The small shuttle jerks, rocks pelting it like rain. They're nomads, forced to leave the Thessian spaceport. If not for Samara's intervention they may have been arrested. The asari has proven useful. Hope should be grateful but feels as if there's something amiss. Her shoulder throbs painfully. Outside of Oriana they have all taken a beating. Hope ruminates on the memory of Grace flinging Miranda like a rag doll. She would have finished her had Samara not intervened.

"You're a mess." Hope utters the words quietly enough so the others don't hear. She can smell the blood on Grace. Miranda and Oriana sit opposite them, speaking in hushed tones. Oriana looks unsure. Something like relief colors Miranda's features. Now and then she looks cautiously to Grace, who ignores her altogether. Samara sits alone, her tranquil face observing the stars through a small window. "What happened to you?"

"Lawson's men. Kurin. And an inquisitor named Joria." Grace rubs her face. "Ever met one?" An Inquisitor? Hope thought they were legends. She's heard whispers of a 'Joria'. She assumed it was another invented story. The Boogeymen of the asari. Boogeywomen? Whatever. "I let them arrest me. Kurin's all right." Hope frowns. "But the Inquisitor. Lawson sent her." Hope sees Miranda look over. She slides closer to Grace so she doesn't have to speak over the rumble of the shuttle. "She was in my mind. Squeezing. Searching. She saw things. Knew things." She rubs her forehead. "I thought I was through with all the mind fuckery of this."

"I know."

Grace waits. "I risked you. I risked everything. Sorry." Hope forces her jaw to relax. "I just didn't want to get innocent people involved. I didn't expect things to get so...escalated. I don't know what would have happened if that justicar hadn't shown up." She looks at Samara and speaks softly. "I can't figure her out."

"She's with Miranda and Shepard. Don't trust her." Samara was perhaps the most powerful and dangerous of the candidates considered for the Normandy. Her dossier also had the most holes. What drives a mother of three to take up the Code? Hope tried to find out what became of her daughters, but even Cerberus has limits to their information gathering. Much of what transpires on Thessia remains shrouded. She shakes her head. The shuttle hums. She resists the impulse to lean into Grace. She doesn't know where the impulse comes from. She's just tired. There's still much that needs to be said. With the current company it has become imperative. Miranda knows. She can't not know. Thankfully, she hasn't spoken of it. What about Samara? Hope goes lightheaded. Grace's hand covers hers. Oriana and Miranda notice. Hope pulls it away. Grace settles her hands on her knees and looks out the window instead. "I worried." The words are barely a whisper.

There's only a subtle shift of Grace's head. "I risked the mission. It won't happen again."

"No, that isn't—" Hope stops, unsure of what it is she wanted to say. Grace looks at her. "It's fine," she says haltingly. Her face is warm. "It's fine now." But is it? Miranda has been eyeing them since they boarded the shuttle. What a group; a group of imposters. Save for the justicar. Her face is stoic, like a mask. Hope wonders if she can put a bullet into each of them before they could stop her, before Grace could. "Keep your guard up."

Grace nods in understanding.

She's surprised her spine didn't snap. The feeling along her back has been reduced to a dull ache that borders on numb. Oriana went to the clone and expressed relief at her well-being, even as Miranda dragged herself off the floor. Rasa and the clone brainwashed her. Oriana thought herself safe with them. Why?

Most of her adult existence has been spent trying to safeguard Oriana. Most recently she's spent countless sleepless nights worrying over her, trying desperately to locate her. Shepard stopped the Collectors. Miranda has forgiven much but not everything. Shepard has tried to make amends. She gave her Samara. They got Oriana back. How is this ...thing different? The clone – Grace – is identical. It shouldn't surprise her but it does. Its eyes are softer. How does it feel to know it was only ever meant for scraps that would inevitably be thrown away?

Miranda's cheeks flush thinking of her own father. Oriana is beside her. She's imagined this moment for what feels like a lifetime but is at a loss for words. "Did they mistreat you?" she asks. Oriana crosses her arms and looks out the window. "Well..." Miranda waits. "Are you all right? Did my father – our father – hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Oriana tells her irritably, impatiently. Miranda nods. After all this time she's been reduced to something of a mother hen. "Are you really with Cerberus?" she looks at the crest on Miranda's uniform and turns her nose up. "So what? Now I'm just supposed to go with you? Because you say you're my sister?" Miranda bites her tongue. "I guess everyone's said it. Doesn't mean I want it to be true."

"What you want or don't want doesn't matter. Not wanting something doesn't make it any less true." Though in this instance she can't say Oriana is entirely wrong. Oriana's arms cross more tightly. In the wan blue light of the shuttle, Oriana seems more at a distance. Miranda clenches her fingers. "I never intended to make myself known to you. I've only had good intentions. You were supposed to have been kept safe."

"Father says you kidnapped me when I was a baby. Is that true? Or was it another lie?"

Miranda's heart beats too quickly. Her mouth is dry. She surveys the small shuttle. Rasa and the clone are in the middle of a conversation, Rasa's eyes turning warily to her from time to time. Samara is seemingly thinking of other things. "It's true. But let me be clear: Henry Lawson only cares about Henry Lawson. You were never going to be anything more than a thing to him." It's a fight to keep her voice steady. Her hands are clammy. She doesn't want to have this conversation in front of others. She doesn't trust any of them and yet Oriana does. Everything's wrong. "I can't force you to believe the truth. That's up to you."

"Why should I trust a xenophobic Cerberus operative about anything?" Oriana glares. Perfect. Oriana takes after Jack, mouthing off about things she doesn't understand. "Lilah and Grace were trying to get me back to you. But you shoot first and ask questions later. I thought you were supposed to be more coolheaded than that." Miranda clenches her jaw. Brilliant. No point in showing off Rasa's trail of lies. Oriana's too worked up to listen. "I can't trust anything anymore. I just want to go back to my parents. If they're still alive," she grumbles.

