Commander Jane Shepard
D.O.B. 4.11.2154
Mother: Hannah Shepard
D.O.B. 8.31.2128
Father: James Shepard (deceased)
D.O.B. 3.13.2123
Deleted Email Drafts:
Dear Liara—
Liara
Hey
Dr. T'soni
Dr. Liara T'soni
How are you? How are things? I miss you.
You haven't responded to any of my emails. Too busy tracking down the Shadow Broker to send a response? It would take two fucking minutes.
Fuck you. Fuck you, Liara.
I wish you'd consider coming back to the Normandy. It isn't the same without you.
I love you. I need you. Jesus Christ, I wonder if I'm even the same anymore. I look into the mirror and see a freak. Help me feel normal again, please.
Did you ever love me?
None of these other women can fuck like you do. Do you even give a shit?
Who the fuck is this friend of yours you need to get back? Were you fucking around on me when I was dead?
Kaidan. I'm sorry about how things went down on Horizon. But Cerberus isn't as bad as you think. Is it really so bad for humanity to have an edge?
Liara. I've done something te—
Extranet Searches:
Cerberus
The Illusive Man
Miranda Lawson
Liara T'Soni
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Pragia scientists
Coping with guilt
Asari
Coming back from near-death experiences
Asari image search
Alliance Service History:
2172 Enlistment (Arcturus Station)
2177 Engagement at Skyllian Blitz
2178 Assault on Torfan moon, 90% of squad lost, final collateral toll adjusted to 75% by Alliance
2178 Psych Evaluation Ordered – ignored
2178 Court Martial – charges dismissed
2179 (ICT) N Candidacy Offered and Accepted
2180 N7 status granted
2181 Promotion to rank of Commander
2182 XO assignation SSV Normandy
2183 SPECTRE status granted by Citadel Council
2183 Casualty of Collector attack on SSV-Normandy
Post Alliance History:
2183 Body recovered by Liara T'Soni, handed over to Cerberus
2185 Resurrected by Miranda Lawson and Project Lazarus
2185 Recruited Ardat-Yakshi Morinth.
Sexual Partners since SPECTRE status:
Sha'ira
Liara T'Soni
Zaeed Massani
Kelly Chambers
Jennifer (alias: 'Jack' 'Subject Zero' 'Jacqueline Nought')
Samara (deceased: executed by Commander Shepard)
A cold chill travels down Shepard's back. She's left thinking of stars and an oppressing lightness. The Shadow Broker drone zips around her, offering her any assistance with data management. Liara is some feet away in front of an array of monitors, trying to sort through the flood of intel streaming in. "Delete the dossiers for Commander Shepard and Justicar Samara," she tells the drone quietly.
"Of course, Shadow Broker. Is there anything else I can do to assist you?"
Shepard searches for their names in the database but comes up empty. She shakes her head and makes her way to Liara, circling her arms around her waist and pressing to her back. Guilt trickles through her like an icicle. She rests her chin on Liara's shoulder. Liara's hand grazes hers. "You're cold," she says, turning her head slightly to look at her.
"Aren't you?" she can barely hear her own voice.
"Maybe a little." She looks around the space. "I suppose not having the fat density of a yahg isn't doing me any favors," her fingers grip Shepard's more securely. "Now is the part when you make me an offer I can't refuse."
Nervousness dots Shepard's laughter. Will Liara somehow uncover what she's done? There's so much data buried in the network, there's no way of knowing what else there's left to unearth. Cold sweat springs to her forehead and she feels herself shake. It's possibly nerves. She's close to having Liara back in her life again. It's been years since they've been together. They've both changed, maybe too much. What if Liara rejects her? What if things are awkward? What if she can see into her mind? What if she sees everything she did to Samara? "This is like a dig site for you. Can I really drag you away?"
"You don't want to?"
Shepard's smile is like a grimace. She's never hesitated with her. Now she's afraid. She isn't ashamed of the things she's done—she's afraid of their discovery, of Liara's judgment. "You know full well I'd be more than happy to warm you up right here." She pulls away. Liara holds on to her hand, peering at her curiously. Shepard licks the sweat from her upper lip. "But… there's wine on the Normandy."
"Oh?" Liara walks alongside her. "Is that your plan?" She smiles. The deception, Shepard decides, will only cause her massive stress. It will keep Liara happy. It will keep them together. That's worth anything. Sometimes you have to do despicable things for love.
