'Vega!'

Lieutenant James Vega, head fuzzy with the remains of that - what the hell was that the crazy guy brewed up? - hopped out of his bed at the commanding shout, instinctively snapping a salute in the general direction of the voice before his eyes had even adjusted to the light. He winced as he felt the soft fabric of something that felt uncomfortably like his underwear flutter from his hand down his face, but did not move to catch them or cover himself. He had been in the Alliance long enough to tell when his superiors were pissed, and while on a good day he was happy to push things a little, when somebody sounded like that it was best to jump to attention and shout "Yes sir!" a lot.

'Put some damned pants on Vega, you've got a call. Admiral Hackett in the comms room, be there in five or you'll be sorry you dragged your ass out of bed at all.' Major Stevenson sounded even angrier than normal, and as Vega's vision began to clear, he saw the man, almost a foot shorter than himself, turn and stalk away. The cabrĂ³n had a bit of an anger issue, probably because he was so short, and ran the soldiers stationed on Arcturus Station with an iron fist.

Vega was looking forward to getting out: after the mess on Fehl Prime he'd just wanted to drink himself stupid for a few days on some slum where he didn't have to worry about exactly this happening after a drinking session, but the damned Alliance wouldn't let him. They kept him on active duty for months, mostly just keeping him close to answer any more of their stupid questions, as though he hadn't already told them everything a dozen times. He spent most days in the gym and firing range: there wasn't much else for him to do.

He was finally supposed to be getting some leave in two days, and had already organised a shuttle to Omega.

Hope the brass isn't going to mess it up...

He quickly dressed into something half presentable for the admiral, and jogged through the clean, cramped, bright white corridors of Arcturus, wondering what Hackett wanted with him. The old man was tough, and looked like one of the few admirals who had actually seen combat - most of the rest were politicians and stuffed shirts who were happier behind a desk than actually getting something done.

Four and a half minutes after he had awoken, he burst into the comms room, stopping short as the admiral himself was standing in the centre, datapad clutched in his hand. Vega immediately straightened to attention, snapping a crisp salute - he had expected the man on vid-comm. The admiral returned the gesture, waving the datapad at Vega after the military formalities were dealt with. 'At ease, Lieutenant.'

Hackett was only a little taller than Stevenson, but seemed bigger: whether it was the naturally authoritative voice, or the grizzled scars, the man commanded respect. Vega shifted to a parade rest, and the admiral looked at him for several seconds, pale blue eyes dissecting him.

The admiral seemed to collect his thoughts, and spoke with a clipped voice. 'Tell me what you know about former Lieutenant Commander Faith Shepard.'

Vega blinked, before the name caught up with the hero. Her full name, her full title, took a second to click with his image of Commander Shepard.

The question prickled the hairs on his neck, but he answered with practiced precision, letting his head throb on its own time while his instincts took over. 'Enlisted on her eighteenth birthday sir, after two years in an Alliance youth program following the slaver attack on Mindoir. Achieved top marks in all classes, including setting new records for most of the N7 scoreboards. Served with distinction and led several successful campaigns, notably Torfan, and was... ah... promoted to Council Spectre in 2183. Less than a year later, she was listed KIA following her saving the Citadel Council from an attack by Saren Arterius and a geth fleet. Reappeared in 2185, was reinstated into the Spectres but not the Alliance, because it was confirmed she was working with Cerberus.'

Vega stopped then, wondering if the admiral wanted him to say what they both knew.

'And?' prompted Hackett.

No point hiding it...

'And two months ago, she destroyed the Collectors, ending the series of abductions in the Terminus Systems.'

'Rendering your efforts on Fehl Prime in vain.'

He felt a flash of anger 'Yes sir. Though if I-'

'Enough, Vega. You made the right choice at the time. You won't find many officers of note who haven't been through something similar.' The admirals kept saying that, but it did not make the guilt go away. He sacrificed the colonists, for data that Shepard neutralised the need for just weeks later. It was hardly her fault, but he could not help feeling resentful towards the woman.

What did Hackett want with him?

'And what have you heard since then?' The admiral's voice took on a less formal tone.

Rumours... but could he tell the admiral some of the more outrageous things he had heard?

'Speak freely, Vega.' Hackett said, datapad forgotten at his side.

James nodded his closely shaven head, and began. 'Stories, mostly, sir. I've heard just about everything - from her plotting to take down the Council to her building a secret army in preparation for the Reapers. Nobody's seen her in person since the Collector attack.'

'And you believe her about the Reapers?' Hackett arched an eyebrow at him. Was this some kind of test? The admiral himself seemed open to the idea, and Vega's headache, combined with his impatience at the ridiculous games of the brass, left him in no mood for lying. He would speak his mind.

