In the following days, humans of all genders pour in from all corners of the galaxy. Maya Brooks, as Hope is now calling herself, checks with them each individually. The Clone watches from the monitor room, wondering how many of the recruits will survive the assault on Shepard. She's been watching vids of Shepard fighting against Cerberus, and every one ends in a bloodbath. It's no surprise that Shepard hates the Illusive Man and everyone working for him-with the Thresher Maw incident on Akuze, the experiments on husks, rachni, and Thorian creepers. Gavin Archer's torture of his own brother disturbs the Clone the most. Part of her wonders what would have happened had Hope-Maya hadn't rescued her first.
Brooks sits her down, takes a razor to her curly brown locks, and throws the Clone's green contacts in the trash. Ana Fields is gone forever. In her place is a person the Clone doesn't recognize. She certainly isn't Jane Shepard, at least not yet.
Handing her a set of armor, Brooks says, "Here, put this on." It has the tell-tale stripes on N7 armor, but a blue ribbon of color instead of red. The Clone wonders if Brooks is trying to tell her something. She dons the armor, but it feels heavy and foreign on her body, not at all like the light armor Asari commandos train in. Walking around, she feels nothing of Dreya's natural grace. Instead she feels like an elephant wearing wind chimes.
Later, Brooks calls the recruits to orientation. The warehouse manages to hold them all, but each stands within punching range of another.
"Men and women of Cat6, I give you your Commander." Brooks pushes the Clone forward, and she stumbles to attention. Her implants scream in warning. There is no cover on this stage-her only advantage is her height relative to the crowd. But it means nothing against their sheer numbers.
The crowd doesn't cheer or clap like they would for Shepard. It remains so quiet the Clone can hear her own pulse pounding her ears. Then murmuring bubbles up from the center of the room and spreads like cancer. Hope-Maya looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something, but the Clone's mind is blank save for the buzz of her implants. She manages a nod towards the crowd, then leaves the stage. Over the next few hours she pours over more interviews with Shepard, trying her best to emulate her voice and mannerisms, even practicing in the mirror.
It's dinner when the Clone makes her way to the mess hall. Alliance commanders often debrief with their officers. If the Clone's their commander, shouldn't she? The clone grabs a tray of cooked rations from the kitchen, and stops by the nearest table with an open talking immediately shut up as she pulls out the chair.
"Evening. Settling in alright?" Her words feel stiff and formal as they slide out her mouth.
The men at the table don't say anything, though they share glances with one another.
Swallowing a bite of the cooked rations, the Clone tries another question. "Where are you all from?"
Instead of answering, the men push their chairs back and stand, taking their trays with them. They head for another table.
"Hey! I asked you a question." The Clone stands, following, her food left behind.
Finally, one of them turns and looks at her, eyeing her up and down. "You might look kinda like her, but you're no Commander Shepard."
The guy next to him snorts. "Yeah. You can't make a hero in a test tube."
Taking deep breaths, the Clone clenches her fists.
"Yeah. It's just a bunch of tissue thrown-"
It's kind of poetic the way he goes flying through the air.
"I'm leaving." The Clone storms out of the room, grabbing her backpack filled with all she owns–which doesn't amount to much.
Maya leans against the door frame, watching–always watching. "Where exactly are you going?"
"Anywhere but here!" She spins on her heels, stopping inches from Maya's face. "Anywhere away from you."
Maya frowns, as if this announcement is only a small distraction, and not an actual obstacle to her objective. It's what the Clone loves and hates about her most. "Mind telling me what this is about?"
She should leave right then and there, but she stands still, angrily ignoring the tears in her eyes.
"What's my name?"
"Your name will be Jane–" Brooks launches into her usual answer. The Clone interrupts her.
"No. What's my name. What's my name now?" She steps closer, her nose bumping into Maya's. Her finger points at Maya's chest.
Brook's mouth opens, but no answer falls out.
The Clone shoves her against the wall. "Exactly. You don't even think of me as a person, do you? I'm just another one of your marks."
"That's not true." Maya shoves back, but only enough to keep the Clone off her. "Who saved you from Cerberus? Who woke you up?"
Both of them know the answers, so the Clone ignores the questions. "Hope Lillium isn't even your real name!"
Brooks snorts. "Of course not. I rarely keep a name for more than a few days." Her gaze holds the Clone steady. "A good name is a disposable one." As if her anger amounts to little more than a childhood tantrum. "Is that what this is about? A name?"
"No." The Clone fumes, but she doesn't charge or run away.
Taking a step toward her, Maya reads her up and down. "You think you don't matter to me?" Her hand cups the Clone's cheek.
A few months ago, such a gesture would have crumbled her. Now the Clone knows better. "Take your heart and lock it away, and no one, and no thing can ever hurt you again."
Maya smiles, sliding her thumb across the Clone's cheek. "Now you're catching on." She leans her face closer, turning her face so their noses don't collide, and god damnit the Clone's heart is hammering inside her chest.
If Dreya's kisses filled the Clone with the light of the sun, Maya's pull her closer with the strength of a black hole. The Clone kisses back, falling into her orbit.