The Shadow Broker ship is vast and empty. The cold in the air clings to her uniform. Miranda brushes past Shepard and Liara. Shepard pays little attention. Liara turns her head to watch her as they exit. No doubt Liara has been sifting through an intimidating amount of data. She gave Shepard access and grudgingly extended the offer to Miranda as well.
The Illusive Man has given her a task in case this opportunity should arise. First, however, a personal inquiry. "Retrieve all data on Oriana Lawson," she instructs the drone.
The data that is returned is sparse, noting her creation in Henry Lawson's lab, and subsequent 'kidnapping' at Miranda's hands a few years later. Then she went dark for a number of years before resurfacing briefly on Ilium, when Niket and Enyala spirited her away to an unknown destination. Current whereabouts: unknown. Damn it. It's no more than Liara had been able to tell her.
The new dead end is disappointing, but she has orders. The Illusive Man's mandate. Find traces of Cerberus activity and delete it. Miranda understands the need for secrecy. Cerberus' mission is far greater than what the masses understand, greater than the zealous political propagandists spout. Liara has been known to be idealistic, and Shepard appears to be settling down—there's no need to give her further ammunition just when she's finally beginning to trust them.
The annoying drone zips around her, bobbing and weaving as if dancing. Its insistence that she's the Shadow Broker is a benefit to be exploited—sooner rather than later when Liara no doubt patches the loophole. "Pull up all Cerberus activity and records." The drone merrily does so.
Miranda is overwhelmed by the amount of data that pops onto the haptic displays. The Illusive Man wanted it all gone… but surely there would be a benefit to keeping it safely stored with a trusted source. She takes a breath, unsure if the cold she feels is from the ship or from choosing to misinterpret what the Illusive Man ordered. She reads off her omni-tool ID number and instructs the drone to load all Cerberus data onto the device. She looks through the displays while the process is underway.
"Will that be all, Shadow Broker?" the drone asks.
"No." She considers. "Pull up all records on Commander Shepard."
"There is no data available," the drone quickly returns.
Hm. "Are you sure?" It seems unusual to say the least that the Shadow Broker would have no data on Commander Shepard. He was the bastard looking to get her body to begin with. It doesn't seem right. It seems bloody impossible. "Run another search. Jane Shepard, Systems Alliance."
"Finished, Shadow Broker. No data available." It seems to do a pirouette at the revelation. Miranda rubs her forehead gingerly before looking through the haptic displays at the Cerberus data. There are more Cerberus cells than she imagined. They're all classified; even Miranda doesn't know the majority of them. Some three months ago one in New Canton was extinguished. The Collectors hit it, but the information on the haptic display shows no survivors. The scientists were studying a Reaper artifact.
Curious. It seems odd to lose an entire cell without her knowing. She reads further and sees a link to some video footage. She opens it. A grainy video begins playing in black and white. The lighting is poor. There are four mercenaries. She doesn't recognize them. She's focused on the bodies of Cerberus operatives slumped dead on the floor. One of the mercenaries turns, puzzled, in the direction of the camera. Miranda stops. She grips the console fiercely until her knuckles are white.
No. That's impossible. "Pause the feed," she says breathlessly. The video is stopped. That face. There's no denying that face. It's identical. It's younger, somehow, clearer. It isn't Shepard. Shepard's face was a maze of scars then. Shepard was on the Normandy then. She checks the date stamp. Same day as the Collector attack. "Find and load all New Canton video feeds from the day of the Collector attack," she tells the drone. It fetches them and she watches. The Collector ship descends. The Shepard… thing exits the building, fights the Collectors until the feed fizzles and dies. She brings a trembling hand to her mouth. How could this have happened? How is this possible—"Scan video archives for all sightings of Commander Shepard in the last year."
A lengthy, jumbled list is displayed prominently on the haptic display. "Sort by location." That's better. She scrolls through it: Therum, the Citadel, Noveria, Virmire, Ilos, New Canton, more. Miranda is cold. She straightens and tries to think straight. A new location pops onto the screen even as she's looking: Horizon. Shepard was sighted on Horizon today.
"Where is the Cerberus cloning facility located?" she asks. The coordinates pop onto the screen. Her throat is locked tight. "Are all Shepard clones accounted for?"
"Negative. X3 and X8 are aware."
"Where are they?"
"No data available."
