For a few quick seconds, the only sounds in the conference room were the squeaking noise that the chairs were making when their occupants began reclining. Other than that, there were a few muted taps of fingertips on data slates and an occasional sip of whatever from an army regulation mug. The atmosphere was not at all awkward, just that everyone was taking the time to study the information obtained from the last few hours so that they could analyze and interpret it.

Shepard glanced around the table as he sat in his position, closest to the door. Primarch Victus was on his immediate right and another turian was on his left. In all, there were four humans and four turians making up their meeting and each individual sat interspaced with another officer of a differing species. That was all Victus' idea and one Shepard eagerly agreed to. Such careful positioning would eliminate the biases of the past and would encourage cooperation instead.

One of the few things the war had been good for, it seemed.

A few more minutes passed before Victus broke the silence, placing his slate directly in front of him as he leaned forward. "Now that everyone has gone over the major points of the exercise," he began, "I'd like to start us off first by providing a brief overview of what I witnessed today." The turian took a furtive glance at his still active slate before he continued. "It appears that once again I have underestimated the capabilities of humans, both militarily and psychologically." He flashed a knowing look at Shepard. "You'd think I would have learned by now."

Shepard gave a tiny shrug to that while Victus carried on. "Admiral Kylrus," the Primarch stated to one of the turian brass seated opposite him. "I did happen to note that your fleet had been spread out thinly enough for the humans to pick you apart quite easily near the end. I'm assuming you read the briefing on human tactics beforehand which mentioned that they like to group their main battle fleet which makes their combined firepower all the more focused?"

The turian that had just been called out did not show a sliver of shame at being beaten. His attitude, strangely enough, was one that had been carved a deep impression into it. Kylrus did not seem to be bearing a grudge and was all the more willing to learn. How fortunate for him.

"Yes, Primarch," Kylrus nodded as he studied his slate closely. "I failed to realize in time that the humans were initially replicating salarian tactics of spreading their fleet out in a thin web to cover a greater surface area. I do note that after I gave the order for my ships to answer their maneuvers, the humans quickly regrouped into their main battle fleet which proceeded to decimate our forces." He shuffled his hands awkwardly for a bit. "And by then, it was too late," he added hastily.

A human to Shepard's left, a Rear Admiral Dasher, smirked. "Remember, Kylrus, I prefer the eighteen-year old scotch."

"Yeah, yeah," Kylrus sighed as he set his slate down. "Remind me that when I'm facing you again, we're not going to be betting on it."

The whole group broke out in polite laughter. With a tight smile, Kylrus simply raised his mug of the stimulant turians were so fond of and took a careful sip of the steaming liquid, most likely to hide his expression.

Shepard, after he finished chuckling, looked at Kylrus thoughtfully. "You mean that you two had a bet going on over who would win the exercise, admirals?"

"Nothing like a little incentive to make ourselves work harder," Dasher shrugged and Kylrus nodded. "But in all seriousness, it's a little tradition we started during the Reaper War over who got the most kills. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to carry it on."

"Oh, you two already know each other?"

Dasher nodded. "Met Kylrus here on Menae, back when he was only a commodore. We got a little cocky one day and bet each other whose fleet would down the most ships in a skirmish. It got…ah, hell. I'm going off topic now, aren't I?"

"You interrupted me, is what you did, Dasher," Kylrus clarified lightly, prompting more quiet chuckles. "Anyway, the quick responsiveness of the humans is what caught me off guard and the strength of their ship techniques were well utilized that our fleet couldn't make any significant damage until it was too late."

"Which resulted in your likely painful death," Victus added drolly before he scratched his mandibles. "You're not fighting the Reapers anymore, admiral, but an opposing force that's just as intelligent as you that operates through precision and smarts. You're going to have to resort to tactics and strategy again, not just relying on brute force to hammer through the front lines."

