Samantha Traynor could not help but bounce her legs in excitement as the ship roared towards Arcturus Station.

An assignment!

She had only graduated her final on-the-job-training two weeks ago - top of her class, she reminded herself with a suppressed but still proud smile - and Admiral Hackett himself had called her, in person, and told her a transport was waiting to take her from the lab on Earth straight to the administrative heart of the Systems Alliance, for a once in a lifetime assignment.

She had already been headhunted for several positions, including one on board the brand new SSV Logan, a dreadnought that had not even made its maiden voyage, and had still not decided which position she would pursue when Hackett made the call. He had not even offered her the position - he had assigned her to it. This had briefly annoyed her, but she quickly realised that new graduates do not receive personal calls from Admiral Bloody Hackett.

She knew she was good at her work - and Hackett had to know it as well, to get in touch personally like he did. In all likelihood this assignment was an important one, maybe with the special forces, or an even more secretive branch of the Alliance. She was going somewhere her skills and training would be truly utilised.

She was a little nervous, of course - this was her first real assignment outside of training and the first where the only assessment would be her superior officers receiving accurate, clear data and using it to save lives - rather than silly marks on a test - but Samantha was confident.

She always gave her best efforts to her work, and then some... leading to some rather embarrassing situations during training exercises when she had completed the technical work, and tried to take the initiative and involve herself in actually using the data, suggesting strategies to her superior officers - who inevitably shot her down with a disapproving glare.

She would try not to overstep her bounds in whatever role Hackett placed her. She would do her job to the absolute best of her abilities, suck up to whomever needed sucking up to, get promoted, and maybe then she could actually help with the strategies she had spent so much of her spare time studying; she knew that whilst her technical skills were what got her recognised at school on Horizon, and were what she had been formally trained in, she was equally competent at strategic planning and eventually wanted a role involving both.

That was the career plan anyway, she just hoped she had the patience to see it through, and didn't step on the toes of anybody with too much of a temper, or ego.

'How much longer until we get there?' She called over to the pilot, a young man in the seat beside her she had not spoken more a dozen words to throughout the flight. They were in a small, fast, personal ship; most likely a private hire usually used for diplomats. Why they had not sent a military craft to carry her was a small mystery, but Hackett had sounded like he was in a hurry. She had taken a quick kip earlier in the flight and hoped they would be there soon. She was dying to know what her new job was.

'A little over half an hour, I'll have to switch to full manual control soon.' The man glanced over, then down, eyes lingering a little too long on her well fitted Alliance uniform. She had to resist rolling her eyes. Men. 'Erm... are you a soldier?'

'Communications and Information Warfare Specialist.' she answered brusquely, crossing her arms, hoping he would get the hint.

No such luck.

'That's good.' Suddenly he looked away awkwardly.

'Why?' she asked him, now curious.

'N-nothing.' He glanced over again, and Sam reassessed him. He didn't look much older than twenty, with messy brown hair, and skin only a tone or two lighter than her own. He seemed more clueless than especially smarmy or predatory. 'I-it's just you're... erm... very... nice... and-'

Sam wondered briefly whether she should put him out of his misery, but he was trying so hard, and deserved to at least finish. Maybe next time he tried with someone else, he would have more luck because of the practice.

'And I'm glad you won't be getting hurt.' the last few words tumbled from his mouth with barely a space between them, and he suddenly flushed, looking steadfastly at his controls.

'You... ah... don't speak to women very often, do you?' she asked, as gently as she could without smiling.

His blush darkened. 'Is it that obvious?'

Sam nodded. 'I'm afraid so.'

'I'm usually carrying boring important old men in suits, not - ah - people like you.'

She quirked an eyebrow at him. 'People like me?'

'I didn't mean anything bad!' he practically shouted, and Sam could not hold in her chuckle that time. 'Oh God. I think I'm going to just stop before I embarrass myself even more.' he muttered, still refusing to look at her.

Poor sod.

The rest of the flight passed in an awkward silence, and when he finally popped the hatch of the docked craft, Sam gave him a smile. 'Thanks for flying me.'