Miranda swears. She double-checks her omni-tool to make sure the data transferred properly. "Make 'Shepard sightings' unavailable to anyone whose omni-tool ID key doesn't match my own. Forward all incoming Shepard sightings information to me, as well as all Oriana Lawson sightings. Discretely," she tells it. The drone forwards her a security key. They're loose. There's Cerberus property loose… who knows the damage they could cause the mission, could cause Cerberus. They're parts. Only spare parts for Shepard. If someone were to discover them—discover Cerberus' role—Cerberus might never recover. Her chest is too tight. "Delete all Cerberus data," she says, exiting swiftly.
"Yes, Shadow Broker."
The Collector attack on Horizon is evidenced by toppled, mangled buildings riddled with bullet holes. No doubt Shepard contributed to the destruction. The colony is fairly small. The grass is sheared and scorched in areas. It smells like rain. Grey, threatening clouds permeate the skies. Shepard—Grace moves around cautiously. They've been walking for some time but have heard nothing aside from the rustling wind.
"Did they take everyone?" Grace asks.
"No. Some were spared. Not many." Hope has investigated the numbers. Only hundreds of the 650,000 some were left behind. Shepard managed to save some but not enough. Hope wonders if Shepard would have done a better job if it'd been an asari colony. "Shepard's former crewmate Kaidan Alenko was here. It didn't go well."
"I know." She spares her a glance. "I ran into him in Alchera." Hope grits her jaw. Shepard—Grace, is beginning to make a habit of withholding information from her. The more she withholds the bigger the risk of the mission failing. It was easier in the beginning. Hope thought she was malleable. Has she been too soft? "He thought I was Shepard. Don't worry about it."
"I decide what we do and don't worry about." She doesn't look to see if she's hurt her with her sharp words. The fault may lie with her for being too considerate of her feelings. Still, Grace has done well. She's stayed alive and killed without remorse. Yet her rebellions increase by the day. She's beginning to disregard Hope's advice. Hope clenches her fingers, as if to tighten her hold on the little control she has left. How does she appeal to Grace? Idealism has made her dangerous. "You need to start telling me—"
Her words are muffled as Grace reaches from behind and clamps a hand over her mouth. Hope struggles as Grace pulls her firmly into the shadows. "Stop," she whispers, nodding toward the sky. Two Cerberus shuttles circle above before taking a gentle swing down to a landing. Damn it. How did they track her? Grace's hand slides to Hope's neck, keeping her pinned. Her fingers tingle along her skin. Hope skims the perimeter. "They're after you," Grace says lethally.
That's only partly true. Hope molds her face into barely contained panic. The display is as explosive as fireworks. Concern lights Grace's face like a beacon. Despite the danger, Hope battles a genuine smile and wins. The sneer that tempted her before is forgotten. She feels a sliver of order restored to her. "I can handle this." Grace's eyes flicker darkly. Storm clouds are rolling in.
Hope senses an opportunity and she takes it, throwing herself wildly into the open, no cover in sight. The Cerberus troopers spot her. Hope fires blindly with the Phalanx pistol. The crack of a sniper rifle tears through the air. Her skin goes cold and clammy as they close in on her position. There's a collection of crates to the right. Hope makes a run for them, a hail of bullets pinging her shields.
Grace swears. Their eyes lock. Stay put, Grace motions. Hope yanks the sniper rifle from her back and lines up the shot. A trooper's head bursts like a melon as the soldiers scramble for cover.
"Go around, go around!" one of them shouts.
They're trying to flank her. Hope smiles through the inkling of terror. Her shields are taking far too long to recharge. The sniper rifle on that soldier must be incredible. It's only then she realizes her leg is bleeding. Adrenaline must have pushed her through it. She digs her finger into the bullet hole and holds back a painful shout. When she glances back to where Grace was she's gone. Hope's stomach clenches so painfully that she's left dazed.
They won't take her. Grace won't let them. She searches the area but there's no sight of her. The footsteps of the soldiers move close. They're swarming around her like bees. It starts to rain but something is wrong. The water is like acid. She cloaks. The rain is eating through her shields. She makes a run for it. The muddied ground will either mask her footsteps or give her away. Maybe her bleeding leg will give her away. She won't let them take me.
She wonders if Grace has seen through her.
The fish have slowed in the tank, excitement waning now that they're accustomed to their new home. Shepard notices them only because Liara says something. Shepard looks around the cabin and sees a bleakness that had gone unnoticed. Liara is like a light that illuminates faults, maybe the result of her own goodness.
