'Shepard.'

'Jack.' Faith had asked Liara to find the Illusive Man's real name: she could not stand his pretentious moniker.

The two stared at each other, each image projecting ahead of the other, for several long, tense, seconds.

Faith was not willing to write Cerberus off as a lost cause. They were aware of the Reapers, they had a powerful base of scientific and military strength, even if it was specialised towards smaller, precise operations rather than large scale war, and they had given her her life back, and this ship.

Their morality was... problematic... but Faith was slightly concerned that it did not bother her as much as she knew it should. Cerberus did some terrible things. She had seen them as she hunted Saren: killing Alliance admirals, experimenting on Rachni, tricking soldiers into being slaughtered by a Thresher Maw.

Her time with the organisation had not improved her view of it. She did not doubt that many, perhaps even most, of the people working for it were fundamentally decent people, wanting to make a difference in a way they could not do in the Alliance or any other private company.

But Cerberus were brutal. They did not see people: they saw resources, to be allocated to further their own goals. To be used and spent in the most efficient manner, and tossed aside when they served no further purpose.

Am I any better?

Out of everything she had seen since she was brought back; the burning plague victims on Omega; Jacob's father, mad with power, setting up a harem with women treated like pleasure toys; the horrific experiments conducted by Maelon, it had been her own sponsors who sickened her the most, with their experiments on the man-child David Archer.

Experiments she allowed, because she saw the results.

The geth could be controlled, and despite Legion's reassurances she did not believe the geth were impervious to Reaper influence, whether they decided to join the Reapers as fellow synthetics when the war came, or through hacking from the Reapers themselves...

Could she, in any way, claim some kind of moral superiority over Cerberus? Did she even want to? If the Reapers were defeated, then she could go back, rectify the wrongs...

Or was it too late? Was the original choice, rather than any justification or future intent, what defined her?

But she... she thought she was dedicated to fighting the Reapers. That every stain on her soul was so victory could be achieved.

She could not be sure what Cerberus' goals were. The Illusive Man claimed to want the best for humanity, but she believed his view of what was "best" was a little too closely aligned to his own ambition for power. Perhaps he truly believed that his actions were for humanity, and was blind to any notion of humanity that he did not conceive as right.

Could the same be said for her? She was currently captain of the most advanced frigate in the galaxy, planning to make it even more powerful, flouting some of the most stringent intergalactic laws to do so. She was the lover of a person who could start a war with a click of a button. She could execute a man in the street and have nobody question her authority. She had committed genocide twice now... if one counted the Collectors as sapient beings. She had never wanted any of this power, this responsibility... I think... but had it nonetheless.

Jack Harper took a slow drag from his cigarette, clearly waiting for Shepard to speak. She had called him, after all, from the Normandy which was now in orbit of Hagalaz, as Liara made the final preparations to set up a mobile information platform in Miranda's old office. She was waiting to see if she would need to make use of the Broker's ship's transmission device, to distribute her data on the Reapers at an almost impossible scale, reaching every registered messaging account, and more, before scuttling the ship, and allowing it to crash into Hagalaz. It was too dangerous to allow to fall into the hands of others.

'Just so we're clear,' she began, eyes hard. 'The Normandy is my ship now. I suspect, however, that you planned this be the case from the start. The crew, even EDI, was designed to be loyal to me, not Cerberus.'

He simply nodded, waiting for Shepard to get to the point of the call.

'The Cerberus personnel who survived have all quit, and are now being paid using funds that have no tie to your organisation. I've cut my access to any Cerberus operations accounts, and will not be seen using your insignia. As far as I'm concerned, our relationship was an alliance to stop the Collectors, and we did that.' She grimaced internally. 'And I want to thank you, for the resources, and the work involved in Project Lazarus.'

The Illusive Man raised an eyebrow. 'I gave you that not out of charity, Shepard. I expected you to stop the Collectors, to eventually be the one who fights the Reapers. To that end, you have so far acted... admirably.'

Shepard nodded, and clasped her hands behind her back, falling almost instinctively into a military parade as she continued. 'It's not over yet. Beating the Collectors was a victory... but a small one, in the big picture. Securing the base, though, has given us the proof we need.'