He gave a shy smile in return. 'My pleasure. Erm... out of interest... did I...'

'Sorry, you weren't in with a shot.' She decided to lessen the blow when she saw his face fall. He was almost sweet, in an incredibly awkward way. 'Maybe if you were a woman I'd have given you a chance.'

Leaving the somewhat baffled pilot to figure that out by himself, she hopped from the craft with her large kit bag swung over her shoulder - jumping with a startled cry as she nearly barrelled straight into Admiral Hackett. She immediately straightened, snapping a salute as her bag fell to the ground with a crash.

'Sir!'

The admiral saluted cleanly in response, before ordering her to follow him. They trailed through the clean, twisting corridors of Arcturus for about five minutes - Sam gave up trying to memorise the journey after two - before emerging in a large mess.

'Do you want anything, Specialist Traynor?' asked Hackett as he stood by a drinks machine, making himself a black coffee. She had heard the man began his career as an enlisted soldier, working his way up the ranks to admiral the hard way - something nearly impossible in this age of favours and networks. She had also heard that soldiers had a special relationship with coffee. Would getting the same thing impress him?

She nearly asked for it when she mentally shook herself. She hated coffee, and the man would probably prefer she was honest. 'Tea please, sir.'

She knew an admiral getting drinks for a mere comms specialist was probably against some protocol or other, or at least an unwritten rule of etiquette, but she was remarkably grateful as he entered a complicated looking series of commands into the alien machine, before it began spraying a murky liquid into a plastic mug. Suddenly the luxuries of planet-based labs and schools seemed a long way away. He handed her the mug, before leading her to a vacant table.

As they both sat down, Hackett took a single sip of his coffee, before setting it down and beginning. 'You are probably wondering why I brought you here, Specialist. I've seen your record: top of your classes, with a real knack for working with both QECs and traditional comm systems. You'd be a great asset on any Alliance vessel.'

Sam took a sip of the tea. It was disgusting, as if made with a thrice used teabag.

Which it probably was...

She stayed silent, listening closely to the admiral.

'And we've taken notice of your... extra curricular reading.'

Her heart began to pound. She knew all books checked out of the library were recorded: she made sure she registered when she read strategic manuals - even when she stayed in the library reading - just in case somebody noticed her interest. Was this really happening?

'Do you want to work in a war room one day, Specialist?' asked the admiral bluntly.

She decided to be equally forward, before her brain could question itself. 'I want to run one, one day, sir.'

Hackett's scarred face broke into a slight smile, and she let out the breath she did not realise she was holding. So much for her carefully laid plan of hard, quiet work getting her to that position...

'Good, I like somebody who knows what they want. It means they'll work their ass off to get there.'

Without further notice, Hackett reached into his pocket and pulled out a small datapad, dropping it on the table in front of her.

Speaking of what I want... Sam nipped the thought in the bud before it could turn into anything less appropriate, as she looked down at the woman on the datapad.

'Do you know who this is?' he asked. She looked up, and saw his pale blue eyes studying her closely.

'Samantha's eyes went back to the photo before her. 'I think everybody knows who this is, sir,' she answered quietly. It was a standard service record photograph. The woman looked a lot younger than she did in more recent images; fresher faced with something of a rosy tinge to her unmarked skin, though Sam was startled by how empty her expression was. She was not sure whether that was better or worse than the usual determined grimace she saw on most of her recent photos.

Hackett continued, 'What do you know about her?'

'Most of her unsealed service record sir, and of course what was published in the media when she became a Spectre.' Some of which was no doubt classified, but there was no point denying it; everybody had read it.

'What do you think of her?' Another blunt question. What was he getting at?

'I think she's an inspiration to us all, sir.'

'And why do you say that? Are you aware that the Alliance disavowed her, for ties to the terrorist group Cerberus?' Hackett leaned forward on the table, coffee forgotten.

'I... I assumed there was some... ah... legitimate... explanation for that, sir?' Samantha felt herself desperately wishing the conversation to skip to the part where the admiral revealed that Shepard had been on an Alliance covert operation the entire time.