Liara has seen the space before but they were heated then and blinded by their anger. Now she wanders the room like a visitor in a mausoleum. There is no dust. Liara looks at the glass case above Shepard's laptop. It's possible to see clean through the room and to the bed. Liara turns, sighting her picture. Her eyes are sad. "That doesn't look like me anymore."
Shepard is too aware of her distance and the heat that emanates from her. "That's still you." Liara's protest is held in a look. "I still see it."
Liara smiles ruefully. "No models?" She touches the glass as if doubting her eyes. "I remember you had so many of those e-magazines. You got serials. You even built a few." She looks at Shepard. Shepard shifts uncomfortably. "After Saren you'd stay up at night putting them together. There was one of a Mako."
"You suggested I prop it up on its side," Shepard says with a small grin.
Liara returns the smile. "You're a terrible driver."
"It was hard to sleep." It still is. "And even asari only have so much energy." Liara's cheeks color. There you are Shepard nearly says there's that spark. She keeps the words to herself. "I don't care about that stuff anymore."
"Hm. I suppose I'm not one to lecture on enjoying the small pleasures." Her barely-there ironic smile turns pained. Shepard knows what she's thinking of and hates herself for it. "What do you care about?"
"Stopping the Collectors. Stopping the Reapers. You. You above all." Liara looks off to the side. She stares at the charred dog tags. Shepard doesn't want them—it surprised Liara. She set them aside. Shepard tries not to look at them. She doesn't want to touch them. "You were the last thing I thought of when I died. The first when I woke." Liara narrows her eyes, her lips thinning, a hand cautiously to her throat. "I love you," she says hoarsely. "I am so sorry for all the ways I've hurt you. I'm so sorry for all the ways I'll hurt you again. I wish I could be better. I wish I could be worthy—"
Liara is the one to kiss her, urgent and needing. Shepard nearly stumbles down the cabin steps. An unexpected flush crawls up her cheeks. Liara feels the same, tastes the same. Her body is harder than before. They pull at each other's clothing in desperation. There's still much to discuss. How often will they see each other? Will Liara join her once she's had all the necessary data? Everything is up in the air.
They move forward feverish and afraid. What will Liara see? How deeply will she pry? Terror should shackle her but desire urges her ahead. Stripped naked, Shepard's pushed back onto the bed, a wicked smile playing on Liara's lips before she stops, hesitant. Shepard rests her weight on her elbows as Liara crawls onto the bed.
Shepard runs a hand along her stomach. Her pebbled skin is silken, she trails her hand to her face. "Talk to me." Liara bows her head. Her eyes shimmer. "I'm scared, too," she says carefully. "I'm so afraid I'll lose you." The tail end of her words get lodged in her throat. She wraps an arm gently around Liara's waist, drawing her close and then pressing her onto her back.
"I can't lose you again. Jane—" The words halt. Shepard presses their lips together, their kiss melancholy and yearning. Shepard remembers the cold of the sky, the shattering sadness that crippled her lungs, followed by burning, her hardsuit smoldering, dog tags charring before she was embraced by what she thought would be the neverending eternity of death.
The darkness cradled her, filled her until she was only a shell. Liara found her. Liara brought her back from the brink. Their kisses grow searing and hot and when their mouths part, their eyes meet again. Liara's go black and Shepard is not afraid. She goes willingly towards that knowing and familiar embrace of the darkness, happy to let it wrap around her like a cocoon.
The patter of the heavy rain soaks every noise, absorbing the sucking, sticky steps in the mud and the small, muffled sounds of soldiers having their throats ripped open. Grace was taught to kill at the CAT6 academy. Helmets have to be slipped on. A sliver is all that's needed to wedge a blade in and jerk it quickly.
Killing a helmeted man is much like killing a krogan. It's all about finding that spot. Everyone has an Achilles heel. Blood runs a pink watermelon color before it's reduced to mud like everything else. Hope was reckless. Hope is not reckless. Grace doesn't know what her plan is but she does not doubt that Hope has one. Hope is always prepared. Life and its players are reduced to a chessboard for her.
Grace presses to the wall. Her shields are still hissing from when the acid rain hit her. Her skin burns as if doused in scalding water. She's next to a glass-walled home. It's remarkable that people build homes that way; they're like open targets. What sheltered lives have they led that they would willingly expose themselves?
