A/R: After my few days of rest, I'm back working on this next installment for this series.

Are you ready?

"If humanity has proven time and again that they can always exceed their grasp, then who's to say we can't go further?"

-Cerberus Manifesto

The thick cloud of gas and dust was always deemed as the Citadel's most important defense. Blue-tinted, it is lit not from a white dwarf in its depths, but from the very station that it conceals.

Open travel directly to the station is not an option due to the frequent electrical discharges that are typical of nebulae. Discharges like these are severely damaging to the metal-framed ships that seek asylum because kinetic barriers are unable to block that type of assault. The only way to access the huge, five-pronged station is through the dozens of mass relays that surround it in the open areas.

Oddly enough, it had been previously determined, before the humans had traversed beyond their own borders, that the entire Serpent Nebula was self-replenishing. Not much is known how the nebula maintains its current mass but the most popular theory between the scientific community is that the keepers break down all of the collected waste to the atomic level before it gets spaced, sending new material out into the abyss.

Almost 45 kilometers long, the Citadel is considered the most impressive marvel of engineering in the entire galaxy. Believed to have built by their cosmic predecessors, the Protheans, historians could only speculate to the fact at what its general purpose was, other than it was designed to be used as some form to house their entire government.

If that was the case, then they would have been proud at what their successors had in mind when they commandeered the station millennia ago. The Citadel today was the embodiment of the Council, a group of representatives from the most powerful races in the galaxy: asari, salarian, turian, and most recently, human.

Obtaining a seat on the Council is not considered an easy task. There have been several races that were all vouching for representation before humans even arrived on the scene. However, the forceful nature of humanity paid off in their defense of the Citadel fifteen months ago, when the lone Reaper, Sovereign, attempted to signal its brethren towards the galaxy and start the cycle of death and destruction anew before it was destroyed by the humans in a desperate battle to save the galaxy.

That very station was now the destination for the oddly shaped craft that had just materialized out of the relay near the far side of the safe zone. Engaging its sublight drive, it began the push through the thin cloud of particulates that covered the entire area. Maneuvering around one such puff, the Citadel suddenly burst into view as the bright light from its center momentarily blinded its occupants before they adjusted their eyes to the sight.

Working against the craft's favor was the fact that its designation and colors were deemed unsavory by Citadel control. This was an understandable outcome. If they had the time or the patience, the three of them would have waited to properly reregister the craft and possibly apply a fresh coat of paint to hide the despicable logo that was displayed on every conceivable aspect around the vessel.

It definitely would explain the fact that they were continuously getting bounced around between several different controllers. Many seemed to regard the craft with disgust once its specifications flashed across their desks. Getting onto the station was proving to be an arduous situation from the get-go.

Nothing to do at this point, except wait.

The whirring of servos was the only noise in the air apart from the blips coming from the cockpit as Joker grew increasingly impatient. Metal fingers flexed as the occupant in the copilot's chair folded his hands across his lap and waited for a change in their predicament, while the turian sitting behind them tapped out a complex rhythm with his foot against the floor.

The three of them made an odd group. The pilot, while normal looking by human standards, had a personality that could drive anyone absolutely insane with his bad jokes, an aftereffect of him obtaining the nickname "Joker."

The turian, Garrus Vakarian, was not unique looking but famous in his own right. In less than two years, he had gone from a lowly C-Sec cop working the beat to serving on the most advanced ship in the galaxy before splitting off to form a vigilante team on Omega. He was considered one of the most fiercest and cunning warriors on that bloodthirsty station, until he was upstaged only a few days ago by the arrival of a familiar face.

That honor would go to his old commander, John Shepard, the savior of the Citadel. His mentor, and close friend. Shepard had changed in the fifteen months since he was declared "dead" from a sudden attack in the Terminus. Rather than the stoic, human that Garrus had once known, he now was staring at a broken, angry shell of a man. A synthetic person, a cyborg.

But there was some hope to be had still, Garrus considered. At least Shepard was trying to mend himself. He still worried, though. Shepard had been quiet ever since they had left the Rayya, as if he had a lot on his mind. Garrus had tried to ask about a few specifics, but Shepard wouldn't even produce an audible answer. The turian had eventually given up with the questioning because the silence gave all the answers he needed.

Shepard sat determinedly, staring straight ahead towards the looming station from the viewports. He heard a controller begrudgingly give access in the background and he saw the craft bank towards its designated docking port. From the looks of things, they were headed towards the Presidium, near the center.

He wondered what would await him there. It had been a long time since he last returned to the Citadel, to the place where he had saved the Council after defeating Saren. Would they accept him as the people around him had done? Would they remember all that he sacrificed for them? These were questions that he could only resolve by going into this eyes wide open. But the closer he got, the more he felt that this was a bad idea.