Miranda sighs. Oriana needs space. No words will suffice, no matter how carefully she arranges them. Oriana doesn't have a basis for trusting her. She trusts Shepard's doppelganger, but not her. She can't blame her, really. The only thing she knows of Miranda is that she took her from a life of privilege, gave her to strangers, then ran off and joined one of the most notorious organizations in the galaxy. Once, Miranda was committed to keeping her existence a secret from Oriana. That's no longer an option, even if she wanted it to be.

The minutes pass without counting, filled only with the hypnotic background noises of the shuttle. Everyone seems to have run out of things to say. Oriana stares sullenly at the wall. Miranda plots out future conversations with her, a flowchart of dialogue choices branching in her mind. The clone is napping in her seat, head back and mouth open. Samara has taken up the lotus position on the floor, hands folded serenely in her lap. Rasa looks troubled and lost in thought, rubbing absently at her injured shoulder.

It's Oriana who finally breaks the silence. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Lusia," Miranda replies. "We'll catch our own ride from there."

"Then what?"

"Then we'll discuss your future." After we've split ways with Rasa and the clone. Hmph. Rasa and the clone. She hasn't even considered what to do about them. Is she just going to let them go? How is she going to explain that to the Illusive Man? She will have to explain it, of that she's sure. No use trying to hide her little unsanctioned mission from the Illusive Man. His information network on Thessia may be imperfect, but there's no way today's events have entirely escaped his notice.

"My future? What makes you think you get a say in it? I'm nineteen, you know."

"Ori…"

"Can't you take me back to Illium?" the girl leans forward, pleading. "I have friends there. I'll change my name, dye my hair, get – I don't know – cheekbone implants or whatever."

Miranda shakes her head. "You can never go back there. Ever. Do you understand? He'll find you. You'd only be putting your friends in danger."

Rasa speaks up. "She's right."

Miranda shoots her a sharp glare. "Stay out of this!"

Rasa rolls her eyes and looks away.

Ori starts to yell. "I can't believe this! Why couldn't you all have just left me where I was! I was happy! I would be going to class right now!"

The omni-tool chip in Miranda's left forearm vibrates. Dimly, she realizes it's been vibrating for a few seconds. An incoming call, urgent. She activates the haptic interface. The ID is blocked, but the caller is utilizing high-level Cerberus encryption protocol. Blast. She can't take this right now. She quickly types a message and sends: Area not secure. Privacy impossible.

The clone who calls herself Grace has woken up and is trying to calm Oriana down. How rich. Miranda doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Rasa hasn't told Oriana the truth of her beginnings. If she had, the tenor of her conversation with Oriana would certainly have been much different to this point. Oriana would have gotten past this lingering notion that Henry Lawson is a kindly benefactor, or a repentant father trying to right past wrongs. There would be some value in shedding that delusion, at least.

No, it's better that Rasa hasn't told her. When Oriana finds out the truth, it should come from Miranda. Nobody should get that kind of news from a stranger. It's the kind of revelation that shatters one's world. She wonders how it was for the clone. For Grace.

The implant in Miranda's forearm continues to vibrate insistently, even as she receives a text response: Answer now.

She furrows her brow. This is highly irregular. Warily, she connects the call. The holographic image of a man projects into the air, suspended above her outstretched arm. The room falls into a hush.

"Hello, Miranda," the man says. He's filled out since last she saw him. He's wearing goggles of some kind, but it's him. She gapes, unable to form words.

Oriana's face lights up. "Niket!"

Niket was ten years old and precocious in his own right when he first met Miranda. His mother had brought him to the hospital where she worked. There's a patient, she explained. A girl about your age. She had an operation. She's brave, but very lonely. I'd like you to keep her company for a bit. Can you do that?

He could, of course. When he walked into that hospital room, his life changed forever. Miranda was pale and thin in her hospital bed, limbs harnessed, and tubes emanating from her. Her eyes lit up with something like hope when she saw him.

They became friends. Years passed, and their bond strengthened. Niket came to adore her in a way that he knew she would never fully reciprocate. When the day came for her to run away from her father, he helped her. How could he not?

That was eighteen years ago. An afterimage of that old, pure feeling still lingers in his mind, but he's not that foolish teenage boy anymore. He has a job to do. The distorted image of Miranda's face wavers on his monitor as she looms over her omni-tool. He can't see the others around her, but he knows she's not alone.

"We'll meet on Illium," he says, punching in a series of digits. "I'm sending you the coordinates now. Bring Ori and only Ori." Their reunion has been less than heartwarming. Miranda feels betrayed. He can understand why, but she really shouldn't have kidnapped her baby sister when she ran. She never told him that part of the plan.

"And you'll let my parents go with Miranda?" It's Oriana's voice. She shoves her face next to Miranda's. "They're okay?"

"Yes, Ori. Your father simply wants you to come home. He has no wish to further inconvenience your adoptive parents. They've been detained due to their suspected association with Miranda and Cerberus. It's all been kept confidential as a precaution against assassination attempts, which is why you haven't heard about it. Your father has made arrangements for their freedom. They're safe and sound in protective custody now."

Miranda scowls. "That's crap. When are you going to start telling the truth, Niket?"

"I am telling the truth. I invite you both to come to Illium and see for yourselves." He pauses. "I'm sorry, Miranda. I wish it didn't have to be this way." He ends the call.

Niket's image winks out. Everyone sits in stunned silence for a moment. Miranda tries to collect her thoughts, to come up with a plan. He's sorry? He's sorry?!

Rasa whispers something vehemently to Grace, who seems irritated by whatever was said and shakes her head. Samara unfolds her legs and rises. "Whatever you decide, Miranda, I stand ready to assist."

"How fast can we get to Illium?" Oriana asks.

Miranda gives her a sharp look. "Have you been listening to a word I've said? What have I been telling you? Our father can't be trusted. I don't know what he intends for you, and I don't intend to find out."

"But it's my parents, Miri. If he's such a bad person, what will he do to them?"