She barely stopped to consider how those words sounded. Hundreds of thousands of lives saved... and the victory was a piece of technology?

'The Council has been looking at the base for nearly a month now, and Liara's sources tell me that they have accepted that Sovereign was not unique, that the Collectors were building another one, that there might be some credence to my claims.' She took a breath, trying to stop herself from pacing. 'But it's not nearly enough. We don't have anything that indicates that the war is coming, we don't even know when and they're nervous about dedicating themselves to something that, if we're honest, might not happen for years yet. In fact, the only organisation I know applying themselves to the fight is Cerberus.'

She fixed the artificial glow of the man ahead of her's eyes.

'So, I want to know exactly what Cerberus is doing. How you can help. If you have anything that can get the Council, the Alliance, all of the species moving, without me having to go ahead with a ridiculously risky plan to release all of our information to the public.'

The still sitting man took a sip of his whisky, leaning back into his seat. 'Cerberus is currently dedicating all appropriate resources to investigating Reaper tech.'

'Reaper... tech? How much of it have you salvaged?'

'Enough to be of use to us, not enough to be of use to anybody who hasn't accepted the truth of their existence, and their purpose.'

The answer set her nerves on edge. That kind of... arrogance... was dangerous.

'And who decides that?'

'I do.' His voice turned cold. 'I've already told you, Shepard, that Cerberus is dedicated to defeating the Reapers. You've used our resources, sanctioned our operations, risked your reputation and more by working with us. I won't say I'm happy with your decision regarding the Collector Base, but it looks like it's slowly getting results, so I won't complain.'

'And would you have said that Cerberus were the only ones qualified to investigate the base?' she asked, voice icy.

'I would have said we are best qualified.' The man stubbed out his cigarette angrily, and leaned forward in his chair. 'I have my own sources, Shepard, and am glad that, at least, they are following the anti-indoctrination procedures we developed. But the Council are limited in their investigations because they are using the base to confirm the existence of something they don't want to be confirmed, rather than using it to find ways to defeat them.'

Shepard leaned back on one foot, and crossed her arms. 'Then what do you think we should do?'

'I've got agents within the teams who are working on the Collector base. They are keeping an eye open for anything that we'd make better use of than the Council, but so far we've not managed to get our hands on anything useful.'

'It would be easier if you could operate in the open,' she gestured widely with one arm. 'share your knowledge and resources with others.'

'Perhaps.' Jack's smile was much too practiced; it was a politician's smile. 'But it's not our style, Shepard, and no reassurance on your part will have the Council or Alliance treating us as anything other than terrorists.'

She stopped and thought for a moment. Was she truly doing the correct thing, working with this group?

For the mission.

When the Reapers came, any petty differences would disappear.

The Reapers would not distinguish between a Cerberus agent and any other organic.

That made them, for now, allies.

'Fine.' She admitted, reaching up to take her head into a hand, but stopping herself before she did.. 'So, as I see it, we are both collecting data the other could use. You're in a better position than me to make use of some of the scientific data I've got, and the more I know, the better I can prepare for the Reapers. I'm not going to give you access to the Broker's archives, but I'll send you what we have on the Reapers, if you do me the same courtesy.'

'Agreed.' He did not even hesitate. 'I didn't bring you back to second guess you, Shepard, and whatever you might think of Cerberus, we are absolutely committed to stopping the Reaper Cycle. You'll have the data.'


Consciousness returned to Kaidan with an agonising slowness.

He had been on a mission... alone... in batarian space bordering with human colonies, sent to destroy a slaving facility from the inside; a mission he had completed, and he had even managed to rescue a handful of slaves, deactivating the devices the batarians implanted in the slaves' skulls, which would kill them at a signal, before leading the traumatised group of humans, one a girl no older than fifteen, to the extraction point. And then-

He stiffened, eyes flashing open as his body screamed in protest at his movement. He was in a hospital. The scent of disinfectant hit him with a harsh stinging in his nostrils as his eyes adjusted to the lights. He was alone in a small room, with a tiny porthole showing that he was onboard a ship. Several machines beeped nearby, and he saw multiple tubes leading to assorted points of his body.