She sees the reflections of a man and woman. Grace doesn't know who her parents are but if she did she imagines they would be only a few years older than these people. She blinks her eyes rapidly. The soldier that moves around the corner cries out in alarm. She strikes quickly, delivering a swift, brutal kick to his shin, shattering it before grabbing him by the back of his helmet. The biotic power pulses through her, moving through her fingertips. It always makes her fingers tingle, charges the air with something akin to electricity. She releases the energy and his helmet and head are pulverized.
Sticky red chunks cover her fingers and suit. The nice older couple look appalled. They run. Grace can see through the glass to the other side. More soldiers heading in. Why did Hope expose herself? What is she trying to do? Grace pulls the glass door open and steps into the home, trekking mud and rain inside. They don't turn, fixated on the Cerberus soldiers stalking the perimeter.
Jane Shepard is a vanguard, always hurling herself into conflict. Hope specializes in infiltration. Grace is more adept at using biotics to tear her enemies apart from a distance, but it makes for a lot of explosions. She'd rather not draw any civilians into the fight. CAT6 and Hope have taught her to move stealthily. A moment is all it takes. Her hands lash out. Grace covers their mouths and jerks them down to the floor. "Stay down," she tells them quietly. "They might not come after you if you stay out of the way."
"Are you Commander Shepard?" the man asks. "You saved us—you saved us a few months back—"
The soldiers pause outside the glass walls, staring in. Grace wonders if Kai Leng is near. For months she's thought of gutting him. Hope doesn't know how she tosses and turns in the night. She doesn't know how she clutches her side. Sometimes she says things that don't make any sense. When Grace thinks of killing him it's never quick or easy. She takes her time. She makes him suffer.
What if Kai Leng is near? What if he's caught up to Hope and finished the job? Why did she throw herself out into the open? Grace skims the apartment. There's a photograph of the couple with a young woman in an Alliance uniform. Her skin is the color of caramel. Her dark hair glistens. She brandishes a bright smile with a compelling sliver of cockiness.
"Who are these people?" the woman asks shakily.
Blood pounds in her ears. A sharp cry and Grace throws caution to the wind. She leaps up and charges the group, smashing through glass and tossing back two soldiers. A flash of the sniper rifle and she whips back, yanking a bookshelf out to block the bullet at the last possible second. The Traynors—that's the name Grace thinks she saw—are safe for the moment.
Grace wasn't expecting a fight. She should know better by now. She searches the hazy grey skies, the acid rain stinging and blinding. A laser hones in on her and then another. Red dots dance along the muddy ground. She shrouds herself in a barrier, scrambling for cover where there is none to be found. There's a whisper of a sound and one of the red dots skids rapidly to the side before disappearing. The other one swipes away quickly, searching for another target.
She runs. Sweat and rain slide down her face and neck. Her steps slip in the muck. In desperation she hurtles through a wall of glass. The colony is a den of ghosts. This apartment has been ransacked, furniture toppled carelessly. Her hands and face begin a slow sting before throbbing.
She takes a slow breath, Paladin out. A soldier steps into the apartment. His frame is tall, powerful. He wears armor like polished obsidian. Grace stills, trapping the air in her lungs. Where's Hope? The soldier stops. Grace is frozen, trying not to draw the attention of the other soldiers. Drops of blood spill from her hands, enough to get his attention. The polished gold helmet turns in her direction. His arm guards pulse blue and then stop.
The Cerberus crest centered on his chest catches the light. She listens to his breathing, steps closer as he lowers to the ground. He carefully sets aside his pistol. He unshackles the arm guards that seem to have whips coiled inside of them. He pushes them in her direction. It's unexpected. He's taking a risk that she won't just kill him anyway. Grace kicks them away. "Turn around. Hands behind your head."
He gets to his feet and turns around. "I just want to talk to you. I'm going to take my helmet off. Keep your pistol trained on me." Grace's nose flares. Most of the men she kills wear helmets. She doesn't see any advantage to him removing it but he's done it before she can protest. He faces her. Grace falters. His eyes are light blue. They aren't jaded. Blond, square-jawed and handsome, he bears a stunning resemblance to Santos. Santos who died on New Canton. She tells herself that. How is this possible? Is it possible? "You're good," he says. Even the voice is pretty close.
"Where is she?" Her voice borders on breathless. She squints as blood trails into her eye.
"That woman you're with? You tell me." He smiles but grimaces when she presses the barrel of the gun to his head. "I'm not here for her. I'm here for you, Grace. You've been running for a long time." His voice is the same. "It's remarkable how much people can look alike, isn't it? You wonder what part of them is really them. Can really be them."