"Yeah," Dasher said. "While the Reapers had their 'decimate all' strategy, it was definitely a moment of clarity when we realized what we had to do. Everyone just threw away all notions of military training overnight in favor of speeding towards the enemy with the intent of watching them burn. We're just flexing our unused muscles again, trying to make everything work."

"And that is why these drills are so important," Shepard added. "Now that there are no more Reapers, we don't need to be all gung-ho with our ships and crew anymore. We need to be coordinated and firm again so that we aren't lax when the next hostile alien force comes knocking at our doorstep."

"Understandable," Kylrus nodded.

Shepard swiped his finger a few times on his data slate before he got to the data he wanted. "From what I could see, Admiral Dasher," he started, "it looked like initially you sent a forward advance force out ahead of the main fleet of about a dozen ships. Was that to gage the strength of the enemy at the time or was it for another purpose?"

"No, sir," Dasher shook his head. "It was to test the strength of their armaments. I figured that I could afford to send a few ships out and take a couple losses in order to properly analyze what kind of foe I was dealing with."

Shepard gave Dasher a concerned look. "So you willingly 'risked' lives in order to perform an initial recon?"

"We weren't using fighters, sir, so I was unable to send out the kind of patrol I initially wanted, but the benefits outweighed the costs in my mind with using frigates. Recon had to be performed at any rate, sir."

"Well, I'm sure an adequate recon could have been accomplished with the utilization of only a single light carrier, not a dozen capable warships. Remember, Rear Admiral, the goal is to spare as many lives as you can, not to take as many lives as you can."

Dasher's face fell slightly but he understood perfectly well. "Got it, sir," he replied as he checked his slate again. "I'll make sure to remember that."

"And one more thing," Shepard indicated. "When grouping for the final push, you had some of your captains struggling in getting to their formations and were destroyed as a result of their dawdling. You might need to look at the list of reaction times here and coordinate with the captains I've highlighted so that you can understand why they failed to react in time to their orders."

Dasher scrolled down to the table Shepard was talking about and gave a satisfied nod. "I'll be sure to get right on that," he promised.

Victus adjusted himself in his chair. "Before we continue, is there anything else that is on anyone's mind?" When no one spoke, the turian tapped a few keys on his omni-tool and a holographic representation of the skirmish engaged over the desk in the conference room. Timers and hit point counters scrolled by in the corner in real-time, slowly climbing with each passing second.

"Well, then," Victus said as he activated the playback, watching the holographic ships begin to move toward the other. "Watch what happens next, because we'll be making notes as we go."

Three hours later

The front of the cockpit was awash with the familiar blue glow from FTL travel. Space hurtled past the ship in ripples, tiny imperfections in the passage of time. FTL travel was all built on theoretical explanations anyway, so the proper reasoning for why this state could be achieved was still physically impossible to explain fully. If there was a scientific explanation for why this phenomenon occurred, it hadn't been written yet.

The tinny sound emanating from the speakers was getting louder the closer Shepard approached the cockpit. Even from here, he could make out the Normandy's pilot fiddling at the controls that picked up whatever radio signals the ship could find. Incredibly, many of the frequencies were still relatively audible, although the music that floated through had a distinctly foreign sound to it, occasionally interrupted by the static that came with the switching of the channel.

"Youuuu are my angel-"

Bzzt!

"-I'm the one with the bullet, I'm a power pl-"

Bzzt!

"-The sparkle in your eyeeeees…keeps me aliveeee-"

When Shepard approached the pilot's chair, the man seated at the controls glanced over his shoulder momentarily before he shut the radio off altogether. Tapping a control, the chair spun around to reveal Joker, the Normandy's reliable pilot, the last member of the original crew.

"Admiral Shepard," Joker said in a serious voice.

"Wing Commander Moreau," Shepard answered in kind.

Joker grinned at that. "It's been two and a half years, Shepard, and calling me 'Wing Commander' hasn't gotten old one tiny bit. You know I hate to brag but I personally think it sounds a hell of a lot better than just 'Admiral.' Actually, it has the potential to sound like the title to an obscure video game. My rank, I mean."

