Friends in Unexpected Places

Shepard felt each of Tayir's beatings like it was the first time. Without her mental refuge, she was forced into the present, to where she was being treated like a human piñata. Each fresh wave of pain brought with it more tears and barely stifled screams. Her mind was incapable of thought beyond the burning, desperate desire for everything to just stop. Once and for all.

Suddenly, the krogan ceased his relentless assault on Shepard's body, withdrawing slowly as he watched her choke and sob. How far she had fallen. Yet, there was a certain beauty to it. Tayir appraised his handiwork, examining the wounds he'd inflicted upon her. The black and blue bruises were smeared with red, as if the artist had poured watercolor paint over an oil pencil drawing. The slim curves of his once white canvas were outlined by the darkness of his workspace, like the eclipse of a moon. Holes in her hands, like the stigmata of Christ nailed to the crucifix, dripped perfect crimson lines along the length of her wrists and forearms. His living work of art drew a breath, shuddering and rasping. After stepping back to appreciate his work, Tayir decided to add one last touch. He hit Shepard in the face, drawing his fist in a wide, arcing stroke. More red poured onto the canvas. There. That would do for now. He turned and left his unfinished masterpiece, content to let her rest for the time being. Every good artist knew that you could never rush true art.

As usual, Shepard was only allowed a few seconds to herself before her torturers came once again. Varick entered, but to Shepard's surprise, he wasn't alone. He was accompanied by three other black-clothed figures.

"Doing okay?" Varick asked conversationally. One of the figures walked over to the lever, letting the chain descend slowly. Shepard's feet touched the ground for the first time in hours, and she found she could barely stand. Varick approached her, reaching up to unclip part of the chain, so that a significant length was still attached to Shepard's cuffs but a long portion of it still dangled from the pulley.

Shepard knew that she had exactly zero chance of escape, but that didn't stop her from fighting back. Impossible odds never really did faze her. She yanked on her chains and tried to throw herself at Varick in a tackle, but all she did was lurch forward and knock against the turian's shoulder. He grabbed her, keeping her from falling. "Careful. You might hurt yourself."

The other three guards remained stoic, ready to act if necessary. "Get your hands off me," Shepard snarled.

"Fine," Varick said. "Have it your way." He let Shepard stand on her own two feet, albeit a little unsteadily. It still gave her some sense of accomplishment. However, he did keep a firm hold on the length of chain that was attached to her handcuffs. "Rodan, if you would do the honors."

A batarian stepped forward and tied a black blindfold around Shepard's head. The material was soft, and even though it rendered her blind, Shepard found the sensation not entirely unpleasant. "Alright, boys," Varick said. "Lead the way."

Shepard heard one of them open the door, walking in front. Varick followed, guiding Shepard through the narrow opening by placing a hand on her sticky shoulder. The two other guards brought up the rear, eyes not leaving their prisoner for an instant. Even in her current state, the woman was dangerous.

As they made their way down the hallway, Shepard tried to pick up on any clues that would tell her where she was. But there wasn't much to hear. They'd turn a corner every now and then, winding their way through what seemed to be a maze. Often, Shepard's bare feet would catch on a metal grate and she'd stumble forward, using the wall to steady herself and always refusing Varick's assistance. Eventually, they came to a stop. Shepard heard the quiet beep of an electronic door opening. Varick nodded to the other three guards, giving them the signal to leave. He shoved Shepard through the doorway and locked it behind him.

They were in a cell of some sort, that much Shepard could tell. She raised her hands to remove the blindfold, but a tug on her handcuffs prevented her from doing so. "Hold on there, Commander."

She whirled around. "Stay away from me," she said, putting her hands in front of her to deflect any attacks if she could.

"There's no need for any of that." Varick's voice was at her ear, much closer than she'd thought. She turned and backed away. "Calm down, Shepard." Suddenly, he was behind her. She pulled hard at the chain to try and get a lock on Varick's location, but it went slack.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled. She felt his hand on her face, his talons digging into her forehead, her cheeks. The chain had somehow wrapped itself around her arms, pinning them down. She tried to scream, but in one deft movement, Varick turned her blindfold into a gag.

She could feel his mandibles fluttering on her cheek, his hard eyes bearing into her own. For some reason, Shepard couldn't look away from the X's painted on his face. "No one will hear you scream, Shepard. No one's coming for you. Not even your precious Officer Vakarian..."