Grace takes a step closer, the barrel of the gun shifting to the middle of his forehead. Santos is dead. Whatever this thing is isn't him, can never be him.
"This must all be so confusing," he tells her. His eyes are soft and kind. Grace pretends not to feel the tightness spreading over her chest. "You look at this symbol and you think you know all there is to know about me. I understand. When something is real and concrete, when you've only ever had questions, knowledge is powerful. Cerberus has a bad reputation. We're not perfect. Some of our agents are questionable—but not all of us. You don't trust me. We only came here to talk to you. That woman… what's she calling herself these days…? Hope? She shot first."
Grace pistol-whips him. He stumbles back, a gash opening in his forehead. A profound sadness and regret fills her. He kneels on the floor, blood dripping from the cut. "I have cuffs. Go ahead and put them on me. They're on my belt." She looks cautiously and finds them. When she leans in to grab them she smells some hint of cologne, similar to what Santos wore. She's only ever smelled blood and sweat on Cerberus agents, shit when she let them sit around too long. He looks at her and she has to look away, using one hand to slap the cuffs on behind his back. "I'll stay here," he says with a smile.
She backs away from him. "Is Kai Leng here with you?"
He shakes his head. "Never met the guy. He's a little…ah, intense, isn't he? Heard he did Hope in on Bekenstein? He's always been a smug piece of shit. Not surprised Hope outsmarted him. She's good. The Illusive Man has been after her for a while. Can't blame him. I'd hate to lose one of my best agents too." He watches her keenly and though she reveals nothing except for a tightening of her jaw, he sees it. "She didn't tell you?" He shakes his head. "That's just like her, isn't it? Don't know what she's told you but Hope Lilium is Cerberus."
Hope Lilium…? In minutes he's told her more about Hope than Hope has in a year. The restricting feeling in her chest expands, making it all but impossible to breathe. Hope's Cerberus?
"That's an alias. When she joined she was Rasa. I think before that it might have been Sasha? I'm not sure if even the Illusive Man knows her real name." He shrugs. Grace stoops in front of him, peers into his face. He has light blond stubble on his face. "I misspoke, actually," he says softly. "She isn't Cerberus anymore. That's probably why she didn't mention it to you. She was with us for a while. One day she took all she could from us and left. I don't know if you've figured out yet that that's her way." Her eyes flash blue and he winces, preparing for a hit.
Grace steps back, running a hand through her hair, trying to gather her breath.
"Cerberus is here to give humanity an edge," he says. It's only when he says it that Grace realizes how close it is to the rhetoric Hope has spoken for months. "It isn't a bad thing to take pride in your race. To want to excel. To be the best we can be. That's all Cerberus wants." He looks up at her, blood trailing down the side of his face. Grace wonders if she hasn't asked what his name is because she wants to keep on pretending he's Santos. "Everyone should have the opportunity to live up to their potential."
"What do you want with me?"
He shifts his shoulders, rolling his neck lightly. "There's a war coming. The Reapers. We pretend like they don't exist—act like anyone who even mentions them is a lunatic. The Alliance does that too. So does the Citadel Council. We admit, it would create mass panic, but they're real. Cerberus has created a project. The Phantom Project," he tells her simply. "We need agile, powerful biotics. You fit the bill. I know you don't trust me. I don't blame you. I have a shuttle. You killed my squad," he laughs before hanging his head, "I knew those guys for a while. But if you'll even consider our offer it'll be worth it. I know you can pilot a shuttle. Take us back. I'll stay in cuffs. I'm not going to try to fight you. I couldn't take you even if I wanted to. Credits don't mean a damned thing to someone like you, but doing the right thing—and answers, Grace. Answers must mean a lot." Grace appraises him cautiously. She slips the pistol back into its holster. "I've got some medi-gel in my bag. Hate for your face to get scarred up." She finds a small pack attached to a belt on his leg. She yanks it open. There's only one dose. And a pair of sunglasses.
She unfolds them and slips them onto his face. Panic spirals inside of her. He grins. "Bit dark for shades, isn't it?" he asks.
She rips open the medi-gel pack with her teeth and applies it to his forehead where she hit him with the pistol. His lips thin as his skin begins to stitch back together. She half-heartedly applies it to her own face and hands, feeling some need to continue as she has for the past year, finding a comfort in habit.
There's a haze when she looks up. As if she were looking to the outside through a waterfall. Hope materializes. Her face is venomous. Grace's face burns but she isn't sure if it's with shame, embarrassment, or anger. The Phalanx is positioned perfectly at the base of his skull.