'Yes sir. I saw enough of the Collectors, saw what happened at the Citadel, and think we shouldn't be ignoring her.'

To his surprise, the admiral nodded. 'It's still a long way from hitting the official command structure, Lieutenant, but the Council has confirmed the existence of the Reapers as a... race,' he said, slightly emphasising the word as if testing it for correctness, 'from the ruins Shepard left of the Collector base. That doesn't mean they believe her about an invasion, but it's something. Hell, more than something,' said Hackett, sounding wistful.

Vega was stunned to hear that. That kind of information must have been beyond classified. 'Ah, why are you telling me this, sir?'

The admiral finally moved from his spot in the centre of the room, and walked past Vega towards the door, gesturing the soldier to follow. Alliance personnel pushed themselves against the walls ahead of the pair, as Hackett led Vega towards the elevators. 'I'm telling you because while I can do a little with the other admirals to begin preparations, there's something else you can do. I've got an assignment, but it's one you're free to turn down.'

'Sir, I was supposed to be on leave in a couple of days.' He winced internally at the words, knowing how craven they sounded. He just wanted to chill for a while, not be thrown back into it.

'I know Vega, and you deserve it more than most. But hear me out before you say no.' An elevator door opened, and the pair boarded. Hackett jabbed the button marked "armoury", and James felt the bottom drop from his stomach as they descended in the small, clean carriage.

'Shepard is outfitting a crew. While I don't know all the details, the ship she's in command of bears remarkable similarities to the SSV Normandy, though she insists Cerberus no longer sponsor her. Councillor Anderson informs me that during her attack on the Collectors, her crew suffered heavy casualties.'

Death seemed to follow Shepard like a shroud. He knew her career in much more detail than he told Hackett; how she always got the job done... but never without cost. He had learned what that was like on Fehl Prime, and it almost broke him. His childish idolisation of the woman had died at the same time the colonists did: she had made more than one decision like that, and continued onwards. What kind of a person could do that over and over?

'She's asked me to help get her more men for her ship. That's where you come in.' continued Hackett.

The elevator doors opened, and the admiral immediately set off towards the area Vega knew contained the more experimental weapons and special forces gear which was kept well away from the standard issue kit they gave to the grunts. The admirals words caught up with him. He was going to be working with Shepard?

'If you accept, you'll effectively be out of all Alliance command chains. You'll answer directly to her, though you can report back to me at any time. Your career will effectively be on hold while you're with her: no chance for promotion. Pay will be kept the same.'

'What'll I be doing?' he asked.

Hackett stopped just before the door to the special forces armoury, and looked at Vega. 'You'll be put through hell, Vega, that's what you'll be doing. Shepard's going to be fighting the Reapers from the very front, and you'll need to give your best and then some. Are you up for it?'

Vega bit his lip. It had always been his dream to work with Shepard, and the opportunity had just been dropped in his lap. But now he had it, the concept seemed substantially less appealing. Thrown into the very worst of the galaxy, to work under somebody who he guessed would not hesitate to sacrifice him if it meant the difference between defeat and victory.

What else is there?

After he saw what the Collectors did, knowing now that they were thralls of the Reapers... he could make up for his failure at Fehl Prime. By doing what he did best: fighting, with the best defence the galaxy had.

'Yes, sir. I'll do it.' To James, there was really no other choice.

Hackett nodded with a grim smile. 'Good. You'll be picked up in twelve hours.'

'Twelve hours? Sir that's loco, I've got...' He trailed off. He honestly did not have anything keeping him. A tiny footlocker with some personal effects, and nobody on the station he was close enough to need to say goodbye to. 'Erm, sorry, that's ok, I'll be ready.'

Hackett nodded again, and pushed the door open, continuing to speak. 'We're not sending you in empty handed. We've got some kit for you.'

A small, geeky looking guy in a lab coat appeared before Hackett, and saluted. Hackett returned the gesture, as did Vega, and the admiral spoke. 'Specialist, this is him. Is it ready?'

'Yes sir, though I need to repeat that giving this tech to someone who hasn't been trained properly could be a huge waste of resources, not to mention-'

'I've heard your objections, specialist. He's here now, and you'll give him the accelerated training.'

The weapons tech looked troubled, and Vega wondered what they were talking about. New kit? He usually preferred standard gear, but he had to admit special forces had some fun toys.

'You said I'd have ten hours... sir, it takes most people two weeks to learn how to properly use this suit!'

'Then I suggest you get started. Lieutenant Vega, this is Specialist Canderman. He'll be showing you around your new gear. I have to go, but I'll be there when you depart. Docking Bay A8, Vega, Twenty hundred hours.'

After again sharing salutes, the weapons tech looked up at Vega. 'No wonder he had me modify it, you must half krogan! Follow me, we don't have much time.'

The man in a lab coat hurried off to a side room and Vega followed bemusedly, wondering what this was all about.