"I wouldn't be surprised if that industry hasn't run through that name yet," Shepard shrugged. He pointed at the copilot's chair, which was empty at the moment. "Mind if I join you, Joker?"

"Please," Joker gestured. "It's your ship after all."

"Doesn't mean that I can't ask," Shepard defended as he sat down on the leather chair, hearing the cushion hiss when he pressed his body into the surface. "Perusing the radio stations to keep you interested in your spare time?"

Joker gave a snarky laugh. "Yeah, if you can call the crap they actually put out 'music.' I got a snippet from a transmission that was saying that the year was 1999 at the time, and almost two hundred year old music really does not hold up well nowadays. I swear, every time we're in deep space, we have to be subjugated to this kind of abuse that our predecessors thought was actual audio entertainment."

"No one's forcing you to listen to the radio, Joker, especially not from stations around at the turn of the millennium."

"I know, but sometimes I just get a hint of optimism to stick it out for once with the thought that maybe it won't be so bad and every time I'm consistently disappointed."

"In yourself or the music?"

"Both," Joker sighed bitterly, causing Shepard to chuckle. The slim man frowned for a second before his features softened. "Ah, well. Shame on me, right? Anyway, enough of my griping, how did your meeting with turians go?"

"They were gracious in defeat," Shepard admitted. "They left our ship in astoundingly good terms, considering that we trounced them today, and that's putting the overall outcome mildly. Either the war hammered out their brusqueness or the turians have developed better poker faces in three years' time."

"Imagine that. In thirty years we've gone from being mortal enemies to best buds. Speaking of which, is that turian councilor continuing in singing your praises back on the Citadel?"

"Sparatus?" Shepard asked. "Yeah, he's exhibited quite the one-eighty in his attitude as he's not made a disparaging comment toward us humans in years, it's true." He stretched out in his seat. "I only had to save his ass twice for him to get the message, though."

Joker snorted at that. "Well, if he starts getting tetchy again, I'm sure you could always make a move to campaign Garrus for the position of councilor in his stead. With someone of your status you surely have the capability to pull a lot of strings. Imagine, your very own puppet turian politician! There's no way that Garrus wouldn't agree with everything you order him to do."

"Three problems with that, Joker," Shepard laughed. "One, I have no need for politicians in my life anymore, since I'm now a 'tentative Spectre' at best. Two, Garrus no longer operates under my command so he's not required to listen to me at all. And third, that turian is enjoying his retirement way too much to even consider taking a job again, much less going into politics."

"Lucky him. He's lounging around on the Citadel and we're stuck on the same ship, doing the same old shtick."

"You're telling me you want out now, Joker?" Shepard scoffed. "Well, why didn't you say so? If you can just give me a few minutes to get the necessary paperwork-"

"Har har, really funny, Shepard," Joker said sarcastically. "I'm the one with the bad jokes here. And is it really that easy for you to see me adjusting to civilian life on a dime? You really think retirement is what's in my immediate future?"

"I don't know," Shepard admitted. "Do you think you can see me retired as well?"

Joker opened his mouth a crack to say something but swallowed his words before they had a chance to be formed. Biting down, he gave a tiny shake of his head, to which Shepard nodded in satisfaction.

"Yeah, Joker," Shepard sighed. "That's exactly it. I don't think we're going to retire anytime soon. Frankly, we're in too deep at this point to retire at all. I can't imagine what I would do if I were to get out the next day, believe it or not. Unlike Garrus, who seems to be just loving life right about now."

"Pfft," Joker blew air out of his mouth in an attempt to wipe away his shaky thoughts. "I wonder what his version of retirement is like. I can see Garrus smashing up a couple crime syndicates in his free time, or working to amass the largest gun collection in the galaxy, or even wooing all the ladies on the Citadel just to satisfy himself."