Miranda frowns. She chose Ori's adoptive parents very carefully, from thousands of candidates. Daniel and Amantha. Amantha couldn't have children of her own. Miranda knows everything about them. They disappeared when Oriana was taken. She assumed they were dead. What if she's wrong? Oriana would never forgive her. Or herself. She brings a hand to her forehead, desperately searching for a solution.

It's Grace who finally offers one. "Niket wants Oriana, right? So let's give him Oriana."

Her footsteps seem to echo behind her. Shepard sprints down hallways as if in slow motion. The angles are odd. Too sharp here. Too narrow there. They wave. She's drugged. She can't figure how many drugs they've pumped into her system. Everything is hazy and blurry. Everything occurs in bursts of frames.

She wipes at her bleeding nose as she propels herself down twisting hallways, killing the hordes that come at her. Her face runs with sweat. Pop, pop, pop, heads explode, others stagger back, doing spins before collapsing to the ground.

Kenson. She's got to get to Kenson. Kenson's on the intercom. She says Shepard can't stop her. Kenson doesn't know that she's unstoppable. No one can stop her. Especially some indoctrinated English twat. "I'm coming for you, Kenson!" Shepard shouts. The bitch can hear her.

Shepard pushes off the walls. Her head is throbbing. She blasts the Carnifex, flinging herself at the forces that come out her. Her biotics are unstable. She turns a corner and is grabbed by a masked man wielding a flamethrower. He throws her over crates. Gasping, she kicks wildly, snapping his shin. He yowls and she gets to her feet, moving ahead, throwing a stray bullet back. It catches him, if the gurgling is to be believed.

Kenson is sending all the forces after her. The crazy bitch wants the Reapers to come through. No way. No fucking way will she let them win. She'll stop them. There's nothing she won't do. The Project Control room can't be far now. Her chest burns from running, from fighting. She tastes blood and initiates the Project. She tries to warn the colonists but Kenson cuts her off.

She comforts herself; batarians are expendable. She can honor their sacrifice at some other time, after Earth has been saved. Shadowy hallways. Her mouth is dry, her tongue feels like a sock. Kill, kill, kill. It's easy now. Routine now.

She finds Kenson. She doesn't wait for her to turn around. She empties the clip into her. She turns, her face twisting in agony. She's surprised. Maybe Kenson had her figured for somebody else. Shepard stands over her bleeding form. The station is rocking. "The whispers..." Kenson whimpers, "I can't... I can't..."

Shepard points the barrel at her head and pulls the trigger. Blood sprays over the console, over Shepard's hands. She turns and keeps going.

Niket adjusts his goggles as Miri and Ori enter the abandoned hangar. His men watched them approach on the tarmac, confirming they came alone. The two women stop as soon as they see him. He waits, about ninety feet away, accompanied by six krogan mercenaries. Glax, the oldest and strongest of them stands immediately to his right, cradling an M-300 Claymore shotgun in his arms. At eight and a half feet tall, he's huge, even for a krogan. Niket's never met him before today, but knows his reputation. Brutal, efficient, reliable, doesn't ask questions. He's done work for Henry Lawson on a number of occasions.

Miranda holds an M-3 Predator heavy pistol at her side. It might as well be a starter pistol. She wouldn't be foolish enough to try something with six seasoned, heavily armed krogan at his back. "Where are the parents?" Her voice echoes throughout the cavernous hangar.

Niket points to the smaller of two shuttlecraft. "They're in there. Hand over Oriana, and you can take the shuttle and the parents and go wherever you like. Please, Miranda, nobody needs to get hurt."

"We need to see them first."

Niket shakes his head. "That's not possible."

"Why?"

"Because they think Ori is dead, killed by Cerberus. They believe they're in witness protection."

"Your lies are starting to contradict each other, Niket." She raises her gun.

Niket holds up both palms. "Let me explain. It was necessary to feed them this fiction, for their own protection. If they believe Oriana is alive, they will become a nuisance to your father. Nobody wants that. You'll have to help maintain the illusion. That's part of the deal."

Oriana says something to Miranda, too low for him to hear. They appear to argue for a couple of minutes, until Miranda relents. They hug, and then Oriana turns toward him. "I'm coming over." She raises her hands and begins walking. She strides about halfway to him, and stops. "Now let Miranda get on the shuttle and take my parents out of here."

"I'm sorry, Ori. Not until you've left with us." Beside him, Glax tilts his massive head and takes in a sharp breath of air.

"Stop calling me Ori, you creep. You don't get to call me that anymore. How do I know they're in there? How do I know they're okay?"

"You can trust me, Ori…ana. I only agreed to all this on the condition that nobody got hurt. Your father loves you and wants you to come home."

"Trust you?" she asks, incredulously. "After you lied to me all this time? After you betrayed my sister and took my parents hostage? Are you crazed?" She shakes her head. "This is bullshit. I want to see them. Now." She turns and strides toward the shuttle.

Niket isn't sure, but he thinks her eyes just flashed green. He can't let her get on that shuttle. "Wait!" he yells, stepping forward.

Glax bars his way with an oak-like arm. "STOP!" he rumbles, training his Claymore on Oriana. She halts and faces the krogan, all but ignoring Niket. Somehow, she doesn't look the slightest bit worried that a massive krogan is pointing a giant shotgun at her. She should be terrified. Why isn't she?

"Heh," Glax chuckles. "You almost had me going, pup. But you don't smell right." He nods toward Miranda. "You two aren't even broodmates." What? Glax inhales deeply, tasting the air again. "And you brought someone with you. Another human female. I can't see her, but I can smell her." The other five krogan shift uneasily, casting wary gazes about the hangar.

Oriana's mouth widens, baring her teeth in a strange, carnivorous smile. Something isn't right. There's no mistaking the flash of green in her eyes this time. She flicks her hand, and the massive shotgun wrenches out of Glax's hands, hurtling dozens of feet across the room before landing and sliding on the concrete floor in a shower of sparks.