As he entered the room - a long firing range he had not expected - his breath caught. Mounted before him was a huge, gleaming suit of armour. It was absolutely enormous: enough to put at least another half foot on both his already substantial height and width, all in Alliance colours, but somehow... darker... perhaps because the armour itself looked so intense. Heavy, flat plates made up the majority of the suit, with sharp edges rather than rounded curves wherever he could look. One of the gauntlets was massive; Vega suspected it harboured a weapon of some kind, and he also saw a small device on the shoulder, that looked like a miniature missile launcher.

The suit was, in short, beautiful.

'T5-V Battlesuit. Most soldiers call it "The Destroyer". Costs a small fortune to make, hell, even just reloading the weapons costs about half your annual salary. We usually only give it to N7s, but Admiral Hackett was insistent, I guess you're going somewhere important.'

The tech slammed a huge book on the bench before the firing range. It was twice as thick as the Alliance field operations manual. 'What's that?' he asked, slightly dazed that he was being given such an advanced piece of technology. To go somewhere he would not even be under Alliance command.

'The instruction manual.'

'Puta madre...'


Faith stood over the final slave, a salarian woman bleeding from her perforated skull, feeling absolutely drained.

The ice cold rage she had felt as she tore the batarians apart with her knife had dissipated, leaving her with a deep well of nausea in her stomach. She had enjoyed killing them. It had never bothered her before; her enjoyment or lack thereof in her work did not affect her decisions. She could not allow it to. She was a soldier of the Alliance, doing her duty.

Now, she followed no command other than her own. She answered to nobody: whilst technically she was still a Spectre, if the Council called and demanded she take a mission of theirs that was not directly involved in preparing for the Reapers, she would refuse. She had a ship, a crew, of her own, and enough resources through Liara to support any mission.

It was terrifying. The Alliance was safe. There were rules. Regulations. Boundaries of what she could and could not do, definite targets for her to achieve. The Council were slightly different: she had been given a lot of leeway, but was still expected to report to them, to answer to them, to have her decisions scrutinised. So when she tore apart enemies, she could say to herself that it was for the mission, for the Council.

Not for herself.

There was some comfort in knowing that she could not have rescued Doctor Kenson without killing those batarians, but would she have done it anyway?

What would Liara say, if she had seen that display?

She tried not to think of the answer, as she watched the thick green blood bubble from the salarian's head.

Shepard heard footsteps, and instantly snapped back to attention. She was still in hostile territory, and could not afford any distractions. Doctor Kenson stepped from the torture room, dressed in stained, heavy duty clothes that were much too big for her.

The Alliance operative looked around, seeing all of the dead slaves. 'You did them a mercy.' Kenson's voice was free of any compassion: she said it as though it was a scientific fact.

In a strange way, that was more reassuring than any actual comfort, and Faith straightened. She was special forces: selected for her ability not just in combat, but also to be able to operate in conditions that would have most minds crippled by pain, fear or indecision. Trained to be cold, because it was a necessity. There were not many branches of the Alliance that put its operatives through more rigorous mental training than special forces, but they existed. Doctor Kenson, the victim of days of torture, standing before her looking as though that was a mere inconvenience, was the result of one of them.

Faith pulled out her other pistol, and detached the clip of tranquilizer rounds. They would not be needed any more.

Shepard handed the gun wordlessly to Doctor Kenson, who checked the clip with quick professionalism and nodded.

Shepard gestured to the stairs, and began speaking quickly and quietly, voice muffled by her balaclava. 'We have no backup or extraction points. I've got a way out of the facility, but I'd rather hijack one of the batarian shuttles so we can get off the planet. They won't notice anything wrong until it's too late to follow.'

Kenson's voice was equally clipped. 'Agreed. My operation is set up in the asteroid belt near the relay, we can lose any scans or pursuers there.'

That was partially Faith's plan; Liara had already sabotaged the planetary defence grid, and would keep it non-functional well into the next day. The only concern was physical pursuit. But Kenson could not know that, and Faith was again impressed by the woman's mental fortitude in such circumstance, and briefly wondered if Hackett would let her keep the operative; she would clearly be a great asset. Suddenly Kenson's icy mask broke into a small frown as she continued, quiet words apparently as much to herself as Faith. 'I have been away too long. There isn't much time left.'

The words sent a chill down Faith's spine. 'Time for what?'

'It'll be easier to show you than tell you. Needless to say, we need to leave.'

Faith nodded, displeased with the answer but understanding of the reasons. A torture room in a hostile prison was not the best place for talking, so she led the way out of the prison.

It almost seemed too easy. The batarians were still asleep, even those she had overheard talking earlier. Kenson moved somewhat tenderly, unsurprising given the treatment she had endured, but with a grace that kept her bare footsteps silent: Faith assumed she left the batarian's boots for that reason.