The both of them looked at the other for a while before they started cracking up, their peals of laughter echoing down the narrow hallway of the ship. Joker slapped his knee lightly a few times before he could control his breathing. "Oh man, I couldn't even say that last one with a straight face."

Shepard wiped tears from his eyes from laughing so hard. "When I heard the part regarding 'Garrus' and 'ladies,' that was just it for me. That man is hopeless when it comes to women in general."

"Said the ladies' man of my captain," Joker muttered which caused Shepard to roll his eyes. "What, Shepard? It's true you know!"

"Joker, I haven't had a real conversation with a woman in a long time. I mean, who do we have left on this boat that I can talk to? It's not like I can walk up to a random noncom and strike up an awkward conversation with them, can I?"

"Then it's a good thing we're getting some shore leave, right? I mean, come on Shepard, people go to the Citadel all the time to meet new people. Hell, if Liara is still working there, why not hang out with her for a night?"

Shepard turned his chair so that he was looking straight at the pilot. "Liara?" he said in an exasperated voice.

"Yeah, Liara, Shepard. You know, blue asari, she's the Shadow Broker now, has those rigid tentacles on the back of her head?"

"I know, I know," Shepard snapped. "I'm well aware of who Liara is, Joker. It's just…I don't think I can see her."

"Well," Joker considered, "I know that she's busy with her information broker work but I'm sure that she can afford to get away from her desk once in a while to meet up with an old friend."

"No, no, no," Shepard corrected. "I know that I can see her. It…I don't think that I want to see her."

"If not Liara than who-" Joker's mouth hung open midsentence as he finally put two and two together. "Oh…her."

"Yeah," Shepard sighed. "Her."

An uncomfortable silence washed over the cockpit, seeming drowning everything in a void of noiselessness. Joker tapped his legs a few times while glancing surreptitiously to the side. The thin man sighed noticeably before he raised his head to speak. "Is it all right if I speak frankly, Shepard?"

Shepard narrowed his eyes a little but softened his expression very quickly. "Go ahead."

Joker threw up his hands a little in exasperation. "I lied when I indicated that I couldn't picture you in retirement, Shepard. Fact of the matter is, I think it's what you deserve…what both of you deserve."

Shepard sat stone-faced, his pursed lips a fine line as Joker leaned forward. "Shepard, I'm not saying that what the two of you did was wrong, but I remember you telling me once that the things we do for love is worth a little stupidity. You remember that, don't you?"

The admiral sighed and raised a shaking hand to eye level before his index finger pointed at the pilot. "Now Joker…" Shepard stammered. "If you're going to blame me for-"

"I'm not blaming you for what happened to EDI," Joker said softly. The words were gentle but they still stung Shepard. "I know that you did what you thought was right, what you had to do. I didn't see that at first, but I've come to accept it. And you know that EDI would have wanted the same thing, she would have thought that her sacrifice so that we could live would have been worth it. And that brings me to my next point." Joker leaned forward in his chair. "Shepard, everyone who worked on this damn ship knows that you still love Tali. I mean, hell, you two were inseparable for all the time you knew each other. You want my personal opinion? You don't owe anyone anything now. You don't need to still be in command of this ship; you don't need to engage yourself in these incredibly dull drills. You've earned a reprieve, so why not talk to Tali and settle down someplace? I'm not telling you to go get hitched or anything, but it's clear that you're much happier when you're with her and the fact that you've done so much has given you the right to bow out. There's nothing shameful with that."

Shepard gave a tiny smile as he saw Joker begin to build up a sweat along his brow. "And what about you?" he asked the pilot in a mild tone. "You've been at this just as long as I have, Joker. Surely, you've also earned the same right to retire just as much as me."

"Maybe," Joker conceded. "But I know that you have something outside all this-" he started to gesture outside the ship, "-that is proper motivation for you to leave while you still can. Me, I'm a pilot. I have nothing out there to drag me outside my bubble. Even when I had EDI, she was still part of the freaking ship so I was always going to be tied to it anyway. But this isn't about me, Shepard. It's about what is best for you and I know that there is someone waiting for you, giving you an excuse to be rid of this life."