Grace is on her feet, Paladin in hand instantly. It's pointed at Hope before she knows she's done it. Hope doesn't step away, doesn't back down. Her leg is bleeding. The venom in her face fades to something else—something broken before becoming determined and sure again. As if this was to be the only expected outcome. "Put the gun down," Grace says.
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Water drips down her face, blood runs down her leg. Her hand is steady while Grace's shakes. "Is this what you do the moment I leave you alone? Make nice with Cerberus agents?"
"It's over, Rasa," he says. Hope's eyes turn dangerously to him. "You've always wanted to control everything around you. Let her make her own decisions. We both know this mess you're in is your own doing."
"Shut up," Grace tells him, but her voice comes out small and afraid. "You're Cerberus?" she asks Hope. "Your name is Hope Lilium? Or Rasa? Or Sasha?" Hope narrows her eyes. "Who the hell are you? Have you been lying to me this entire time?"
"I have been with you through the entirety of your existence—"
"No you haven't," Grace says sharply. "I only exist when I'm with you? Is that it?" Something dark and melancholy touches Hope's features before it extinguishes again, becoming hard and unflinching. "Who are you? How can I believe anything you say?"
"You're taking his word over mine? You idiot." She turns her undivided attention and hatred to the Cerberus agent. "What have you been filling her head with?"
"Only the truth. Answers. All the things you've been hiding and keeping to yourself." He buckles forward when she slams him in the back of the head with the gun, his forehead smacking into the floor. Grace steps forward, gripping the pistol more tightly.
"Back off," she tells Hope. She reaches blindly for him, yanking him to a sitting, keeping the gun on Hope. "Don't do this. If you trust me, you'll let me talk to him. You'll let me make my own decision." Hope's jaw clenches, her eyes shimmering for an instant. Tears of anger? Tears of betrayal? Maybe she's frustrated or sad. Maybe it's only the rain. "It's the least you owe me."
"I'm sorry Grace, but I can't let you do that," Hope says.
The Cerberus soldier looks up at her. The sunglasses have fallen off his face. "All her life this woman has only ever known how to lie and betray," he says. "I want to help you. We can find out where you came from. We can give you back your past. All you have to do is come with us. Don't let her do this, Shepard Jr."
Hope pulls the trigger. His skull erupts. Grace screams without meaning to. She slams Hope into a wall. She doesn't know how it happens, she doesn't know how she's pinned her there, only knows that she has, that she's trapped her and Hope doesn't look at her, can't maybe, because Grace is shouting. "He was unarmed…! He was bound...! You liar...! You monster...!"
She could kill her. She should kill her. She's a liar. She's a coward. She's a betrayer. She should kill her. She should kill her. Hope has taken the opportunity of finding out who she is away from her. She wouldn't even let her try. She can't breathe. She can't breathe. Hope snatches her face in her hands. "Listen to me," Grace can't listen, "Listen to me. Whoever you think that was, it wasn't. You don't know Cerberus. I do. They will lie and do whatever it takes for you to believe them, believe me. If nothing else—" Hope's voice is panicked and flush with emotion.
Grace slams her back into the wall. She walks back into the rain, heaving for breath.
Shepard has ordered shore leave for all Normandy SR-2 crewmembers. The ship is strangely empty and alienating without any of the staff. Miranda likes the quiet, though she finds herself reliving her conversation with the Illusive Man. She brought him information on the Shepard clone sightings. She didn't know why she expected answers. He was grateful for the tip and went so far as to say that he had just the team in mind to look into it before telling her to resume her duties as executive officer.
He's shutting her out. He knew the clone was live and hadn't bothered to tell her. He's keeping her in the dark. Why? Unsure she'd be able to bottle her frustration much longer if she remains onboard the Normandy, she steps out onto the Citadel. She receives messages from Jacob and Shepard informing her that they're at the Dark Star Lounge, and she's expected to join them.
Miranda never thought Jacob would adopt Shepard's stance on anything. More likely he's concerned she isn't practicing good self-care. Who has time for that when she has to oversee the Collector mission? She makes her way through Citadel security, earning approving glances from some—likely the ones that don't know she's with Cerberus—and disgruntled (but still approving) looks from others—likely the ones that do.