When they finally reached the open courtyard without incident, the pair ducked behind a loading machine to discuss their next move. Kenson closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the pounding rain, running her hands through her steel-coloured hair, as Shepard swiftly relayed her knowledge, both from the intel gathered beforehand and what she saw on her way in.

'There are two shuttles here permanently, on the far side of this courtyard. Two others traverse between here, the colony, and the other bases, but only during the day, and are kept at the colony. All are standard Kodiak models; shouldn't be too difficult to scuttle one and hijack the other.'

'Physical presence?' Kenson promoted, still holding her face up to the warm rain of Aratoht.

'One on patrol, two by the gate. Another two in the other building, but with this rain they won't see or hear us. I'll neutralise the first three before we leave, and the planetary defence grid has been disabled. Nobody will notice until it's too late.' Faith forced herself to stay cold. To stay disconnected. Killing them was tactical advantage, no more.

Finally Kenson dropped her head, and wiping the wet hair away from hazel eyes, fixed Shepard with a solid glare. 'Then let's move.'

A heavy roar of thunder sounded as the pair traversed to the pair of shuttles, each on its own landing pad, at the rear of the courtyard. The weather was only getting worse, the rain heavier, and visibility would be next to zero if not for Faith's goggles. When they reached the shuttles, ducking beneath the platform of the nearest, Faith took Kenson's shoulder and pulled the other woman in to speak directly into her ear. 'Can you get these shuttles ready? I'll neutralise the batarians.'

Kenson nodded. 'Give me your omni-tool, I'll overload the systems in one and prepare the other.'

Grateful for the Alliance's insistence of training its best operatives in a wide variety of skills, Faith quickly caught sight of the patrolling batarian, before handing her omni-tool to Kenson and setting off after him, trusting the Alliance operative not to give herself away with any careless lights or noise.

She trailed the batarian for close to ten minutes, performing almost an entire circuit of the courtyard - he stopped only briefly to share pleasantries with the guards on the gate - before he finally activated his omni-tool, and spoke into it: 'Perimeter clear.'

The second the light dimmed, Faith closed the gap with a few quick steps and dragged her knife across his throat, hauling his body into the shadows before he even died.

Next...

She drew her lightweight M-97 Viper sniper rifle, unsuitable for any anti-armour use but perfect for unshielded, unhelmeted, batarian heads, took up a hidden position, and waited.

She did not have to wait long.

Bright light flashed across her goggles, blinding her for just a second before her eyes adjusted to the light, the process sped up by the machines running through her body, and she began to count as she drew sights on the batarian on the right.

One... two... now!

She pulled the trigger the instant the crack of thunder sounded, the muffled shot disappearing into the roaring barrage through the night. The window nearest her splintered, a spider's web of cracks spreading from the small perforation, and the batarian's head suddenly sported a tiny hole as the high velocity round tore straight through it, impacting and embedding itself into the wall of the guard post. Before his partner could react, before the thundercrack had even finished echoing through the night, she lined up sights on the dead batarian's partner who dropped to the floor as another bullet tore through the guard post.

Faith hated sniping. She knew, of course, the tactical advantage of fighting at long range, but doing so always left her itchy, as though her being unable physically express the effort that should be required to take a life left her body aching to expel the energy.

Shaking her head to banish the grim thoughts, Faith shipped away the sniper rifle and jogged back to the shuttles, noticing as she got close the gentle thrum of an engine through the pounding rain - Kenson had been successful.

Within minutes they had taken off, Kenson telling Shepard with grim satisfaction that the other shuttle had detonated about thirty seconds later.

They had reached the outer atmosphere of the planet before the batarian comms system indicated they suspected the departing shuttle was not genuine; too far gone for the batarians to make an effective pursuit with the planetary systems down.

Thank you, Liara...

Doctor Amanda Kenson was safe.


Kasumi Goto picked up the ceramic jug with a sigh. It was much too empty, and yet the memories had not stopped. Miranda. Jack. Samara. The lovely Jacob. Even grumpy old Zaeed. A dozen chats with a dozen surprisingly pleasant Cerberus staff.

All dead.

Like Keiji.

She refilled the drinking cup with the now lukewarm sake, acrid stench of the cheap blend filling her nostrils, and looked into its clear depths. She had not even bothered to visit one of her usual, far classier, drinking establishments for this binge; she was instead in a sleazy bar in one of the less pleasant parts of Tokyo.

Being pathetic.

The depression did not go away for knowing it.

She had taken a few odd jobs since leaving Shepard, but had otherwise stayed off the radar, finding no pleasure in either the work (it was all terribly boring... people wanting paintings and jewellery stolen when the Reapers were coming, put a real downer on things.) or conversation (she had just finished working with a team of misfit heroes. Art collectors did not have quite the same... flare.).