Niket suddenly finds himself on the ground as Glax shoves him to one side and charges Oriana with a roar. "No! Stop!" Niket yells, but it's too late. Shots begin ringing out. Immediately, one krogan falls dead, a sniper's bullet through one eye and out the back of his head. Miranda fires off a few shots with her Predator, enemy pellets sparking off her shields as she ducks behind some machinery.

It takes but a second for Glax to close the distance to Oriana. The girl has produced a heavy knife. The instant before the krogan is upon her, she throws the knife and whirls, neatly sidestepping his bull rush. The knife strikes home, planting into the ridge above his left eye. Before the krogan realizes what's happened, she scrambles up his back and over his sizable hump. Clinging to the crest of his armor with one hand, she grabs hold of the knife hilt with the other and sharply yanks the blade across his face.

As Glax whirls around, flailing and trying to shake her off, Niket sees sheer, abject terror in his eyes. Suddenly, his cranial plate peels back, exposing the soft tissue beneath. Niket isn't sure whether it's pain or fear that dominates the krogan's shrieking, but he knows he's never heard a sound like that come out of a krogan before. Oriana wrenches the plating to one side and plunges a fist into the krogan's unprotected brain, silencing him in an instant.

The once mighty warlord slumps to the ground, and Oriana tumbles off his corpse and rolls to her feet. The shooting has stopped. Niket looks around and realizes all of the krogan are on the ground. That fast? How could… Wait. One of them is still wheezing. Miranda steps forward, Predator in hand, and dispassionately fires a single shot into the creature's face.

A third woman materializes. He doesn't recognize the dark-haired, dark-skinned woman. She compacts her sniper rifle and clamps it to her back, grimacing at the motion. Oriana looks at her as she shakes krogan brain matter off her hand. "How's the shoulder?" she asks.

"It's fine," the woman replies, gruffly. She nods toward Glax. "That was… new."

Oriana shrugs. "Something Floyd told me about at CAT6. Wasn't sure if it was just one of his bullshit stories until now."

Dimly, Niket realizes warm fluid is running down his leg. Has he been shot? He looks down. It isn't blood. Hot shame flushes over him.

Miranda looks at him in disgust, and points her gun at his head. "Tell me what I'm going to find on that shuttle, Niket."

Oriana studies him. "He doesn't look right. Like he's sick or something. Why is he wearing those goggles?"

"I don't care!" Miranda practically spits the words. She shoves the gun up against his forehead and forces him to kneel. "Answer me!"

He looks down and mumbles a response. "You… don't want to know. I'm so sorry, Miri."

Miranda looks to the other two women. "Watch him!" she orders, before turning and running to the shuttle. She opens the hatch and peers into the shadowy interior. Swearing, she quickly sidesteps the creature that springs out at her. Uttering a deep, raspy howl, the grey-skinned humanoid lands on the concrete and spins clumsily toward her. Before it can take another step, Miranda puts a bullet in its head and it collapses to the floor.

An instant later, a second creature comes through the hatch and launches itself at her. A shot rings out, not Miranda this time, and its head explodes. Miranda glances over. The chocolate-skinned woman keeps her rifle trained on the hatch until Miranda closes it.

Undistracted by the turn of events, Oriana continues to study Niket with narrowed eyes. It isn't really Oriana, but he doesn't know what else to call her.

Miranda examines the two zombified humanoids on the floor. Grey flesh interwoven with blue circuitry. "Husks," she says. "What in the bloody hell are husks doing here?" She looks up at Niket and stares for a long moment, a storm brewing on her face. She stalks toward him. "Tell me those weren't Ori's parents, Niket."

Niket simply stares down at the ground mutely. Miranda once again presses her gun to his head. "Tell me!" she yells.

Oriana gently pushes Miranda's arm away before kneeling to examine his face. She runs a hand roughly down his cheek, then looks at the makeup smeared on her fingers.

"What in the blazes…" Miranda looks mystified. She pulls out a cloth and begins wiping away more makeup from his face, revealing the pale, veiny flesh beneath.

Meanwhile, Oriana reaches for his goggles. "Please, don't," he pleads, though he doesn't know why he feels ashamed. She hesitates, then removes them and steps back.

A flicker of horror passes over Miranda's face, and for a long moment she says nothing. When she speaks, her face is stone and her voice is steady and calm. "What happened to you, Niket?"

"Jesus," the chocolate-skinned woman says, disgustedly. "What the hell do you think happened to him? He's been turned half way into a husk himself. No doubt the doing of your maniac father."

"Shut up, Rasa." Miranda doesn't bother to look at her. "Is it true, Niket? Did my father do all this?"

"Yes," he nods. "He improved me." His tone is earnest, but his faith dwindles by the moment. Somehow, his own words ring hollow in his ears, as Miranda stands before him. Why can't he grasp onto that feeling he once had for her? "He's going to make Oriana better too."

Miranda's face registers nothing. "Earlier, when you called, you used Cerberus protocol. Are you working with them?"

"Yes. The Illusive Man became aware of your father's work and reached out to him."

"Figures," Rasa mutters. "Sounds like Illusive's wet dream. He probably wants to 'improve' everyone who works for him, like your boyfriend here." Miranda scowls at her.

The Oriana pretender suddenly looks alarmed. "Is Cerberus here, Niket?"

He nods again. "I was supposed to lure Miranda and Oriana away, and secure Oriana. Cerberus was after another target. Someone they consider very dangerous." He looks into her eyes. "I saw what you just did. I suppose they're after you, whoever you are."

The woman touches something on her neck, and Oriana's face dissolves, revealing a woman with olive skin and vaguely Slavic features. Blue eyes fade to hazel. She turns to Miranda. "Ori's in danger. We need to go."

Niket looks at Miranda, around the barrel of her gun. She nods once, a shimmer in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Niket. I wish it didn't have to be this way."

