on me at all times, even when I sleep.

Her deep eyes shifted slightly, as she watched the ghosts of smoke writhing in the dancing flames.