So she decided to get drunk. She hadn't done it for a while; a couple of times when she was young, one very merry night with Keiji. Once when he died, after which she promised never to do it again after lying in a pitiful state of grief and headaches for an entire weekend.

So much for that...

Just as she was about to take another sip, her omni-tool lit up with an alert of someone calling her. A few heads turned her way: omni technology was still not widespread in the poorer areas of Earth, but not for long. Judging by the downcast eyes, most people were here for the same reason she was.

The caller ID was hidden, but Kasumi immediately recognised the encryption protocols: she had done several jobs for this particular person... or ex-person, she supposed with a smile.

Kasumi hit "answer", and a distorted voice filled the comms system on the headset she wore inside of her hood.

'Miss Goto, I have a well paying job, if you are currently available.'

Kasumi could not help but chuckle, feeling some of the darkness swept away. She did miss this. 'You can ditch the cloak and dagger act, T'Soni.'

'W... what are you talking about?' The distorted voice suddenly stumbled in a highly amusing manner.

'You'd think Shep's girlfriend wouldn't need to hide herself from me... I'm insulted!' Kasumi lamented with overblown drama, wide grin across her face.

'Oh... Goddess...' The distorted voice muttered, as much as a distorted voice could. There was a whirring sound, then a slightly more feminine sounding voice spoke up again. 'How is this?'

'Still a little bit Deepthroat.' Kasumi answered, finally deciding against drinking the rest of the sake, pushing the cup and bottle away from her. The effect of what she had already consumed had transformed from a gloomy sluggishness to a pleasant buzz... just at the reminder of her time on the Normandy. She had only been on board the ship for a few months, would she never be able to go back to a life of random art thievery?

'Excuse me?' the now only slightly distorted voice sounded baffled.

'I mean you still sound like a krogan with a throat infection.'

'Goddess, I am bad at this...' Another whir. 'How about now?'

Kasumi shook her head, giggling. Liara sounded like she had inhaled a lungful of helium. 'Too far. You can just turn those things off, you know.'

'Oh... ah yes, I see it!' the squeaky voice continued, before instantly clearing up. 'Is that better?'

'Much. You need to work on your badass spy routine. I've got some hints if you want. First, you'll need some black clothes...'

'Must you tease me?' Liara pouted. Kasumi had only spoken to the asari two or three times, but she seemed adorably awkward when conversing, and worked wonders on the usually uptight Shepard.

'Hey, you're the one who called me all... Shadow Broker...y! Anyway, Kasumi Goto, at your service. What can I do for the girlfriend of humanity's hero?' Kasumi stood and paid for her drinks, exiting the bar and finding a quiet spot in an alleyway to converse quietly.

'As I said, I have a job, if you are willing.' Liara replied, sounding a lot more comfortable in her own voice.

'Sounds intriguing. It's not another suicide mission, is it? Because-'

'Oh, no!' Liara quickly spoke, before calming her voice. 'You are still a thief, are you not?'

'Hey, not so loud!' Kasumi said with a grin, but still instinctively looked around. Nobody could hack her comms without her knowing, but that did not stop old habits.

'I apologise. Would you be interested in taking the job? I can pay very well.'

'I don't need creds, I stopped doing this for the money a long time ago...' Kasumi had more than enough money stashed away in assorted accounts and investments, but in truth those luxuries she enjoyed; certain artwork, old books, she stole. She had little use for the money. 'But... ah... is it for...'

She felt terrible for asking, seeing how she had unceremoniously quit Shepard's team, but that did not mean she was not interested in helping the fight.

'Yes, it is for the fight against the Reapers.' Liara said quietly.

'Then consider it on the house. Same with anything else you need me to lift for the war.' Kasumi answered, equally solemnly.

'T... thank you, Kasumi.'

'Hey, if I can't fight, I want to at least do what I can, and stealing things is pretty much what I do.' Kasumi replied, trying to lighten the tone again. She was not one for gloominess. 'Tell me about this job.'

'Your target is Kassa Fabrications prototype testing facility, in Siberia, Russia, Earth. I have schematics and more I will send to you, and can arrange discreet transport to a nearby location whenever you are ready.' Liara's voice instantly took a business-like edge, and Kasumi was startled at how quickly the awkward asari had disappeared.

'Kassa? Shiney!' Kassa always made the best armour. But... it was winter in Russia. Cold. Snow. No room for slinky, skintight catsuits. Damn. 'What am I after?'

'The company recently developed a new armour plating, suitable for deployment on individual soldiers, substantially stronger than anything else of a similar weight, with technology that even partially dissipates biotic... never mind. Suffice to say, it is very strong. However, given the enormous cost of production, Kassa could not market it to the Alliance so they eventually cancelled the project as economically unviable. I would like you to retrieve both the schematics and a sample of the material; both of which, I am reliably informed, are kept in secure archives. I will send you further intel to help you identify the correct piece. Will you do this?'