'It's the truth, Traynor. She worked with Cerberus for close to five months... that we know of. Her two years disappearance have her completely off the grid; who knows what she did during that time?'

The revelation knocked Sam's confidence... in herself. Not in Shepard. 'She... she stopped the Collectors, though, sir, maybe she was just using them-' Because the Alliance would not help her. Would not help the colonists... my family.

She bit her tongue before she could continue.

'You believe in her.' It was not a question.

Traynor swallowed nervously. 'Sir, with great respect... this feels like I'm being prompted to give... ah... career-damaging responses.'

Hackett shook his head slightly, his expression unchanged. 'Consider this conversation off the record. I want to hear what you think, not what you think I want to hear.'

Sam replied with a somewhat shaky smile. 'She's Commander Shepard, sir. She saved the Citadel, sir. She defeated the Collectors, so the story goes - and there's been no sign of them since, so I think it is...' Realising she was close to rambling nervously, she calmed herself and cut to the heart of the matter. 'She saved my home on Horizon. If I... we... can't trust her...' she finished with a helpless shrug.

Hackett seemed to think on this a while, and Sam was dangerously close to fidgeting uncomfortably when he finally spoke up again. 'At twenty hundred hours, you will report to docking bay A8 where a shuttle will arrive that will take you to Spectre Shepard's ship. Your assignment is to operate as her communications specialist, and I suspect she will have further responsibilities for you. You might get your war room before you expected.'

Sam's mind melted. Was this a joke? A test? A... a dream?

'You will also act as her Alliance liaison. As I said she is no longer associated with the Alliance, but it is in neither of our interests to cut ties. She is still our first and only Spectre. We are still the people that trained her, the people that represent her species on the galactic stage. Anything she wants with us, it goes through you. Anything we want with her, it goes through you. Your rank will stay the same for the duration of this assignment, though any work you do will be considered when you return to us. Your pay will be temporarily bolstered to represent your extra responsibilities.'

She was still struggling with the concept. Her? Working with Commander Shepard? She knew the woman operated a frigate, which only had room for a single person with her skill set... was it to all be her responsibility?

'Do you understand and accept this assignment, Specialist Traynor?'

She felt herself nodding distantly, before realising she probably looked like an idiot. She was ready. This is what she trained for, what she wanted. And to serve under the legendary Commander Shepard? That was a job she could only dream of. She nodded more firmly, holding Hackett's steel gaze.

'Yes, sir. I'll do the Alliance proud.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' Hackett gestured to her large pack. 'You'll need to get rid of at least half of that. One footlocker, Traynor. You're free to explore the station until then; anywhere you're not allowed will have secure doors.'

As they both pushed their chairs out, Traynor managed to splutter out the obvious question before she had to interrupt Hackett standing. 'Why me, sir?'

The admiral ceased his motion, and again looked thoughtful. 'I chose you because you're new, Traynor. You can't be set in your ways and work under Shepard, because even I don't fully understand what it is I'm assigning you to. She's a free agent. This won't be Alliance service, and you can't go in with preconceptions of what you should and should not be doing. And I need to send someone who's at least as loyal to her as you are to us.'

Her blood turned to ice. 'Are you talking about... the Reapers, sir?'

She had heard Shepard's warnings, of course... but it seemed so... fantastic. So far away, so absolutely unbelievable, so terrifying because one lowly communications specialist could do nothing against a force like Shepard described.

The admiral, after a moment, nodded once.

'Sir,' she continued after a moment, instinctively feeling the need to whisper, 'Are you confirming that the Reapers are... are real?'

The old man's face was a map of scars, creases and long-endured stresses. His stoic expression did not change as he gave another single nod. A deep fear struck through Sam. This was actually happening? When it was Shepard talking, it could be filed away in her mind as something that heroes dealt with, that the might of the Alliance would face. Not a slightly besotted young woman who could collate data feeds and enjoyed chess...