He looked to his right hand. He had been injured. A batarian had launched a grenade at his group just before his carefully placed bombs detonated, and he had not managed to raise a barrier in time: the rescued slaves were unharmed, but his hand had been mangled, and he had escaped with the side of his face burning.

The end of his arm was a mess of bandages, stained with red spots, and he could not move it.

He began to panic. He had seen that at least one finger was destroyed before he had killed the batarian grenadier, and he passed out from the pain when he finally got to the extraction shuttle, hidden from batarian scans with similar technology used by the Normandy SR1.

No doubt responding to his activity, the door swung open and a doctor hurried in, checking the machine readouts. She was a strikingly pretty woman with bright red hair tied back in a tight knot, and glittering green eyes; both rare traits these days as more dominant genetic characteristics took over.

'What happened?' he asked her.

'You were injured on your mission, Major. You have been sedated for approximately thirty hours now; you are on board the SSV Budapest and we are currently safe in Alliance space.' The doctor, who looked rather young to him... getting old, Alenko... reeled off the words with a businesslike efficiency, before her cute features softened. 'Your face wasn't too bad: there will only be minor scarring from the shrapnel, and luckily none caught your eyes. Your hand was a lot worse: you lost three fingers and there was some serious damage to the remaining tissue; your armour was totally shredded and we had to surgically remove a lot of both shrapnel and shards of armour.'

His heart began to pound, and he felt sick to his stomach. His fingers? He, of course, had received battle wounds before, but nothing so debilitating... he would be unable to properly fight again: he could not shoot a gun, or fight hand to hand, or hack a terminal as easily.

His career as a soldier was over.

He instinctively looked to his hand, and the medic started speaking quickly again. 'Oh, there's no need to worry, Major - we received the go-ahead to use the best reconstructive surgery the Alliance has to offer. We replaced your fingers with bionics that your body seems to have taken remarkably well; you'll be fully functional in three days, and after a few weeks you won't even notice the difference!'

He glanced again at the doctor. She smiled at him pleasantly, a gesture he wanly returned, considering his next words carefully. 'I thought that kind of technology was very heavily restricted... and expensive?'

'Oh, it is, sir, but the authorisation came from Admiral Mikhailovich directly. He's on board now actually, and I alerted him that you are awake before I came to see you. He wants to speak to you, and will probably be over shortly.'

He nodded gratefully. 'Thank you, Doctor...'

'Jackson. But you can call me Tina, if you like. And there's no need to thank me, Major, they told me about how you rescued those slaves - you're a hero!' She stopped her fiddling with the machines at the side of his bed to smile at him again, clasping the bed's rail and leaning forward slightly.

Kaidan suddenly felt incredibly awkward. He had never been happy receiving this kind attention for his work.

'I was just doing my job, Do... Tina.'

'You might think so. But you saved those people from such a horrible fate, gave them a chance to recover and live something approaching a normal life!'

'The batarians claim slavery to be a cultural right and tradition, and, you know, I try to not apply human values or customs to other races, but...I just can't...' his voice trailed off with a shake of his head, hoping she'd follow the topic away from himself

She frowned. 'It's a disgusting practice, and it takes years and years for the poor people to get over what the batarians do to them.' her gloomy features suddenly cleared again, and he felt himself caught by her smile. 'But let's not talk about that. How is your hand feeling?'

He tentatively flexed, but could not move his fingers through the bandages. But he could feel a certain tingling... through all of his digits. 'Stiff, and I can't move my fingers. But I can feel them...'

'Good, that's a good sign at this stage, it means the surgery went well.'

'Did you...?' he nodded at his hand.

'Oh, no, I'm no surgeon! I take care of post-op patients.'

'Do you get many on a cruiser?' He asked, genuinely curious. He had never paid much attention to the medical wings on the larger ships he had served on.

'More than you might think. Soldiers need surgery just like everybody else; for accidents on board or the occasional serious illness. And we have a few families on the vessel. But it's mostly treating people like yourself: injured in battle.'

'Well, ah...' was this worth it? It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong. 'I'm glad to have someone like you looking after me.'