It was like someone lit a fire underneath Shepard's feet. Spurred on by a wild, uncontrollable anger, she thrust her head forward and headbutted Varick right in the center of his two X's. He roared furiously, grabbing Shepard by the shoulders and throwing her onto the ground. "Insolent human," Varick hissed. She felt his boot collide with her stomach, knocking the wind out of her and sending waves of pain shooting through her whole body. Coughing, she rolled into the fetal position, pulling her knees into her chest. She heard the door slam, and Shepard found herself smiling. Even when her memories of him were no longer a comfort, Garrus had given her the strength to win this one small battle. And it was just enough to give her hope.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice, drell by the sounds of it, came from the next cell over. Wincing in pain, Shepard sat up, disentangled herself from the chains, and pulled the blindfold off her face.

"More or less," she replied. "And yourself?"

There was a bitter laugh. "Better than you, no doubt."

"Thanks, I guess," was Shepard's response.

"Move forward a little. I want to see your face." Shepard glanced around, inspecting the dark glass wall before her. "One-way mirror. Starting to depolarize in a few places."

She did as she was asked, looking for depolarized patches as well. She confirmed her suspicion that the speaker was, in fact, a drell. A very startled-looking one at that.

"You're Commander Shepard." He started to turn green. Greener than usual, anyway.

"Yeah," Shepard said, bobbing her head. "And you are...?"

He recovered from his surprise to tell her his name. "Feron. The name's Feron."

Shepard wondered if she should remember who the drell was, but nothing came to mind. He, on the other hand, knew exactly who she was. In fact, the woman in the cell next to his was the precise reason why Feron was a prisoner of the Shadow Broker in the first place. He'd betrayed his allegiance to the Shadow Broker in order to help Liara T'Soni recover Commander Shepard's body so that she could be resurrected. In fact, he was one of the only reasons Shepard wasn't being dissected on a Collector vessel at that very moment.

Feron's chest felt tight. It wasn't a coincidence that she was in the next cell over. The fact that they were communicating at all was planned by the Shadow Broker, without a doubt. But to what end, Feron didn't know. The Broker probably expected Feron to reveal his identity, to explain his part in her reconstruction.

"How do you know who I am?" Shepard asked. Feron was tempted to tell her, to let her know that she had a friend in the dark place. Maybe give her some hope as she was brutally tortured. He was hesitant to play the Broker's game, but then, it hit him: Liara would be looking for Shepard. She'd gone through all the trouble to get the commander's body, and there was no way she'd give up if there was even a chance Shepard was alive. And if, no, when she found her and rescued her, Feron would have a way out, too.

"I... I'm a friend of Liara's. I helped her get your body to Cerberus. When he found out, the Broker captured me, and I've been trapped here for two years."

As interesting a coincidence their meeting was, Shepard had other things on her mind. She asked Feron the question that Varick had left unanswered. "What does the Shadow Broker want with me? Why do I matter to him?"

Feron rubbed his forehead, wiping away a thin line of perspiration. "He planned on giving your corpse to the Collectors, I know that much. But if he's not handing you over to them now... all I can think of is that he believes you're worth more alive than dead. Probably to serve his own sinister purposes."

Shepard glanced down at her hands. She wondered if she would be able to see light through the holes if she held them up. Reasons for her capture swirled around in her mind. Varick mentioned her potential, and that it still had to be unlocked. Honestly, she thought that Cerberus had restored her at her prime, but there must have been something she didn't know. But what could the Shadow Broker know that she didn't know about herself? What could he possibly want from her? And why the hell did he need an Ardat-Yakshi to get inside her head? Kamala said that everything would become clear to her, but Shepard had never been a very patient person.

Thinking about the Shadow Broker's plans for made Shepard's stomach hurt, even more than it already did. To get her mind off her own predicament, she turned her attention to Feron's. She scooted forward. "You've been here for two years?"

Feron nodded. "Yeah. Don't worry, you probably won't need to last that long." It had occurred to Shepard more than once that she would soon die at the hands of her torturers, but hearing someone else saying that her time was fading fast made her blood run cold. Feron realized the implications of his statement. "I didn't mean – ah, shit. I just meant that someone's more likely to come for you."

Shepard leaned back against the wall, out of the view of the drell, and closed her eyes. She might have dealt with impossible odds on a fairly regular basis, but even she had to admit that things were looking pretty dim. As appealing as the thought of rescue was, Shepard knew it was very, very unlikely. She stretched her legs out in front of her. Frightened by the future and unable to take comfort in the past, Shepard forced herself to focus on the only thing left to her: the present. She took slow, steady breaths, savoring the oxygen in her lungs, relishing the beating of her own heart. Flexing her fingers and ignoring the raw skin around her wrists, she could almost feel the years of practice and experience as a soldier weave into an indomitable strength, pulsing beneath the surface. Commander Shepard knew, perhaps better than anyone, that it was those simple things that were taken for granted, the "givens" in life that people yearn for the most in death.