'You have your orders.' His clipped words broke through her worries. Yes. She was an Alliance woman, and did not let her fear rule her. Shepard would not approve of her getting scared. 'Report to docking bay A8 at twenty hundred hours. You're dismissed, Specialist Traynor.' He stood, suddenly looking very tired. His next words were a deep mutter, far from the clear military orders she had so far heard from the man, as if they were to himself more than her. 'I'm sorry, because I think you're going to see hell itself.'


The Project base gave Faith the chills. There was now no doubt in her mind that the soldiers stationed here were indoctrinated: something about them, on the whole, was off. They were arguing with Kenson far too vehemently for military people, who were supposed to follow orders. When they weren't, their eyes became slightly glazed, staring into nothing before something prompted them back to the present.

They had been greeted by a group of soldiers at the docking bay, whom Kenson had led through the base towards the Project control centre.

Faith was nervous. The Project was operated by close to forty people, fifteen of them soldiers, all of them military. She was good, one of the best, but even she did not like those odds.

Kenson would not be able to convince them the Project had to go ahead. Indoctrination, Faith knew on some deep, instinctive level, had never been successfully reversed by the Protheans. However, it was a gradual process, hence why these soldiers had not yet attacked them: they still had some semblance of control over their actions, and were acting in what they believed was the best interest, just like Saren was at the start. So what was the plan?

Get as close as possible to Project control without the soldiers noticing their true intent, before neutralising their escort, activating the rockets that would slam the asteroid into the mass relay and fighting a way out to the shuttles, and taking one through the relay before the asteroid impacted it.

Dangerous. Practically suicidal: heavily outnumbered, definitely outgunned.

But the Project had to be activated. Anything else was secondary.

Even... even survival.

A flash of cerulean seared through her mind. Brilliant eyes, sensual lips, soothing voice.

She would not die here. Not when Liara was relying on her, expecting her to come back.

'Have you recorded any further activity from Object Rho?' Kenson asked their escort as they strode through the base. Shepard could not help but notice that the other soldiers repeatedly glanced in her direction.

The very air of the base felt wrong.

It reminded her of Sovereign. Seeing the Reaper soaring ahead of her as she and her team traversed the exterior of the Citadel. She had felt terrified then. Not just scared: she often felt that, but harnessed it, forced it down and formed it into something real, something she could use to push herself onwards. It was terror. Pure terror: how could she fight something like that? It was a God. Its presence permeated existence around it. She was doomed. They were all doomed.

But she had fought on.

Because she had known that terror before. A sixteen year old girl whose life had been obliterated. Happiness torn away, leaving just a shell full of fear and pain. How could anything ever be right again, after that? But things had become better. Slowly but surely, she had recovered, eventually learning to live and even love again. She turned the fear and pain into anger and strength. And she stood before her team and ordered them onwards, her confidence inspiring them to face down and defeat that impossible foe.

It reminded her of the Collector Base. Of the human Reaper the Collectors were creating. She had felt sick then. That abomination, poisoning the air around it. Her own people were made into that atrocity, tens of thousands melted down to form that core of that disgusting creature, that false image of perfection. It was wrong, and she ended it.

As the Reaper died, after it had so cruelly taken Miranda's life, it had chilled the very air around it. The death of a false God. A sense of emptiness had rocked through Shepard then, as she watched it, arms splayed, fall slowly backwards into the abyss of the base.

That same feeling was in every pore of the base. Something about the Reapers corrupted existence around them, as if manipulating reality was to them no more trouble than manipulating metal was to a blacksmith.

There was something on this base.

Something terrible.

Something that filled her with dread.

Whatever precautions Kenson and her team had taken, were not enough. Shepard clenched her teeth against the fact that the tendrils of the Reapers could be creeping into her at that very moment and she did not know it. Kenson appeared to be on her side, but could she be sure?

Suddenly the horrors of indoctrination became all the more apparent. It was not just the threat of Reaper agents... it was the fear. The suspicion it made you feel of others. The terror that it could be happening to you.

How can we fight that?

'Answer me soldier, has anything happened with Object Rho?'