"You really think I want to quit this life?" Shepard whispered.

"Shepard, no one sane would want to be a soldier forever. The ones that go career, they're the guys who have nothing waiting for them on the other side, poor saps with nothing to lose. Is that really what you want to be in twenty years' time? Old, greying, and sitting behind a desk?"

Shepard reclined, letting his body relax a bit while he considered Joker's words. With a thoughtful nod, he shifted a little in his seat. "Well, you know that Tali has her duties to her own people, being an admiral of her fleet as well. What if she doesn't want to quit her life?"

"If that is her final choice, then no offense, but Tali won't have ever deserved you."

Shepard's face was impassive for a while before he gave a grave nod. With a subtle wave of his hand, he stood up from the copilot's chair and took one last glance at the FTL streaks outside the window before addressing Joker one final time. "Just let me know when we arrive at the Citadel." Without waiting for another word, Shepard hastily departed the cockpit.

The assistant on duty looked to see the admiral heading in her direction but Shepard ignored her, focused instead on reaching the elevator in the back. Once he had reached the floor of his cabin, Shepard strode inside and stopped at the head of the small staircase that lead to his bed, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his room. Everything was always so neat, so tidy, so unbelievably well positioned that he inexplicably started to feel a little lightheaded, his sinuses feeling rather stuffy. He tugged at his collar to cool him down, but found that something beating within was heating him up to the point where it was becoming rather uncomfortable.

You made a mistake, John.

Something needed to calm the animal. It was consuming too much of him. It was like a ravenous hunger was pooling up in his chest, making him tense as he let his thoughts drift back to Tali.

You let her go, John. Why did you not stay with her?

His face was turning red and Shepard started to tear off his jacket, throwing it to the ground where it crumpled into a puddle, but the heat persisted. It clung to his skin, soaking him in sweat as his conscience continued to berate him.

If you loved her, why did you leave?

Without warning, Shepard thrust his arms out to his desk and furiously swiped them to the side, sending a stack of papers cascading to the ground. The animal in his chest roared in triumph but it was still not done feeding. Angrily, Shepard kicked over his chair and tossed a data slate into the corner, hearing the edge of it crack on the wall as he continued in his self-destruction.

His hands groped at the shelving on the wall but stopped at the middle shelf that contained his pet hamster. Instead, he blinked in a moment of clarity so that he could grasp at the lowest shelf and tug on that, sending folders and medals spilling downward instead, further pleasing the engorged animal.

I'm so sorry, Tali. I'm sorry that I'm not with you now.

Still not satiated, Shepard, in his rage, grabbed the bust of Sovereign that he kept to the side of his console. Right now, the squid-like model looked like it was alive, its appendages undulating and wobbling slightly. In disgust, Shepard chucked the tiny statue into the bathroom, where it collided with the brushed metal wall and exploded into a hundred pieces. Frustrated, Shepard wheeled about and headed back toward the bed but not before he punched the wall several times, leaving impact marks with a few blood splotches.

As he neared his bed and nursed his bleeding hand, Shepard turned his head about as he looked for something to destroy that wasn't going to cost him a whole lot of money to repair. Even in his little episode, he still maintained a relatively miserly attitude. Finding an object to displace quickly, he kicked at the ottoman, upending a chess set that had been perched upon it, causing the pieces to tumble in midair. His foot throbbed as it collided with the heavy object, causing him to limp and yell out in pain.

Joker was right. Why did I think that this was the best thing to do?

Alerted by the noise, his alarm system started to ring incessantly, a constant noise that pained Shepard's ears. Drawn to the discomfort and the creature's roar in his mind, Shepard plucked the little object from his nightstand and tossed it to the side.