Kasumi's face split into a happy grin. Top secret research labs in the middle of the Siberian tundra? That was the kind of thievery she dreamt about as a little girl! 'Of course! I'll have it before they know it's gone.'

'Oh, thank you so much Kasumi!'

'My pleasure! Literally.' She did love her work, and felt more enthused about this task than anything else since the Collectors. Something occurred to the thief. 'Not that I'm not happy to speak to you Ao, but is there some reason Shep's not the one making the call?'

'Oh, yes, she is on a mission, in terrible danger, no doubt.' Liara's attempt at flippancy fell flat as Kasumi heard the worry ring through every word.

'How's she doing?' Kasumi asked softly. Shepard had been rather... volatile... after the Collector Base, seeming to only properly calm down the day after Liara arrived. And Kasumi had left - fled -the Normandy only days after.

'She...' Liara sounded hesitant. 'She misses you. Not you in... I mean, she misses everybody, both those who left and those who... did not return.'

'Shep said that?'

'She does not need to speak the words. But there were so many lost, and then...'

And then me, Thane, Grunt, Mordin, all left her.

'Look, Liara, I know what you're trying to do.' Kasumi ducked her head. 'I don't really blame you; I know what it's like, worrying for those you care about. But please don't try to guilt me into coming back. I don't think I can... with all of those memories, all that... death...'

Kasumi took a deep breath. She was not angry at Liara - in truth, she was more upset at herself. She knew how important Shepard's work was and how the woman, however stoic and soldier-y she might be, took the losses truly to heart; both the deaths and those who left afterwards. But even the thought of returning had Kasumi trembling. She was not a soldier.

We're all be soldiers soon, Kasumi. There won't be anywhere to hide when they come.

Shepard had said that. The words still sent shivers down her spine.

Maybe... maybe she could return, one day. But not today. Not yet.

The comm was silent for a few more seconds, before Liara spoke again, voice ashamed. 'Forgive me Kasumi, manipulation of friends should be beneath me.'

'Don't worry about it. You're looking out for your girl, I can't hold that against you. Look, send me the details about Kassa and we'll forget it ever happened, ok?'

'I... I will. Thank you.' the thief's omni-tool lit up: a large data packet had just been delivered.

'No sweat. If you get that transport you mentioned to Tokyo, I'm ready to go whenever it arrives and I'll review this data on the journey over.' She would also need something to take care of the alcohol in her system, but there were drugs that could do that, and she knew where to get them.

'I will have the transport ready shortly, and send you further details. Thank you again, Kasumi, and good luck.'

'Luck?' Kasumi chuckled, 'I'm insulted! I've got finely honed skills and an awesome outfit, thank you very much.'

Liara laughed in response, the tension finally cleared.

'I'll have your armour with you soon,' Kasumi promised. 'And... when she gets back, tell Shep I miss her too.'


'Tell me about this Reaper artefact.'

Kenson had set the shuttle to autopilot towards the asteroid belt: she would have to manually direct it when they arrived, but for now they had some time to talk about the real reason Shepard had rescued her. The N7 commando pulled off both her goggles and balaclava, running a hand through her short hair, matted with sweat and rain, and used a rag found in the shuttle to clean the drying batarian blood from her face.

Kenson nodded. 'We found it buried in an asteroid. It was a stroke of luck; we heard rumours of some unusual readings associated with those collected from Sovereign, and got to the artefact before the batarians did. It took months to unearth and properly decode the readings but what we found...' the operative shook her head. 'It was emitting a pulse, like a beacon.'

Shepard felt an instinctive chill run down her spine. 'You were exposed to this?'

'We were careful,' Kenson clarified crisply. 'Your warnings about indoctrination led to the Alliance developing experimental protocols. We obviously can't be certain how effective they are, given the lack of active Reaper material for testing, but we use several types of containment fields, and all of the project crew undergo regular psych evaluations with somebody who goes nowhere near the artefact. It's not perfect, but it's the best we can do.'

'Why didn't you hand it over to Alliance command, or the Council, right away?' Shepard asked, nodding grimly at Kenson's assessment.

Kenson gave a cold smile. 'Would you believe me if I told you we couldn't? Even our most advanced mining lasers could not properly excavate it from the super-hard core of the asteroid. We needed stronger machines, and couldn't smuggle them into batarian space.'

'That won't be a problem. I'll use my Spectre status, I'll use any and every resource I have to get this artefact seen.' Shepard's mind barely began running through ideas before Kenson shot her down.

'I'm afraid it's too late for that, Shepard.'