The soldiers glanced nervously at each other.

Faith slowly shifted her hand closer to the pistol holstered at her side, and took a mental note of the locations of all hostiles (not hostile yet, there may be time...) in the room. One on either side of her. She knew several manoeuvres to take them down, lethally and non-lethally.

Best to be safe.

Three soldiers around Kenson: the woman could probably not handle them in her weakened state, but was hopefully skilled enough to distract them for long enough that Faith could neutralise her own escort, and turn her weapons on them.

Cover was minimal, and what there was, was not sturdy. It was a common room of some kind, with solid walls at either end, and one small room that looked like a lab to the right partitioned off with a clear wall. The lab contained one man, operating a terminal, wearing a lab coat. Likely unarmed; she could not see any bulges in his coat , but she could not take any chances.

'Mostly the same readings as normal ma'am,' answered one of Kenson's followers eventually.

'What do you mean by "mostly?"' Kenson prompted as they passed the threshold of the common room, entering a long corridor.

'It's... a little more... active, ma'am.'

'Active?' Shepard asked, the feeling of dread increasing.

All of the soldiers turned to look at her.

Shepard's heartbeat began to hammer her chest. They were reaching the limits of how far they could push these people. They were still fully functional, mentally and physically: Saren's own words, back during her hunting him, confirmed that the further entrenched to the Reapers' will a person was, the less functional they became.

What were these men and women going through? Were there whispers in the back of their minds? A feeling of disconnection, of the body not acting as the mind wanted? Or had they been fundamentally altered, like the geth heretics, to believe that the Reapers might have any purpose other than to extinguish organic life?

If she pushed them too far, what would happen?

'Erm...' One of the soldiers by Kenson looked, face concerned, at Shepard, then his face cleared. 'Yes. It's glowing now.'

How much further to Project control?

The dread feeling deepened. Something terrible was happening here. Was Kenson feeling this as well?

They entered a small, empty room, with two doors ahead of them. Kenson immediately headed for the one on the right, when one of the soldiers touched her shoulder.

'Ma'am, don't you want to see the artefact?' Kenson turned into the soldiers grasp, and caught Shepard's eye for the briefest second. This was it. The area was small which would assist Shepard and Kenson: the soldiers would have no room to do anything other than brawl.

'I'm checking on the status of the Project first.'

God what is this, the presence in here is nearly unbearable!

Faith felt as if the very air around her was about to rupture, like the pressure dropping before a storm.

'No! You-'

Whatever the soldier was about to say, he did not get the chance. Kenson's flat hand lashed out, jabbing hard into his neck, the fabric of his armour doing nothing to protect his throat as he suddenly dropped to his knees, struggling for breath through a collapsed throat. Faith did not waste any time, spinning and grabbing one of the soldiers at her side, wrenching the heavily armoured woman around as the other raised his weapon. Bullets tore into the armoured woman Faith held in place, the impact rocking her own body. Shepard pushed the now limp body towards the shocked man, following behind as the corpse knocked him off balance before slipping around him and wrenching his neck, a sickening crack echoing throughout the room even as Faith pulled out her pistol and brought it to bear on the soldiers around Kenson. A whispered shot dropped a mab trying to ready his weapon, as the operative wrestled with the other.

Faith could not get a clear shot, and was about to move in closer when another crack sounded, and the soldier dropped to the floor, with Kenson now holding his handgun.

'We need to move, grab a rifle and-' Faith began, only to stop as the pressure in the room finally burst.

Shepard...

Your mind will be mine.


'Liara, are you ok?'

Garrus does not wait for an answer this time. It is the third time he has asked... the third time he has caught me gazing away from my terminal. Before I can speak, he rises from his own terminal and crosses over to me. 'I think we're done for the day, I'm pretty sure Shepard would literally shoot me if I let you pass out from exhaustion.'

Thinking of Faith pulls a smile across my face, though my thoughts are troubled. I cannot help but feel something is wrong; she is on such a dangerous mission, and work can only distract me to a point.

'That sounds like a good idea, Garrus.'