But, Shepard had not been aiming properly when he had casually thrown the alarm. It spun several times in its journey through the air to impact precisely on the metal lamp on Shepard's opposite nightstand, which toppled the precariously perched object to the ground. However, the base of the lamp slid a little bit, catching the edge of a frame that had already been placed face-down on the stand, sending it clattering to the floor.

At the very hint of the frame hitting ground, the roaring in Shepard's ears stopped and the stifling heat ceased. With a shaky head, Shepard immediately hurried over to the other side of the bed to see that the frame had fallen and cracked somewhat, the image projected upon it blaring in and out in a fizzle of static. Shepard elicited a strangled gasp as he picked up the frame and headed over to his console in the corner. Using the tightbeam projectors on the backside of the frame, he held it up to the console and ordered it to draw all data from the frame to his workstation.

Fortunately, the data was not corrupted and transferred through just fine. Shepard breathed out in relief as he set the cracked blank frame down on the desk and tapped a key on his console to bring up the files that had been carried over. The second the image box popped open, Shepard knelt down as the smiling face of Tali'Zorah filled the screen, an old picture of her with her mask off.

Shepard laid his arms on the desk and rested his head upon them in his awkward kneeling position. The picture on the screen showed the grey-skinned quarian, her black hair a tangled mess, lying on her side in Shepard's bed. The covers had been pulled up to her neck and her eyes drooped slightly, as if she had just awoken from a deep sleep. But she looked extraordinarily happy for her gaze was so filled with love towards the person who took the picture that it caused Shepard's own eyes to fill with a few tears.

He remembered the day he had taken the picture, for the memory was so clear to him. Shepard had just woken up from his sleep to find Tali dozing peacefully next to him, and in that moment she looked so beautiful to Shepard that he just had to capture the moment so that he could recall it again and again. He had given the picture to Tali, of course, and she had sent him the frame so that he wouldn't have to pull out his omni-tool every time he wanted to see a picture of her.

Looking at the photo now, Shepard sighed in his position and shifted his arms slightly. In the process, his hand slipped and brushed a key, blowing the picture away and revealing a larger album comprised of five more pictures. Shepard stared at the data in shock. All this time the frame had contained more than one picture? He cursed himself for being such a fool for years, having never known about the precious memories that had been previously untapped. Eagerly, he clicked on the next picture in the album and watched it spring forward.

This one depicted Tali sitting up in his bed, still unmasked, and her smile was so genuine it seemed to light up the room from the screen. Shepard surmised that she must have taken pictures of herself when he was in the shower or otherwise indisposed, giving her a few moments of privacy. He clicked from one picture to the next, watching Tali change her orientation slightly, never showing anything but her face, her smile never wavering while her glowing eyes continued to pierce right through him.

The last picture was a surprise for Shepard. It showed Tali gleefully embracing him on the screen, both of their eyes closed in bliss (he guessed that Tali must have taken it in the split second his eyes had been shut). Shepard looked at his digital counterpart and painfully noted that he seemed in the photo to be quite happy, embracing his quarian lover tenderly. He then looked at Tali's own expression, seeing her gleaming white smile spread as far as it could go across the screen as she strangled Shepard in a hug. Shepard laughed at the pair, wishing that he could go back in time and replay that moment for himself.

He stared at the picture for another minute before he noticed a caption at the bottom. He focused his eyes for a second before he read the words printed at the bottom of the photo: "I love you."

Young, foolhardy, and in love. It was probably the ten millionth time that Shepard damned himself for being such a bitter idiot. If he only had known what he left behind. If he only had known.

Citadel Archives

The room was bare, poorly lit, and contained only a single chair. Grevel never needed much of anything in her life. She had always maintained very drab and simplistic lifestyles, a facet she had been trying to improve when she had met Sophie all those years ago. As it was, Grevel rested in the chair, her eyes semi-closed, part of her brain remaining alert while the other part dozed, the closest she ever got to experiencing a complete sleep.