Her blood turned to ice. 'What do you mean?'

'The pulse the artefact emits? It's a countdown. The time between each pulse decreases every time. Once we figured that out, we extrapolated the time left until it reached zero. We can't be sure what it is counting down to, but I'm sure we both have a good idea, considering the Bahak system is the furthest settled colony from the galactic core. The nearest to dark space.'

Shepard felt her hands begin to tremble. The rumble of the engines of the shuttle faded to nothing. 'How long?' Her voice sounded like it was coming from a different throat.

'At the time of my capture, seven and a half days.'

Oh, God...

'I can't be sure how long I was kept sedated, but I was awake for a little over three days in batarian custody.'

Shepard stood up and began pacing in the small space of the shuttle.

So soon? There was nothing she could do, she was not nearly prepared, the galaxy was still divided, the leaders still refused to see the truth!

The Reapers would arrive. They would wipe out Bahak, then travel-

Oh.

The overhead conversations of the batarians suddenly clicked into place.

'You want to destroy the relay, to delay the arrival. The Reapers will have to fly to the next system, rather than be relay-jumped.' Shepard deduced.

Kenson nodded grimly. 'We didn't have time to do anything else. By the time the Council actually organised an expeditionary force, they would have already arrived. The Alliance cannot travel in batarian space in any force without starting a war we can't afford. I've been shipping as many thrusters and rockets as possible, to slam the asteroid housing the artefact itself into the relay, but I was too hasty. I got caught when I slipped up on an encryption.'

Kenson looked up at Shepard, eyes wide. 'Do you know how long it has been?'

Faith ducked her head, trying to swallow down the bile in her stomach. 'Your team reported you captured five days ago. Will they have continued without you?'

'Yes. I gave the order explicitly that whatever happened, the Project needed to be completed, and activated as soon as it was ready.'

'The Project?'

Kenson nodded, as Shepard say down, mind reeling. They still had a little time, but if Kenson's team had not yet destroyed the relay, that could only mean the preparations were not ready.

The Reapers would arrive in two days. Could they possibly finish in time?

'That's what we called it.' Kenson's voice softened, a hint of humanity touching it. 'Nobody knows for certain what happens when a relay is destroyed, but they harbour enormous amounts of energy. Releasing it all at once... a supernova level explosion is the least we can expect. It'll destroy everything in the system, including the batarian colony.'

Shepard did not know what to feel. Kenson's words sparked nothing in her. Not pity or disgust, not, thankfully, excitement or anticipation.

Nothing.

There was just a sense of resignation. The batarians had to die, so the Reapers could be delayed.

Should over three hundred thousand deaths, not weigh more heavily?

Ninety thousand slavers would die. Faith did not discriminate between those who took the slaves and those who used them. There was no difference, other than a willingness to get their hands dirty. And Faith had no hesitation killing slavers. This was just... on a greater scale.

And two hundred and fifteen thousand slaves would be set free from hell.

Faith gave Kenson a cautious nod, and continued carefully, as if scared that disturbing her own serene acceptance would kick up a far more extreme response. 'Should your team have finished the Project by now?'

The Alliance agent stood and pulled down a spare, clean, semi-armoured uniform from one of the racks lining the passenger area of the batarian military shuttle, as well as a small, field medical kit . As Kenson stripped off the dirty outfit she was wearing, she continued. 'Yes. It was very close to completion when I was captured: it should have been activated by now. Until we get there, we won't know why it hasn't. We should reach the asteroid belt in three hours.'

As Kenson removed her top, Faith could see that her body was in poor shape. Most of her fresh wounds were still slowly seeping blood, and the burns a viscous pus, and for the first time Shepard saw a grimace of pain flash across Kenson's face as the rough material pulled against the wounds.

Faith's teeth bared in a snarl.

Batarian scum.

Kenson pulled a medigel-soaked wipe from the med-kit, and after a second of incomprehension, placed it into Faith's outstretched hand, immediately turning her scarred back as she pulled another out. For close to forty minutes the pair cleaned and, when necessary, dressed Kenson's wounds in shared silence.

Faith felt a deep tension pulling at her gut as they worked.

The Reapers were on their way. So close.

And she was helpless to do anything. Until they got to the asteroid, there was nothing she could do.

When Kenson was finally dressed, she no longer looked like a rescued prisoner of war. A torn rag from her old clothes tied her silver hair back in a tail, and between her fresh outfit and angry eyes, she looked every inch the Alliance operative.

They both sat down in the cockpit of the shuttle again, Faith uncertain of what to say. When death was just over a day away, what else was there to say?

She thought of Liara.

One of the only reasons she had left, to fight this damned war.

With a sad sigh, Faith called up her omni-tool. Neither that nor the shuttle had suitable technology for making a secure call to Hagalaz, so she began typing, cursing her absolute lack of poetic ability.