He leads me from my terminal to one of the couches Faith and I moved from the living quarters of the now dead mercenary army into the main operations room, and though the sensation dissipates in seconds, I gratefully sink into the soft leather as Garrus disappears behind me, noises of the drinks machine filling the room. I take a quick glance and feel a deep affection as he, unarmoured as usual in these days without ground missions, busies himself to make tea, clumsy talons knocking over more than one mug designed for slender asari and human fingers. If I ever had an older sibling, protective like Faith used to be of her sisters, I imagine this is what it would be like.

Finally he hands me the tea, and sits down as well. 'It's probably stupid to say "don't worry about her", isn't it?' he asks, twitching his mandibles in a small "smile".

'Most likely.' I smile in return. 'If there is anybody who could break into a batarian torture camp, rescue a prisoner, break out again and secure a Reaper artefact deep in hostile space... alone... it would be her, but that does not stop me worrying.'

'I can only imagine. If there's anything I can do...'

'I will ask, thank you Garrus.' Sadly there is not, but it is nice to speak to him about something other than work for a few minutes. 'Forgive me for being forward, but I still feel as though I missed so much of you as you fought the Collectors... might I ask about yourself and Tali?'

There is a brief flutter from his mandibles before he contains himself, and I detect that he is slightly embarrassed by his own reaction. 'Oh. Of course! I'm worried about her, also. I mean, it's not a fair comparison... and she's safe on a ship, docked on a peaceful world. But it's hard not to worry, even when it doesn't make a lot of sense.'

I chuckle, thinking of the many things I know about Illium. She will be safe, no doubt, but Illium is by no means peaceful. 'May I ask... how the two of you grew close? I did not suspect anything on the first Normandy.'

I take a sip of the tea as he gathers his thoughts, and try to resist scrunching my face. Something clearly went wrong with the drinks machine, but one of the foremost rules of etiquette is to gratefully accept any refreshment... a whisper from my previous life, but one I cannot let go of.

'There wasn't anything to suspect, back then. We were friends, but no more than that. I think I flirted with Wrex more than her.'

What an image!

'I guess we got closer after the mess on the Flotilla. Shepard tried so hard, railing at those damned admirals, but they'd made their minds up before Tali had even arrived. It was never about her at all, those bastards just needed a scapegoat to play out their own little power fantasies.'

'Tali is so devoted to her people. To have been used by them in such a manner - it must have been horrible for her!'

Garrus gives a nod, a very asari... and human... gesture he has picked up from so long on the Normandys. 'Well, afterwards she just threw herself into her work... Shepard tried but couldn't get through, and eventually asked me to speak to her - force her to have a night off. She was worried that Tali hated her, for letting her down. We shared a bottle of turian brandy in the gun battery and after a while she just...'

He looks down at his talons. 'She knew it wasn't Shepard's fault, she'd asked her to withhold evidence she knew would clear her. I guess she just needed to air it all out to someone else. She...' he trails off, clearly respecting Tali's privacy, before continuing. 'Afterwards, she went and finally had a good talk with Shepard then came and thanked me. We spent more and more time together after that, then one day Kelly asked me if it was something serious... I'd never even thought about it, but as soon as she asked I realised it was.'

'I am glad both of you have found happiness.' The image of the turian and quarian together always brings a smile to my face; their dynamics are adorable, bickering like decades-together bondmates. 'Do you have any difficulties, being different species?'

Asari frequently, and are known for, joining relationships with aliens, but outside of my race the practice of separate species becoming involved with one another is far less common. We are educated in these things: customs, physical preferences and much more, but most other species are not taught beyond basic anatomy and brief outlines of culture.

'A few. We're taking things slowly, especially with Tali's suit, but I imagine we're dealing with it the same way you and Shepard do, Liara. Slowly, with trial and error, and some reaaally awkward extranet searches.'

I laugh, thinking of when I walked in on her and thought she was browsing erotic websites for pleasure, but was in fact researching different ways to please asari because she was embarrassed to ask...

Goddess, I miss her!