The plan is in place and all that's left is for her and the justicar to wait. Oriana had heard the term before but never dived into the topic. With time to kill she buries herself in the extranet, doing research while the justicar stands, reclining against a pillar, passively observing their surroundings. She has spooky eyes, absent of any emotion. The more she digs into justicars the more it makes sense. They follow the law and execute what justice demands (usually some wrongdoer) without batting an eye. It makes them bad ass, if not terrifying.

This one is stuck babysitting her while Shepard runs around wearing Oriana's face. Her stomach is cramped with worry. She doesn't know if her parents are okay or if Shepard will be okay. This is her mess, isn't it? One Miranda dragged Shepard into. Why did Shepard agree? Maybe she's being a brat by insisting on seeing her parents. She's surprised Miranda agreed to it. Why would someone who kidnapped her care at all?

"Do you think they're okay?" Oriana asks Samara.

"Commander Shepard and Miranda are capable women. They will be fine."

She's a serious woman. Her voice is always even. The revealing, skintight outfit she wears doesn't make sense to Oriana. Aren't they supposed to be serious? And if not, shouldn't she not be showing off her goods? Don't be so uptight. Maybe next time you see sister dearest you can have the same chat with her."How old are you?" she asks. Is she a Matriarch? That makes her eight hundred or so years older than her, at the very least.

Samara arches an eyebrow gently before standing rigidly. Her face doesn't move but her eyes come alive. She inclines her head to the side. Hide, she mouths. Oriana follows her gaze. She has a hundred questions but if the scary justicar wants her to hide, she's not going to argue. She's just about had it with shootouts. She dashes to the intended destination, hiding behind a svelte garbage dumpster (everything's nice in Illium).

Minutes later the soldiers appear, clad in white armor, an orange and black emblem on their chests. They train their guns on Samara. She seems unperturbed. "We're looking for Commander Shepard," the voice comes through their mouthpieces. Oriana's insides go to liquid as she watches the lights blink with their words. "She's believed to be with an asari."

"This is Illium. There are many asari." She takes a step towards them, and then another. "You must also know that Illium does not take kindly to guns being pointed at an asari justicar. You are a human supremacy organization, known around the galaxy for barbaric experiments. I fear the Code may not allow me to let a criminal element such as yourselves leave this place alive. My apologies."

Oriana doesn't know how it happens. An instant she's standing, the next she's sunk to the ground, hunched like a cat ready to strike. Her fingers touch the floor and Oriana feels the violent ripples that course through the ground. The soldiers scream with surprise as they're flung in every direction. Some fall off the bridge altogether. Without reservation, without emotion, she begins to knock off the ones that remain, one by one.

"Pull back!" They yell.

Samara unclips the Vindicator at her back, dodging the bullets that come at her and returning their volleys with clean shots. The bullets hit, a perfect dot between the eyes. There's a chopper overhead. A wide light swings, scanning the area. Oriana sees the red beam of a sniper. She wants to scream out a warning but she has no voice. She's terrified. She pushes more tightly against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Soldiers are rappelling down, others are rushing the bridge, wielding whips that are flush with biotic energy. Samara sidesteps a swing, catches another lash midair, sending a biotic shock back that leaves the man shrieking. Oriana catches a glimpse of a smile on the woman's face. It makes her look like a far younger woman, a happier one, one enjoying herself.

Static in her ear nearly makes her jump. She and the others are all on the same frequency in case of dire developments. Shepard's voice is on the other end and Oriana wants to sigh with relief.

Samara, report. Cerberus may be headed your way. We're coming back but we're still minutes away.

They have arrived. She fights brutally but her voice is unbothered. The situation is under control. She ducks as a missile launches towards her, missing her but reducing the soldier at her side to a bloody goo that splashes over her.

Is Ori okay? Miranda asks, panicked.

I swore to watch her. She is safe.

"Did you find Mom and Dad?" Oriana asks.

We'll check in once we get back, Rasa says. For now, keep your mouth shut and stay hidden.

She doesn't hear whatever Miranda says back. A sniper blast rings out, making her ears hurt. She looks fearfully at Samara who has a barrier up that makes the hair on her arms and neck stand up on end. The room is flooded with blue light. The bullet freezes and Samara whips it back to the copter. It strikes the fuel tank and ignites it. The helicopter spins in quickening circles before crashing into a nearby wall, sending flames and Cerberus soldiers scattering.

An alarm sounds, coloring everything red. They're going on lockdown again. Great. Oriana's mesmerized, horrified. She can smell fuel and toxic fumes and feel the heat on her skin. She dares a careful glance outward. They may have been looking for Shepard before, but now it seems they're only concern is staying alive. Shielded soldiers begin to trickle out onto the bridge.

Samara pulls the trigger on the Vindicator but it sputters and stops. Empty. She carelessly tosses it aside and runs toward them. The first soldier is lifting his gun when she disappears into thin air, reappears behind him, and snaps his neck. She takes his shield from him, then casts a pull field onto the others, separating them from their shields. Their shots are clumsy and she deflects them easily before detonating the pull field. Their bodies explode, limbs flying in different directions.

All Oriana can hear is ragged, terrified breathing. It doesn't immediately register that it's her. Samara drops the shield and looks in her direction. "It is safe now."

Oriana's fingers are white against the corners of the garbage dumpster. She exits, looking around her wildly. There's blood everywhere. Bodies everywhere. It clogs her every sense. She can taste the iron in the air. Her footsteps are sticky. She pukes off the side of the bridge.

Samara is painted red. She pats her back awkwardly. "There. There."

Oriana laughs nervously, wiping at her mouth. "Holy shit. I'm glad you're on our side."

The others rush in with the timing of cops in an action film, arriving just after the danger has passed. Shepard goes to Oriana, fingers brushing her hair, looking at her. "You okay?" Oriana nods. She looks at Samara. "Good work."

Samara nods her head dutifully, her expression having returned to the blandness of before. "Thank you, Commander."