Dear Liara...


'Switching to manual controls.'

Faith looked up from her message, after reading it over for the fifth time, surprised that she had to blink away moisture from her eyes. It was no proper way to say goodbye. Maybe Kenson had a more powerful communicator in the Project base that would allow a call... if she even had time, between rushing to finish and activate the Project, and actually escaping before the relay was destroyed.

For now, she archived the mail, to be sent when there was no further options.

I will get this done. I will not let this be how it ends.

The asteroid belt loomed ahead of the shuttle, surprisingly close to the mass relay itself. The ancient piece of Reaper technology floated serenely in the distance, larger and brighter than any star.

The mass relays. The reason the species of the galaxy could live the way they did, would also be their downfall. If the Reapers followed the usual pattern the Citadel would fall first. The relays would be controlled and locked. Then the harvest would begin as dozens of tiny, separated fleets failed to make any unified defence against an unstoppable force.

She could not allow that to happen. If... when... she activated the Project and escaped, the gentle nudging tactics she, Garrus and Liara were operating would have to be stepped up. Governments would have to be bullied, bribed or blackmailed into preparations. Resources would have to be stockpiled. People needed to know what was coming.

A sick realisation spread through her.

She would have to use the destruction of Bahak. She needed people to believe it was the Reapers. Perhaps... perhaps something like that would provoke the galaxy into action.

The deaths of so many, might save billions more.

As she began to run through the best ways to do this in her mind, Kenson spoke again, hands now securely at the controls of the shuttle. 'Project base, this is Doctor Kenson. Come in, Project base.'

The comms hissed in response, before finally a male voice appeared at the other end. 'This is Project base. Please confirm.'

'Delay the Arrival.' Kenson spoke softly.

'Confirmed. Welcome back, ma'am.'

'Why hasn't the project been activated yet?' Kenson demanded. 'Commander Shepard just rescued me from the batarians, but it should be done by now!'

'We...' The comms fell silent, and Faith was instantly suspicious. Military people did not hesitate when reporting to senior officers. 'We weren't sure it was the right thing to do, ma'am.'

'What!' Both Faith and Kenson exclaimed simultaneously. 'Explain, now!' snapped Kenson.

'Ma'am, it's... the batarians, how do we know that killing them is the right thing to do?' The voice began to sound flustered.

'You don't,' snarled Kenson, face twisted. 'I do, and you follow orders. Is the Project ready to be activated?'

'W... we finished it, but... but how can we just kill the batarians?'

'We are sacrificing them to give the galaxy a better chance to prepare for the Reapers!'

'But how do we know that?' the man replied, voice agitated.

At the words, Faith's suspicion instantly morphed into a deep, throbbing certainty. A certainty she had no hard evidence for, but a certainty nonetheless. She stabbed the "mute" button on the comms, feeling a sick dread pulse through her body. 'Your team is indoctrinated.' she said, speaking quickly. 'One of the first signs is doubting the Reapers' intentions. We need to get in there and activate the Project ourselves.'

'Damn!' Kenson slammed the butt of her fist against the frame of the cockpit. 'Damn, there's dozens of soldiers on the base!'

Kenson dropped her head, voice sounding angry. 'We were so careful...'

'There's nothing we can do for them now. It sounds like they aren't too far gone yet, so we aren't facing mindless fanatics. Tell them we'll discuss it once you've returned. We can improvise from there, depending on how they treat us.' Faith said, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. They still knew so little about indoctrination...

I do know about indoctrination.

Some distant memory was kicked up as she spoke, as she heard the indoctrinated man talk. Whispers, formless words, ideas and knowledge like ghosts across her mind.

The knowledge of the Protheans, delivered by the beacon, deciphered by the cipher.

They knew the dangers of indoctrination.

They tried to warn the galaxy.

Only Shepard listened. Only she knew the truth. Now that she was faced with the insidious brainwashing, the knowledge seemed to come as if it were something drilled into her mind during training, as if it had always been there, but never needed, so never considered.

How much more do I know?

Kenson nodded, seeming to draw confidence from Faith's clear orders.

She opened the comms again. 'Acknowledged, Project base. I heard something on Aratoht that's given me doubts as well. I'll be docking in a batarian shuttle in fifteen minutes, disable the defences and we'll discuss other options when I arrive.'

Kenson adapted to the changing circumstance again with remarkable ease, and Faith again realised just how effective somebody like her could be as part of the Normandy's team.

The comms were silent for a few more seconds, before the voice spoke again, sounding less concerned, less agitated, than earlier. 'We have you on sensors, and defences are disabled. We'll see you soon, ma'am.'


A/N: Thank you Jay8008 for beta reading.

I would also like to thank my readers for the continued support and feedback - you are all awesome :-)