Faith dropped to her knees, clutching her hands to her head at the roaring, familiar, voice.

She could see Kenson just ahead of her, doing the same thing.

'N...no...' she groaned out through clenched teeth.

Your galaxy is in sight.

Your final days are at hand.

No, it can't be now, it can't be, we have over a day! We can still do this!

But what if they couldn't? What if the Reapers were already there, ready to destroy them?

She had failed.

Humanity would be harvested.

Earth, Thessia, Palaven, and all worlds would burn.

Her friends would die.

Everything she knew and loved would be crushed.

Liara would-

No!

No, not yet!

Do not resist.

Give yourself over and be spared.

Lies!

'No!' she shouted out, more forceful this time, feeling the oppressive atmosphere breaking.

It was a trick.

She forced herself to her feet.

'I know you Harbinger, you won't take me today!'

Struggle if you wish.

The end of your species will come.

'Shut up!' she snarled, and miraculously, the voice did.

She stumbled over to the writhing Alliance operative, grabbing an M-8 Avenger from the corpse of one of the Project soldiers on the way. Five down, ten to go... plus the others on the base. Not as heavily armed or well trained, but dangerous nonetheless for their numbers. 'Kenson, get up!' she snapped in her best drill sergeant voice, pleased when the silver haired woman finally stopped shaking on the floor and looked up to her, eyes still full of fear.

'My God, what was that? Was that them?' slurred Kenson, as Faith hauled her to her feet.

'Yes. We need to move, how far to Project control?'

'How can we fight that? That was just their voice, how can we-'

'Snap out of it! We can fight it by never giving up, by fighting to the last! Now how far?'

Kenson took a deep breath, and Faith kept her eyes, knowing that her strength was what Kenson needed right now. Eventually, she felt the older woman stop shaking in her grasp, and Kenson finally ducked to the ground and grabbed a rifle of her own. 'Just two more rooms, there shouldn't be anybody in the way.'

Just as they set off, a blaring siren sounded throughout the station. 'It's the alarm!' Kenson called over the din, 'they'll be converging on our location!'

'Then move!' Faith replied, as the pair set off down the door on the right, Kenson taking point and Faith covering the rear; seeing as she was wearing the only one wearing any sort of armour and opposition would most likely come from behind.

It was tempting to rush, but both were trained fighters and knew that missing a corner could be the end of them so progress was slower than they would like through the remaining rooms, and by the time they reached the Project control centre Faith was getting nervous that the other soldiers in the base had not yet closed in on them. A quick glance across the room confirmed her worries: there were two entrances. The others were likely organising a pincer attack.

'Activate the Project, I'll cover the doors!' Faith called, and Kenson nodded, throwing her the other rifle, and immediately took up position by a large console at the back of the room. Scowling, Faith saw there was little in the way of cover in the room. She would have to kill her foes fast, so they could not get a foothold... or a bead on the unarmoured Alliance operative.

'They've changed the security lockdowns, I need to override it, it'll take a few minutes!'

'Shit...' Faith looked between the doors. This was not going to be easy. She pulled out a grenade: she had only brought two, not imagining she would need to fight off a full complement of soldiers. It was probably too much to hope they would not send the operations crew and scientists as well.

With a growl, Faith checked the heat sinks in both of the assault rifles, laid one on the ground, laid her pistol alongside it, and waited.


Specialist Henderson was a simple man. He had grown up on Earth, gotten above average grades at school; not excelling but good nonetheless, and was lucky enough that the Alliance decided to sponsor him through university due to his particular skillset, in return for five years' active service.

He was good with rockets. Thrust, propellants, aerodynamics, all seemed to come together for him, into something he understood.

This was the first time he had worked anywhere other than a lab. His girlfriend had been so worried when he was chosen to accompany Doctor Kenson, but he had reassured her he would be fine. He was just a scientist. Scientists didn't have to fight.

The heavily armoured sergeant pushed a gun into his hand. 'Get in there!'