She fell quiet for a second, and he worried that he had said too much, before she chuckled, and spoke. 'I hope I'm not too forward, but... once you're all recovered, would you like to... aah... do something? I know it's hard for military people like us, but I'm sure we can work something out...'

Her voice trailed, and took a closer look at the woman. She was smiling shyly, and he felt a curious happiness in her company: something he had not properly felt with a woman since Shepard-

Shepard...

Even as the brunette reached his mind, he did not feel the familiar rush of her obliterating the presence of whomever was sitting ahead of him. Doctor Jackson was still smiling at him, and he smiled back.

'Sure thing, Tina, wha-'

'Major Alenko!' The dominating form of Admiral Mikhailovich burst into his small room, and Tina instantly flushed red, before retreating, flashing him another shy grin as she slinked from the room.

He looked towards the Admiral, who strode to the porthole and looked out for several seconds, until the door slammed shut behind the Doctor and the admiral turned back to face him.

'Major, good job on the mission. The base was completely destroyed, and slaving operations in the sector have been crippled. And rescuing those slaves... damn Alenko, if you'd called in to ask I'd have said leave them, but you did it, and it's just what the Alliance needed. PR gold; we've already got the story out to the news and we're expecting recruiting lines out of the doors from tomorrow.'

Kaidan frowned. 'That's not why I did it, sir.'

The admiral waved dismissively. 'I know, I know. But that's not going to stop us using it; we've been having... troubles... both with recruiting and desertions following the stories about what's been going on with those missing colonies in the Terminus, and this will show people what the Alliance is really about.'

The admiral suddenly seemed to realise who he was talking to, and straightened his back slightly. 'The Doctors tell me you will make a full recovery.'

He nodded his head, still too bound up to move much more. 'Doctor Jackson told me I have you to thank for that, sir.'

'That's right, Alenko. You've done the Alliance proud on your last few assignments, we don't need you taken out of action for a few fingers.'

He thought back. After his unusual mission to rob the asari matriarch, he had led a small, highly skilled squad, including an N7, on a search and destroy mission in salarian space, destroying a base that was used to research human chemical resistance... on live humans... and was given a whole platoon to wipe out a Terminus pirate base, which he had managed without a single casualty, and only three serious injuries, none permanently debilitating.

'Sir... permission to speak candidly?' The words felt strange; he had never felt the need to ask before, but given the unusual treatment he had been given recently, he felt the urge to know just what was going on.

The admiral raised a brow in his direction, but nodded.

'Might I ask what's going on? I was in the Alliance's black books for nearly two years, and all of a sudden I've been given some of the most risky, some of the most classified, some of the most important operations going. And now you've approved medical surgery that most frontline soldiers would never see. I'm not going to question any orders sir, but something doesn't seem right to me.'

To his surprise, the admiral laughed, and his next words were more casual than any he had heard from the man.

'I was wondering how long it'd take you to ask. I thought it might have been sooner, but then that's why it's you and not somebody else.'

Kaidan was confused by the word choice. 'Why what's me, sir?'

'You're right Alenko, you're getting these missions for a reason. But right now, not even I'm at liberty to decide if I can tell you why. Just know that you've been one of our best soldiers for a long time, and we're finally making use of it. Not just your skills in a fight, which are damned impressive, but you're diplomatic. Smart. Loyal to us.'

He did not like the emphasis on the final word, but the admiral was already continuing. 'But anyway, like I said I can't tell you. Just keep doing what you're doing, Alenko, and you'll find yourself serving humanity like you never imagined.'

The admiral nodded to Kaidan's bandaged hand, and his voice resumed a businesslike tone. 'Get yourself healed up, I've got another mission for you. And when you've successfully completed it, as I expect you will, you'll have some well deserved leave.'

He thought to the pretty doctor who had offered some time together, and had to resist smiling. He nodded formally, unable to move much more. 'I will do, sir. And... ah... thank you, for the fingers.'


Faith looked at the immense selection of the weapons in the Shadow Broker's locker, and decided that the huge Revenant LMG would be best for what she needed.

She hauled up the heavy weapon, took it to one of the booths, stabilised it correctly against her armour and opened fire at the holographic targets at the far end of the firing range.