Liara has returned to the Shadow Broker ship. It's unlikely that Shepard didn't invite her. Regardless, the commander appears to be in good spirits. Liara said little when she left, her face somewhat pensive, if not blank. Miranda won't be too surprised if she receives some message from her in the future. Miranda instructed the drone to forward her the 'Shepard sighting' feeds but who knows what else is buried in the network? She only had so much time. Miranda doesn't doubt that Liara will quickly realize Cerberus data is conspicuously absent from the network. She'll want answers, but Miranda isn't ready or willing to divulge any just yet.
The grating music from the Dark Star Lounge can be heard outside the club. She sighs inwardly before entering, searching through darkness and flashing lights for her crewmembers. Tali and Garrus are next to the dance floor, appearing to shout conversation over the noise.
Zaeed, Thane and Grunt are crowded comically around a small table, playing a game of Skyllian Blitz with Daniels and Donnelly. Samara chats with an attractive young man in a corner, her haunting eyes carrying a hint of amusement in them. Mordin and Jacob are at the gambling tables on the second floor, Mordin's mouth moving rapidly. Jacob looks miserable and bored.
Predictably, Jack and Shepard are sitting at the bar with a collection of drinks in front of them. She's made an appearance. Maybe saying hello will suffice and she can return to the Normandy to continue her search into the Shepard sightings.
Her ears pick up on a nearby conversation. "…bloody terrified to go back. First whatever those nasty bug things were and now this."
Miranda turns her head in the direction of a young Indian woman in an Alliance uniform. She waves her drink animatedly as she speaks, spilling half of it in the process. She doesn't appear drunk. Her companion, a plainer blonde woman looks chagrined about the situation. "Samantha," she speaks delicately, "the point tonight was to get away from all of that stuff. Get drunk, dance, get laid, maybe?"
"I'm sorry I'm being a stick in the mud about all of this," Samantha returns shortly. "You act as if I'm not making an effort. Most people would be curled up in the fetal position after hearing that their parents were nearly shot by soldiers chasing the great Commander Shepard around. That was my initial plan, for the record. Instead I'm content to talk about it in a club," she laughs dryly. "I'm so self-centered. Aren't colonies supposed to be safe? All of this happening, on Horizon! They should have never left London."
"Commander Shepard is right over there, you know." The blonde points to the bar. "You should go talk to her. Maybe she'll give you a shag."
"Ha! Not in—"
Miranda steps up to the women. The blonde looks at her with obvious irritation. Samantha looks at her and then away, quickly downing the small remainder of the drink. "You'll excuse us," Miranda says to the friend. "Now." The woman leaves with a shake of her head. She makes her way to the dance floor, perhaps happy for a reason to leave her sour friend behind. Miranda's secretly grateful she never bothered making friends. They seem a nuisance. Niket is the exception.
"So," Samantha reaches to a nearby table, taking a handful of small cubed napkins and wiping her hands. She hits her with a bright smile. "Come here often?"
Miranda frowns gently. Is she hitting on her? "That's classified." Samantha arches her eyebrows. "I need you to tell me about what you were just talking about. The Horizon incident. What's your last name?"
"Traynor," Samantha tells her in a bit of a daze.
Miranda nods and types it into the omni-tool. The name pops up, along with a picture and biographical data. Her aptitude scores indicate she's highly intelligent. "Ah, yes. You were on Horizon during the Collector attack."
"Pulled that right up, did you? Impressive and not worrisome in the slightest."
"These sorts of things need to be verified. You wouldn't believe the inane things people with little self-worth brag about." A beat. "I'm not actually interested about your experience on Horizon, so let's move along. Tell me more about the correspondence with your parents. You mentioned Commander Shepard and some soldiers were just there?" If the woman's parents were endangered, then no doubt Miranda shares some of the blame. She brushes the thought aside. She has a job to do.
The smile on the woman's lips that had been waning now disappears entirely. Her eyebrows are furrowed, lips set thin. "Actually…," she says thoughtfully, "it occurs to me that I don't want to tell you anything. You usually have to buy a girl dinner before you ask her to bare her past and current traumatic experiences. This is fast—even for lesbians." Miranda purses her lips quizzically, unsure of where the conversation is going. "Which I don't think you are—damn, by the way—so I'll be going."
"Ah—wait," she says. She attempts to reach out to her but Samantha Traynor, most definitely not drunk, slips her grasp and moves on her way. Bloody hell. Her opportunity to find out what happened on Horizon squandered. That could have gone better. Miranda watches the woman move into the crowd, an array of colorful lights washing over her.
It's not often she doesn't get what she wants. She must be losing her touch.