He grinned. He did not question why he was so excited, or worry that he had not fired a gun since he last scraped past the annual firearms proficiency requirement... nine months ago. The women in there needed to be stopped: they were doing something awful, and he needed to stop them.

He would stop them.

He had been waiting at the other entrance to the control centre when the bitch in tight black armour with evil eyes had ruptured the corridor wall, exposing it and the soldiers in it to the vacuum, so he had run with the others through the base to the other door.

Now he had his chance.

He made his way through the corridor leading to the control centre with three others, stepping around the bodies.

She had to be getting tired now.

The door ahead opened, and his team charged through, full of righteous anger. One of them tripped on another corpse.

The corpse was wearing armour.

He wasn't.

He didn't care.

He had to stop them.

He saw one of the women, back turned, blood pumping from a wound in her thigh, furiously tapping at a console at the back of the room.

Doctor Kenson. His old superior officer.

Trying to activate it. Trying to activate his work.

That was... bad. Wasn't it?

He paused, considering the unusual thoughts, but instantly felt the doubts melt away, replaced by a wonderful clarity. He raised his gun. Right now, Kenson needed to be stopped, from doing something terrible. He would figure out why later.

He did not see the black shadow approach him from the side.


Faith pulled her knife from the back of a man wearing a lab coat, scowling at how foolishly he, and so many of the others she had killed, had died today. She called over to Kenson, who had unfortunately taken a bullet but was still working. 'How much longer? I think the soldiers are all dead now, they're sending in the scientists - and they must be running out of them as well!'

She had gotten lucky; one of her grenades had shattered the corridor they had entered through, exposing it and the at least five soldiers in it, to the vacuum outside and immediately sealing the automatic bulkheads. The fortunate accident reduced both the opposition and the threat of a two-pronged attack, and the tight corridor on the other side had funnelled the remaining Alliance personnel - Reaper agents, they stopped being Alliance when Harbinger took their minds - into a deadly bottleneck. There were at least twenty bodies in the corridor and around the door, but they just kept coming with no thought to personal safety or tactics or anything other than overwhelming her through force of numbers. When they were unarmoured, it was little better than a grim, bloody, target practice.

'Almost... there, Commander!' Kenson shouted back, clearly in pain, but still working.

Faith hated defence. It was not what she was built for. And she could not be sure how many were left, when she was simply waiting for them to come to her. She made her way back towards Kenson, to provide something of a human shield for the unarmoured, unshielded operative.

The automatic door, bouncing half-closed against a corpse wedged in the frame, hissed fully open again revealing a single armoured man who dropped to one knee, raking blind automatic fire throughout the room. Kenson ducked to the ground again, crying out in pain at the pressure this put on her injured leg before Faith, feeling a thump against her chest as a stray shot impacted her shield, took a full second to line up an accurate shot which punctured the man's head.

She helped Kenson to her feet as a deathly silence filled the room. 'He was just one,' Faith said, as Kenson resumed typing. 'He could be the last.'

Kenson remained silent, and Faith risked a glance away from the door, seeing the pain etched into the Alliance operative's face. Not just for the bullet, she imagined: Faith had just slaughtered her entire team.

'We'll make their sacrifice worth it, Kenson,' she added quietly.

The room stayed quiet other than the gentle noise of the Doctor operating the terminal, before she finally took a tender hop backwards, keeping the weight on her good leg. 'It's done; I've overridden the security. We just need to activate it.'

Satisfied that the threat had ended for now, but keeping the safety off her pistol, Faith turned to the console. 'What are you waiting for?'

Kenson gestured to another, smaller terminal to the side. 'That's a comms device. We were going to use it to broadcast a warning to Aratoht, to give the batarians a chance to escape. If the countdown is right, they still have over a day. They could evacuate most of the colony if they start now.'

Faith looked at the simple console, feeling her chest begin to pound with something other than the rush of battle.

But her mind was clear. There was no indecision, no worry, no guilt, in the realisation of what she needed to do.

She grabbed Kenson's shoulder as the woman made her way to the communicator.

'No.'


A/N: Thank you Jay8008 for beta reading.