The kick of the gun was welcome, and the noise was as roaring loud as it would be on the battlefield, but there was something... unsatisfying... about the practice mode most weapons had for training on board ships. Rather than firing bullets, the gun was emitting infrared beams that would be picked up by the intelligent VI that ran the firing range. The gun still reacted as it would with live fire, but it was not the same, and she wished there was a planet she could land on to properly unload; both real ammo and her stress.

The talk with the Illusive Man... Jack Harper... had left her on edge.

Back on Horizon, a confrontation that seemed so long ago now, with all that had happened, Kaidan had asked, voice laden with accusation, if she was with Cerberus because she thought she owed them something.

She had scoffed at the idea. She was with them because they were fighting the Reapers, whereas he was stuck on a backwater planet calibrating cannons that did not work.

The same could no longer be said. She could completely cut ties with Cerberus, take up her duties as a Council Spectre, and prepare for the fight through "legitimate" channels.

The gun suddenly hissed, and she slapped a new practice clip into it, opening fire again with long, heavy bursts, shattering the holograms ahead of her with accurate shots to the body, to the head. Her old body would never have been able to handle this weapon as she could now; her bolstered muscles and reinforced skeleton allowed her to keep the heavy recoil under control.

Should she do that? Just abandon Cerberus, call them the terrorists they were, and do the "right" thing?

Her teeth bared at the thought, clenched together to stop them rattling.

Right thing according to who?

The Council weren't moving fast enough. It had taken nearly a month to just have them admit that the Reapers existed, and they had still not accepted the truth of the incoming war, or more importantly, begun to prepare.

And even those preparations... what could they possibly do that would be enough? Dreadnoughts took months and months - years in peacetime when there was no rush - to build. Soldiers needed training, and proper training took a long time. Supplies needed to be stockpiled, kept mobile, because there would be no such thing as a safe zone. Civilians needed to be formed into militias: during the war, anybody not fighting would be a liability.

Her lips curled into an angry snarl.

Liability.

She was thinking of billions and billions of people. People who did not like fighting, did not want to fight, who simply wanted to live their lives, to love, to have children, to be happy.

There would be no place for them in the war. Every second a soldier spent evacuating a non-combatant would be one that could be spent fighting.

Another clip slammed into place. A harder program was loaded, nearly twice as many "foes" as before, moving, taking cover.

How could she fight a war like that? What could she do? If civilians were somehow pulled from a world under attack, where could they go?

Shipped to another world, to wait for the Reapers to attack that one, to be rescued again, all the time costing soldiers their lives?

There would be nowhere safe. Scared people crammed into the remaining worlds... there would be riots. Supply shortages. Scumbags taking advantage, pretending their little criminal enterprises were of any consequence, before the Reapers found them again.

There would be no such thing as non-combatants. No civilians.

Only liabilities.

That was why she could not follow the Council again. They would not accept the brutal, disgusting reality of the war.

And they would lose for it.

Another clip. A harder program, the endless roar of the weapon causing her ears to begin ringing.

What would be left of the galaxy, if by some miracle she could actually win?

Armies. Soldiers. People who had fought and fought and fought and had nothing left except the knowledge of how to kill.

People like her.

How could a galaxy be rebuilt with people like her?

People like her who decided that compassion, that the drive to save others, was a fucking distraction from the fact that entire populations were being harvested and the monsters doing it didn't care if the people they killed were soldiers or farmers or children, didn't care if they had to follow them across the galaxy, didn't care if it took decades or centuries; there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, the only way to survive was to fight, to destroy them, to turn every Reaper to ash so they could not hurt anybody else.

Another clip. She could not even count the glowing foes lining up against her now, just keep killing and killing and killing, because maybe once they were dead there would be enough people left to rebuild something, enough worlds left untouched to start anew -

Maybe there would be some spark of compassion left, enough people left who knew how to, who wanted to build and care and love, rather than just destroy and sacrifice what they had no right to sacrifice, blackening themselves because maybe then they could win, could destroy the Reapers, even if what was left was... was...

The gun hissed, and her hand groped the empty air where her stash of ammo was.

All gone.

Her limbs were trembling. The recoil? The gun fell from her grasp, and she distantly heard it fall to the floor over the ringing filling her ears.