He breathed in and out slowly, letting his lungs expand to whatever room his synthsac allowed. The clicking of metallic parts calmed him. It reminded him why he was here in the first place. He was Commander Shepard, to live like this was a fate that should not befall him, or any other man. He leaned forward in anticipation, conflicted at whatever the future had in store for him.

There was a slight ping noise and Shepard looked down to see his omni-tool blink. He had just received a message. Curious, he activated it and his upper facial features rose in surprise at its contents.

Shepard,

I hope this is the right address.

I know that you said to call you John but it just seems so weird for me to do such a thing. I hope that you can forgive me. I realize it has been less than a day since we last saw each other but there are still a great many things I want to talk about. I mean, you being alive? Keelah, I can't even describe how happy I am right now. It really was very good to see you, despite your complications.

Anyway, how are you doing? You did mention that you were going to the Citadel right after. Does this mean you're going to try and renew your Spectre status? I surely hope so, we need our Commander back.

Well, if it doesn't work out and you still want to go and make those Cerberus bosh'tets pay, I would assume that you would need an engineer for your travels.

Please, please keep me updated on your progress and don't forget about me.

-Tali

Shepard warmed after reading over the message twice. He gave a quiet laugh, she managed to sound nervous even in her writing. That was truly a feat. He closed his eyes as he recalled seeing her last, the door closing between the both of them as they headed off in separate paths. They had promised to meet again but it was not looking to be anytime in the near future.

The truth was he didn't feel comfortable around Tali like this. It gave him great distress having witnessed her initial reaction be one of fright. What was she to see in this hunk of junk? Not Commander Shepard, that was for sure.

He brought up his messaging application to respond to her note but suddenly found himself at a loss at what to say. There was nothing to warrant an inclusion in whatever missive he had to send out at the moment. But there was no sense in making Tali worry. He hated it when she was upset and thought that a short message would alleviate her inner turmoil until he could get things sorted out. It was worth a shot. Fumbling fingers spent the next few minutes typing, going through several drafts before he settled on a maddeningly concise one.

Tali,

Thank you for the note, it was great to hear from you.

Have reached the Citadel right now. Am just moments away from boarding.

Will contact you soon. And Tali, you don't have to call me John if you don't want to. I'm just saying that the option is open to you, should you feel comfortable enough.

-John

P.S. I could never forget about you.

Shepard eyed it a couple times before sending it off. It didn't exactly betray any excess emotion from him, which was what he was going for, but to have such a verbose response did not seem to be the best option at this point. Perhaps when everything was back to normal would he start to adopt his old mannerisms again.

If it was even possible to get back to normal.

There was a rattle throughout the ship as the tube latched onto it. Nodding in satisfaction, all three of them stood up and walked over to the door. Having gone over the routine beforehand, both Shepard and Garrus unhooked all weapons on their person and locked them securely in their lockers before joining Joker over at the door. To have any visible guns on a Cerberus vessel would not endear them to C-Sec on the station. They needed to be as discreet as possible.

They stood in front of the closed door, waiting for Shepard to hit the release. He slumped in front of them, trying to grasp the ramifications of his actions, of what awaited them. Garrus gently put a hand on the cold metal shoulder as it somehow relaxed in his grip.

The grey and black skull turned towards the turian. "Thanks," came the familiar, distinct voice. Garrus knew that everything was going to turn out all right at that point.

Shepard reached towards the switch, thin fingers gently brushing the panel before the door slid open in front of them. Greeting them was a torrent of shouts and yells of "Freeze!" and "Hands on your head!" Complying, Shepard, Garrus, and Joker all slowly lowered themselves to their knees as they brought their hands up in the universal surrender position, flashlights passing over their faces.

C-Sec officers swarmed around them as they forced the trio onto their stomachs as the muzzle of rifles were rudely pressed against their backs. The click of fastened cuffs came thrice before they were hauled to their feet. The pace of the officers was quick and a few times Joker stumbled as he tried to keep up. Shepard had to glance intimidatingly in the direction of the pilot's captors before they eased up a bit.

Soon, they were unceremoniously shoved into a cramped elevator and their escort pressed a button which sent them on their way.

Two minutes into the descent, Garrus glanced from Joker to Shepard before saying, deadpan, "Anyone want to talk about their people's history?"

Part II: Flesh

A/R 2: This portion will be a little more familiar to you guys than the last one. I will end it where ME2 ends so that I can start the final part on familiar ground.

However, this will be a little more abridged than some others out there. Many characters will not show up in favor of developing a smaller cast and several smaller missions will be glossed over entirely. Just a heads up. But I will endeavor to make it as dramatic as possible (within my severely limited writing ability, of course).

Let me know what works and what flops.

Shall we continue?