Oriana looks at them, around them, but doesn't see her parents. She fixes her gaze on Miranda. "Where are they?"

The galaxy map blinks, reconstructing the Bahak system into nothingness. Aratoht and anything else in Bahak is no more. Three hundred thousand lives gone. Shepard pulls the helmet from her head and goes dizzy. EDI makes inquiries that Shepard ignores.

"I need to get to Chakwas." She makes it onto the elevator, stepping out onto the third floor before remembering that there is no Chakwas. There is no Kelly. There is no Donnelly and Daniels. The crew is dead. Only Joker and EDI remain. She swallows the bile threatening to come up. She's sweaty and cold.

She crashes into one of the mess hall chairs. Gloved hands come to her hair, fingers burying into her skull. She breathes raggedly. Where's Miranda? Where's Morinth? Why aren't they back? She pulls up Miranda's channel on her omni-tool and types out a hasty message: I need a sitrep, now.

She waits several minutes and gets nothing. Eventually she forces herself to her feet. Her breath reverberates. Vertigo sinks its claws into her. She makes it to the med-bay. Chakwas is gone. There is no imminent matter to attend to at the moment. Her eyes burn furiously. How could she have forgotten Chakwas was gone? She discovers an empty bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy having rolled onto a corner beneath the desk. Shepard grabs the bottle and sets it on the desk.

She logs onto her email from Chakwas' computer. No email from Liara. Her fingers curl. What did she expect? Some kind of commitment? She's an asari. You're nothing but a dog to her. Not even. Dogs can live a fifth as long as a human. She'd have to be something more insignificant to truly compare her lifespan to an asari.

Everything's spinning. She clings to a cot and pulls herself onto it. Her leg hangs off but exhaustion races to take her. She doesn't have the energy to move. Harbinger's voice pierces her thoughts. You fight against inevitability. Dust struggling against cosmic winds. Your time will come. You cannot stop me. Your copies cannot stop me. Your species will end in ashes.

She falls into hazy dreams. Catacombs fill her consciousness, black and laced with sticky cobwebs. She doesn't know how long she sleeps. The med-bay door hisses open and she jumps to a start, disoriented. Her stomach clenches painfully. She's starving. Sliding off the cot she tries to ground herself when she sees Admiral Hackett. Another dream?

"Commander Shepard. Awake and in one piece."

She'd recognize his gravelly voice anywhere. This is no dream. She wipes at her face, hoping to get any last traces of sleep, blood and possibly drool off her face. She stands straight and salutes sharply. "Sir. It's an honor." The words come to her out of habit. Retrieving Kenson isn't something she would have done had the Illusive Man not insisted. The Alliance gave her up for dead, practically branded her a terrorist for working with Cerberus. They refused to help but keep coming to her for favors.

He nods curtly. "I could say the same thing, Commander." He appraises her curiously. "You know why I'm here." Shepard stares at him and begs to understand. "What the hell happened in the Bahak system?" Everything comes flooding back to her. "I send you on a covert operation to rescue Dr. Kenson. Two days after you've infiltrated Aratoht the entire system is gone. I want answers, Shepard."

"You're a busy man, Admiral. I won't waste your time." Nor does she want him wasting hers. "Kenson was working on a Reaper artifact. It indoctrinated her and the entire team working under her. They determined that the Reapers were going to be coming through the mass relay in two days time. Kenson was thinking of them as... saviors, something. I had to stop her. I had to stop them. And I did."

"You're telling me you blew up a mass relay and wiped out an entire star system to stop the Reapers?"

"Yes." She curls her fingers. "I did what I had to do. I did what no one else would have the guts to. I make no apologies." She clenches her jaw and glares at him. Hackett looks back at her warily. "I'm the only reason the Reapers aren't crawling up our ass right now. It's too bad about the batarians," she says with a shrug, "but I'm not going to cry over a slaver race that's never made it a point to make nice with humans."

"You're letting what happened on Torfan get the better of you," Hackett steps closer, "and you damn well make sure never to speak of it so lightly outside of this space either. The batarians are itching to start a war and you're giving them plenty of ammunition." He crosses his arms. "This is bad, Shepard."

"I did what I had to do," she repeats.

"Do you understand the kind of diplomatic uproar this could cause?" He asks. Shepard does. She isn't sure she cares. "This isn't something I can bury. You can't hide the extinguishing of an entire star system." He wipes at his face, shakes his head.

Shepard wonders if she's disappointed him. She did what she had to do. She did the right thing. Why can't he understand that? "You came to me because I get results no matter the cost. I do the heavy lifting. You smooth things over."

"Are you giving me orders, Commander?" Hackett's voice raises. Shepard keeps quiet. He takes a breath. "Do you have a report?"

"Haven't had time. You have my word. I can type one up, if that's what you need to control this."

"There's nothing that will get this situation under control. The batarians may start a war. If they do, the other races will be forced to take a side. If they choose not to start a war, we still have the Reapers to contend with. We have to do some damage control. You'll need to go to Earth. Put your dress blues on, pretend, like you're not insubordinate."

"I rescue the galaxy's ass from the Reapers and you want me to turn myself in to be arrested? To appease the Batarians? Forget it, Admiral!"

"Commander Shepard—" He raises a hand. Shepard scowls, bites her tongue. "You've done a hell of a thing. You stopped the Collectors and managed to stop the Reapers from swarming us. But don't forget that you're a member of the Alliance. If we need you to be the scapegoat for this, for the sake of intergalactic diplomacy, you'll do it and you'll do it without complaining. Are we clear?" Shepard says nothing. "I'll do what I can but I won't be able to stall forever. You go AWOL we'll drag you in kicking and screaming. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she says through gritted teeth.

"Good. Write up your report and forward it to me as soon as possible. If this is the way you want to play it, I'm going to need everything I can to hold them back. Make nice when you type up the report. Any slip about your true feelings on batarians and it won't just be the Alliance after you."