The lone door in front of her steadily blinked green, the only portal to the outside world. It was just lucky for Grevel that this place had such a room for her to encase herself in, her dealings with people always tired her out. She fully realized that her sociopathic tendencies would probably entertain a psychologist for years but they were her problems to bear at the moment. There were more important things at hand than healing her broken mind.

The door itself led to the bowels of the Citadel Archives, an immense hub of sensitive and important information collected from all corners of the galaxy. If Grevel were to march outside, she would see the CAT6 mercenaries hard at work positioning crates of ammo, restocking weapons, adjusting cover positions, and accomplishing many more tasks. The Archives themselves were not monitored due to the hush-hush nature of the materials enclosed there, and people rarely visited. Only Council members and Spectres were allowed, and the latter hardly ever made trips here just to take a tour of the premises.

Besides, the sheer size of the facility meant that Grevel and her mercs had all the privacy they could ever want. And with all of the twists and turns this place actually provided, it was the perfect spot to launch the first stage of her operation.

Back in the room, her eyes snapped open instantly and she activated the dock schedules for the station in her helmet. The breathing grill hissed as she exhaled, automatically making the pitch way lower than her real voice. It had been calibrated to sound similar to the last helmet, the one she wore on Anhur. This new helmet she felt was less expressional, but it certainly did the job it was meant for. Finally retrieving the information, she blinked and smiled as she saw that the docks were expecting the two ships to arrive at the Citadel within the next day. It was nearly time, now.

Grevel tapped her fingers on her legs, feeling dull vibrations echo up them. There was only a clinking noise as they only felt metal, not flesh, and Grevel grimaced, unseen to anyone else. How she had wanted to tear out Shepard's spine when she had the chance. She had been so close to him five years ago. She was still on the ship back on Hagalaz when the cursed human, accompanied by his wretched quarian, infiltrated the base of the Shadow Broker. If the Broker himself had not ordered her away, she would have sprinted towards the commander, intending to repay him back in kind.

But that was not to be. The Broker had sent her away, but with a contingency plan that he had set up long ago. Grevel resented the fact that she had followed his orders that day, because she knew that if she stayed, the Broker, the one who saved her from her torment, would still be alive. It only took a few whisperings for her to figure out that Liara T'Soni, a former lover of Shepard's before he went with the quarian, had taken on the mantle of the Broker, conquering the throne from the conqueror.

She had fled into deep space, just her and this abomination the Broker insisted she bear. Grevel considered purging the dark project outright in disgust but deep down, she knew that it would come in handy one day. She just needed to be patient, just like the Broker had told her.

And so Grevel waited. She bunkered down when the Reapers invaded the galaxy, carefully covering her tracks so that she would not fall victim to their snares. She had monitored the events of the war however she could but could not stop herself from scowling every time the exploits of Shepard were announced to the public. The man was becoming more and more of a hero with every passing day and she could do nothing about it. She had been in a state of mental conflict for the entire year and a half the war had raged. On one hand, she remained impatient at why the Reapers hadn't been defeated yet and on the other hand she wished that Shepard would get himself killed by the gargantuan organisms in the fires of battle. Of course, that would have taken the pleasure of ripping the human's heart out away from her, not to mention that she would most likely have fallen if the Reapers had not been destroyed before they could find her.

With the Reapers' defeat, Grevel could turn her thoughts back to the near future and come out of hiding. The opportunities for her were now limitless without the threat of galactic annihilation breathing down everyone's back. She could now focus on killing the man who left her for dead back on Anhur, just like how the vorcha had left her for dead too and how she eventually came back and slaughtered them all.

Grevel certainly did not consider forgiveness to be her strong suit.

It took three years for just the beginning of her plan to come to fruition. The fact that Shepard and Tali were in different locales complicated the agenda somewhat, so Grevel had to account for that in her outline. It just so happened that everything would all line up soon with their coordinating of schedules and the opportunity to strike would be well upon them.