She braced herself on the barrier ahead of her, tugging off one gauntlet, then the other, running a hand through her hair, surprised to feel how damp and clammy it was as she drew in a long, shuddering breath, willing her body to stop shaking, her teeth to unclench.

Soft footsteps, behind her.

A gentle touch, across her cheek, smearing dampness, leaving a stinging trail.

Her scars had re-opened. She had almost forgotten them, as she had relaxed with Liara over the past weeks.

Faith spoke without looking back. 'We have Cerberus on our side. We're going to be sharing data with them.'

Liara said nothing, simply continued to wipe the moisture from her face.

Sweat.

Maybe.

'Something I said... I told the Illusive Man that the best thing about defeating the Collectors, was that we secured the base.'

She took a deep breath, and forced herself to turn, to see Liara standing behind her, looking... small... compared to how she felt with her armour on.

'Not the people we saved, not the relief we brought to the other colonies who don't have to worry about the attacks any more, not even the destruction of that monstrosity they were building.'

Faith ducked her eyes, and continued. 'I feel like... like I just can't think of people on that kind of scale. When there's so many, they're just numbers. Each one's got family, friends, a life of their own, but I can't see it. I just see... civilians. Soldiers. Liabilities and resources. I can see how someone like the Illusive Man can get to the way he is.' She ducked and picked up the weapon, moving to stow it in the weapons locker. 'I'm practically there myself.'

Liara followed, speaking softly.

'You act to save them, Faith. Regardless of what you think, you have personally saved more people in your lifetime than, quite possibly, any other person alive today. You stopped the attack on the Citadel. You postponed the Reaper invasion. You destroyed the Collectors.'

Liara stepped forward, cupping Faith's cheek. 'Countless other missions, where you have given people hope, a chance to live, when they had nobody else to stand for them.'

'Doesn't it matter why? Saving them...' She tried not to look into Liara's gaze, not to bore into the asari with what she knew would be softly glowing eyes, but could not resist, feeling her heart soften, her body relax, as the brilliant blue swallowed her whole. 'It's always been a result of what I've done, not the reason.'

Liara looked thoughtful, before speaking softly. 'Then why do you fight?'

'To destroy the enemy.' she replied, without hesitation.

'That is no reason!' Liara's vehement voice startled Faith, but before she could speak the asari continued. 'You are not a mindless fighter, Faith, not a person who destroys because she wants to. Tell me the reason. Why do you want to stop the Reapers?'

Liara took another step closer, her body now pressing in what must be an uncomfortable way against the unyielding material covering the soldier's chest, somehow seeming taller despite - between Faith's natural height advantage and the armour - being a foot shorter than the human. Her next words were a fierce whisper.

'Why do you hate them?'

Faith thought of the Reapers. What they would do. What they would never, ever stop doing, until somebody ground them into dust.

'Because they're disgusting.' Her fist curled tightly, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm. 'Because they're going to make people into monsters, by turning them into the horrors we've seen, or by forcing them to do horrible things to survive. And people don't deserve that.'

Liara nodded firmly and took a step back, giving the soldier room to stash the gun, but Faith caught the asari's hand and squeezed. 'Thank you.'

'You are not a bad person. The things you do... you do not do them for power, or for yourself, or for Cerberus... or even the Alliance or the Council.' Liara took the heavy gun from Faith's hand, the action seeming to double its weight as it dipped in the asari's slender, two handed grasp, before she stowed it away, looking towards the weapons locker. 'Your actions give people life, and hope, and you do so without thought for yourself.' She suddenly shot a smile, accompanied by a glittering cerulean gaze, over her shoulder. 'So do not think of yourself that way. I will not allow it.'


A/N: Thank you Jay8008 for beta reading.

Happy 2013 to you all!

Here begins another of my planned deviations from ME3 canon: Cerberus. I thought they got a very raw deal in the game, turned into a dull (and rather stupid - the Citadel attack in particular made no sense) generic evil corporation for the sake of providing enemy fodder. So I'll be completely reworking their role, and the relationship with Shepard, into something hopefully more believable and in line with their "morally dubious but in general pro-humanity" label from ME1 and 2... I hope you enjoy!

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated - I love hearing from you all!