He leaves. Shepard goes to Chakwas' computer terminal. She's been asleep for days. No messages from Liara. No messages from Miranda. She clenches her fist and puts it through the computer screen. After everything she's done, everyone's turned against her. She begins to unlatch her armor, yanking at pieces she wears and letting them fall to the floor. The tanktop she wears is sweaty and sticks to her. She curls her fingers tightly and closes her eyes. She's in this alone. She's going to need every advantage she can get. The Illusive Man offered her a gift. She thinks it's time to take him up on it.

Grace mentally counts off all the birds she sees in the sky: wirras, aleopites, diandropodes, harkas. She likes the wirra, especially for its peculiar orange proboscis that unfurls to scrounge insect hives. They've left Samara's bloodbath behind. The asari appears particularly striking since the incident. She does not boast but there is an energy that emanates from her. Grace finds her gaze turning in her direction. Samara is looking her way every time.

Miranda paces in front of Oriana some distance away. Oriana sits on a bench. Hope leans into a railing, watching the colors bleed into the sky. Grace faces the opposite direction, hoping Oriana takes the news well. Hope has insisted they leave right away but Grace has reservations. Lawson and Cerberus have sent countless men after her and Oriana. This is unlikely to be the last wave. She has no attachment to Miranda but feels some sympathy for Oriana. She's been introduced to so much bloodshed in so little time. Remind you of someone you know? It isn't the same. Oriana is nineteen years old and she's... Grace tries to remember. Thirty-two? She's thirty-two. But she can only remember the past year.

"How's your shoulder?" Grace asks.

"Stop asking." Hope rolls it unconsciously, her fingers pressing into it. The Viper hangs at her back. She's one hell of a shot. It's surprising to see her working on behalf of someone else. Surprising but satisfying. Maybe Hope's something more than she pretends to be. Do Samara and Miranda know who Grace is? Why haven't they said anything? Don't they know she's an imposter? She glances cautiously at Samara again. "Stop looking at her. I told you not to trust her."

"You have to trust some people. A justicar seems a good start."

"You can practically smell the blood coming off her."

"She did just take a bath in it."

Hope's brow furrows. "You're naive. Use more than just your eyes." She sighs and sinks her head, as if exhausted of her. Stretching, she grips the railing before straightening. "I haven't eaten in over a day and I'm starving. I'm going to the shop. Want me to pick something up for you?'

Grace smiles. "Yeah, sure."

Hope nods. She jabs a finger into Grace's chest. "Keep. Away. From. The. Justicar. And Lawson."

Grace grabs her hand but Hope slips away easily. The heat of Hope's hand lingers against her flesh. Grace curls her fingers, trying to hold onto it. The next instant she looks up, Samara is there. The asari has discarded the armor (if it could be called that) she wore before, trading in the skintight, shimmering latex for the black leather of a huntress. The change of clothing is likely temporary, the other suit drying in the shuttle. The pure black of the leather makes the light in her eyes stand out even more. She keeps the simple adorning golden headpiece. She's close. "Poor girl," Samara comments, looking at Oriana and Miranda. Her voice is soft, calming like a lullaby. "Her entire life is a fabrication. And now, all that is left for her is a woman that scorns emotion."

"Maybe Miranda has other good qualities," Grace offers but she can't be sure. She doesn't know her. She's Cerberus. It's her goons that are hunting her down, her childhood friend that betrayed her and Oriana, her boss that's creating problems with everyone. Does Miranda know Kai Leng? Does she know that he tried to kill Hope? Why did he try to kill Hope? Maybe they hunt down deserters. "She's trying. That counts for something." She looks at her. It's hard to meet her searching eyes. "What's it like to be a justicar?"

"It is... rewarding. I stamp out injustice when I see it. I protect the innocent. Goodness is my Code. I must ensure that good always triumphs over evil."

Grace thinks that Hope would laugh at her. Some part of Grace thinks that Samara laughs at it too. Her eyes are dancing, despite the sincerity of her tone. "You killed a lot of people today."

"For justice." Grace has difficulty looking away. It's only the eruption of Oriana's voice that gets her attention. Miranda tries to get close to Oriana but the girl shouts at her to get away. "Perhaps you should attend to the girl," Samara suggests.

"What can I do?"

"You could 'try'?" She smiles. "Did you not praise the very act moments ago?"

Grace reluctantly leaves the railing and moves toward the sisters. What can she offer? She's never had a friend. She isn't sure Hope qualifies. Hope has taught her to staunch her emotions, to kill them. Be cynical, logical, critical. What does she know about comfort? Has she ever been able to comfort anyone? She slides her hands into her pockets and moves closer. Miranda's face is tense, her chin not quite steady. "What do you want?" she snaps.

For you to stop being a bitch. "To sit with her for a minute. You can tag out for now." Miranda glares at the sky. "I know none of this is ideal. I don't want to be here with you either but like it or not we're stuck together for the time being. We might as well try to get along." She doesn't wait for an answer, simply moves ahead and takes a seat next to Oriana who's huddled over, face buried in her hands. Miranda watches them and stalks off.

"Go away," Oriana blathers.

"I will soon, I promise." Grace looks at the girl. She's so different from her sister. Inquisitive, outgoing, friendly, funny. Is it nature or nurture that makes a person who they are? She's not sure. She touches Oriana's shoulder. Oriana stiffens before relaxing. Grace rubs her back for a minute. Hope has done this to her in the past when she's been upset. It's helped. "I'm sorry for what happened." Oriana pulls more tightly into herself. "It must be hard. I can't tell you how long it takes for this kind of pain to go away." She doesn't know.

"Are your parents still alive?" She lifts her head long enough to look at her face. Oriana's eyes are red, glistening, her cheeks stained with tears. She tries to breathe. "I told myself to just pretend they were dead. I thought I had accepted that but—" she starts to cry again.

Grace doesn't know what to say. "I don't know if my parents are still alive," she says to her. "I don't know anything about them. I have... memories... fuzzy memories." Oriana looks at her quizzically. "Uh—I mean, Hannah Shepard. She's still alive." Shit. Shit.