Also, Grevel knew that she would not be able to do this alone, and thankfully the Broker had continued to provide. Using old communications channels, Grevel got in touch with an outfit of guns-for-hire which many of their members had worked for the Broker in the past. The CAT6 group had conveniently been missing a clear direction for months and when Grevel stepped in with a monetary offer that could not be refused by anyone with half a brain, CAT6 agreed to Grevel's terms immediately. In the time leading up to now, Grevel had been utilizing them in a few operations on the side, to test out their capabilities in combat. To her satisfaction, they were passable in terms of technique and skill, which was more than could be said for any of the batarians back on Anhur, useless creatures that they were. CAT6 at least had discipline and a margin of self-control. There were a few occasional bouts of disobedience, but once Grevel stepped in to sort out the disagreement with a dose of unbridled violence, everyone began to learn not to question their new commander anymore.

Not too much longer, now.

In her chair, Grevel stood up swiftly, her legs whirring and hissing from the sudden movement. Rolling her neck to iron out the cricks, she strode out the door and onto the walkway overlooking the Archive floor. From her position, she could see troops milling about, stacking crates, and readying themselves for battle. Catwalks snaked around the facility like a jungle gym. Huge cylindrical storage tubes were crammed into every orifice that could be gleaned in the space, and a thin fog hung overhead, caused from the humidity that the presence of CAT6 had provided.

Grevel smiled underneath her mask, feeling the artificial mandibles part to reciprocate the movement. With a pleased sigh, she turned to the side and saw a slim, lithe figure stand at attention, their hands behind their back.

"Just the person I want to see," Grevel said smoothly. "Have you been monitoring the situation at the moment?"

"Which one?" they said in a brisk and thoughtful manner.

"Give me an update on the troopers."

The figure gave a singular nod. "All squads are reporting combat effectiveness at a seventy-five percent average. Twelve more hours should theoretically boost that up to eighty-five. All the equipment is functional and ready to be deployed and the developed pathways you have requested have been set up in the exact specifications."

"Excellent," Grevel growled. "And the status on our…guests?" It wasn't so much a question for Grevel's benefit, but to make sure the person speaking across from them was fully invested in what they were about to do.

"Admiral Zorah's ship has just entered the system and will dock with the Citadel momentarily," they replied, their answer spot-on. "Admiral Shepard will arrive two hours after and dock in the same sector, but two levels down."

"And are you fully prepared for the part you will play in their downfall? Do you know exactly what you have to do?"

"I do…commander," the figure said as they dipped their head in respect. "I am completely ready for the task you have set for me. I will not fail you."

Grevel did believe the person's statement. They weren't being brash or arrogant, they were genuinely confident that they were going to succeed in their operation. But Grevel still was mistrustful about the cool and collected exterior that this person exuded. This was probably a good opportunity to see if she could find any more chinks in their armor.

Grevel stepped forward, drawing herself up to her full height as she towered over the person. Her mandibles parted in a snarl but the figure did not flinch. "All right, then," she growled. "Let's hear it one more time. Tell me what you will do when the time comes and see if you can convince me that your performance will be flawless. Describe to me…everything."

As the person began to recite their part and actions verbatim, Grevel could not help but smile.

Not much time left, Shepard.

A/N: I fully realize that although radio signals travel at the speed of light, the ability for the Normandy to pick up signals from 1999 at such a great distance is dubious at best. If you are a physics major, I apologize, but I liked the dramatic intent regardless.

The songs that Joker derides (in case any of you are interested) in order are: "Angel" by Massive Attack, "Back in Black" by AC/DC, and "She Sells Sanctuary" by The Cult. All songs that I like, from an unfortunate standpoint, but it's funny to write characters to hate the music that I like. Usually, I'm not a big fan of inputting current songs into fics that take place in the far-off future, but the whole idea came from a comedic throwaway line that Joker made in ME2 so there's some precedent for it.

I'm hoping that my schedule calms down enough for me to get some work done over the weekend. Judging by how some events are culminating in this story, I'd guess that most of you will like the next chapter a lot.

More pressure on me not to screw up, huh?