"You're a horrible liar."

"I'm not lying," Grace says quickly.

She takes a few more heaping breaths, wiping at her face. Grace pats her shoulder again. Samara has disappeared from where she was. Miranda and Hope appear to be in some kind of heated conversation. Hope's holding two bottles of water. She doesn't know who her family is. Maybe Hope is her family. Oriana looks at her blearily. "You don't know who you really are, do you?" Grace's mouth goes dry. "Who are you? You're not Commander Shepard." She sits up straighter, her eyes going dry, excitement moving through her. "I've managed to hack Miranda's omni-tool. She's been so busy fussing over me and Rasa that she didn't pick up on it. I'm kind of a gadget whiz," she says quickly. "A day or so ago Shepard sent her a message wanting to know where she was. You're not Shepard." The first time she said it, it was a question. The second time she says it, it's a revelation. Grace slides away from her and stands.

"I'm leaving."

"No!" Oriana grabs her hand. Grace considers ripping free of her. Her face is hot. Oriana knows she's a fake. It makes her violently ill. "I looked up Shepard's history. She's an only child. So maybe you're a lookalike but that doesn't make any sense either." Grace pulls her hand away and walks away from her. "But you're identical to her. You're just as powerful. You are her."

"I'm Grace Morgan!" she shouts back at her. This again. This again. Always this again. The Shepard junior jokes, always, someone wanting her to be somebody else. She can't think straight. She only remembers now that she should be convincing Oriana that she's Jane Shepard, not Grace Morgan. Hope will be furious. She's furious at herself. She can't hold it together. She can't breathe. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she says to her.

"So you're not her twin," Oriana theorizes out loud, "you're not a sister or a cousin. Shepard has no cousins. You're not even a lookalike." Her voice pitches in excitement, it goes faster, "if Cerberus is after you—Cerberus conducts all kinds of unethical experiments. Experiments that cross the line. Why would they be after you? Shepard died. They said Shepard died but she came back. I wonder how long it took. I wonder what the process was behind it. Maybe if they had enough genetic material... If Shepard is contacting Miranda Lawson from another terminal—but you're right here and they're chasing you… Clone!" she shouts out, jubilant at the revelation. "You're a clone."

Grace stops.

Miranda and Hope stop.

A clone? No. She looks back at Oriana who's gone from exuberant to crestfallen. Oriana's gaze turns toward Miranda and she takes a step back. A clone. No. How could it be true? It can't be true. She's... There must be something... something she can think of that can make it not true. Hope and Miranda move towards them. Oriana turns and runs. Grace is still. Everything moves in slow motion. Every sound is amplified. She hears the squawk of the birds overhead, deafening in her ears. Miranda Lawson moves towards her. Miranda Lawson is Cerberus.

Has she been leading the troops against her? Is it true? Is it true? Miranda goes racing past her but Grace hooks into her biotically. Grace grabs her by the front of her uniform, pressing an omni-blade to her neck, cutting, before she knows it. A thin trickle of blood trickles down Miranda's neck, stark against her pale skin. "Is it true?" She isn't sure she's said the words. Her face and mouth tingle like white noise. She flexes her lips and tongue and isn't sure if she's moved them. Miranda reaches for her gun but Hope takes it, points it at the base of Miranda's skull.

"Let her go, Grace."

"What makes you think any slack I cut her will extend to you?" Grace asks. Her voice is raspy. She can't see straight. "Is it true?" she asks. Miranda's nose flares. "Did you make me? Was I made? Am I a thing?"

Hope grits her jaw. "Let her go," she says again.

"You were made," Miranda says tightly, "not by me. You're not the real Shepard. You were just the spare parts. Not worth my time."

Time stands still. Her legs lose all feeling. Miranda wrenches loose, slams an elbow into Grace's face and chases after Oriana, the gun forgotten. Hope keeps the gun poised on Grace. Grace's breath is spilling out of her, leaving her empty and light, dizzy. She hears a scratchy sound in the air. She takes one step towards Hope and then another one. Everything still seems much too slow. "This isn't how you were supposed to find out. Damn it, Grace, I've been trying to tell you for weeks."

"Weeks?" She's been asking for a year. She wheezes. "I'm a thing?"

"No," Hope's fingers tremble around the Predator she holds. She fights to keep her voice even. "You're Shepard."

"I'm not Shepard!"

"You're Grace!" Hope takes another step back. "Please, Grace. Just listen."

"No." The omni-blade that had retracted springs up again. She feels a distant throb in her face where Miranda's elbow pounded into it. "I was only ever a copy to you. You've lied to me from the beginning. You knew all along. Are there more of me?" Hope steels her jaw. Oh, Jesus. "Put the gun down."

"No."

Grace flings the gun away from Hope, who screams as her finger snaps. Grace launches forward, coiled in a tangle of biotic energy, her fingers squeezing around Hope's throat. She throws her to the ground, a knee buried in her stomach, the omni-blade raised high. Hope only gasps as the air goes out of her. "I was only a tool to you. A weapon to you." She doesn't see Hope clearly. She's blurry behind the heat in her eyes. "I should kill you. You wanted me like this. You wanted a monster. How could you do this? Why would you do this?"

"Grace. Please." She reaches out. Grace thrusts the omni-blade, burying it deep in the shoulder that was just recovering. Hope screams but Grace isn't moved. She feels nothing as she yanks it out savagely. All feeling has left her, all emotion, all compassion. Blood spurts out, splashing hot in Grace's face. She only sees red.

Grace stands and leaves her. Everything is spinning. She can't see. She can't think. She can't hear. Nothing save for the birds overhead cawing, cawing, inside her head. A thing. A thing. She's a thing. Spare parts. Nothing. She's nothing. She makes it to the shuttle, legs unsteady, numb and lost. Samara's hand extends from the shuttle, fingers wrapping around her forearm and pulling her inside.